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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Girl with the Golden Eyes + +Author: Honore de Balzac + +Translator: Ellen Marriage + +Release Date: February 28, 2010 [EBook #1659] +Last Updated: November 22, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES *** + + + + +Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Honore De Balzac + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by Ellen Marriage + </h3> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="mynote"> + <p> + PREPARER’S NOTE: The Girl with the Golden Eyes is the third part of a + trilogy. Part one is entitled Ferragus and part two is The Duchesse de + Langeais. The three stories are frequently combined under the title The + Thirteen. + </p> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + DEDICATION<br /><br /> To Eugene Delacroix, Painter.<br /> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES</b> </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> ADDENDUM </a> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + One of those sights in which most horror is to be encountered is, surely, + the general aspect of the Parisian populace—a people fearful to + behold, gaunt, yellow, tawny. Is not Paris a vast field in perpetual + turmoil from a storm of interests beneath which are whirled along a crop + of human beings, who are, more often than not, reaped by death, only to be + born again as pinched as ever, men whose twisted and contorted faces give + out at every pore the instinct, the desire, the poisons with which their + brains are pregnant; not faces so much as masks; masks of weakness, masks + of strength, masks of misery, masks of joy, masks of hypocrisy; all alike + worn and stamped with the indelible signs of a panting cupidity? What is + it they want? Gold or pleasure? A few observations upon the soul of Paris + may explain the causes of its cadaverous physiognomy, which has but two + ages—youth and decay: youth, wan and colorless; decay, painted to + seem young. In looking at this excavated people, foreigners, who are not + prone to reflection, experience at first a movement of disgust towards the + capital, that vast workshop of delights, from which, in a short time, they + cannot even extricate themselves, and where they stay willingly to be + corrupted. A few words will suffice to justify physiologically the almost + infernal hue of Parisian faces, for it is not in mere sport that Paris has + been called a hell. Take the phrase for truth. There all is smoke and + fire, everything gleams, crackles, flames, evaporates, dies out, then + lights up again, with shooting sparks, and is consumed. In no other + country has life ever been more ardent or acute. The social nature, even + in fusion, seems to say after each completed work: “Pass on to another!” + just as Nature says herself. Like Nature herself, this social nature is + busied with insects and flowers of a day—ephemeral trifles; and so, + too, it throws up fire and flame from its eternal crater. Perhaps, before + analyzing the causes which lend a special physiognomy to each tribe of + this intelligent and mobile nation, the general cause should be pointed + out which bleaches and discolors, tints with blue or brown individuals in + more or less degree. + </p> + <p> + By dint of taking interest in everything, the Parisian ends by being + interested in nothing. No emotion dominating his face, which friction has + rubbed away, it turns gray like the faces of those houses upon which all + kinds of dust and smoke have blown. In effect, the Parisian, with his + indifference on the day for what the morrow will bring forth, lives like a + child, whatever may be his age. He grumbles at everything, consoles + himself for everything, jests at everything, forgets, desires, and tastes + everything, seizes all with passion, quits all with indifference—his + kings, his conquests, his glory, his idols of bronze or glass—as he + throws away his stockings, his hats, and his fortune. In Paris no + sentiment can withstand the drift of things, and their current compels a + struggle in which the passions are relaxed: there love is a desire, and + hatred a whim; there’s no true kinsman but the thousand-franc note, no + better friend than the pawnbroker. This universal toleration bears its + fruits, and in the salon, as in the street, there is no one <i>de trop</i>, + there is no one absolutely useful, or absolutely harmful—knaves or + fools, men of wit or integrity. There everything is tolerated: the + government and the guillotine, religion and the cholera. You are always + acceptable to this world, you will never be missed by it. What, then, is + the dominating impulse in this country without morals, without faith, + without any sentiment, wherein, however, every sentiment, belief, and + moral has its origin and end? It is gold and pleasure. Take those two + words for a lantern, and explore that great stucco cage, that hive with + its black gutters, and follow the windings of that thought which agitates, + sustains, and occupies it! Consider! And, in the first place, examine the + world which possesses nothing. + </p> + <p> + The artisan, the man of the proletariat, who uses his hands, his tongue, + his back, his right arm, his five fingers, to live—well, this very + man, who should be the first to economize his vital principle, outruns his + strength, yokes his wife to some machine, wears out his child, and ties + him to the wheel. The manufacturer—or I know not what secondary + thread which sets in motion all these folk who with their foul hands mould + and gild porcelain, sew coats and dresses, beat out iron, turn wood and + steel, weave hemp, festoon crystal, imitate flowers, work woolen things, + break in horses, dress harness, carve in copper, paint carriages, blow + glass, corrode the diamond, polish metals, turn marble into leaves, labor + on pebbles, deck out thought, tinge, bleach, or blacken everything—well, + this middleman has come to that world of sweat and good-will, of study and + patience, with promises of lavish wages, either in the name of the town’s + caprices or with the voice of the monster dubbed speculation. Thus, these + <i>quadrumanes</i> set themselves to watch, work, and suffer, to fast, + sweat, and bestir them. Then, careless of the future, greedy of pleasure, + counting on their right arm as the painter on his palette, lords for one + day, they throw their money on Mondays to the <i>cabarets</i> which gird + the town like a belt of mud, haunts of the most shameless of the daughters + of Venus, in which the periodical money of this people, as ferocious in + their pleasures as they are calm at work, is squandered as it had been at + play. For five days, then, there is no repose for this laborious portion + of Paris! It is given up to actions which make it warped and rough, lean + and pale, gush forth with a thousand fits of creative energy. And then its + pleasure, its repose, are an exhausting debauch, swarthy and black with + blows, white with intoxication, or yellow with indigestion. It lasts but + two days, but it steals to-morrow’s bread, the week’s soup, the wife’s + dress, the child’s wretched rags. Men, born doubtless to be beautiful—for + all creatures have a relative beauty—are enrolled from their + childhood beneath the yoke of force, beneath the rule of the hammer, the + chisel, the loom, and have been promptly vulcanized. Is not Vulcan, with + his hideousness and his strength, the emblem of this strong and hideous + nation—sublime in its mechanical intelligence, patient in its + season, and once in a century terrible, inflammable as gunpowder, and ripe + with brandy for the madness of revolution, with wits enough, in fine, to + take fire at a captious word, which signifies to it always: Gold and + Pleasure! If we comprise in it all those who hold out their hands for an + alms, for lawful wages, or the five francs that are granted to every kind + of Parisian prostitution, in short, for all the money well or ill earned, + this people numbers three hundred thousand individuals. Were it not for + the <i>cabarets</i>, would not the Government be overturned every Tuesday? + Happily, by Tuesday, this people is glutted, sleeps off its pleasure, is + penniless, and returns to its labor, to dry bread, stimulated by a need of + material procreation, which has become a habit to it. None the less, this + people has its phenomenal virtues, its complete men, unknown Napoleons, + who are the type of its strength carried to its highest expression, and + sum up its social capacity in an existence wherein thought and movement + combine less to bring joy into it than to neutralize the action of sorrow. + </p> + <p> + Chance has made an artisan economical, chance has favored him with + forethought, he has been able to look forward, has met with a wife and + found himself a father, and, after some years of hard privation, he + embarks in some little draper’s business, hires a shop. If neither + sickness nor vice blocks his way—if he has prospered—there is + the sketch of this normal life. + </p> + <p> + And, in the first place, hail to that king of Parisian activity, to whom + time and space give way. Yes, hail to that being, composed of saltpetre + and gas, who makes children for France during his laborious nights, and in + the day multiplies his personality for the service, glory, and pleasure of + his fellow-citizens. This man solves the problem of sufficing at once to + his amiable wife, to his hearth, to the <i>Constitutionnel</i>, to his + office, to the National Guard, to the opera, and to God; but, only in + order that the <i>Constitutionnel</i>, his office, the National Guard, the + opera, his wife, and God may be changed into coin. In fine, hail to an + irreproachable pluralist. Up every day at five o’clock, he traverses like + a bird the space which separates his dwelling from the Rue Montmartre. Let + it blow or thunder, rain or snow, he is at the <i>Constitutionnel</i>, and + waits there for the load of newspapers which he has undertaken to + distribute. He receives this political bread with eagerness, takes it, + bears it away. At nine o’clock he is in the bosom of his family, flings a + jest to his wife, snatches a loud kiss from her, gulps down a cup of + coffee, or scolds his children. At a quarter to ten he puts in an + appearance at the <i>Mairie</i>. There, stuck upon a stool, like a parrot + on its perch, warmed by Paris town, he registers until four o’clock, with + never a tear or a smile, the deaths and births of an entire district. The + sorrow, the happiness, of the parish flow beneath his pen—as the + essence of the <i>Constitutionnel</i> traveled before upon his shoulders. + Nothing weighs upon him! He goes always straight before him, takes his + patriotism ready made from the newspaper, contradicts no one, shouts or + applauds with the world, and lives like a bird. Two yards from his parish, + in the event of an important ceremony, he can yield his place to an + assistant, and betake himself to chant a requiem from a stall in the + church of which on Sundays he is the fairest ornament, where his is the + most imposing voice, where he distorts his huge mouth with energy to + thunder out a joyous <i>Amen</i>. So is he chorister. At four o’clock, + freed from his official servitude, he reappears to shed joy and gaiety + upon the most famous shop in the city. Happy is his wife, he has no time + to be jealous: he is a man of action rather than of sentiment. His mere + arrival spurs the young ladies at the counter; their bright eyes storm the + customers; he expands in the midst of all the finery, the lace and muslin + kerchiefs, that their cunning hands have wrought. Or, again, more often + still, before his dinner he waits on a client, copies the page of a + newspaper, or carries to the doorkeeper some goods that have been delayed. + Every other day, at six, he is faithful to his post. A permanent bass for + the chorus, he betakes himself to the opera, prepared to become a soldier + or an arab, prisoner, savage, peasant, spirit, camel’s leg or lion, a + devil or a genie, a slave or a eunuch, black or white; always ready to + feign joy or sorrow, pity or astonishment, to utter cries that never vary, + to hold his tongue, to hunt, or fight for Rome or Egypt, but always at + heart—a huckster still. + </p> + <p> + At midnight he returns—a man, the good husband, the tender father; + he slips into the conjugal bed, his imagination still afire with the + illusive forms of the operatic nymphs, and so turns to the profit of + conjugal love the world’s depravities, the voluptuous curves of Taglioni’s + leg. And finally, if he sleeps, he sleeps apace, and hurries through his + slumber as he does his life. + </p> + <p> + This man sums up all things—history, literature, politics, + government, religion, military science. Is he not a living encyclopaedia, + a grotesque Atlas; ceaselessly in motion, like Paris itself, and knowing + not repose? He is all legs. No physiognomy could preserve its purity amid + such toils. Perhaps the artisan who dies at thirty, an old man, his + stomach tanned by repeated doses of brandy, will be held, according to + certain leisured philosophers, to be happier than the huckster is. The one + perishes in a breath, and the other by degrees. From his eight industries, + from the labor of his shoulders, his throat, his hands, from his wife and + his business, the one derives—as from so many farms—children, + some thousands of francs, and the most laborious happiness that has ever + diverted the heart of man. This fortune and these children, or the + children who sum up everything for him, become the prey of the world + above, to which he brings his ducats and his daughter or his son, reared + at college, who, with more education than his father, raises higher his + ambitious gaze. Often the son of a retail tradesman would fain be + something in the State. + </p> + <p> + Ambition of that sort carries on our thought to the second Parisian + sphere. Go up one story, then, and descend to the <i>entresol</i>: or + climb down from the attic and remain on the fourth floor; in fine, + penetrate into the world which has possessions: the same result! Wholesale + merchants, and their men—people with small banking accounts and much + integrity—rogues and catspaws, clerks old and young, sheriffs’ + clerks, barristers’ clerks, solicitors’ clerks; in fine, all the working, + thinking, and speculating members of that lower middle class which + honeycombs the interests of Paris and watches over its granary, + accumulates the coin, stores the products that the proletariat have made, + preserves the fruits of the South, the fishes, the wine from every + sun-favored hill; which stretches its hands over the Orient, and takes + from it the shawls that the Russ and the Turk despise; which harvests even + from the Indies; crouches down in expectation of a sale, greedy of profit; + which discounts bills, turns over and collects all kinds of securities, + holds all Paris in its hand, watches over the fantasies of children, spies + out the caprices and the vices of mature age, sucks money out of disease. + Even so, if they drink no brandy, like the artisan, nor wallow in the mire + of debauch, all equally abuse their strength, immeasurably strain their + bodies and their minds alike, are burned away with desires, devastated + with the swiftness of the pace. In their case the physical distortion is + accomplished beneath the whip of interests, beneath the scourge of + ambitions which torture the educated portion of this monstrous city, just + as in the case of the proletariat it is brought about by the cruel see-saw + of the material elaborations perpetually required from the despotism of + the aristocratic “<i>I will</i>.” Here, too, then, in order to obey that + universal master, pleasure or gold, they must devour time, hasten time, + find more than four-and-twenty hours in the day and night, waste + themselves, slay themselves, and purchase two years of unhealthy repose + with thirty years of old age. Only, the working-man dies in hospital when + the last term of his stunted growth expires; whereas the man of the middle + class is set upon living, and lives on, but in a state of idiocy. You will + meet him, with his worn, flat old face, with no light in his eyes, with no + strength in his limbs, dragging himself with a dazed air along the + boulevard—the belt of his Venus, of his beloved city. What was his + want? The sabre of the National Guard, a permanent stock-pot, a decent + plot in Pere Lachaise, and, for his old age, a little gold honestly + earned. <i>HIS</i> Monday is on Sunday, his rest a drive in a hired + carriage—a country excursion during which his wife and children glut + themselves merrily with dust or bask in the sun; his dissipation is at the + restaurateur’s, whose poisonous dinner has won renown, or at some family + ball, where he suffocates till midnight. Some fools are surprised at the + phantasmagoria of the monads which they see with the aid of the microscope + in a drop of water; but what would Rabelais’ Gargantua,—that + misunderstood figure of an audacity so sublime,—what would that + giant say, fallen from the celestial spheres, if he amused himself by + contemplating the motions of this secondary life of Paris, of which here + is one of the formulae? Have you seen one of those little constructions—cold + in summer, and with no other warmth than a small stove in winter—placed + beneath the vast copper dome which crowns the Halle-auble? Madame is there + by morning. She is engaged at the markets, and makes by this occupation + twelve thousand francs a year, people say. Monsieur, when Madame is up, + passes into a gloomy office, where he lends money till the week-end to the + tradesmen of his district. By nine o’clock he is at the passport office, + of which he is one of the minor officials. By evening he is at the + box-office of the Theatre Italien, or of any other theatre you like. The + children are put out to nurse, and only return to be sent to college or to + boarding-school. Monsieur and Madame live on the third floor, have but one + cook, give dances in a salon twelve foot by eight, lit by argand lamps; + but they give a hundred and fifty thousand francs to their daughter, and + retire at the age of fifty, an age when they begin to show themselves on + the balcony of the opera, in a <i>fiacre</i> at Longchamps; or, on sunny + days, in faded clothes on the boulevards—the fruit of all this + sowing. Respected by their neighbors, in good odor with the government, + connected with the upper middle classes, Monsieur obtains at sixty-five + the Cross of the Legion of Honor, and his daughter’s father-in-law, a + parochial mayor, invites him to his evenings. These life-long labors, + then, are for the good of the children, whom these lower middle classes + are inevitably driven to exalt. Thus each sphere directs all its efforts + towards the sphere above it. The son of the rich grocer becomes a notary, + the son of the timber merchant becomes a magistrate. No link is wanting in + the chain, and everything stimulates the upward march of money. + </p> + <p> + Thus we are brought to the third circle of this hell, which, perhaps, will + some day find its Dante. In this third social circle, a sort of Parisian + belly, in which the interests of the town are digested, and where they are + condensed into the form known as <i>business</i>, there moves and + agitates, as by some acrid and bitter intestinal process, the crowd of + lawyers, doctors, notaries, councillors, business men, bankers, big + merchants, speculators, and magistrates. Here are to be found even more + causes of moral and physical destruction than elsewhere. These people—almost + all of them—live in unhealthy offices, in fetid ante-chambers, in + little barred dens, and spend their days bowed down beneath the weight of + affairs; they rise at dawn to be in time, not to be left behind, to gain + all or not to lose, to overreach a man or his money, to open or wind up + some business, to take advantage of some fleeting opportunity, to get a + man hanged or set him free. They infect their horses, they overdrive and + age and break them, like their own legs, before their time. Time is their + tyrant: it fails them, it escapes them; they can neither expand it nor cut + it short. What soul can remain great, pure, moral, and generous, and, + consequently, what face retain its beauty in this depraving practice of a + calling which compels one to bear the weight of the public sorrows, to + analyze them, to weigh them, estimate them, and mark them out by rule? + Where do these folk put aside their hearts?... I do not know; but they + leave them somewhere or other, when they have any, before they descend + each morning into the abyss of the misery which puts families on the rack. + For them there is no such thing as mystery; they see the reverse side of + society, whose confessors they are, and despise it. Then, whatever they + do, owing to their contact with corruption, they either are horrified at + it and grow gloomy, or else, out of lassitude, or some secret compromise, + espouse it. In fine, they necessarily become callous to every sentiment, + since man, his laws and his institutions, make them steal, like jackals, + from corpses that are still warm. At all hours the financier is trampling + on the living, the attorney on the dead, the pleader on the conscience. + Forced to be speaking without a rest, they all substitute words for ideas, + phrases for feelings, and their soul becomes a larynx. Neither the great + merchant, nor the judge, nor the pleader preserves his sense of right; + they feel no more, they apply set rules that leave cases out of count. + Borne along by their headlong course, they are neither husbands nor + fathers nor lovers; they glide on sledges over the facts of life, and live + at all times at the high pressure conduced by business and the vast city. + When they return to their homes they are required to go to a ball, to the + opera, into society, where they can make clients, acquaintances, + protectors. They all eat to excess, play and keep vigil, and their faces + become bloated, flushed, and emaciated. + </p> + <p> + To this terrific expenditure of intellectual strength, to such multifold + moral contradictions, they oppose—not, indeed pleasure, it would be + too pale a contrast—but debauchery, a debauchery both secret and + alarming, for they have all means at their disposal, and fix the morality + of society. Their genuine stupidity lies hid beneath their specialism. + They know their business, but are ignorant of everything which is outside + it. So that to preserve their self-conceit they question everything, are + crudely and crookedly critical. They appear to be sceptics and are in + reality simpletons; they swamp their wits in interminable arguments. + Almost all conveniently adopt social, literary, or political prejudices, + to do away with the need of having opinions, just as they adapt their + conscience to the standard of the Code or the Tribunal of Commerce. Having + started early to become men of note, they turn into mediocrities, and + crawl over the high places of the world. So, too, their faces present the + harsh pallor, the deceitful coloring, those dull, tarnished eyes, and + garrulous, sensual mouths, in which the observer recognizes the symptoms + of the degeneracy of the thought and its rotation in the circle of a + special idea which destroys the creative faculties of the brain and the + gift of seeing in large, of generalizing and deducing. No man who has + allowed himself to be caught in the revolutions of the gear of these huge + machines can ever become great. If he is a doctor, either he has practised + little or he is an exception—a Bichat who dies young. If a great + merchant, something remains—he is almost Jacques Coeur. Did + Robespierre practise? Danton was an idler who waited. But who, moreover + has ever felt envious of the figures of Danton and Robespierre, however + lofty they were? These men of affairs, <i>par excellence</i>, attract + money to them, and hoard it in order to ally themselves with aristocratic + families. If the ambition of the working-man is that of the small + tradesman, here, too, are the same passions. The type of this class might + be either an ambitious bourgeois, who, after a life of privation and + continual scheming, passes into the Council of State as an ant passes + through a chink; or some newspaper editor, jaded with intrigue, whom the + king makes a peer of France—perhaps to revenge himself on the + nobility; or some notary become mayor of his parish: all people crushed + with business, who, if they attain their end, are literally <i>killed</i> + in its attainment. In France the usage is to glorify wigs. Napoleon, Louis + XVI., the great rulers, alone have always wished for young men to fulfil + their projects. + </p> + <p> + Above this sphere the artist world exists. But here, too, the faces + stamped with the seal of originality are worn, nobly indeed, but worn, + fatigued, nervous. Harassed by a need of production, outrun by their + costly fantasies, worn out by devouring genius, hungry for pleasure, the + artists of Paris would all regain by excessive labor what they have lost + by idleness, and vainly seek to reconcile the world and glory, money and + art. To begin with, the artist is ceaselessly panting under his creditors; + his necessities beget his debts, and his debts require of him his nights. + After his labor, his pleasure. The comedian plays till midnight, studies + in the morning, rehearses at noon; the sculptor is bent before his statue; + the journalist is a marching thought, like the soldier when at war; the + painter who is the fashion is crushed with work, the painter with no + occupation, if he feels himself to be a man of genius, gnaws his entrails. + Competition, rivalry, calumny assail talent. Some, in desperation, plunge + into the abyss of vice, others die young and unknown because they have + discounted their future too soon. Few of these figures, originally + sublime, remain beautiful. On the other hand, the flagrant beauty of their + heads is not understood. An artist’s face is always exorbitant, it is + always above or below the conventional lines of what fools call the <i>beau-ideal</i>. + What power is it that destroys them? Passion. Every passion in Paris + resolves into two terms: gold and pleasure. Now, do you not breathe again? + Do you not feel air and space purified? Here is neither labor nor + suffering. The soaring arch of gold has reached the summit. From the + lowest gutters, where its stream commences, from the little shops where it + is stopped by puny coffer-dams, from the heart of the counting-houses and + great workshops, where its volume is that of ingots—gold, in the + shape of dowries and inheritances, guided by the hands of young girls or + the bony fingers of age, courses towards the aristocracy, where it will + become a blazing, expansive stream. But, before leaving the four + territories upon which the utmost wealth of Paris is based, it is fitting, + having cited the moral causes, to deduce those which are physical, and to + call attention to a pestilence, latent, as it were, which incessantly acts + upon the faces of the porter, the artisan, the small shopkeeper; to point + out a deleterious influence the corruption of which equals that of the + Parisian administrators who allow it so complacently to exist! + </p> + <p> + If the air of the houses in which the greater proportion of the middle + classes live is noxious, if the atmosphere of the streets belches out + cruel miasmas into stuffy back-kitchens where there is little air, realize + that, apart from this pestilence, the forty thousand houses of this great + city have their foundations in filth, which the powers that be have not + yet seriously attempted to enclose with mortar walls solid enough to + prevent even the most fetid mud from filtering through the soil, poisoning + the wells, and maintaining subterraneously to Lutetia the tradition of her + celebrated name. Half of Paris sleeps amidst the putrid exhalations of + courts and streets and sewers. But let us turn to the vast saloons, gilded + and airy; the hotels in their gardens, the rich, indolent, happy moneyed + world. There the faces are lined and scarred with vanity. There nothing is + real. To seek for pleasure is it not to find <i>ennui</i>? People in + society have at an early age warped their nature. Having no occupation + other than to wallow in pleasure, they have speedily misused their sense, + as the artisan has misused brandy. Pleasure is of the nature of certain + medical substances: in order to obtain constantly the same effects the + doses must be doubled, and death or degradation is contained in the last. + All the lower classes are on their knees before the wealthy, and watch + their tastes in order to turn them into vices and exploit them. Thus you + see in these folk at an early age tastes instead of passions, romantic + fantasies and lukewarm loves. There impotence reigns; there ideas have + ceased—they have evaporated together with energy amongst the + affectations of the boudoir and the cajolements of women. There are + fledglings of forty, old doctors of sixty years. The wealthy obtain in + Paris ready-made wit and science—formulated opinions which save them + the need of having wit, science, or opinion of their own. The + irrationality of this world is equaled by its weakness and its + licentiousness. It is greedy of time to the point of wasting it. Seek in + it for affection as little as for ideas. Its kisses conceal a profound + indifference, its urbanity a perpetual contempt. It has no other fashion + of love. Flashes of wit without profundity, a wealth of indiscretion, + scandal, and above all, commonplace. Such is the sum of its speech; but + these happy fortunates pretend that they do not meet to make and repeat + maxims in the manner of La Rochefoucauld as though there did not exist a + mean, invented by the eighteenth century, between a superfluity and + absolute blank. If a few men of character indulge in witticism, at once + subtle and refined, they are misunderstood; soon, tired of giving without + receiving, they remain at home, and leave fools to reign over their + territory. This hollow life, this perpetual expectation of a pleasure + which never comes, this permanent <i>ennui</i> and emptiness of soul, + heart, and mind, the lassitude of the upper Parisian world, is reproduced + on its features, and stamps its parchment faces, its premature wrinkles, + that physiognomy of the wealthy upon which impotence has set its grimace, + in which gold is mirrored, and whence intelligence has fled. + </p> + <p> + Such a view of moral Paris proves that physical Paris could not be other + than it is. This coroneted town is like a queen, who, being always with + child, has desires of irresistible fury. Paris is the crown of the world, + a brain which perishes of genius and leads human civilization; it is a + great man, a perpetually creative artist, a politician with second-sight + who must of necessity have wrinkles on his forehead, the vices of a great + man, the fantasies of the artist, and the politician’s disillusions. Its + physiognomy suggests the evolution of good and evil, battle and victory; + the moral combat of ‘89, the clarion calls of which still re-echo in every + corner of the world; and also the downfall of 1814. Thus this city can no + more be moral, or cordial, or clean, than the engines which impel those + proud leviathans which you admire when they cleave the waves! Is not Paris + a sublime vessel laden with intelligence? Yes, her arms are one of those + oracles which fatality sometimes allows. The <i>City of Paris</i> has her + great mast, all of bronze, carved with victories, and for watchman—Napoleon. + The barque may roll and pitch, but she cleaves the world, illuminates it + through the hundred mouths of her tribunes, ploughs the seas of science, + rides with full sail, cries from the height of her tops, with the voice of + her scientists and artists: “Onward, advance! Follow me!” She carries a + huge crew, which delights in adorning her with fresh streamers. Boys and + urchins laughing in the rigging; ballast of heavy <i>bourgeoisie</i>; + working-men and sailor-men touched with tar; in her cabins the lucky + passengers; elegant midshipmen smoke their cigars leaning over the + bulwarks; then, on the deck, her soldiers, innovators or ambitious, would + accost every fresh shore, and shooting out their bright lights upon it, + ask for glory which is pleasure, or for love which needs gold. + </p> + <p> + Thus the exorbitant movement of the proletariat, the corrupting influence + of the interests which consume the two middle classes, the cruelties of + the artist’s thought, and the excessive pleasure which is sought for + incessantly by the great, explain the normal ugliness of the Parisian + physiognomy. It is only in the Orient that the human race presents a + magnificent figure, but that is an effect of the constant calm affected by + those profound philosophers with their long pipes, their short legs, their + square contour, who despise and hold activity in horror, whilst in Paris + the little and the great and the mediocre run and leap and drive, whipped + on by an inexorable goddess, Necessity—the necessity for money, + glory, and amusement. Thus, any face which is fresh and graceful and + reposeful, any really young face, is in Paris the most extraordinary of + exceptions; it is met with rarely. Should you see one there, be sure it + belongs either to a young and ardent ecclesiastic or to some good abbe of + forty with three chins; to a young girl of pure life such as is brought up + in certain middle-class families; to a mother of twenty, still full of + illusions, as she suckles her first-born; to a young man newly embarked + from the provinces, and intrusted to the care of some devout dowager who + keeps him without a sou; or, perhaps, to some shop assistant who goes to + bed at midnight wearied out with folding and unfolding calico, and rises + at seven o’clock to arrange the window; often again to some man of science + or poetry, who lives monastically in the embrace of a fine idea, who + remains sober, patient, and chaste; else to some self-contented fool, + feeding himself on folly, reeking of health, in a perpetual state of + absorption with his own smile; or to the soft and happy race of loungers, + the only folk really happy in Paris, which unfolds for them hour by hour + its moving poetry. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, there is in Paris a proportion of privileged beings to whom + this excessive movement of industries, interests, affairs, arts, and gold + is profitable. These beings are women. Although they also have a thousand + secret causes which, here more than elsewhere, destroy their physiognomy, + there are to be found in the feminine world little happy colonies, who + live in Oriental fashion and can preserve their beauty; but these women + rarely show themselves on foot in the streets, they lie hid like rare + plants who only unfold their petals at certain hours, and constitute + veritable exotic exceptions. However, Paris is essentially the country of + contrasts. If true sentiments are rare there, there also are to be found, + as elsewhere, noble friendships and unlimited devotion. On this + battlefield of interests and passions, just as in the midst of those + marching societies where egoism triumphs, where every one is obliged to + defend himself, and which we call <i>armies</i>, it seems as though + sentiments liked to be complete when they showed themselves, and are + sublime by juxtaposition. So it is with faces. In Paris one sometimes sees + in the aristocracy, set like stars, the ravishing faces of young people, + the fruit of quite exceptional manners and education. To the youthful + beauty of the English stock they unite the firmness of Southern traits. + The fire of their eyes, a delicious bloom on their lips, the lustrous + black of their soft locks, a white complexion, a distinguished caste of + features, render them the flowers of the human race, magnificent to behold + against the mass of other faces, worn, old, wrinkled, and grimacing. So + women, too, admire such young people with that eager pleasure which men + take in watching a pretty girl, elegant, gracious, and embellished with + all the virginal charms with which our imagination pleases to adorn the + perfect woman. If this hurried glance at the population of Paris has + enabled us to conceive the rarity of a Raphaelesque face, and the + passionate admiration which such an one must inspire at the first sight, + the prime interest of our history will have been justified. <i>Quod erat + demonstrandum</i>—if one may be permitted to apply scholastic + formulae to the science of manners. + </p> + <p> + Upon one of those fine spring mornings, when the leaves, although + unfolded, are not yet green, when the sun begins to gild the roofs, and + the sky is blue, when the population of Paris issues from its cells to + swarm along the boulevards, glides like a serpent of a thousand coils + through the Rue de la Paix towards the Tuileries, saluting the hymeneal + magnificence which the country puts on; on one of these joyous days, then, + a young man as beautiful as the day itself, dressed with taste, easy of + manner—to let out the secret he was a love-child, the natural son of + Lord Dudley and the famous Marquise de Vordac—was walking in the + great avenue of the Tuileries. This Adonis, by name Henri de Marsay, was + born in France, when Lord Dudley had just married the young lady, already + Henri’s mother, to an old gentleman called M. de Marsay. This faded and + almost extinguished butterfly recognized the child as his own in + consideration of the life interest in a fund of a hundred thousand francs + definitively assigned to his putative son; a generosity which did not cost + Lord Dudley too dear. French funds were worth at that time seventeen + francs, fifty centimes. The old gentleman died without having ever known + his wife. Madame de Marsay subsequently married the Marquis de Vordac, but + before becoming a marquise she showed very little anxiety as to her son + and Lord Dudley. To begin with, the declaration of war between France and + England had separated the two lovers, and fidelity at all costs was not, + and never will be, the fashion of Paris. Then the successes of the woman, + elegant, pretty, universally adored, crushed in the Parisienne the + maternal sentiment. Lord Dudley was no more troubled about his offspring + than was the mother,—the speedy infidelity of a young girl he had + ardently loved gave him, perhaps, a sort of aversion for all that issued + from her. Moreover, fathers can, perhaps, only love the children with whom + they are fully acquainted, a social belief of the utmost importance for + the peace of families, which should be held by all the celibate, proving + as it does that paternity is a sentiment nourished artificially by woman, + custom, and the law. + </p> + <p> + Poor Henri de Marsay knew no other father than that one of the two who was + not compelled to be one. The paternity of M. de Marsay was naturally most + incomplete. In the natural order, it is but for a few fleeting instants + that children have a father, and M. de Marsay imitated nature. The worthy + man would not have sold his name had he been free from vices. Thus he + squandered without remorse in gambling hells, and drank elsewhere, the few + dividends which the National Treasury paid to its bondholders. Then he + handed over the child to an aged sister, a Demoiselle de Marsay, who took + much care of him, and provided him, out of the meagre sum allowed by her + brother, with a tutor, an abbe without a farthing, who took the measure of + the youth’s future, and determined to pay himself out of the hundred + thousand livres for the care given to his pupil, for whom he conceived an + affection. As chance had it, this tutor was a true priest, one of those + ecclesiastics cut out to become cardinals in France, or Borgias beneath + the tiara. He taught the child in three years what he might have learned + at college in ten. Then the great man, by name the Abbe de Maronis, + completed the education of his pupil by making him study civilization + under all its aspects: he nourished him on his experience, led him little + into churches, which at that time were closed; introduced him sometimes + behind the scenes of theatres, more often into the houses of courtesans; + he exhibited human emotions to him one by one; taught him politics in the + drawing-rooms, where they simmered at the time, explained to him the + machinery of government, and endeavored out of attraction towards a fine + nature, deserted, yet rich in promise, virilely to replace a mother: is + not the Church the mother of orphans? The pupil was responsive to so much + care. The worthy priest died in 1812, a bishop, with the satisfaction of + having left in this world a child whose heart and mind were so well + moulded that he could outwit a man of forty. Who would have expected to + have found a heart of bronze, a brain of steel, beneath external traits as + seductive as ever the old painters, those naive artists, had given to the + serpent in the terrestrial paradise? Nor was that all. In addition, the + good-natured prelate had procured for the child of his choice certain + acquaintances in the best Parisian society, which might equal in value, in + the young man’s hand, another hundred thousand invested livres. In fine, + this priest, vicious but politic, sceptical yet learned, treacherous yet + amiable, weak in appearance yet as vigorous physically as intellectually, + was so genuinely useful to his pupil, so complacent to his vices, so fine + a calculator of all kinds of strength, so profound when it was needful to + make some human reckoning, so youthful at table, at Frascati, at—I + know not where, that the grateful Henri de Marsay was hardly moved at + aught in 1814, except when he looked at the portrait of his beloved + bishop, the only personal possession which the prelate had been able to + bequeath him (admirable type of the men whose genius will preserve the + Catholic, Apostolic, and Roman Church, compromised for the moment by the + feebleness of its recruits and the decrepit age of its pontiffs; but if + the church likes!). + </p> + <p> + The continental war prevented young De Marsay from knowing his real + father. It is doubtful whether he was aware of his name. A deserted child, + he was equally ignorant of Madame de Marsay. Naturally, he had little + regret for his putative father. As for Mademoiselle de Marsay, his only + mother, he built for her a handsome little monument in Pere Lachaise when + she died. Monseigneur de Maronis had guaranteed to this old lady one of + the best places in the skies, so that when he saw her die happy, Henri + gave her some egotistical tears; he began to weep on his own account. + Observing this grief, the abbe dried his pupil’s tears, bidding him + observe that the good woman took her snuff most offensively, and was + becoming so ugly and deaf and tedious that he ought to return thanks for + her death. The bishop had emancipated his pupil in 1811. Then, when the + mother of M. de Marsay remarried, the priest chose, in a family council, + one of those honest dullards, picked out by him through the windows of his + confessional, and charged him with the administration of the fortune, the + revenues of which he was willing to apply to the needs of the community, + but of which he wished to preserve the capital. + </p> + <p> + Towards the end of 1814, then, Henri de Marsay had no sentiment of + obligation in the world, and was as free as an unmated bird. Although he + had lived twenty-two years he appeared to be barely seventeen. As a rule + the most fastidious of his rivals considered him to be the prettiest youth + in Paris. From his father, Lord Dudley, he had derived a pair of the most + amorously deceiving blue eyes; from his mother the bushiest of black hair, + from both pure blood, the skin of a young girl, a gentle and modest + expression, a refined and aristocratic figure, and beautiful hands. For a + woman, to see him was to lose her head for him; do you understand? to + conceive one of those desires which eat the heart, which are forgotten + because of the impossibility of satisfying them, because women in Paris + are commonly without tenacity. Few of them say to themselves, after the + fashion of men, the “<i>Je Maintiendrai</i>,” of the House of Orange. + </p> + <p> + Underneath this fresh young life, and in spite of the limpid springs in + his eyes, Henri had a lion’s courage, a monkey’s agility. He could cut a + ball in half at ten paces on the blade of a knife; he rode his horse in a + way that made you realize the fable of the Centaur; drove a four-in-hand + with grace; was as light as a cherub and quiet as a lamb, but knew how to + beat a townsman at the terrible game of <i>savate</i> or cudgels; + moreover, he played the piano in a fashion which would have enabled him to + become an artist should he fall on calamity, and owned a voice which would + have been worth to Barbaja fifty thousand francs a season. Alas, that all + these fine qualities, these pretty faults, were tarnished by one + abominable vice: he believed neither in man nor woman, God nor Devil. + Capricious nature had commenced by endowing him, a priest had completed + the work. + </p> + <p> + To render this adventure comprehensible, it is necessary to add here that + Lord Dudley naturally found many women disposed to reproduce samples of + such a delicious pattern. His second masterpiece of this kind was a young + girl named Euphemie, born of a Spanish lady, reared in Havana, and brought + to Madrid with a young Creole woman of the Antilles, and with all the + ruinous tastes of the Colonies, but fortunately married to an old and + extremely rich Spanish noble, Don Hijos, Marquis de San-Real, who, since + the occupation of Spain by French troops, had taken up his abode in Paris, + and lived in the Rue St. Lazare. As much from indifference as from any + respect for the innocence of youth, Lord Dudley was not in the habit of + keeping his children informed of the relations he created for them in all + parts. That is a slightly inconvenient form of civilization; it has so + many advantages that we must overlook its drawbacks in consideration of + its benefits. Lord Dudley, to make no more words of it, came to Paris in + 1816 to take refuge from the pursuit of English justice, which protects + nothing Oriental except commerce. The exiled lord, when he saw Henri, + asked who that handsome young man might be. Then, upon hearing the name, + “Ah, it is my son.... What a pity!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Such was the story of the young man who, about the middle of the month of + April, 1815, was walking indolently up the broad avenue of the Tuileries, + after the fashion of all those animals who, knowing their strength, pass + along in majesty and peace. Middle-class matrons turned back naively to + look at him again; other women, without turning round, waited for him to + pass again, and engraved him in their minds that they might remember in + due season that fragrant face, which would not have disadorned the body of + the fairest among themselves. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here on Sunday?” said the Marquis de Ronquerolles to + Henri, as he passed. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a fish in the net,” answered the young man. + </p> + <p> + This exchange of thoughts was accomplished by means of two significant + glances, without it appearing that either De Ronquerolles or De Marsay had + any knowledge of the other. The young man was taking note of the + passers-by with that promptitude of eye and ear which is peculiar to the + Parisian who seems, at first, to see and hear nothing, but who sees and + hears all. + </p> + <p> + At that moment a young man came up to him and took him familiarly by the + arm, saying to him: “How are you, my dear De Marsay?” + </p> + <p> + “Extremely well,” De Marsay answered, with that air of apparent affection + which amongst the young men of Paris proves nothing, either for the + present or the future. + </p> + <p> + In effect, the youth of Paris resemble the youth of no other town. They + may be divided into two classes: the young man who has something, and the + young man who has nothing; or the young man who thinks and he who spends. + But, be it well understood this applies only to those natives of the soil + who maintain in Paris the delicious course of the elegant life. There + exist, as well, plenty of other young men, but they are children who are + late in conceiving Parisian life, and who remain its dupes. They do not + speculate, they study; they <i>fag</i>, as the others say. Finally there + are to be found, besides, certain young people, rich or poor, who embrace + careers and follow them with a single heart; they are somewhat like the + Emile of Rousseau, of the flesh of citizens, and they never appear in + society. The diplomatic impolitely dub them fools. Be they that or no, + they augment the number of those mediocrities beneath the yoke of which + France is bowed down. They are always there, always ready to bungle public + or private concerns with the dull trowel of their mediocrity, bragging of + their impotence, which they count for conduct and integrity. This sort of + social <i>prizemen</i> infests the administration, the army, the + magistracy, the chambers, the courts. They diminish and level down the + country and constitute, in some manner, in the body politic, a lymph which + infects it and renders it flabby. These honest folk call men of talent + immoral or rogues. If such rogues require to be paid for their services, + at least their services are there; whereas the other sort do harm and are + respected by the mob; but, happily for France, elegant youth stigmatizes + them ceaselessly under the name of louts. + </p> + <p> + At the first glance, then, it is natural to consider as very distinct the + two sorts of young men who lead the life of elegance, the amiable + corporation to which Henri de Marsay belonged. But the observer, who goes + beyond the superficial aspect of things, is soon convinced that the + difference is purely moral, and that nothing is so deceptive as this + pretty outside. Nevertheless, all alike take precedence over everybody + else; speak rightly or wrongly of things, of men, literature, and the fine + arts; have ever in their mouth the Pitt and Coburg of each year; interrupt + a conversation with a pun, turn into ridicule science and the <i>savant</i>; + despise all things which they do not know or which they fear; set + themselves above all by constituting themselves the supreme judges of all. + They would all hoax their fathers, and be ready to shed crocodile tears + upon their mothers’ breasts; but generally they believe in nothing, + blaspheme women, or play at modesty, and in reality are led by some old + woman or an evil courtesan. They are all equally eaten to the bone with + calculation, with depravity, with a brutal lust to succeed, and if you + plumbed for their hearts you would find in all a stone. In their normal + state they have the prettiest exterior, stake their friendship at every + turn, are captivating alike. The same badinage dominates their + ever-changing jargon; they seek for oddity in their toilette, glory in + repeating the stupidities of such and such actor who is in fashion, and + commence operations, it matters not with whom, with contempt and + impertinence, in order to have, as it were, the first move in the game; + but, woe betide him who does not know how to take a blow on one cheek for + the sake of rendering two. They resemble, in fine, that pretty white spray + which crests the stormy waves. They dress and dance, dine and take their + pleasure, on the day of Waterloo, in the time of cholera or revolution. + Finally, their expenses are all the same, but here the contrast comes in. + Of this fluctuating fortune, so agreeably flung away, some possess the + capital for which the others wait; they have the same tailors, but the + bills of the latter are still to pay. Next, if the first, like sieves, + take in ideas of all kinds without retaining any, the latter compare them + and assimilate all the good. If the first believe they know something, + know nothing and understand everything, lend all to those who need nothing + and offer nothing to those who are in need; the latter study secretly + others’ thoughts and place out their money, like their follies, at big + interest. The one class have no more faithful impressions, because their + soul, like a mirror, worn from use, no longer reflects any image; the + others economize their senses and life, even while they seem, like the + first, to be flinging them away broadcast. The first, on the faith of a + hope, devote themselves without conviction to a system which has wind and + tide against it, but they leap upon another political craft when the first + goes adrift; the second take the measure of the future, sound it, and see + in political fidelity what the English see in commercial integrity, an + element of success. Where the young man of possessions makes a pun or an + epigram upon the restoration of the throne, he who has nothing makes a + public calculation or a secret reservation, and obtains everything by + giving a handshake to his friends. The one deny every faculty to others, + look upon all their ideas as new, as though the world had been made + yesterday, they have unlimited confidence in themselves, and no crueler + enemy than those same selves. But the others are armed with an incessant + distrust of men, whom they estimate at their value, and are sufficiently + profound to have one thought beyond their friends, whom they exploit; then + of evenings, when they lay their heads on their pillows, they weigh men as + a miser weighs his gold pieces. The one are vexed at an aimless + impertinence, and allow themselves to be ridiculed by the diplomatic, who + make them dance for them by pulling what is the main string of these + puppets—their vanity. Thus, a day comes when those who had nothing + have something, and those who had something have nothing. The latter look + at their comrades who have achieved positions as cunning fellows; their + hearts may be bad, but their heads are strong. “He is very strong!” is the + supreme praise accorded to those who have attained <i>quibuscumque viis</i>, + political rank, a woman, or a fortune. Amongst them are to be found + certain young men who play this <i>role</i> by commencing with having + debts. Naturally, these are more dangerous than those who play it without + a farthing. + </p> + <p> + The young man who called himself a friend of Henri de Marsay was a + rattle-head who had come from the provinces, and whom the young men then + in fashion were teaching the art of running through an inheritance; but he + had one last leg to stand on in his province, in the shape of a secure + establishment. He was simply an heir who had passed without any transition + from his pittance of a hundred francs a month to the entire paternal + fortune, and who, if he had not wit enough to perceive that he was laughed + at, was sufficiently cautious to stop short at two-thirds of his capital. + He had learned at Paris, for a consideration of some thousands of francs, + the exact value of harness, the art of not being too respectful to his + gloves, learned to make skilful meditations upon the right wages to give + people, and to seek out what bargain was the best to close with them. He + set store on his capacity to speak in good terms of his horses, of his + Pyrenean hound; to tell by her dress, her walk, her shoes, to what class a + woman belonged; to study <i>ecarte</i>, remember a few fashionable + catchwords, and win by his sojourn in Parisian society the necessary + authority to import later into his province a taste for tea and silver of + an English fashion, and to obtain the right of despising everything around + him for the rest of his days. + </p> + <p> + De Marsay had admitted him to his society in order to make use of him in + the world, just as a bold speculator employs a confidential clerk. The + friendship, real or feigned, of De Marsay was a social position for Paul + de Manerville, who, on his side, thought himself astute in exploiting, + after his fashion, his intimate friend. He lived in the reflecting lustre + of his friend, walked constantly under his umbrella, wore his boots, + gilded himself with his rays. When he posed in Henri’s company or walked + at his side, he had the air of saying: “Don’t insult us, we are real + dogs.” He often permitted himself to remark fatuously: “If I were to ask + Henri for such and such a thing, he is a good enough friend of mine to do + it.” But he was careful never to ask anything of him. He feared him, and + his fear, although imperceptible, reacted upon the others, and was of use + to De Marsay. + </p> + <p> + “De Marsay is a man of a thousand,” said Paul. “Ah, you will see, he will + be what he likes. I should not be surprised to find him one of these days + Minister of Foreign Affairs. Nothing can withstand him.” + </p> + <p> + He made of De Marsay what Corporal Trim made of his cap, a perpetual + instance. + </p> + <p> + “Ask De Marsay and you will see!” + </p> + <p> + Or again: + </p> + <p> + “The other day we were hunting, De Marsay and I, He would not believe me, + but I jumped a hedge without moving on my horse!” + </p> + <p> + Or again: + </p> + <p> + “We were with some women, De Marsay and I, and upon my word of honor, I + was——” etc. + </p> + <p> + Thus Paul de Manerville could not be classed amongst the great, + illustrious, and powerful family of fools who succeed. He would one day be + a deputy. For the time he was not even a young man. His friend, De Marsay, + defined him thus: “You ask me what is Paul? Paul? Why, Paul de + Manerville!” + </p> + <p> + “I am surprised, my dear fellow,” he said to De Marsay, “to see you here + on a Sunday.” + </p> + <p> + “I was going to ask you the same question.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it an intrigue?” + </p> + <p> + “An intrigue.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” + </p> + <p> + “I can mention it to you without compromising my passion. Besides, a woman + who comes to the Tuileries on Sundays is of no account, aristocratically + speaking.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold your tongue then, or I shall tell you nothing. Your laugh is too + loud, you will make people think that we have lunched too well. Last + Thursday, here on the Terrasse des Feuillants, I was walking along, + thinking of nothing at all, but when I got to the gate of the Rue de + Castiglione, by which I intended to leave, I came face to face with a + woman, or rather a young girl; who, if she did not throw herself at my + head, stopped short, less I think, from human respect, than from one of + those movements of profound surprise which affect the limbs, creep down + the length of the spine, and cease only in the sole of the feet, to nail + you to the ground. I have often produced effects of this nature, a sort of + animal magnetism which becomes enormously powerful when the relations are + reciprocally precise. But, my dear fellow, this was not stupefaction, nor + was she a common girl. Morally speaking, her face seemed to say: ‘What, is + it you, my ideal! The creation of my thoughts, of my morning and evening + dreams! What, are you there? Why this morning? Why not yesterday? Take me, + I am thine, <i>et cetera</i>!’ Good, I said to myself, another one! Then I + scrutinize her. Ah, my dear fellow, speaking physically, my incognita is + the most adorable feminine person whom I ever met. She belongs to that + feminine variety which the Romans call <i>fulva, flava</i>—the woman + of fire. And in chief, what struck me the most, what I am still taken + with, are her two yellow eyes, like a tiger’s, a golden yellow that + gleams, living gold, gold which thinks, gold which loves, and is + determined to take refuge in your pocket.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, we are full of her!” cried Paul. “She comes here + sometimes—<i>the girl with the golden eyes</i>! That is the name we + have given her. She is a young creature—not more than twenty-two, + and I have seen her here in the time of the Bourbons, but with a woman who + was worth a hundred thousand of her.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence, Paul! It is impossible for any woman to surpass this girl; she + is like the cat who rubs herself against your legs; a white girl with + ash-colored hair, delicate in appearance, but who must have downy threads + on the third phalanx of her fingers, and all along her cheeks a white down + whose line, luminous on fine days, begins at her ears and loses itself on + her neck.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the other, my dear De Marsay! She has black eyes which have never + wept, but which burn; black eyebrows which meet and give her an air of + hardness contradicted by the compact curve of her lips, on which the + kisses do not stay, lips burning and fresh; a Moorish color that warms a + man like the sun. But—upon my word of honor, she is like you!” + </p> + <p> + “You flatter her!” + </p> + <p> + “A firm figure, the tapering figure of a corvette built for speed, which + rushes down upon the merchant vessel with French impetuosity, which + grapples with her and sinks her at the same time.” + </p> + <p> + “After all, my dear fellow,” answered De Marsay, “what has that got to do + with me, since I have never seen her? Ever since I have studied women, my + incognita is the only one whose virginal bosom, whose ardent and + voluptuous forms, have realized for me the only woman of my dreams—of + my dreams! She is the original of that ravishing picture called <i>La + Femme Caressant sa Chimere</i>, the warmest, the most infernal inspiration + of the genius of antiquity; a holy poem prostituted by those who have + copied it for frescoes and mosiacs; for a heap of bourgeois who see in + this gem nothing more than a gew-gaw and hang it on their watch-chains—whereas, + it is the whole woman, an abyss of pleasure into which one plunges and + finds no end; whereas, it is the ideal woman, to be seen sometimes in + reality in Spain or Italy, almost never in France. Well, I have again seen + this girl of the gold eyes, this woman caressing her chimera. I saw her on + Friday. I had a presentiment that on the following day she would be here + at the same hour; I was not mistaken. I have taken a pleasure in following + her without being observed, in studying her indolent walk, the walk of the + woman without occupation, but in the movements of which one devines all + the pleasure that lies asleep. Well, she turned back again, she saw me, + once more she adored me, once more trembled, shivered. It was then I + noticed the genuine Spanish duenna who looked after her, a hyena upon whom + some jealous man has put a dress, a she-devil well paid, no doubt, to + guard this delicious creature.... Ah, then the duenna made me deeper in + love. I grew curious. On Saturday, nobody. And here I am to-day waiting + for this girl whose chimera I am, asking nothing better than to pose as + the monster in the fresco.” + </p> + <p> + “There she is,” said Paul. “Every one is turning round to look at her.” + </p> + <p> + The unknown blushed, her eyes shone; she saw Henri, she shut them and + passed by. + </p> + <p> + “You say that she notices you?” cried Paul, facetiously. + </p> + <p> + The duenna looked fixedly and attentively at the two young men. When the + unknown and Henri passed each other again, the young girl touched him, and + with her hand pressed the hand of the young man. Then she turned her head + and smiled with passion, but the duenna led her away very quickly to the + gate of the Rue de Castiglione. + </p> + <p> + The two friends followed the young girl, admiring the magnificent grace of + the neck which met her head in a harmony of vigorous lines, and upon which + a few coils of hair were tightly wound. The girl with the golden eyes had + that well-knitted, arched, slender foot which presents so many attractions + to the dainty imagination. Moreover, she was shod with elegance, and wore + a short skirt. During her course she turned from time to time to look at + Henri, and appeared to follow the old woman regretfully, seeming to be at + once her mistress and her slave; she could break her with blows, but could + not dismiss her. All that was perceptible. The two friends reached the + gate. Two men in livery let down the step of a tasteful <i>coupe</i> + emblazoned with armorial bearings. The girl with the golden eyes was the + first to enter it, took her seat at the side where she could be best seen + when the carriage turned, put her hand on the door, and waved her + handkerchief in the duennna’s despite. In contempt of what might be said + by the curious, her handkerchief cried to Henri openly: “Follow me!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever seen a handkerchief better thrown?” said Henri to Paul de + Manerville. + </p> + <p> + Then, observing a fiacre on the point of departure, having just set down a + fare, he made a sign to the driver to wait. + </p> + <p> + “Follow that carriage, notice the house and the street where it stops—you + shall have ten francs.... Paul, adieu.” + </p> + <p> + The cab followed the <i>coupe</i>. The <i>coupe</i> stopped in the Rue + Saint Lazare before one of the finest houses of the neighborhood. + </p> + <p> + De Marsay was not impulsive. Any other young man would have obeyed his + impulse to obtain at once some information about a girl who realized so + fully the most luminous ideas ever expressed upon women in the poetry of + the East; but, too experienced to compromise his good fortune, he had told + his coachman to continue along the Rue Saint Lazare and carry him back to + his house. The next day, his confidential valet, Laurent by name, as + cunning a fellow as the Frontin of the old comedy, waited in the vicinity + of the house inhabited by the unknown for the hour at which letters were + distributed. In order to be able to spy at his ease and hang about the + house, he had followed the example of those police officers who seek a + good disguise, and bought up cast-off clothes of an Auvergnat, the + appearance of whom he sought to imitate. When the postman, who went the + round of the Rue Saint Lazare that morning, passed by, Laurent feigned to + be a porter unable to remember the name of a person to whom he had to + deliver a parcel, and consulted the postman. Deceived at first by + appearances, this personage, so picturesque in the midst of Parisian + civilization, informed him that the house in which the girl with the + golden eyes dwelt belonged to Don Hijos, Marquis de San-Real, grandee of + Spain. Naturally, it was not with the Marquis that the Auvergnat was + concerned. + </p> + <p> + “My parcel,” he said, “is for the marquise.” + </p> + <p> + “She is away,” replied the postman. “Her letters are forwarded to London.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the marquise is not a young girl who...?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said the postman, interrupting the <i>valet de chambre</i> and + observing him attentively, “you are as much a porter as I’m...” + </p> + <p> + Laurent chinked some pieces of gold before the functionary, who began to + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Come, here’s the name of your quarry,” he said, taking from his leather + wallet a letter bearing a London stamp, upon which the address, “To + Mademoiselle Paquita Valdes, Rue Saint Lazare, Hotel San-Real, Paris,” was + written in long, fine characters, which spoke of a woman’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “Could you tap a bottle of Chablis, with a few dozen oysters, and a <i>filet + saute</i> with mushrooms to follow it?” said Laurent, who wished to win + the postman’s valuable friendship. + </p> + <p> + “At half-past nine, when my round is finished—— Where?” + </p> + <p> + “At the corner of the Rue de la Chaussee-d’Antin and the Rue + Neuve-des-Mathurins, at the <i>Puits sans Vin</i>,” said Laurent. + </p> + <p> + “Hark ye, my friend,” said the postman, when he rejoined the valet an hour + after this encounter, “if your master is in love with the girl, he is in + for a famous task. I doubt you’ll not succeed in seeing her. In the ten + years that I’ve been postman in Paris, I have seen plenty of different + kinds of doors! But I can tell you, and no fear of being called a liar by + any of my comrades, there never was a door so mysterious as M. de + San-Real’s. No one can get into the house without the Lord knows what + counter-word; and, notice, it has been selected on purpose between a + courtyard and a garden to avoid any communication with other houses. The + porter is an old Spaniard, who never speaks a word of French, but peers at + people as Vidocq might, to see if they are not thieves. If a lover, a + thief, or you—I make no comparisons—could get the better of + this first wicket, well, in the first hall, which is shut by a glazed + door, you would run across a butler surrounded by lackeys, an old joker + more savage and surly even than the porter. If any one gets past the + porter’s lodge, my butler comes out, waits for you at the entrance, and + puts you through a cross-examination like a criminal. That has happened to + me, a mere postman. He took me for an eavesdropper in disguise, he said, + laughing at his nonsense. As for the servants, don’t hope to get aught out + of them; I think they are mutes, no one in the neighborhood knows the + color of their speech; I don’t know what wages they can pay them to keep + them from talk and drink; the fact is, they are not to be got at, whether + because they are afraid of being shot, or that they have some enormous sum + to lose in the case of an indiscretion. If your master is fond enough of + Mademoiselle Paquita Valdes to surmount all these obstacles, he certainly + won’t triumph over Dona Concha Marialva, the duenna who accompanies her + and would put her under her petticoats sooner than leave her. The two + women look as if they were sewn to one another.” + </p> + <p> + “All that you say, worthy postman,” went on Laurent, after having drunk + off his wine, “confirms me in what I have learned before. Upon my word, I + thought they were making fun of me! The fruiterer opposite told me that of + nights they let loose dogs whose food is hung up on stakes just out of + their reach. These cursed animals think, therefore, that any one likely to + come in has designs on their victuals, and would tear one to pieces. You + will tell me one might throw them down pieces, but it seems they have been + trained to touch nothing except from the hand of the porter.” + </p> + <p> + “The porter of the Baron de Nucingen, whose garden joins at the top that + of the Hotel San-Real, told me the same thing,” replied the postman. + </p> + <p> + “Good! my master knows him,” said Laurent, to himself. “Do you know,” he + went on, leering at the postman, “I serve a master who is a rare man, and + if he took it into his head to kiss the sole of the foot of an empress, + she would have to give in to him. If he had need of you, which is what I + wish for you, for he is generous, could one count on you?” + </p> + <p> + “Lord, Monsieur Laurent, my name is Moinot. My name is written exactly + like <i>Moineau</i>, magpie: M-o-i-n-o-t, Moinot.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Laurent. + </p> + <p> + “I live at No. 11, Rue des Trois Freres, on the fifth floor,” went on + Moinot; “I have a wife and four children. If what you want of me doesn’t + transgress the limits of my conscience and my official duties, you + understand! I am your man.” + </p> + <p> + “You are an honest fellow,” said Laurent, shaking his hand.... + </p> + <p> + “Paquita Valdes is, no doubt, the mistress of the Marquis de San-Real, the + friend of King Ferdinand. Only an old Spanish mummy of eighty years is + capable of taking such precautions,” said Henri, when his <i>valet de + chambre</i> had related the result of his researches. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Laurent, “unless he takes a balloon no one can get into + that hotel.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a fool! Is it necessary to get into the hotel to have Paquita, + when Paquita can get out of it?” + </p> + <p> + “But, sir, the duenna?” + </p> + <p> + “We will shut her up for a day or two, your duenna.” + </p> + <p> + “So, we shall have Paquita!” said Laurent, rubbing his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Rascal!” answered Henri, “I shall condemn you to the Concha, if you carry + your impudence so far as to speak so of a woman before she has become + mine.... Turn your thoughts to dressing me, I am going out.” + </p> + <p> + Henri remained for a moment plunged in joyous reflections. Let us say it + to the praise of women, he obtained all those whom he deigned to desire. + And what could one think of a woman, having no lover, who should have + known how to resist a young man armed with beauty which is the + intelligence of the body, with intelligence which is a grace of the soul, + armed with moral force and fortune, which are the only two real powers? + Yet, in triumphing with such ease, De Marsay was bound to grow weary of + his triumphs; thus, for about two years he had grown very weary indeed. + And diving deep into the sea of pleasures he brought back more grit than + pearls. Thus had he come, like potentates, to implore of Chance some + obstacle to surmount, some enterprise which should ask the employment of + his dormant moral and physical strength. Although Paquita Valdes presented + him with a marvelous concentration of perfections which he had only yet + enjoyed in detail, the attraction of passion was almost <i>nil</i> with + him. Constant satiety had weakened in his heart the sentiment of love. + Like old men and people disillusioned, he had no longer anything but + extravagant caprices, ruinous tastes, fantasies, which, once satisfied, + left no pleasant memory in his heart. Amongst young people love is the + finest of the emotions, it makes the life of the soul blossom, it + nourishes by its solar power the finest inspirations and their great + thoughts; the first fruits in all things have a delicious savor. Amongst + men love becomes a passion; strength leads to abuse. Amongst old men it + turns to vice; impotence tends to extremes. Henri was at once an old man, + a man, and a youth. To afford him the feelings of a real love, he needed + like Lovelace, a Clarissa Harlowe. Without the magic lustre of that + unattainable pearl he could only have either passions rendered acute by + some Parisian vanity, or set determinations with himself to bring such and + such a woman to such and such a point of corruption, or else adventures + which stimulated his curiosity. + </p> + <p> + The report of Laurent, his <i>valet de chambre</i> had just given an + enormous value to the girl with the golden eyes. It was a question of + doing battle with some secret enemy who seemed as dangerous as he was + cunning; and to carry off the victory, all the forces which Henri could + dispose of would be useful. He was about to play in that eternal old + comedy which will be always fresh, and the characters in which are an old + man, a young girl, and a lover: Don Hijos, Paquita, De Marsay. If Laurent + was the equal of Figaro, the duenna seemed incorruptible. Thus, the living + play was supplied by Chance with a stronger plot than it had ever been by + dramatic author! But then is not Chance too, a man of genius? + </p> + <p> + “It must be a cautious game,” said Henri, to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Paul de Manerville, as he entered the room. “How are we + getting on? I have come to breakfast with you.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it,” said Henri. “You won’t be shocked if I make my toilette before + you?” + </p> + <p> + “How absurd!” + </p> + <p> + “We take so many things from the English just now that we might well + become as great prudes and hypocrites as themselves,” said Henri. + </p> + <p> + Laurent had set before his master such a quantity of utensils, so many + different articles of such elegance, that Paul could not refrain from + saying: + </p> + <p> + “But you will take a couple of hours over that?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Henri, “two hours and a half.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, since we are by ourselves, and can say what we like, explain + to me why a man as superior as yourself—for you are superior—should + affect to exaggerate a foppery which cannot be natural. Why spend two + hours and a half in adorning yourself, when it is sufficient to spend a + quarter of an hour in your bath, to do your hair in two minutes, and to + dress! There, tell me your system.” + </p> + <p> + “I must be very fond of you, my good dunce, to confide such high thoughts + to you,” said the young man, who was at that moment having his feet rubbed + with a soft brush lathered with English soap. + </p> + <p> + “Have I not the most devoted attachment to you,” replied Paul de + Manerville, “and do I not like you because I know your superiority?...” + </p> + <p> + “You must have noticed, if you are in the least capable of observing any + moral fact, that women love fops,” went on De Marsay, without replying in + any way to Paul’s declaration except by a look. “Do you know why women + love fops? My friend, fops are the only men who take care of themselves. + Now, to take excessive care of oneself, does it not imply that one takes + care in oneself of what belongs to another? The man who does not belong to + himself is precisely the man on whom women are keen. Love is essentially a + thief. I say nothing about that excess of niceness to which they are so + devoted. Do you know of any woman who has had a passion for a sloven, even + if he were a remarkable man? If such a fact has occurred, we must put it + to the account of those morbid affections of the breeding woman, mad + fancies which float through the minds of everybody. On the other hand, I + have seen most remarkable people left in the lurch because of their + carelessness. A fop, who is concerned about his person, is concerned with + folly, with petty things. And what is a woman? A petty thing, a bundle of + follies. With two words said to the winds, can you not make her busy for + four hours? She is sure that the fop will be occupied with her, seeing + that he has no mind for great things. She will never be neglected for + glory, ambition, politics, art—those prostitutes who for her are + rivals. Then fops have the courage to cover themselves with ridicule in + order to please a woman, and her heart is full of gratitude towards the + man who is ridiculous for love. In fine, a fop can be no fop unless he is + right in being one. It is women who bestow that rank. The fop is love’s + colonel; he has his victories, his regiment of women at his command. My + dear fellow, in Paris everything is known, and a man cannot be a fop there + <i>gratis</i>. You, who have only one woman, and who, perhaps, are right + to have but one, try to act the fop!... You will not even become + ridiculous, you will be dead. You will become a foregone conclusion, one + of those men condemned inevitably to do one and the same thing. You will + come to signify <i>folly</i> as inseparably as M. de La Fayette signifies + <i>America</i>; M. de Talleyrand, <i>diplomacy</i>; Desaugiers, <i>song</i>; + M. de Segur, <i>romance</i>. If they once forsake their own line people no + longer attach any value to what they do. So, foppery, my friend Paul, is + the sign of an incontestable power over the female folk. A man who is + loved by many women passes for having superior qualities, and then, poor + fellow, it is a question who shall have him! But do you think it is + nothing to have the right of going into a drawing-room, of looking down at + people from over your cravat, or through your eye-glass, and of despising + the most superior of men should he wear an old-fashioned waistcoat?... + Laurent, you are hurting me! After breakfast, Paul, we will go to the + Tuileries and see the adorable girl with the golden eyes.” + </p> + <p> + When, after making an excellent meal, the two young men had traversed the + Terrasse de Feuillants and the broad walk of the Tuileries, they nowhere + discovered the sublime Paquita Valdes, on whose account some fifty of the + most elegant young men in Paris where to be seen, all scented, with their + high scarfs, spurred and booted, riding, walking, talking, laughing, and + damning themselves mightily. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a white Mass,” said Henri; “but I have the most excellent idea in + the world. This girl receives letters from London. The postman must be + bought or made drunk, a letter opened, read of course, and a love-letter + slipped in before it is sealed up again. The old tyrant, <i>crudel tirano</i>, + is certain to know the person who writes the letters from London, and has + ceased to be suspicious of them.” + </p> + <p> + The day after, De Marsay came again to walk on the Terrasse des + Feuillants, and saw Paquita Valdes; already passion had embellished her + for him. Seriously, he was wild for those eyes, whose rays seemed akin to + those which the sun emits, and whose ardor set the seal upon that of her + perfect body, in which all was delight. De Marsay was on fire to brush the + dress of this enchanting girl as they passed one another in their walk; + but his attempts were always vain. But at one moment, when he had repassed + Paquita and the duenna, in order to find himself on the same side as the + girl of the golden eyes, when he returned, Paquita, no less impatient, + came forward hurriedly, and De Marsay felt his hand pressed by her in a + fashion at once so swift and so passionately significant that it was as + though he had received the emotions surged up in his heart. When the two + lovers glanced at one another, Paquita seemed ashamed, she dropped her + eyes lest she should meet the eyes of Henri, but her gaze sank lower to + fasten on the feet and form of him whom women, before the Revolution, + called <i>their conqueror</i>. + </p> + <p> + “I am determined to make this girl my mistress,” said Henri to himself. + </p> + <p> + As he followed her along the terrace, in the direction of the Place Louis + XV., he caught sight of the aged Marquis de San-Real, who was walking on + the arm of his valet, stepping with all the precautions due to gout and + decrepitude. Dona Concha, who distrusted Henri, made Paquita pass between + herself and the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for you,” said De Marsay to himself, casting a glance of disdain upon + the duenna, “if one cannot make you capitulate, with a little opium one + can make you sleep. We know mythology and the fable of Argus.” + </p> + <p> + Before entering the carriage, the golden-eyed girl exchanged certain + glances with her lover, of which the meaning was unmistakable and which + enchanted Henri, but one of them was surprised by the duenna; she said a + few rapid words to Paquita, who threw herself into the <i>coupe</i> with + an air of desperation. For some days Paquita did not appear in the + Tuileries. Laurent, who by his master’s orders was on watch by the hotel, + learned from the neighbors that neither the two women nor the aged marquis + had been abroad since the day upon which the duenna had surprised a glance + between the young girl in her charge and Henri. The bond, so flimsy + withal, which united the two lovers was already severed. + </p> + <p> + Some days later, none knew by what means, De Marsay had attained his end; + he had a seal and wax, exactly resembling the seal and wax affixed to the + letters sent to Mademoiselle Valdes from London; paper similar to that + which her correspondent used; moreover, all the implements and stamps + necessary to affix the French and English postmarks. + </p> + <p> + He wrote the following letter, to which he gave all the appearances of a + letter sent from London:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “MY DEAR PAQUITA,—I shall not try to paint to you in words the + passion with which you have inspired me. If, to my happiness, you + reciprocate it, understand that I have found a means of + corresponding with you. My name is Adolphe de Gouges, and I live + at No. 54 Rue de l’Universite. If you are too closely watched to + be able to write to me, if you have neither pen nor paper, I shall + understand it by your silence. If then, to-morrow, you have not, + between eight o’clock in the morning and ten o’clock in the + evening, thrown a letter over the wall of your garden into that of + the Baron de Nucingen, where it will be waited for during the + whole of the day, a man, who is entirely devoted to me, will let + down two flasks by a string over your wall at ten o’clock the next + morning. Be walking there at that hour. One of the two flasks will + contain opium to send your Argus to sleep; it will be sufficient + to employ six drops; the other will contain ink. The flask of ink + is of cut glass; the other is plain. Both are of such a size as + can easily be concealed within your bosom. All that I have already + done, in order to be able to correspond with you, should tell you + how greatly I love you. Should you have any doubt of it, I will + confess to you, that to obtain an interview of one hour with you I + would give my life.” + </pre> + <p> + “At least they believe that, poor creatures!” said De Marsay; “but they + are right. What should we think of a woman who refused to be beguiled by a + love-letter accompanied by such convincing accessories?” + </p> + <p> + This letter was delivered by Master Moinot, postman, on the following day, + about eight o’clock in the morning, to the porter of the Hotel San-Real. + </p> + <p> + In order to be nearer to the field of action, De Marsay went and + breakfasted with Paul, who lived in the Rue de la Pepiniere. At two + o’clock, just as the two friends were laughingly discussing the + discomfiture of a young man who had attempted to lead the life of fashion + without a settled income, and were devising an end for him, Henri’s + coachman came to seek his master at Paul’s house, and presented to him a + mysterious personage who insisted on speaking himself with his master. + </p> + <p> + This individual was a mulatto, who would assuredly have given Talma a + model for the part of Othello, if he had come across him. Never did any + African face better express the grand vengefulness, the ready suspicion, + the promptitude in the execution of a thought, the strength of the Moor, + and his childish lack of reflection. His black eyes had the fixity of the + eyes of a bird of prey, and they were framed, like a vulture’s, by a + bluish membrane devoid of lashes. His forehead, low and narrow, had + something menacing. Evidently, this man was under the yoke of some single + and unique thought. His sinewy arm did not belong to him. + </p> + <p> + He was followed by a man whom the imaginations of all folk, from those who + shiver in Greenland to those who sweat in the tropics, would paint in the + single phrase: <i>He was an unfortunate man</i>. From this phrase, + everybody will conceive him according to the special ideas of each + country. But who can best imagine his face—white and wrinkled, red + at the extremities, and his long beard. Who will see his lean and yellow + scarf, his greasy shirt-collar, his battered hat, his green frock coat, + his deplorable trousers, his dilapidated waistcoat, his imitation gold + pin, and battered shoes, the strings of which were plastered in mud? Who + will see all that but the Parisian? The unfortunate man of Paris is the + unfortunate man <i>in toto</i>, for he has still enough mirth to know the + extent of his misfortune. The mulatto was like an executioner of Louis XI. + leading a man to the gallows. + </p> + <p> + “Who has hunted us out these two extraordinary creatures?” said Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Faith! there is one of them who makes me shudder,” replied Paul. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you—you fellow who look the most like a Christian of the + two?” said Henri, looking at the unfortunate man. + </p> + <p> + The mulatto stood with his eyes fixed upon the two young men, like a man + who understood nothing, and who sought no less to divine something from + the gestures and movements of the lips. + </p> + <p> + “I am a public scribe and interpreter; I live at the Palais de Justice, + and am named Poincet.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!... and this one?” said Henri to Poincet, looking towards the + mulatto. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know; he only speaks a sort of Spanish <i>patois</i>, and he has + brought me here to make himself understood by you.” + </p> + <p> + The mulatto drew from his pocket the letter which Henri had written to + Paquita and handed it to him. Henri threw it in the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Ah—so—the game is beginning,” said Henri to himself. “Paul, + leave us alone for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “I translated this letter for him,” went on the interpreter, when they + were alone. “When it was translated, he was in some place which I don’t + remember. Then he came back to look for me, and promised me two <i>louis</i> + to fetch him here.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you to say to me, nigger?” asked Henri. + </p> + <p> + “I did not translate <i>nigger</i>,” said the interpreter, waiting for the + mulatto’s reply.... + </p> + <p> + “He said, sir,” went on the interpreter, after having listened to the + unknown, “that you must be at half-past ten to-morrow night on the + boulevard Montmartre, near the cafe. You will see a carriage there, in + which you must take your place, saying to the man, who will wait to open + the door for you, the word <i>cortejo</i>—a Spanish word, which + means <i>lover</i>,” added Poincet, casting a glance of congratulation + upon Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Good.” + </p> + <p> + The mulatto was about to bestow the two <i>louis</i>, but De Marsay would + not permit it, and himself rewarded the interpreter. As he was paying him, + the mulatto began to speak. + </p> + <p> + “What is he saying?” + </p> + <p> + “He is warning me,” replied the unfortunate, “that if I commit a single + indiscretion he will strangle me. He speaks fair and he looks remarkably + as if he were capable of carrying out his threat.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of it,” answered Henri; “he would keep his word.” + </p> + <p> + “He says, as well,” replied the interpreter, “that the person from whom he + is sent implores you, for your sake and for hers, to act with the greatest + prudence, because the daggers which are raised above your head would + strike your heart before any human power could save you from them.” + </p> + <p> + “He said that? So much the better, it will be more amusing. You can come + in now, Paul,” he cried to his friend. + </p> + <p> + The mulatto, who had not ceased to gaze at the lover of Paquita Valdes + with magnetic attention, went away, followed by the interpreter. + </p> + <p> + “Well, at last I have an adventure which is entirely romantic,” said + Henri, when Paul returned. “After having shared in a certain number I have + finished by finding in Paris an intrigue accompanied by serious accidents, + by grave perils. The deuce! what courage danger gives a woman! To torment + a woman, to try and contradict her—doesn’t it give her the right and + the courage to scale in one moment obstacles which it would take her years + to surmount of herself? Pretty creature, jump then! To die? Poor child! + Daggers? Oh, imagination of women! They cannot help trying to find + authority for their little jests. Besides, can one think of it, Paquita? + Can one think of it, my child? The devil take me, now that I know this + beautiful girl, this masterpiece of nature, is mine, the adventure has + lost its charm.” + </p> + <p> + For all his light words, the youth in Henri had reappeared. In order to + live until the morrow without too much pain, he had recourse to exorbitant + pleasure; he played, dined, supped with his friends; he drank like a fish, + ate like a German, and won ten or twelve thousand francs. He left the + Rocher de Cancale at two o’clock in the morning, slept like a child, awoke + the next morning fresh and rosy, and dressed to go to the Tuileries, with + the intention of taking a ride, after having seen Paquita, in order to get + himself an appetite and dine the better, and so kill the time. + </p> + <p> + At the hour mentioned Henri was on the boulevard, saw the carriage, and + gave the counter-word to a man who looked to him like the mulatto. Hearing + the word, the man opened the door and quickly let down the step. Henri was + so rapidly carried through Paris, and his thoughts left him so little + capacity to pay attention to the streets through which he passed, that he + did not know where the carriage stopped. The mulatto let him into a house, + the staircase of which was quite close to the entrance. This staircase was + dark, as was also the landing upon which Henri was obliged to wait while + the mulatto was opening the door of a damp apartment, fetid and unlit, the + chambers of which, barely illuminated by the candle which his guide found + in the ante-chamber, seemed to him empty and ill furnished, like those of + a house the inhabitants of which are away. He recognized the sensation + which he had experienced from the perusal of one of those romances of Anne + Radcliffe, in which the hero traverses the cold, sombre, and uninhabited + saloons of some sad and desert spot. + </p> + <p> + At last the mulatto opened the door of a <i>salon</i>. The condition of + the old furniture and the dilapidated curtains with which the room was + adorned gave it the air of the reception-room of a house of ill fame. + There was the same pretension to elegance, and the same collection of + things in bad taste, of dust and dirt. Upon a sofa covered with red + Utrecht velvet, by the side of a smoking hearth, the fire of which was + buried in ashes, sat an old, poorly dressed woman, her head capped by one + of those turbans which English women of a certain age have invented and + which would have a mighty success in China, where the artist’s ideal is + the monstrous. + </p> + <p> + The room, the old woman, the cold hearth, all would have chilled love to + death had not Paquita been there, upon an ottoman, in a loose voluptuous + wrapper, free to scatter her gaze of gold and flame, free to show her + arched foot, free of her luminous movements. This first interview was what + every <i>rendezvous</i> must be between persons of passionate disposition, + who have stepped over a wide distance quickly, who desire each other + ardently, and who, nevertheless, do not know each other. It is impossible + that at first there should not occur certain discordant notes in the + situation, which is embarrassing until the moment when two souls find + themselves in unison. + </p> + <p> + If desire gives a man boldness and disposes him to lay restraint aside, + the mistress, under pain of ceasing to be woman, however great may be her + love, is afraid of arriving at the end so promptly, and face to face with + the necessity of giving herself, which to many women is equivalent to a + fall into an abyss, at the bottom of which they know not what they shall + find. The involuntary coldness of the woman contrasts with her confessed + passion, and necessarily reacts upon the most passionate lover. Thus + ideas, which often float around souls like vapors, determine in them a + sort of temporary malady. In the sweet journey which two beings undertake + through the fair domains of love, this moment is like a waste land to be + traversed, a land without a tree, alternatively damp and warm, full of + scorching sand, traversed by marshes, which leads to smiling groves clad + with roses, where Love and his retinue of pleasures disport themselves on + carpets of soft verdure. Often the witty man finds himself afflicted with + a foolish laugh which is his only answer to everything; his wit is, as it + were, suffocated beneath the icy pressure of his desires. It would not be + impossible for two beings of equal beauty, intelligence, and passion to + utter at first nothing but the most silly commonplaces, until chance, a + word, the tremor of a certain glance, the communication of a spark, should + have brought them to the happy transition which leads to that flowery way + in which one does not walk, but where one sways and at the same time does + not lapse. + </p> + <p> + Such a state of mind is always in proportion with the violence of the + feeling. Two creatures who love one another weakly feel nothing similar. + The effect of this crisis can even be compared with that which is produced + by the glow of a clear sky. Nature, at the first view, appears to be + covered with a gauze veil, the azure of the firmament seems black, the + intensity of light is like darkness. With Henri, as with the Spanish girl, + there was an equal intensity of feeling; and that law of statics, in + virtue of which two identical forces cancel each other, might have been + true also in the moral order. And the embarrassment of the moment was + singularly increased by the presence of the old hag. Love takes pleasure + or fright at all, all has meaning for it, everything is an omen of + happiness or sorrow for it. + </p> + <p> + This decrepit woman was there like a suggestion of catastrophe, and + represented the horrid fish’s tail with which the allegorical geniuses of + Greece have terminated their chimeras and sirens, whose figures, like all + passions, are so seductive, so deceptive. + </p> + <p> + Although Henri was not a free-thinker—the phrase is always a mockery—but + a man of extraordinary power, a man as great as a man can be without + faith, the conjunction struck him. Moreover, the strongest men are + naturally the most impressionable, and consequently the most + superstitious, if, indeed, one may call superstition the prejudice of the + first thoughts, which, without doubt, is the appreciation of the result in + causes hidden to other eyes but perceptible to their own. + </p> + <p> + The Spanish girl profited by this moment of stupefaction to let herself + fall into the ecstasy of that infinite adoration which seizes the heart of + a woman, when she truly loves and finds herself in the presence of an idol + for whom she has vainly longed. Her eyes were all joy, all happiness, and + sparks flew from them. She was under the charm, and fearlessly intoxicated + herself with a felicity of which she had dreamed long. She seemed then so + marvelously beautiful to Henri, that all this phantasmagoria of rags and + old age, of worn red drapery and of the green mats in front of the + armchairs, the ill-washed red tiles, all this sick and dilapidated luxury, + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + The room seemed lit up; and it was only through a cloud that one could see + the fearful harpy fixed and dumb on her red sofa, her yellow eyes + betraying the servile sentiments, inspired by misfortune, or caused by + some vice beneath whose servitude one has fallen as beneath a tyrant who + brutalizes one with the flagellations of his despotism. Her eyes had the + cold glitter of a caged tiger, knowing his impotence and being compelled + to swallow his rage of destruction. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that woman?” said Henri to Paquita. + </p> + <p> + But Paquita did not answer. She made a sign that she understood no French, + and asked Henri if he spoke English. + </p> + <p> + De Marsay repeated his question in English. + </p> + <p> + “She is the only woman in whom I can confide, although she has sold me + already,” said Paquita, tranquilly. “My dear Adolphe, she is my mother, a + slave bought in Georgia for her rare beauty, little enough of which + remains to-day. She only speaks her native tongue.” + </p> + <p> + The attitude of this woman and her eagerness to guess from the gestures of + her daughter and Henri what was passing between them, were suddenly + explained to the young man; and this explanation put him at his ease. + </p> + <p> + “Paquita,” he said, “are we never to be free then?” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” she said, with an air of sadness. “Even now we have but a few + days before us.” + </p> + <p> + She lowered her eyes, looked at and counted with her right hand on the + fingers of her left, revealing so the most beautiful hands which Henri had + ever seen. + </p> + <p> + “One, two, three——” + </p> + <p> + She counted up to twelve. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “we have twelve days.” + </p> + <p> + “And after?” + </p> + <p> + “After,” she said, showing the absorption of a weak woman before the + executioner’s axe, and slain in advance, as it were, by a fear which + stripped her of that magnificent energy which Nature seemed to have + bestowed upon her only to aggrandize pleasure and convert the most vulgar + delights into endless poems. “After——” she repeated. Her eyes + took a fixed stare; she seemed to contemplate a threatening object far + away. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “This girl is mad,” said Henri to himself, falling into strange + reflections. + </p> + <p> + Paquita appeared to him occupied by something which was not himself, like + a woman constrained equally by remorse and passion. Perhaps she had in her + heart another love which she alternately remembered and forgot. In a + moment Henri was assailed by a thousand contradictory thoughts. This girl + became a mystery for him; but as he contemplated her with the scientific + attention of the <i>blase</i> man, famished for new pleasures, like that + Eastern king who asked that a pleasure should be created for him,—a + horrible thirst with which great souls are seized,—Henri recognized + in Paquita the richest organization that Nature had ever deigned to + compose for love. The presumptive play of this machinery, setting aside + the soul, would have frightened any other man than Henri; but he was + fascinated by that rich harvest of promised pleasures, by that constant + variety in happiness, the dream of every man, and the desire of every + loving woman too. He was infuriated by the infinite rendered palpable, and + transported into the most excessive raptures of which the creature is + capable. All that he saw in this girl more distinctly than he had yet seen + it, for she let herself be viewed complacently, happy to be admired. The + admiration of De Marsay became a secret fury, and he unveiled her + completely, throwing a glance at her which the Spaniard understood as + though she had been used to receive such. + </p> + <p> + “If you are not to be mine, mine only, I will kill you!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + Hearing this speech, Paquita covered her face in her hands, and cried + naively: + </p> + <p> + “Holy Virgin! What have I brought upon myself?” + </p> + <p> + She rose, flung herself down upon the red sofa, and buried her head in the + rags which covered the bosom of her mother, and wept there. The old woman + received her daughter without issuing from her state of immobility, or + displaying any emotion. The mother possessed in the highest degree that + gravity of savage races, the impassiveness of a statue upon which all + remarks are lost. Did she or did she not love her daughter? Beneath that + mask every human emotion might brood—good and evil; and from this + creature all might be expected. Her gaze passed slowly from her daughter’s + beautiful hair, which covered her like a mantle, to the face of Henri, + which she considered with an indescribable curiosity. + </p> + <p> + She seemed to ask by what fatality he was there, from what caprice Nature + had made so seductive a man. + </p> + <p> + “These women are making sport of me,” said Henri to himself. + </p> + <p> + At that moment Paquita raised her head, cast at him one of those looks + which reach the very soul and consume it. So beautiful seemed she that he + swore he would possess such a treasure of beauty. + </p> + <p> + “My Paquita! Be mine!” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldst thou kill me?” she said fearfully, palpitating and anxious, but + drawn towards him by an inexplicable force. + </p> + <p> + “Kill thee—I!” he said, smiling. + </p> + <p> + Paquita uttered a cry of alarm, said a word to the old woman, who + authoritatively seized Henri’s hand and that of her daughter. She gazed at + them for a long time, and then released them, wagging her head in a + fashion horribly significant. + </p> + <p> + “Be mine—this evening, this moment; follow me, do not leave me! It + must be, Paquita! Dost thou love me? Come!” + </p> + <p> + In a moment he had poured out a thousand foolish words to her, with the + rapidity of a torrent coursing between the rocks, and repeating the same + sound in a thousand different forms. + </p> + <p> + “It is the same voice!” said Paquita, in a melancholy voice, which De + Marsay could not overhear, “and the same ardor,” she added. “So be it—yes,” + she said, with an abandonment of passion which no words can describe. + “Yes; but not to-night. To-night Adolphe, I gave too little opium to La + Concha. She might wake up, and I should be lost. At this moment the whole + household believes me to be asleep in my room. In two days be at the same + spot, say the same word to the same man. That man is my foster-father. + Cristemio worships me, and would die in torments for me before they could + extract one word against me from him. Farewell,” she said seizing Henri by + the waist and twining round him like a serpent. + </p> + <p> + She pressed him on every side at once, lifted her head to his, and offered + him her lips, then snatched a kiss which filled them both with such a + dizziness that it seemed to Henri as though the earth opened; and Paquita + cried: “Enough, depart!” in a voice which told how little she was mistress + of herself. But she clung to him still, still crying “Depart!” and brought + him slowly to the staircase. There the mulatto, whose white eyes lit up at + the sight of Paquita, took the torch from the hands of his idol, and + conducted Henri to the street. He left the light under the arch, opened + the door, put Henri into the carriage, and set him down on the Boulevard + des Italiens with marvelous rapidity. It was as though the horses had + hell-fire in their veins. + </p> + <p> + The scene was like a dream to De Marsay, but one of those dreams which, + even when they fade away, leave a feeling of supernatural voluptuousness, + which a man runs after for the remainder of his life. A single kiss had + been enough. Never had <i>rendezvous</i> been spent in a manner more + decorous or chaste, or, perhaps, more coldly, in a spot of which the + surroundings were more gruesome, in presence of a more hideous divinity; + for the mother had remained in Henri’s imagination like some infernal, + cowering thing, cadaverous, monstrous, savagely ferocious, which the + imagination of poets and painters had not yet conceived. In effect, no <i>rendezvous</i> + had ever irritated his senses more, revealed more audacious pleasures, or + better aroused love from its centre to shed itself round him like an + atmosphere. There was something sombre, mysterious, sweet, tender, + constrained, and expansive, an intermingling of the awful and the + celestial, of paradise and hell, which made De Marsay like a drunken man. + </p> + <p> + He was no longer himself, and he was, withal, great enough to be able to + resist the intoxication of pleasure. + </p> + <p> + In order to render his conduct intelligible in the catastrophe of this + story, it is needful to explain how his soul had broadened at an age when + young men generally belittle themselves in their relations with women, or + in too much occupation with them. Its growth was due to a concurrence of + secret circumstances, which invested him with a vast and unsuspected + power. + </p> + <p> + This young man held in his hand a sceptre more powerful than that of + modern kings, almost all of whom are curbed in their least wishes by the + laws. De Marsay exercised the autocratic power of an Oriental despot. But + this power, so stupidly put into execution in Asia by brutish men, was + increased tenfold by its conjunction with European intelligence, with + French wit—the most subtle, the keenest of all intellectual + instruments. Henri could do what he would in the interest of his pleasures + and vanities. This invisible action upon the social world had invested him + with a real, but secret, majesty, without emphasis and deriving from + himself. He had not the opinion which Louis XIV. could have of himself, + but that which the proudest of the Caliphs, the Pharoahs, the Xerxes, who + held themselves to be of divine origin, had of themselves when they + imitated God, and veiled themselves from their subjects under the pretext + that their looks dealt forth death. Thus, without any remorse at being at + once the judge and the accuser, De Marsay coldly condemned to death the + man or the woman who had seriously offended him. Although often pronounced + almost lightly, the verdict was irrevocable. An error was a misfortune + similar to that which a thunderbolt causes when it falls upon a smiling + Parisienne in some hackney coach, instead of crushing the old coachman who + is driving her to a <i>rendezvous</i>. Thus the bitter and profound + sarcasm which distinguished the young man’s conversation usually tended to + frighten people; no one was anxious to put him out. Women are prodigiously + fond of those persons who call themselves pashas, and who are, as it were + accompanied by lions and executioners, and who walk in a panoply of + terror. The result, in the case of such men, is a security of action, a + certitude of power, a pride of gaze, a leonine consciousness, which makes + women realize the type of strength of which they all dream. Such was De + Marsay. + </p> + <p> + Happy, for the moment, with his future, he grew young and pliable, and + thought of nothing but love as he went to bed. He dreamed of the girl with + the golden eyes, as the young and passionate can dream. His dreams were + monstrous images, unattainable extravagances—full of light, + revealing invisible worlds, yet in a manner always incomplete, for an + intervening veil changes the conditions of vision. + </p> + <p> + For the next and succeeding day Henri disappeared and no one knew what had + become of him. His power only belonged to him under certain conditions, + and, happily for him, during those two days he was a private soldier in + the service of the demon to whom he owed his talismanic existence. But at + the appointed time, in the evening, he was waiting—and he had not + long to wait—for the carriage. The mulatto approached Henri, in + order to repeat to him in French a phrase which he seemed to have learned + by heart. + </p> + <p> + “If you wish to come, she told me, you must consent to have your eyes + bandaged.” + </p> + <p> + And Cristemio produced a white silk handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Henri, whose omnipotence revolted suddenly. + </p> + <p> + He tried to leap in. The mulatto made a sign, and the carriage drove off. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” cried De Marsay, furious at the thought of losing a piece of good + fortune which had been promised him. + </p> + <p> + He saw, moreover, the impossibility of making terms with a slave whose + obedience was as blind as the hangman’s. Nor was it this passive + instrument upon whom his anger could fall. + </p> + <p> + The mulatto whistled, the carriage returned. Henri got in hastily. Already + a few curious onlookers had assembled like sheep on the boulevard. Henri + was strong; he tried to play the mulatto. When the carriage started at a + gallop he seized his hands, in order to master him, and retain, by + subduing his attendant, the possession of his faculties, so that he might + know whither he was going. It was a vain attempt. The eyes of the mulatto + flashed from the darkness. The fellow uttered a cry which his fury stifled + in his throat, released himself, threw back De Marsay with a hand like + iron, and nailed him, so to speak, to the bottom of the carriage; then + with his free hand, he drew a triangular dagger, and whistled. The + coachman heard the whistle and stopped. Henri was unarmed, he was forced + to yield. He moved his head towards the handkerchief. The gesture of + submission calmed Cristemio, and he bound his eyes with a respect and care + which manifested a sort of veneration for the person of the man whom his + idol loved. But, before taking this course, he had placed his dagger + distrustfully in his side pocket, and buttoned himself up to the chin. + </p> + <p> + “That nigger would have killed me!” said De Marsay to himself. + </p> + <p> + Once more the carriage moved on rapidly. There was one resource still open + to a young man who knew Paris as well as Henri. To know whither he was + going, he had but to collect himself and count, by the number of gutters + crossed, the streets leading from the boulevards by which the carriage + passed, so long as it continued straight along. He could thus discover + into which lateral street it would turn, either towards the Seine or + towards the heights of Montmartre, and guess the name or position of the + street in which his guide should bring him to a halt. But the violent + emotion which his struggle had caused him, the rage into which his + compromised dignity had thrown him, the ideas of vengeance to which he + abandoned himself, the suppositions suggested to him by the circumstantial + care which this girl had taken in order to bring him to her, all hindered + him from the attention, which the blind have, necessary for the + concentration of his intelligence and the perfect lucidity of his + recollection. The journey lasted half an hour. When the carriage stopped, + it was no longer on the street. The mulatto and the coachman took Henri in + their arms, lifted him out, and, putting him into a sort of litter, + conveyed him across a garden. He could smell its flowers and the perfume + peculiar to trees and grass. + </p> + <p> + The silence which reigned there was so profound that he could distinguish + the noise made by the drops of water falling from the moist leaves. The + two men took him to a staircase, set him on his feet, led him by his hands + through several apartments, and left him in a room whose atmosphere was + perfumed, and the thick carpet of which he could feel beneath his feet. + </p> + <p> + A woman’s hand pushed him on to a divan, and untied the handkerchief for + him. Henri saw Paquita before him, but Paquita in all her womanly and + voluptuous glory. The section of the boudoir in which Henri found himself + described a circular line, softly gracious, which was faced opposite by + the other perfectly square half, in the midst of which a chimney-piece + shone of gold and white marble. He had entered by a door on one side, + hidden by a rich tapestried screen, opposite which was a window. The + semicircular portion was adorned with a real Turkish divan, that is to + say, a mattress thrown on the ground, but a mattress as broad as a bed, a + divan fifty feet in circumference, made of white cashmere, relieved by + bows of black and scarlet silk, arranged in panels. The top of this huge + bed was raised several inches by numerous cushions, which further enriched + it by their tasteful comfort. The boudoir was lined with some red stuff, + over which an Indian muslin was stretched, fluted after the fashion of + Corinthian columns, in plaits going in and out, and bound at the top and + bottom by bands of poppy-colored stuff, on which were designs in black + arabesque. + </p> + <p> + Below the muslin the poppy turned to rose, that amorous color, which was + matched by window-curtains, which were of Indian muslin lined with + rose-colored taffeta, and set off with a fringe of poppy-color and black. + Six silver-gilt arms, each supporting two candles, were attached to the + tapestry at an equal distance, to illuminate the divan. The ceiling, from + the middle of which a lustre of unpolished silver hung, was of a brilliant + whiteness, and the cornice was gilded. The carpet was like an Oriental + shawl; it had the designs and recalled the poetry of Persia, where the + hands of slaves had worked on it. The furniture was covered in white + cashmere, relieved by black and poppy-colored ornaments. The clock, the + candelabra, all were in white marble and gold. The only table there had a + cloth of cashmere. Elegant flower-pots held roses of every kind, flowers + white or red. In fine, the least detail seemed to have been the object of + loving thought. Never had richness hidden itself more coquettishly to + become elegance, to express grace, to inspire pleasure. Everything there + would have warmed the coldest of beings. The caresses of the tapestry, of + which the color changed according to the direction of one’s gaze, becoming + either all white or all rose, harmonized with the effects of the light + shed upon the diaphanous tissues of the muslin, which produced an + appearance of mistiness. The soul has I know not what attraction towards + white, love delights in red, and the passions are flattered by gold, which + has the power of realizing their caprices. Thus all that man possesses + within him of vague and mysterious, all his inexplicable affinities, were + caressed in their involuntary sympathies. There was in this perfect + harmony a concert of color to which the soul responded with vague and + voluptuous and fluctuating ideas. + </p> + <p> + It was out of a misty atmosphere, laden with exquisite perfumes, that + Paquita, clad in a white wrapper, her feet bare, orange blossoms in her + black hair, appeared to Henri, knelt before him, adoring him as the god of + this temple, whither he had deigned to come. Although De Marsay was + accustomed to seeing the utmost efforts of Parisian luxury, he was + surprised at the aspect of this shell, like that from which Venus rose out + of the sea. Whether from an effect of contrast between the darkness from + which he issued and the light which bathed his soul, whether from a + comparison which he swiftly made between this scene and that of their + first interview, he experienced one of those delicate sensations which + true poetry gives. Perceiving in the midst of this retreat, which had been + opened to him as by a fairy’s magic wand, the masterpiece of creation, + this girl, whose warmly colored tints, whose soft skin—soft, but + slightly gilded by the shadows, by I know not what vaporous effusion of + love—gleamed as though it reflected the rays of color and light, his + anger, his desire for vengeance, his wounded vanity, all were lost. + </p> + <p> + Like an eagle darting on his prey, he took her utterly to him, set her on + his knees, and felt with an indescribable intoxication the voluptuous + pressure of this girl, whose richly developed beauties softly enveloped + him. + </p> + <p> + “Come to me, Paquita!” he said, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + “Speak, speak without fear!” she said. “This retreat was built for love. + No sound can escape from it, so greatly was it desired to guard + avariciously the accents and music of the beloved voice. However loud + should be the cries, they would not be heard without these walls. A person + might be murdered, and his moans would be as vain as if he were in the + midst of the great desert.” + </p> + <p> + “Who has understood jealousy and its needs so well?” + </p> + <p> + “Never question me as to that,” she answered, untying with a gesture of + wonderful sweetness the young man’s scarf, doubtless in order the better + to behold his neck. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is the neck I love so well!” she said. “Wouldst thou please + me?” + </p> + <p> + This interrogation, rendered by the accent almost lascivious, drew De + Marsay from the reverie in which he had been plunged by Paquita’s + authoritative refusal to allow him any research as to the unknown being + who hovered like a shadow about them. + </p> + <p> + “And if I wished to know who reigns here?” + </p> + <p> + Paquita looked at him trembling. + </p> + <p> + “It is not I, then?” he said, rising and freeing himself from the girl, + whose head fell backwards. “Where I am, I would be alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Strike, strike!...” said the poor slave, a prey to terror. + </p> + <p> + “For what do you take me, then?... Will you answer?” + </p> + <p> + Paquita got up gently, her eyes full of tears, took a poniard from one of + the two ebony pieces of furniture, and presented it to Henri with a + gesture of submission which would have moved a tiger. + </p> + <p> + “Give me a feast such as men give when they love,” she said, “and whilst I + sleep, slay me, for I know not how to answer thee. Hearken! I am bound + like some poor beast to a stake; I am amazed that I have been able to + throw a bridge over the abyss which divides us. Intoxicate me, then kill + me! Ah, no, no!” she cried, joining her hands, “do not kill me! I love + life! Life is fair to me! If I am a slave, I am a queen too. I could + beguile you with words, tell you that I love you alone, prove it to you, + profit by my momentary empire to say to you: ‘Take me as one tastes the + perfume of a flower when one passes it in a king’s garden.’ Then, after + having used the cunning eloquence of woman and soared on the wings of + pleasure, after having quenched my thirst, I could have you cast into a + pit, where none could find you, which has been made to gratify vengeance + without having to fear that of the law, a pit full of lime which would + kindle and consume you, until no particle of you were left. You would stay + in my heart, mine forever.” + </p> + <p> + Henri looked at the girl without trembling, and this fearless gaze filled + her with joy. + </p> + <p> + “No, I shall not do it! You have fallen into no trap here, but upon the + heart of a woman who adores you, and it is I who will be cast into the + pit.” + </p> + <p> + “All this appears to me prodigiously strange,” said De Marsay, considering + her. “But you seem to me a good girl, a strange nature; you are, upon my + word of honor, a living riddle, the answer to which is very difficult to + find.” + </p> + <p> + Paquita understood nothing of what the young man said; she looked at him + gently, opening wide eyes which could never be stupid, so much was + pleasure written in them. + </p> + <p> + “Come, then, my love,” she said, returning to her first idea, “wouldst + thou please me?” + </p> + <p> + “I would do all that thou wouldst, and even that thou wouldst not,” + answered De Marsay, with a laugh. He had recovered his foppish ease, as he + took the resolve to let himself go to the climax of his good fortune, + looking neither before nor after. Perhaps he counted, moreover, on his + power and his capacity of a man used to adventures, to dominate this girl + a few hours later and learn all her secrets. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said she, “let me arrange you as I would like.” + </p> + <p> + Paquita went joyously and took from one of the two chests a robe of red + velvet, in which she dressed De Marsay, then adorned his head with a + woman’s bonnet and wrapped a shawl round him. Abandoning herself to these + follies with a child’s innocence, she laughed a convulsive laugh, and + resembled some bird flapping its wings; but he saw nothing beyond. + </p> + <p> + If it be impossible to paint the unheard-of delights which these two + creatures—made by heaven in a joyous moment—found, it is + perhaps necessary to translate metaphysically the extraordinary and almost + fantastic impressions of the young man. That which persons in the social + position of De Marsay, living as he lived, are best able to recognize is a + girl’s innocence. But, strange phenomenon! The girl of the golden eyes + might be virgin, but innocent she was certainly not. The fantastic union + of the mysterious and the real, of darkness and light, horror and beauty, + pleasure and danger, paradise and hell, which had already been met with in + this adventure, was resumed in the capricious and sublime being with which + De Marsay dallied. All the utmost science or the most refined pleasure, + all that Henri could know of that poetry of the senses which is called + love, was excelled by the treasures poured forth by this girl, whose + radiant eyes gave the lie to none of the promises which they made. + </p> + <p> + She was an Oriental poem, in which shone the sun that Saadi, that Hafiz, + have set in their pulsing strophes. Only, neither the rhythm of Saadi, nor + that of Pindar, could have expressed the ecstasy—full of confusion + and stupefaction—which seized the delicious girl when the error in + which an iron hand had caused her to live was at an end. + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” she said, “I am dead, Adolphe! Take me away to the world’s end, to + an island where no one knows us. Let there be no traces of our flight! We + should be followed to the gates of hell. God! here is the day! Escape! + Shall I ever see you again? Yes, to-morrow I will see you, if I have to + deal death to all my warders to have that joy. Till to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + She pressed him in her arms with an embrace in which the terror of death + mingled. Then she touched a spring, which must have been in connection + with a bell, and implored De Marsay to permit his eyes to be bandaged. + </p> + <p> + “And if I would not—and if I wished to stay here?” + </p> + <p> + “You would be the death of me more speedily,” she said, “for now I know I + am certain to die on your account.” + </p> + <p> + Henri submitted. In the man who had just gorged himself with pleasure + there occurs a propensity to forgetfulness, I know not what ingratitude, a + desire for liberty, a whim to go elsewhere, a tinge of contempt and, + perhaps, of disgust for his idol; in fine, indescribable sentiments which + render him ignoble and ashamed. The certainty of this confused, but real, + feeling in souls who are not illuminated by that celestial light, nor + perfumed with that holy essence from which the performance of sentiment + springs, doubtless suggested to Rousseau the adventures of Lord Edward, + which conclude the letters of the <i>Nouvelle Heloise</i>. If Rousseau is + obviously inspired by the work of Richardson, he departs from it in a + thousand details, which leave his achievement magnificently original; he + has recommended it to posterity by great ideas which it is difficult to + liberate by analysis, when, in one’s youth, one reads this work with the + object of finding in it the lurid representation of the most physical of + our feelings, whereas serious and philosophical writers never employ its + images except as the consequence or the corollary of a vast thought; and + the adventures of Lord Edward are one of the most Europeanly delicate + ideas of the whole work. + </p> + <p> + Henri, therefore, found himself beneath the domination of that confused + sentiment which is unknown to true love. There was needful, in some sort, + the persuasive grip of comparisons, and the irresistible attraction of + memories to lead him back to a woman. True love rules above all through + recollection. A woman who is not engraven upon the soul by excess of + pleasure or by strength of emotion, how can she ever be loved? In Henri’s + case, Paquita had established herself by both of these reasons. But at + this moment, seized as he was by the satiety of his happiness, that + delicious melancholy of the body, he could hardly analyze his heart, even + by recalling to his lips the taste of the liveliest gratifications that he + had ever grasped. + </p> + <p> + He found himself on the Boulevard Montmartre at the break of day, gazed + stupidly at the retreating carriage, produced two cigars from his pocket, + lit one from the lantern of a good woman who sold brandy and coffee to + workmen and street arabs and chestnut venders—to all the Parisian + populace which begins its work before daybreak; then he went off, smoking + his cigar, and putting his hands in his trousers’ pockets with a + devil-may-care air which did him small honor. + </p> + <p> + “What a good thing a cigar is! That’s one thing a man will never tire of,” + he said to himself. + </p> + <p> + Of the girl with the golden eyes, over whom at that time all the elegant + youth of Paris was mad, he hardly thought. The idea of death, expressed in + the midst of their pleasure, and the fear of which had more than once + darkened the brow of that beautiful creature, who held to the houris of + Asia by her mother, to Europe by her education, to the tropics by her + birth, seemed to him merely one of those deceptions by which women seek to + make themselves interesting. + </p> + <p> + “She is from Havana—the most Spanish region to be found in the New + World. So she preferred to feign terror rather than cast in my teeth + indisposition or difficulty, coquetry or duty, like a Parisian woman. By + her golden eyes, how glad I shall be to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + He saw a hackney coach standing at the corner of Frascati’s waiting for + some gambler; he awoke the driver, was driven home, went to bed, and slept + the sleep of the dissipated, which for some queer reason—of which no + rhymer has yet taken advantage—is as profound as that of innocence. + Perhaps it is an instance of the proverbial axiom, <i>extremes meet</i>. + </p> + <p> + About noon De Marsay awoke and stretched himself; he felt the grip of that + sort of voracious hunger which old soldiers can remember having + experienced on the morrow of victory. He was delighted, therefore, to see + Paul de Manerville standing in front of him, for at such a time nothing is + more agreeable than to eat in company. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” his friend remarked, “we all imagined that you had been shut up + for the last ten days with the girl of the golden eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “The girl of the golden eyes! I have forgotten her. Faith! I have other + fish to fry!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are playing at discretion.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked De Marsay, with a laugh. “My dear fellow, discretion is + the best form of calculation. Listen—however, no! I will not say a + word. You never teach me anything; I am not disposed to make you a + gratuitous present of the treasures of my policy. Life is a river which is + of use for the promotion of commerce. In the name of all that is most + sacred in life—of cigars! I am no professor of social economy for + the instruction of fools. Let us breakfast! It costs less to give you a + tunny omelette than to lavish the resources of my brain on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you bargain with your friends?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” said Henri, who rarely denied himself a sarcasm, “since + all the same, you may some day need, like anybody else, to use discretion, + and since I have much love for you—yes, I like you! Upon my word, if + you only wanted a thousand-franc note to keep you from blowing your brains + out, you would find it here, for we haven’t yet done any business of that + sort, eh, Paul? If you had to fight to-morrow, I would measure the ground + and load the pistols, so that you might be killed according to rule. In + short, if anybody besides myself took it into his head to say ill of you + in your absence, he would have to deal with the somewhat nasty gentleman + who walks in my shoes—there’s what I call a friendship beyond + question. Well, my good fellow, if you should ever have need of + discretion, understand that there are two sorts of discretion—the + active and the negative. Negative discretion is that of fools who make use + of silence, negation, an air of refusal, the discretion of locked doors—mere + impotence! Active discretion proceeds by affirmation. Suppose at the club + this evening I were to say: ‘Upon my word of honor the golden-eyed was not + worth all she cost me!’ Everybody would exclaim when I was gone: ‘Did you + hear that fop De Marsay, who tried to make us believe that he has already + had the girl of the golden eyes? It’s his way of trying to disembarrass + himself of his rivals: he’s no simpleton.’ But such a ruse is vulgar and + dangerous. However gross a folly one utters, there are always idiots to be + found who will believe it. The best form of discretion is that of women + when they want to take the change out of their husbands. It consists in + compromising a woman with whom we are not concerned, or whom we do not + love, in order to save the honor of the one whom we love well enough to + respect. It is what is called the <i>woman-screen</i>.... Ah! here is + Laurent. What have you got for us?” + </p> + <p> + “Some Ostend oysters, Monsieur le Comte.” + </p> + <p> + “You will know some day, Paul, how amusing it is to make a fool of the + world by depriving it of the secret of one’s affections. I derive an + immense pleasure in escaping from the stupid jurisdiction of the crowd, + which knows neither what it wants, nor what one wants of it, which takes + the means for the end, and by turns curses and adores, elevates and + destroys! What a delight to impose emotions on it and receive none from + it, to tame it, never to obey it. If one may ever be proud of anything, is + it not a self-acquired power, of which one is at once the cause and + effect, the principle and the result? Well, no man knows what I love, nor + what I wish. Perhaps what I have loved, or what I may have wished will be + known, as a drama which is accomplished is known; but to let my game be + seen—weakness, mistake! I know nothing more despicable than strength + outwitted by cunning. Can I initiate myself with a laugh into the + ambassador’s part, if indeed diplomacy is as difficult as life? I doubt + it. Have you any ambition? Would you like to become something?” + </p> + <p> + “But, Henri, you are laughing at me—as though I were not + sufficiently mediocre to arrive at anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Paul! If you go on laughing at yourself, you will soon be able to + laugh at everybody else.” + </p> + <p> + At breakfast, by the time he had started his cigars, De Marsay began to + see the events of the night in a singular light. Like many men of great + intelligence, his perspicuity was not spontaneous, as it did not at once + penetrate to the heart of things. As with all natures endowed with the + faculty of living greatly in the present, of extracting, so to speak, the + essence of it and assimilating it, his second-sight had need of a sort of + slumber before it could identify itself with causes. Cardinal de Richelieu + was so constituted, and it did not debar in him the gift of foresight + necessary to the conception of great designs. + </p> + <p> + De Marsay’s conditions were alike, but at first he only used his weapons + for the benefit of his pleasures, and only became one of the most profound + politicians of his day when he had saturated himself with those pleasures + to which a young man’s thoughts—when he has money and power—are + primarily directed. Man hardens himself thus: he uses woman in order that + she may not make use of him. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, then, De Marsay perceived that he had been fooled by the + girl of the golden eyes, seeing, as he did, in perspective, all that night + of which the delights had been poured upon him by degrees until they had + ended by flooding him in torrents. He could read, at last, that page in + effect so brilliant, divine its hidden meaning. The purely physical + innocence of Paquita, the bewilderment of her joy, certain words, obscure + at first, but now clear, which had escaped her in the midst of that joy, + all proved to him that he had posed for another person. As no social + corruption was unknown to him, as he professed a complete indifference + towards all perversities, and believed them to be justified on the simple + ground that they were capable of satisfaction, he was not startled at + vice, he knew it as one knows a friend, but he was wounded at having + served as sustenance for it. If his presumption was right, he had been + outraged in the most sensitive part of him. The mere suspicion filled him + with fury, he broke out with the roar of a tiger who has been the sport of + a deer, the cry of a tiger which united a brute’s strength with the + intelligence of the demon. + </p> + <p> + “I say, what is the matter with you?” asked Paul. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” + </p> + <p> + “I should be sorry, if you were to be asked whether you had anything + against me and were to reply with a <i>nothing</i> like that! It would be + a sure case of fighting the next day.” + </p> + <p> + “I fight no more duels,” said De Marsay. + </p> + <p> + “That seems to me even more tragical. Do you assassinate, then?” + </p> + <p> + “You travesty words. I execute.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend,” said Paul, “your jokes are of a very sombre color this + morning.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you have? Pleasure ends in cruelty. Why? I don’t know, and am + not sufficiently curious to try and find out.... These cigars are + excellent. Give your friend some tea. Do you know, Paul, I live a brute’s + life? It should be time to choose oneself a destiny, to employ one’s + powers on something which makes life worth living. Life is a singular + comedy. I am frightened, I laugh at the inconsequence of our social order. + The Government cuts off the heads of poor devils who may have killed a man + and licenses creatures who despatch, medically speaking, a dozen young + folks in a season. Morality is powerless against a dozen vices which + destroy society and which nothing can punish.—Another cup!—Upon + my word of honor! man is a jester dancing upon a precipice. They talk to + us about the immorality of the <i>Liaisons Dangereuses</i>, and any other + book you like with a vulgar reputation; but there exists a book, horrible, + filthy, fearful, corrupting, which is always open and will never be shut, + the great book of the world; not to mention another book, a thousand times + more dangerous, which is composed of all that men whisper into each + other’s ears, or women murmur behind their fans, of an evening in + society.” + </p> + <p> + “Henri, there is certainly something extraordinary the matter with you; + that is obvious in spite of your active discretion.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!... Come, I must kill the time until this evening. Let’s to the + tables.... Perhaps I shall have the good luck to lose.” + </p> + <p> + De Marsay rose, took a handful of banknotes and folded them into his + cigar-case, dressed himself, and took advantage of Paul’s carriage to + repair to the Salon des Etrangers, where until dinner he consumed the time + in those exciting alternations of loss and gain which are the last + resource of powerful organizations when they are compelled to exercise + themselves in the void. In the evening he repaired to the trysting-place + and submitted complacently to having his eyes bandaged. Then, with that + firm will which only really strong men have the faculty of concentrating, + he devoted his attention and applied his intelligence to the task of + divining through what streets the carriage passed. He had a sort of + certitude of being taken to the Rue Saint-Lazare, and being brought to a + halt at the little gate in the garden of the Hotel San-Real. When he + passed, as on the first occasion, through this gate, and was put in a + litter, carried, doubtless by the mulatto and the coachman, he understood, + as he heard the gravel grate beneath their feet, why they took such minute + precautions. He would have been able, had he been free, or if he had + walked, to pluck a twig of laurel, to observe the nature of the soil which + clung to his boots; whereas, transported, so to speak, ethereally into an + inaccessible mansion, his good fortune must remain what it had been + hitherto, a dream. But it is man’s despair that all his work, whether for + good or evil, is imperfect. All his labors, physical or intellectual, are + sealed with the mark of destruction. There had been a gentle rain, the + earth was moist. At night-time certain vegetable perfumes are far stronger + than during the day; Henri could smell, therefore, the scent of the + mignonette which lined the avenue along which he was conveyed. This + indication was enough to light him in the researches which he promised + himself to make in order to recognize the hotel which contained Paquita’s + boudoir. He studied in the same way the turnings which his bearers took + within the house, and believed himself able to recall them. + </p> + <p> + As on the previous night, he found himself on the ottoman before Paquita, + who was undoing his bandage; but he saw her pale and altered. She had + wept. On her knees like an angel in prayer, but like an angel profoundly + sad and melancholy, the poor girl no longer resembled the curious, + impatient, and impetuous creature who had carried De Marsay on her wings + to transport him to the seventh heaven of love. There was something so + true in this despair veiled by pleasure, that the terrible De Marsay felt + within him an admiration for this new masterpiece of nature, and forgot, + for the moment, the chief interest of his assignation. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with thee, my Paquita?” + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” she said, “carry me away this very night. Bear me to some + place where no one can answer: ‘There is a girl with a golden gaze here, + who has long hair.’ Yonder I will give thee as many pleasures as thou + wouldst have of me. Then when you love me no longer, you shall leave me, I + shall not complain, I shall say nothing; and your desertion need cause you + no remorse, for one day passed with you, only one day, in which I have had + you before my eyes, will be worth all my life to me. But if I stay here, I + am lost.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot leave Paris, little one!” replied Henri. “I do not belong to + myself, I am bound by a vow to the fortune of several persons who stand to + me, as I do to them. But I can place you in a refuge in Paris, where no + human power can reach you.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “you forget the power of woman.” + </p> + <p> + Never did phrase uttered by human voice express terror more absolutely. + </p> + <p> + “What could reach you, then, if I put myself between you and the world?” + </p> + <p> + “Poison!” she said. “Dona Concha suspects you already... and,” she + resumed, letting the tears fall and glisten on her cheeks, “it is easy + enough to see I am no longer the same. Well, if you abandon me to the fury + of the monster who will destroy me, your holy will be done! But come, let + there be all the pleasures of life in our love. Besides, I will implore, I + will weep and cry out and defend myself; perhaps I shall be saved.” + </p> + <p> + “Whom will your implore?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Silence!” said Paquita. “If I obtain mercy it will perhaps be on account + of my discretion.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me my robe,” said Henri, insidiously. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” she answered quickly, “be what you are, one of those angels whom + I have been taught to hate, and in whom I only saw ogres, whilst you are + what is fairest under the skies,” she said, caressing Henri’s hair. “You + do not know how silly I am. I have learned nothing. Since I was twelve + years old I have been shut up without ever seeing any one. I can neither + read nor write, I can only speak English and Spanish.” + </p> + <p> + “How is it, then, that you receive letters from London?” + </p> + <p> + “My letters?... See, here they are!” she said, proceeding to take some + papers out of a tall Japanese vase. + </p> + <p> + She offered De Marsay some letters, in which the young man saw, with + surprise, strange figures, similar to those of a rebus, traced in blood, + and illustrating phrases full of passion. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he cried, marveling at these hieroglyphics created by the alertness + of jealousy, “you are in the power of an infernal genius?” + </p> + <p> + “Infernal,” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “But how, then, were you able to get out?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, “that was my ruin. I drove Dona Concha to choose between + the fear of immediate death and anger to be. I had the curiosity of a + demon, I wished to break the bronze circle which they had described + between creation and me, I wished to see what young people were like, for + I knew nothing of man except the Marquis and Cristemio. Our coachman and + the lackey who accompanies us are old men....” + </p> + <p> + “But you were not always thus shut up? Your health...?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she answered, “we used to walk, but it was at night and in the + country, by the side of the Seine, away from people.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you not proud of being loved like that?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “no longer. However full it be, this hidden life is but + darkness in comparison with the light.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you call the light?” + </p> + <p> + “Thee, my lovely Adolphe! Thee, for whom I would give my life. All the + passionate things that have been told me, and that I have inspired, I feel + for thee! For a certain time I understood nothing of existence, but now I + know what love is, and hitherto I have been the loved one only; for + myself, I did not love. I would give up everything for you, take me away. + If you like, take me as a toy, but let me be near you until you break me.” + </p> + <p> + “You will have no regrets?” + </p> + <p> + “Not one”! she said, letting him read her eyes, whose golden tint was pure + and clear. + </p> + <p> + “Am I the favored one?” said Henri to himself. If he suspected the truth, + he was ready at that time to pardon the offence in view of a love so + single minded. “I shall soon see,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + If Paquita owed him no account of the past, yet the least recollection of + it became in his eyes a crime. He had therefore the sombre strength to + withhold a portion of his thought, to study her, even while abandoning + himself to the most enticing pleasures that ever peri descended from the + skies had devised for her beloved. + </p> + <p> + Paquita seemed to have been created for love by a particular effort of + nature. In a night her feminine genius had made the most rapid progress. + Whatever might be the power of this young man, and his indifference in the + matter of pleasures, in spite of his satiety of the previous night, he + found in the girl with the golden eyes that seraglio which a loving woman + knows how to create and which a man never refuses. Paquita responded to + that passion which is felt by all really great men for the infinite—that + mysterious passion so dramatically expressed in Faust, so poetically + translated in Manfred, and which urged Don Juan to search the heart of + women, in his hope to find there that limitless thought in pursuit of + which so many hunters after spectres have started, which wise men think to + discover in science, and which mystics find in God alone. The hope of + possessing at last the ideal being with whom the struggle could be + constant and tireless ravished De Marsay, who, for the first time for + long, opened his heart. His nerves expanded, his coldness was dissipated + in the atmosphere of that ardent soul, his hard and fast theories melted + away, and happiness colored his existence to the tint of the rose and + white boudoir. Experiencing the sting of a higher pleasure, he was carried + beyond the limits within which he had hitherto confined passion. He would + not be surpassed by this girl, whom a somewhat artificial love had formed + all ready for the needs of his soul, and then he found in that vanity + which urges a man to be in all things a victor, strength enough to tame + the girl; but, at the same time, urged beyond that line where the soul is + mistress over herself, he lost himself in these delicious limboes, which + the vulgar call so foolishly “the imaginary regions.” He was tender, kind, + and confidential. He affected Paquita almost to madness. + </p> + <p> + “Why should we not go to Sorrento, to Nice, to Chiavari, and pass all our + life so? Will you?” he asked of Paquita, in a penetrating voice. + </p> + <p> + “Was there need to say to me: ‘Will you’?” she cried. “Have I a will? I am + nothing apart from you, except in so far as I am a pleasure for you. If + you would choose a retreat worthy of us, Asia is the only country where + love can unfold his wings....” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” answered Henri. “Let us go to the Indies, there where + spring is eternal, where the earth grows only flowers, where man can + display the magnificence of kings and none shall say him nay, as in the + foolish lands where they would realize the dull chimera of equality. Let + us go to the country where one lives in the midst of a nation of slaves, + where the sun shines ever on a palace which is always white, where the air + sheds perfumes, the birds sing of love and where, when one can love no + more, one dies....” + </p> + <p> + “And where one dies together!” said Paquita. “But do not let us start + to-morrow, let us start this moment... take Cristemio.” + </p> + <p> + “Faith! pleasure is the fairest climax of life. Let us go to Asia; but to + start, my child, one needs much gold, and to have gold one must set one’s + affairs in order.” + </p> + <p> + She understood no part of these ideas. + </p> + <p> + “Gold! There is a pile of it here—as high as that,” she said holding + up her hand. + </p> + <p> + “It is not mine.” + </p> + <p> + “What does that matter?” she went on; “if we have need of it let us take + it.” + </p> + <p> + “It does not belong to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Belong!” she repeated. “Have you not taken me? When we have taken it, it + will belong to us.” + </p> + <p> + He gave a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Poor innocent! You know nothing of the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, but this is what I know,” she cried, clasping Henri to her. + </p> + <p> + At the very moment when De Marsay was forgetting all, and conceiving the + desire to appropriate this creature forever, he received in the midst of + his joy a dagger-thrust, which Paquita, who had lifted him vigorously in + the air, as though to contemplate him, exclaimed: “Oh, Margarita!” + </p> + <p> + “Margarita!” cried the young man, with a roar; “now I know all that I + still tried to disbelieve.” + </p> + <p> + He leaped upon the cabinet in which the long poniard was kept. Happily for + Paquita and for himself, the cupboard was shut. His fury waxed at this + impediment, but he recovered his tranquillity, went and found his cravat, + and advanced towards her with an air of such ferocious meaning that, + without knowing of what crime she had been guilty, Paquita understood, + none the less, that her life was in question. With one bound she rushed to + the other end of the room to escape the fatal knot which De Marsay tried + to pass round her neck. There was a struggle. On either side there was an + equality of strength, agility, and suppleness. To end the combat Paquita + threw between the legs of her lover a cushion which made him fall, and + profited by the respite which this advantage gave to her, to push the + button of the spring which caused the bell to ring. Promptly the mulatto + arrived. In a second Cristemio leaped on De Marsay and held him down with + one foot on his chest, his heel turned towards the throat. De Marsay + realized that, if he struggled, at a single sign from Paquita he would be + instantly crushed. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you want to kill me, my beloved?” she said. De Marsay made no + reply. + </p> + <p> + “In what have I angered you?” she asked. “Speak, let us understand each + other.” + </p> + <p> + Henri maintained the phlegmatic attitude of a strong man who feels himself + vanquished; his countenance, cold, silent, entirely English, revealed the + consciousness of his dignity in a momentary resignation. Moreover, he had + already thought, in spite of the vehemence of his anger, that it was + scarcely prudent to compromise himself with the law by killing this girl + on the spur of the moment, before he had arranged the murder in such a + manner as should insure his impunity. + </p> + <p> + “My beloved,” went on Paquita, “speak to me; do not leave me without one + loving farewell! I would not keep in my heart the terror which you have + just inspired in it.... Will you speak?” she said, stamping her foot with + anger. + </p> + <p> + De Marsay, for all reply, gave her a glance, which signified so plainly, “<i>You + must die!</i>” that Paquita threw herself upon him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, well, you want to kill me!... If my death can give you any pleasure—kill + me!” + </p> + <p> + She made a sign to Cristemio, who withdrew his foot from the body of the + young man, and retired without letting his face show that he had formed + any opinion, good or bad, with regard to Paquita. + </p> + <p> + “That is a man,” said De Marsay, pointing to the mulatto, with a sombre + gesture. “There is no devotion like the devotion which obeys in + friendship, and does not stop to weigh motives. In that man you possess a + true friend.” + </p> + <p> + “I will give him you, if you like,” she answered; “he will serve you with + the same devotion that he has for me, if I so instruct him.” + </p> + <p> + She waited for a word of recognition, and went on with an accent replete + with tenderness: + </p> + <p> + “Adolphe, give me then one kind word!... It is nearly day.” + </p> + <p> + Henri did not answer. The young man had one sorry quality, for one + considers as something great everything which resembles strength, and + often men invent extravagances. Henri knew not how to pardon. That <i>returning + upon itself</i> which is one of the soul’s graces, was a non-existent + sense for him. The ferocity of the Northern man, with which the English + blood is deeply tainted, had been transmitted to him by his father. He was + inexorable both in his good and evil impulses. Paquita’s exclamation had + been all the more horrible to him, in that it had dethroned him from the + sweetest triumph which had ever flattered his man’s vanity. Hope, love, + and every emotion had been exalted with him, all had lit up within his + heart and his intelligence, then these torches illuminating his life had + been extinguished by a cold wind. Paquita, in her stupefaction of grief, + had only strength enough to give the signal for departure. + </p> + <p> + “What is the use of that!” she said, throwing away the bandage. “If he + does not love me, if he hates me, it is all over.” + </p> + <p> + She waited for one look, did not obtain it, and fell, half dead. The + mulatto cast a glance at Henri, so horribly significant, that, for the + first time in his life, the young man, to whom no one denied the gift of + rare courage, trembled. “<i>If you do not love her well, if you give her + the least pain, I will kill you</i>.” such was the sense of that brief + gaze. De Marsay was escorted, with a care almost obsequious, along the + dimly lit corridor, at the end of which he issued by a secret door into + the garden of the Hotel San-Real. The mulatto made him walk cautiously + through an avenue of lime trees, which led to a little gate opening upon a + street which was at that hour deserted. De Marsay took a keen notice of + everything. The carriage awaited him. This time the mulatto did not + accompany him, and at the moment when Henri put his head out of the window + to look once more at the gardens of the hotel, he encountered the white + eyes of Cristemio, with whom he exchanged a glance. On either side there + was a provocation, a challenge, the declaration of a savage war, of a duel + in which ordinary laws were invalid, where treason and treachery were + admitted means. Cristemio knew that Henri had sworn Paquita’s death. Henri + knew that Cristemio would like to kill him before he killed Paquita. Both + understood each other to perfection. + </p> + <p> + “The adventure is growing complicated in a most interesting way,” said + Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Where is the gentleman going to?” asked the coachman. + </p> + <p> + De Marsay was driven to the house of Paul de Manerville. For more than a + week Henri was away from home, and no one could discover either what he + did during this period, nor where he stayed. This retreat saved him from + the fury of the mulatto and caused the ruin of the charming creature who + had placed all her hope in him whom she loved as never human heart had + loved on this earth before. On the last day of the week, about eleven + o’clock at night, Henri drove up in a carriage to the little gate in the + garden of the Hotel San-Real. Four men accompanied him. The driver was + evidently one of his friends, for he stood up on his box, like a man who + was to listen, an attentive sentinel, for the least sound. One of the + other three took his stand outside the gate in the street; the second + waited in the garden, leaning against the wall; the last, who carried in + his hand a bunch of keys, accompanied De Marsay. + </p> + <p> + “Henri,” said his companion to him, “we are betrayed.” + </p> + <p> + “By whom, my good Ferragus?” + </p> + <p> + “They are not all asleep,” replied the chief of the Devourers; “it is + absolutely certain that some one in the house has neither eaten nor + drunk.... Look! see that light!” + </p> + <p> + “We have a plan of the house; from where does it come?” + </p> + <p> + “I need no plan to know,” replied Ferragus; “it comes from the room of the + Marquise.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” cried De Marsay, “no doubt she arrived from London to-day. The woman + has robbed me even of my revenge! But if she has anticipated me, my good + Gratien, we will give her up to the law.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen, listen!... The thing is settled,” said Ferragus to Henri. + </p> + <p> + The two friends listened intently, and heard some feeble cries which might + have aroused pity in the breast of a tiger. + </p> + <p> + “Your marquise did not think the sound would escape by the chimney,” said + the chief of the Devourers, with the laugh of a critic, enchanted to + detect a fault in a work of merit. + </p> + <p> + “We alone, we know how to provide for every contingency,” said Henri. + “Wait for me. I want to see what is going on upstairs—I want to know + how their domestic quarrels are managed. By God! I believe she is roasting + her at a slow fire.” + </p> + <p> + De Marsay lightly scaled the stairs, with which he was familiar, and + recognized the passage leading to the boudoir. When he opened the door he + experienced the involuntary shudder which the sight of bloodshed gives to + the most determined of men. The spectacle which was offered to his view + was, moreover, in more than one respect astonishing to him. The Marquise + was a woman; she had calculated her vengeance with that perfection of + perfidy which distinguishes the weaker animals. She had dissimulated her + anger in order to assure herself of the crime before she punished it. + </p> + <p> + “Too late, my beloved!” said Paquita, in her death agony, casting her pale + eyes upon De Marsay. + </p> + <p> + The girl of the golden eyes expired in a bath of blood. The great + illumination of candles, a delicate perfume which was perceptible, a + certain disorder, in which the eye of a man accustomed to amorous + adventures could not but discern the madness which is common to all the + passions, revealed how cunningly the Marquise had interrogated the guilty + one. The white room, where the blood showed so well, betrayed a long + struggle. The prints of Paquita’s hands were on the cushions. Here she had + clung to her life, here she had defended herself, here she had been + struck. Long strips of the tapestry had been torn down by her bleeding + hands, which, without a doubt, had struggled long. Paquita must have tried + to reach the window; her bare feet had left their imprints on the edge of + the divan, along which she must have run. Her body, mutilated by the + dagger-thrusts of her executioner, told of the fury with which she had + disputed a life which Henri had made precious to her. She lay stretched on + the floor, and in her death-throes had bitten the ankles of Madame de + San-Real, who still held in her hand her dagger, dripping blood. The hair + of the Marquise had been torn out, she was covered with bites, many of + which were bleeding, and her torn dress revealed her in a state of + semi-nudity, with the scratches on her breasts. She was sublime so. Her + head, eager and maddened, exhaled the odor of blood. Her panting mouth was + open, and her nostrils were not sufficient for her breath. There are + certain animals who fall upon their enemy in their rage, do it to death, + and seem in the tranquillity of victory to have forgotten it. There are + others who prowl around their victim, who guard it in fear lest it should + be taken away from them, and who, like the Achilles of Homer, drag their + enemy by the feet nine times round the walls of Troy. The Marquise was + like that. She did not see Henri. In the first place, she was too secure + of her solitude to be afraid of witnesses; and, secondly, she was too + intoxicated with warm blood, too excited with the fray, too exalted, to + take notice of the whole of Paris, if Paris had formed a circle round her. + A thunderbolt would not have disturbed her. She had not even heard + Paquita’s last sigh, and believed that the dead girl could still hear her. + </p> + <p> + “Die without confessing!” she said. “Go down to hell, monster of + ingratitude; belong to no one but the fiend. For the blood you gave him + you owe me all your own! Die, die, suffer a thousand deaths! I have been + too kind—I was only a moment killing you. I should have made you + experience all the tortures that you have bequeathed to me. I—I + shall live! I shall live in misery. I have no one left to love but God!” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at her. + </p> + <p> + “She is dead!” she said to herself, after a pause, in a violent reaction. + “Dead! Oh, I shall die of grief!” + </p> + <p> + The Marquise was throwing herself upon the divan, stricken with a despair + which deprived her of speech, when this movement brought her in view of + Henri de Marsay. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” she asked, rushing at him with her dagger raised. + </p> + <p> + Henri caught her arm, and thus they could contemplate each other face to + face. A horrible surprise froze the blood in their veins, and their limbs + quivered like those of frightened horses. In effect, the two Menoechmi had + not been more alike. With one accord they uttered the same phrase: + </p> + <p> + “Lord Dudley must have been your father!” + </p> + <p> + The head of each was drooped in affirmation. + </p> + <p> + “She was true to the blood,” said Henri, pointing to Paquita. + </p> + <p> + “She was as little guilty as it is possible to be,” replied Margarita + Euphemia Porraberil, and she threw herself upon the body of Paquita, + giving vent to a cry of despair. “Poor child! Oh, if I could bring thee to + life again! I was wrong—forgive me, Paquita! Dead! and I live! I—I + am the most unhappy.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the horrible face of the mother of Paquita appeared. + </p> + <p> + “You are come to tell me that you never sold her to me to kill,” cried the + Marquise. “I know why you have left your lair. I will pay you twice over. + Hold your peace.” + </p> + <p> + She took a bag of gold from the ebony cabinet, and threw it contemptuously + at the old woman’s feet. The chink of the gold was potent enough to excite + a smile on the Georgian’s impassive face. + </p> + <p> + “I come at the right moment for you, my sister,” said Henri. “The law will + ask of you——” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” replied the Marquise. “One person alone might ask for a + reckoning for the death of this girl. Cristemio is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “And the mother,” said Henri, pointing to the old woman. “Will you not + always be in her power?” + </p> + <p> + “She comes from a country where women are not beings, but things—chattels, + with which one does as one wills, which one buys, sells, and slays; in + short, which one uses for one’s caprices as you, here, use a piece of + furniture. Besides, she has one passion which dominates all the others, + and which would have stifled her maternal love, even if she had loved her + daughter, a passion——” + </p> + <p> + “What?” Henri asked quickly, interrupting his sister. + </p> + <p> + “Play! God keep you from it,” answered the Marquise. + </p> + <p> + “But whom have you,” said Henri, looking at the girl of the golden eyes, + “who will help you to remove the traces of this fantasy which the law + would not overlook?” + </p> + <p> + “I have her mother,” replied the Marquise, designating the Georgian, to + whom she made a sign to remain. + </p> + <p> + “We shall meet again,” said Henri, who was thinking anxiously of his + friends and felt that it was time to leave. + </p> + <p> + “No, brother,” she said, “we shall not meet again. I am going back to + Spain to enter the Convent of <i>los Dolores</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too young yet, too lovely,” said Henri, taking her in his arms + and giving her a kiss. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” she said; “there is no consolation when you have lost that + which has seemed to you the infinite.” + </p> + <p> + A week later Paul de Manerville met De Marsay in the Tuileries, on the + Terrasse de Feuillants. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what has become of our beautiful girl of the golden eyes, you + rascal?” + </p> + <p> + “She is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “What of?” + </p> + <p> + “Consumption.” + </p> + <p> + PARIS, March 1834-April 1835. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + ADDENDUM + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Note: The Girl with the Golden Eyes is the third part of a trilogy. + Part one is entitled Ferragus and part two is The Duchesse de + Langeais. In other addendum references all three stories are usually + combined under the title The Thirteen. +</pre> + <p> + The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Bourignard, Gratien-Henri-Victor-Jean-Joseph + Ferragus + + Dudley, Lord + The Lily of the Valley + A Man of Business + Another Study of Woman + A Daughter of Eve + + Manerville, Paul Francois-Joseph, Comte de + The Ball at Sceaux + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + A Marriage Settlement + + Marsay, Henri de + Ferragus + The Duchesse of Langeais + The Unconscious Humorists + Another Study of Woman + The Lily of the Valley + Father Goriot + Jealousies of a Country Town + Ursule Mirouet + A Marriage Settlement + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Letters of Two Brides + The Ball at Sceaux + Modeste Mignon + The Secrets of a Princess + The Gondreville Mystery + A Daughter of Eve + + Ronquerolles, Marquis de + The Imaginary Mistress + The Peasantry + Ursule Mirouet + A Woman of Thirty + Another Study of Woman + Ferragus + The Duchesse of Langeais + The Member for Arcis +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Girl with the Golden Eyes, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES *** + +***** This file should be named 1659-h.htm or 1659-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/1659/ + +Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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