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diff --git a/7416-h/7416-h.htm b/7416-h/7416-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..72bdf1d --- /dev/null +++ b/7416-h/7416-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,15409 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Thirteen, by Honore de Balzac + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Thirteen, by Honore de Balzac + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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 Thirteen + +Author: Honore de Balzac + +Translator: Katharine Prescott Wormeley and Ellen Marriage + +Release Date: March 7, 2010 [EBook #7416] +Last Updated: November 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRTEEN *** + + + + +Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE THIRTEEN + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Honore De Balzac + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley and Ellen Marriage + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + DEDICATION<br /><br /> To Hector Berlioz.<br /> + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <h3> + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> AUTHOR’S PREFACE </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>THE THIRTEEN</b> </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> <b>I. FERRAGUS, CHIEF OF THE DEVORANTS</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. MADAME JULES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. FERRAGUS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. THE WIFE ACCUSED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. WHERE GO TO DIE? </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. CONCLUSION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> ADDENDUM </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <b>II. THE DUCHESSE OF LANGEAIS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> ADDENDUM </a> + </p> + <br /> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> <b>III. THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES</b> + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> ADDENDUM </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + The <i>Histoire des Treize</i> consists—or rather is built up—of + three stories: <i>Ferragus</i> or the <i>Rue Soly</i>, <i>La Duchesse de + Langeais</i> or <i>Ne touchez-paz a la hache</i>, and <i>La Fille aux Yeux + d’Or</i>. + </p> + <p> + To tell the truth, there is more power than taste throughout the <i>Histoire + des Treize</i>, and perhaps not very much less unreality than power. + Balzac is very much better than Eugene Sue, though Eugene Sue also is + better than it is the fashion to think him just now. But he is here, to a + certain extent competing with Sue on the latter’s own ground. The notion + of the “Devorants”—of a secret society of men devoted to each + other’s interests, entirely free from any moral or legal scruple, + possessed of considerable means in wealth, ability, and position, all + working together, by fair means or foul, for good ends or bad—is, no + doubt, rather seducing to the imagination at all times; and it so happened + that it was particularly seducing to the imagination of that time. And its + example has been powerful since; it gave us Mr. Stevenson’s <i>New Arabian + Nights</i> only, as it were, the other day. + </p> + <p> + But there is something a little schoolboyish in it; and I do not know that + Balzac has succeeded entirely in eliminating this something. The pathos of + the death, under persecution, of the innocent Clemence does not entirely + make up for the unreasonableness of the whole situation. Nobody can say + that the abominable misconduct of Maulincour—who is a hopeless “cad”—is + too much punished, though an Englishman may think that Dr. Johnson’s + receipt of three or four footmen with cudgels, applied repeatedly and + unsparingly, would have been better than elaborately prepared accidents + and duels, which were too honorable for a Peeping Tom of this kind; and + poisonings, which reduced the avengers to the level of their victim. But + the imbroglio is of itself stupid; these fathers who cannot be made known + to husbands are mere stage properties, and should never be fetched out of + the theatrical lumber-room by literature. + </p> + <p> + <i>La Duchesse de Langeais</i> is, I think, a better story, with more + romantic attraction, free from the objections just made to <i>Ferragus</i>, + and furnished with a powerful, if slightly theatrical catastrophe. It is + as good as anything that its author has done of the kind, subject to those + general considerations of probability and otherwise which have been + already hinted at. For those who are not troubled by any such critical + reflections, both, no doubt, will be highly satisfactory. + </p> + <p> + The third of the series, <i>La Fille aux Yeux d’Or</i>, in some respects + one of Balzac’s most brilliant effects, has been looked at askance by many + of his English readers. At one time he had the audacity to think of + calling it <i>La Femme aux Yeux Rouges</i>. To those who consider the + story morbid or, one may say, <i>bizarre</i>, one word of justification, + hardly of apology, may be offered. It was in the scheme of the <i>Comedie + Humaine</i> to survey social life in its entirety by a minute analysis of + its most diverse constituents. It included all the pursuits and passions, + was large and patient, and unafraid. And the patience, the curiosity, of + the artist which made Cesar Birotteau and his bankrupt ledgers matters of + high import to us, which did not shrink from creating a Vautrin and a + Lucien de Rubempre, would have been incomplete had it stopped short of a + Marquise de San-Real, of a Paquita Valdes. And in the great mass of the <i>Comedie + Humaine</i>, with its largeness and reality of life, as in life itself; + the figure of Paquita justifies its presence. + </p> + <p> + Considering the <i>Histoire des Treize</i> as a whole, it is of engrossing + interest. And I must confess I should not think much of any boy who, + beginning Balzac with this series, failed to go rather mad over it. I know + there was a time when I used to like it best of all, and thought not + merely <i>Eugenie Grandet</i>, but <i>Le Pere Goriot</i> (though not the + <i>Peau de Chagrin</i>), dull in comparison. Some attention, however, must + be paid to two remarkable characters, on whom it is quite clear that + Balzac expended a great deal of pains, and one of whom he seems to have + “caressed,” as the French say, with a curious admixture of dislike and + admiration. + </p> + <p> + The first, Bourignard or Ferragus, is, of course, another, though a + somewhat minor example—Collin or Vautrin being the chief—of + that strange tendency to take intense interest in criminals, which seems + to be a pretty constant eccentricity of many human minds, and which laid + an extraordinary grasp on the great French writers of Balzac’s time. I + must confess, though it may sink me very low in some eyes, that I have + never been able to fully appreciate the attractions of crime and + criminals, fictitious or real. Certain pleasant and profitable things, no + doubt, retain their pleasure and their profit, to some extent, when they + are done in the manner which is technically called criminal; but they seem + to me to acquire no additional interest by being so. As the criminal of + fact is, in the vast majority of cases, an exceedingly commonplace and + dull person, the criminal of fiction seems to me only, or usually, to + escape these curses by being absolutely improbable and unreal. But I know + this is a terrible heresy. + </p> + <p> + Henri de Marsay is a much more ambitious and a much more interesting + figure. In him are combined the attractions of criminality, beauty, + brains, success, and, last of all, dandyism. It is a well-known and + delightful fact that the most Anglophobe Frenchmen—and Balzac might + fairly be classed among them—have always regarded the English dandy + with half-jealous, half-awful admiration. Indeed, our novelist, it will be + seen, found it necessary to give Marsay English blood. But there is a + tradition that this young Don Juan—not such a good fellow as + Byron’s, nor such a <i>grand seigneur</i> as Moliere’s—was partly + intended to represent Charles de Remusat, who is best known to this + generation by very sober and serious philosophical works, and by his part + in his mother’s correspondence. I do not know that there ever were any + imputation on M. de Remusat’s morals; but in memoirs of the time, he is, I + think, accused of a certain selfishness and <i>hauteur</i>, and he + certainly made his way, partly by journalism, partly by society, to power + very much as Marsay did. But Marsay would certainly not have written <i>Abelard</i> + and the rest, or have returned to Ministerial rank in our own time. + Marsay, in fact, more fortunate than Rubempre, and of a higher stamp and + flight than Rastignac, makes with them Balzac’s trinity of sketches of the + kind of personage whose part, in his day and since, every young Frenchman + has aspired to play, and some have played. It cannot be said that “a moral + man is Marsay”; it cannot be said that he has the element of good-nature + which redeems Rastignac. But he bears a blame and a burden for which we + Britons are responsible in part—the Byronic ideal of the guilty hero + coming to cross and blacken the old French model of unscrupulous good + humor. It is not a very pretty mixture or a very worthy ideal; but I am + not so sure that it is not still a pretty common one. + </p> + <p> + The association of the three stories forming the <i>Histoire des Treize</i> + is, in book form, original, inasmuch as they filled three out of the four + volumes of <i>Etudes des Moeurs</i> published in 1834-35, and themselves + forming part of the first collection of <i>Scenes de la Vie Parisienne</i>. + But <i>Ferragus</i> had appeared in parts (with titles to each) in the <i>Revue + de Paris</i> for March and April 1833, and part of <i>La Duchesse de + Langeais</i> in the <i>Echo de la Jeune France</i> almost + contemporaneously. There are divisions in this also. <i>Ferragus</i> and + <i>La Duchesse</i> also appeared without <i>La Fille aux Yeux d’Or</i> in + 1839, published in one volume by Charpentier, before their absorption at + the usual time in the <i>Comedie</i>. + </p> + <p> + George Saintsbury + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AUTHOR’S PREFACE + </h2> + <p> + In the Paris of the Empire there were found Thirteen men equally impressed + with the same idea, equally endowed with energy enough to keep them true + to it, while among themselves they were loyal enough to keep faith even + when their interests seemed to clash. They were strong enough to set + themselves above all laws; bold enough to shrink from no enterprise; and + lucky enough to succeed in nearly everything that they undertook. So + profoundly politic were they, that they could dissemble the tie which + bound them together. They ran the greatest risks, and kept their failures + to themselves. Fear never entered into their calculations; not one of them + had trembled before princes, before the executioner’s axe, before + innocence. They had taken each other as they were, regardless of social + prejudices. Criminals they doubtless were, yet none the less were they all + remarkable for some one of the virtues which go to the making of great + men, and their numbers were filled up only from among picked recruits. + Finally, that nothing should be lacking to complete the dark, mysterious + romance of their history, nobody to this day knows who they were. The + Thirteen once realized all the wildest ideas conjured up by tales of the + occult powers of a Manfred, a Faust, or a Melmoth; and to-day the band is + broken up or, at any rate, dispersed. Its members have quietly returned + beneath the yoke of the Civil Code; much as Morgan, the Achilles of + piracy, gave up buccaneering to be a peaceable planter; and, untroubled by + qualms of conscience, sat himself down by the fireside to dispose of + blood-stained booty acquired by the red light of blazing towns. + </p> + <p> + After Napoleon’s death, the band was dissolved by a chance event which the + author is bound for the present to pass over in silence, and its + mysterious existence, as curious, it may be, as the darkest novel by Mrs. + Radcliffe, came to an end. + </p> + <p> + It was only lately that the present writer, detecting, as he fancied, a + faint desire for celebrity in one of the anonymous heroes to whom the + whole band once owed an occult allegiance, received the somewhat singular + permission to make public certain of the adventures which befell that + band, provided that, while telling the story in his own fashion, he + observed certain limits. + </p> + <p> + The aforesaid leader was still an apparently young man with fair hair and + blue eyes, and a soft, thin voice which might seem to indicate a feminine + temperament. His face was pale, his ways mysterious. He chatted + pleasantly, and told me that he was only just turned of forty. He might + have belonged to any one of the upper classes. The name which he gave was + probably assumed, and no one answering to his description was known in + society. Who is he, do you ask? No one knows. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps when he made his extraordinary disclosures to the present writer, + he wished to see them in some sort reproduced; to enjoy the effect of the + sensation on the multitude; to feel as Macpherson might have felt when the + name of Ossian, his creation, passed into all languages. And, in truth, + that Scottish advocate knew one of the keenest, or, at any rate, one of + the rarest sensations in human experience. What was this but the incognito + of genius? To write an <i>Itineraire de Paris a Jerusalem</i> is to take + one’s share in the glory of a century, but to give a Homer to one’s + country—this surely is a usurpation of the rights of God. + </p> + <p> + The writer is too well acquainted with the laws of narration to be unaware + of the nature of the pledge given by this brief preface; but, at the same + time, he knows enough of the history of the Thirteen to feel confident + that he shall not disappoint any expectations raised by the programme. + Tragedies dripping with gore, comedies piled up with horrors, tales of + heads taken off in secret have been confided to him. If any reader has not + had enough of the ghastly tales served up to the public for some time + past, he has only to express his wish; the author is in a position to + reveal cold-blooded atrocities and family secrets of a gloomy and + astonishing nature. But in preference he has chosen those pleasanter + stories in which stormy passions are succeeded by purer scenes, where the + beauty and goodness of woman shine out the brighter for the darkness. And, + to the honor of the Thirteen, such episodes as these are not wanting. Some + day perhaps it may be thought worth while to give their whole history to + the world; in which case it might form a pendant to the history of the + buccaneers—that race apart so curiously energetic, so attractive in + spite of their crimes. + </p> + <p> + When a writer has a true story to tell, he should scorn to turn it into a + sort of puzzle toy, after the manner of those novelists who take their + reader for a walk through one cavern after another to show him a dried-up + corpse at the end of the fourth volume, and inform him, by way of + conclusion, that he has been frightened all along by a door hidden + somewhere or other behind some tapestry; or a dead body, left by + inadvertence, under the floor. So the present chronicler, in spite of his + objection to prefaces, felt bound to introduce his fragment by a few + remarks. + </p> + <p> + <i>Ferragus</i>, the first episode, is connected by invisible links with + the history of the Thirteen, for the power which they acquired in a + natural manner provides the apparently supernatural machinery. + </p> + <p> + Again, although a certain literary coquetry may be permissible to + retailers of the marvelous, the sober chronicler is bound to forego such + advantage as he may reap from an odd-sounding name, on which many + ephemeral successes are founded in these days. Wherefore the present + writer gives the following succinct statement of the reasons which induced + him to adopt the unlikely sounding title and sub-title. + </p> + <p> + In accordance with old-established custom, <i>Ferragus</i> is a name taken + by the head of a guild of <i>Devorants</i>, <i>id est Devoirants</i> or + journeymen. Every chief on the day of his election chooses a pseudonym and + continues a dynasty of <i>Devorants</i> precisely as a pope changes his + name on his accession to the triple tiara; and as the Church has its + Clement XIV., Gregory XII., Julius II., or Alexander VI., so the workmen + have their Trempe-la-Soupe IX., Ferragus XXII., Tutanus XIII., or + Masche-Fer IV. Who are the <i>Devorants</i>, do you ask? + </p> + <p> + The <i>Devorants</i> are one among many tribes of <i>compagnons</i> whose + origin can be traced to a great mystical association formed among the + workmen of Christendom for the rebuilding of the Temple at Jerusalem. <i>Compagnonnage</i> + is still a popular institution in France. Its traditions still exert a + power over little enlightened minds, over men so uneducated that they have + not learned to break their oaths; and the various organizations might be + turned to formidable account even yet if any rough-hewn man of genius + arose to make use of them, for his instruments would be, for the most + part, almost blind. + </p> + <p> + Wherever journeymen travel, they find a hostel for <i>compagnons</i> which + has been in existence in the town from time immemorial. The <i>obade</i>, + as they call it, is a kind of lodge with a “Mother” in charge, an old, + half-gypsy wife who has nothing to lose. She hears all that goes on in the + countryside; and, either from fear or from long habit, is devoted to the + interests of the tribe boarded and lodged by her. And as a result, this + shifting population, subject as it is to an unalterable law of custom, has + eyes in every place, and will carry out an order anywhere without asking + questions; for the oldest journeyman is still at an age when a man has + some beliefs left. What is more, the whole fraternity professes doctrines + which, if unfolded never so little, are both true enough and mysterious + enough to electrify all the adepts with patriotism; and the <i>compagnons</i> + are so attached to their rules, that there have been bloody battles + between different fraternities on a question of principle. Fortunately, + however, for peace and public order; if a <i>Devorant</i> is ambitious, he + takes to building houses, makes a fortune, and leaves the guild. + </p> + <p> + A great many curious things might be told of their rivals, the <i>Compagnons + du Devior</i>, of all the different sects of workmen, their manners and + customs and brotherhoods, and of the resemblances between them and the + Freemasons; but there, these particulars would be out of place. The author + will merely add, that before the Revolution a Trempe-la-Soupe had been + known in the King’s service, which is to say, that he had the tenure of a + place in His Majesty’s galleys for one hundred and one years; but even + thence he ruled his guild, and was religiously consulted on all matters, + and if he escaped from the hulks he met with help, succor, and respect + wherever he went. To have a chief in the hulks is one of those misfortunes + for which Providence is responsible; but a faithful lodge of <i>devorants</i> + is bound, as before, to obey a power created by and set above themselves. + Their lawful sovereign is in exile for the time being, but none the less + is he their king. And now any romantic mystery hanging about the words <i>Ferragus</i> + and the <i>devorants</i> is completely dispelled. + </p> + <p> + As for the Thirteen, the author feels that, on the strength of the details + of this almost fantastic story, he can afford to give away yet another + prerogative, though it is one of the greatest on record, and would + possibly fetch a high price if brought into a literary auction mart; for + the owner might inflict as many volumes on the public as La + Contemporaine.[*] + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*] A long series of so-called Memoirs, which appeared about 1830. +</pre> + <p> + The Thirteen were all of them men tempered like Byron’s friend Trelawney, + the original (so it is said) of <i>The Corsair</i>. All of them were + fatalists, men of spirit and poetic temperament; all of them were tired of + the commonplace life which they led; all felt attracted towards Asiatic + pleasures by all the vehement strength of newly awakened and long dormant + forces. One of these, chancing to take up <i>Venice Preserved</i> for the + second time, admired the sublime friendship between Pierre and Jaffir, and + fell to musing on the virtues of outlaws, the loyalty of the hulks, the + honor of thieves, and the immense power that a few men can wield if they + bring their whole minds to bear upon the carrying out of a single will. It + struck him that the individual man rose higher than men. Then he began to + think that if a few picked men should band themselves together; and if, to + natural wit, and education, and money, they could join a fanaticism hot + enough to fuse, as it were, all those separate forces into a single one, + then the whole world would be at their feet. From that time forth, with a + tremendous power of concentration, they could wield an occult power + against which the organization of society would be helpless; a power which + would push obstacles aside and defeat the will of others; and the + diabolical power of all would be at the service of each. A hostile world + apart within the world, admitting none of the ideas, recognizing none of + the laws of the world; submitting only to the sense of necessity, obedient + only from devotion; acting all as one man in the interests of the comrade + who should claim the aid of the rest; a band of buccaneers with carriages + and yellow kid gloves; a close confederacy of men of extraordinary power, + of amused and cool spectators of an artificial and petty world which they + cursed with smiling lips; conscious as they were that they could make all + things bend to their caprice, weave ingenious schemes of revenge, and live + with the life in thirteen hearts, to say nothing of the unfailing pleasure + of facing the world of men with a hidden misanthropy, a sense that they + were armed against their kind, and could retire into themselves with one + idea which the most remarkable men had not,—all this constituted a + religion of pleasure and egoism which made fanatics of the Thirteen. The + history of the Society of Jesus was repeated for the Devil’s benefit. It + was hideous and sublime. + </p> + <p> + The pact was made; and it lasted, precisely because it seemed impossible. + And so it came to pass that in Paris there was a fraternity of thirteen + men, each one bound, body and soul, to the rest, and all of them strangers + to each other in the sight of the world. But evening found them gathered + together like conspirators, and then they had no thoughts apart; riches, + like the wealth of the Old Man of the Mountain, they possessed in common; + they had their feet in every salon, their hands in every strong box, their + elbows in the streets, their heads upon all pillows, they did not scruple + to help themselves at their pleasure. No chief commanded them, nobody was + strong enough. The liveliest passion, the most urgent need took precedence—that + was all. They were thirteen unknown kings; unknown, but with all the power + and more than the power of kings; for they were both judges and + executioners, they had taken wings that they might traverse the heights + and depths of society, scorning to take any place in it, since all was + theirs. If the author learns the reason of their abdication, he will + communicate it. + </p> + <p> + And now the author is free to give those episodes in the History of the + Thirteen which, by reason of the Parisian flavor of the details or the + strangeness of the contrasts, possessed a peculiar attraction for him. + </p> + <p> + Paris + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h1> + THE THIRTEEN + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. FERRAGUS, CHIEF OF THE DEVORANTS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. MADAME JULES + </h2> + <p> + Certain streets in Paris are as degraded as a man covered with infamy; + also, there are noble streets, streets simply respectable, young streets + on the morality of which the public has not yet formed an opinion; also + cut-throat streets, streets older than the age of the oldest dowagers, + estimable streets, streets always clean, streets always dirty, working, + laboring, and mercantile streets. In short, the streets of Paris have + every human quality, and impress us, by what we must call their + physiognomy, with certain ideas against which we are defenceless. There + are, for instance, streets of a bad neighborhood in which you could not be + induced to live, and streets where you would willingly take up your abode. + Some streets, like the rue Montmartre, have a charming head, and end in a + fish’s tail. The rue de la Paix is a wide street, a fine street, yet it + wakens none of those gracefully noble thoughts which come to an + impressible mind in the middle of the rue Royale, and it certainly lacks + the majesty which reigns in the Place Vendome. + </p> + <p> + If you walk the streets of the Ile Saint-Louis, do not seek the reason of + the nervous sadness that lays hold upon you save in the solitude of the + spot, the gloomy look of the houses, and the great deserted mansions. This + island, the ghost of <i>fermiers-generaux</i>, is the Venice of Paris. The + Place de la Bourse is voluble, busy, degraded; it is never fine except by + moonlight at two in the morning. By day it is Paris epitomized; by night + it is a dream of Greece. The rue Traversiere-Saint-Honore—is not + that a villainous street? Look at the wretched little houses with two + windows on a floor, where vice, crime, and misery abound. The narrow + streets exposed to the north, where the sun never comes more than three or + four times a year, are the cut-throat streets which murder with impunity; + the authorities of the present day do not meddle with them; but in former + times the Parliament might perhaps have summoned the lieutenant of police + and reprimanded him for the state of things; and it would, at least, have + issued some decree against such streets, as it once did against the wigs + of the Chapter of Beauvais. And yet Monsieur Benoiston de Chateauneuf has + proved that the mortality of these streets is double that of others! To + sum up such theories by a single example: is not the rue Fromentin both + murderous and profligate! + </p> + <p> + These observations, incomprehensible out of Paris, will doubtless be + understood by musing men of thought and poesy and pleasure, who know, + while rambling about Paris, how to harvest the mass of floating interests + which may be gathered at all hours within her walls; to them Paris is the + most delightful and varied of monsters: here, a pretty woman; farther on, + a haggard pauper; here, new as the coinage of a new reign; there, in this + corner, elegant as a fashionable woman. A monster, moreover, complete! Its + garrets, as it were, a head full of knowledge and genius; its first + storeys stomachs repleted; its shops, actual feet, where the busy + ambulating crowds are moving. Ah! what an ever-active life the monster + leads! Hardly has the last vibration of the last carriage coming from a + ball ceased at its heart before its arms are moving at the barriers and it + shakes itself slowly into motion. Doors open; turning on their hinges like + the membrane of some huge lobster, invisibly manipulated by thirty + thousand men or women, of whom each individual occupies a space of six + square feet, but has a kitchen, a workshop, a bed, children, a garden, + little light to see by, but must see all. Imperceptibly, the articulations + begin to crack; motion communicates itself; the street speaks. By mid-day, + all is alive; the chimneys smoke, the monster eats; then he roars, and his + thousand paws begin to ramp. Splendid spectacle! But, O Paris! he who has + not admired your gloomy passages, your gleams and flashes of light, your + deep and silent <i>cul-de-sacs</i>, who has not listened to your + murmurings between midnight and two in the morning, knows nothing as yet + of your true poesy, nor of your broad and fantastic contrasts. + </p> + <p> + There are a few amateurs who never go their way heedlessly; who savor + their Paris, so to speak; who know its physiognomy so well that they see + every wart, and pimple, and redness. To others, Paris is always that + monstrous marvel, that amazing assemblage of activities, of schemes, of + thoughts; the city of a hundred thousand tales, the head of the universe. + But to those few, Paris is sad or gay, ugly or beautiful, living or dead; + to them Paris is a creature; every man, every fraction of a house is a + lobe of the cellular tissue of that great courtesan whose head and heart + and fantastic customs they know so well. These men are lovers of Paris; + they lift their noses at such or such a corner of a street, certain that + they can see the face of a clock; they tell a friend whose tobacco-pouch + is empty, “Go down that passage and turn to the left; there’s a + tobacconist next door to a confectioner, where there’s a pretty girl.” + Rambling about Paris is, to these poets, a costly luxury. How can they + help spending precious minutes before the dramas, disasters, faces, and + picturesque events which meet us everywhere amid this heaving queen of + cities, clothed in posters,—who has, nevertheless, not a single + clean corner, so complying is she to the vices of the French nation! Who + has not chanced to leave his home early in the morning, intending to go to + some extremity of Paris, and found himself unable to get away from the + centre of it by the dinner-hour? Such a man will know how to excuse this + vagabondizing start upon our tale; which, however, we here sum up in an + observation both useful and novel, as far as any observation can be novel + in Paris, where there is nothing new,—not even the statue erected + yesterday, on which some young gamin has already scribbled his name. + </p> + <p> + Well, then! there are streets, or ends of streets, there are houses, + unknown for the most part to persons of social distinction, to which a + woman of that class cannot go without causing cruel and very wounding + things to be thought of her. Whether the woman be rich and has a carriage, + whether she is on foot, or is disguised, if she enters one of these + Parisian defiles at any hour of the day, she compromises her reputation as + a virtuous woman. If, by chance, she is there at nine in the evening the + conjectures that an observer permits himself to make upon her may prove + fearful in their consequences. But if the woman is young and pretty, if + she enters a house in one of those streets, if the house has a long, dark, + damp, and evil-smelling passage-way, at the end of which flickers the + pallid gleam of an oil lamp, and if beneath that gleam appears the horrid + face of a withered old woman with fleshless fingers, ah, then! and we say + it in the interests of young and pretty women, that woman is lost. She is + at the mercy of the first man of her acquaintance who sees her in that + Parisian slough. There is more than one street in Paris where such a + meeting may lead to a frightful drama, a bloody drama of death and love, a + drama of the modern school. + </p> + <p> + Unhappily, this scene, this modern drama itself, will be comprehended by + only a small number of persons; and it is a pity to tell the tale to a + public which cannot enter into its local merit. But who can flatter + himself that he will ever be understood? We all die unknown—‘tis the + saying of women and of authors. + </p> + <p> + At half-past eight o’clock one evening, in the rue Pagevin, in the days + when that street had no wall which did not echo some infamous word, and + was, in the direction of the rue Soly, the narrowest and most impassable + street in Paris (not excepting the least frequented corner of the most + deserted street),—at the beginning of the month of February about + thirteen years ago, a young man, by one of those chances which come but + once in life, turned the corner of the rue Pagevin to enter the rue des + Vieux-Augustins, close to the rue Soly. There, this young man, who lived + himself in the rue de Bourbon, saw in a woman near whom he had been + unconsciously walking, a vague resemblance to the prettiest woman in + Paris; a chaste and delightful person, with whom he was secretly and + passionately in love,—a love without hope; she was married. In a + moment his heart leaped, an intolerable heat surged from his centre and + flowed through all his veins; his back turned cold, the skin of his head + crept. He loved, he was young, he knew Paris; and his knowledge did not + permit him to be ignorant of all there was of possible infamy in an + elegant, rich, young, and beautiful woman walking there, alone, with a + furtively criminal step. <i>She</i> in that mud! at that hour! + </p> + <p> + The love that this young man felt for that woman may seem romantic, and + all the more so because he was an officer in the Royal Guard. If he had + been in the infantry, the affair might have seemed more likely; but, as an + officer of rank in the cavalry, he belonged to that French arm which + demands rapidity in its conquests and derives as much vanity from its + amorous exploits as from its dashing uniform. But the passion of this + officer was a true love, and many young hearts will think it noble. He + loved this woman because she was virtuous; he loved her virtue, her modest + grace, her imposing saintliness, as the dearest treasures of his hidden + passion. This woman was indeed worthy to inspire one of those platonic + loves which are found, like flowers amid bloody ruins, in the history of + the middle-ages; worthy to be the hidden principle of all the actions of a + young man’s life; a love as high, as pure as the skies when blue; a love + without hope and to which men bind themselves because it can never + deceive; a love that is prodigal of unchecked enjoyment, especially at an + age when the heart is ardent, the imagination keen, and the eyes of a man + see very clearly. + </p> + <p> + Strange, weird, inconceivable effects may be met with at night in Paris. + Only those who have amused themselves by watching those effects have any + idea how fantastic a woman may appear there at dusk. At times the creature + whom you are following, by accident or design, seems to you light and + slender; the stockings, if they are white, make you fancy that the legs + must be slim and elegant; the figure though wrapped in a shawl, or + concealed by a pelisse, defines itself gracefully and seductively among + the shadows; anon, the uncertain gleam thrown from a shop-window or a + street lamp bestows a fleeting lustre, nearly always deceptive, on the + unknown woman, and fires the imagination, carrying it far beyond the + truth. The senses then bestir themselves; everything takes color and + animation; the woman appears in an altogether novel aspect; her person + becomes beautiful. Behold! she is not a woman, she is a demon, a siren, + who is drawing you by magnetic attraction to some respectable house, where + the worthy <i>bourgeoise</i>, frightened by your threatening step and the + clack of your boots, shuts the door in your face without looking at you. + </p> + <p> + A vacillating gleam, thrown from the shop-window of a shoemaker, suddenly + illuminated from the waist down the figure of the woman who was before the + young man. Ah! surely, <i>she</i> alone had that swaying figure; she alone + knew the secret of that chaste gait which innocently set into relief the + many beauties of that attractive form. Yes, that was the shawl, and that + the velvet bonnet which she wore in the mornings. On her gray silk + stockings not a spot, on her shoes not a splash. The shawl held tightly + round the bust disclosed, vaguely, its charming lines; and the young man, + who had often seen those shoulders at a ball, knew well the treasures that + the shawl concealed. By the way a Parisian woman wraps a shawl around her, + and the way she lifts her feet in the street, a man of intelligence in + such studies can divine the secret of her mysterious errand. There is + something, I know not what, of quivering buoyancy in the person, in the + gait; the woman seems to weigh less; she steps, or rather, she glides like + a star, and floats onward led by a thought which exhales from the folds + and motion of her dress. The young man hastened his step, passed the + woman, and then turned back to look at her. Pst! she had disappeared into + a passage-way, the grated door of which and its bell still rattled and + sounded. The young man walked back to the alley and saw the woman reach + the farther end, where she began to mount—not without receiving the + obsequious bow of an old portress—a winding staircase, the lower + steps of which were strongly lighted; she went up buoyantly, eagerly, as + though impatient. + </p> + <p> + “Impatient for what?” said the young man to himself, drawing back to lean + against a wooden railing on the other side of the street. He gazed, + unhappy man, at the different storeys of the house, with the keen + attention of a detective searching for a conspirator. + </p> + <p> + It was one of those houses of which there are thousands in Paris, ignoble, + vulgar, narrow, yellowish in tone, with four storeys and three windows on + each floor. The outer blinds of the first floor were closed. Where was she + going? The young man fancied he heard the tinkle of a bell on the second + floor. As if in answer to it, a light began to move in a room with two + windows strongly illuminated, which presently lit up the third window, + evidently that of a first room, either the salon or the dining-room of the + apartment. Instantly the outline of a woman’s bonnet showed vaguely on the + window, and a door between the two rooms must have closed, for the first + was dark again, while the two other windows resumed their ruddy glow. At + this moment a voice said, “Hi, there!” and the young man was conscious of + a blow on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you pay attention?” said the rough voice of a workman, carrying + a plank on his shoulder. The man passed on. He was the voice of Providence + saying to the watcher: “What are you meddling with? Think of your own + duty; and leave these Parisians to their own affairs.” + </p> + <p> + The young man crossed his arms; then, as no one beheld him, he suffered + tears of rage to flow down his cheeks unchecked. At last the sight of the + shadows moving behind the lighted windows gave him such pain that he + looked elsewhere and noticed a hackney-coach, standing against a wall in + the upper part of the rue des Vieux-Augustins, at a place where there was + neither the door of a house, nor the light of a shop-window. + </p> + <p> + Was it she? Was it not she? Life or death to a lover! This lover waited. + He stood there during a century of twenty minutes. After that the woman + came down, and he then recognized her as the one whom he secretly loved. + Nevertheless, he wanted still to doubt. She went to the hackney-coach, and + got into it. + </p> + <p> + “The house will always be there and I can search it later,” thought the + young man, following the carriage at a run, to solve his last doubts; and + soon he did so. + </p> + <p> + The carriage stopped in the rue de Richelieu before a shop for artificial + flowers, close to the rue de Menars. The lady got out, entered the shop, + sent out the money to pay the coachman, and presently left the shop + herself, on foot, after buying a bunch of marabouts. Marabouts for her + black hair! The officer beheld her, through the window-panes, placing the + feathers to her head to see the effect, and he fancied he could hear the + conversation between herself and the shop-woman. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! madame, nothing is more suitable for brunettes: brunettes have + something a little too strongly marked in their lines, and marabouts give + them just that <i>flow</i> which they lack. Madame la Duchesse de Langeais + says they give a woman something vague, Ossianic, and very high-bred.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good; send them to me at once.” + </p> + <p> + Then the lady turned quickly toward the rue de Menars, and entered her own + house. When the door closed on her, the young lover, having lost his + hopes, and worse, far worse, his dearest beliefs, walked through the + streets like a drunken man, and presently found himself in his own room + without knowing how he came there. He flung himself into an arm-chair, put + his head in his hands and his feet on the andirons, drying his boots until + he burned them. It was an awful moment,—one of those moments in + human life when the character is moulded, and the future conduct of the + best of men depends on the good or evil fortune of his first action. + Providence or fatality?—choose which you will. + </p> + <p> + This young man belonged to a good family, whose nobility was not very + ancient; but there are so few really old families in these days, that all + men of rank are ancient without dispute. His grandfather had bought the + office of counsellor to the Parliament of Paris, where he afterwards + became president. His sons, each provided with a handsome fortune, entered + the army, and through their marriages became attached to the court. The + Revolution swept the family away; but one old dowager, too obstinate to + emigrate, was left; she was put in prison, threatened with death, but was + saved by the 9th Thermidor and recovered her property. When the proper + time came, about the year 1804, she recalled her grandson to France. + Auguste de Maulincour, the only scion of the Carbonnon de Maulincour, was + brought up by the good dowager with the triple care of a mother, a woman + of rank, and an obstinate dowager. When the Restoration came, the young + man, then eighteen years of age, entered the Maison-Rouge, followed the + princes to Ghent, was made an officer in the body-guard, left it to serve + in the line, but was recalled later to the Royal Guard, where, at + twenty-three years of age, he found himself major of a cavalry regiment,—a + splendid position, due to his grandmother, who had played her cards well + to obtain it, in spite of his youth. This double biography is a compendium + of the general and special history, barring variations, of all the noble + families who emigrated having debts and property, dowagers and tact. + </p> + <p> + Madame la Baronne de Maulincour had a friend in the old Vidame de Pamiers, + formerly a commander of the Knights of Malta. This was one of those + undying friendships founded on sexagenary ties which nothing can weaken, + because at the bottom of such intimacies there are certain secrets of the + human heart, delightful to guess at when we have the time, insipid to + explain in twenty words, and which might make the text of a work in four + volumes as amusing as the Doyen de Killerine,—a work about which + young men talk and judge without having read it. + </p> + <p> + Auguste de Maulincour belonged therefore to the faubourg Saint-Germain + through his grandmother and the vidame, and it sufficed him to date back + two centuries to take the tone and opinions of those who assume to go back + to Clovis. This young man, pale, slender, and delicate in appearance, a + man of honor and true courage, who would fight a duel for a yes or a no, + had never yet fought upon a battle-field, though he wore in his + button-hole the cross of the Legion of honor. He was, as you perceive, one + of the blunders of the Restoration, perhaps the most excusable of them. + The youth of those days was the youth of no epoch. It came between the + memories of the Empire and those of the Emigration, between the old + traditions of the court and the conscientious education of the <i>bourgeoisie</i>; + between religion and fancy-balls; between two political faiths, between + Louis XVIII., who saw only the present, and Charles X., who looked too far + into the future; it was moreover bound to accept the will of the king, + though the king was deceiving and tricking it. This unfortunate youth, + blind and yet clear-sighted, was counted as nothing by old men jealously + keeping the reins of the State in their feeble hands, while the monarchy + could have been saved by their retirement and the accession of this Young + France, which the old doctrinaires, the <i>emigres</i> of the Restoration, + still speak of slightingly. Auguste de Maulincour was a victim to the + ideas which weighed in those days upon French youth, and we must here + explain why. + </p> + <p> + The Vidame de Pamiers was still, at sixty-seven years of age, a very + brilliant man, having seen much and lived much; a good talker, a man of + honor and a gallant man, but who held as to women the most detestable + opinions; he loved them, and he despised them. <i>Their</i> honor! <i>their</i> + feelings! Ta-ra-ra, rubbish and shams! When he was with them, he believed + in them, the ci-devant “monstre”; he never contradicted them, and he made + them shine. But among his male friends, when the topic of the sex came up, + he laid down the principle that to deceive women, and to carry on several + intrigues at once, should be the occupation of those young men who were so + misguided as to wish to meddle in the affairs of the State. It is sad to + have to sketch so hackneyed a portrait, for has it not figured everywhere + and become, literally, as threadbare as that of a grenadier of the Empire? + But the vidame had an influence on Monsieur de Maulincour’s destiny which + obliges us to preserve his portrait; he lectured the young man after his + fashion, and did his best to convert him to the doctrines of the great age + of gallantry. + </p> + <p> + The dowager, a tender-hearted, pious woman, sitting between God and her + vidame, a model of grace and sweetness, but gifted with that well-bred + persistency which triumphs in the long run, had longed to preserve for her + grandson the beautiful illusions of life, and had therefore brought him up + in the highest principles; she instilled into him her own delicacy of + feeling and made him, to outward appearance, a timid man, if not a fool. + The sensibilities of the young fellow, preserved pure, were not worn by + contact without; he remained so chaste, so scrupulous, that he was keenly + offended by actions and maxims to which the world attached no consequence. + Ashamed of this susceptibility, he forced himself to conceal it under a + false hardihood; but he suffered in secret, all the while scoffing with + others at the things he reverenced. + </p> + <p> + It came to pass that he was deceived; because, in accordance with a not + uncommon whim of destiny, he, a man of gentle melancholy, and spiritual in + love, encountered in the object of his first passion a woman who held in + horror all German sentimentalism. The young man, in consequence, + distrusted himself, became dreamy, absorbed in his griefs, complaining of + not being understood. Then, as we desire all the more violently the things + we find difficult to obtain, he continued to adore women with that + ingenuous tenderness and feline delicacy the secret of which belongs to + women themselves, who may, perhaps, prefer to keep the monopoly of it. In + point of fact, though women of the world complain of the way men love + them, they have little liking themselves for those whose soul is half + feminine. Their own superiority consists in making men believe they are + their inferiors in love; therefore they will readily leave a lover if he + is inexperienced enough to rob them of those fears with which they seek to + deck themselves, those delightful tortures of feigned jealousy, those + troubles of hope betrayed, those futile expectations,—in short, the + whole procession of their feminine miseries. They hold Sir Charles + Grandison in horror. What can be more contrary to their nature than a + tranquil, perfect love? They want emotions; happiness without storms is + not happiness to them. Women with souls that are strong enough to bring + infinitude into love are angelic exceptions; they are among women what + noble geniuses are among men. Their great passions are rare as + masterpieces. Below the level of such love come compromises, conventions, + passing and contemptible irritations, as in all things petty and + perishable. + </p> + <p> + Amid the hidden disasters of his heart, and while he was still seeking the + woman who could comprehend him (a search which, let us remark in passing, + is one of the amorous follies of our epoch), Auguste met, in the rank of + society that was farthest from his own, in the secondary sphere of money, + where banking holds the first place, a perfect being, one of those women + who have I know not what about them that is saintly and sacred,—women + who inspire such reverence that love has need of the help of a long + familiarity to declare itself. + </p> + <p> + Auguste then gave himself up wholly to the delights of the deepest and + most moving of passions, to a love that was purely adoring. Innumerable + repressed desires there were, shadows of passion so vague yet so profound, + so fugitive and yet so actual, that one scarcely knows to what we may + compare them. They are like perfumes, or clouds, or rays of the sun, or + shadows, or whatever there is in nature that shines for a moment and + disappears, that springs to life and dies, leaving in the heart long + echoes of emotion. When the soul is young enough to nurture melancholy and + far-off hope, to find in woman more than a woman, is it not the greatest + happiness that can befall a man when he loves enough to feel more joy in + touching a gloved hand, or a lock of hair, in listening to a word, in + casting a single look, than in all the ardor of possession given by happy + love? Thus it is that rejected persons, those rebuffed by fate, the ugly + and unfortunate, lovers unrevealed, women and timid men, alone know the + treasures contained in the voice of the beloved. Taking their source and + their element from the soul itself, the vibrations of the air, charged + with passion, put our hearts so powerfully into communion, carrying + thought between them so lucidly, and being, above all, so incapable of + falsehood, that a single inflection of a voice is often a revelation. What + enchantments the intonations of a tender voice can bestow upon the heart + of a poet! What ideas they awaken! What freshness they shed there! Love is + in the voice before the glance avows it. Auguste, poet after the manner of + lovers (there are poets who feel, and poets who express; the first are the + happiest), Auguste had tasted all these early joys, so vast, so fecund. + SHE possessed the most winning organ that the most artful woman of the + world could have desired in order to deceive at her ease; <i>she</i> had + that silvery voice which is soft to the ear, and ringing only for the + heart which it stirs and troubles, caresses and subjugates. + </p> + <p> + And this woman went by night to the rue Soly through the rue Pagevin! and + her furtive apparition in an infamous house had just destroyed the + grandest of passions! The vidame’s logic triumphed. + </p> + <p> + “If she is betraying her husband we will avenge ourselves,” said Auguste. + </p> + <p> + There was still faith in that “if”. The philosophic doubt of Descartes is + a politeness with which we should always honor virtue. Ten o’clock + sounded. The Baron de Maulincour remembered that this woman was going to a + ball that evening at a house to which he had access. He dressed, went + there, and searched for her through all the salons. The mistress of the + house, Madame de Nucingen, seeing him thus occupied, said:— + </p> + <p> + “You are looking for Madame Jules; but she has not yet come.” + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, dear,” said a voice. + </p> + <p> + Auguste and Madame de Nucingen turned round. Madame Jules had arrived, + dressed in white, looking simple and noble, wearing in her hair the + marabouts the young baron had seen her choose in the flower-shop. That + voice of love now pierced his heart. Had he won the slightest right to be + jealous of her he would have petrified her then and there by saying the + words, “Rue Soly!” But if he, an alien to her life, had said those words + in her ear a thousand times, Madame Jules would have asked him in + astonishment what he meant. He looked at her stupidly. + </p> + <p> + For those sarcastic persons who scoff at all things it may be a great + amusement to detect the secret of a woman, to know that her chastity is a + lie, that her calm face hides some anxious thought, that under that pure + brow is a dreadful drama. But there are other souls to whom the sight is + saddening; and many of those who laugh in public, when withdrawn into + themselves and alone with their conscience, curse the world while they + despise the woman. Such was the case with Auguste de Maulincour, as he + stood there in presence of Madame Jules. Singular situation! There was no + other relation between them than that which social life establishes + between persons who exchange a few words seven or eight times in the + course of a winter, and yet he was calling her to account on behalf of a + happiness unknown to her; he was judging her, without letting her know of + his accusation. + </p> + <p> + Many young men find themselves thus in despair at having broken forever + with a woman adored in secret, condemned and despised in secret. There are + many hidden monologues told to the walls of some solitary lodging; storms + roused and calmed without ever leaving the depths of hearts; amazing + scenes of the moral world, for which a painter is wanted. Madame Jules sat + down, leaving her husband to make a turn around the salon. After she was + seated she seemed uneasy, and, while talking with her neighbor, she kept a + furtive eye on Monsieur Jules Desmarets, her husband, a broker chiefly + employed by the Baron de Nucingen. The following is the history of their + home life. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Desmarets was, five years before his marriage, in a broker’s + office, with no other means than the meagre salary of a clerk. But he was + a man to whom misfortune had early taught the truths of life, and he + followed the strait path with the tenacity of an insect making for its + nest; he was one of those dogged young men who feign death before an + obstacle and wear out everybody’s patience with their own beetle-like + perseverance. Thus, young as he was, he had all the republican virtue of + poor peoples; he was sober, saving of his time, an enemy to pleasure. He + waited. Nature had given him the immense advantage of an agreeable + exterior. His calm, pure brow, the shape of his placid, but expressive + face, his simple manners,—all revealed in him a laborious and + resigned existence, that lofty personal dignity which is imposing to + others, and the secret nobility of heart which can meet all events. His + modesty inspired a sort of respect in those who knew him. Solitary in the + midst of Paris, he knew the social world only by glimpses during the brief + moments which he spent in his patron’s salon on holidays. + </p> + <p> + There were passions in this young man, as in most of the men who live in + that way, of amazing profundity,—passions too vast to be drawn into + petty incidents. His want of means compelled him to lead an ascetic life, + and he conquered his fancies by hard work. After paling all day over + figures, he found his recreation in striving obstinately to acquire that + wide general knowledge so necessary in these days to every man who wants + to make his mark, whether in society, or in commerce, at the bar, or in + politics or literature. The only peril these fine souls have to fear comes + from their own uprightness. They see some poor girl; they love her; they + marry her, and wear out their lives in a struggle between poverty and + love. The noblest ambition is quenched perforce by the household + account-book. Jules Desmarets went headlong into this peril. + </p> + <p> + He met one evening at his patron’s house a girl of the rarest beauty. + Unfortunate men who are deprived of affection, and who consume the finest + hours of youth in work and study, alone know the rapid ravages that + passion makes in their lonely, misconceived hearts. They are so certain of + loving truly, all their forces are concentrated so quickly on the object + of their love, that they receive, while beside her, the most delightful + sensations, when, as often happens, they inspire none at all. Nothing is + more flattering to a woman’s egotism than to divine this passion, + apparently immovable, and these emotions so deep that they have needed a + great length of time to reach the human surface. These poor men, + anchorites in the midst of Paris, have all the enjoyments of anchorites; + and may sometimes succumb to temptations. But, more often deceived, + betrayed, and misunderstood, they are rarely able to gather the sweet + fruits of a love which, to them, is like a flower dropped from heaven. + </p> + <p> + One smile from his wife, a single inflection of her voice sufficed to make + Jules Desmarets conceive a passion which was boundless. Happily, the + concentrated fire of that secret passion revealed itself artlessly to the + woman who inspired it. These two beings then loved each other religiously. + To express all in a word, they clasped hands without shame before the eyes + of the world and went their way like two children, brother and sister, + passing serenely through a crowd where all made way for them and admired + them. + </p> + <p> + The young girl was in one of those unfortunate positions which human + selfishness entails upon children. She had no civil status; her name of + “Clemence” and her age were recorded only by a notary public. As for her + fortune, that was small indeed. Jules Desmarets was a happy man on hearing + these particulars. If Clemence had belonged to an opulent family, he might + have despaired of obtaining her; but she was only the poor child of love, + the fruit of some terrible adulterous passion; and they were married. Then + began for Jules Desmarets a series of fortunate events. Every one envied + his happiness; and henceforth talked only of his luck, without recalling + either his virtues or his courage. + </p> + <p> + Some days after their marriage, the mother of Clemence, who passed in + society for her godmother, told Jules Desmarets to buy the office and + good-will of a broker, promising to provide him with the necessary + capital. In those days, such offices could still be bought at a modest + price. That evening, in the salon as it happened of his patron, a wealthy + capitalist proposed, on the recommendation of the mother, a very + advantageous transaction for Jules Desmarets, and the next day the happy + clerk was able to buy out his patron. In four years Desmarets became one + of the most prosperous men in his business; new clients increased the + number his predecessor had left to him; he inspired confidence in all; and + it was impossible for him not to feel, by the way business came to him, + that some hidden influence, due to his mother-in-law, or to Providence, + was secretly protecting him. + </p> + <p> + At the end of the third year Clemence lost her godmother. By that time + Monsieur Jules (so called to distinguish him from an elder brother, whom + he had set up as a notary in Paris) possessed an income from invested + property of two hundred thousand francs. There was not in all Paris + another instance of the domestic happiness enjoyed by this couple. For + five years their exceptional love had been troubled by only one event,—a + calumny for which Monsieur Jules exacted vengeance. One of his former + comrades attributed to Madame Jules the fortune of her husband, explaining + that it came from a high protection dearly paid for. The man who uttered + the calumny was killed in the duel that followed it. + </p> + <p> + The profound passion of this couple, which survived marriage, obtained a + great success in society, though some women were annoyed by it. The + charming household was respected; everybody feted it. Monsieur and Madame + Jules were sincerely liked, perhaps because there is nothing more + delightful to see than happy people; but they never stayed long at any + festivity. They slipped away early, as impatient to regain their nest as + wandering pigeons. This nest was a large and beautiful mansion in the rue + de Menars, where a true feeling for art tempered the luxury which the + financial world continues, traditionally, to display. Here the happy pair + received their society magnificently, although the obligations of social + life suited them but little. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, Jules submitted to the demands of the world, knowing that, + sooner or later, a family has need of it; but he and his wife felt + themselves, in its midst, like green-house plants in a tempest. With a + delicacy that was very natural, Jules had concealed from his wife the + calumny and the death of the calumniator. Madame Jules, herself, was + inclined, through her sensitive and artistic nature, to desire luxury. In + spite of the terrible lesson of the duel, some imprudent women whispered + to each other that Madame Jules must sometimes be pressed for money. They + often found her more elegantly dressed in her own home than when she went + into society. She loved to adorn herself to please her husband, wishing to + show him that to her he was more than any social life. A true love, a pure + love, above all, a happy love! Jules, always a lover, and more in love as + time went by, was happy in all things beside his wife, even in her + caprices; in fact, he would have been uneasy if she had none, thinking it + a symptom of some illness. + </p> + <p> + Auguste de Maulincour had the personal misfortune of running against this + passion, and falling in love with the wife beyond recovery. Nevertheless, + though he carried in his heart so intense a love, he was not ridiculous; + he complied with all the demands of society, and of military manners and + customs. And yet his face wore constantly, even though he might be + drinking a glass of champagne, that dreamy look, that air of silently + despising life, that nebulous expression which belongs, though for other + reasons, to <i>blases</i> men,—men dissatisfied with hollow lives. + To love without hope, to be disgusted with life, constitute, in these + days, a social position. The enterprise of winning the heart of a + sovereign might give, perhaps, more hope than a love rashly conceived for + a happy woman. Therefore Maulincour had sufficient reason to be grave and + gloomy. A queen has the vanity of her power; the height of her elevation + protects her. But a pious <i>bourgeoise</i> is like a hedgehog, or an + oyster, in its rough wrappings. + </p> + <p> + At this moment the young officer was beside his unconscious mistress, who + certainly was unaware that she was doubly faithless. Madame Jules was + seated, in a naive attitude, like the least artful woman in existence, + soft and gentle, full of a majestic serenity. What an abyss is human + nature! Before beginning a conversation, the baron looked alternately at + the wife and at the husband. How many were the reflections he made! He + recomposed the “Night Thoughts” of Young in a second. And yet the music + was sounding through the salons, the light was pouring from a thousand + candles. It was a banker’s ball,—one of those insolent festivals by + means of which the world of solid gold endeavored to sneer at the + gold-embossed salons where the faubourg Saint-Germain met and laughed, not + foreseeing the day when the bank would invade the Luxembourg and take its + seat upon the throne. The conspirators were now dancing, indifferent to + coming bankruptcies, whether of Power or of the Bank. The gilded salons of + the Baron de Nucingen were gay with that peculiar animation that the world + of Paris, apparently joyous at any rate, gives to its fetes. There, men of + talent communicate their wit to fools, and fools communicate that air of + enjoyment that characterizes them. By means of this exchange all is + liveliness. But a ball in Paris always resembles fireworks to a certain + extent; wit, coquetry, and pleasure sparkle and go out like rockets. The + next day all present have forgotten their wit, their coquetry, their + pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” thought Auguste, by way of conclusion, “women are what the vidame + says they are. Certainly all those dancing here are less irreproachable + actually than Madame Jules appears to be, and yet Madame Jules went to the + rue Soly!” + </p> + <p> + The rue Soly was like an illness to him; the very word shrivelled his + heart. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, do you ever dance?” he said to her. + </p> + <p> + “This is the third time you have asked me that question this winter,” she + answered, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “But perhaps you have never answered it.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew very well that you were false, like other women.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Jules continued to smile. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, monsieur,” she said; “if I told you the real reason, you would + think it ridiculous. I do not think it false to abstain from telling + things that the world would laugh at.” + </p> + <p> + “All secrets demand, in order to be told, a friendship of which I am no + doubt unworthy, madame. But you cannot have any but noble secrets; do you + think me capable of jesting on noble things?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “you, like all the rest, laugh at our purest sentiments; + you calumniate them. Besides, I have no secrets. I have the right to love + my husband in the face of all the world, and I say so,—I am proud of + it; and if you laugh at me when I tell you that I dance only with him, I + shall have a bad opinion of your heart.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you never danced since your marriage with any one but your husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Never. His arm is the only one on which I have leaned; I have never felt + the touch of another man.” + </p> + <p> + “Has your physician never felt your pulse?” + </p> + <p> + “Now you are laughing at me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madame, I admire you, because I comprehend you. But you let a man + hear your voice, you let yourself be seen, you—in short, you permit + our eyes to admire you—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, interrupting him, “that is one of my griefs. Yes, I wish + it were possible for a married woman to live secluded with her husband, as + a mistress lives with her lover, for then—” + </p> + <p> + “Then why were you, two hours ago, on foot, disguised, in the rue Soly?” + </p> + <p> + “The rue Soly, where is that?” + </p> + <p> + And her pure voice gave no sign of any emotion; no feature of her face + quivered; she did not blush; she remained calm. + </p> + <p> + “What! you did not go up to the second floor of a house in the rue des + Vieux-Augustins at the corner of the rue Soly? You did not have a + hackney-coach waiting near by? You did not return in it to the flower-shop + in the rue Richelieu, where you bought the feathers that are now in your + hair?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not leave my house this evening.” + </p> + <p> + As she uttered that lie she was smiling and imperturbable; she played with + her fan; but if any one had passed a hand down her back they would, + perhaps, have found it moist. At that instant Auguste remembered the + instructions of the vidame. + </p> + <p> + “Then it was some one who strangely resembled you,” he said, with a + credulous air. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she replied, “if you are capable of following a woman and + detecting her secrets, you will allow me to say that it is a wrong, a very + wrong thing, and I do you the honor to say that I disbelieve you.” + </p> + <p> + The baron turned away, placed himself before the fireplace and seemed + thoughtful. He bent his head; but his eyes were covertly fixed on Madame + Jules, who, not remembering the reflections in the mirror, cast two or + three glances at him that were full of terror. Presently she made a sign + to her husband and rising took his arm to walk about the salon. As she + passed before Monsieur de Maulincour, who at that moment was speaking to a + friend, he said in a loud voice, as if in reply to a remark: “That woman + will certainly not sleep quietly this night.” Madame Jules stopped, gave + him an imposing look which expressed contempt, and continued her way, + unaware that another look, if surprised by her husband, might endanger not + only her happiness but the lives of two men. Auguste, frantic with anger, + which he tried to smother in the depths of his soul, presently left the + house, swearing to penetrate to the heart of the mystery. Before leaving, + he sought Madame Jules, to look at her again; but she had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + What a drama cast into that young head so eminently romantic, like all who + have not known love in the wide extent which they give to it. He adored + Madame Jules under a new aspect; he loved her now with the fury of + jealousy and the frenzied anguish of hope. Unfaithful to her husband, the + woman became common. Auguste could now give himself up to the joys of + successful love, and his imagination opened to him a career of pleasures. + Yes, he had lost the angel, but he had found the most delightful of + demons. He went to bed, building castles in the air, excusing Madame Jules + by some romantic fiction in which he did not believe. He resolved to + devote himself wholly, from that day forth, to a search for the causes, + motives, and keynote of this mystery. It was a tale to read, or better + still, a drama to be played, in which he had a part. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. FERRAGUS + </h2> + <p> + A fine thing is the task of a spy, when performed for one’s own benefit + and in the interests of a passion. Is it not giving ourselves the pleasure + of a thief and a rascal while continuing honest men? But there is another + side to it; we must resign ourselves to boil with anger, to roar with + impatience, to freeze our feet in the mud, to be numbed, and roasted, and + torn by false hopes. We must go, on the faith of a mere indication, to a + vague object, miss our end, curse our luck, improvise to ourselves + elegies, dithyrambics, exclaim idiotically before inoffensive pedestrians + who observe us, knock over old apple-women and their baskets, run hither + and thither, stand on guard beneath a window, make a thousand + suppositions. But, after all, it is a chase, a hunt; a hunt in Paris, a + hunt with all its chances, minus dogs and guns and the tally-ho! Nothing + compares with it but the life of gamblers. But it needs a heart big with + love and vengeance to ambush itself in Paris, like a tiger waiting to + spring upon its prey, and to enjoy the chances and contingencies of Paris, + by adding one special interest to the many that abound there. But for this + we need a many-sided soul—for must we not live in a thousand + passions, a thousand sentiments? + </p> + <p> + Auguste de Maulincour flung himself into this ardent existence + passionately, for he felt all its pleasures and all its misery. He went + disguised about Paris, watching at the corners of the rue Pagevin and the + rue des Vieux-Augustins. He hurried like a hunter from the rue de Menars + to the rue Soly, and back from the rue Soly to the rue de Menars, without + obtaining either the vengeance or the knowledge which would punish or + reward such cares, such efforts, such wiles. But he had not yet reached + that impatience which wrings our very entrails and makes us sweat; he + roamed in hope, believing that Madame Jules would only refrain for a few + days from revisiting the place where she knew she had been detected. He + devoted the first days therefore, to a careful study of the secrets of the + street. A novice at such work, he dared not question either the porter or + the shoemaker of the house to which Madame Jules had gone; but he managed + to obtain a post of observation in a house directly opposite to the + mysterious apartment. He studied the ground, trying to reconcile the + conflicting demands of prudence, impatience, love, and secrecy. + </p> + <p> + Early in the month of March, while busy with plans by which he expected to + strike a decisive blow, he left his post about four in the afternoon, + after one of those patient watches from which he had learned nothing. He + was on his way to his own house whither a matter relating to his military + service called him, when he was overtaken in the rue Coquilliere by one of + those heavy showers which instantly flood the gutters, while each drop of + rain rings loudly in the puddles of the roadway. A pedestrian under these + circumstances is forced to stop short and take refuge in a shop or cafe if + he is rich enough to pay for the forced hospitality, or, if in poorer + circumstances, under a <i>porte-cochere</i>, that haven of paupers or + shabbily dressed persons. Why have none of our painters ever attempted to + reproduce the physiognomies of a swarm of Parisians, grouped, under stress + of weather, in the damp <i>porte-cochere</i> of a building? First, there’s + the musing philosophical pedestrian, who observes with interest all he + sees,—whether it be the stripes made by the rain on the gray + background of the atmosphere (a species of chasing not unlike the + capricious threads of spun glass), or the whirl of white water which the + wind is driving like a luminous dust along the roofs, or the fitful + disgorgements of the gutter-pipes, sparkling and foaming; in short, the + thousand nothings to be admired and studied with delight by loungers, in + spite of the porter’s broom which pretends to be sweeping out the gateway. + Then there’s the talkative refugee, who complains and converses with the + porter while he rests on his broom like a grenadier on his musket; or the + pauper wayfarer, curled against the wall indifferent to the condition of + his rags, long used, alas, to contact with the streets; or the learned + pedestrian who studies, spells, and reads the posters on the walls without + finishing them; or the smiling pedestrian who makes fun of others to whom + some street fatality has happened, who laughs at the muddy women, and + makes grimaces at those of either sex who are looking from the windows; + and the silent being who gazes from floor to floor; and the working-man, + armed with a satchel or a paper bundle, who is estimating the rain as a + profit or loss; and the good-natured fugitive, who arrives like a shot + exclaiming, “Ah! what weather, messieurs, what weather!” and bows to every + one; and, finally, the true <i>bourgeois</i> of Paris, with his unfailing + umbrella, an expert in showers, who foresaw this particular one, but would + come out in spite of his wife; this one takes a seat in the porter’s + chair. According to individual character, each member of this fortuitous + society contemplates the skies, and departs, skipping to avoid the mud,—because + he is in a hurry, or because he sees other citizens walking along in spite + of wind and slush, or because, the archway being damp and mortally + catarrhal, the bed’s edge, as the proverb says, is better than the sheets. + Each one has his motive. No one is left but the prudent pedestrian, the + man who, before he sets forth, makes sure of a scrap of blue sky through + the rifting clouds. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de Maulincour took refuge, as we have said, with a whole family + of fugitives, under the porch of an old house, the court-yard of which + looked like the flue of a chimney. The sides of its plastered, nitrified, + and mouldy walls were so covered with pipes and conduits from all the many + floors of its four elevations, that it might have been said to resemble at + that moment the <i>cascatelles</i> of Saint-Cloud. Water flowed + everywhere; it boiled, it leaped, it murmured; it was black, white, blue, + and green; it shrieked, it bubbled under the broom of the portress, a + toothless old woman used to storms, who seemed to bless them as she swept + into the street a mass of scraps an intelligent inventory of which would + have revealed the lives and habits of every dweller in the house,—bits + of printed cottons, tea-leaves, artificial flower-petals faded and + worthless, vegetable parings, papers, scraps of metal. At every sweep of + her broom the old woman bared the soul of the gutter, that black fissure + on which a porter’s mind is ever bent. The poor lover examined this scene, + like a thousand others which our heaving Paris presents daily; but he + examined it mechanically, as a man absorbed in thought, when, happening to + look up, he found himself all but nose to nose with a man who had just + entered the gateway. + </p> + <p> + In appearance this man was a beggar, but not the Parisian beggar,—that + creation without a name in human language; no, this man formed another + type, while presenting on the outside all the ideas suggested by the word + “beggar.” He was not marked by those original Parisian characteristics + which strike us so forcibly in the paupers whom Charlet was fond of + representing, with his rare luck in observation,—coarse faces + reeking of mud, hoarse voices, reddened and bulbous noses, mouths devoid + of teeth but menacing; humble yet terrible beings, in whom a profound + intelligence shining in their eyes seems like a contradiction. Some of + these bold vagabonds have blotched, cracked, veiny skins; their foreheads + are covered with wrinkles, their hair scanty and dirty, like a wig thrown + on a dust-heap. All are gay in their degradation, and degraded in their + joys; all are marked with the stamp of debauchery, casting their silence + as a reproach; their very attitude revealing fearful thoughts. Placed + between crime and beggary they have no compunctions, and circle prudently + around the scaffold without mounting it, innocent in the midst of crime, + and vicious in their innocence. They often cause a laugh, but they always + cause reflection. One represents to you civilization stunted, repressed; + he comprehends everything, the honor of the galleys, patriotism, virtue, + the malice of a vulgar crime, or the fine astuteness of elegant + wickedness. Another is resigned, a perfect mimer, but stupid. All have + slight yearnings after order and work, but they are pushed back into their + mire by society, which makes no inquiry as to what there may be of great + men, poets, intrepid souls, and splendid organizations among these + vagrants, these gypsies of Paris; a people eminently good and eminently + evil—like all the masses who suffer—accustomed to endure + unspeakable woes, and whom a fatal power holds ever down to the level of + the mire. They all have a dream, a hope, a happiness,—cards, + lottery, or wine. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing of all this in the personage who now leaned carelessly + against the wall in front of Monsieur de Maulincour, like some fantastic + idea drawn by an artist on the back of a canvas the front of which is + turned to the wall. This tall, spare man, whose leaden visage expressed + some deep but chilling thought, dried up all pity in the hearts of those + who looked at him by the scowling look and the sarcastic attitude which + announced an intention of treating every man as an equal. His face was of + a dirty white, and his wrinkled skull, denuded of hair, bore a vague + resemblance to a block of granite. A few gray locks on either side of his + head fell straight to the collar of his greasy coat, which was buttoned to + the chin. He resembled both Voltaire and Don Quixote; he was, apparently, + scoffing but melancholy, full of disdain and philosophy, but half-crazy. + He seemed to have no shirt. His beard was long. A rusty black cravat, much + worn and ragged, exposed a protuberant neck deeply furrowed, with veins as + thick as cords. A large brown circle like a bruise was strongly marked + beneath his eyes, He seemed to be at least sixty years old. His hands were + white and clean. His boots were trodden down at the heels, and full of + holes. A pair of blue trousers, mended in various places, were covered + with a species of fluff which made them offensive to the eye. Whether it + was that his damp clothes exhaled a fetid odor, or that he had in his + normal condition the “poor smell” which belongs to Parisian tenements, + just as offices, sacristies, and hospitals have their own peculiar and + rancid fetidness, of which no words can give the least idea, or whether + some other reason affected them, those in the vicinity of this man + immediately moved away and left him alone. He cast upon them and also upon + the officer a calm, expressionless look, the celebrated look of Monsieur + de Talleyrand, a dull, wan glance, without warmth, a species of + impenetrable veil, beneath which a strong soul hides profound emotions and + close estimation of men and things and events. Not a fold of his face + quivered. His mouth and forehead were impassible; but his eyes moved and + lowered themselves with a noble, almost tragic slowness. There was, in + fact, a whole drama in the motion of those withered eyelids. + </p> + <p> + The aspect of this stoical figure gave rise in Monsieur de Maulincour to + one of those vagabond reveries which begin with a common question and end + by comprising a world of thought. The storm was past. Monsieur de + Maulincour presently saw no more of the man than the tail of his coat as + it brushed the gate-post, but as he turned to leave his own place he + noticed at his feet a letter which must have fallen from the unknown + beggar when he took, as the baron had seen him take, a handkerchief from + his pocket. The young man picked it up, and read, involuntarily, the + address: “To Monsieur Ferragusse, Rue des Grands-Augustains, corner of rue + Soly.” + </p> + <p> + The letter bore no postmark, and the address prevented Monsieur de + Maulincour from following the beggar and returning it; for there are few + passions that will not fail in rectitude in the long run. The baron had a + presentiment of the opportunity afforded by this windfall. He determined + to keep the letter, which would give him the right to enter the mysterious + house to return it to the strange man, not doubting that he lived there. + Suspicions, vague as the first faint gleams of daylight, made him fancy + relations between this man and Madame Jules. A jealous lover supposes + everything; and it is by supposing everything and selecting the most + probable of their conjectures that judges, spies, lovers, and observers + get at the truth they are looking for. + </p> + <p> + “Is the letter for him? Is it from Madame Jules?” + </p> + <p> + His restless imagination tossed a thousand such questions to him; but when + he read the first words of the letter he smiled. Here it is, textually, in + all the simplicity of its artless phrases and its miserable orthography,—a + letter to which it would be impossible to add anything, or to take + anything away, unless it were the letter itself. But we have yielded to + the necessity of punctuating it. In the original there were neither commas + nor stops of any kind, not even notes of exclamation,—a fact which + tends to undervalue the system of notes and dashes by which modern authors + have endeavored to depict the great disasters of all the passions:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Henry,—Among the manny sacrifisis I imposed upon myself for your + sake was that of not giving you anny news of me; but an + iresistible voise now compells me to let you know the wrong you + have done me. I know beforehand that your soul hardened in vise + will not pitty me. Your heart is deaf to feeling. Is it deaf to + the cries of nature? But what matter? I must tell you to what a + dredful point you are gilty, and the horror of the position to + which you have brought me. Henry, you knew what I sufered from my + first wrong-doing, and yet you plunged me into the same misery, + and then abbandoned me to my dispair and sufering. Yes, I will say + it, the belif I had that you loved me and esteemed me gave me + corage to bare my fate. But now, what have I left? Have you not + made me loose all that was dear to me, all that held me to life; + parents, frends, onor, reputation,—all, I have sacrifised all to + you, and nothing is left me but shame, oprobrum, and—I say this + without blushing—poverty. Nothing was wanting to my misfortunes + but the sertainty of your contempt and hatred; and now I have them + I find the corage that my project requires. My decision is made; + the onor of my famly commands it. I must put an end to my + suferins. Make no remarks upon my conduct, Henry; it is orful, I + know, but my condition obliges me. Without help, without suport, + without one frend to comfort me, can I live? No. Fate has desided + for me. So in two days, Henry, two days, Ida will have seased to + be worthy of your regard. Oh, Henry! oh, my frend! for I can never + change to you, promise me to forgive me for what I am going to do. + Do not forget that you have driven me to it; it is your work, and + you must judge it. May heven not punish you for all your crimes. I + ask your pardon on my knees, for I feel nothing is wanting to my + misery but the sorow of knowing you unhappy. In spite of the + poverty I am in I shall refuse all help from you. If you had loved + me I would have taken all from your friendship; but a benfit given + by pitty <i>my soul refussis</i>. I would be baser to take it than he + who offered it. I have one favor to ask of you. I don’t know how + long I must stay at Madame Meynardie’s; be genrous enough not to + come there. Your last two vissits did me a harm I cannot get ofer. + I cannot enter into particlers about that conduct of yours. You + hate me,—you said so; that word is writen on my heart, and + freeses it with fear. Alas! it is now, when I need all my corage, + all my strength, that my faculties abandon me. Henry, my frend, + before I put a barrier forever between us, give me a last pruf of + your esteem. Write me, answer me, say you respect me still, though + you have seased to love me. My eyes are worthy still to look into + yours, but I do not ask an interfew; I fear my weakness and my + love. But for pitty’s sake write me a line at once; it will give + me the corage I need to meet my trubbles. Farewell, orther of all + my woes, but the only frend my heart has chosen and will never + forget. +</pre> + <p> + Ida. + </p> + <p> + This life of a young girl, with its love betrayed, its fatal joys, its + pangs, its miseries, and its horrible resignation, summed up in a few + words, this humble poem, essentially Parisian, written on dirty paper, + influenced for a passing moment Monsieur de Maulincour. He asked himself + whether this Ida might not be some poor relation of Madame Jules, and that + strange rendezvous, which he had witnessed by chance, the mere necessity + of a charitable effort. But could that old pauper have seduced this Ida? + There was something impossible in the very idea. Wandering in this + labyrinth of reflections, which crossed, recrossed, and obliterated one + another, the baron reached the rue Pagevin, and saw a hackney-coach + standing at the end of the rue des Vieux-Augustins where it enters the rue + Montmartre. All waiting hackney-coaches now had an interest for him. + </p> + <p> + “Can she be there?” he thought to himself, and his heart beat fast with a + hot and feverish throbbing. + </p> + <p> + He pushed the little door with the bell, but he lowered his head as he did + so, obeying a sense of shame, for a voice said to him secretly:— + </p> + <p> + “Why are you putting your foot into this mystery?” + </p> + <p> + He went up a few steps, and found himself face to face with the old + portress. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Ferragus?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know him.” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t Monsieur Ferragus live here?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t such a name in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my good woman—” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not your good woman, monsieur, I’m the portress.” + </p> + <p> + “But, madame,” persisted the baron, “I have a letter for Monsieur + Ferragus.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! if monsieur has a letter,” she said, changing her tone, “that’s + another matter. Will you let me see it—that letter?” + </p> + <p> + Auguste showed the folded letter. The old woman shook her head with a + doubtful air, hesitated, seemed to wish to leave the lodge and inform the + mysterious Ferragus of his unexpected visitor, but finally said:— + </p> + <p> + “Very good; go up, monsieur. I suppose you know the way?” + </p> + <p> + Without replying to this remark, which he thought might be a trap, the + young officer ran lightly up the stairway, and rang loudly at the door of + the second floor. His lover’s instinct told him, “She is there.” + </p> + <p> + The beggar of the porch, Ferragus, the “orther” of Ida’s woes, opened the + door himself. He appeared in a flowered dressing-gown, white flannel + trousers, his feet in embroidered slippers, and his face washed clean of + stains. Madame Jules, whose head projected beyond the casing of the door + in the next room, turned pale and dropped into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, madame?” cried the officer, springing toward her. + </p> + <p> + But Ferragus stretched forth an arm and flung the intruder back with so + sharp a thrust that Auguste fancied he had received a blow with an iron + bar full on his chest. + </p> + <p> + “Back! monsieur,” said the man. “What do you want there? For five or six + days you have been roaming about the neighborhood. Are you a spy?” + </p> + <p> + “Are you Monsieur Ferragus?” said the baron. + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless,” continued Auguste, “it is to you that I must return this + paper which you dropped in the gateway beneath which we both took refuge + from the rain.” + </p> + <p> + While speaking and offering the letter to the man, Auguste did not refrain + from casting an eye around the room where Ferragus received him. It was + very well arranged, though simply. A fire burned on the hearth; and near + it was a table with food upon it, which was served more sumptuously than + agreed with the apparent conditions of the man and the poorness of his + lodging. On a sofa in the next room, which he could see through the + doorway, lay a heap of gold, and he heard a sound which could be no other + than that of a woman weeping. + </p> + <p> + “The paper belongs to me; I am much obliged to you,” said the mysterious + man, turning away as if to make the baron understand that he must go. + </p> + <p> + Too curious himself to take much note of the deep examination of which he + was himself the object, Auguste did not see the half-magnetic glance with + which this strange being seemed to pierce him; had he encountered that + basilisk eye he might have felt the danger that encompassed him. Too + passionately excited to think of himself, Auguste bowed, went down the + stairs, and returned home, striving to find a meaning in the connection of + these three persons,—Ida, Ferragus, and Madame Jules; an occupation + equivalent to that of trying to arrange the many-cornered bits of a + Chinese puzzle without possessing the key to the game. But Madame Jules + had seen him, Madame Jules went there, Madame Jules had lied to him. + Maulincour determined to go and see her the next day. She could not refuse + his visit, for he was now her accomplice; he was hands and feet in the + mysterious affair, and she knew it. Already he felt himself a sultan, and + thought of demanding from Madame Jules, imperiously, all her secrets. + </p> + <p> + In those days Paris was seized with a building-fever. If Paris is a + monster, it is certainly a most mania-ridden monster. It becomes enamored + of a thousand fancies: sometimes it has a mania for building, like a great + seigneur who loves a trowel; soon it abandons the trowel and becomes all + military; it arrays itself from head to foot as a national guard, and + drills and smokes; suddenly, it abandons military manoeuvres and flings + away cigars; it is commercial, care-worn, falls into bankruptcy, sells its + furniture on the place de Chatelet, files its schedule; but a few days + later, lo! it has arranged its affairs and is giving fetes and dances. One + day it eats barley-sugar by the mouthful, by the handful; yesterday it + bought “papier Weymen”; to-day the monster’s teeth ache, and it applies to + its walls an alexipharmatic to mitigate their dampness; to-morrow it will + lay in a provision of pectoral paste. It has its manias for the month, for + the season, for the year, like its manias of a day. + </p> + <p> + So, at the moment of which we speak, all the world was building or pulling + down something,—people hardly knew what as yet. There were very few + streets in which high scaffoldings on long poles could not be seen, + fastened from floor to floor with transverse blocks inserted into holes in + the walls on which the planks were laid,—a frail construction, + shaken by the brick-layers, but held together by ropes, white with + plaster, and insecurely protected from the wheels of carriages by the + breastwork of planks which the law requires round all such buildings. + There is something maritime in these masts, and ladders, and cordage, even + in the shouts of the masons. About a dozen yards from the hotel + Maulincour, one of these ephemeral barriers was erected before a house + which was then being built of blocks of free-stone. The day after the + event we have just related, at the moment when the Baron de Maulincour was + passing this scaffolding in his cabriolet on his way to see Madame Jules, + a stone, two feet square, which was being raised to the upper storey of + this building, got loose from the ropes and fell, crushing the baron’s + servant who was behind the cabriolet. A cry of horror shook both the + scaffold and the masons; one of them, apparently unable to keep his grasp + on a pole, was in danger of death, and seemed to have been touched by the + stone as it passed him. + </p> + <p> + A crowd collected rapidly; the masons came down the ladders swearing and + insisting that Monsieur de Maulincour’s cabriolet had been driven against + the boarding and so had shaken their crane. Two inches more and the stone + would have fallen on the baron’s head. The groom was dead, the carriage + shattered. ‘Twas an event for the whole neighborhood, the newspapers told + of it. Monsieur de Maulincour, certain that he had not touched the + boarding, complained; the case went to court. Inquiry being made, it was + shown that a small boy, armed with a lath, had mounted guard and called to + all foot-passengers to keep away. The affair ended there. Monsieur de + Maulincour obtained no redress. He had lost his servant, and was confined + to his bed for some days, for the back of the carriage when shattered had + bruised him severely, and the nervous shock of the sudden surprise gave + him a fever. He did not, therefore, go to see Madame Jules. + </p> + <p> + Ten days after this event, he left the house for the first time, in his + repaired cabriolet, when, as he drove down the rue de Bourgogne and was + close to the sewer opposite to the Chamber of Deputies, the axle-tree + broke in two, and the baron was driving so rapidly that the breakage would + have caused the two wheels to come together with force enough to break his + head, had it not been for the resistance of the leather hood. + Nevertheless, he was badly wounded in the side. For the second time in ten + days he was carried home in a fainting condition to his terrified + grandmother. This second accident gave him a feeling of distrust; he + thought, though vaguely, of Ferragus and Madame Jules. To throw light on + these suspicions he had the broken axle brought to his room and sent for + his carriage-maker. The man examined the axle and the fracture, and proved + two things: First, the axle was not made in his workshop; he furnished + none that did not bear the initials of his name on the iron. But he could + not explain by what means this axle had been substituted for the other. + Secondly, the breakage of the suspicious axle was caused by a hollow space + having been blown in it and a straw very cleverly inserted. + </p> + <p> + “Eh! Monsieur le baron, whoever did that was malicious!” he said; “any one + would swear, to look at it, that the axle was sound.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de Maulincour begged the carriage-maker to say nothing of the + affair; but he felt himself warned. These two attempts at murder were + planned with an ability which denoted the enmity of intelligent minds. + </p> + <p> + “It is war to the death,” he said to himself, as he tossed in his bed,—“a + war of savages, skulking in ambush, of trickery and treachery, declared in + the name of Madame Jules. What sort of man is this to whom she belongs? + What species of power does this Ferragus wield?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de Maulincour, though a soldier and brave man, could not repress + a shudder. In the midst of many thoughts that now assailed him, there was + one against which he felt he had neither defence nor courage: might not + poison be employed ere long by his secret enemies? Under the influence of + fears, which his momentary weakness and fever and low diet increased, he + sent for an old woman long attached to the service of his grandmother, + whose affection for himself was one of those semi-maternal sentiments + which are the sublime of the commonplace. Without confiding in her wholly, + he charged her to buy secretly and daily, in different localities, the + food he needed; telling her to keep it under lock and key and bring it to + him herself, not allowing any one, no matter who, to approach her while + preparing it. He took the most minute precautions to protect himself + against that form of death. He was ill in his bed and alone, and he had + therefore the leisure to think of his own security,—the one + necessity clear-sighted enough to enable human egotism to forget nothing! + </p> + <p> + But the unfortunate man had poisoned his own life by this dread, and, in + spite of himself, suspicion dyed all his hours with its gloomy tints. + These two lessons of attempted assassination did teach him, however, the + value of one of the virtues most necessary to a public man; he saw the + wise dissimulation that must be practised in dealing with the great + interests of life. To be silent about our own secret is nothing; but to be + silent from the start, to forget a fact as Ali Pacha did for thirty years + in order to be sure of a vengeance waited for for thirty years, is a fine + study in a land where there are few men who can keep their own counsel for + thirty days. Monsieur de Maulincour literally lived only through Madame + Jules. He was perpetually absorbed in a sober examination into the means + he ought to employ to triumph in this mysterious struggle with these + mysterious persons. His secret passion for that woman grew by reason of + all these obstacles. Madame Jules was ever there, erect, in the midst of + his thoughts, in the centre of his heart, more seductive by her presumable + vices than by the positive virtues for which he had made her his idol. + </p> + <p> + At last, anxious to reconnoitre the position of the enemy, he thought he + might without danger initiate the vidame into the secrets of his + situation. The old commander loved Auguste as a father loves his wife’s + children; he was shrewd, dexterous, and very diplomatic. He listened to + the baron, shook his head, and they both held counsel. The worthy vidame + did not share his young friend’s confidence when Auguste declared that in + the time in which they now lived, the police and the government were able + to lay bare all mysteries, and that if it were absolutely necessary to + have recourse to those powers, he should find them most powerful + auxiliaries. + </p> + <p> + The old man replied, gravely: “The police, my dear boy, is the most + incompetent thing on this earth, and government the feeblest in all + matters concerning individuals. Neither the police nor the government can + read hearts. What we might reasonably ask of them is to search for the + causes of an act. But the police and the government are both eminently + unfitted for that; they lack, essentially, the personal interest which + reveals all to him who wants to know all. No human power can prevent an + assassin or a poisoner from reaching the heart of a prince or the stomach + of an honest man. Passions are the best police.” + </p> + <p> + The vidame strongly advised the baron to go to Italy, and from Italy to + Greece, from Greece to Syria, from Syria to Asia, and not to return until + his secret enemies were convinced of his repentance, and would so make + tacit peace with him. But if he did not take that course, then the vidame + advised him to stay in the house, and even in his own room, where he would + be safe from the attempts of this man Ferragus, and not to leave it until + he could be certain of crushing him. + </p> + <p> + “We should never touch an enemy until we can be sure of taking his head + off,” he said, gravely. + </p> + <p> + The old man, however, promised his favorite to employ all the astuteness + with which Heaven had provided him (without compromising any one) in + reconnoitring the enemy’s ground, and laying his plans for future victory. + The Commander had in his service a retired Figaro, the wiliest monkey that + ever walked in human form; in earlier days as clever as a devil, working + his body like a galley-slave, alert as a thief, sly as a woman, but now + fallen into the decadence of genius for want of practice since the new + constitution of Parisian society, which has reformed even the valets of + comedy. This Scapin emeritus was attached to his master as to a superior + being; but the shrewd old vidame added a good round sum yearly to the + wages of his former provost of gallantry, which strengthened the ties of + natural affection by the bonds of self-interest, and obtained for the old + gentleman as much care as the most loving mistress could bestow on a sick + friend. It was this pearl of the old-fashioned comedy-valets, relic of the + last century, auxiliary incorruptible from lack of passions to satisfy, on + whom the old vidame and Monsieur de Maulincour now relied. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le baron will spoil all,” said the great man in livery, when + called into counsel. “Monsieur should eat, drink, and sleep in peace. I + take the whole matter upon myself.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, eight days after the conference, when Monsieur de Maulincour, + perfectly restored to health, was breakfasting with his grandmother and + the vidame, Justin entered to make his report. As soon as the dowager had + returned to her own apartments he said, with that mock modesty which men + of talent are so apt to affect:— + </p> + <p> + “Ferragus is not the name of the enemy who is pursuing Monsieur le baron. + This man—this devil, rather—is called Gratien, Henri, Victor, + Jean-Joseph Bourignard. The Sieur Gratien Bourignard is a former + ship-builder, once very rich, and, above all, one of the handsomest men of + his day in Paris,—a Lovelace, capable of seducing Grandison. My + information stops short there. He has been a simple workman; and the + Companions of the Order of the Devorants did, at one time, elect him as + their chief, under the title of Ferragus XXIII. The police ought to know + that, if the police were instituted to know anything. The man has moved + from the rue des Vieux-Augustins, and now roosts rue Joquelet, where + Madame Jules Desmarets goes frequently to see him; sometimes her husband, + on his way to the Bourse, drives her as far as the rue Vivienne, or she + drives her husband to the Bourse. Monsieur le vidame knows about these + things too well to want me to tell him if it is the husband who takes the + wife, or the wife who takes the husband; but Madame Jules is so pretty, + I’d bet on her. All that I have told you is positive. Bourignard often + plays at number 129. Saving your presence, monsieur, he’s a rogue who + loves women, and he has his little ways like a man of condition. As for + the rest, he wins sometimes, disguises himself like an actor, paints his + face to look like anything he chooses, and lives, I may say, the most + original life in the world. I don’t doubt he has a good many lodgings, for + most of the time he manages to evade what Monsieur le vidame calls + ‘parliamentary investigations.’ If monsieur wishes, he could be disposed + of honorably, seeing what his habits are. It is always easy to get rid of + a man who loves women. However, this capitalist talks about moving again. + Have Monsieur le vidame and Monsieur le baron any other commands to give + me?” + </p> + <p> + “Justin, I am satisfied with you; don’t go any farther in the matter + without my orders, but keep a close watch here, so that Monsieur le baron + may have nothing to fear.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy,” continued the vidame, when they were alone, “go back to + your old life, and forget Madame Jules.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Auguste; “I will never yield to Gratien Bourignard. I will + have him bound hand and foot, and Madame Jules also.” + </p> + <p> + That evening the Baron Auguste de Maulincour, recently promoted to higher + rank in the company of the Body-Guard of the king, went to a ball given by + Madame la Duchesse de Berry at the Elysee-Bourbon. There, certainly, no + danger could lurk for him; and yet, before he left the palace, he had an + affair of honor on his hands,—an affair it was impossible to settle + except by a duel. + </p> + <p> + His adversary, the Marquis de Ronquerolles, considered that he had strong + reasons to complain of Monsieur de Maulincour, who had given some ground + for it during his former intimacy with Monsieur de Ronquerolles’ sister, + the Comtesse de Serizy. That lady, the one who detested German + sentimentality, was all the more exacting in the matter of prudery. By one + of those inexplicable fatalities, Auguste now uttered a harmless jest + which Madame de Serizy took amiss, and her brother resented it. The + discussion took place in the corner of a room, in a low voice. In good + society, adversaries never raise their voices. The next day the faubourg + Saint-Germain and the Chateau talked over the affair. Madame de Serizy was + warmly defended, and all the blame was laid on Maulincour. August + personages interfered. Seconds of the highest distinction were imposed on + Messieurs de Maulincour and de Ronquerolles and every precaution was taken + on the ground that no one should be killed. + </p> + <p> + When Auguste found himself face to face with his antagonist, a man of + pleasure, to whom no one could possibly deny sentiments of the highest + honor, he felt it was impossible to believe him the instrument of + Ferragus, chief of the Devorants; and yet he was compelled, as it were, by + an inexplicable presentiment, to question the marquis. + </p> + <p> + “Messieurs,” he said to the seconds, “I certainly do not refuse to meet + the fire of Monsieur de Ronquerolles; but before doing so, I here declare + that I was to blame, and I offer him whatever excuses he may desire, and + publicly if he wishes it; because when the matter concerns a woman, + nothing, I think, can degrade a man of honor. I therefore appeal to his + generosity and good sense; is there not something rather silly in fighting + without a cause?” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de Ronquerolles would not allow of this way of ending the affair, + and then the baron, his suspicions revived, walked up to him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then! Monsieur le marquis,” he said, “pledge me, in presence of + these gentlemen, your word as a gentleman that you have no other reason + for vengeance than that you have chosen to put forward.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, that is a question you have no right to ask.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, Monsieur de Ronquerolles took his place. It was agreed, in + advance, that the adversaries were to be satisfied with one exchange of + shots. Monsieur de Ronquerolles, in spite of the great distance determined + by the seconds, which seemed to make the death of either party + problematical, if not impossible, brought down the baron. The ball went + through the latter’s body just below the heart, but fortunately without + doing vital injury. + </p> + <p> + “You aimed too well, monsieur,” said the baron, “to be avenging only a + paltry quarrel.” + </p> + <p> + And he fainted. Monsieur de Ronquerolles, who believed him to be a dead + man, smiled sardonically as he heard those words. + </p> + <p> + After a fortnight, during which time the dowager and the vidame gave him + those cares of old age the secret of which is in the hands of long + experience only, the baron began to return to life. But one morning his + grandmother dealt him a crushing blow, by revealing anxieties to which, in + her last days, she was now subjected. She showed him a letter signed F, in + which the history of her grandson’s secret espionage was recounted step by + step. The letter accused Monsieur de Maulincour of actions that were + unworthy of a man of honor. He had, it said, placed an old woman at the + stand of hackney-coaches in the rue de Menars; an old spy, who pretended + to sell water from her cask to the coachmen, but who was really there to + watch the actions of Madame Jules Desmarets. He had spied upon the daily + life of a most inoffensive man, in order to detect his secrets,—secrets + on which depended the lives of three persons. He had brought upon himself + a relentless struggle, in which, although he had escaped with life three + times, he must inevitably succumb, because his death had been sworn and + would be compassed if all human means were employed upon it. Monsieur de + Maulincour could no longer escape his fate by even promising to respect + the mysterious life of these three persons, because it was impossible to + believe the word of a gentleman who had fallen to the level of a + police-spy; and for what reason? Merely to trouble the respectable life of + an innocent woman and a harmless old man. + </p> + <p> + The letter itself was nothing to Auguste in comparison to the tender + reproaches of his grandmother. To lack respect to a woman! to spy upon her + actions without a right to do so! Ought a man ever to spy upon a woman + whom he loved?—in short, she poured out a torrent of those excellent + reasons which prove nothing; and they put the young baron, for the first + time in his life, into one of those great human furies in which are born, + and from which issue the most vital actions of a man’s life. + </p> + <p> + “Since it is war to the knife,” he said in conclusion, “I shall kill my + enemy by any means that I can lay hold of.” + </p> + <p> + The vidame went immediately, at Auguste’s request, to the chief of the + private police of Paris, and without bringing Madame Jules’ name or person + into the narrative, although they were really the gist of it, he made the + official aware of the fears of the family of Maulincour about this + mysterious person who was bold enough to swear the death of an officer of + the Guards, in defiance of the law and the police. The chief pushed up his + green spectacles in amazement, blew his nose several times, and offered + snuff to the vidame, who, to save his dignity, pretended not to use + tobacco, although his own nose was discolored with it. Then the chief took + notes and promised, Vidocq and his spies aiding, to send in a report + within a few days to the Maulincour family, assuring them meantime that + there were no secrets for the police of Paris. + </p> + <p> + A few days after this the police official called to see the vidame at the + Hotel de Maulincour, where he found the young baron quite recovered from + his last wound. He gave them in bureaucratic style his thanks for the + indications they had afforded him, and told them that Bourignard was a + convict, condemned to twenty years’ hard labor, who had miraculously + escaped from a gang which was being transported from Bicetre to Toulon. + For thirteen years the police had been endeavoring to recapture him, + knowing that he had boldly returned to Paris; but so far this convict had + escaped the most active search, although he was known to be mixed up in + many nefarious deeds. However, the man, whose life was full of very + curious incidents, would certainly be captured now in one or other of his + several domiciles and delivered up to justice. The bureaucrat ended his + report by saying to Monsieur de Maulincour that if he attached enough + importance to the matter to wish to witness the capture of Bourignard, he + might come the next day at eight in the morning to a house in the rue + Sainte-Foi, of which he gave him the number. Monsieur de Maulincour + excused himself from going personally in search of certainty,—trusting, + with the sacred respect inspired by the police of Paris, in the capability + of the authorities. + </p> + <p> + Three days later, hearing nothing, and seeing nothing in the newspapers + about the projected arrest, which was certainly of enough importance to + have furnished an article, Monsieur de Maulincour was beginning to feel + anxieties which were presently allayed by the following letter:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Monsieur le Baron,—I have the honor to announce to you that you + need have no further uneasiness touching the affair in question. + The man named Gratien Bourignard, otherwise called Ferragus, died + yesterday, at his lodgings, rue Joquelet No. 7. The suspicions we + naturally conceived as to the identity of the dead body have been + completely set at rest by the facts. The physician of the + Prefecture of police was despatched by us to assist the physician + of the arrondissement, and the chief of the detective police made + all the necessary verifications to obtain absolute certainty. + Moreover, the character of the persons who signed the certificate + of death, and the affidavits of those who took care of the said + Bourignard in his last illness, among others that of the worthy + vicar of the church of the Bonne-Nouvelle (to whom he made his + last confession, for he died a Christian), do not permit us to + entertain any sort of doubt. + + Accept, Monsieur le baron, etc., etc. +</pre> + <p> + Monsieur de Maulincour, the dowager, and the vidame breathed again with + joy unspeakable. The good old woman kissed her grandson leaving a tear + upon his cheek, and went away to thank God in prayer. The dear soul, who + was making a novena for Auguste’s safety, believed her prayers were + answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the vidame, “now you had better show yourself at the ball you + were speaking of. I oppose no further objections.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. THE WIFE ACCUSED + </h2> + <p> + Monsieur de Maulincour was all the more anxious to go to this ball because + he knew that Madame Jules would be present. The fete was given by the + Prefect of the Seine, in whose salons the two social worlds of Paris met + as on neutral ground. Auguste passed through the rooms without finding the + woman who now exercised so mighty an influence on his fate. He entered an + empty boudoir where card-tables were placed awaiting players; and sitting + down on a divan he gave himself up to the most contradictory thoughts + about her. A man presently took the young officer by the arm, and looking + up the baron was stupefied to behold the pauper of the rue Coquilliere, + the Ferragus of Ida, the lodger in the rue Soly, the Bourignard of Justin, + the convict of the police, and the dead man of the day before. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, not a sound, not a word,” said Bourignard, whose voice he + recognized. The man was elegantly dressed; he wore the order of the + Golden-Fleece, and a medal on his coat. “Monsieur,” he continued, and his + voice was sibilant like that of a hyena, “you increase my efforts against + you by having recourse to the police. You will perish, monsieur; it has + now become necessary. Do you love Madame Jules? Are you beloved by her? By + what right do you trouble her peaceful life, and blacken her virtue?” + </p> + <p> + Some one entered the card-room. Ferragus rose to go. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know this man?” asked Monsieur de Maulincour of the new-comer, + seizing Ferragus by the collar. But Ferragus quickly disengaged himself, + took Monsieur de Maulincour by the hair, and shook his head rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “Must you have lead in it to make it steady?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know him personally,” replied Henri de Marsay, the spectator of + this scene, “but I know that he is Monsieur de Funcal, a rich Portuguese.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de Funcal had disappeared. The baron followed but without being + able to overtake him until he reached the peristyle, where he saw + Ferragus, who looked at him with a jeering laugh from a brilliant equipage + which was driven away at high speed. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Auguste, re-entering the salon and addressing de Marsay, + whom he knew, “I entreat you to tell me where Monsieur de Funcal lives.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know; but some one here can no doubt tell you.” + </p> + <p> + The baron, having questioned the prefect, ascertained that the Comte de + Funcal lived at the Portuguese embassy. At this moment, while he still + felt the icy fingers of that strange man in his hair, he saw Madame Jules + in all her dazzling beauty, fresh, gracious, artless, resplendent with the + sanctity of womanhood which had won his love. This creature, now infernal + to him, excited no emotion in his soul but that of hatred; and this hatred + shone in a savage, terrible look from his eyes. He watched for a moment + when he could speak to her unheard, and then he said:— + </p> + <p> + “Madame, your <i>bravi</i> have missed me three times.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, monsieur?” she said, flushing. “I know that you have + had several unfortunate accidents lately, which I have greatly regretted; + but how could I have had anything to do with them?” + </p> + <p> + “You knew that <i>bravi</i> were employed against me by that man of the + rue Soly?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, I now call you to account, not for my happiness only, but for my + blood—” + </p> + <p> + At this instant Jules Desmarets approached them. + </p> + <p> + “What are you saying to my wife, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Make that inquiry at my own house, monsieur, if you are curious,” said + Maulincour, moving away, and leaving Madame Jules in an almost fainting + condition. + </p> + <p> + There are few women who have not found themselves, once at least in their + lives, <i>a propos</i> of some undeniable fact, confronted with a direct, + sharp, uncompromising question,—one of those questions pitilessly + asked by husbands, the mere apprehension of which gives a chill, while the + actual words enter the heart like the blade of a dagger. It is from such + crises that the maxim has come, “All women lie.” Falsehood, kindly + falsehood, venial falsehood, sublime falsehood, horrible falsehood,—but + always the necessity to lie. This necessity admitted, ought they not to + know how to lie well? French women do it admirably. Our manners and + customs teach them deception! Besides, women are so naively saucy, so + pretty, graceful, and withal so true in lying,—they recognize so + fully the utility of doing so in order to avoid in social life the violent + shocks which happiness might not resist,—that lying is seen to be as + necessary to their lives as the cotton-wool in which they put away their + jewels. Falsehood becomes to them the foundation of speech; truth is + exceptional; they tell it, if they are virtuous, by caprice or by + calculation. According to individual character, some women laugh when they + lie; others weep; others are grave; some grow angry. After beginning life + by feigning indifference to the homage that deeply flatters them, they + often end by lying to themselves. Who has not admired their apparent + superiority to everything at the very moment when they are trembling for + the secret treasures of their love? Who has never studied their ease, + their readiness, their freedom of mind in the greatest embarrassments of + life? In them, nothing is put on. Deception comes as the snow from heaven. + And then, with what art they discover the truth in others! With what + shrewdness they employ a direct logic in answer to some passionate + question which has revealed to them the secret of the heart of a man who + was guileless enough to proceed by questioning! To question a woman! why, + that is delivering one’s self up to her; does she not learn in that way + all that we seek to hide from her? Does she not know also how to be dumb, + through speaking? What men are daring enough to struggle with the Parisian + woman?—a woman who knows how to hold herself above all dagger + thrusts, saying: “You are very inquisitive; what is it to you? Why do you + wish to know? Ah! you are jealous! And suppose I do not choose to answer + you?”—in short, a woman who possesses the hundred and thirty-seven + methods of saying <i>No</i>, and incommensurable variations of the word <i>Yes</i>. + Is not a treatise on the words <i>yes</i> and <i>no</i>, a fine + diplomatic, philosophic, logographic, and moral work, still waiting to be + written? But to accomplish this work, which we may also call diabolic, + isn’t an androgynous genius necessary? For that reason, probably, it will + never be attempted. And besides, of all unpublished works isn’t it the + best known and the best practised among women? Have you studied the + behavior, the pose, the <i>disinvoltura</i> of a falsehood? Examine it. + </p> + <p> + Madame Desmarets was seated in the right-hand corner of her carriage, her + husband in the left. Having forced herself to recover from her emotion in + the ballroom, she now affected a calm demeanor. Her husband had then said + nothing to her, and he still said nothing. Jules looked out of the + carriage window at the black walls of the silent houses before which they + passed; but suddenly, as if driven by a determining thought, when turning + the corner of a street he examined his wife, who appeared to be cold in + spite of the fur-lined pelisse in which she was wrapped. He thought she + seemed pensive, and perhaps she really was so. Of all communicable things, + reflection and gravity are the most contagious. + </p> + <p> + “What could Monsieur de Maulincour have said to affect you so keenly?” + said Jules; “and why does he wish me to go to his house and find out?” + </p> + <p> + “He can tell you nothing in his house that I cannot tell you here,” she + replied. + </p> + <p> + Then, with that feminine craft which always slightly degrades virtue, + Madame Jules waited for another question. Her husband turned his face back + to the houses, and continued his study of their walls. Another question + would imply suspicion, distrust. To suspect a woman is a crime in love. + Jules had already killed a man for doubting his wife. Clemence did not + know all there was of true passion, of loyal reflection, in her husband’s + silence; just as Jules was ignorant of the generous drama that was + wringing the heart of his Clemence. + </p> + <p> + The carriage rolled on through a silent Paris, bearing the couple,—two + lovers who adored each other, and who, gently leaning on the same silken + cushion, were being parted by an abyss. In these elegant coupes returning + from a ball between midnight and two in the morning, how many curious and + singular scenes must pass,—meaning those coupes with lanterns, which + light both the street and the carriage, those with their windows unshaded; + in short, legitimate coupes, in which couples can quarrel without caring + for the eyes of pedestrians, because the civil code gives a right to + provoke, or beat, or kiss, a wife in a carriage or elsewhere, anywhere, + everywhere! How many secrets must be revealed in this way to nocturnal + pedestrians,—to those young fellows who have gone to a ball in a + carriage, but are obliged, for whatever cause it may be, to return on + foot. It was the first time that Jules and Clemence had been together + thus,—each in a corner; usually the husband pressed close to his + wife. + </p> + <p> + “It is very cold,” remarked Madame Jules. + </p> + <p> + But her husband did not hear her; he was studying the signs above the shop + windows. + </p> + <p> + “Clemence,” he said at last, “forgive me the question I am about to ask + you.” + </p> + <p> + He came closer, took her by the waist, and drew her to him. + </p> + <p> + “My God, it is coming!” thought the poor woman. “Well,” she said aloud, + anticipating the question, “you want to know what Monsieur de Maulincour + said to me. I will tell you, Jules; but not without fear. Good God! how is + it possible that you and I should have secrets from one another? For the + last few moments I have seen you struggling between a conviction of our + love and vague fears. But that conviction is clear within us, is it not? + And these doubts and fears, do they not seem to you dark and unnatural? + Why not stay in that clear light of love you cannot doubt? When I have + told you all, you will still desire to know more; and yet I myself do not + know what the extraordinary words of that man meant. What I fear is that + this may lead to some fatal affair between you. I would rather that we + both forget this unpleasant moment. But, in any case, swear to me that you + will let this singular adventure explain itself naturally. Here are the + facts. Monsieur de Maulincour declared to me that the three accidents you + have heard mentioned—the falling of a stone on his servant, the + breaking down of his cabriolet, and his duel about Madame de Serizy—were + the result of some plot I had laid against him. He also threatened to + reveal to you the cause of my desire to destroy him. Can you imagine what + all this means? My emotion came from the sight of his face convulsed with + madness, his haggard eyes, and also his words, broken by some violent + inward emotion. I thought him mad. That is all that took place. Now, I + should be less than a woman if I had not perceived that for over a year I + have become, as they call it, the passion of Monsieur de Maulincour. He + has never seen me except at a ball; and our intercourse has been most + insignificant,—merely that which every one shares at a ball. Perhaps + he wants to disunite us, so that he may find me at some future time alone + and unprotected. There, see! already you are frowning! Oh, how cordially I + hate society! We were so happy without him; why take any notice of him? + Jules, I entreat you, forget all this! To-morrow we shall, no doubt, hear + that Monsieur de Maulincour has gone mad.” + </p> + <p> + “What a singular affair!” thought Jules, as the carriage stopped under the + peristyle of their house. He gave his arm to his wife and together they + went up to their apartments. + </p> + <p> + To develop this history in all its truth of detail, and to follow its + course through many windings, it is necessary here to divulge some of + love’s secrets, to glide beneath the ceilings of a marriage chamber, not + shamelessly, but like Trilby, frightening neither Dougal nor Jeannie, + alarming no one,—being as chaste as our noble French language + requires, and as bold as the pencil of Gerard in his picture of Daphnis + and Chloe. + </p> + <p> + The bedroom of Madame Jules was a sacred plot. Herself, her husband, and + her maid alone entered it. Opulence has glorious privileges, and the most + enviable are those which enable the development of sentiments to their + fullest extent,—fertilizing them by the accomplishment of even their + caprices, and surrounding them with a brilliancy that enlarges them, with + refinements that purify them, with a thousand delicacies that make them + still more alluring. If you hate dinners on the grass, and meals + ill-served, if you feel a pleasure in seeing a damask cloth that is + dazzlingly white, a silver-gilt dinner service, and porcelain of exquisite + purity, lighted by transparent candles, where miracles of cookery are + served under silver covers bearing coats of arms, you must, to be + consistent, leave the garrets at the tops of the houses, and the grisettes + in the streets, abandon garrets, grisettes, umbrellas, and overshoes to + men who pay for their dinners with tickets; and you must also comprehend + Love to be a principle which develops in all its grace only on Savonnerie + carpets, beneath the opal gleams of an alabaster lamp, between guarded + walls silk-hung, before gilded hearths in chambers deadened to all outward + sounds by shutters and billowy curtains. Mirrors must be there to show the + play of form and repeat the woman we would multiply as love itself + multiplies and magnifies her; next low divans, and a bed which, like a + secret, is divined, not shown. In this coquettish chamber are fur-lined + slippers for pretty feet, wax-candles under glass with muslin draperies, + by which to read at all hours of the night, and flowers, not those + oppressive to the head, and linen, the fineness of which might have + satisfied Anne of Austria. + </p> + <p> + Madame Jules had realized this charming programme, but that was nothing. + All women of taste can do as much, though there is always in the + arrangement of these details a stamp of personality which gives to this + decoration or that detail a character that cannot be imitated. To-day, + more than ever, reigns the fanaticism of individuality. The more our laws + tend to an impossible equality, the more we shall get away from it in our + manners and customs. Thus, rich people are beginning, in France, to become + more exclusive in their tastes and their belongings, than they have been + for the last thirty years. Madame Jules knew very well how to carry out + this programme; and everything about her was arranged in harmony with a + luxury that suits so well with love. Love in a cottage, or “Fifteen + hundred francs and my Sophy,” is the dream of starvelings to whom black + bread suffices in their present state; but when love really comes, they + grow fastidious and end by craving the luxuries of gastronomy. Love holds + toil and poverty in horror. It would rather die than merely live on from + hand to mouth. + </p> + <p> + Many women, returning from a ball, impatient for their beds, throw off + their gowns, their faded flowers, their bouquets, the fragrance of which + has now departed. They leave their little shoes beneath a chair, the white + strings trailing; they take out their combs and let their hair roll down + as it will. Little they care if their husbands see the puffs, the + hairpins, the artful props which supported the elegant edifices of the + hair, and the garlands or the jewels that adorned it. No more mysteries! + all is over for the husband; no more painting or decoration for him. The + corset—half the time it is a corset of a reparative kind—lies + where it is thrown, if the maid is too sleepy to take it away with her. + The whalebone bustle, the oiled-silk protections round the sleeves, the + pads, the hair bought from a coiffeur, all the false woman is there, + scattered about in open sight. <i>Disjecta membra poetae</i>, the + artificial poesy, so much admired by those for whom it is conceived and + elaborated, the fragments of a pretty woman, litter every corner of the + room. To the love of a yawning husband, the actual presents herself, also + yawning, in a dishabille without elegance, and a tumbled night-cap, that + of last night and that of to-morrow night also,—“For really, + monsieur, if you want a pretty cap to rumple every night, increase my + pin-money.” + </p> + <p> + There’s life as it is! A woman makes herself old and unpleasing to her + husband; but dainty and elegant and adorned for others, for the rival of + all husbands,—for that world which calumniates and tears to shreds + her sex. + </p> + <p> + Inspired by true love, for Love has, like other creations, its instinct of + preservation, Madame Jules did very differently; she found in the constant + blessing of her love the necessary impulse to fulfil all those minute + personal cares which ought never to be relaxed, because they perpetuate + love. Besides, such personal cares and duties proceed from a personal + dignity which becomes all women, and are among the sweetest of flatteries, + for is it not respecting in themselves the man they love? + </p> + <p> + So Madame Jules denied to her husband all access to her dressing-room, + where she left the accessories of her toilet, and whence she issued + mysteriously adorned for the mysterious fetes of her heart. Entering their + chamber, which was always graceful and elegant, Jules found a woman + coquettishly wrapped in a charming <i>peignoir</i>, her hair simply wound + in heavy coils around her head; a woman always more simple, more beautiful + there than she was before the world; a woman just refreshed in water, + whose only artifice consisted in being whiter than her muslins, sweeter + than all perfumes, more seductive than any siren, always loving and + therefore always loved. This admirable understanding of a wife’s business + was the secret of Josephine’s charm for Napoleon, as in former times it + was that of Caesonia for Caius Caligula, of Diane de Poitiers for Henri + II. If it was largely productive to women of seven or eight lustres what a + weapon is it in the hands of young women! A husband gathers with delight + the rewards of his fidelity. + </p> + <p> + Returning home after the conversation which had chilled her with fear, and + still gave her the keenest anxiety, Madame Jules took particular pains + with her toilet for the night. She wanted to make herself, and she did + make herself enchanting. She belted the cambric of her dressing-gown round + her waist, defining the lines of her bust; she allowed her hair to fall + upon her beautifully modelled shoulders. A perfumed bath had given her a + delightful fragrance, and her little bare feet were in velvet slippers. + Strong in a sense of her advantages she came in stepping softly, and put + her hands over her husband’s eyes. She thought him pensive; he was + standing in his dressing-gown before the fire, his elbow on the mantel and + one foot on the fender. She said in his ear, warming it with her breath, + and nibbling the tip of it with her teeth:— + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking about, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + Then she pressed him in her arms as if to tear him away from all evil + thoughts. The woman who loves has a full knowledge of her power; the more + virtuous she is, the more effectual her coquetry. + </p> + <p> + “About you,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Only about me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that’s a very doubtful ‘yes.’” + </p> + <p> + They went to bed. As she fell asleep, Madame Jules said to herself:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur de Maulincour will certainly cause some evil. Jules’ mind is + preoccupied, disturbed; he is nursing thoughts he does not tell me.” + </p> + <p> + It was three in the morning when Madame Jules was awakened by a + presentiment which struck her heart as she slept. She had a sense both + physical and moral of her husband’s absence. She did not feel the arm + Jules passed beneath her head,—that arm in which she had slept, + peacefully and happy, for five years; an arm she had never wearied. A + voice said to her, “Jules suffers, Jules is weeping.” She raised her head, + and then sat up; felt that her husband’s place was cold, and saw him + sitting before the fire, his feet on the fender, his head resting against + the back of an arm-chair. Tears were on his cheeks. The poor woman threw + herself hastily from her bed and sprang at a bound to her husband’s knees. + </p> + <p> + “Jules! what is it? Are you ill? Speak, tell me! Speak to me, if you love + me!” and she poured out a hundred words expressing the deepest tenderness. + </p> + <p> + Jules knelt at her feet, kissed her hands and knees, and answered with + fresh tears:— + </p> + <p> + “Dear Clemence, I am most unhappy! It is not loving to distrust the one we + love. I adore you and suspect you. The words that man said to me to-night + have struck to my heart; they stay there in spite of myself, and confound + me. There is some mystery here. In short, and I blush to say it, your + explanations do not satisfy me. My reason casts gleams into my soul which + my love rejects. It is an awful combat. Could I stay there, holding your + head, and suspecting thoughts within it to me unknown? Oh! I believe in + you, I believe in you!” he cried, seeing her smile sadly and open her + mouth as if to speak. “Say nothing; do not reproach me. Besides, could you + say anything I have not said myself for the last three hours? Yes, for + three hours, I have been here, watching you as you slept, so beautiful! + admiring that pure, peaceful brow. Yes, yes! you have always told me your + thoughts, have you not? I alone am in that soul. While I look at you, + while my eyes can plunge into yours I see all plainly. Your life is as + pure as your glance is clear. No, there is no secret behind those + transparent eyes.” He rose and kissed their lids. “Let me avow to you, + dearest soul,” he said, “that for the last five years each day has + increased my happiness, through the knowledge that you are all mine, and + that no natural affection even can take any of your love. Having no + sister, no father, no mother, no companion, I am neither above nor below + any living being in your heart; I am alone there. Clemence, repeat to me + those sweet things of the spirit you have so often said to me; do not + blame me; comfort me, I am so unhappy. I have an odious suspicion on my + conscience, and you have nothing in your heart to sear it. My beloved, + tell me, could I stay there beside you? Could two heads united as ours + have been lie on the same pillow when one was suffering and the other + tranquil? What are you thinking of?” he cried abruptly, observing that + Clemence was anxious, confused, and seemed unable to restrain her tears. + </p> + <p> + “I am thinking of my mother,” she answered, in a grave voice. “You will + never know, Jules, what I suffer in remembering my mother’s dying + farewell, said in a voice sweeter than all music, and in feeling the + solemn touch of her icy hand at a moment when you overwhelm me with those + assurances of your precious love.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her husband, strained him to her with a nervous force greater + than that of men, and kissed his hair, covering it with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I would be hacked in pieces for you! Tell me that I make you happy; + that I am to you the most beautiful of women—a thousand women to + you. Oh! you are loved as no other man ever was or will be. I don’t know + the meaning of those words ‘duty,’ ‘virtue.’ Jules, I love you for + yourself; I am happy in loving you; I shall love you more and more to my + dying day. I have pride in my love; I feel it is my destiny to have one + sole emotion in my life. What I shall tell you now is dreadful, I know—but + I am glad to have no child; I do not wish for any. I feel I am more wife + than mother. Well, then, can you fear? Listen to me, my own beloved, + promise to forget, not this hour of mingled tenderness and doubt, but the + words of that madman. Jules, you <i>must</i>. Promise me not to see him, + not to go to him. I have a deep conviction that if you set one foot in + that maze we shall both roll down a precipice where I shall perish—but + with your name upon my lips, your heart in my heart. Why hold me so high + in that heart and yet so low in reality? What! you who give credit to so + many as to money, can you not give me the charity of faith? And on the + first occasion in our lives when you might prove to me your boundless + trust, do you cast me from my throne in your heart? Between a madman and + me, it is the madman whom you choose to believe? oh, Jules!” She stopped, + threw back the hair that fell about her brow and neck, and then, in a + heart-rending tone, she added: “I have said too much; one word should + suffice. If your soul and your forehead still keep this cloud, however + light it be, I tell you now that I shall die of it.” + </p> + <p> + She could not repress a shudder, and turned pale. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I will kill that man,” thought Jules, as he lifted his wife in his + arms and carried her to her bed. + </p> + <p> + “Let us sleep in peace, my angel,” he said. “I have forgotten all, I swear + it!” + </p> + <p> + Clemence fell asleep to the music of those sweet words, softly repeated. + Jules, as he watched her sleeping, said in his heart:— + </p> + <p> + “She is right; when love is so pure, suspicion blights it. To that young + soul, that tender flower, a blight—yes, a blight means death.” + </p> + <p> + When a cloud comes between two beings filled with affection for each other + and whose lives are in absolute unison, that cloud, though it may + disperse, leaves in those souls a trace of its passage. Either love gains + a stronger life, as the earth after rain, or the shock still echoes like + distant thunder through a cloudless sky. It is impossible to recover + absolutely the former life; love will either increase or diminish. + </p> + <p> + At breakfast, Monsieur and Madame Jules showed to each other those + particular attentions in which there is always something of affectation. + There were glances of forced gaiety, which seemed the efforts of persons + endeavoring to deceive themselves. Jules had involuntary doubts, his wife + had positive fears. Still, sure of each other, they had slept. Was this + strained condition the effect of a want of faith, or was it only a memory + of their nocturnal scene? They did not know themselves. But they loved + each other so purely that the impression of that scene, both cruel and + beneficent, could not fail to leave its traces in their souls; both were + eager to make those traces disappear, each striving to be the first to + return to the other, and thus they could not fail to think of the cause of + their first variance. To loving souls, this is not grief; pain is still + far-off; but it is a sort of mourning, which is difficult to depict. If + there are, indeed, relations between colors and the emotions of the soul, + if, as Locke’s blind man said, scarlet produces on the sight the effect + produced upon the hearing by a blast of trumpets, it is permissible to + compare this reaction of melancholy to mourning tones of gray. + </p> + <p> + But even so, love saddened, love in which remains a true sentiment of its + happiness, momentarily troubled though it be, gives enjoyments derived + from pain and pleasure both, which are all novel. Jules studied his wife’s + voice; he watched her glances with the freshness of feeling that inspired + him in the earliest days of his passion for her. The memory of five + absolutely happy years, her beauty, the candor of her love, quickly + effaced in her husband’s mind the last vestiges of an intolerable pain. + </p> + <p> + The day was Sunday,—a day on which there was no Bourse and no + business to be done. The reunited pair passed the whole day together, + getting farther into each other’s hearts than they ever yet had done, like + two children who in a moment of fear, hold each other closely and cling + together, united by an instinct. There are in this life of two-in-one + completely happy days, the gift of chance, ephemeral flowers, born neither + of yesterday nor belonging to the morrow. Jules and Clemence now enjoyed + this day as though they forboded it to be the last of their loving life. + What name shall we give to that mysterious power which hastens the steps + of travellers before the storm is visible; which makes the life and beauty + of the dying so resplendent, and fills the parting soul with joyous + projects for days before death comes; which tells the midnight student to + fill his lamp when it shines brightest; and makes the mother fear the + thoughtful look cast upon her infant by an observing man? We all are + affected by this influence in the great catastrophes of life; but it has + never yet been named or studied; it is something more than presentiment, + but not as yet clear vision. + </p> + <p> + All went well till the following day. On Monday, Jules Desmarets, obliged + to go to the Bourse on his usual business, asked his wife, as usual, if + she would take advantage of his carriage and let him drive her anywhere. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “the day is too unpleasant to go out.” + </p> + <p> + It was raining in torrents. At half-past two o’clock Monsieur Desmarets + reached the Treasury. At four o’clock, as he left the Bourse, he came face + to face with Monsieur de Maulincour, who was waiting for him with the + nervous pertinacity of hatred and vengeance. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” he said, taking Monsieur Desmarets by the arm, “I have + important information to give you. Listen to me. I am too loyal a man to + have recourse to anonymous letters with which to trouble your peace of + mind; I prefer to speak to you in person. Believe me, if my very life were + not concerned, I should not meddle with the private affairs of any + household, even if I thought I had the right to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “If what you have to say to me concerns Madame Desmarets,” replied Jules, + “I request you to be silent, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “If I am silent, monsieur, you may before long see Madame Jules on the + prisoner’s bench at the court of assizes beside a convict. Now, do you + wish me to be silent?” + </p> + <p> + Jules turned pale; but his noble face instantly resumed its calmness, + though it was now a false calmness. Drawing the baron under one of the + temporary sheds of the Bourse, near which they were standing, he said to + him in a voice which concealed his intense inward emotion:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I will listen to you; but there will be a duel to the death + between us if—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to that I consent!” cried Monsieur de Maulincour. “I have the + greatest esteem for your character. You speak of death. You are unaware + that your wife may have assisted in poisoning me last Saturday night. Yes, + monsieur, since then some extraordinary evil has developed in me. My hair + appears to distil an inward fever and a deadly languor through my skull; I + know who clutched my hair at that ball.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de Maulincour then related, without omitting a single fact, his + platonic love for Madame Jules, and the details of the affair in the rue + Soly which began this narrative. Any one would have listened to him with + attention; but Madame Jules’ husband had good reason to be more amazed + than any other human being. Here his character displayed itself; he was + more amazed than overcome. Made a judge, and the judge of an adored woman, + he found in his soul the equity of a judge as well as the inflexibility. A + lover still, he thought less of his own shattered life than of his wife’s + life; he listened, not to his own anguish, but to some far-off voice that + cried to him, “Clemence cannot lie! Why should she betray you?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said the baron, as he ended, “being absolutely certain of + having recognized in Monsieur de Funcal the same Ferragus whom the police + declared dead, I have put upon his traces an intelligent man. As I + returned that night I remembered, by a fortunate chance, the name of + Madame Meynardie, mentioned in that letter of Ida, the presumed mistress + of my persecutor. Supplied with this clue, my emissary will soon get to + the bottom of this horrible affair; for he is far more able to discover + the truth than the police themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied Desmarets, “I know not how to thank you for this + confidence. You say that you can obtain proofs and witnesses; I shall + await them. I shall seek the truth of this strange affair courageously; + but you must permit me to doubt everything until the evidence of the facts + you state is proved to me. In any case you shall have satisfaction, for, + as you will certainly understand, we both require it.” + </p> + <p> + Jules returned home. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter, Jules?” asked his wife, when she saw him. “You look + so pale you frighten me!” + </p> + <p> + “The day is cold,” he answered, walking with slow steps across the room + where all things spoke to him of love and happiness,—that room so + calm and peaceful where a deadly storm was gathering. + </p> + <p> + “Did you go out to-day?” he asked, as though mechanically. + </p> + <p> + He was impelled to ask the question by the last of a myriad of thoughts + which had gathered themselves together into a lucid meditation, though + jealousy was actively prompting them. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she answered, in a tone that was falsely candid. + </p> + <p> + At that instant Jules saw through the open door of the dressing-room the + velvet bonnet which his wife wore in the mornings; on it were drops of + rain. Jules was a passionate man, but he was also full of delicacy. It was + repugnant to him to bring his wife face to face with a lie. When such a + situation occurs, all has come to an end forever between certain beings. + And yet those drops of rain were like a flash tearing through his brain. + </p> + <p> + He left the room, went down to the porter’s lodge, and said to the porter, + after making sure that they were alone:— + </p> + <p> + “Fouguereau, a hundred crowns if you tell me the truth; dismissal if you + deceive me; and nothing at all if you ever speak of my question and your + answer.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped to examine the man’s face, leading him under the window. Then + he continued:— + </p> + <p> + “Did madame go out this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame went out at a quarter to three, and I think I saw her come in + about half an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + “That is true, upon your honor?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “You will have the money; but if you speak of this, remember, you will + lose all.” + </p> + <p> + Jules returned to his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Clemence,” he said, “I find I must put my accounts in order. Do not be + offended at the inquiry I am going to make. Have I not given you forty + thousand francs since the beginning of the year?” + </p> + <p> + “More,” she said,—“forty-seven.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you spent them?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly,” she replied. “In the first place, I had to pay several of our + last year’s bills—” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never find out anything in this way,” thought Jules. “I am not + taking the best course.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment Jules’ own valet entered the room with a letter for his + master, who opened it indifferently, but as soon as his eyes had lighted + on the signature he read it eagerly. The letter was as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Monsieur,—For the sake of your peace of mind as well as ours, I + take the course of writing you this letter without possessing the + advantage of being known to you; but my position, my age, and the + fear of some misfortune compel me to entreat you to show + indulgence in the trying circumstances under which our afflicted + family is placed. Monsieur Auguste de Maulincour has for the last + few days shown signs of mental derangement, and we fear that he + may trouble your happiness by fancies which he confided to + Monsieur le Vidame de Pamiers and myself during his first attack + of frenzy. We think it right, therefore, to warn you of his + malady, which is, we hope, curable; but it will have such serious + and important effects on the honor of our family and the career of + my grandson that we must rely, monsieur, on your entire + discretion. + + If Monsieur le Vidame or I could have gone to see you we would not + have written. But I make no doubt that you will regard this prayer + of a mother, who begs you to destroy this letter. + + Accept the assurance of my perfect consideration. +</pre> + <p> + Baronne de Maulincour, <i>nee</i> de Rieux. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! what torture!” cried Jules. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? what is in your mind?” asked his wife, exhibiting the deepest + anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “I have come,” he answered, slowly, as he threw her the letter, “to ask + myself whether it can be you who have sent me that to avert my suspicions. + Judge, therefore, what I suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “Unhappy man!” said Madame Jules, letting fall the paper. “I pity him; + though he has done me great harm.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you aware that he has spoken to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! have you been to see him, in spite of your promise?” she cried in + terror. + </p> + <p> + “Clemence, our love is in danger of perishing; we stand outside of the + ordinary rules of life; let us lay aside all petty considerations in + presence of this great peril. Explain to me why you went out this morning. + Women think they have the right to tell us little falsehoods. Sometimes + they like to hide a pleasure they are preparing for us. Just now you said + a word to me, by mistake, no doubt, a no for a yes.” + </p> + <p> + He went into the dressing-room and brought out the bonnet. + </p> + <p> + “See,” he said, “your bonnet has betrayed you; these spots are raindrops. + You must, therefore, have gone out in a street cab, and these drops fell + upon it as you went to find one, or as you entered or left the house where + you went. But a woman can leave her own home for many innocent purposes, + even after she has told her husband that she did not mean to go out. There + are so many reasons for changing our plans! Caprices, whims, are they not + your right? Women are not required to be consistent with themselves. You + had forgotten something,—a service to render, a visit, some kind + action. But nothing hinders a woman from telling her husband what she + does. Can we ever blush on the breast of a friend? It is not a jealous + husband who speaks to you, my Clemence; it is your lover, your friend, + your brother.” He flung himself passionately at her feet. “Speak, not to + justify yourself, but to calm my horrible sufferings. I know that you went + out. Well—what did you do? where did you go?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I went out, Jules,” she answered in a strained voice, though her + face was calm. “But ask me nothing more. Wait; have confidence; without + which you will lay up for yourself terrible remorse. Jules, my Jules, + trust is the virtue of love. I owe to you that I am at this moment too + troubled to answer you: but I am not a false woman; I love you, and you + know it.” + </p> + <p> + “In the midst of all that can shake the faith of man and rouse his + jealousy, for I see I am not first in your heart, I am no longer thine own + self—well, Clemence, even so, I prefer to believe you, to believe + that voice, to believe those eyes. If you deceive me, you deserve—” + </p> + <p> + “Ten thousand deaths!” she cried, interrupting him. + </p> + <p> + “I have never hidden a thought from you, but you—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” she said, “our happiness depends upon our mutual silence.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! I <i>will</i> know all!” he exclaimed, with sudden violence. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the cries of a woman were heard,—the yelping of a + shrill little voice came from the antechamber. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I will go in!” it cried. “Yes, I shall go in; I will see her! + I shall see her!” + </p> + <p> + Jules and Clemence both ran to the salon as the door from the antechamber + was violently burst open. A young woman entered hastily, followed by two + servants, who said to their master:— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, this person would come in in spite of us. We told her that + madame was not at home. She answered that she knew very well madame had + been out, but she saw her come in. She threatened to stay at the door of + the house till she could speak to madame.” + </p> + <p> + “You can go,” said Monsieur Desmarets to the two men. “What do you want, + mademoiselle?” he added, turning to the strange woman. + </p> + <p> + This “demoiselle” was the type of a woman who is never to be met with + except in Paris. She is made in Paris, like the mud, like the pavement, + like the water of the Seine, such as it becomes in Paris before human + industry filters it ten times ere it enters the cut-glass decanters and + sparkles pure and bright from the filth it has been. She is therefore a + being who is truly original. Depicted scores of times by the painter’s + brush, the pencil of the caricaturist, the charcoal of the etcher, she + still escapes analysis, because she cannot be caught and rendered in all + her moods, like Nature, like this fantastic Paris itself. She holds to + vice by one thread only, and she breaks away from it at a thousand other + points of the social circumference. Besides, she lets only one trait of + her character be known, and that the only one which renders her blamable; + her noble virtues are hidden; she prefers to glory in her naive + libertinism. Most incompletely rendered in dramas and tales where she is + put upon the scene with all her poesy, she is nowhere really true but in + her garret; elsewhere she is invariably calumniated or over-praised. Rich, + she deteriorates; poor, she is misunderstood. She has too many vices, and + too many good qualities; she is too near to pathetic asphyxiation or to a + dissolute laugh; too beautiful and too hideous. She personifies Paris, to + which, in the long run, she supplies the toothless portresses, + washerwomen, street-sweepers, beggars, occasionally insolent countesses, + admired actresses, applauded singers; she has even given, in the olden + time, two quasi-queens to the monarchy. Who can grasp such a Proteus? She + is all woman, less than woman, more than woman. From this vast portrait + the painter of manners and morals can take but a feature here and there; + the <i>ensemble</i> is infinite. + </p> + <p> + She was a grisette of Paris; a grisette in all her glory; a grisette in a + hackney-coach,—happy, young, handsome, fresh, but a grisette; a + grisette with claws, scissors, impudent as a Spanish woman, snarling as a + prudish English woman proclaiming her conjugal rights, coquettish as a + great lady, though more frank, and ready for everything; a perfect <i>lionne</i> + in her way; issuing from the little apartment of which she had dreamed so + often, with its red-calico curtains, its Utrecht velvet furniture, its + tea-table, the cabinet of china with painted designs, the sofa, the little + moquette carpet, the alabaster clock and candlesticks (under glass cases), + the yellow bedroom, the eider-down quilt,—in short, all the domestic + joys of a grisette’s life; and in addition, the woman-of-all-work (a + former grisette herself, now the owner of a moustache), theatre-parties, + unlimited bonbons, silk dresses, bonnets to spoil,—in fact, all the + felicities coveted by the grisette heart except a carriage, which only + enters her imagination as a marshal’s baton into the dreams of a soldier. + Yes, this grisette had all these things in return for a true affection, or + in spite of a true affection, as some others obtain it for an hour a day,—a + sort of tax carelessly paid under the claws of an old man. + </p> + <p> + The young woman who now entered the presence of Monsieur and Madame Jules + had a pair of feet so little covered by her shoes that only a slim black + line was visible between the carpet and her white stockings. This peculiar + foot-gear, which Parisian caricaturists have well-rendered, is a special + attribute of the grisette of Paris; but she is even more distinctive to + the eyes of an observer by the care with which her garments are made to + adhere to her form, which they clearly define. On this occasion she was + trigly dressed in a green gown, with a white chemisette, which allowed the + beauty of her bust to be seen; her shawl, of Ternaux cashmere, had fallen + from her shoulders, and was held by its two corners, which were twisted + round her wrists. She had a delicate face, rosy cheeks, a white skin, + sparkling gray eyes, a round, very promising forehead, hair carefully + smoothed beneath her little bonnet, and heavy curls upon her neck. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Ida,” she said, “and if that’s Madame Jules to whom I have the + advantage of speaking, I’ve come to tell her all I have in my heart + against her. It is very wrong, when a woman is set up and in her + furniture, as you are here, to come and take from a poor girl a man with + whom I’m as good as married, morally, and who did talk of making it right + by marrying me before the municipality. There’s plenty of handsome young + men in the world—ain’t there, monsieur?—to take your fancy, + without going after a man of middle age, who makes my happiness. Yah! I + haven’t got a fine hotel like this, but I’ve got my love, I have. I hate + handsome men and money; I’m all heart, and—” + </p> + <p> + Madame Jules turned to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “You will allow me, monsieur, to hear no more of all this,” she said, + retreating to her bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “If the lady lives with you, I’ve made a mess of it; but I can’t help + that,” resumed Ida. “Why does she come after Monsieur Ferragus every day?” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken, mademoiselle,” said Jules, stupefied; “my wife is + incapable—” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! so you’re married, you two,” said the grisette showing some surprise. + “Then it’s very wrong, monsieur,—isn’t it?—for a woman who has + the happiness of being married in legal marriage to have relations with a + man like Henri—” + </p> + <p> + “Henri! who is Henri?” said Jules, taking Ida by the arm and pulling her + into an adjoining room that his wife might hear no more. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Monsieur Ferragus.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is dead,” said Jules. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense; I went to Franconi’s with him last night, and he brought me + home—as he ought. Besides, your wife can tell you about him; didn’t + she go there this very afternoon at three o’clock? I know she did, for I + waited in the street, and saw her,—all because that good-natured + fellow, Monsieur Justin, whom you know perhaps,—a little old man + with jewelry who wears corsets,—told me that Madame Jules was my + rival. That name, monsieur, sounds mighty like a feigned one; but if it is + yours, excuse me. But this I say, if Madame Jules was a court duchess, + Henri is rich enough to satisfy all her fancies, and it is my business to + protect my property; I’ve a right to, for I love him, that I do. He is my + <i>first</i> inclination; my happiness and all my future fate depends on + it. I fear nothing, monsieur; I am honest; I never lied, or stole the + property of any living soul, no matter who. If an empress was my rival, + I’d go straight to her, empress as she was; because all pretty women are + equals, monsieur—” + </p> + <p> + “Enough! enough!” said Jules. “Where do you live?” + </p> + <p> + “Rue de la Corderie-du-Temple, number 14, monsieur,—Ida Gruget, + corset-maker, at your service,—for we make lots of corsets for men.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does the man whom you call Ferragus live?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said, pursing up her lips, “in the first place, he’s not a + man; he is a rich monsieur, much richer, perhaps, than you are. But why do + you ask me his address when your wife knows it? He told me not to give it. + Am I obliged to answer you? I’m not, thank God, in a confessional or a + police-court; I’m responsible only to myself.” + </p> + <p> + “If I were to offer you ten thousand francs to tell me where Monsieur + Ferragus lives, how then?” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! n, o, <i>no</i>, my little friend, and that ends the matter,” she + said, emphasizing this singular reply with a popular gesture. “There’s no + sum in the world could make me tell you. I have the honor to bid you + good-day. How do I get out of here?” + </p> + <p> + Jules, horror-struck, allowed her to go without further notice. The whole + world seemed to crumble beneath his feet, and above him the heavens were + falling with a crash. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is served,” said his valet. + </p> + <p> + The valet and the footman waited in the dining-room a quarter of an hour + without seeing master or mistress. + </p> + <p> + “Madame will not dine to-day,” said the waiting-maid, coming in. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter, Josephine?” asked the valet. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she answered. “Madame is crying, and is going to bed. + Monsieur has no doubt got some love-affair on hand, and it has been + discovered at a very bad time. I wouldn’t answer for madame’s life. Men + are so clumsy; they’ll make you scenes without any precaution.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s not so,” said the valet, in a low voice. “On the contrary, madame + is the one who—you understand? What times does monsieur have to go + after pleasures, he, who hasn’t slept out of madame’s room for five years, + who goes to his study at ten and never leaves it till breakfast, at + twelve. His life is all known, it is regular; whereas madame goes out + nearly every day at three o’clock, Heaven knows where.” + </p> + <p> + “And monsieur too,” said the maid, taking her mistress’s part. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but he goes straight to the Bourse. I told him three times that + dinner was ready,” continued the valet, after a pause. “You might as well + talk to a post.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Jules entered the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “Where is madame?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Madame is going to bed; her head aches,” replied the maid, assuming an + air of importance. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Jules then said to the footmen composedly: “You can take away; I + shall go and sit with madame.” + </p> + <p> + He went to his wife’s room and found her weeping, but endeavoring to + smother her sobs with her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you weep?” said Jules; “you need expect no violence and no + reproaches from me. Why should I avenge myself? If you have not been + faithful to my love, it is that you were never worthy of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not worthy?” The words were repeated amid her sobs and the accent in + which they were said would have moved any other man than Jules. + </p> + <p> + “To kill you, I must love more than perhaps I do love you,” he continued. + “But I should never have the courage; I would rather kill myself, leaving + you to your—happiness, and with—whom!—” + </p> + <p> + He did not end his sentence. + </p> + <p> + “Kill yourself!” she cried, flinging herself at his feet and clasping + them. + </p> + <p> + But he, wishing to escape the embrace, tried to shake her off, dragging + her in so doing toward the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Let me alone,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, Jules!” she cried. “If you love me no longer I shall die. Do you + wish to know all?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + He took her, grasped her violently, and sat down on the edge of the bed, + holding her between his legs. Then, looking at that beautiful face now red + as fire and furrowed with tears,— + </p> + <p> + “Speak,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Her sobs began again. + </p> + <p> + “No; it is a secret of life and death. If I tell it, I—No, I cannot. + Have mercy, Jules!” + </p> + <p> + “You have betrayed me—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Jules, you think so now, but soon you will know all.” + </p> + <p> + “But this Ferragus, this convict whom you go to see, a man enriched by + crime, if he does not belong to you, if you do not belong to him—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Jules!” + </p> + <p> + “Speak! Is he your mysterious benefactor?—the man to whom we owe our + fortune, as persons have said already?” + </p> + <p> + “Who said that?” + </p> + <p> + “A man whom I killed in a duel.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God! one death already!” + </p> + <p> + “If he is not your protector, if he does not give you money, if it is you, + on the contrary, who carry money to him, tell me, is he your brother?” + </p> + <p> + “What if he were?” she said. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Desmarets crossed his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Why should that have been concealed from me?” he said. “Then you and your + mother have both deceived me? Besides, does a woman go to see her brother + every day, or nearly every day?” + </p> + <p> + His wife had fainted at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Dead,” he said. “And suppose I am mistaken?” + </p> + <p> + He sprang to the bell-rope; called Josephine, and lifted Clemence to the + bed. + </p> + <p> + “I shall die of this,” said Madame Jules, recovering consciousness. + </p> + <p> + “Josephine,” cried Monsieur Desmarets. “Send for Monsieur Desplein; send + also to my brother and ask him to come here immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “Why your brother?” asked Clemence. + </p> + <p> + But Jules had already left the room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. WHERE GO TO DIE? + </h2> + <p> + For the first time in five years Madame Jules slept alone in her bed, and + was compelled to admit a physician into that sacred chamber. These in + themselves were two keen pangs. Desplein found Madame Jules very ill. + Never was a violent emotion more untimely. He would say nothing definite, + and postponed till the morrow giving any opinion, after leaving a few + directions, which were not executed, the emotions of the heart causing all + bodily cares to be forgotten. + </p> + <p> + When morning dawned, Clemence had not yet slept. Her mind was absorbed in + the low murmur of a conversation which lasted several hours between the + brothers; but the thickness of the walls allowed no word which could + betray the object of this long conference to reach her ears. Monsieur + Desmarets, the notary, went away at last. The stillness of the night, and + the singular activity of the senses given by powerful emotion, enabled + Clemence to distinguish the scratching of a pen and the involuntary + movements of a person engaged in writing. Those who are habitually up at + night, and who observe the different acoustic effects produced in absolute + silence, know that a slight echo can be readily perceived in the very + places where louder but more equable and continued murmurs are not + distinct. At four o’clock the sound ceased. Clemence rose, anxious and + trembling. Then, with bare feet and without a wrapper, forgetting her + illness and her moist condition, the poor woman opened the door softly + without noise and looked into the next room. She saw her husband sitting, + with a pen in his hand, asleep in his arm-chair. The candles had burned to + the sockets. She slowly advanced and read on an envelope, already sealed, + the words, “This is my will.” + </p> + <p> + She knelt down as if before an open grave and kissed her husband’s hand. + He woke instantly. + </p> + <p> + “Jules, my friend, they grant some days to criminals condemned to death,” + she said, looking at him with eyes that blazed with fever and with love. + “Your innocent wife asks only two. Leave me free for two days, and—wait! + After that, I shall die happy—at least, you will regret me.” + </p> + <p> + “Clemence, I grant them.” + </p> + <p> + Then, as she kissed her husband’s hands in the tender transport of her + heart, Jules, under the spell of that cry of innocence, took her in his + arms and kissed her forehead, though ashamed to feel himself still under + subjection to the power of that noble beauty. + </p> + <p> + On the morrow, after taking a few hours’ rest, Jules entered his wife’s + room, obeying mechanically his invariable custom of not leaving the house + without a word to her. Clemence was sleeping. A ray of light passing + through a chink in the upper blind of a window fell across the face of the + dejected woman. Already suffering had impaired her forehead and the + freshness of her lips. A lover’s eye could not fail to notice the + appearance of dark blotches, and a sickly pallor in place of the uniform + tone of the cheeks and the pure ivory whiteness of the skin,—two + points at which the sentiments of her noble soul were artlessly wont to + show themselves. + </p> + <p> + “She suffers,” thought Jules. “Poor Clemence! May God protect us!” + </p> + <p> + He kissed her very softly on the forehead. She woke, saw her husband, and + remembered all. Unable to speak, she took his hand, her eyes filling with + tears. + </p> + <p> + “I am innocent,” she said, ending her dream. + </p> + <p> + “You will not go out to-day, will you?” asked Jules. + </p> + <p> + “No, I feel too weak to leave my bed.” + </p> + <p> + “If you should change your mind, wait till I return,” said Jules. + </p> + <p> + Then he went down to the porter’s lodge. + </p> + <p> + “Fouguereau, you will watch the door yourself to-day. I wish to know + exactly who comes to the house, and who leaves it.” + </p> + <p> + Then he threw himself into a hackney-coach, and was driven to the hotel de + Maulincour, where he asked for the baron. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur is ill,” they told him. + </p> + <p> + Jules insisted on entering, and gave his name. If he could not see the + baron, he wished to see the vidame or the dowager. He waited some time in + the salon, where Madame de Maulincour finally came to him and told him + that her grandson was much too ill to receive him. + </p> + <p> + “I know, madame, the nature of his illness from the letter you did me the + honor to write, and I beg you to believe—” + </p> + <p> + “A letter to you, monsieur, written by me!” cried the dowager, + interrupting him. “I have written you no letter. What was I made to say in + that letter, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” replied Jules, “intending to see Monsieur de Maulincour to-day, + I thought it best to preserve the letter in spite of its injunction to + destroy it. There it is.” + </p> + <p> + Madame de Maulincour put on her spectacles, and the moment she cast her + eyes on the paper she showed the utmost surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she said, “my writing is so perfectly imitated that, if the + matter were not so recent, I might be deceived myself. My grandson is ill, + it is true; but his reason has never for a moment been affected. We are + the puppets of some evil-minded person or persons; and yet I cannot + imagine the object of a trick like this. You shall see my grandson, + monsieur, and you will at once perceive that he is perfectly sound in + mind.” + </p> + <p> + She rang the bell, and sent to ask if the baron felt able to receive + Monsieur Desmarets. The servant returned with an affirmative answer. Jules + went to the baron’s room, where he found him in an arm-chair near the + fire. Too feeble to move, the unfortunate man merely bowed his head with a + melancholy gesture. The Vidame de Pamiers was sitting with him. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le baron,” said Jules, “I have something to say which makes it + desirable that I should see you alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied Auguste, “Monsieur le vidame knows about this affair; + you can speak fearlessly before him.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le baron,” said Jules, in a grave voice, “you have troubled and + well-nigh destroyed my happiness without having any right to do so. Until + the moment when we can see clearly which of us should demand, or grant, + reparation to the other, you are bound to help me in following the dark + and mysterious path into which you have flung me. I have now come to + ascertain from you the present residence of the extraordinary being who + exercises such a baneful effect on your life and mine. On my return home + yesterday, after listening to your avowals, I received that letter.” + </p> + <p> + Jules gave him the forged letter. + </p> + <p> + “This Ferragus, this Bourignard, or this Monsieur de Funcal, is a demon!” + cried Maulincour, after having read it. “Oh, what a frightful maze I put + my foot into when I meddled in this matter! Where am I going? I did wrong, + monsieur,” he continued, looking at Jules; “but death is the greatest of + all expiations, and my death is now approaching. You can ask me whatever + you like; I am at your orders.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, you know, of course, where this man is living, and I must know + it if it costs me all my fortune to penetrate this mystery. In presence of + so cruel an enemy every moment is precious.” + </p> + <p> + “Justin shall tell you all,” replied the baron. + </p> + <p> + At these words the vidame fidgeted on his chair. Auguste rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Justin is not in the house!” cried the vidame, in a hasty manner that + told much. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then,” said Auguste, excitedly, “the other servants must know where + he is; send a man on horseback to fetch him. Your valet is in Paris, isn’t + he? He can be found.” + </p> + <p> + The vidame was visibly distressed. + </p> + <p> + “Justin can’t come, my dear boy,” said the old man; “he is dead. I wanted + to conceal the accident from you, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Dead!” cried Monsieur de Maulincour,—“dead! When and how?” + </p> + <p> + “Last night. He had been supping with some old friends, and, I dare say, + was drunk; his friends—no doubt they were drunk, too—left him + lying in the street, and a heavy vehicle ran over him.” + </p> + <p> + “The convict did not miss <i>him</i>; at the first stroke he killed,” said + Auguste. “He has had less luck with me; it has taken four blows to put me + out of the way.” + </p> + <p> + Jules was gloomy and thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to know nothing, then?” he cried, after a long pause. “Your valet + seems to have been justly punished. Did he not exceed your orders in + calumniating Madame Desmarets to a person named Ida, whose jealousy he + roused in order to turn her vindictiveness upon us?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, monsieur! in my anger I informed him about Madame Jules,” said + Auguste. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur!” cried the husband, keenly irritated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, monsieur!” replied the baron, claiming silence by a gesture, “I am + prepared for all. You cannot tell me anything my own conscience has not + already told me. I am now expecting the most celebrated of all professors + of toxicology, in order to learn my fate. If I am destined to intolerable + suffering, my resolution is taken. I shall blow my brains out.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk like a child!” cried the vidame, horrified by the coolness with + which the baron said these words. “Your grandmother would die of grief.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, monsieur,” said Jules, “am I to understand that there exist no + means of discovering in what part of Paris this extraordinary man + resides?” + </p> + <p> + “I think, monsieur,” said the old vidame, “from what I have heard poor + Justin say, that Monsieur de Funcal lives at either the Portuguese or the + Brazilian embassy. Monsieur de Funcal is a nobleman belonging to both + those countries. As for the convict, he is dead and buried. Your + persecutor, whoever he is, seems to me so powerful that it would be well + to take no decisive measures until you are sure of some way of confounding + and crushing him. Act prudently and with caution, my dear monsieur. Had + Monsieur de Maulincour followed my advice, nothing of all this would have + happened.” + </p> + <p> + Jules coldly but politely withdrew. He was now at a total loss to know how + to reach Ferragus. As he passed into his own house, the porter told him + that Madame had just been out to throw a letter into the post box at the + head of the rue de Menars. Jules felt humiliated by this proof of the + insight with which the porter espoused his cause, and the cleverness by + which he guessed the way to serve him. The eagerness of servants, and + their shrewdness in compromising masters who compromised themselves, was + known to him, and he fully appreciated the danger of having them as + accomplices, no matter for what purpose. But he could not think of his + personal dignity until the moment when he found himself thus suddenly + degraded. What a triumph for the slave who could not raise himself to his + master, to compel his master to come down to his level! Jules was harsh + and hard to him. Another fault. But he suffered so deeply! His life till + then so upright, so pure, was becoming crafty; he was to scheme and lie. + Clemence was scheming and lying. This to him was a moment of horrible + disgust. Lost in a flood of bitter feelings, Jules stood motionless at the + door of his house. Yielding to despair, he thought of fleeing, of leaving + France forever, carrying with him the illusions of uncertainty. Then, + again, not doubting that the letter Clemence had just posted was addressed + to Ferragus, his mind searched for a means of obtaining the answer that + mysterious being was certain to send. Then his thoughts began to analyze + the singular good fortune of his life since his marriage, and he asked + himself whether the calumny for which he had taken such signal vengeance + was not a truth. Finally, reverting to the coming answer, he said to + himself:— + </p> + <p> + “But this man, so profoundly capable, so logical in his every act, who + sees and foresees, who calculates, and even divines, our very thoughts, is + he likely to make an answer? Will he not employ some other means more in + keeping with his power? He may send his answer by some beggar; or in a + carton brought by an honest man, who does not suspect what he brings; or + in some parcel of shoes, which a shop-girl may innocently deliver to my + wife. If Clemence and he have agreed upon such means—” + </p> + <p> + He distrusted all things; his mind ran over vast tracts and shoreless + oceans of conjecture. Then, after floating for a time among a thousand + contradictory ideas, he felt he was strongest in his own house, and he + resolved to watch it as the ant-lion watches his sandy labyrinth. + </p> + <p> + “Fouguereau,” he said to the porter, “I am not at home to any one who + comes to see me. If any one calls to see madame, or brings her anything, + ring twice. Bring all letters addressed here to me, no matter for whom + they are intended.” + </p> + <p> + “Thus,” thought he, as he entered his study, which was in the entresol, “I + forestall the schemes of this Ferragus. If he sends some one to ask for me + so as to find out if Clemence is alone, at least I shall not be tricked + like a fool.” + </p> + <p> + He stood by the window of his study, which looked upon the street, and + then a final scheme, inspired by jealousy, came into his mind. He resolved + to send his head-clerk in his own carriage to the Bourse with a letter to + another broker, explaining his sales and purchases and requesting him to + do his business for that day. He postponed his more delicate transactions + till the morrow, indifferent to the fall or rise of stocks or the debts of + all Europe. High privilege of love!—it crushes all things, all + interests fall before it: altar, throne, consols! + </p> + <p> + At half-past three, just the hour at which the Bourse is in full blast of + reports, monthly settlements, premiums, etc., Fouguereau entered the + study, quite radiant with his news. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, an old woman has come, but very cautiously; I think she’s a sly + one. She asked for monsieur, and seemed much annoyed when I told her he + was out; then she gave me a letter for madame, and here it is.” + </p> + <p> + Fevered with anxiety, Jules opened the letter; then he dropped into a + chair, exhausted. The letter was mere nonsense throughout, and needed a + key. It was virtually in cipher. + </p> + <p> + “Go away, Fouguereau.” The porter left him. “It is a mystery deeper than + the sea below the plummet line! Ah! it must be love; love only is so + sagacious, so inventive as this. Ah! I shall kill her.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment an idea flashed through his brain with such force that he + felt almost physically illuminated by it. In the days of his toilsome + poverty before his marriage, Jules had made for himself a true friend. The + extreme delicacy with which he had managed the susceptibilities of a man + both poor and modest; the respect with which he had surrounded him; the + ingenious cleverness he had employed to nobly compel him to share his + opulence without permitting it to make him blush, increased their + friendship. Jacquet continued faithful to Desmarets in spite of his + wealth. + </p> + <p> + Jacquet, a nobly upright man, a toiler, austere in his morals, had slowly + made his way in that particular ministry which develops both honesty and + knavery at the same time. A clerk in the ministry of Foreign Affairs, he + had charge of the most delicate division of its archives. Jacquet in that + office was like a glow-worm, casting his light upon those secret + correspondences, deciphering and classifying despatches. Ranking higher + than a mere <i>bourgeois</i>, his position at the ministry was superior to + that of the other subalterns. He lived obscurely, glad to feel that such + obscurity sheltered him from reverses and disappointments, and was + satisfied to humbly pay in the lowest coin his debt to the country. Thanks + to Jules, his position had been much ameliorated by a worthy marriage. An + unrecognized patriot, a minister in actual fact, he contented himself with + groaning in his chimney-corner at the course of the government. In his own + home, Jacquet was an easy-going king,—an umbrella-man, as they say, + who hired a carriage for his wife which he never entered himself. In + short, to end this sketch of a philosopher unknown to himself, he had + never suspected and never in all his life would suspect the advantages he + might have drawn from his position,—that of having for his intimate + friend a broker, and of knowing every morning all the secrets of the + State. This man, sublime after the manner of that nameless soldier who + died in saving Napoleon by a “qui vive,” lived at the ministry. + </p> + <p> + In ten minutes Jules was in his friend’s office. Jacquet gave him a chair, + laid aside methodically his green silk eye-shade, rubbed his hands, picked + up his snuff-box, rose, stretched himself till his shoulder-blades + cracked, swelled out his chest, and said:— + </p> + <p> + “What brings you here, Monsieur Desmarets? What do you want with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Jacquet, I want you to decipher a secret,—a secret of life and + death.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t concern politics?” + </p> + <p> + “If it did, I shouldn’t come to you for information,” said Jules. “No, it + is a family matter, about which I require you to be absolutely silent.” + </p> + <p> + “Claude-Joseph Jacquet, dumb by profession. Don’t you know me by this + time?” he said, laughing. “Discretion is my lot.” + </p> + <p> + Jules showed him the letter. + </p> + <p> + “You must read me this letter, addressed to my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “The deuce! the deuce! a bad business!” said Jacquet, examining the letter + as a usurer examines a note to be negotiated. “Ha! that’s a gridiron + letter! Wait a minute.” + </p> + <p> + He left Jules alone for a moment, but returned immediately. + </p> + <p> + “Easy enough to read, my friend! It is written on the gridiron plan, used + by the Portuguese minister under Monsieur de Choiseul, at the time of the + dismissal of the Jesuits. Here, see!” + </p> + <p> + Jacquet placed upon the writing a piece of paper cut out in regular + squares, like the paper laces which confectioners wrap round their + sugarplums; and Jules then read with perfect ease the words that were + visible in the interstices. They were as follows:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Don’t be uneasy, my dear Clemence; our happiness cannot again be + troubled; and your husband will soon lay aside his suspicions. + However ill you may be, you must have the courage to come here + to-morrow; find strength in your love for me. Mine for you has + induced me to submit to a cruel operation, and I cannot leave my + bed. I have had the actual cautery applied to my back, and it was + necessary to burn it in a long time; you understand me? But I + thought of you, and I did not suffer. + + “To baffle Maulincour (who will not persecute us much longer), I + have left the protecting roof of the embassy, and am now safe from + all inquiry in the rue des Enfants-Rouges, number 12, with an old + woman, Madame Etienne Gruget, mother of that Ida, who shall pay + dear for her folly. Come to-morrow, at nine in the morning. I am + in a room which is reached only by an interior staircase. Ask for + Monsieur Camuset. Adieu; I kiss your forehead, my darling.” + </pre> + <p> + Jacquet looked at Jules with a sort of honest terror, the sign of a true + compassion, as he made his favorite exclamation in two separate and + distinct tones,— + </p> + <p> + “The deuce! the deuce!” + </p> + <p> + “That seems clear to you, doesn’t it?” said Jules. “Well, in the depths of + my heart there is a voice that pleads for my wife, and makes itself heard + above the pangs of jealousy. I must endure the worst of all agony until + to-morrow; but to-morrow, between nine and ten I shall know all; I shall + be happy or wretched for all my life. Think of me then, Jacquet.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be at your house to-morrow at eight o’clock. We will go together; + I’ll wait for you, if you like, in the street. You may run some danger, + and you ought to have near you some devoted person who’ll understand a + mere sign, and whom you can safely trust. Count on me.” + </p> + <p> + “Even to help me in killing some one?” + </p> + <p> + “The deuce! the deuce!” said Jacquet, repeating, as it were, the same + musical note. “I have two children and a wife.” + </p> + <p> + Jules pressed his friend’s hand and went away; but returned immediately. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot the letter,” he said. “But that’s not all, I must reseal it.” + </p> + <p> + “The deuce! the deuce! you opened it without saving the seal; however, it + is still possible to restore it. Leave it with me and I’ll bring it to you + <i>secundum scripturam</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “At what time?” + </p> + <p> + “Half-past five.” + </p> + <p> + “If I am not yet in, give it to the porter and tell him to send it up to + madame.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want me to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Adieu.” + </p> + <p> + Jules drove at once to the place de la Rotonde du Temple, where he left + his cabriolet and went on foot to the rue des Enfants-Rouges. He found the + house of Madame Etienne Gruget and examined it. There, the mystery on + which depended the fate of so many persons would be cleared up; there, at + this moment, was Ferragus, and to Ferragus all the threads of this strange + plot led. The Gordian knot of the drama, already so bloody, was surely in + a meeting between Madame Jules, her husband, and that man; and a blade + able to cut the closest of such knots would not be wanting. + </p> + <p> + The house was one of those which belong to the class called <i>cabajoutis</i>. + This significant name is given by the populace of Paris to houses which + are built, as it were, piecemeal. They are nearly always composed of + buildings originally separate but afterwards united according to the fancy + of the various proprietors who successively enlarge them; or else they are + houses begun, left unfinished, again built upon, and completed,—unfortunate + structures which have passed, like certain peoples, under many dynasties + of capricious masters. Neither the floors nor the windows have an <i>ensemble</i>,—to + borrow one of the most picturesque terms of the art of painting; all is + discord, even the external decoration. The <i>cabajoutis</i> is to + Parisian architecture what the <i>capharnaum</i> is to the apartment,—a + poke-hole, where the most heterogeneous articles are flung pell-mell. + </p> + <p> + “Madame Etienne?” asked Jules of the portress. + </p> + <p> + This portress had her lodge under the main entrance, in a sort of chicken + coop, or wooden house on rollers, not unlike those sentry-boxes which the + police have lately set up by the stands of hackney-coaches. + </p> + <p> + “Hein?” said the portress, without laying down the stocking she was + knitting. + </p> + <p> + In Paris the various component parts which make up the physiognomy of any + given portion of the monstrous city, are admirably in keeping with its + general character. Thus porter, concierge, or Suisse, whatever name may be + given to that essential muscle of the Parisian monster, is always in + conformity with the neighborhood of which he is a part; in fact, he is + often an epitome of it. The lazy porter of the faubourg Saint-Germain, + with lace on every seam of his coat, dabbles in stocks; he of the Chaussee + d’Antin takes his ease, reads the money-articles in the newspapers, and + has a business of his own in the faubourg Montmartre. The portress in the + quarter of prostitution was formerly a prostitute; in the Marais, she has + morals, is cross-grained, and full of crotchets. + </p> + <p> + On seeing Monsieur Jules this particular portress, holding her knitting in + one hand, took a knife and stirred the half-extinguished peat in her + foot-warmer; then she said:— + </p> + <p> + “You want Madame Etienne; do you mean Madame Etienne Gruget?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Jules, assuming a vexed air. + </p> + <p> + “Who makes trimmings?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, monsieur,” she said, issuing from her cage, and laying her + hand on Jules’ arm and leading him to the end of a long passage-way, + vaulted like a cellar, “go up the second staircase at the end of the + court-yard—where you will see the windows with the pots of pinks; + that’s where Madame Etienne lives.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, madame. Do you think she is alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t she be alone? she’s a widow.” + </p> + <p> + Jules hastened up a dark stairway, the steps of which were knobby with + hardened mud left by the feet of those who came and went. On the second + floor he saw three doors but no signs of pinks. Fortunately, on one of the + doors, the oiliest and darkest of the three, he read these words, chalked + on a panel: “Ida will come to-night at nine o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “This is the place,” thought Jules. + </p> + <p> + He pulled an old bellrope, black with age, and heard the smothered sound + of a cracked bell and the barking of an asthmatic little dog. By the way + the sounds echoed from the interior he knew that the rooms were encumbered + with articles which left no space for reverberation,—a + characteristic feature of the homes of workmen and humble households, + where space and air are always lacking. + </p> + <p> + Jules looked out mechanically for the pinks, and found them on the outer + sill of a sash window between two filthy drain-pipes. So here were + flowers; here, a garden, two yards long and six inches wide; here, a + wheat-ear; here, a whole life epitomized; but here, too, all the miseries + of that life. A ray of light falling from heaven as if by special favor on + those puny flowers and the vigorous wheat-ear brought out in full relief + the dust, the grease, and that nameless color, peculiar to Parisian + squalor, made of dirt, which crusted and spotted the damp walls, the + worm-eaten balusters, the disjointed window-casings, and the door + originally red. Presently the cough of an old woman, and a heavy female + step, shuffling painfully in list slippers, announced the coming of the + mother of Ida Gruget. The creature opened the door and came out upon the + landing, looked up, and said:— + </p> + <p> + “Ah! is this Monsieur Bocquillon? Why, no? But perhaps you’re his brother. + What can I do for you? Come in, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Jules followed her into the first room, where he saw, huddled together, + cages, household utensils, ovens, furniture, little earthenware dishes + full of food or water for the dog and the cats, a wooden clock, + bed-quilts, engravings of Eisen, heaps of old iron, all these things + mingled and massed together in a way that produced a most grotesque + effect,—a true Parisian dusthole, in which were not lacking a few + old numbers of the “Constitutionel.” + </p> + <p> + Jules, impelled by a sense of prudence, paid no attention to the widow’s + invitation when she said civilly, showing him an inner room:— + </p> + <p> + “Come in here, monsieur, and warm yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Fearing to be overheard by Ferragus, Jules asked himself whether it were + not wisest to conclude the arrangement he had come to make with the old + woman in the crowded antechamber. A hen, which descended cackling from a + loft, roused him from this inward meditation. He came to a resolution, and + followed Ida’s mother into the inner room, whither they were accompanied + by the wheezy pug, a personage otherwise mute, who jumped upon a stool. + Madame Gruget showed the assumption of semi-pauperism when she invited her + visitor to warm himself. Her fire-pot contained, or rather concealed two + bits of sticks, which lay apart: the grating was on the ground, its handle + in the ashes. The mantel-shelf, adorned with a little wax Jesus under a + shade of squares of glass held together with blue paper, was piled with + wools, bobbins, and tools used in the making of gimps and trimmings. Jules + examined everything in the room with a curiosity that was full of + interest, and showed, in spite of himself, an inward satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “Well, monsieur, tell me, do you want to buy any of my things?” said the + old woman, seating herself in a cane arm-chair, which appeared to be her + headquarters. In it she kept her handkerchief, snuffbox, knitting, + half-peeled vegetables, spectacles, calendar, a bit of livery gold lace + just begun, a greasy pack of cards, and two volumes of novels, all stuck + into the hollow of the back. This article of furniture, in which the old + creature was floating down the river of life, was not unlike the + encyclopedic bag which a woman carries with her when she travels; in which + may be found a compendium of her household belongings, from the portrait + of her husband to <i>eau de Melisse</i> for faintness, sugarplums for the + children, and English court-plaster in case of cuts. + </p> + <p> + Jules studied all. He looked attentively at Madame Gruget’s yellow visage, + at her gray eyes without either brows or lashes, her toothless mouth, her + wrinkles marked in black, her rusty cap, her still more rusty ruffles, her + cotton petticoat full of holes, her worn-out slippers, her disabled + fire-pot, her table heaped with dishes and silks and work begun or + finished, in wool or cotton, in the midst of which stood a bottle of wine. + Then he said to himself: “This old woman has some passion, some strong + liking or vice; I can make her do my will.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” he said aloud, with a private sign of intelligence, “I have come + to order some livery trimmings.” Then he lowered his voice. “I know,” he + continued, “that you have a lodger who has taken the name of Camuset.” The + old woman looked at him suddenly, but without any sign of astonishment. + “Now, tell me, can we come to an understanding? This is a question which + means fortune for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” she replied, “speak out, and don’t be afraid. There’s no one + here. But if I had any one above, it would be impossible for him to hear + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! the sly old creature, she answers like a Norman,” thought Jules, “We + shall agree. Do not give yourself the trouble to tell falsehoods, madame,” + he resumed, “In the first place, let me tell you that I mean no harm + either to you or to your lodger who is suffering from cautery, or to your + daughter Ida, a stay-maker, the friend of Ferragus. You see, I know all + your affairs. Do not be uneasy; I am not a detective policeman, nor do I + desire anything that can hurt your conscience. A young lady will come here + to-morrow-morning at half-past nine o’clock, to talk with this lover of + your daughter. I want to be where I can see all and hear all, without + being seen or heard by them. If you will furnish me with the means of + doing so, I will reward that service with the gift of two thousand francs + and a yearly stipend of six hundred. My notary shall prepare a deed before + you this evening, and I will give him the money to hold; he will pay the + two thousand to you to-morrow after the conference at which I desire to be + present, as you will then have given proofs of your good faith.” + </p> + <p> + “Will it injure my daughter, my good monsieur?” she asked, casting a + cat-like glance of doubt and uneasiness upon him. + </p> + <p> + “In no way, madame. But, in any case, it seems to me that your daughter + does not treat you well. A girl who is loved by so rich a man as Ferragus + ought to make you more comfortable than you seem to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear monsieur, just think, not so much as one poor ticket to the + Ambigu, or the Gaiete, where she can go as much as she likes. It’s + shameful! A girl for whom I sold my silver forks and spoons! and now I + eat, at my age, with German metal,—and all to pay for her + apprenticeship, and give her a trade, where she could coin money if she + chose. As for that, she’s like me, clever as a witch; I must do her that + justice. But, I will say, she might give me her old silk gowns,—I, + who am so fond of wearing silk. But no! Monsieur, she dines at the + Cadran-Bleu at fifty francs a head, and rolls in her carriage as if she + were a princess, and despises her mother for a Colin-Lampon. Heavens and + earth! what heedless young ones we’ve brought into the world; we have + nothing to boast of there. A mother, monsieur, can’t be anything else but + a good mother; and I’ve concealed that girl’s ways, and kept her in my + bosom, to take the bread out of my mouth and cram everything into her own. + Well, well! and now she comes and fondles one a little, and says, ‘How + d’ye do, mother?’ And that’s all the duty she thinks of paying. But she’ll + have children one of these days, and then she’ll find out what it is to + have such baggage,—which one can’t help loving all the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that she does nothing for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, nothing? No, monsieur, I didn’t say that; if she did nothing, that + would be a little too much. She gives me my rent and thirty-six francs a + month. But, monsieur, at my age,—and I’m fifty-two years old, with + eyes that feel the strain at night,—ought I to be working in this + way? Besides, why won’t she have me to live with her? I should shame her, + should I? Then let her say so. Faith, one ought to be buried out of the + way of such dogs of children, who forget you before they’ve even shut the + door.” + </p> + <p> + She pulled her handkerchief from her pocket, and with it a lottery ticket + that dropped on the floor; but she hastily picked it up, saying, “Hi! + that’s the receipt for my taxes.” + </p> + <p> + Jules at once perceived the reason of the sagacious parsimony of which the + mother complained; and he was the more certain that the widow Gruget would + agree to the proposed bargain. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, madame,” he said, “accept what I offer you.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you say two thousand francs in ready money, and six hundred annuity, + monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Madame, I’ve changed my mind; I will promise you only three hundred + annuity. This way seems more to my own interests. But I will give you five + thousand francs in ready money. Wouldn’t you like that as well?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless me, yes, monsieur!” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll get more comfort out of it; and you can go to the Ambigu and + Franconi’s at your ease in a coach.” + </p> + <p> + “As for Franconi, I don’t like that, for they don’t talk there. Monsieur, + if I accept, it is because it will be very advantageous for my child. I + sha’n’t be a drag on her any longer. Poor little thing! I’m glad she has + her pleasures, after all. Ah, monsieur, youth must be amused! And so, if + you assure me that no harm will come to anybody—” + </p> + <p> + “Not to anybody,” replied Jules. “But now, how will you manage it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, monsieur, if I give Monsieur Ferragus a little tea made of + poppy-heads to-night, he’ll sleep sound, the dear man; and he needs it, + too, because of his sufferings, for he does suffer, I can tell you, and + more’s the pity. But I’d like to know what a healthy man like him wants to + burn his back for, just to get rid of a tic douleureux which troubles him + once in two years. However, to come back to our business. I have my + neighbor’s key; her lodging is just above mine, and in it there’s a room + adjoining the one where Monsieur Ferragus is, with only a partition + between them. My neighbor is away in the country for ten days. Therefore, + if I make a hole to-night while Monsieur Ferragus is sound asleep, you can + see and hear them to-morrow at your ease. I’m on good terms with a + locksmith,—a very friendly man, who talks like an angel, and he’ll + do the work for me and say nothing about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then here’s a hundred francs for him. Come to-night to Monsieur + Desmaret’s office; he’s a notary, and here’s his address. At nine o’clock + the deed will be ready, but—silence!” + </p> + <p> + “Enough, monsieur; as you say—silence! Au revoir, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Jules went home, almost calmed by the certainty that he should know the + truth on the morrow. As he entered the house, the porter gave him the + letter properly resealed. + </p> + <p> + “How do you feel now?” he said to his wife, in spite of the coldness that + separated them. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty well, Jules,” she answered in a coaxing voice, “do come and dine + beside me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” he said, giving her the letter. “Here is something Fouguereau + gave me for you.” + </p> + <p> + Clemence, who was very pale, colored high when she saw the letter, and + that sudden redness was a fresh blow to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Is that joy,” he said, laughing, “or the effect of expectation?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of many things!” she said, examining the seal. + </p> + <p> + “I leave you now for a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + He went down to his study, and wrote to his brother, giving him directions + about the payment to the widow Gruget. When he returned, he found his + dinner served on a little table by his wife’s bedside, and Josephine ready + to wait on him. + </p> + <p> + “If I were up how I should like to serve you myself,” said Clemence, when + Josephine had left them. “Oh, yes, on my knees!” she added, passing her + white hands through her husband’s hair. “Dear, noble heart, you were very + kind and gracious to me just now. You did me more good by showing me such + confidence than all the doctors on earth could do me with their + prescriptions. That feminine delicacy of yours—for you do know how + to love like a woman—well, it has shed a balm into my heart which + has almost cured me. There’s truce between us, Jules; lower your head, + that I may kiss it.” + </p> + <p> + Jules could not deny himself the pleasure of that embrace. But it was not + without a feeling of remorse in his heart; he felt himself small before + this woman whom he was still tempted to think innocent. A sort of + melancholy joy possessed him. A tender hope shone on her features in spite + of their grieved expression. They both were equally unhappy in deceiving + each other; another caress, and, unable to resist their suffering, all + would then have been avowed. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow evening, Clemence.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; to-morrow morning, by twelve o’clock, you will know all, and + you’ll kneel down before your wife—Oh, no! you shall not be + humiliated; you are all forgiven now; you have done no wrong. Listen, + Jules; yesterday you did crush me—harshly; but perhaps my life would + not have been complete without that agony; it may be a shadow that will + make our coming days celestial.” + </p> + <p> + “You lay a spell upon me,” cried Jules; “you fill me with remorse.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor love! destiny is stronger than we, and I am not the accomplice of + mine. I shall go out to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “At what hour?” asked Jules. + </p> + <p> + “At half-past nine.” + </p> + <p> + “Clemence,” he said, “take every precaution; consult Doctor Desplein and + old Haudry.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall consult nothing but my heart and my courage.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall leave you free; you will not see me till twelve o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t you keep me company this evening? I feel so much better.” + </p> + <p> + After attending to some business, Jules returned to his wife,—recalled + by her invincible attraction. His passion was stronger than his anguish. + </p> + <p> + The next day, at nine o’clock Jules left home, hurried to the rue des + Enfants-Rouges, went upstairs, and rang the bell of the widow Gruget’s + lodgings. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you’ve kept your word, as true as the dawn. Come in, monsieur,” said + the old woman when she saw him. “I’ve made you a cup of coffee with + cream,” she added, when the door was closed. “Oh! real cream; I saw it + milked myself at the dairy we have in this very street.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, no, madame, nothing. Take me at once—” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, monsieur. Follow me, this way.” + </p> + <p> + She led him up into the room above her own, where she showed him, + triumphantly, an opening about the size of a two-franc piece, made during + the night, in a place, which, in each room, was above a wardrobe. In order + to look through it, Jules was forced to maintain himself in rather a + fatiguing attitude, by standing on a step-ladder which the widow had been + careful to place there. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a gentleman with him,” she whispered, as she retired. + </p> + <p> + Jules then beheld a man employed in dressing a number of wounds on the + shoulders of Ferragus, whose head he recognized from the description given + to him by Monsieur de Maulincour. + </p> + <p> + “When do you think those wounds will heal?” asked Ferragus. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said the other man. “The doctors say those wounds will + require seven or eight more dressings.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, good-bye until to-night,” said Ferragus, holding out his hand + to the man, who had just replaced the bandage. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to-night,” said the other, pressing his hand cordially. “I wish I + could see you past your sufferings.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow Monsieur de Funcal’s papers will be delivered to us, and Henri + Bourignard will be dead forever,” said Ferragus. “Those fatal marks which + have cost us so dear no longer exist. I shall become once more a social + being, a man among men, and more of a man than the sailor whom the fishes + are eating. God knows it is not for my own sake I have made myself a + Portuguese count!” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Gratien!—you, the wisest of us all, our beloved brother, the + Benjamin of the band; as you very well know.” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu; keep an eye on Maulincour.” + </p> + <p> + “You can rest easy on that score.” + </p> + <p> + “Ho! stay, marquis,” cried the convict. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ida is capable of everything after the scene of last night. If she should + throw herself into the river, I would not fish her out. She knows the + secret of my name, and she’ll keep it better there. But still, look after + her; for she is, in her way, a good girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + The stranger departed. Ten minutes later Jules heard, with a feverish + shudder, the rustle of a silk gown, and almost recognized by their sound + the steps of his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Well, father,” said Clemence, “my poor father, are you better? What + courage you have shown!” + </p> + <p> + “Come here, my child,” replied Ferragus, holding out his hand to her. + </p> + <p> + Clemence held her forehead to him and he kissed it. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me, what is the matter, my little girl? What are these new + troubles?” + </p> + <p> + “Troubles, father! it concerns the life or death of the daughter you have + loved so much. Indeed you must, as I wrote you yesterday, you <i>must</i> + find a way to see my poor Jules to-day. If you knew how good he has been + to me, in spite of all suspicions apparently so legitimate. Father, my + love is my very life. Would you see me die? Ah! I have suffered so much + that my life, I feel it! is in danger.” + </p> + <p> + “And all because of the curiosity of that miserable Parisian?” cried + Ferragus. “I’d burn Paris down if I lost you, my daughter. Ha! you may + know what a lover is, but you don’t yet know what a father can do.” + </p> + <p> + “Father, you frighten me when you look at me in that way. Don’t weigh such + different feelings in the same scales. I had a husband before I knew that + my father was living—” + </p> + <p> + “If your husband was the first to lay kisses on your forehead, I was the + first to drop tears upon it,” replied Ferragus. “But don’t feel + frightened, Clemence, speak to me frankly. I love you enough to rejoice in + the knowledge that you are happy, though I, your father, may have little + place in your heart, while you fill the whole of mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! what good such words do me! You make me love you more and more, + though I seem to rob something from my Jules. But, my kind father, think + what his sufferings are. What may I tell him to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “My child, do you think I waited for your letter to save you from this + threatened danger? Do you know what will become of those who venture to + touch your happiness, or come between us? Have you never been aware that a + second providence was guarding your life? Twelve men of power and + intellect form a phalanx round your love and your existence,—ready + to do all things to protect you. Think of your father, who has risked + death to meet you in the public promenades, or see you asleep in your + little bed in your mother’s home, during the night-time. Could such a + father, to whom your innocent caresses give strength to live when a man of + honor ought to have died to escape his infamy, could <i>I</i>, in short, I + who breathe through your lips, and see with your eyes, and feel with your + heart, could I fail to defend with the claws of a lion and the soul of a + father, my only blessing, my life, my daughter? Since the death of that + angel, your mother, I have dreamed but of one thing,—the happiness + of pressing you to my heart in the face of the whole earth, of burying the + convict,—” He paused a moment, and then added: “—of giving you + a father, a father who could press without shame your husband’s hand, who + could live without fear in both your hearts, who could say to all the + world, ‘This is my daughter,’—in short, to be a happy father.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, father! father!” + </p> + <p> + “After infinite difficulty, after searching the whole globe,” continued + Ferragus, “my friends have found me the skin of a dead man in which to + take my place once more in social life. A few days hence, I shall be + Monsieur de Funcal, a Portuguese count. Ah! my dear child, there are few + men of my age who would have had the patience to learn Portuguese and + English, which were spoken fluently by that devil of a sailor, who was + drowned at sea.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear father—” + </p> + <p> + “All has been foreseen, and prepared. A few days hence, his Majesty John + VI., King of Portugal will be my accomplice. My child, you must have a + little patience where your father has had so much. But ah! what would I + not do to reward your devotion for the last three years,—coming + religiously to comfort your old father, at the risk of your own peace!” + </p> + <p> + “Father!” cried Clemence, taking his hands and kissing them. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my child, have courage still; keep my fatal secret a few days + longer, till the end is reached. Jules is not an ordinary man, I know; but + are we sure that his lofty character and his noble love may not impel him + to dislike the daughter of a—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” cried Clemence, “you have read my heart; I have no other fear than + that. The very thought turns me to ice,” she added, in a heart-rending + tone. “But, father, think that I have promised him the truth in two + hours.” + </p> + <p> + “If so, my daughter, tell him to go to the Portuguese embassy and see the + Comte de Funcal, your father. I will be there.” + </p> + <p> + “But Monsieur de Maulincour has told him of Ferragus. Oh, father, what + torture, to deceive, deceive, deceive!” + </p> + <p> + “Need you say that to me? But only a few days more, and no living man will + be able to expose me. Besides, Monsieur de Maulincour is beyond the + faculty of remembering. Come, dry your tears, my silly child, and think—” + </p> + <p> + At this instant a terrible cry rang from the room in which Jules Desmarets + was stationed. + </p> + <p> + The clamor was heard by Madame Jules and Ferragus through the opening of + the wall, and struck them with terror. + </p> + <p> + “Go and see what it means, Clemence,” said her father. + </p> + <p> + Clemence ran rapidly down the little staircase, found the door into Madame + Gruget’s apartment wide open, heard the cries which echoed from the upper + floor, went up the stairs, guided by the noise of sobs, and caught these + words before she entered the fatal chamber:— + </p> + <p> + “You, monsieur, you, with your horrid inventions,—you are the cause + of her death!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, miserable woman!” replied Jules, putting his handkerchief on the + mouth of the old woman, who began at once to cry out, “Murder! help!” + </p> + <p> + At this instant Clemence entered, saw her husband, uttered a cry, and fled + away. + </p> + <p> + “Who will save my child?” cried the widow Gruget. “You have murdered her.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” asked Jules, mechanically, for he was horror-struck at being seen + by his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Read that,” said the old woman, giving him a letter. “Can money or + annuities console me for that?” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Farewell, mother! I bequeeth you what I have. I beg your pardon + for my forlts, and the last greef to which I put you by ending my + life in the river. Henry, who I love more than myself, says I have + made his misfortune, and as he has drifen me away, and I have lost + all my hops of merrying him, I am going to droun myself. I shall + go abov Neuilly, so that they can’t put me in the Morg. If Henry + does not hate me anny more after I am ded, ask him to berry a pore + girl whose hart beet for him only, and to forgif me, for I did + rong to meddle in what didn’t consern me. Tak care of his wounds. + How much he sufered, pore fellow! I shall have as much corage to + kill myself as he had to burn his bak. Carry home the corsets I + have finished. And pray God for your daughter. +</pre> + <p> + Ida. + </p> + <p> + “Take this letter to Monsieur de Funcal, who is upstairs,” said Jules. “He + alone can save your daughter, if there is still time.” + </p> + <p> + So saying he disappeared, running like a man who has committed a crime. + His legs trembled. The hot blood poured into his swelling heart in + torrents greater than at any other moment of his life, and left it again + with untold violence. Conflicting thoughts struggled in his mind, and yet + one thought predominated,—he had not been loyal to the being he + loved most. It was impossible for him to argue with his conscience, whose + voice, rising high with conviction, came like an echo of those inward + cries of his love during the cruel hours of doubt he had lately lived + through. + </p> + <p> + He spent the greater part of the day wandering about Paris, for he dared + not go home. This man of integrity and honor feared to meet the spotless + brow of the woman he had misjudged. We estimate wrongdoing in proportion + to the purity of our conscience; the deed which is scarcely a fault in + some hearts, takes the proportions of a crime in certain unsullied souls. + The slightest stain on the white garment of a virgin makes it a thing + ignoble as the rags of a mendicant. Between the two the difference lies in + the misfortune of the one, the wrong-doing of the other. God never + measures repentance; he never apportions it. As much is needed to efface a + spot as to obliterate the crimes of a lifetime. These reflections fell + with all their weight on Jules; passions, like human laws, will not + pardon, and their reasoning is more just; for are they not based upon a + conscience of their own as infallible as an instinct? + </p> + <p> + Jules finally came home pale, despondent, crushed beneath a sense of his + wrong-doing, and yet expressing in spite of himself the joy his wife’s + innocence had given him. He entered her room all throbbing with emotion; + she was in bed with a high fever. He took her hand, kissed it, and covered + it with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Dear angel,” he said, when they were alone, “it is repentance.” + </p> + <p> + “And for what?” she answered. + </p> + <p> + As she made that reply, she laid her head back upon the pillow, closed her + eyes, and remained motionless, keeping the secret of her sufferings that + she might not frighten her husband,—the tenderness of a mother, the + delicacy of an angel! All the woman was in her answer. + </p> + <p> + The silence lasted long. Jules, thinking her asleep, went to question + Josephine as to her mistress’s condition. + </p> + <p> + “Madame came home half-dead, monsieur. We sent at once for Monsieur + Haudry.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he come? What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He said nothing, monsieur. He did not seem satisfied; gave orders that no + one should go near madame except the nurse, and said he should come back + this evening.” + </p> + <p> + Jules returned softly to his wife’s room and sat down in a chair before + the bed. There he remained, motionless, with his eyes fixed on those of + Clemence. When she raised her eyelids she saw him, and through those lids + passed a tender glance, full of passionate love, free from reproach and + bitterness,—a look which fell like a flame of fire upon the heart of + that husband, nobly absolved and forever loved by the being whom he had + killed. The presentiment of death struck both their minds with equal + force. Their looks were blended in one anguish, as their hearts had long + been blended in one love, felt equally by both, and shared equally. No + questions were uttered; a horrible certainty was there,—in the wife + an absolute generosity; in the husband an awful remorse; then, in both + souls the same vision of the end, the same conviction of fatality. + </p> + <p> + There came a moment when, thinking his wife asleep, Jules kissed her + softly on the forehead; then after long contemplation of that cherished + face, he said:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh God! leave me this angel still a little while that I may blot out my + wrong by love and adoration. As a daughter, she is sublime; as a wife, + what word can express her?” + </p> + <p> + Clemence raised her eyes; they were full of tears. + </p> + <p> + “You pain me,” she said, in a feeble voice. + </p> + <p> + It was getting late; Doctor Haudry came, and requested the husband to + withdraw during his visit. When the doctor left the sick-room Jules asked + him no question; one gesture was enough. + </p> + <p> + “Call in consultation any physician in whom you place confidence; I may be + wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor, tell me the truth. I am a man, and I can bear it. Besides, I have + the deepest interest in knowing it; I have certain affairs to settle.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame Jules is dying,” said the physician. “There is some moral malady + which has made great progress, and it has complicated her physical + condition, which was already dangerous, and made still more so by her + great imprudence. To walk about barefooted at night! to go out when I + forbade it! on foot yesterday in the rain, to-day in a carriage! She must + have meant to kill herself. But still, my judgment is not final; she has + youth, and a most amazing nervous strength. It may be best to risk all to + win all by employing some violent reagent. But I will not take upon myself + to order it; nor will I advise it; in consultation I shall oppose it.” + </p> + <p> + Jules returned to his wife. For eleven days and eleven nights he remained + beside her bed, taking no sleep during the day when he laid his head upon + the foot of the bed. No man ever pushed the jealousy of care and the + craving for devotion to such an extreme as he. He could not endure that + the slightest service should be done by others for his wife. There were + days of uncertainty, false hopes, now a little better, then a crisis,—in + short, all the horrible mutations of death as it wavers, hesitates, and + finally strikes. Madame Jules always found strength to smile at her + husband. She pitied him, knowing that soon he would be alone. It was a + double death,—that of life, that of love; but life grew feebler, and + love grew mightier. One frightful night there was, when Clemence passed + through that delirium which precedes the death of youth. She talked of her + happy love, she talked of her father; she related her mother’s revelations + on her death-bed, and the obligations that mother had laid upon her. She + struggled, not for life, but for her love which she could not leave. + </p> + <p> + “Grant, O God!” she said, “that he may not know I want him to die with + me.” + </p> + <p> + Jules, unable to bear the scene, was at that moment in the adjoining room, + and did not hear the prayer, which he would doubtless have fulfilled. + </p> + <p> + When this crisis was over, Madame Jules recovered some strength. The next + day she was beautiful and tranquil; hope seemed to come to her; she + adorned herself, as the dying often do. Then she asked to be alone all + day, and sent away her husband with one of those entreaties made so + earnestly that they are granted as we grant the prayer of a little child. + </p> + <p> + Jules, indeed, had need of this day. He went to Monsieur de Maulincour to + demand the satisfaction agreed upon between them. It was not without great + difficulty that he succeeded in reaching the presence of the author of + these misfortunes; but the vidame, when he learned that the visit related + to an affair of honor, obeyed the precepts of his whole life, and himself + took Jules into the baron’s chamber. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Desmarets looked about him in search of his antagonist. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! that is really he,” said the vidame, motioning to a man who was + sitting in an arm-chair beside the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it? Jules?” said the dying man in a broken voice. + </p> + <p> + Auguste had lost the only faculty that makes us live—memory. Jules + Desmarets recoiled with horror at this sight. He could not even recognize + the elegant young man in that thing without—as Bossuet said—a + name in any language. It was, in truth, a corpse with whitened hair, its + bones scarce covered with a wrinkled, blighted, withered skin,—a + corpse with white eyes motionless, mouth hideously gaping, like those of + idiots or vicious men killed by excesses. No trace of intelligence + remained upon that brow, nor in any feature; nor was there in that flabby + flesh either color or the faintest appearance of circulating blood. Here + was a shrunken, withered creature brought to the state of those monsters + we see preserved in museums, floating in alchohol. Jules fancied that he + saw above that face the terrible head of Ferragus, and his own anger was + silenced by such a vengeance. The husband found pity in his heart for the + vacant wreck of what was once a man. + </p> + <p> + “The duel has taken place,” said the vidame. + </p> + <p> + “But he has killed many,” answered Jules, sorrowfully. + </p> + <p> + “And many dear ones,” added the old man. “His grandmother is dying; and I + shall follow her soon into the grave.” + </p> + <p> + On the morrow of this day, Madame Jules grew worse from hour to hour. She + used a moment’s strength to take a letter from beneath her pillow, and + gave it eagerly to her husband with a sign that was easy to understand,—she + wished to give him, in a kiss, her last breath. He took it, and she died. + Jules fell half-dead himself and was taken to his brother’s house. There, + as he deplored in tears his absence of the day before, his brother told + him that this separation was eagerly desired by Clemence, who wished to + spare him the sight of the religious paraphernalia, so terrible to tender + imaginations, which the Church displays when conferring the last + sacraments upon the dying. + </p> + <p> + “You could not have borne it,” said his brother. “I could hardly bear the + sight myself, and all the servants wept. Clemence was like a saint. She + gathered strength to bid us all good-bye, and that voice, heard for the + last time, rent our hearts. When she asked pardon for the pain she might + unwillingly have caused her servants, there were cries and sobs and—” + </p> + <p> + “Enough! enough!” said Jules. + </p> + <p> + He wanted to be alone, that he might read the last words of the woman whom + all had loved, and who had passed away like a flower. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “My beloved, this is my last will. Why should we not make wills + for the treasures of our hearts, as for our worldly property? Was + not my love my property, my all? I mean here to dispose of my + love: it was the only fortune of your Clemence, and it is all that + she can leave you in dying. Jules, you love me still, and I die + happy. The doctors may explain my death as they think best; I + alone know the true cause. I shall tell it to you, whatever pain + it may cause you. I cannot carry with me, in a heart all yours, a + secret which you do not share, although I die the victim of an + enforced silence. + + “Jules, I was nurtured and brought up in the deepest solitude, far + from the vices and the falsehoods of the world, by the loving + woman whom you knew. Society did justice to her conventional + charm, for that is what pleases society; but I knew secretly her + precious soul, I could cherish the mother who made my childhood a + joy without bitterness, and I knew why I cherished her. Was not + that to love doubly? Yes, I loved her, I feared her, I respected + her; yet nothing oppressed my heart, neither fear nor respect. I + was all in all to her; she was all in all to me. For nineteen + happy years, without a care, my soul, solitary amid the world + which muttered round me, reflected only her pure image; my heart + beat for her and through her. I was scrupulously pious; I found + pleasure in being innocent before God. My mother cultivated all + noble and self-respecting sentiments in me. Ah! it gives me + happiness to tell you, Jules, that I now know I was indeed a young + girl, and that I came to you virgin in heart. + + “When I left that absolute solitude, when, for the first time, I + braided my hair and crowned it with almond blossoms, when I added, + with delight, a few satin knots to my white dress, thinking of the + world I was to see, and which I was curious to see—Jules, that + innocent and modest coquetry was done for you! Yes, as I entered + the world, I saw <i>you</i> first of all. Your face, I remarked it; it + stood out from the rest; your person pleased me; your voice, your + manners all inspired me with pleasant presentiments. When you came + up, when you spoke to me, the color on your forehead, the tremble + in your voice,—that moment gave me memories with which I throb as + I now write to you, as I now, for the last time, think of them. + Our love was at first the keenest of sympathies, but it was soon + discovered by each of us and then, as speedily, shared; just as, + in after times, we have both equally felt and shared innumerable + happinesses. From that moment my mother was only second in my + heart. Next, I was yours, all yours. There is my life, and all my + life, dear husband. + + “And here is what remains for me to tell you. One evening, a few + days before my mother’s death, she revealed to me the secret of + her life,—not without burning tears. I have loved you better + since the day I learned from the priest as he absolved my mother + that there are passions condemned by the world and by the Church. + But surely God will not be severe when they are the sins of souls + as tender as that of my mother; only, that dear woman could never + bring herself to repent. She loved much, Jules; she was all love. + So I have prayed daily for her, but never judged her. + + “That night I learned the cause of her deep maternal tenderness; + then I also learned that there was in Paris a man whose life and + whose love centred on me; that your fortune was his doing, and + that he loved you. I learned also that he was exiled from society + and bore a tarnished name; but that he was more unhappy for me, + for us, than for himself. My mother was all his comfort; she was + dying, and I promised to take her place. With all the ardor of a + soul whose feelings had never been perverted, I saw only the + happiness of softening the bitterness of my mother’s last moments, + and I pledged myself to continue her work of secret charity,—the + charity of the heart. The first time that I saw my father was + beside the bed where my mother had just expired. When he raised + his tearful eyes, it was to see in me a revival of his dead hopes. + I had sworn, not to tell a lie, but to keep silence; and that + silence what woman could have broken it? + + “There is my fault, Jules,—a fault which I expiate by death. I + doubted you. But fear is so natural to a woman; above all, a woman + who knows what it is that she may lose. I trembled for our love. + My father’s secret seemed to me the death of my happiness; and the + more I loved, the more I feared. I dared not avow this feeling to + my father; it would have wounded him, and in his situation a wound + was agony. But, without a word from me, he shared my fears. That + fatherly heart trembled for my happiness as much as I trembled for + myself; but it dared not speak, obeying the same delicacy that + kept me mute. Yes, Jules, I believed that you could not love the + daughter of Gratien Bourignard as you loved your Clemence. Without + that terror could I have kept back anything from you,—you who + live in every fold of my heart? + + “The day when that odious, unfortunate young officer spoke to you, + I was forced to lie. That day, for the second time in my life, I + knew what pain was; that pain has steadily increased until this + moment, when I speak with you for the last time. What matters now + my father’s position? You know all. I could, by the help of my + love, have conquered my illness and borne its sufferings; but I + cannot stifle the voice of doubt. Is it not probable that my + origin would affect the purity of your love and weaken it, + diminish it? That fear nothing has been able to quench in me. + There, Jules, is the cause of my death. I cannot live fearing a + word, a look,—a word you may never say, a look you may never + give; but, I cannot help it, I fear them. I die beloved; there is + my consolation. + + “I have known, for the last three years, that my father and his + friends have well-nigh moved the world to deceive the world. That + I might have a station in life, they have bought a dead man, a + reputation, a fortune, so that a living man might live again, + restored; and all this for you, for us. We were never to have + known of it. Well, my death will save my father from that + falsehood, for he will not survive me. + + “Farewell, Jules, my heart is all here. To show you my love in its + agony of fear, is not that bequeathing my whole soul to you? I + could never have the strength to speak to you; I have only enough + to write. I have just confessed to God the sins of my life. I have + promised to fill my mind with the King of Heaven only; but I must + confess to him who is, for me, the whole of earth. Alas! shall I + not be pardoned for this last sigh between the life that was and + the life that shall be? Farewell, my Jules, my loved one! I go to + God, with whom is Love without a cloud, to whom you will follow + me. There, before his throne, united forever, we may love each + other throughout the ages. This hope alone can comfort me. If I am + worthy of being there at once, I will follow you through life. My + soul shall bear your company; it will wrap you about, for <i>you</i> + must stay here still,—ah! here below. Lead a holy life that you + may the more surely come to me. You can do such good upon this + earth! Is it not an angel’s mission for the suffering soul to shed + happiness about him,—to give to others that which he has not? I + bequeath you to the Unhappy. Their smiles, their tears, are the + only ones of which I cannot be jealous. We shall find a charm in + sweet beneficence. Can we not live together still if you would + join my name—your Clemence—in these good works? + + “After loving as we have loved, there is naught but God, Jules. + God does not lie; God never betrays. Adore him only, I charge you! + Lead those who suffer up to him; comfort the sorrowing members of + his Church. Farewell, dear soul that I have filled! I know you; + you will never love again. I may die happy in the thought that + makes all women happy. Yes, my grave will be your heart. After + this childhood I have just related, has not my life flowed on + within that heart? Dead, you will never drive me forth. I am proud + of that rare life! You will know me only in the flower of my + youth; I leave you regrets without disillusions. Jules, it is a + happy death. + + “You, who have so fully understood me, may I ask one thing more of + you,—superfluous request, perhaps, the fulfilment of a woman’s + fancy, the prayer of a jealousy we all must feel,—I pray you to + burn all that especially belonged to <i>us</i>, destroy our chamber, + annihilate all that is a memory of our happiness. + + “Once more, farewell,—the last farewell! It is all love, and so + will be my parting thought, my parting breath.” + </pre> + <p> + When Jules had read that letter there came into his heart one of those + wild frenzies of which it is impossible to describe the awful anguish. All + sorrows are individual; their effects are not subjected to any fixed rule. + Certain men will stop their ears to hear nothing; some women close their + eyes hoping never to see again; great and splendid souls are met with who + fling themselves into sorrow as into an abyss. In the matter of despair, + all is true. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. CONCLUSION + </h2> + <p> + Jules escaped from his brother’s house and returned home, wishing to pass + the night beside his wife, and see till the last moment that celestial + creature. As he walked along with an indifference to life known only to + those who have reached the last degree of wretchedness, he thought of how, + in India, the law ordained that widows should die; he longed to die. He + was not yet crushed; the fever of his grief was still upon him. He reached + his home and went up into the sacred chamber; he saw his Clemence on the + bed of death, beautiful, like a saint, her hair smoothly laid upon her + forehead, her hands joined, her body wrapped already in its shroud. Tapers + were lighted, a priest was praying, Josephine kneeling in a corner, wept, + and, near the bed, were two men. One was Ferragus. He stood erect, + motionless, gazing at his daughter with dry eyes; his head you might have + taken for bronze: he did not see Jules. + </p> + <p> + The other man was Jacquet,—Jacquet, to whom Madame Jules had been + ever kind. Jacquet felt for her one of those respectful friendships which + rejoice the untroubled heart; a gentle passion; love without its desires + and its storms. He had come to pay his debt of tears, to bid a long adieu + to the wife of his friend, to kiss, for the first time, the icy brow of + the woman he had tacitly made his sister. + </p> + <p> + All was silence. Here death was neither terrible as in the churches, nor + pompous as it makes its way along the streets; no, it was death in the + home, a tender death; here were pomps of the heart, tears drawn from the + eyes of all. Jules sat down beside Jacquet and pressed his hand; then, + without uttering a word, all these persons remained as they were till + morning. + </p> + <p> + When daylight paled the tapers, Jacquet, foreseeing the painful scenes + which would then take place, drew Jules away into another room. At this + moment the husband looked at the father, and Ferragus looked at Jules. The + two sorrows arraigned each other, measured each other, and comprehended + each other in that look. A flash of fury shone for an instant in the eyes + of Ferragus. + </p> + <p> + “You killed her,” thought he. + </p> + <p> + “Why was I distrusted?” seemed the answer of the husband. + </p> + <p> + The scene was one that might have passed between two tigers recognizing + the futility of a struggle and, after a moment’s hesitation, turning away, + without even a roar. + </p> + <p> + “Jacquet,” said Jules, “have you attended to everything?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to everything,” replied his friend, “but a man had forestalled me + who had ordered and paid for all.” + </p> + <p> + “He tears his daughter from me!” cried the husband, with the violence of + despair. + </p> + <p> + Jules rushed back to his wife’s room; but the father was there no longer. + Clemence had now been placed in a leaden coffin, and workmen were employed + in soldering the cover. Jules returned, horrified by the sight; the sound + of the hammers the men were using made him mechanically burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “Jacquet,” he said, “out of this dreadful night one idea has come to me, + only one, but one I must make a reality at any price. I cannot let + Clemence stay in any cemetery in Paris. I wish to burn her,—to + gather her ashes and keep her with me. Say nothing of this, but manage on + my behalf to have it done. I am going to <i>her</i> chamber, where I shall + stay until the time has come to go. You alone may come in there to tell me + what you have done. Go, and spare nothing.” + </p> + <p> + During the morning, Madame Jules, after lying in a mortuary chapel at the + door of her house, was taken to Saint-Roch. The church was hung with black + throughout. The sort of luxury thus displayed had drawn a crowd; for in + Paris all things are sights, even true grief. There are people who stand + at their windows to see how a son deplores a mother as he follows her + body; there are others who hire commodious seats to see how a head is made + to fall. No people in the world have such insatiate eyes as the Parisians. + On this occasion, inquisitive minds were particularly surprised to see the + six lateral chapels at Saint-Roch also hung in black. Two men in mourning + were listening to a mortuary mass said in each chapel. In the chancel no + other persons but Monsieur Desmarets, the notary, and Jacquet were + present; the servants of the household were outside the screen. To church + loungers there was something inexplicable in so much pomp and so few + mourners. But Jules had been determined that no indifferent persons should + be present at the ceremony. + </p> + <p> + High mass was celebrated with the sombre magnificence of funeral services. + Beside the ministers in ordinary of Saint-Roch, thirteen priests from + other parishes were present. Perhaps never did the <i>Dies irae</i> + produce upon Christians, assembled by chance, by curiosity, and thirsting + for emotions, an effect so profound, so nervously glacial as that now + caused by this hymn when the eight voices of the precentors, accompanied + by the voices of the priests and the choir-boys, intoned it alternately. + From the six lateral chapels twelve other childish voices rose shrilly in + grief, mingling with the choir voices lamentably. From all parts of the + church this mourning issued; cries of anguish responded to the cries of + fear. That terrible music was the voice of sorrows hidden from the world, + of secret friendships weeping for the dead. Never, in any human religion, + have the terrors of the soul, violently torn from the body and stormily + shaken in presence of the fulminating majesty of God, been rendered with + such force. Before that clamor of clamors all artists and their most + passionate compositions must bow humiliated. No, nothing can stand beside + that hymn, which sums all human passions, gives them a galvanic life + beyond the coffin, and leaves them, palpitating still, before the living + and avenging God. These cries of childhood, mingling with the tones of + older voices, including thus in the Song of Death all human life and its + developments, recalling the sufferings of the cradle, swelling to the + griefs of other ages in the stronger male voices and the quavering of the + priests,—all this strident harmony, big with lightning and + thunderbolts, does it not speak with equal force to the daring + imagination, the coldest heart, nay, to philosophers themselves? As we + hear it, we think God speaks; the vaulted arches of no church are mere + material; they have a voice, they tremble, they scatter fear by the might + of their echoes. We think we see unnumbered dead arising and holding out + their hands. It is no more a father, a wife, a child,—humanity + itself is rising from its dust. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible to judge of the catholic, apostolic, and Roman faith, + unless the soul has known that deepest grief of mourning for a loved one + lying beneath the pall; unless it has felt the emotions that fill the + heart, uttered by that Hymn of Despair, by those cries that crush the + mind, by that sacred fear augmenting strophe by strophe, ascending + heavenward, which terrifies, belittles, and elevates the soul, and leaves + within our minds, as the last sound ceases, a consciousness of + immortality. We have met and struggled with the vast idea of the Infinite. + After that, all is silent in the church. No word is said; sceptics + themselves <i>know not what they are feeling</i>. Spanish genius alone was + able to bring this untold majesty to untold griefs. + </p> + <p> + When the solemn ceremony was over, twelve men came from the six chapels + and stood around the coffin to hear the song of hope which the Church + intones for the Christian soul before the human form is buried. Then, each + man entered alone a mourning-coach; Jacquet and Monsieur Desmarets took + the thirteenth; the servants followed on foot. An hour later, they were at + the summit of that cemetery popularly called Pere-Lachaise. The unknown + twelve men stood in a circle round the grave, where the coffin had been + laid in presence of a crowd of loiterers gathered from all parts of this + public garden. After a few short prayers the priest threw a handful of + earth on the remains of this woman, and the grave-diggers, having asked + for their fee, made haste to fill the grave in order to dig another. + </p> + <p> + Here this history seems to end; but perhaps it would be incomplete if, + after giving a rapid sketch of Parisian life, and following certain of its + capricious undulations, the effects of death were omitted. Death in Paris + is unlike death in any other capital; few persons know the trials of true + grief in its struggle with civilization, and the government of Paris. + Perhaps, also, Monsieur Jules and Ferragus XXIII. may have proved + sufficiently interesting to make a few words on their after life not + entirely out of place. Besides, some persons like to be told all, and + wish, as one of our cleverest critics has remarked, to know by what + chemical process oil was made to burn in Aladdin’s lamp. + </p> + <p> + Jacquet, being a government employee, naturally applied to the authorities + for permission to exhume the body of Madame Jules and burn it. He went to + see the prefect of police, under whose protection the dead sleep. That + functionary demanded a petition. The blank was brought that gives to + sorrow its proper administrative form; it was necessary to employ the + bureaucratic jargon to express the wishes of a man so crushed that words, + perhaps, were lacking to him, and it was also necessary to coldly and + briefly repeat on the margin the nature of the request, which was done in + these words: “The petitioner respectfully asks for the incineration of his + wife.” + </p> + <p> + When the official charged with making the report to the Councillor of + State and prefect of police read that marginal note, explaining the object + of the petition, and couched, as requested, in the plainest terms, he + said:— + </p> + <p> + “This is a serious matter! my report cannot be ready under eight days.” + </p> + <p> + Jules, to whom Jacquet was obliged to speak of this delay, comprehended + the words that Ferragus had said in his hearing, “I’ll burn Paris!” + Nothing seemed to him now more natural than to annihilate that receptacle + of monstrous things. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he said to Jacquet, “you must go to the minister of the Interior, + and get your minister to speak to him.” + </p> + <p> + Jacquet went to the minister of the Interior, and asked an audience; it + was granted, but the time appointed was two weeks later. Jacquet was a + persistent man. He travelled from bureau to bureau, and finally reached + the private secretary of the minister of the Interior, to whom he had made + the private secretary of his own minister say a word. These high + protectors aiding, he obtained for the morrow a second interview, in + which, being armed with a line from the autocrat of Foreign affairs to the + pacha of the Interior, Jacquet hoped to carry the matter by assault. He + was ready with reasons, and answers to peremptory questions,—in + short, he was armed at all points; but he failed. + </p> + <p> + “This matter does not concern me,” said the minister; “it belongs to the + prefect of police. Besides, there is no law giving a husband any legal + right to the body of his wife, nor to fathers those of their children. The + matter is serious. There are questions of public utility involved which + will have to be examined. The interests of the city of Paris might suffer. + Therefore if the matter depended on me, which it does not, I could not + decide <i>hic et nunc</i>; I should require a report.” + </p> + <p> + A <i>report</i> is to the present system of administration what limbo or + hades is to Christianity. Jacquet knew very well the mania for “reports”; + he had not waited until this occasion to groan at that bureaucratic + absurdity. He knew that since the invasion into public business of the <i>Report</i> + (an administrative revolution consummated in 1804) there was never known a + single minister who would take upon himself to have an opinion or to + decide the slightest matter, unless that opinion or matter had been + winnowed, sifted, and plucked to bits by the paper-spoilers, + quill-drivers, and splendid intellects of his particular bureau. Jacquet—he + was one of those who are worthy of Plutarch as biographer—saw that + he had made a mistake in his management of the affair, and had, in fact, + rendered it impossible by trying to proceed legally. The thing he should + have done was to have taken Madame Jules to one of Desmaret’s estates in + the country; and there, under the good-natured authority of some village + mayor to have gratified the sorrowful longing of his friend. Law, + constitutional and administrative, begets nothing; it is a barren monster + for peoples, for kings, and for private interests. But the peoples + decipher no principles but those that are writ in blood, and the evils of + legality will always be pacific; it flattens a nation down, that is all. + Jacquet, a man of modern liberty, returned home reflecting on the benefits + of arbitrary power. + </p> + <p> + When he went with his report to Jules, he found it necessary to deceive + him, for the unhappy man was in a high fever, unable to leave his bed. The + minister of the Interior mentioned, at a ministerial dinner that same + evening, the singular fancy of a Parisian in wishing to burn his wife + after the manner of the Romans. The clubs of Paris took up the subject, + and talked for a while of the burials of antiquity. Ancient things were + just then becoming a fashion, and some persons declared that it would be a + fine thing to re-establish, for distinguished persons, the funeral pyre. + This opinion had its defenders and its detractors. Some said that there + were too many such personages, and the price of wood would be enormously + increased by such a custom; moreover, it would be absurd to see our + ancestors in their urns in the procession at Longchamps. And if the urns + were valuable, they were likely some day to be sold at auction, full of + respectable ashes, or seized by creditors,—a race of men who + respected nothing. The other side made answer that our ancestors were much + safer in urns than at Pere-Lachaise, for before very long the city of + Paris would be compelled to order a Saint-Bartholomew against its dead, + who were invading the neighboring country, and threatening to invade the + territory of Brie. It was, in short, one of those futile but witty + discussions which sometimes cause deep and painful wounds. Happily for + Jules, he knew nothing of the conversations, the witty speeches, and + arguments which his sorrow had furnished to the tongues of Paris. + </p> + <p> + The prefect of police was indignant that Monsieur Jacquet had appealed to + a minister to avoid the wise delays of the commissioners of the public + highways; for the exhumation of Madame Jules was a question belonging to + that department. The police bureau was doing its best to reply promptly to + the petition; one appeal was quite sufficient to set the office in motion, + and once in motion matters would go far. But as for the administration, + that might take the case before the Council of state,—a machine very + difficult indeed to move. + </p> + <p> + After the second day Jacquet was obliged to tell his friend that he must + renounce his desire, because, in a city where the number of tears shed on + black draperies is tariffed, where the laws recognize seven classes of + funerals, where the scrap of ground to hold the dead is sold at its weight + in silver, where grief is worked for what it is worth, where the prayers + of the Church are costly, and the vestry claim payment for extra voices in + the <i>Dies irae</i>,—all attempt to get out of the rut prescribed + by the authorities for sorrow is useless and impossible. + </p> + <p> + “It would have been to me,” said Jules, “a comfort in my misery. I meant + to have died away from here, and I hoped to hold her in my arms in a + distant grave. I did not know that bureaucracy could send its claws into + our very coffins.” + </p> + <p> + He now wished to see if room had been left for him beside his wife. The + two friends went to the cemetery. When they reached it they found (as at + the doors of museums, galleries, and coach-offices) <i>ciceroni</i>, who + proposed to guide them through the labyrinth of Pere-Lachaise. Neither + Jules nor Jacquet could have found the spot where Clemence lay. Ah, + frightful anguish! They went to the lodge to consult the porter of the + cemetery. The dead have a porter, and there are hours when the dead are + “not receiving.” It is necessary to upset all the rules and regulations of + the upper and lower police to obtain permission to weep at night, in + silence and solitude, over the grave where a loved one lies. There’s a + rule for summer and a rule for winter about this. + </p> + <p> + Certainly, of all the porters in Paris, the porter of Pere-Lachaise is the + luckiest. In the first place, he has no gate-cord to pull; then, instead + of a lodge, he has a house,—an establishment which is not quite + ministerial, although a vast number of persons come under his + administration, and a good many employees. And this governor of the dead + has a salary, with emoluments, and acts under powers of which none + complain; he plays despot at his ease. His lodge is not a place of + business, though it has departments where the book-keeping of receipts, + expenses, and profits, is carried on. The man is not a <i>suisse</i>, nor + a concierge, nor actually a porter. The gate which admits the dead stands + wide open; and though there are monuments and buildings to be cared for, + he is not a care-taker. In short, he is an indefinable anomaly, an + authority which participates in all, and yet is nothing,—an + authority placed, like the dead on whom it is based, outside of all. + Nevertheless, this exceptional man grows out of the city of Paris,—that + chimerical creation like the ship which is its emblem, that creature of + reason moving on a thousand paws which are seldom unanimous in motion. + </p> + <p> + This guardian of the cemetery may be called a concierge who has reached + the condition of a functionary, not soluble by dissolution! His place is + far from being a sinecure. He does not allow any one to be buried without + a permit; he must count his dead. He points out to you in this vast field + the six feet square of earth where you will one day put all you love, or + all you hate, a mistress, or a cousin. Yes, remember this: all the + feelings and emotions of Paris come to end here, at this porter’s lodge, + where they are administrationized. This man has registers in which his + dead are booked; they are in their graves, and also on his records. He has + under him keepers, gardeners, grave-diggers, and their assistants. He is a + personage. Mourning hearts do not speak to him at first. He does not + appear at all except in serious cases, such as one corpse mistaken for + another, a murdered body, an exhumation, a dead man coming to life. The + bust of the reigning king is in his hall; possibly he keeps the late + royal, imperial, and quasi-royal busts in some cupboard,—a sort of + little Pere-Lachaise all ready for revolutions. In short, he is a public + man, an excellent man, good husband and good father,—epitaph apart. + But so many diverse sentiments have passed before him on biers; he has + seen so many tears, true and false; he has beheld sorrow under so many + aspects and on so many faces; he has heard such endless thousands of + eternal woes,—that to him sorrow has come to be nothing more than a + stone an inch thick, four feet long, and twenty-four inches wide. As for + regrets, they are the annoyances of his office; he neither breakfasts nor + dines without first wiping off the rain of an inconsolable affliction. He + is kind and tender to other feelings; he will weep over a stage-hero, over + Monsieur Germeuil in the “Auberge des Adrets,” the man with the + butter-colored breeches, murdered by Macaire; but his heart is ossified in + the matter of real dead men. Dead men are ciphers, numbers, to him; it is + his business to organize death. Yet he does meet, three times in a + century, perhaps, with an occasion when his part becomes sublime, and then + he <i>is</i> sublime through every hour of his day,—in times of + pestilence. + </p> + <p> + When Jacquet approached him this absolute monarch was evidently out of + temper. + </p> + <p> + “I told you,” he was saying, “to water the flowers from the rue Massena to + the place Regnault de Saint-Jean-d’Angely. You paid no attention to me! <i>Sac-a-papier</i>! + suppose the relations should take it into their heads to come here to-day + because the weather is fine, what would they say to me? They’d shriek as + if they were burned; they’d say horrid things of us, and calumniate us—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Jacquet, “we want to know where Madame Jules is buried.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame Jules <i>who</i>?” he asked. “We’ve had three Madame Jules within + the last week. Ah,” he said, interrupting himself, “here comes the funeral + of Monsieur le Baron de Maulincour! A fine procession, that! He has soon + followed his grandmother. Some families, when they begin to go, rattle + down like a wager. Lots of bad blood in Parisians.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Jacquet, touching him on the arm, “the person I spoke of + is Madame Jules Desmarets, the wife of the broker of that name.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I know!” he replied, looking at Jacquet. “Wasn’t it a funeral with + thirteen mourning coaches, and only one mourner in the twelve first? It + was so droll we all noticed it—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, take care, Monsieur Desmarets is with me; he might hear you, + and what you say is not seemly.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon, monsieur! you are quite right. Excuse me, I took you for + heirs. Monsieur,” he continued, after consulting a plan of the cemetery, + “Madame Jules is in the rue Marechal Lefebre, alley No. 4, between + Mademoiselle Raucourt, of the Comedie-Francaise, and Monsieur + Moreau-Malvin, a butcher, for whom a handsome tomb in white marble has + been ordered, which will be one of the finest in the cemetery—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Jacquet, interrupting him, “that does not help us.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said the official, looking round him. “Jean,” he cried, to a man + whom he saw at a little distance, “conduct these gentlemen to the grave of + Madame Jules Desmarets, the broker’s wife. You know where it is,—near + to Mademoiselle Raucourt, the tomb where there’s a bust.” + </p> + <p> + The two friends followed the guide; but they did not reach the steep path + which leads to the upper part of the cemetery without having to pass + through a score of proposals and requests, made, with honied softness, by + the touts of marble-workers, iron-founders, and monumental sculptors. + </p> + <p> + “If monsieur would like to order <i>something</i>, we would do it on the + most reasonable terms.” + </p> + <p> + Jacquet was fortunate enough to be able to spare his friend the hearing of + these proposals so agonizing to bleeding hearts; and presently they + reached the resting-place. When Jules beheld the earth so recently dug, + into which the masons had stuck stakes to mark the place for the stone + posts required to support the iron railing, he turned, and leaned upon + Jacquet’s shoulder, raising himself now and again to cast long glances at + the clay mound where he was forced to leave the remains of the being in + and by whom he still lived. + </p> + <p> + “How miserably she lies there!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But she is not there,” said Jacquet, “she is in your memory. Come, let us + go; let us leave this odious cemetery, where the dead are adorned like + women for a ball.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we take her away?” + </p> + <p> + “Can it be done?” + </p> + <p> + “All things can be done!” cried Jules. “So, I shall lie there,” he added, + after a pause. “There is room enough.” + </p> + <p> + Jacquet finally succeeded in getting him to leave the great enclosure, + divided like a chessboard by iron railings and elegant compartments, in + which were tombs decorated with palms, inscriptions, and tears as cold as + the stones on which sorrowing hearts had caused to be carved their regrets + and coats of arms. Many good words are there engraved in black letters, + epigrams reproving the curious, <i>concetti</i>, wittily turned farewells, + rendezvous given at which only one side appears, pretentious biographies, + glitter, rubbish and tinsel. Here the floriated thyrsus, there a + lance-head, farther on Egyptian urns, now and then a few cannon; on all + sides the emblems of professions, and every style of art,—Moorish, + Greek, Gothic,—friezes, ovules, paintings, vases, guardian-angels, + temples, together with innumerable <i>immortelles</i>, and dead + rose-bushes. It is a forlorn comedy! It is another Paris, with its + streets, its signs, its industries, and its lodgings; but a Paris seen + through the diminishing end of an opera-glass, a microscopic Paris reduced + to the littleness of shadows, spectres, dead men, a human race which no + longer has anything great about it, except its vanity. There Jules saw at + his feet, in the long valley of the Seine, between the slopes of Vaugirard + and Meudon and those of Belleville and Montmartre, the real Paris, wrapped + in a misty blue veil produced by smoke, which the sunlight tendered at + that moment diaphanous. He glanced with a constrained eye at those forty + thousand houses, and said, pointing to the space comprised between the + column of the Place Vendome and the gilded cupola of the Invalides:— + </p> + <p> + “She was wrenched from me there by the fatal curiosity of that world which + excites itself and meddles solely for excitement and occupation.” + </p> + <p> + Twelve miles from where they were, on the banks of the Seine, in a modest + village lying on the slope of a hill of that long hilly basin the middle + of which great Paris stirs like a child in its cradle, a death scene was + taking place, far indeed removed from Parisian pomps, with no + accompaniment of torches or tapers or mourning-coaches, without prayers of + the Church, in short, a death in all simplicity. Here are the facts: The + body of a young girl was found early in the morning, stranded on the + river-bank in the slime and reeds of the Seine. Men employed in dredging + sand saw it as they were getting into their frail boat on their way to + their work. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Tiens</i>! fifty francs earned!” said one of them. + </p> + <p> + “True,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + They approached the body. + </p> + <p> + “A handsome girl! We had better go and make our statement.” + </p> + <p> + And the two dredgers, after covering the body with their jackets, went to + the house of the village mayor, who was much embarrassed at having to make + out the legal papers necessitated by this discovery. + </p> + <p> + The news of this event spread with the telegraphic rapidity peculiar to + regions where social communications have no distractions, where gossip, + scandal, calumny, in short, the social tale which feasts the world has no + break of continuity from one boundary to another. Before long, persons + arriving at the mayor’s office released him from all embarrassment. They + were able to convert the <i>proces-verbal</i> into a mere certificate of + death, by recognizing the body as that of the Demoiselle Ida Gruget, + corset-maker, living rue de la Corderie-du-Temple, number 14. The + judiciary police of Paris arrived, and the mother, bearing her daughter’s + last letter. Amid the mother’s moans, a doctor certified to death by + asphyxia, through the injection of black blood into the pulmonary system,—which + settled the matter. The inquest over, and the certificates signed, by six + o’clock the same evening authority was given to bury the grisette. The + rector of the parish, however, refused to receive her into the church or + to pray for her. Ida Gruget was therefore wrapped in a shroud by an old + peasant-woman, put into a common pine-coffin, and carried to the village + cemetery by four men, followed by a few inquisitive peasant-women, who + talked about the death with wonder mingled with some pity. + </p> + <p> + The widow Gruget was charitably taken in by an old lady who prevented her + from following the sad procession of her daughter’s funeral. A man of + triple functions, the bell-ringer, beadle, and grave-digger of the parish, + had dug a grave in the half-acre cemetery behind the church,—a + church well known, a classic church, with a square tower and pointed roof + covered with slate, supported on the outside by strong corner buttresses. + Behind the apse of the chancel, lay the cemetery, enclosed with a + dilapidated wall,—a little field full of hillocks; no marble + monuments, no visitors, but surely in every furrow, tears and true + regrets, which were lacking to Ida Gruget. She was cast into a corner full + of tall grass and brambles. After the coffin had been laid in this field, + so poetic in its simplicity, the grave-digger found himself alone, for + night was coming on. While filling the grave, he stopped now and then to + gaze over the wall along the road. He was standing thus, resting on his + spade, and looking at the Seine, which had brought him the body. + </p> + <p> + “Poor girl!” cried the voice of a man who suddenly appeared. + </p> + <p> + “How you made me jump, monsieur,” said the grave-digger. + </p> + <p> + “Was any service held over the body you are burying?” + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur. Monsieur le cure wasn’t willing. This is the first person + buried here who didn’t belong to the parish. Everybody knows everybody + else in this place. Does monsieur—Why, he’s gone!” + </p> + <p> + Some days had elapsed when a man dressed in black called at the house of + Monsieur Jules Desmarets, and without asking to see him carried up to the + chamber of his wife a large porphyry vase, on which were inscribed the + words:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + INVITA LEGE + CONJUGI MOERENTI + FILIOLAE CINERES + RESTITUIT + AMICIS XII. JUVANTIBUS + MORIBUNDUS PATER. +</pre> + <p> + “What a man!” cried Jules, bursting into tears. + </p> + <p> + Eight days sufficed the husband to obey all the wishes of his wife, and to + arrange his own affairs. He sold his practice to a brother of Martin + Falleix, and left Paris while the authorities were still discussing + whether it was lawful for a citizen to dispose of the body of his wife. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + Who has not encountered on the boulevards of Paris, at the turn of a + street, or beneath the arcades of the Palais-Royal, or in any part of the + world where chance may offer him the sight, a being, man or woman, at + whose aspect a thousand confused thoughts spring into his mind? At that + sight we are suddenly interested, either by features of some fantastic + conformation which reveal an agitated life, or by a singular effect of the + whole person, produced by gestures, air, gait, clothes; or by some deep, + intense look; or by other inexpressible signs which seize our minds + suddenly and forcibly without our being able to explain even to ourselves + the cause of our emotion. The next day other thoughts and other images + have carried out of sight that passing dream. But if we meet the same + personage again, either passing at some fixed hour, like the clerk of a + mayor’s office, or wandering about the public promenades, like those + individuals who seem to be a sort of furniture of the streets of Paris, + and who are always to be found in public places, at first representations + or noted restaurants,—then this being fastens himself or herself on + our memory, and remains there like the first volume of a novel the end of + which is lost. We are tempted to question this unknown person, and say, + “Who are you?” “Why are you lounging here?” “By what right do you wear + that pleated ruffle, that faded waistcoat, and carry that cane with an + ivory top; why those blue spectacles; for what reason do you cling to that + cravat of a dead and gone fashion?” Among these wandering creations some + belong to the species of the Greek Hermae; they say nothing to the soul; + <i>they are there</i>, and that is all. Why? is known to none. Such figure + are a type of those used by sculptors for the four Seasons, for Commerce, + for Plenty, etc. Some others—former lawyers, old merchants, elderly + generals—move and walk, and yet seem stationary. Like old trees that + are half uprooted by the current of a river, they seem never to take part + in the torrent of Paris, with its youthful, active crowd. It is impossible + to know if their friends have forgotten to bury them, or whether they have + escaped out of their coffins. At any rate, they have reached the condition + of semi-fossils. + </p> + <p> + One of these Parisian Melmoths had come within a few days into a + neighborhood of sober, quiet people, who, when the weather is fine, are + invariably to be found in the space which lies between the south entrance + of the Luxembourg and the north entrance of the Observatoire,—a + space without a name, the neutral space of Paris. There, Paris is no + longer; and there, Paris still lingers. The spot is a mingling of street, + square, boulevard, fortification, garden, avenue, high-road, province, and + metropolis; certainly, all of that is to be found there, and yet the place + is nothing of all that,—it is a desert. Around this spot without a + name stand the Foundling hospital, the Bourbe, the Cochin hospital, the + Capucines, the hospital La Rochefoucauld, the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, the + hospital of the Val-de-Grace; in short, all the vices and all the + misfortunes of Paris find their asylum there. And (that nothing may lack + in this philanthropic centre) Science there studies the tides and + longitudes, Monsieur de Chateaubriand has erected the Marie-Therese + Infirmary, and the Carmelites have founded a convent. The great events of + life are represented by bells which ring incessantly through this desert,—for + the mother giving birth, for the babe that is born, for the vice that + succumbs, for the toiler who dies, for the virgin who prays, for the old + man shaking with cold, for genius self-deluded. And a few steps off is the + cemetery of Mont-Parnasse, where, hour after hour, the sorry funerals of + the faubourg Saint-Marceau wend their way. This esplanade, which commands + a view of Paris, has been taken possession of by bowl-players; it is, in + fact, a sort of bowling green frequented by old gray faces, belonging to + kindly, worthy men, who seem to continue the race of our ancestors, whose + countenances must only be compared with those of their surroundings. + </p> + <p> + The man who had become, during the last few days, an inhabitant of this + desert region, proved an assiduous attendant at these games of bowls; and + must, undoubtedly, be considered the most striking creature of these + various groups, who (if it is permissible to liken Parisians to the + different orders of zoology) belonged to the genus mollusk. The new-comer + kept sympathetic step with the <i>cochonnet</i>,—the little bowl + which serves as a goal and on which the interest of the game must centre. + He leaned against a tree when the <i>cochonnet</i> stopped; then, with the + same attention that a dog gives to his master’s gestures, he looked at the + other bowls flying through the air, or rolling along the ground. You might + have taken him for the weird and watchful genii of the <i>cochonnet</i>. + He said nothing; and the bowl-players—the most fanatic men that can + be encountered among the sectarians of any faith—had never asked the + reason of his dogged silence; in fact, the most observing of them thought + him deaf and dumb. + </p> + <p> + When it happened that the distances between the bowls and the <i>cochonnet</i> + had to be measured, the cane of this silent being was used as a measure, + the players coming up and taking it from the icy hands of the old man and + returning it without a word or even a sign of friendliness. The loan of + his cane seemed a servitude to which he had negatively consented. When a + shower fell, he stayed near the <i>cochonnet</i>, the slave of the bowls, + and the guardian of the unfinished game. Rain affected him no more than + the fine weather did; he was, like the players themselves, an intermediary + species between a Parisian who has the lowest intellect of his kind and an + animal which has the highest. + </p> + <p> + In other respects, pallid and shrunken, indifferent to his own person, + vacant in mind, he often came bareheaded, showing his sparse white hair, + and his square, yellow, bald skull, like the knee of a beggar seen through + his tattered trousers. His mouth was half-open, no ideas were in his + glance, no precise object appeared in his movements; he never smiled; he + never raised his eyes to heaven, but kept them habitually on the ground, + where he seemed to be looking for something. At four o’clock an old woman + arrived, to take him Heaven knows where; which she did by towing him along + by the arm, as a young girl drags a wilful goat which still wants to + browse by the wayside. This old man was a horrible thing to see. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon of the day when Jules Desmarets left Paris, his + travelling-carriage, in which he was alone, passed rapidly through the rue + de l’Est, and came out upon the esplanade of the Observatoire at the + moment when the old man, leaning against a tree, had allowed his cane to + be taken from his hand amid the noisy vociferations of the players, + pacifically irritated. Jules, thinking that he recognized that face, felt + an impulse to stop, and at the same instant the carriage came to a + standstill; for the postilion, hemmed in by some handcarts, had too much + respect for the game to call upon the players to make way for him. + </p> + <p> + “It is he!” said Jules, beholding in that human wreck, Ferragus XXIII., + chief of the Devorants. Then, after a pause, he added, “How he loved her!—Go + on, postilion.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ADDENDUM + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Note: Ferragus is the first part of a trilogy. Part two is + entitled The Duchesse de Langeais and part three is The Girl with + the Golden Eyes. 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> + <p> + Bourignard, Gratien-Henri-Victor-Jean-Joseph The Girl with the Golden Eyes + </p> + <p> + Desmartes, Jules Cesar Birotteau + </p> + <p> + Desmartes, Madame Jules Cesar Birotteau + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Desplein The Atheist’s Mass + Cousin Pons + Lost Illusions + The Government Clerks + Pierrette + A Bachelor’s Establishment + The Seamy Side of History + Modeste Mignon + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Honorine +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Gruget, Madame Etienne The Government Clerks + A Bachelor’s Establishment +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Haudry (doctor) Cesar Birotteau + A Bachelor’s Establishment + The Seamy Side of History + Cousin Pons +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Langeais, Duchesse Antoinette de Father Goriot + The Duchesse of Langeais +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Marsay, Henri de The Duchesse of Langeais + The Girl with the Golden Eyes + 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 +</pre> + <p> + Maulincour, Baronne de A Marriage Settlement + </p> + <p> + Meynardie, Madame Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Nucingen, Baronne Delphine de Father Goriot + Eugenie Grandet + Cesar Birotteau + Melmoth Reconciled + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + The Commission in Lunacy + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Modeste Mignon + The Firm of Nucingen + Another Study of Woman + A Daughter of Eve + The Member for Arcis +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Pamiers, Vidame de The Duchesse of Langeais + Jealousies of a Country Town +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Ronquerolles, Marquis de The Imaginary Mistress + The Duchess of Langeais + The Girl with the Golden Eyes + The Peasantry + Ursule Mirouet + A Woman of Thirty + Another Study of Woman + The Member for Arcis +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Serizy, Comtesse de A Start in Life + The Duchesse of Langeais + Ursule Mirouet + A Woman of Thirty + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Another Study of Woman + The Imaginary Mistress +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE DUCHESSE OF LANGEAIS + </h2> + <p> + Translated by Ellen Marriage + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To Franz Liszt +</pre> + <p> + In a Spanish city on an island in the Mediterranean, there stands a + convent of the Order of Barefoot Carmelites, where the rule instituted by + St. Theresa is still preserved with all the first rigor of the reformation + brought about by that illustrious woman. Extraordinary as this may seem, + it is none the less true. Almost every religious house in the Peninsula, + or in Europe for that matter, was either destroyed or disorganized by the + outbreak of the French Revolution and the Napoleonic wars; but as this + island was protected through those times by the English fleet, its wealthy + convent and peaceable inhabitants were secure from the general trouble and + spoliation. The storms of many kinds which shook the first fifteen years + of the nineteenth century spent their force before they reached those + cliffs at so short a distance from the coast of Andalusia. + </p> + <p> + If the rumour of the Emperor’s name so much as reached the shore of the + island, it is doubtful whether the holy women kneeling in the cloisters + grasped the reality of his dream-like progress of glory, or the majesty + that blazed in flame across kingdom after kingdom during his meteor life. + </p> + <p> + In the minds of the Roman Catholic world, the convent stood out + pre-eminent for a stern discipline which nothing had changed; the purity + of its rule had attracted unhappy women from the furthest parts of Europe, + women deprived of all human ties, sighing after the long suicide + accomplished in the breast of God. No convent, indeed, was so well fitted + for that complete detachment of the soul from all earthly things, which is + demanded by the religious life, albeit on the continent of Europe there + are many convents magnificently adapted to the purpose of their existence. + Buried away in the loneliest valleys, hanging in mid-air on the steepest + mountainsides, set down on the brink of precipices, in every place man has + sought for the poetry of the Infinite, the solemn awe of Silence; in every + place man has striven to draw closer to God, seeking Him on mountain + peaks, in the depths below the crags, at the cliff’s edge; and everywhere + man has found God. But nowhere, save on this half-European, half-African + ledge of rock could you find so many different harmonies, combining so to + raise the soul, that the sharpest pain comes to be like other memories; + the strongest impressions are dulled, till the sorrows of life are laid to + rest in the depths. + </p> + <p> + The convent stands on the highest point of the crags at the uttermost end + of the island. On the side towards the sea the rock was once rent sheer + away in some globe-cataclysm; it rises up a straight wall from the base + where the waves gnaw at the stone below high-water mark. Any assault is + made impossible by the dangerous reefs that stretch far out to sea, with + the sparkling waves of the Mediterranean playing over them. So, only from + the sea can you discern the square mass of the convent built conformably + to the minute rules laid down as to the shape, height, doors, and windows + of monastic buildings. From the side of the town, the church completely + hides the solid structure of the cloisters and their roofs, covered with + broad slabs of stone impervious to sun or storm or gales of wind. + </p> + <p> + The church itself, built by the munificence of a Spanish family, is the + crowning edifice of the town. Its fine, bold front gives an imposing and + picturesque look to the little city in the sea. The sight of such a city, + with its close-huddled roofs, arranged for the most part amphitheatre-wise + above a picturesque harbour, and crowned by a glorious cathedral front + with triple-arched Gothic doorways, belfry towers, and filigree spires, is + a spectacle surely in every way the sublimest on earth. Religion towering + above daily life, to put men continually in mind of the End and the way, + is in truth a thoroughly Spanish conception. But now surround this picture + by the Mediterranean, and a burning sky, imagine a few palms here and + there, a few stunted evergreen trees mingling their waving leaves with the + motionless flowers and foliage of carved stone; look out over the reef + with its white fringes of foam in contrast to the sapphire sea; and then + turn to the city, with its galleries and terraces whither the townsfolk + come to take the air among their flowers of an evening, above the houses + and the tops of the trees in their little gardens; add a few sails down in + the harbour; and lastly, in the stillness of falling night, listen to the + organ music, the chanting of the services, the wonderful sound of bells + pealing out over the open sea. There is sound and silence everywhere; + oftener still there is silence over all. + </p> + <p> + The church is divided within into a sombre mysterious nave and narrow + aisles. For some reason, probably because the winds are so high, the + architect was unable to build the flying buttresses and intervening + chapels which adorn almost all cathedrals, nor are there openings of any + kind in the walls which support the weight of the roof. Outside there is + simply the heavy wall structure, a solid mass of grey stone further + strengthened by huge piers placed at intervals. Inside, the nave and its + little side galleries are lighted entirely by the great stained-glass + rose-window suspended by a miracle of art above the centre doorway; for + upon that side the exposure permits of the display of lacework in stone + and of other beauties peculiar to the style improperly called Gothic. + </p> + <p> + The larger part of the nave and aisles was left for the townsfolk, who + came and went and heard mass there. The choir was shut off from the rest + of the church by a grating and thick folds of brown curtain, left slightly + apart in the middle in such a way that nothing of the choir could be seen + from the church except the high altar and the officiating priest. The + grating itself was divided up by the pillars which supported the organ + loft; and this part of the structure, with its carved wooden columns, + completed the line of the arcading in the gallery carried by the shafts in + the nave. If any inquisitive person, therefore, had been bold enough to + climb upon the narrow balustrade in the gallery to look down into the + choir, he could have seen nothing but the tall eight-sided windows of + stained glass beyond the high altar. + </p> + <p> + At the time of the French expedition into Spain to establish Ferdinand VII + once more on the throne, a French general came to the island after the + taking of Cadiz, ostensibly to require the recognition of the King’s + Government, really to see the convent and to find some means of entering + it. The undertaking was certainly a delicate one; but a man of passionate + temper, whose life had been, as it were, but one series of poems in + action, a man who all his life long had lived romances instead of writing + them, a man pre-eminently a Doer, was sure to be tempted by a deed which + seemed to be impossible. + </p> + <p> + To open the doors of a convent of nuns by lawful means! The metropolitan + or the Pope would scarcely have permitted it! And as for force or + stratagem—might not any indiscretion cost him his position, his + whole career as a soldier, and the end in view to boot? The Duc + d’Angouleme was still in Spain; and of all the crimes which a man in + favour with the Commander-in-Chief might commit, this one alone was + certain to find him inexorable. The General had asked for the mission to + gratify private motives of curiosity, though never was curiosity more + hopeless. This final attempt was a matter of conscience. The Carmelite + convent on the island was the only nunnery in Spain which had baffled his + search. + </p> + <p> + As he crossed from the mainland, scarcely an hour’s distance, he felt a + presentiment that his hopes were to be fulfilled; and afterwards, when as + yet he had seen nothing of the convent but its walls, and of the nuns not + so much as their robes; while he had merely heard the chanting of the + service, there were dim auguries under the walls and in the sound of the + voices to justify his frail hope. And, indeed, however faint those so + unaccountable presentiments might be, never was human passion more + vehemently excited than the General’s curiosity at that moment. There are + no small events for the heart; the heart exaggerates everything; the heart + weighs the fall of a fourteen-year-old Empire and the dropping of a + woman’s glove in the same scales, and the glove is nearly always the + heavier of the two. So here are the facts in all their prosaic simplicity. + The facts first, the emotions will follow. + </p> + <p> + An hour after the General landed on the island, the royal authority was + re-established there. Some few Constitutional Spaniards who had found + their way thither after the fall of Cadiz were allowed to charter a vessel + and sail for London. So there was neither resistance nor reaction. But the + change of government could not be effected in the little town without a + mass, at which the two divisions under the General’s command were obliged + to be present. Now, it was upon this mass that the General had built his + hopes of gaining some information as to the sisters in the convent; he was + quite unaware how absolutely the Carmelites were cut off from the world; + but he knew that there might be among them one whom he held dearer than + life, dearer than honour. + </p> + <p> + His hopes were cruelly dashed at once. Mass, it is true, was celebrated in + state. In honour of such a solemnity, the curtains which always hid the + choir were drawn back to display its riches, its valuable paintings and + shrines so bright with gems that they eclipsed the glories of the ex-votos + of gold and silver hung up by sailors of the port on the columns in the + nave. But all the nuns had taken refuge in the organ-loft. And yet, in + spite of this first check, during this very mass of thanksgiving, the most + intimately thrilling drama that ever set a man’s heart beating opened out + widely before him. + </p> + <p> + The sister who played the organ aroused such intense enthusiasm, that not + a single man regretted that he had come to the service. Even the men in + the ranks were delighted, and the officers were in ecstasy. As for the + General, he was seemingly calm and indifferent. The sensations stirred in + him as the sister played one piece after another belong to the small + number of things which it is not lawful to utter; words are powerless to + express them; like death, God, eternity, they can only be realised through + their one point of contact with humanity. Strangely enough, the organ + music seemed to belong to the school of Rossini, the musician who brings + most human passion into his art. + </p> + <p> + Some day his works, by their number and extent, will receive the reverence + due to the Homer of music. From among all the scores that we owe to his + great genius, the nun seemed to have chosen <i>Moses in Egypt</i> for + special study, doubtless because the spirit of sacred music finds therein + its supreme expression. Perhaps the soul of the great musician, so + gloriously known to Europe, and the soul of this unknown executant had met + in the intuitive apprehension of the same poetry. So at least thought two + dilettanti officers who must have missed the Theatre Favart in Spain. + </p> + <p> + At last in the <i>Te Deum</i> no one could fail to discern a French soul + in the sudden change that came over the music. Joy for the victory of the + Most Christian King evidently stirred this nun’s heart to the depths. She + was a Frenchwoman beyond mistake. Soon the love of country shone out, + breaking forth like shafts of light from the fugue, as the sister + introduced variations with all a Parisienne’s fastidious taste, and + blended vague suggestions of our grandest national airs with her music. A + Spaniard’s fingers would not have brought this warmth into a graceful + tribute paid to the victorious arms of France. The musician’s nationality + was revealed. + </p> + <p> + “We find France everywhere, it seems,” said one of the men. + </p> + <p> + The General had left the church during the <i>Te Deum</i>; he could not + listen any longer. The nun’s music had been a revelation of a woman loved + to frenzy; a woman so carefully hidden from the world’s eyes, so deeply + buried in the bosom of the Church, that hitherto the most ingenious and + persistent efforts made by men who brought great influence and unusual + powers to bear upon the search had failed to find her. The suspicion + aroused in the General’s heart became all but a certainty with the vague + reminiscence of a sad, delicious melody, the air of <i>Fleuve du Tage</i>. + The woman he loved had played the prelude to the ballad in a boudoir in + Paris, how often! and now this nun had chosen the song to express an + exile’s longing, amid the joy of those that triumphed. Terrible sensation! + To hope for the resurrection of a lost love, to find her only to know that + she was lost, to catch a mysterious glimpse of her after five years—five + years, in which the pent-up passion, chafing in an empty life, had grown + the mightier for every fruitless effort to satisfy it! + </p> + <p> + Who has not known, at least once in his life, what it is to lose some + precious thing; and after hunting through his papers, ransacking his + memory, and turning his house upside down; after one or two days spent in + vain search, and hope, and despair; after a prodigious expenditure of the + liveliest irritation of soul, who has not known the ineffable pleasure of + finding that all-important nothing which had come to be a king of + monomania? Very good. Now, spread that fury of search over five years; put + a woman, put a heart, put love in the place of the trifle; transpose the + monomania into the key of high passion; and, furthermore, let the seeker + be a man of ardent temper, with a lion’s heart and a leonine head and + mane, a man to inspire awe and fear in those who come in contact with him—realise + this, and you may, perhaps, understand why the General walked abruptly out + of the church when the first notes of a ballad, which he used to hear with + a rapture of delight in a gilt-paneled boudoir, began to vibrate along the + aisles of the church in the sea. + </p> + <p> + The General walked away down the steep street which led to the port, and + only stopped when he could not hear the deep notes of the organ. Unable to + think of anything but the love which broke out in volcanic eruption, + filling his heart with fire, he only knew that the <i>Te Deum</i> was over + when the Spanish congregation came pouring out of the church. Feeling that + his behaviour and attitude might seem ridiculous, he went back to head the + procession, telling the alcalde and the governor that, feeling suddenly + faint, he had gone out into the air. Casting about for a plea for + prolonging his stay, it at once occurred to him to make the most of this + excuse, framed on the spur of the moment. He declined, on a plea of + increasing indisposition, to preside at the banquet given by the town to + the French officers, betook himself to his bed, and sent a message to the + Major-General, to the effect that temporary illness obliged him to leave + the Colonel in command of the troops for the time being. This commonplace + but very plausible stratagem relieved him of all responsibility for the + time necessary to carry out his plans. The General, nothing if not + “catholic and monarchical,” took occasion to inform himself of the hours + of the services, and manifested the greatest zeal for the performance of + his religious duties, piety which caused no remark in Spain. + </p> + <p> + The very next day, while the division was marching out of the town, the + General went to the convent to be present at vespers. He found an empty + church. The townsfolk, devout though they were, had all gone down to the + quay to watch the embarkation of the troops. He felt glad to be the only + man there. He tramped noisily up the nave, clanking his spurs till the + vaulted roof rang with the sound; he coughed, he talked aloud to himself + to let the nuns know, and more particularly to let the organist know that + if the troops were gone, one Frenchman was left behind. Was this singular + warning heard and understood? He thought so. It seemed to him that in the + <i>Magnificat</i> the organ made response which was borne to him on the + vibrating air. The nun’s spirit found wings in music and fled towards him, + throbbing with the rhythmical pulse of the sounds. Then, in all its might, + the music burst forth and filled the church with warmth. The Song of Joy + set apart in the sublime liturgy of Latin Christianity to express the + exaltation of the soul in the presence of the glory of the ever-living + God, became the utterance of a heart almost terrified by its gladness in + the presence of the glory of a mortal love; a love that yet lived, a love + that had risen to trouble her even beyond the grave in which the nun is + laid, that she may rise again as the bride of Christ. + </p> + <p> + The organ is in truth the grandest, the most daring, the most magnificent + of all instruments invented by human genius. It is a whole orchestra in + itself. It can express anything in response to a skilled touch. Surely it + is in some sort a pedestal on which the soul poises for a flight forth + into space, essaying on her course to draw picture after picture in an + endless series, to paint human life, to cross the Infinite that separates + heaven from earth? And the longer a dreamer listens to those giant + harmonies, the better he realizes that nothing save this hundred-voiced + choir on earth can fill all the space between kneeling men, and a God + hidden by the blinding light of the Sanctuary. The music is the one + interpreter strong enough to bear up the prayers of humanity to heaven, + prayer in its omnipotent moods, prayer tinged by the melancholy of many + different natures, coloured by meditative ecstasy, upspringing with the + impulse of repentance—blended with the myriad fancies of every + creed. Yes. In those long vaulted aisles the melodies inspired by the + sense of things divine are blended with a grandeur unknown before, are + decked with new glory and might. Out of the dim daylight, and the deep + silence broken by the chanting of the choir in response to the thunder of + the organ, a veil is woven for God, and the brightness of His attributes + shines through it. + </p> + <p> + And this wealth of holy things seemed to be flung down like a grain of + incense upon the fragile altar raised to Love beneath the eternal throne + of a jealous and avenging God. Indeed, in the joy of the nun there was + little of that awe and gravity which should harmonize with the solemnities + of the <i>Magnificat</i>. She had enriched the music with graceful + variations, earthly gladness throbbing through the rhythm of each. In such + brilliant quivering notes some great singer might strive to find a voice + for her love, her melodies fluttered as a bird flutters about her mate. + There were moments when she seemed to leap back into the past, to dally + there now with laughter, now with tears. Her changing moods, as it were, + ran riot. She was like a woman excited and happy over her lover’s return. + </p> + <p> + But at length, after the swaying fugues of delirium, after the marvellous + rendering of a vision of the past, a revulsion swept over the soul that + thus found utterance for itself. With a swift transition from the major to + the minor, the organist told her hearer of her present lot. She gave the + story of long melancholy broodings, of the slow course of her moral + malady. How day by day she deadened the senses, how every night cut off + one more thought, how her heart was slowly reduced to ashes. The sadness + deepened shade after shade through languid modulations, and in a little + while the echoes were pouring out a torrent of grief. Then on a sudden, + high notes rang out like the voices of angels singing together, as if to + tell the lost but not forgotten lover that their spirits now could only + meet in heaven. Pathetic hope! Then followed the <i>Amen</i>. No more joy, + no more tears in the air, no sadness, no regrets. The <i>Amen</i> was the + return to God. The final chord was deep, solemn, even terrible; for the + last rumblings of the bass sent a shiver through the audience that raised + the hair on their heads; the nun shook out her veiling of crepe, and + seemed to sink again into the grave from which she had risen for a moment. + Slowly the reverberations died away; it seemed as if the church, but now + so full of light, had returned to thick darkness. + </p> + <p> + The General had been caught up and borne swiftly away by this + strong-winged spirit; he had followed the course of its flight from + beginning to end. He understood to the fullest extent the imagery of that + burning symphony; for him the chords reached deep and far. For him, as for + the sister, the poem meant future, present, and past. Is not music, and + even opera music, a sort of text, which a susceptible or poetic temper, or + a sore and stricken heart, may expand as memories shall determine? If a + musician must needs have the heart of a poet, must not the listener too be + in a manner a poet and a lover to hear all that lies in great music? + Religion, love, and music—what are they but a threefold expression + of the same fact, of that craving for expansion which stirs in every noble + soul. And these three forms of poetry ascend to God, in whom all passion + on earth finds its end. Wherefore the holy human trinity finds a place + amid the infinite glories of God; of God, whom we always represent + surrounded with the fires of love and seistrons of gold—music and + light and harmony. Is not He the Cause and the End of all our strivings? + </p> + <p> + The French General guessed rightly that here in the desert, on this bare + rock in the sea, the nun had seized upon music as an outpouring of the + passion that still consumed her. Was this her manner of offering up her + love as a sacrifice to God? Or was it Love exultant in triumph over God? + The questions were hard to answer. But one thing at least the General + could not mistake—in this heart, dead to the world, the fire of + passion burned as fiercely as in his own. + </p> + <p> + Vespers over, he went back to the alcalde with whom he was staying. In the + all-absorbing joy which comes in such full measure when a satisfaction + sought long and painfully is attained at last, he could see nothing beyond + this—he was still loved! In her heart love had grown in loneliness, + even as his love had grown stronger as he surmounted one barrier after + another which this woman had set between them! The glow of soul came to + its natural end. There followed a longing to see her again, to contend + with God for her, to snatch her away—a rash scheme, which appealed + to a daring nature. He went to bed, when the meal was over, to avoid + questions; to be alone and think at his ease; and he lay absorbed by deep + thought till day broke. + </p> + <p> + He rose only to go to mass. He went to the church and knelt close to the + screen, with his forehead touching the curtain; he would have torn a hole + in it if he had been alone, but his host had come with him out of + politeness, and the least imprudence might compromise the whole future of + his love, and ruin the new hopes. + </p> + <p> + The organ sounded, but it was another player, and not the nun of the last + two days whose hands touched the keys. It was all colorless and cold for + the General. Was the woman he loved prostrated by emotion which well-nigh + overcame a strong man’s heart? Had she so fully realised and shared an + unchanged, longed-for love, that now she lay dying on her bed in her cell? + While innumerable thoughts of this kind perplexed his mind, the voice of + the woman he worshipped rang out close beside him; he knew its clear + resonant soprano. It was her voice, with that faint tremor in it which + gave it all the charm that shyness and diffidence gives to a young girl; + her voice, distinct from the mass of singing as a <i>prima donna’s</i> in + the chorus of a finale. It was like a golden or silver thread in dark + frieze. + </p> + <p> + It was she! There could be no mistake. Parisienne now as ever, she had not + laid coquetry aside when she threw off worldly adornments for the veil and + the Carmelite’s coarse serge. She who had affirmed her love last evening + in the praise sent up to God, seemed now to say to her lover, “Yes, it is + I. I am here. My love is unchanged, but I am beyond the reach of love. You + will hear my voice, my soul shall enfold you, and I shall abide here under + the brown shroud in the choir from which no power on earth can tear me. + You shall never see me more!” + </p> + <p> + “It is she indeed!” the General said to himself, raising his head. He had + leant his face on his hands, unable at first to bear the intolerable + emotion that surged like a whirlpool in his heart, when that well-known + voice vibrated under the arcading, with the sound of the sea for + accompaniment. + </p> + <p> + Storm was without, and calm within the sanctuary. Still that rich voice + poured out all its caressing notes; it fell like balm on the lover’s + burning heart; it blossomed upon the air—the air that a man would + fain breathe more deeply to receive the effluence of a soul breathed forth + with love in the words of the prayer. The alcalde coming to join his guest + found him in tears during the elevation, while the nun was singing, and + brought him back to his house. Surprised to find so much piety in a French + military man, the worthy magistrate invited the confessor of the convent + to meet his guest. Never had news given the General more pleasure; he paid + the ecclesiastic a good deal of attention at supper, and confirmed his + Spanish hosts in the high opinion they had formed of his piety by a not + wholly disinterested respect. + </p> + <p> + He inquired with gravity how many sisters there were in the convent, and + asked for particulars of its endowment and revenues, as if from courtesy + he wished to hear the good priest discourse on the subject most + interesting to him. He informed himself as to the manner of life led by + the holy women. Were they allowed to go out of the convent, or to see + visitors? + </p> + <p> + “Senor,” replied the venerable churchman, “the rule is strict. A woman + cannot enter a monastery of the order of St. Bruno without a special + permission from His Holiness, and the rule here is equally stringent. No + man may enter a convent of Barefoot Carmelites unless he is a priest + specially attached to the services of the house by the Archbishop. None of + the nuns may leave the convent; though the great Saint, St. Theresa, often + left her cell. The Visitor or the Mothers Superior can alone give + permission, subject to an authorization from the Archbishop, for a nun to + see a visitor, and then especially in a case of illness. Now we are one of + the principal houses, and consequently we have a Mother Superior here. + Among other foreign sisters there is one Frenchwoman, Sister Theresa; she + it is who directs the music in the chapel.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said the General, with feigned surprise. “She must have rejoiced + over the victory of the House of Bourbon.” + </p> + <p> + “I told them the reason of the mass; they are always a little bit + inquisitive.” + </p> + <p> + “But Sister Theresa may have interests in France. Perhaps she would like + to send some message or to hear news.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think so. She would have come to ask me.” + </p> + <p> + “As a fellow-countryman, I should be quite curious to see her,” said the + General. “If it is possible, if the Lady Superior consents, if——” + </p> + <p> + “Even at the grating and in the Reverend Mother’s presence, an interview + would be quite impossible for anybody whatsoever; but, strict as the + Mother is, for a deliverer of our holy religion and the throne of his + Catholic Majesty, the rule might be relaxed for a moment,” said the + confessor, blinking. “I will speak about it.” + </p> + <p> + “How old is Sister Theresa?” inquired the lover. He dared not ask any + questions of the priest as to the nun’s beauty. + </p> + <p> + “She does not reckon years now,” the good man answered, with a simplicity + that made the General shudder. + </p> + <p> + Next day before siesta, the confessor came to inform the French General + that Sister Theresa and the Mother consented to receive him at the grating + in the parlour before vespers. The General spent the siesta in pacing to + and fro along the quay in the noonday heat. Thither the priest came to + find him, and brought him to the convent by way of the gallery round the + cemetery. Fountains, green trees, and rows of arcading maintained a cool + freshness in keeping with the place. + </p> + <p> + At the further end of the long gallery the priest led the way into a large + room divided in two by a grating covered with a brown curtain. In the + first, and in some sort of public half of the apartment, where the + confessor left the newcomer, a wooden bench ran round the wall, and two or + three chairs, also of wood, were placed near the grating. The ceiling + consisted of bare unornamented joists and cross-beams of ilex wood. As the + two windows were both on the inner side of the grating, and the dark + surface of the wood was a bad reflector, the light in the place was so dim + that you could scarcely see the great black crucifix, the portrait of + Saint Theresa, and a picture of the Madonna which adorned the grey parlour + walls. Tumultuous as the General’s feelings were, they took something of + the melancholy of the place. He grew calm in that homely quiet. A sense of + something vast as the tomb took possession of him beneath the chill + unceiled roof. Here, as in the grave, was there not eternal silence, deep + peace—the sense of the Infinite? And besides this there was the + quiet and the fixed thought of the cloister—a thought which you felt + like a subtle presence in the air, and in the dim dusk of the room; an + all-pervasive thought nowhere definitely expressed, and looming the larger + in the imagination; for in the cloister the great saying, “Peace in the + Lord,” enters the least religious soul as a living force. + </p> + <p> + The monk’s life is scarcely comprehensible. A man seems confessed a + weakling in a monastery; he was born to act, to live out a life of work; + he is evading a man’s destiny in his cell. But what man’s strength, + blended with pathetic weakness, is implied by a woman’s choice of the + convent life! A man may have any number of motives for burying himself in + a monastery; for him it is the leap over the precipice. A woman has but + one motive—she is a woman still; she betrothes herself to a Heavenly + Bridegroom. Of the monk you may ask, “Why did you not fight your battle?” + But if a woman immures herself in the cloister, is there not always a + sublime battle fought first? + </p> + <p> + At length it seemed to the General that that still room, and the lonely + convent in the sea, were full of thoughts of him. Love seldom attains to + solemnity; yet surely a love still faithful in the breast of God was + something solemn, something more than a man had a right to look for as + things are in this nineteenth century? The infinite grandeur of the + situation might well produce an effect upon the General’s mind; he had + precisely enough elevation of soul to forget politics, honours, Spain, and + society in Paris, and to rise to the height of this lofty climax. And what + in truth could be more tragic? How much must pass in the souls of these + two lovers, brought together in a place of strangers, on a ledge of + granite in the sea; yet held apart by an intangible, unsurmountable + barrier! Try to imagine the man saying within himself, “Shall I triumph + over God in her heart?” when a faint rustling sound made him quiver, and + the curtain was drawn aside. + </p> + <p> + Between him and the light stood a woman. Her face was hidden by the veil + that drooped from the folds upon her head; she was dressed according to + the rule of the order in a gown of the colour become proverbial. Her bare + feet were hidden; if the General could have seen them, he would have known + how appallingly thin she had grown; and yet in spite of the thick folds of + her coarse gown, a mere covering and no ornament, he could guess how + tears, and prayer, and passion, and loneliness had wasted the woman before + him. + </p> + <p> + An ice-cold hand, belonging, no doubt, to the Mother Superior, held back + the curtain. The General gave the enforced witness of their interview a + searching glance, and met the dark, inscrutable gaze of an aged recluse. + The Mother might have been a century old, but the bright, youthful eyes + belied the wrinkles that furrowed her pale face. + </p> + <p> + “Mme la Duchesse,” he began, his voice shaken with emotion, “does your + companion understand French?” The veiled figure bowed her head at the + sound of his voice. + </p> + <p> + “There is no duchess here,” she replied. “It is Sister Theresa whom you + see before you. She whom you call my companion is my mother in God, my + superior here on earth.” + </p> + <p> + The words were so meekly spoken by the voice that sounded in other years + amid harmonious surroundings of refined luxury, the voice of a queen of + fashion in Paris. Such words from the lips that once spoke so lightly and + flippantly struck the General dumb with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “The Holy Mother only speaks Latin and Spanish,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “I understand neither. Dear Antoinette, make my excuses to her.” + </p> + <p> + The light fell full upon the nun’s figure; a thrill of deep emotion + betrayed itself in a faint quiver of her veil as she heard her name softly + spoken by the man who had been so hard in the past. + </p> + <p> + “My brother,” she said, drawing her sleeve under her veil, perhaps to + brush tears away, “I am Sister Theresa.” + </p> + <p> + Then, turning to the Superior, she spoke in Spanish; the General knew + enough of the language to understand what she said perfectly well; + possibly he could have spoken it had he chosen to do so. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Mother, the gentleman presents his respects to you, and begs you to + pardon him if he cannot pay them himself, but he knows neither of the + languages which you speak——” + </p> + <p> + The aged nun bent her head slowly, with an expression of angelic + sweetness, enhanced at the same time by the consciousness of her power and + dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know this gentleman?” she asked, with a keen glance. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Go back to your cell, my daughter!” said the Mother imperiously. + </p> + <p> + The General slipped aside behind the curtain lest the dreadful tumult + within him should appear in his face; even in the shadow it seemed to him + that he could still see the Superior’s piercing eyes. He was afraid of + her; she held his little, frail, hardly-won happiness in her hands; and + he, who had never quailed under a triple row of guns, now trembled before + this nun. The Duchess went towards the door, but she turned back. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” she said, with dreadful calmness, “the Frenchman is one of my + brothers.” + </p> + <p> + “Then stay, my daughter,” said the Superior, after a pause. + </p> + <p> + The piece of admirable Jesuitry told of such love and regret, that a man + less strongly constituted might have broken down under the keen delight in + the midst of a great and, for him, an entirely novel peril. Oh! how + precious words, looks, and gestures became when love must baffle lynx eyes + and tiger’s claws! Sister Theresa came back. + </p> + <p> + “You see, my brother, what I have dared to do only to speak to you for a + moment of your salvation and of the prayers that my soul puts up for your + soul daily. I am committing mortal sin. I have told a lie. How many days + of penance must expiate that lie! But I shall endure it for your sake. My + brother, you do not know what happiness it is to love in heaven; to feel + that you can confess love purified by religion, love transported into the + highest heights of all, so that we are permitted to lose sight of all but + the soul. If the doctrine and the spirit of the Saint to whom we owe this + refuge had not raised me above earth’s anguish, and caught me up and set + me, far indeed beneath the Sphere wherein she dwells, yet truly above this + world, I should not have seen you again. But now I can see you, and hear + your voice, and remain calm——” + </p> + <p> + The General broke in, “But, Antoinette, let me see you, you whom I love + passionately, desperately, as you could have wished me to love you.” + </p> + <p> + “Do not call me Antoinette, I implore you. Memories of the past hurt me. + You must see no one here but Sister Theresa, a creature who trusts in the + Divine mercy.” She paused for a little, and then added, “You must control + yourself, my brother. Our Mother would separate us without pity if there + is any worldly passion in your face, or if you allow the tears to fall + from your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + The General bowed his head to regain self-control; when he looked up again + he saw her face beyond the grating—the thin, white, but still + impassioned face of the nun. All the magic charm of youth that once + bloomed there, all the fair contrast of velvet whiteness and the colour of + the Bengal rose, had given place to a burning glow, as of a porcelain jar + with a faint light shining through it. The wonderful hair in which she + took such pride had been shaven; there was a bandage round her forehead + and about her face. An ascetic life had left dark traces about the eyes, + which still sometimes shot out fevered glances; their ordinary calm + expression was but a veil. In a few words, she was but the ghost of her + former self. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you that have come to be my life, you must come out of this tomb! You + were mine; you had no right to give yourself, even to God. Did you not + promise me to give up all at the least command from me? You may perhaps + think me worthy of that promise now when you hear what I have done for + you. I have sought you all through the world. You have been in my thoughts + at every moment for five years; my life has been given to you. My friends, + very powerful friends, as you know, have helped with all their might to + search every convent in France, Italy, Spain, Sicily, and America. Love + burned more brightly for every vain search. Again and again I made long + journeys with a false hope; I have wasted my life and the heaviest + throbbings of my heart in vain under many a dark convent wall. I am not + speaking of a faithfulness that knows no bounds, for what is it?—nothing + compared with the infinite longings of my love. If your remorse long ago + was sincere, you ought not to hesitate to follow me today.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget that I am not free.” + </p> + <p> + “The Duke is dead,” he answered quickly. + </p> + <p> + Sister Theresa flushed red. + </p> + <p> + “May heaven be open to him!” she cried with a quick rush of feeling. “He + was generous to me.—But I did not mean such ties; it was one of my + sins that I was ready to break them all without scruple—for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you speaking of your vows?” the General asked, frowning. “I did not + think that anything weighed heavier with your heart than love. But do not + think twice of it, Antoinette; the Holy Father himself shall absolve you + of your oath. I will surely go to Rome, I will entreat all the powers of + earth; if God could come down from heaven, I would——” + </p> + <p> + “Do not blaspheme.” + </p> + <p> + “So do not fear the anger of God. Ah! I would far rather hear that you + would leave your prison for me; that this very night you would let + yourself down into a boat at the foot of the cliffs. And we would go away + to be happy somewhere at the world’s end, I know not where. And with me at + your side, you should come back to life and health under the wings of + love.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not talk like this,” said Sister Theresa; “you do not know what + you are to me now. I love you far better than I ever loved you before. + Every day I pray for you; I see you with other eyes. Armand, if you but + knew the happiness of giving yourself up, without shame, to a pure + friendship which God watches over! You do not know what joy it is to me to + pray for heaven’s blessing on you. I never pray for myself: God will do + with me according to His will; but, at the price of my soul, I wish I + could be sure that you are happy here on earth, and that you will be happy + hereafter throughout all ages. My eternal life is all that trouble has + left me to offer up to you. I am old now with weeping; I am neither young + nor fair; and in any case, you could not respect the nun who became a + wife; no love, not even motherhood, could give me absolution.... What can + you say to outweigh the uncounted thoughts that have gathered in my heart + during the past five years, thoughts that have changed, and worn, and + blighted it? I ought to have given a heart less sorrowful to God.” + </p> + <p> + “What can I say? Dear Antoinette, I will say this, that I love you; that + affection, love, a great love, the joy of living in another heart that is + ours, utterly and wholly ours, is so rare a thing and so hard to find, + that I doubted you, and put you to sharp proof; but now, today, I love + you, Antoinette, with all my soul’s strength.... If you will follow me + into solitude, I will hear no voice but yours, I will see no other face.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Armand! You are shortening the little time that we may be together + here on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Antoinette, will you come with me?” + </p> + <p> + “I am never away from you. My life is in your heart, not through the + selfish ties of earthly happiness, or vanity, or enjoyment; pale and + withered as I am, I live here for you, in the breast of God. As God is + just, you shall be happy——” + </p> + <p> + “Words, words all of it! Pale and withered? How if I want you? How if I + cannot be happy without you? Do you still think of nothing but duty with + your lover before you? Is he never to come first and above all things else + in your heart? In time past you put social success, yourself, heaven knows + what, before him; now it is God, it is the welfare of my soul! In Sister + Theresa I find the Duchess over again, ignorant of the happiness of love, + insensible as ever, beneath the semblance of sensibility. You do not love + me; you have never loved me——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my brother——!” + </p> + <p> + “You do not wish to leave this tomb. You love my soul, do you say? Very + well, through you it will be lost forever. I shall make away with myself——” + </p> + <p> + “Mother!” Sister Theresa called aloud in Spanish, “I have lied to you; + this man is my lover!” + </p> + <p> + The curtain fell at once. The General, in his stupor, scarcely heard the + doors within as they clanged. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! she loves me still!” he cried, understanding all the sublimity of + that cry of hers. “She loves me still. She must be carried off....” + </p> + <p> + The General left the island, returned to headquarters, pleaded ill-health, + asked for leave of absence, and forthwith took his departure for France. + </p> + <p> + And now for the incidents which brought the two personages in this Scene + into their present relation to each other. + </p> + <p> + The thing known in France as the Faubourg Saint-Germain is neither a + Quarter, nor a sect, nor an institution, nor anything else that admits of + a precise definition. There are great houses in the Place Royale, the + Faubourg Saint-Honore, and the Chaussee d’Antin, in any one of which you + may breathe the same atmosphere of Faubourg Saint-Germain. So, to begin + with, the whole Faubourg is not within the Faubourg. There are men and + women born far enough away from its influences who respond to them and + take their place in the circle; and again there are others, born within + its limits, who may yet be driven forth forever. For the last forty years + the manners, and customs, and speech, in a word, the tradition of the + Faubourg Saint-Germain, has been to Paris what the Court used to be in + other times; it is what the Hotel Saint-Paul was to the fourteenth + century; the Louvre to the fifteenth; the Palais, the Hotel Rambouillet, + and the Place Royale to the sixteenth; and lastly, as Versailles was to + the seventeenth and the eighteenth. + </p> + <p> + Just as the ordinary workaday Paris will always centre about some point; + so, through all periods of history, the Paris of the nobles and the upper + classes converges towards some particular spot. It is a periodically + recurrent phenomenon which presents ample matter for reflection to those + who are fain to observe or describe the various social zones; and possibly + an enquiry into the causes that bring about this centralization may do + more than merely justify the probability of this episode; it may be of + service to serious interests which some day will be more deeply rooted in + the commonwealth, unless, indeed, experience is as meaningless for + political parties as it is for youth. + </p> + <p> + In every age the great nobles, and the rich who always ape the great + nobles, build their houses as far as possible from crowded streets. When + the Duc d’Uzes built his splendid hotel in the Rue Montmartre in the reign + of Louis XIV, and set the fountain at his gates—for which beneficent + action, to say nothing of his other virtues, he was held in such + veneration that the whole quarter turned out in a body to follow his + funeral—when the Duke, I say, chose this site for his house, he did + so because that part of Paris was almost deserted in those days. But when + the fortifications were pulled down, and the market gardens beyond the + line of the boulevards began to fill with houses, then the d’Uzes family + left their fine mansion, and in our time it was occupied by a banker. + Later still, the noblesse began to find themselves out of their element + among shopkeepers, left the Place Royale and the centre of Paris for good, + and crossed the river to breathe freely in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, + where palaces were reared already about the great hotel built by Louis XIV + for the Duc de Maine—the Benjamin among his legitimated offspring. + And indeed, for people accustomed to a stately life, can there be more + unseemly surroundings than the bustle, the mud, the street cries, the bad + smells, and narrow thoroughfares of a populous quarter? The very habits of + life in a mercantile or manufacturing district are completely at variance + with the lives of nobles. The shopkeeper and artisan are just going to bed + when the great world is thinking of dinner; and the noisy stir of life + begins among the former when the latter have gone to rest. Their day’s + calculations never coincide; the one class represents the expenditure, the + other the receipts. Consequently their manners and customs are + diametrically opposed. + </p> + <p> + Nothing contemptuous is intended by this statement. An aristocracy is in a + manner the intellect of the social system, as the middle classes and the + proletariat may be said to be its organizing and working power. It + naturally follows that these forces are differently situated; and of their + antagonism there is bred a seeming antipathy produced by the performance + of different functions, all of them, however, existing for one common end. + </p> + <p> + Such social dissonances are so inevitably the outcome of any charter of + the constitution, that however much a Liberal may be disposed to complain + of them, as of treason against those sublime ideas with which the + ambitious plebeian is apt to cover his designs, he would none the less + think it a preposterous notion that M. le Prince de Montmorency, for + instance, should continue to live in the Rue Saint-Martin at the corner of + the street which bears that nobleman’s name; or that M. le Duc de + Fitz-James, descendant of the royal house of Scotland, should have his + hotel at the angle of the Rue Marie Stuart and the Rue Montorgueil. <i>Sint + ut sunt, aut non sint</i>, the grand words of the Jesuit, might be taken + as a motto by the great in all countries. These social differences are + patent in all ages; the fact is always accepted by the people; its + “reasons of state” are self-evident; it is at once cause and effect, a + principle and a law. The common sense of the masses never deserts them + until demagogues stir them up to gain ends of their own; that common sense + is based on the verities of social order; and the social order is the same + everywhere, in Moscow as in London, in Geneva as in Calcutta. Given a + certain number of families of unequal fortune in any given space, you will + see an aristocracy forming under your eyes; there will be the patricians, + the upper classes, and yet other ranks below them. Equality may be a <i>right</i>, + but no power on earth can convert it into <i>fact</i>. It would be a good + thing for France if this idea could be popularized. The benefits of + political harmony are obvious to the least intelligent classes. Harmony + is, as it were, the poetry of order, and order is a matter of vital + importance to the working population. And what is order, reduced to its + simplest expression, but the agreement of things among themselves—unity, + in short? Architecture, music, and poetry, everything in France, and in + France more than in any other country, is based upon this principle; it is + written upon the very foundations of her clear accurate language, and a + language must always be the most infallible index of national character. + In the same way you may note that the French popular airs are those most + calculated to strike the imagination, the best-modulated melodies are + taken over by the people; clearness of thought, the intellectual + simplicity of an idea attracts them; they like the incisive sayings that + hold the greatest number of ideas. France is the one country in the world + where a little phrase may bring about a great revolution. Whenever the + masses have risen, it has been to bring men, affairs, and principles into + agreement. No nation has a clearer conception of that idea of unity which + should permeate the life of an aristocracy; possibly no other nation has + so intelligent a comprehension of a political necessity; history will + never find her behind the time. France has been led astray many a time, + but she is deluded, woman-like, by generous ideas, by a glow of enthusiasm + which at first outstrips sober reason. + </p> + <p> + So, to begin with, the most striking characteristic of the Faubourg is the + splendour of its great mansions, its great gardens, and a surrounding + quiet in keeping with princely revenues drawn from great estates. And what + is this distance set between a class and a whole metropolis but visible + and outward expression of the widely different attitude of mind which must + inevitably keep them apart? The position of the head is well defined in + every organism. If by any chance a nation allows its head to fall at its + feet, it is pretty sure sooner or later to discover that this is a + suicidal measure; and since nations have no desire to perish, they set to + work at once to grow a new head. If they lack the strength for this, they + perish as Rome perished, and Venice, and so many other states. + </p> + <p> + This distinction between the upper and lower spheres of social activity, + emphasized by differences in their manner of living, necessarily implies + that in the highest aristocracy there is real worth and some + distinguishing merit. In any state, no matter what form of “government” is + affected, so soon as the patrician class fails to maintain that complete + superiority which is the condition of its existence, it ceases to be a + force, and is pulled down at once by the populace. The people always wish + to see money, power, and initiative in their leaders, hands, hearts, and + heads; they must be the spokesmen, they must represent the intelligence + and the glory of the nation. Nations, like women, love strength in those + who rule them; they cannot give love without respect; they refuse utterly + to obey those of whom they do not stand in awe. An aristocracy fallen into + contempt is a <i>roi faineant</i>, a husband in petticoats; first it + ceases to be itself, and then it ceases to be. + </p> + <p> + And in this way the isolation of the great, the sharply marked distinction + in their manner of life, or in a word, the general custom of the patrician + caste is at once the sign of a real power, and their destruction so soon + as that power is lost. The Faubourg Saint-Germain failed to recognise the + conditions of its being, while it would still have been easy to perpetuate + its existence, and therefore was brought low for a time. The Faubourg + should have looked the facts fairly in the face, as the English + aristocracy did before them; they should have seen that every institution + has its climacteric periods, when words lose their old meanings, and ideas + reappear in a new guise, and the whole conditions of politics wear a + changed aspect, while the underlying realities undergo no essential + alteration. + </p> + <p> + These ideas demand further development which form an essential part of + this episode; they are given here both as a succinct statement of the + causes, and an explanation of the things which happen in the course of the + story. + </p> + <p> + The stateliness of the castles and palaces where nobles dwell; the luxury + of the details; the constantly maintained sumptuousness of the furniture; + the “atmosphere” in which the fortunate owner of landed estates (a rich + man before he was born) lives and moves easily and without friction; the + habit of mind which never descends to calculate the petty workaday gains + of existence; the leisure; the higher education attainable at a much + earlier age; and lastly, the aristocratic tradition that makes of him a + social force, for which his opponents, by dint of study and a strong will + and tenacity of vocation, are scarcely a match-all these things should + contribute to form a lofty spirit in a man, possessed of such privileges + from his youth up; they should stamp his character with that high + self-respect, of which the least consequence is a nobleness of heart in + harmony with the noble name that he bears. And in some few families all + this is realised. There are noble characters here and there in the + Faubourg, but they are marked exceptions to a general rule of egoism which + has been the ruin of this world within a world. The privileges above + enumerated are the birthright of the French noblesse, as of every + patrician efflorescence ever formed on the surface of a nation; and will + continue to be theirs so long as their existence is based upon real + estate, or money; <i>domaine-sol</i> and <i>domaine-argent</i> alike, the + only solid bases of an organized society; but such privileges are held + upon the understanding that the patricians must continue to justify their + existence. There is a sort of moral <i>fief</i> held on a tenure of + service rendered to the sovereign, and here in France the people are + undoubtedly the sovereigns nowadays. The times are changed, and so are the + weapons. The knight-banneret of old wore a coat of chain armor and a + hauberk; he could handle a lance well and display his pennon, and no more + was required of him; today he is bound to give proof of his intelligence. + A stout heart was enough in the days of old; in our days he is required to + have a capacious brain-pan. Skill and knowledge and capital—these + three points mark out a social triangle on which the scutcheon of power is + blazoned; our modern aristocracy must take its stand on these. + </p> + <p> + A fine theorem is as good as a great name. The Rothschilds, the Fuggers of + the nineteenth century, are princes <i>de facto</i>. A great artist is in + reality an oligarch; he represents a whole century, and almost always he + is a law to others. And the art of words, the high pressure machinery of + the writer, the poet’s genius, the merchant’s steady endurance, the strong + will of the statesman who concentrates a thousand dazzling qualities in + himself, the general’s sword—all these victories, in short, which a + single individual will win, that he may tower above the rest of the world, + the patrician class is now bound to win and keep exclusively. They must + head the new forces as they once headed the material forces; how should + they keep the position unless they are worthy of it? How, unless they are + the soul and brain of a nation, shall they set its hands moving? How lead + a people without the power of command? And what is the marshal’s baton + without the innate power of the captain in the man who wields it? The + Faubourg Saint-Germain took to playing with batons, and fancied that all + the power was in its hands. It inverted the terms of the proposition which + called it into existence. And instead of flinging away the insignia which + offended the people, and quietly grasping the power, it allowed the + bourgeoisie to seize the authority, clung with fatal obstinacy to its + shadow, and over and over again forgot the laws which a minority must + observe if it would live. When an aristocracy is scarce a thousandth part + of the body social, it is bound today, as of old, to multiply its points + of action, so as to counterbalance the weight of the masses in a great + crisis. And in our days those means of action must be living forces, and + not historical memories. + </p> + <p> + In France, unluckily, the noblesse were still so puffed up with the notion + of their vanished power, that it was difficult to contend against a kind + of innate presumption in themselves. Perhaps this is a national defect. + The Frenchman is less given than anyone else to undervalue himself; it + comes natural to him to go from his degree to the one above it; and while + it is a rare thing for him to pity the unfortunates over whose heads he + rises, he always groans in spirit to see so many fortunate people above + him. He is very far from heartless, but too often he prefers to listen to + his intellect. The national instinct which brings the Frenchman to the + front, the vanity that wastes his substance, is as much a dominant passion + as thrift in the Dutch. For three centuries it swayed the noblesse, who, + in this respect, were certainly pre-eminently French. The scion of the + Faubourg Saint-Germain, beholding his material superiority, was fully + persuaded of his intellectual superiority. And everything contributed to + confirm him in his belief; for ever since the Faubourg Saint-Germain + existed at all—which is to say, ever since Versailles ceased to be + the royal residence—the Faubourg, with some few gaps in continuity, + was always backed up by the central power, which in France seldom fails to + support that side. Thence its downfall in 1830. + </p> + <p> + At that time the party of the Faubourg Saint-Germain was rather like an + army without a base of operation. It had utterly failed to take advantage + of the peace to plant itself in the heart of the nation. It sinned for + want of learning its lesson, and through an utter incapability of + regarding its interests as a whole. A future certainty was sacrificed to a + doubtful present gain. This blunder in policy may perhaps be attributed to + the following cause. + </p> + <p> + The class-isolation so strenuously kept up by the noblesse brought about + fatal results during the last forty years; even caste-patriotism was + extinguished by it, and rivalry fostered among themselves. When the French + noblesse of other times were rich and powerful, the nobles (<i>gentilhommes</i>) + could choose their chiefs and obey them in the hour of danger. As their + power diminished, they grew less amenable to discipline; and as in the + last days of the Byzantine Empire, everyone wished to be emperor. They + mistook their uniform weakness for uniform strength. + </p> + <p> + Each family ruined by the Revolution and the abolition of the law of + primogeniture thought only of itself, and not at all of the great family + of the noblesse. It seemed to them that as each individual grew rich, the + party as a whole would gain in strength. And herein lay their mistake. + Money, likewise, is only the outward and visible sign of power. All these + families were made up of persons who preserved a high tradition of + courtesy, of true graciousness of life, of refined speech, with a family + pride, and a squeamish sense of <i>noblesse oblige</i> which suited well + with the kind of life they led; a life wholly filled with occupations + which become contemptible so soon as they cease to be accessories and take + the chief place in existence. There was a certain intrinsic merit in all + these people, but the merit was on the surface, and none of them were + worth their face-value. + </p> + <p> + Not a single one among those families had courage to ask itself the + question, “Are we strong enough for the responsibility of power?” They + were cast on the top, like the lawyers of 1830; and instead of taking the + patron’s place, like a great man, the Faubourg Saint-Germain showed itself + greedy as an upstart. The most intelligent nation in the world perceived + clearly that the restored nobles were organizing everything for their own + particular benefit. From that day the noblesse was doomed. The Faubourg + Saint-Germain tried to be an aristocracy when it could only be an + oligarchy—two very different systems, as any man may see for himself + if he gives an intelligent perusal to the list of the patronymics of the + House of Peers. + </p> + <p> + The King’s Government certainly meant well; but the maxim that the people + must be made to <i>will</i> everything, even their own welfare, was pretty + constantly forgotten, nor did they bear in mind that La France is a woman + and capricious, and must be happy or chastised at her own good pleasure. + If there had been many dukes like the Duc de Laval, whose modesty made him + worthy of the name he bore, the elder branch would have been as securely + seated on the throne as the House of Hanover at this day. + </p> + <p> + In 1814 the noblesse of France were called upon to assert their + superiority over the most aristocratic bourgeoisie in the most feminine of + all countries, to take the lead in the most highly educated epoch the + world had yet seen. And this was even more notably the case in 1820. The + Faubourg Saint-Germain might very easily have led and amused the middle + classes in days when people’s heads were turned with distinctions, and art + and science were all the rage. But the narrow-minded leaders of a time of + great intellectual progress all of them detested art and science. They had + not even the wit to present religion in attractive colours, though they + needed its support. While Lamartine, Lamennais, Montalembert, and other + writers were putting new life and elevation into men’s ideas of religion, + and gilding it with poetry, these bunglers in the Government chose to make + the harshness of their creed felt all over the country. Never was nation + in a more tractable humour; La France, like a tired woman, was ready to + agree to anything; never was mismanagement so clumsy; and La France, like + a woman, would have forgiven wrongs more easily than bungling. + </p> + <p> + If the noblesse meant to reinstate themselves, the better to found a + strong oligarchy, they should have honestly and diligently searched their + Houses for men of the stamp that Napoleon used; they should have turned + themselves inside out to see if peradventure there was a Constitutionalist + Richelieu lurking in the entrails of the Faubourg; and if that genius was + not forthcoming from among them, they should have set out to find him, + even in the fireless garret where he might happen to be perishing of cold; + they should have assimilated him, as the English House of Lords + continually assimilates aristocrats made by chance; and finally ordered + him to be ruthless, to lop away the old wood, and cut the tree down to the + living shoots. But, in the first place, the great system of English + Toryism was far too large for narrow minds; the importation required time, + and in France a tardy success is no better than a fiasco. So far, + moreover, from adopting a policy of redemption, and looking for new forces + where God puts them, these petty great folk took a dislike to any capacity + that did not issue from their midst; and, lastly, instead of growing young + again, the Faubourg Saint-Germain grew positively older. + </p> + <p> + Etiquette, not an institution of primary necessity, might have been + maintained if it had appeared only on state occasions, but as it was, + there was a daily wrangle over precedence; it ceased to be a matter of art + or court ceremonial, it became a question of power. And if from the outset + the Crown lacked an adviser equal to so great a crisis, the aristocracy + was still more lacking in a sense of its wider interests, an instinct + which might have supplied the deficiency. They stood nice about M. de + Talleyrand’s marriage, when M. de Talleyrand was the one man among them + with the steel-encompassed brains that can forge a new political system + and begin a new career of glory for a nation. The Faubourg scoffed at a + minister if he was not gently born, and produced no one of gentle birth + that was fit to be a minister. There were plenty of nobles fitted to serve + their country by raising the dignity of justices of the peace, by + improving the land, by opening out roads and canals, and taking an active + and leading part as country gentlemen; but these had sold their estates to + gamble on the Stock Exchange. Again the Faubourg might have absorbed the + energetic men among the bourgeoisie, and opened their ranks to the + ambition which was undermining authority; they preferred instead to fight, + and to fight unarmed, for of all that they once possessed there was + nothing left but tradition. For their misfortune there was just precisely + enough of their former wealth left them as a class to keep up their bitter + pride. They were content with their past. Not one of them seriously + thought of bidding the son of the house take up arms from the pile of + weapons which the nineteenth century flings down in the market-place. + Young men, shut out from office, were dancing at Madame’s balls, while + they should have been doing the work done under the Republic and the + Empire by young, conscientious, harmlessly employed energies. It was their + place to carry out at Paris the programme which their seniors should have + been following in the country. The heads of houses might have won back + recognition of their titles by unremitting attention to local interests, + by falling in with the spirit of the age, by recasting their order to suit + the taste of the times. + </p> + <p> + But, pent up together in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where the spirit of + the ancient court and traditions of bygone feuds between the nobles and + the Crown still lingered on, the aristocracy was not whole-hearted in its + allegiance to the Tuileries, and so much the more easily defeated because + it was concentrated in the Chamber of Peers, and badly organized even + there. If the noblesse had woven themselves into a network over the + country, they could have held their own; but cooped up in their Faubourg, + with their backs against the Chateau, or spread at full length over the + Budget, a single blow cut the thread of a fast-expiring life, and a petty, + smug-faced lawyer came forward with the axe. In spite of M. + Royer-Collard’s admirable discourse, the hereditary peerage and law of + entail fell before the lampoons of a man who made it a boast that he had + adroitly argued some few heads out of the executioner’s clutches, and now + forsooth must clumsily proceed to the slaying of old institutions. + </p> + <p> + There are examples and lessons for the future in all this. For if there + were not still a future before the French aristocracy, there would be no + need to do more than find a suitable sarcophagus; it were something + pitilessly cruel to burn the dead body of it with fire of Tophet. But + though the surgeon’s scalpel is ruthless, it sometimes gives back life to + a dying man; and the Faubourg Saint-Germain may wax more powerful under + persecution than in its day of triumph, if it but chooses to organize + itself under a leader. + </p> + <p> + And now it is easy to give a summary of this semi-political survey. The + wish to re-establish a large fortune was uppermost in everyone’s mind; a + lack of broad views, and a mass of small defects, a real need of religion + as a political factor, combined with a thirst for pleasure which damaged + the cause of religion and necessitated a good deal of hypocrisy; a certain + attitude of protest on the part of loftier and clearer-sighted men who set + their faces against Court jealousies; and the disaffection of the + provincial families, who often came of purer descent than the nobles of + the Court which alienated them from itself—all these things combined + to bring about a most discordant state of things in the Faubourg + Saint-Germain. It was neither compact in its organisation, nor consequent + in its action; neither completely moral, nor frankly dissolute; it did not + corrupt, nor was it corrupted; it would neither wholly abandon the + disputed points which damaged its cause, nor yet adopt the policy that + might have saved it. In short, however effete individuals might be, the + party as a whole was none the less armed with all the great principles + which lie at the roots of national existence. What was there in the + Faubourg that it should perish in its strength? + </p> + <p> + It was very hard to please in the choice of candidates; the Faubourg had + good taste, it was scornfully fastidious, yet there was nothing very + glorious nor chivalrous truly about its fall. + </p> + <p> + In the Emigration of 1789 there were some traces of a loftier feeling; but + in the Emigration of 1830 from Paris into the country there was nothing + discernible but self-interest. A few famous men of letters, a few + oratorical triumphs in the Chambers, M. de Talleyrand’s attitude in the + Congress, the taking of Algiers, and not a few names that found their way + from the battlefield into the pages of history—all these things were + so many examples set before the French noblesse to show that it was still + open to them to take their part in the national existence, and to win + recognition of their claims, if, indeed, they could condescend thus far. + In every living organism the work of bringing the whole into harmony + within itself is always going on. If a man is indolent, the indolence + shows itself in everything that he does; and, in the same manner, the + general spirit of a class is pretty plainly manifested in the face it + turns on the world, and the soul informs the body. + </p> + <p> + The women of the Restoration displayed neither the proud disregard of + public opinion shown by the court ladies of olden time in their + wantonness, nor yet the simple grandeur of the tardy virtues by which they + expiated their sins and shed so bright a glory about their names. There + was nothing either very frivolous or very serious about the woman of the + Restoration. She was hypocritical as a rule in her passion, and + compounded, so to speak, with its pleasures. Some few families led the + domestic life of the Duchesse d’Orleans, whose connubial couch was + exhibited so absurdly to visitors at the Palais Royal. Two or three kept + up the traditions of the Regency, filling cleverer women with something + like disgust. The great lady of the new school exercised no influence at + all over the manners of the time; and yet she might have done much. She + might, at worst, have presented as dignified a spectacle as English-women + of the same rank. But she hesitated feebly among old precedents, became a + bigot by force of circumstances, and allowed nothing of herself to appear, + not even her better qualities. + </p> + <p> + Not one among the Frenchwomen of that day had the ability to create a + salon whither leaders of fashion might come to take lessons in taste and + elegance. Their voices, which once laid down the law to literature, that + living expression of a time, now counted absolutely for nought. Now when a + literature lacks a general system, it fails to shape a body for itself, + and dies out with its period. + </p> + <p> + When in a nation at any time there is a people apart thus constituted, the + historian is pretty certain to find some representative figure, some + central personage who embodies the qualities and the defects of the whole + party to which he belongs; there is Coligny, for instance, among the + Huguenots, the Coadjuteur in the time of the Fronde, the Marechal de + Richelieu under Louis XV, Danton during the Terror. It is in the nature of + things that the man should be identified with the company in which history + finds him. How is it possible to lead a party without conforming to its + ideas? or to shine in any epoch unless a man represents the ideas of his + time? The wise and prudent head of a party is continually obliged to bow + to the prejudices and follies of its rear; and this is the cause of + actions for which he is afterwards criticised by this or that historian + sitting at a safer distance from terrific popular explosions, coolly + judging the passion and ferment without which the great struggles of the + world could not be carried on at all. And if this is true of the + Historical Comedy of the Centuries, it is equally true in a more + restricted sphere in the detached scenes of the national drama known as + the <i>Manners of the Age</i>. + </p> + <p> + At the beginning of that ephemeral life led by the Faubourg Saint-Germain + under the Restoration, to which, if there is any truth in the above + reflections, they failed to give stability, the most perfect type of the + aristocratic caste in its weakness and strength, its greatness and + littleness, might have been found for a brief space in a young married + woman who belonged to it. This was a woman artificially educated, but in + reality ignorant; a woman whose instincts and feelings were lofty while + the thought which should have controlled them was wanting. She squandered + the wealth of her nature in obedience to social conventions; she was ready + to brave society, yet she hesitated till her scruples degenerated into + artifice. With more wilfulness than real force of character, + impressionable rather than enthusiastic, gifted with more brain than + heart; she was supremely a woman, supremely a coquette, and above all + things a Parisienne, loving a brilliant life and gaiety, reflecting never, + or too late; imprudent to the verge of poetry, and humble in the depths of + her heart, in spite of her charming insolence. Like some straight-growing + reed, she made a show of independence; yet, like the reed, she was ready + to bend to a strong hand. She talked much of religion, and had it not at + heart, though she was prepared to find in it a solution of her life. How + explain a creature so complex? Capable of heroism, yet sinking + unconsciously from heroic heights to utter a spiteful word; young and + sweet-natured, not so much old at heart as aged by the maxims of those + about her; versed in a selfish philosophy in which she was all + unpractised, she had all the vices of a courtier, all the nobleness of + developing womanhood. She trusted nothing and no one, yet there were times + when she quitted her sceptical attitude for a submissive credulity. + </p> + <p> + How should any portrait be anything but incomplete of her, in whom the + play of swiftly-changing colour made discord only to produce a poetic + confusion? For in her there shone a divine brightness, a radiance of youth + that blended all her bewildering characteristics in a certain completeness + and unity informed by her charm. Nothing was feigned. The passion or + semi-passion, the ineffectual high aspirations, the actual pettiness, the + coolness of sentiment and warmth of impulse, were all spontaneous and + unaffected, and as much the outcome of her own position as of the position + of the aristocracy to which she belonged. She was wholly self-contained; + she put herself proudly above the world and beneath the shelter of her + name. There was something of the egoism of Medea in her life, as in the + life of the aristocracy that lay a-dying, and would not so much as raise + itself or stretch out a hand to any political physician; so well aware of + its feebleness, or so conscious that it was already dust, that it refused + to touch or be touched. + </p> + <p> + The Duchesse de Langeais (for that was her name) had been married for + about four years when the Restoration was finally consummated, which is to + say, in 1816. By that time the revolution of the Hundred Days had let in + the light on the mind of Louis XVIII. In spite of his surroundings, he + comprehended the situation and the age in which he was living; and it was + only later, when this Louis XI, without the axe, lay stricken down by + disease, that those about him got the upper hand. The Duchesse de + Langeais, a Navarreins by birth, came of a ducal house which had made a + point of never marrying below its rank since the reign of Louis XIV. Every + daughter of the house must sooner or later take a <i>tabouret</i> at + Court. So, Antoinette de Navarreins, at the age of eighteen, came out of + the profound solitude in which her girlhood had been spent to marry the + Duc de Langeais’ eldest son. The two families at that time were living + quite out of the world; but after the invasion of France, the return of + the Bourbons seemed to every Royalist mind the only possible way of + putting an end to the miseries of the war. + </p> + <p> + The Ducs de Navarreins and de Langeais had been faithful throughout to the + exiled Princes, nobly resisting all the temptations of glory under the + Empire. Under the circumstances they naturally followed out the old family + policy; and Mlle Antoinette, a beautiful and portionless girl, was married + to M. le Marquis de Langeais only a few months before the death of the + Duke his father. + </p> + <p> + After the return of the Bourbons, the families resumed their rank, + offices, and dignity at Court; once more they entered public life, from + which hitherto they held aloof, and took their place high on the sunlit + summits of the new political world. In that time of general baseness and + sham political conversions, the public conscience was glad to recognise + the unstained loyalty of the two houses, and a consistency in political + and private life for which all parties involuntarily respected them. But, + unfortunately, as so often happens in a time of transition, the most + disinterested persons, the men whose loftiness of view and wise principles + would have gained the confidence of the French nation and led them to + believe in the generosity of a novel and spirited policy—these men, + to repeat, were taken out of affairs, and public business was allowed to + fall into the hands of others, who found it to their interest to push + principles to their extreme consequences by way of proving their devotion. + </p> + <p> + The families of Langeais and Navarreins remained about the Court, + condemned to perform the duties required by Court ceremonial amid the + reproaches and sneers of the Liberal party. They were accused of gorging + themselves with riches and honours, and all the while their family estates + were no larger than before, and liberal allowances from the civil list + were wholly expended in keeping up the state necessary for any European + government, even if it be a Republic. + </p> + <p> + In 1818, M. le Duc de Langeais commanded a division of the army, and the + Duchess held a post about one of the Princesses, in virtue of which she + was free to live in Paris and apart from her husband without scandal. The + Duke, moreover, besides his military duties, had a place at Court, to + which he came during his term of waiting, leaving his major-general in + command. The Duke and Duchess were leading lives entirely apart, the world + none the wiser. Their marriage of convention shared the fate of nearly all + family arrangements of the kind. Two more antipathetic dispositions could + not well have been found; they were brought together; they jarred upon + each other; there was soreness on either side; then they were divided once + for all. Then they went their separate ways, with a due regard for + appearances. The Duc de Langeais, by nature as methodical as the Chevalier + de Folard himself, gave himself up methodically to his own tastes and + amusements, and left his wife at liberty to do as she pleased so soon as + he felt sure of her character. He recognised in her a spirit pre-eminently + proud, a cold heart, a profound submissiveness to the usages of the world, + and a youthful loyalty. Under the eyes of great relations, with the light + of a prudish and bigoted Court turned full upon the Duchess, his honour + was safe. + </p> + <p> + So the Duke calmly did as the <i>grands seigneurs</i> of the eighteenth + century did before him, and left a young wife of two-and-twenty to her own + devices. He had deeply offended that wife, and in her nature there was one + appalling characteristic—she would never forgive an offence when + woman’s vanity and self-love, with all that was best in her nature + perhaps, had been slighted, wounded in secret. Insult and injury in the + face of the world a woman loves to forget; there is a way open to her of + showing herself great; she is a woman in her forgiveness; but a secret + offence women never pardon; for secret baseness, as for hidden virtues and + hidden love, they have no kindness. + </p> + <p> + This was Mme la Duchesse de Langeais’ real position, unknown to the world. + She herself did not reflect upon it. It was the time of the rejoicings + over the Duc de Berri’s marriage. The Court and the Faubourg roused itself + from its listlessness and reserve. This was the real beginning of that + unheard-of splendour which the Government of the Restoration carried too + far. At that time the Duchess, whether for reasons of her own, or from + vanity, never appeared in public without a following of women equally + distinguished by name and fortune. As queen of fashion she had her <i>dames + d’atours</i>, her ladies, who modeled their manner and their wit on hers. + They had been cleverly chosen. None of her satellites belonged to the + inmost Court circle, nor to the highest level of the Faubourg + Saint-Germain; but they had set their minds upon admission to those inner + sanctuaries. Being as yet simple denominations, they wished to rise to the + neighbourhood of the throne, and mingle with the seraphic powers in the + high sphere known as <i>le petit chateau</i>. Thus surrounded, the + Duchess’s position was stronger and more commanding and secure. Her + “ladies” defended her character and helped her to play her detestable part + of a woman of fashion. She could laugh at men at her ease, play with fire, + receive the homage on which the feminine nature is nourished, and remain + mistress of herself. + </p> + <p> + At Paris, in the highest society of all, a woman is a woman still; she + lives on incense, adulation, and honours. No beauty, however undoubted, no + face, however fair, is anything without admiration. Flattery and a lover + are proofs of power. And what is power without recognition? Nothing. If + the prettiest of women were left alone in a corner of a drawing-room, she + would droop. Put her in the very centre and summit of social grandeur, she + will at once aspire to reign over all hearts—often because it is out + of her power to be the happy queen of one. Dress and manner and coquetry + are all meant to please one of the poorest creatures extant—the + brainless coxcomb, whose handsome face is his sole merit; it was for such + as these that women threw themselves away. The gilded wooden idols of the + Restoration, for they were neither more nor less, had neither the + antecedents of the <i>petits maitres</i> of the time of the Fronde, nor + the rough sterling worth of Napoleon’s heroes, not the wit and fine + manners of their grandsires; but something of all three they meant to be + without any trouble to themselves. Brave they were, like all young + Frenchmen; ability they possessed, no doubt, if they had had a chance of + proving it, but their places were filled up by the old worn-out men, who + kept them in leading strings. It was a day of small things, a cold prosaic + era. Perhaps it takes a long time for a Restoration to become a Monarchy. + </p> + <p> + For the past eighteen months the Duchesse de Langeais had been leading + this empty life, filled with balls and subsequent visits, objectless + triumphs, and the transient loves that spring up and die in an evening’s + space. All eyes were turned on her when she entered a room; she reaped her + harvest of flatteries and some few words of warmer admiration, which she + encouraged by a gesture or a glance, but never suffered to penetrate + deeper than the skin. Her tone and bearing and everything else about her + imposed her will upon others. Her life was a sort of fever of vanity and + perpetual enjoyment, which turned her head. She was daring enough in + conversation; she would listen to anything, corrupting the surface, as it + were, of her heart. Yet when she returned home, she often blushed at the + story that had made her laugh; at the scandalous tale that supplied the + details, on the strength of which she analyzed the love that she had never + known, and marked the subtle distinctions of modern passion, not with + comment on the part of complacent hypocrites. For women know how to say + everything among themselves, and more of them are ruined by each other + than corrupted by men. + </p> + <p> + There came a moment when she discerned that not until a woman is loved + will the world fully recognise her beauty and her wit. What does a husband + prove? Simply that a girl or woman was endowed with wealth, or well + brought up; that her mother managed cleverly that in some way she + satisfied a man’s ambitions. A lover constantly bears witness to her + personal perfections. Then followed the discovery still in Mme de + Langeais’ early womanhood, that it was possible to be loved without + committing herself, without permission, without vouchsafing any + satisfaction beyond the most meagre dues. There was more than one demure + feminine hypocrite to instruct her in the art of playing such dangerous + comedies. + </p> + <p> + So the Duchess had her court, and the number of her adorers and courtiers + guaranteed her virtue. She was amiable and fascinating; she flirted till + the ball or the evening’s gaiety was at an end. Then the curtain dropped. + She was cold, indifferent, self-contained again till the next day brought + its renewed sensations, superficial as before. Two or three men were + completely deceived, and fell in love in earnest. She laughed at them, she + was utterly insensible. “I am loved!” she told herself. “He loves me!” The + certainty sufficed her. It is enough for the miser to know that his every + whim might be fulfilled if he chose; so it was with the Duchess, and + perhaps she did not even go so far as to form a wish. + </p> + <p> + One evening she chanced to be at the house of an intimate friend Mme la + Vicomtesse de Fontaine, one of the humble rivals who cordially detested + her, and went with her everywhere. In a “friendship” of this sort both + sides are on their guard, and never lay their armor aside; confidences are + ingeniously indiscreet, and not unfrequently treacherous. Mme de Langeais + had distributed her little patronizing, friendly, or freezing bows, with + the air natural to a woman who knows the worth of her smiles, when her + eyes fell upon a total stranger. Something in the man’s large gravity of + aspect startled her, and, with a feeling almost like dread, she turned to + Mme de Maufrigneuse with, “Who is the newcomer, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Someone that you have heard of, no doubt. The Marquis de Montriveau.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! is it he?” + </p> + <p> + She took up her eyeglass and submitted him to a very insolent scrutiny, as + if he had been a picture meant to receive glances, not to return them. + </p> + <p> + “Do introduce him; he ought to be interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody more tiresome and dull, dear. But he is the fashion.” + </p> + <p> + M. Armand de Montriveau, at that moment all unwittingly the object of + general curiosity, better deserved attention than any of the idols that + Paris needs must set up to worship for a brief space, for the city is + vexed by periodical fits of craving, a passion for <i>engouement</i> and + sham enthusiasm, which must be satisfied. The Marquis was the only son of + General de Montriveau, one of the <i>ci-devants</i> who served the + Republic nobly, and fell by Joubert’s side at Novi. Bonaparte had placed + his son at the school at Chalons, with the orphans of other generals who + fell on the battlefield, leaving their children under the protection of + the Republic. Armand de Montriveau left school with his way to make, + entered the artillery, and had only reached a major’s rank at the time of + the Fontainebleau disaster. In his section of the service the chances of + advancement were not many. There are fewer officers, in the first place, + among the gunners than in any other corps; and in the second place, the + feeling in the artillery was decidedly Liberal, not to say Republican; and + the Emperor, feeling little confidence in a body of highly educated men + who were apt to think for themselves, gave promotion grudgingly in the + service. In the artillery, accordingly, the general rule of the army did + not apply; the commanding officers were not invariably the most remarkable + men in their department, because there was less to be feared from + mediocrities. The artillery was a separate corps in those days, and only + came under Napoleon in action. + </p> + <p> + Besides these general causes, other reasons, inherent in Armand de + Montriveau’s character, were sufficient in themselves to account for his + tardy promotion. He was alone in the world. He had been thrown at the age + of twenty into the whirlwind of men directed by Napoleon; his interests + were bounded by himself, any day he might lose his life; it became a habit + of mind with him to live by his own self-respect and the consciousness + that he had done his duty. Like all shy men, he was habitually silent; but + his shyness sprang by no means from timidity; it was a kind of modesty in + him; he found any demonstration of vanity intolerable. There was no sort + of swagger about his fearlessness in action; nothing escaped his eyes; he + could give sensible advice to his chums with unshaken coolness; he could + go under fire, and duck upon occasion to avoid bullets. He was kindly; but + his expression was haughty and stern, and his face gained him this + character. In everything he was rigorous as arithmetic; he never permitted + the slightest deviation from duty on any plausible pretext, nor blinked + the consequences of a fact. He would lend himself to nothing of which he + was ashamed; he never asked anything for himself; in short, Armand de + Montriveau was one of many great men unknown to fame, and philosophical + enough to despise it; living without attaching themselves to life, because + they have not found their opportunity of developing to the full their + power to do and feel. + </p> + <p> + People were afraid of Montriveau; they respected him, but he was not very + popular. Men may indeed allow you to rise above them, but to decline to + descend as low as they can do is the one unpardonable sin. In their + feeling towards loftier natures, there is a trace of hate and fear. Too + much honour with them implies censure of themselves, a thing forgiven + neither to the living nor to the dead. + </p> + <p> + After the Emperor’s farewells at Fontainebleau, Montriveau, noble though + he was, was put on half-pay. Perhaps the heads of the War Office took + fright at uncompromising uprightness worthy of antiquity, or perhaps it + was known that he felt bound by his oath to the Imperial Eagle. During the + Hundred Days he was made a Colonel of the Guard, and left on the field of + Waterloo. His wounds kept him in Belgium he was not present at the + disbanding of the Army of the Loire, but the King’s government declined to + recognise promotion made during the Hundred Days, and Armand de Montriveau + left France. + </p> + <p> + An adventurous spirit, a loftiness of thought hitherto satisfied by the + hazards of war, drove him on an exploring expedition through Upper Egypt; + his sanity or impulse directed his enthusiasm to a project of great + importance, he turned his attention to that unexplored Central Africa + which occupies the learned of today. The scientific expedition was long + and unfortunate. He had made a valuable collection of notes bearing on + various geographical and commercial problems, of which solutions are still + eagerly sought; and succeeded, after surmounting many obstacles, in + reaching the heart of the continent, when he was betrayed into the hands + of a hostile native tribe. Then, stripped of all that he had, for two + years he led a wandering life in the desert, the slave of savages, + threatened with death at every moment, and more cruelly treated than a + dumb animal in the power of pitiless children. Physical strength, and a + mind braced to endurance, enabled him to survive the horrors of that + captivity; but his miraculous escape well-nigh exhausted his energies. + When he reached the French colony at Senegal, a half-dead fugitive covered + with rags, his memories of his former life were dim and shapeless. The + great sacrifices made in his travels were all forgotten like his studies + of African dialects, his discoveries, and observations. One story will + give an idea of all that he passed through. Once for several days the + children of the sheikh of the tribe amused themselves by putting him up + for a mark and flinging horses’ knuckle-bones at his head. + </p> + <p> + Montriveau came back to Paris in 1818 a ruined man. He had no interest, + and wished for none. He would have died twenty times over sooner than ask + a favour of anyone; he would not even press the recognition of his claims. + Adversity and hardship had developed his energy even in trifles, while the + habit of preserving his self-respect before that spiritual self which we + call conscience led him to attach consequence to the most apparently + trivial actions. His merits and adventures became known, however, through + his acquaintances, among the principal men of science in Paris, and some + few well-read military men. The incidents of his slavery and subsequent + escape bore witness to a courage, intelligence, and coolness which won him + celebrity without his knowledge, and that transient fame of which Paris + salons are lavish, though the artist that fain would keep it must make + untold efforts. + </p> + <p> + Montriveau’s position suddenly changed towards the end of that year. He + had been a poor man, he was now rich; or, externally at any rate, he had + all the advantages of wealth. The King’s government, trying to attach + capable men to itself and to strengthen the army, made concessions about + that time to Napoleon’s old officers if their known loyalty and character + offered guarantees of fidelity. M. de Montriveau’s name once more appeared + in the army list with the rank of colonel; he received his arrears of pay + and passed into the Guards. All these favours, one after another, came to + seek the Marquis de Montriveau; he had asked for nothing however small. + Friends had taken the steps for him which he would have refused to take + for himself. + </p> + <p> + After this, his habits were modified all at once; contrary to his custom, + he went into society. He was well received, everywhere he met with great + deference and respect. He seemed to have found some end in life; but + everything passed within the man, there were no external signs; in society + he was silent and cold, and wore a grave, reserved face. His social + success was great, precisely because he stood out in such strong contrast + to the conventional faces which line the walls of Paris salons. He was, + indeed, something quite new there. Terse of speech, like a hermit or a + savage, his shyness was thought to be haughtiness, and people were greatly + taken with it. He was something strange and great. Women generally were so + much the more smitten with this original person because he was not to be + caught by their flatteries, however adroit, nor by the wiles with which + they circumvent the strongest men and corrode the steel temper. Their + Parisian’s grimaces were lost upon M. de Montriveau; his nature only + responded to the sonorous vibration of lofty thought and feeling. And he + would very promptly have been dropped but for the romance that hung about + his adventures and his life; but for the men who cried him up behind his + back; but for a woman who looked for a triumph for her vanity, the woman + who was to fill his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + For these reasons the Duchesse de Langeais’ curiosity was no less lively + than natural. Chance had so ordered it that her interest in the man before + her had been aroused only the day before, when she heard the story of one + of M. de Montriveau’s adventures, a story calculated to make the strongest + impression upon a woman’s ever-changing fancy. + </p> + <p> + During M. de Montriveau’s voyage of discovery to the sources of the Nile, + he had had an argument with one of his guides, surely the most + extraordinary debate in the annals of travel. The district that he wished + to explore could only be reached on foot across a tract of desert. Only + one of his guides knew the way; no traveller had penetrated before into + that part of the country, where the undaunted officer hoped to find a + solution of several scientific problems. In spite of the representations + made to him by the guide and the older men of the place, he started upon + the formidable journey. Summoning up courage, already highly strung by the + prospect of dreadful difficulties, he set out in the morning. + </p> + <p> + The loose sand shifted under his feet at every step; and when, at the end + of a long day’s march, he lay down to sleep on the ground, he had never + been so tired in his life. He knew, however, that he must be up and on his + way before dawn next day, and his guide assured him that they should reach + the end of their journey towards noon. That promise kept up his courage + and gave him new strength. In spite of his sufferings, he continued his + march, with some blasphemings against science; he was ashamed to complain + to his guide, and kept his pain to himself. After marching for a third of + the day, he felt his strength failing, his feet were bleeding, he asked if + they should reach the place soon. “In an hour’s time,” said the guide. + Armand braced himself for another hour’s march, and they went on. + </p> + <p> + The hour slipped by; he could not so much as see against the sky the + palm-trees and crests of hill that should tell of the end of the journey + near at hand; the horizon line of sand was vast as the circle of the open + sea. + </p> + <p> + He came to a stand, refused to go farther, and threatened the guide—he + had deceived him, murdered him; tears of rage and weariness flowed over + his fevered cheeks; he was bowed down with fatigue upon fatigue, his + throat seemed to be glued by the desert thirst. The guide meanwhile stood + motionless, listening to these complaints with an ironical expression, + studying the while, with the apparent indifference of an Oriental, the + scarcely perceptible indications in the lie of the sands, which looked + almost black, like burnished gold. + </p> + <p> + “I have made a mistake,” he remarked coolly. “I could not make out the + track, it is so long since I came this way; we are surely on it now, but + we must push on for two hours.” + </p> + <p> + “The man is right,” thought M. de Montriveau. + </p> + <p> + So he went on again, struggling to follow the pitiless native. It seemed + as if he were bound to his guide by some thread like the invisible tie + between the condemned man and the headsman. But the two hours went by, + Montriveau had spent his last drops of energy, and the skyline was a + blank, there were no palm-trees, no hills. He could neither cry out nor + groan, he lay down on the sand to die, but his eyes would have frightened + the boldest; something in his face seemed to say that he would not die + alone. His guide, like a very fiend, gave him back a cool glance like a + man that knows his power, left him to lie there, and kept at a safe + distance out of reach of his desperate victim. At last M. Montriveau + recovered strength enough for a last curse. The guide came nearer, + silenced him with a steady look, and said, “Was it not your own will to go + where I am taking you, in spite of us all? You say that I have lied to + you. If I had not, you would not be even here. Do you want the truth? Here + it is. <i>We have still another five hours’ march before us, and we cannot + go back</i>. Sound yourself; if you have not courage enough, here is my + dagger.” + </p> + <p> + Startled by this dreadful knowledge of pain and human strength, M. de + Montriveau would not be behind a savage; he drew a fresh stock of courage + from his pride as a European, rose to his feet, and followed his guide. + The five hours were at an end, and still M. de Montriveau saw nothing, he + turned his failing eyes upon his guide; but the Nubian hoisted him on his + shoulders, and showed him a wide pool of water with greenness all about + it, and a noble forest lighted up by the sunset. It lay only a hundred + paces away; a vast ledge of granite hid the glorious landscape. It seemed + to Armand that he had taken a new lease of life. His guide, that giant in + courage and intelligence, finished his work of devotion by carrying him + across the hot, slippery, scarcely discernible track on the granite. + Behind him lay the hell of burning sand, before him the earthly paradise + of the most beautiful oasis in the desert. + </p> + <p> + The Duchess, struck from the first by the appearance of this romantic + figure, was even more impressed when she learned that this was that + Marquis de Montriveau of whom she had dreamed during the night. She had + been with him among the hot desert sands, he had been the companion of her + nightmare wanderings; for such a woman was not this a delightful presage + of a new interest in her life? And never was a man’s exterior a better + exponent of his character; never were curious glances so well justified. + The principal characteristic of his great, square-hewn head was the thick, + luxuriant black hair which framed his face, and gave him a strikingly + close resemblance to General Kleber; and the likeness still held good in + the vigorous forehead, in the outlines of his face, the quiet fearlessness + of his eyes, and a kind of fiery vehemence expressed by strongly marked + features. He was short, deep-chested, and muscular as a lion. There was + something of the despot about him, and an indescribable suggestion of the + security of strength in his gait, bearing, and slightest movements. He + seemed to know that his will was irresistible, perhaps because he wished + for nothing unjust. And yet, like all really strong men, he was mild of + speech, simple in his manners, and kindly natured; although it seemed as + if, in the stress of a great crisis, all these finer qualities must + disappear, and the man would show himself implacable, unshaken in his + resolve, terrific in action. There was a certain drawing in of the inner + line of the lips which, to a close observer, indicated an ironical bent. + </p> + <p> + The Duchesse de Langeais, realising that a fleeting glory was to be won by + such a conquest, made up her mind to gain a lover in Armand de Montriveau + during the brief interval before the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse brought him + to be introduced. She would prefer him above the others; she would attach + him to herself, display all her powers of coquetry for him. It was a + fancy, such a merest Duchess’s whim as furnished a Lope or a Calderon with + the plot of the <i>Dog in the Manger</i>. She would not suffer another + woman to engross him; but she had not the remotest intention of being his. + </p> + <p> + Nature had given the Duchess every qualification for the part of coquette, + and education had perfected her. Women envied her, and men fell in love + with her, not without reason. Nothing that can inspire love, justify it, + and give it lasting empire was wanting in her. Her style of beauty, her + manner, her voice, her bearing, all combined to give her that instinctive + coquetry which seems to be the consciousness of power. Her shape was + graceful; perhaps there was a trace of self-consciousness in her changes + of movement, the one affectation that could be laid to her charge; but + everything about her was a part of her personality, from her least little + gesture to the peculiar turn of her phrases, the demure glance of her + eyes. Her great lady’s grace, her most striking characteristic, had not + destroyed the very French quick mobility of her person. There was an + extraordinary fascination in her swift, incessant changes of attitude. She + seemed as if she surely would be a most delicious mistress when her corset + and the encumbering costume of her part were laid aside. All the rapture + of love surely was latent in the freedom of her expressive glances, in her + caressing tones, in the charm of her words. She gave glimpses of the + high-born courtesan within her, vainly protesting against the creeds of + the duchess. + </p> + <p> + You might sit near her through an evening, she would be gay and melancholy + in turn, and her gaiety, like her sadness, seemed spontaneous. She could + be gracious, disdainful, insolent, or confiding at will. Her apparent good + nature was real; she had no temptation to descend to malignity. But at + each moment her mood changed; she was full of confidence or craft; her + moving tenderness would give place to a heart-breaking hardness and + insensibility. Yet how paint her as she was, without bringing together all + the extremes of feminine nature? In a word, the Duchess was anything that + she wished to be or to seem. Her face was slightly too long. There was a + grace in it, and a certain thinness and fineness that recalled the + portraits of the Middle Ages. Her skin was white, with a faint rose tint. + Everything about her erred, as it were, by an excess of delicacy. + </p> + <p> + M. de Montriveau willingly consented to be introduced to the Duchesse de + Langeais; and she, after the manner of persons whose sensitive taste leads + them to avoid banalities, refrained from overwhelming him with questions + and compliments. She received him with a gracious deference which could + not fail to flatter a man of more than ordinary powers, for the fact that + a man rises above the ordinary level implies that he possesses something + of that tact which makes women quick to read feeling. If the Duchess + showed any curiosity, it was by her glances; her compliments were conveyed + in her manner; there was a winning grace displayed in her words, a subtle + suggestion of a desire to please which she of all women knew the art of + manifesting. Yet her whole conversation was but, in a manner, the body of + the letter; the postscript with the principal thought in it was still to + come. After half an hour spent in ordinary talk, in which the words gained + all their value from her tone and smiles, M. de Montriveau was about to + retire discreetly, when the Duchess stopped him with an expressive + gesture. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know, monsieur, whether these few minutes during which I have + had the pleasure of talking to you proved so sufficiently attractive, that + I may venture to ask you to call upon me; I am afraid that it may be very + selfish of me to wish to have you all to myself. If I should be so + fortunate as to find that my house is agreeable to you, you will always + find me at home in the evening until ten o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + The invitation was given with such irresistible grace, that M. de + Montriveau could not refuse to accept it. When he fell back again among + the groups of men gathered at a distance from the women, his friends + congratulated him, half laughingly, half in earnest, on the extraordinary + reception vouchsafed him by the Duchesse de Langeais. The difficult and + brilliant conquest had been made beyond a doubt, and the glory of it was + reserved for the Artillery of the Guard. It is easy to imagine the jests, + good and bad, when this topic had once been started; the world of Paris + salons is so eager for amusement, and a joke lasts for such a short time, + that everyone is eager to make the most of it while it is fresh. + </p> + <p> + All unconsciously, the General felt flattered by this nonsense. From his + place where he had taken his stand, his eyes were drawn again and again to + the Duchess by countless wavering reflections. He could not help admitting + to himself that of all the women whose beauty had captivated his eyes, not + one had seemed to be a more exquisite embodiment of faults and fair + qualities blended in a completeness that might realise the dreams of + earliest manhood. Is there a man in any rank of life that has not felt + indefinable rapture in his secret soul over the woman singled out (if only + in his dreams) to be his own; when she, in body, soul, and social aspects, + satisfies his every requirement, a thrice perfect woman? And if this + threefold perfection that flatters his pride is no argument for loving + her, it is beyond cavil one of the great inducements to the sentiment. + Love would soon be convalescent, as the eighteenth century moralist + remarked, were it not for vanity. And it is certainly true that for + everyone, man or woman, there is a wealth of pleasure in the superiority + of the beloved. Is she set so high by birth that a contemptuous glance can + never wound her? is she wealthy enough to surround herself with state + which falls nothing short of royalty, of kings, of finance during their + short reign of splendour? is she so ready-witted that a keen-edged jest + never brings her into confusion? beautiful enough to rival any woman?—Is + it such a small thing to know that your self-love will never suffer + through her? A man makes these reflections in the twinkling of an eye. And + how if, in the future opened out by early ripened passion, he catches + glimpses of the changeful delight of her charm, the frank innocence of a + maiden soul, the perils of love’s voyage, the thousand folds of the veil + of coquetry? Is not this enough to move the coldest man’s heart? + </p> + <p> + This, therefore, was M. de Montriveau’s position with regard to woman; his + past life in some measure explaining the extraordinary fact. He had been + thrown, when little more than a boy, into the hurricane of Napoleon’s + wars; his life had been spent on fields of battle. Of women he knew just + so much as a traveller knows of a country when he travels across it in + haste from one inn to another. The verdict which Voltaire passed upon his + eighty years of life might, perhaps, have been applied by Montriveau to + his own thirty-seven years of existence; had he not thirty-seven follies + with which to reproach himself? At his age he was as much a novice in love + as the lad that has just been furtively reading <i>Faublas</i>. Of women + he had nothing to learn; of love he knew nothing; and thus, desires, quite + unknown before, sprang from this virginity of feeling. + </p> + <p> + There are men here and there as much engrossed in the work demanded of + them by poverty or ambition, art or science, as M. de Montriveau by war + and a life of adventure—these know what it is to be in this unusual + position if they very seldom confess to it. Every man in Paris is supposed + to have been in love. No woman in Paris cares to take what other women + have passed over. The dread of being taken for a fool is the source of the + coxcomb’s bragging so common in France; for in France to have the + reputation of a fool is to be a foreigner in one’s own country. Vehement + desire seized on M. de Montriveau, desire that had gathered strength from + the heat of the desert and the first stirrings of a heart unknown as yet + in its suppressed turbulence. + </p> + <p> + A strong man, and violent as he was strong, he could keep mastery over + himself; but as he talked of indifferent things, he retired within + himself, and swore to possess this woman, for through that thought lay the + only way to love for him. Desire became a solemn compact made with + himself, an oath after the manner of the Arabs among whom he had lived; + for among them a vow is a kind of contract made with Destiny a man’s whole + future is solemnly pledged to fulfil it, and everything even his own + death, is regarded simply as a means to the one end. + </p> + <p> + A younger man would have said to himself, “I should very much like to have + the Duchess for my mistress!” or, “If the Duchesse de Langeais cared for a + man, he would be a very lucky rascal!” But the General said, “I will have + Mme de Langeais for my mistress.” And if a man takes such an idea into his + head when his heart has never been touched before, and love begins to be a + kind of religion with him, he little knows in what a hell he has set his + foot. + </p> + <p> + Armand de Montriveau suddenly took flight and went home in the first hot + fever-fit of the first love that he had known. When a man has kept all his + boyish beliefs, illusions, frankness, and impetuosity into middle age, his + first impulse is, as it were, to stretch out a hand to take the thing that + he desires; a little later he realizes that there is a gulf set between + them, and that it is all but impossible to cross it. A sort of childish + impatience seizes him, he wants the thing the more, and trembles or cries. + Wherefore, the next day, after the stormiest reflections that had yet + perturbed his mind, Armand de Montriveau discovered that he was under the + yoke of the senses, and his bondage made the heavier by his love. + </p> + <p> + The woman so cavalierly treated in his thoughts of yesterday had become a + most sacred and dreadful power. She was to be his world, his life, from + this time forth. The greatest joy, the keenest anguish, that he had yet + known grew colorless before the bare recollection of the least sensation + stirred in him by her. The swiftest revolutions in a man’s outward life + only touch his interests, while passion brings a complete revulsion of + feeling. And so in those who live by feeling, rather than by + self-interest, the doers rather than the reasoners, the sanguine rather + than the lymphatic temperaments, love works a complete revolution. In a + flash, with one single reflection, Armand de Montriveau wiped out his + whole past life. + </p> + <p> + A score of times he asked himself, like a boy, “Shall I go, or shall I + not?” and then at last he dressed, came to the Hotel de Langeais towards + eight o’clock that evening, and was admitted. He was to see the woman—ah! + not the woman—the idol that he had seen yesterday, among lights, a + fresh innocent girl in gauze and silken lace and veiling. He burst in upon + her to declare his love, as if it were a question of firing the first shot + on a field of battle. + </p> + <p> + Poor novice! He found his ethereal sylphide shrouded in a brown cashmere + dressing-gown ingeniously befrilled, lying languidly stretched out upon a + sofa in a dimly lighted boudoir. Mme de Langeais did not so much as rise, + nothing was visible of her but her face, her hair was loose but confined + by a scarf. A hand indicated a seat, a hand that seemed white as marble to + Montriveau by the flickering light of a single candle at the further side + of the room, and a voice as soft as the light said: + </p> + <p> + “If it had been anyone else, M. le Marquis, a friend with whom I could + dispense with ceremony, or a mere acquaintance in whom I felt but slight + interest, I should have closed my door. I am exceedingly unwell.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” Armand said to himself. + </p> + <p> + “But I do not know how it is,” she continued (and the simple warrior + attributed the shining of her eyes to fever), “perhaps it was a + presentiment of your kind visit (and no one can be more sensible of the + prompt attention than I), but the vapors have left my head.” + </p> + <p> + “Then may I stay?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I should be very sorry to allow you to go. I told myself this morning + that it was impossible that I should have made the slightest impression on + your mind, and that in all probability you took my request for one of the + commonplaces of which Parisians are lavish on every occasion. And I + forgave your ingratitude in advance. An explorer from the deserts is not + supposed to know how exclusive we are in our friendships in the Faubourg.” + </p> + <p> + The gracious, half-murmured words dropped one by one, as if they had been + weighted with the gladness that apparently brought them to her lips. The + Duchess meant to have the full benefit of her headache, and her + speculation was fully successful. The General, poor man, was really + distressed by the lady’s simulated distress. Like Crillon listening to the + story of the Crucifixion, he was ready to draw his sword against the + vapors. How could a man dare to speak just then to this suffering woman of + the love that she inspired? Armand had already felt that it would be + absurd to fire off a declaration of love point-blank at one so far above + other women. With a single thought came understanding of the delicacies of + feeling, of the soul’s requirements. To love: what was that but to know + how to plead, to beg for alms, to wait? And as for the love that he felt, + must he not prove it? His tongue was mute, it was frozen by the + conventions of the noble Faubourg, the majesty of a sick headache, the + bashfulness of love. But no power on earth could veil his glances; the + heat and the Infinite of the desert blazed in eyes calm as a panther’s, + beneath the lids that fell so seldom. The Duchess enjoyed the steady gaze + that enveloped her in light and warmth. + </p> + <p> + “Mme la Duchesse,” he answered, “I am afraid I express my gratitude for + your goodness very badly. At this moment I have but one desire—I + wish it were in my power to cure the pain.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to throw this off, I feel too warm now,” she said, gracefully + tossing aside a cushion that covered her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, in Asia your feet would be worth some ten thousand sequins. + </p> + <p> + “A traveler’s compliment!” smiled she. + </p> + <p> + It pleased the sprightly lady to involve a rough soldier in a labyrinth of + nonsense, commonplaces, and meaningless talk, in which he manoeuvred, in + military language, as Prince Charles might have done at close quarters + with Napoleon. She took a mischievous amusement in reconnoitring the + extent of his infatuation by the number of foolish speeches extracted from + a novice whom she led step by step into a hopeless maze, meaning to leave + him there in confusion. She began by laughing at him, but nevertheless it + pleased her to make him forget how time went. + </p> + <p> + The length of a first visit is frequently a compliment, but Armand was + innocent of any such intent. The famous explorer spent an hour in chat on + all sorts of subjects, said nothing that he meant to say, and was feeling + that he was only an instrument on whom this woman played, when she rose, + sat upright, drew the scarf from her hair, and wrapped it about her + throat, leant her elbow on the cushions, did him the honour of a complete + cure, and rang for lights. The most graceful movement succeeded to + complete repose. She turned to M. de Montriveau, from whom she had just + extracted a confidence which seemed to interest her deeply, and said: + </p> + <p> + “You wish to make game of me by trying to make me believe that you have + never loved. It is a man’s great pretension with us. And we always believe + it! Out of pure politeness. Do we not know what to expect from it for + ourselves? Where is the man that has found but a single opportunity of + losing his heart? But you love to deceive us, and we submit to be + deceived, poor foolish creatures that we are; for your hypocrisy is, after + all, a homage paid to the superiority of our sentiments, which are all + purity.” + </p> + <p> + The last words were spoken with a disdainful pride that made the novice in + love feel like a worthless bale flung into the deep, while the Duchess was + an angel soaring back to her particular heaven. + </p> + <p> + “Confound it!” thought Armand de Montriveau, “how am I to tell this wild + thing that I love her?” + </p> + <p> + He had told her already a score of times; or rather, the Duchess had a + score of times read his secret in his eyes; and the passion in this + unmistakably great man promised her amusement, and an interest in her + empty life. So she prepared with no little dexterity to raise a certain + number of redoubts for him to carry by storm before he should gain an + entrance into her heart. Montriveau should overleap one difficulty after + another; he should be a plaything for her caprice, just as an insect + teased by children is made to jump from one finger to another, and in + spite of all its pains is kept in the same place by its mischievous + tormentor. And yet it gave the Duchess inexpressible happiness to see that + this strong man had told her the truth. Armand had never loved, as he had + said. He was about to go, in a bad humour with himself, and still more out + of humour with her; but it delighted her to see a sullenness that she + could conjure away with a word, a glance, or a gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come tomorrow evening?” she asked. “I am going to a ball, but I + shall stay at home for you until ten o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + Montriveau spent most of the next day in smoking an indeterminate quantity + of cigars in his study window, and so got through the hours till he could + dress and go to the Hotel de Langeais. To anyone who had known the + magnificent worth of the man, it would have been grievous to see him grown + so small, so distrustful of himself; the mind that might have shed light + over undiscovered worlds shrunk to the proportions of a she-coxcomb’s + boudoir. Even he himself felt that he had fallen so low already in his + happiness that to save his life he could not have told his love to one of + his closest friends. Is there not always a trace of shame in the lover’s + bashfulness, and perhaps in woman a certain exultation over diminished + masculine stature? Indeed, but for a host of motives of this kind, how + explain why women are nearly always the first to betray the secret?—a + secret of which, perhaps, they soon weary. + </p> + <p> + “Mme la Duchesse cannot see visitors, monsieur,” said the man; “she is + dressing, she begs you to wait for her here.” + </p> + <p> + Armand walked up and down the drawing-room, studying her taste in the + least details. He admired Mme de Langeais herself in the objects of her + choosing; they revealed her life before he could grasp her personality and + ideas. About an hour later the Duchess came noiselessly out of her + chamber. Montriveau turned, saw her flit like a shadow across the room, + and trembled. She came up to him, not with a bourgeoise’s enquiry, “How do + I look?” She was sure of herself; her steady eyes said plainly, “I am + adorned to please you.” + </p> + <p> + No one surely, save the old fairy godmother of some princess in disguise, + could have wound a cloud of gauze about the dainty throat, so that the + dazzling satin skin beneath should gleam through the gleaming folds. The + Duchess was dazzling. The pale blue colour of her gown, repeated in the + flowers in her hair, appeared by the richness of its hue to lend substance + to a fragile form grown too wholly ethereal; for as she glided towards + Armand, the loose ends of her scarf floated about her, putting that + valiant warrior in mind of the bright damosel flies that hover now over + water, now over the flowers with which they seem to mingle and blend. + </p> + <p> + “I have kept you waiting,” she said, with the tone that a woman can always + bring into her voice for the man whom she wishes to please. + </p> + <p> + “I would wait patiently through an eternity,” said he, “if I were sure of + finding a divinity so fair; but it is no compliment to speak of your + beauty to you; nothing save worship could touch you. Suffer me only to + kiss your scarf.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, fie!” she said, with a commanding gesture, “I esteem you enough to + give you my hand.” + </p> + <p> + She held it out for his kiss. A woman’s hand, still moist from the scented + bath, has a soft freshness, a velvet smoothness that sends a tingling + thrill from the lips to the soul. And if a man is attracted to a woman, + and his senses are as quick to feel pleasure as his heart is full of love, + such a kiss, though chaste in appearance, may conjure up a terrific storm. + </p> + <p> + “Will you always give it me like this?” the General asked humbly when he + had pressed that dangerous hand respectfully to his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but there we must stop,” she said, smiling. She sat down, and seemed + very slow over putting on her gloves, trying to slip the unstretched kid + over all her fingers at once, while she watched M. de Montriveau; and he + was lost in admiration of the Duchess and those repeated graceful + movements of hers. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you were punctual,” she said; “that is right. I like punctuality. It + is the courtesy of kings, His Majesty says; but to my thinking, from you + men it is the most respectful flattery of all. Now, is it not? Just tell + me.” + </p> + <p> + Again she gave him a side glance to express her insidious friendship, for + he was dumb with happiness sheer happiness through such nothings as these! + Oh, the Duchess understood <i>son metier de femme</i>—the art and + mystery of being a woman—most marvelously well; she knew, to + admiration, how to raise a man in his own esteem as he humbled himself to + her; how to reward every step of the descent to sentimental folly with + hollow flatteries. + </p> + <p> + “You will never forget to come at nine o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “No; but are you going to a ball every night?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I know?” she answered, with a little childlike shrug of the shoulders; + the gesture was meant to say that she was nothing if not capricious, and + that a lover must take her as she was.—“Besides,” she added, “what + is that to you? You shall be my escort.” + </p> + <p> + “That would be difficult tonight,” he objected; “I am not properly + dressed.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” she returned loftily, “that if anyone has a right to + complain of your costume, it is I. Know, therefore, <i>monsieur le + voyageur</i>, that if I accept a man’s arm, he is forthwith above the laws + of fashion, nobody would venture to criticise him. You do not know the + world, I see; I like you the better for it.” + </p> + <p> + And even as she spoke she swept him into the pettiness of that world by + the attempt to initiate him into the vanities of a woman of fashion. + </p> + <p> + “If she chooses to do a foolish thing for me, I should be a simpleton to + prevent her,” said Armand to himself. “She has a liking for me beyond a + doubt; and as for the world, she cannot despise it more than I do. So, now + for the ball if she likes.” + </p> + <p> + The Duchess probably thought that if the General came with her and + appeared in a ballroom in boots and a black tie, nobody would hesitate to + believe that he was violently in love with her. And the General was well + pleased that the queen of fashion should think of compromising herself for + him; hope gave him wit. He had gained confidence, he brought out his + thoughts and views; he felt nothing of the restraint that weighed on his + spirits yesterday. His talk was interesting and animated, and full of + those first confidences so sweet to make and to receive. + </p> + <p> + Was Mme de Langeais really carried away by his talk, or had she devised + this charming piece of coquetry? At any rate, she looked up mischievously + as the clock struck twelve. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you have made me too late for the ball!” she exclaimed, surprised and + vexed that she had forgotten how time was going. + </p> + <p> + The next moment she approved the exchange of pleasures with a smile that + made Armand’s heart give a sudden leap. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly promised Mme de Beauseant,” she added. “They are all + expecting me.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well—go.” + </p> + <p> + “No—go on. I will stay. Your Eastern adventures fascinate me. Tell + me the whole story of your life. I love to share in a brave man’s + hardships, and I feel them all, indeed I do!” + </p> + <p> + She was playing with her scarf, twisting it and pulling it to pieces, with + jerky, impatient movements that seemed to tell of inward dissatisfaction + and deep reflection. + </p> + <p> + “<i>We</i> are fit for nothing,” she went on. “Ah! we are contemptible, + selfish, frivolous creatures. We can bore ourselves with amusements, and + that is all we can do. Not one of us that understands that she has a part + to play in life. In old days in France, women were beneficent lights; they + lived to comfort those that mourned, to encourage high virtues, to reward + artists and stir new life with noble thoughts. If the world has grown so + petty, ours is the fault. You make me loathe the ball and this world in + which I live. No, I am not giving up much for you.” + </p> + <p> + She had plucked her scarf to pieces, as a child plays with a flower, + pulling away all the petals one by one; and now she crushed it into a + ball, and flung it away. She could show her swan’s neck. + </p> + <p> + She rang the bell. “I shall not go out tonight,” she told the footman. Her + long, blue eyes turned timidly to Armand; and by the look of misgiving in + them, he knew that he was meant to take the order for a confession, for a + first and great favour. There was a pause, filled with many thoughts, + before she spoke with that tenderness which is often in women’s voices, + and not so often in their hearts. “You have had a hard life,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” returned Armand. “Until today I did not know what happiness was.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you know it now?” she asked, looking at him with a demure, keen + glance. + </p> + <p> + “What is happiness for me henceforth but this—to see you, to hear + you?... Until now I have only known privation; now I know that I can be + unhappy——” + </p> + <p> + “That will do, that will do,” she said. “You must go; it is past midnight. + Let us regard appearances. People must not talk about us. I do not know + quite what I shall say; but the headache is a good-natured friend, and + tells no tales.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there to be a ball tomorrow night?” + </p> + <p> + “You would grow accustomed to the life, I think. Very well. Yes, we will + go again tomorrow night.” + </p> + <p> + There was not a happier man in the world than Armand when he went out from + her. Every evening he came to Mme de Langeais’ at the hour kept for him by + a tacit understanding. + </p> + <p> + It would be tedious, and, for the many young men who carry a redundance of + such sweet memories in their hearts, it were superfluous to follow the + story step by step—the progress of a romance growing in those hours + spent together, a romance controlled entirely by a woman’s will. If + sentiment went too fast, she would raise a quarrel over a word, or when + words flagged behind her thoughts, she appealed to the feelings. Perhaps + the only way of following such Penelope’s progress is by marking its + outward and visible signs. + </p> + <p> + As, for instance, within a few days of their first meeting, the assiduous + General had won and kept the right to kiss his lady’s insatiable hands. + Wherever Mme de Langeais went, M. de Montriveau was certain to be seen, + till people jokingly called him “Her Grace’s orderly.” And already he had + made enemies; others were jealous, and envied him his position. Mme de + Langeais had attained her end. The Marquis de Montriveau was among her + numerous train of adorers, and a means of humiliating those who boasted of + their progress in her good graces, for she publicly gave him preference + over them all. + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly, M. de Montriveau is the man for whom the Duchess shows a + preference,” pronounced Mme de Serizy. + </p> + <p> + And who in Paris does not know what it means when a woman “shows a + preference?” All went on therefore according to prescribed rule. The + anecdotes which people were pleased to circulate concerning the General + put that warrior in so formidable a light, that the more adroit quietly + dropped their pretensions to the Duchess, and remained in her train merely + to turn the position to account, and to use her name and personality to + make better terms for themselves with certain stars of the second + magnitude. And those lesser powers were delighted to take a lover away + from Mme de Langeais. The Duchess was keen-sighted enough to see these + desertions and treaties with the enemy; and her pride would not suffer her + to be the dupe of them. As M. de Talleyrand, one of her great admirers, + said, she knew how to take a second edition of revenge, laying the + two-edged blade of a sarcasm between the pairs in these “morganatic” + unions. Her mocking disdain contributed not a little to increase her + reputation as an extremely clever woman and a person to be feared. Her + character for virtue was consolidated while she amused herself with other + people’s secrets, and kept her own to herself. Yet, after two months of + assiduities, she saw with a vague dread in the depths of her soul that M. + de Montriveau understood nothing of the subtleties of flirtation after the + manner of the Faubourg Saint-Germain; he was taking a Parisienne’s + coquetry in earnest. + </p> + <p> + “You will not tame <i>him</i>, dear Duchess,” the old Vidame de Pamiers + had said. “‘Tis a first cousin to the eagle; he will carry you off to his + eyrie if you do not take care.” + </p> + <p> + Then Mme de Langeais felt afraid. The shrewd old noble’s words sounded + like a prophecy. The next day she tried to turn love to hate. She was + harsh, exacting, irritable, unbearable; Montriveau disarmed her with + angelic sweetness. She so little knew the great generosity of a large + nature, that the kindly jests with which her first complaints were met + went to her heart. She sought a quarrel, and found proofs of affection. + She persisted. + </p> + <p> + “When a man idolizes you, how can he have vexed you?” asked Armand. + </p> + <p> + “You do not vex me,” she answered, suddenly grown gentle and submissive. + “But why do you wish to compromise me? For me you ought to be nothing but + a <i>friend</i>. Do you not know it? I wish I could see that you had the + instincts, the delicacy of real friendship, so that I might lose neither + your respect nor the pleasure that your presence gives me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing but your <i>friend</i>!” he cried out. The terrible word sent an + electric shock through his brain. “On the faith of these happy hours that + you grant me, I sleep and wake in your heart. And now today, for no + reason, you are pleased to destroy all the secret hopes by which I live. + You have required promises of such constancy in me, you have said so much + of your horror of women made up of nothing but caprice; and now do you + wish me to understand that, like other women here in Paris, you have + passions, and know nothing of love? If so, why did you ask my life of me? + why did you accept it?” + </p> + <p> + “I was wrong, my friend. Oh, it is wrong of a woman to yield to such + intoxication when she must not and cannot make any return.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand. You have merely been coquetting with me, and——” + </p> + <p> + “Coquetting?” she repeated. “I detest coquetry. A coquette Armand, makes + promises to many, and gives herself to none; and a woman who keeps such + promises is a libertine. This much I believed I had grasped of our code. + But to be melancholy with humorists, gay with the frivolous, and politic + with ambitious souls; to listen to a babbler with every appearance of + admiration, to talk of war with a soldier, wax enthusiastic with + philanthropists over the good of the nation, and to give to each one his + little dole of flattery—it seems to me that this is as much a matter + of necessity as dress, diamonds, and gloves, or flowers in one’s hair. + Such talk is the moral counterpart of the toilette. You take it up and lay + it aside with the plumed head-dress. Do you call this coquetry? Why, I + have never treated you as I treat everyone else. With you, my friend, I am + sincere. Have I not always shared your views, and when you convinced me + after a discussion, was I not always perfectly glad? In short, I love you, + but only as a devout and pure woman may love. I have thought it over. I am + a married woman, Armand. My way of life with M. de Langeais gives me + liberty to bestow my heart; but law and custom leave me no right to + dispose of my person. If a woman loses her honour, she is an outcast in + any rank of life; and I have yet to meet with a single example of a man + that realizes all that our sacrifices demand of him in such a case. Quite + otherwise. Anyone can foresee the rupture between Mme de Beauseant and M. + d’Ajuda (for he is going to marry Mlle de Rochefide, it seems), that + affair made it clear to my mind that these very sacrifices on the woman’s + part are almost always the cause of the man’s desertion. If you had loved + me sincerely, you would have kept away for a time.—Now, I will lay + aside all vanity for you; is not that something? What will not people say + of a woman to whom no man attaches himself? Oh, she is heartless, + brainless, soulless; and what is more, devoid of charm! Coquettes will not + spare me. They will rob me of the very qualities that mortify them. So + long as my reputation is safe, what do I care if my rivals deny my merits? + They certainly will not inherit them. Come, my friend; give up something + for her who sacrifices so much for you. Do not come quite so often; I + shall love you none the less.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Armand, with the profound irony of a wounded heart in his words + and tone. “Love, so the scribblers say, only feeds on illusions. Nothing + could be truer, I see; I am expected to imagine that I am loved. But, + there!—there are some thoughts like wounds, from which there is no + recovery. My belief in you was one of the last left to me, and now I see + that there is nothing left to believe in this earth.” + </p> + <p> + She began to smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Montriveau went on in an unsteady voice, “this Catholic faith to + which you wish to convert me is a lie that men make for themselves; hope + is a lie at the expense of the future; pride, a lie between us and our + fellows; and pity, and prudence, and terror are cunning lies. And now my + happiness is to be one more lying delusion; I am expected to delude + myself, to be willing to give gold coin for silver to the end. If you can + so easily dispense with my visits; if you can confess me neither as your + friend nor your lover, you do not care for me! And I, poor fool that I am, + tell myself this, and know it, and love you!” + </p> + <p> + “But, dear me, poor Armand, you are flying into a passion!” + </p> + <p> + “I flying into a passion?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You think that the whole question is opened because I ask you to be + careful.” + </p> + <p> + In her heart of hearts she was delighted with the anger that leapt out in + her lover’s eyes. Even as she tortured him, she was criticising him, + watching every slightest change that passed over his face. If the General + had been so unluckily inspired as to show himself generous without + discussion (as happens occasionally with some artless souls), he would + have been a banished man forever, accused and convicted of not knowing how + to love. Most women are not displeased to have their code of right and + wrong broken through. Do they not flatter themselves that they never yield + except to force? But Armand was not learned enough in this kind of lore to + see the snare ingeniously spread for him by the Duchess. So much of the + child was there in the strong man in love. + </p> + <p> + “If all you want is to preserve appearances,” he began in his simplicity, + “I am willing to——” + </p> + <p> + “Simply to preserve appearances!” the lady broke in; “why, what idea can + you have of me? Have I given you the slightest reason to suppose that I + can be yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what else are we talking about?” demanded Montriveau. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, you frighten me!... No, pardon me. Thank you,” she added, + coldly; “thank you, Armand. You have given me timely warning of + imprudence; committed quite unconsciously, believe it, my friend. You know + how to endure, you say. I also know how to endure. We will not see each + other for a time; and then, when both of us have contrived to recover + calmness to some extent, we will think about arrangements for a happiness + sanctioned by the world. I am young, Armand; a man with no delicacy might + tempt a woman of four-and-twenty to do many foolish, wild things for his + sake. But <i>you</i>! You will be my friend, promise me that you will?” + </p> + <p> + “The woman of four-and-twenty,” returned he, “knows what she is about.” + </p> + <p> + He sat down on the sofa in the boudoir, and leant his head on his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Do you love me, madame?” he asked at length, raising his head, and + turning a face full of resolution upon her. “Say it straight out; Yes or + No!” + </p> + <p> + His direct question dismayed the Duchess more than a threat of suicide + could have done; indeed, the woman of the nineteenth century is not to be + frightened by that stale stratagem, the sword has ceased to be part of the + masculine costume. But in the effect of eyelids and lashes, in the + contraction of the gaze, in the twitching of the lips, is there not some + influence that communicates the terror which they express with such vivid + magnetic power? + </p> + <p> + “Ah, if I were free, if——” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! is it only your husband that stands in the way?” the General + exclaimed joyfully, as he strode to and fro in the boudoir. “Dear + Antoinette, I wield a more absolute power than the Autocrat of all the + Russias. I have a compact with Fate; I can advance or retard destiny, so + far as men are concerned, at my fancy, as you alter the hands of a watch. + If you can direct the course of fate in our political machinery, it simply + means (does it not?) that you understand the ins and outs of it. You shall + be free before very long, and then you must remember your promise.” + </p> + <p> + “Armand!” she cried. “What do you mean? Great heavens! Can you imagine + that I am to be the prize of a crime? Do you want to kill me? Why! you + cannot have any religion in you! For my own part, I fear God. M. de + Langeais may have given me reason to hate him, but I wish him no manner of + harm.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Montriveau beat a tattoo on the marble chimney-piece, and only + looked composedly at the lady. + </p> + <p> + “Dear,” continued she, “respect him. He does not love me, he is not kind + to me, but I have duties to fulfil with regard to him. What would I not do + to avert the calamities with which you threaten him?—Listen,” she + continued after a pause, “I will not say another word about separation; + you shall come here as in the past, and I will still give you my forehead + to kiss. If I refused once or twice, it was pure coquetry, indeed it was. + But let us understand each other,” she added as he came closer. “You will + permit me to add to the number of my satellites; to receive even more + visitors in the morning than heretofore; I mean to be twice as frivolous; + I mean to use you to all appearance very badly; to feign a rupture; you + must come not quite so often, and then, afterwards——” + </p> + <p> + While she spoke, she had allowed him to put an arm about her waist, + Montriveau was holding her tightly to him, and she seemed to feel the + exceeding pleasure that women usually feel in that close contact, an + earnest of the bliss of a closer union. And then, doubtless she meant to + elicit some confidence, for she raised herself on tiptoe, and laid her + forehead against Armand’s burning lips. + </p> + <p> + “And then,” Montriveau finished her sentence for her, “you shall not speak + to me of your husband. You ought not to think of him again.” + </p> + <p> + Mme de Langeais was silent awhile. + </p> + <p> + “At least,” she said, after a significant pause, “at least you will do all + that I wish without grumbling, you will not be naughty; tell me so, my + friend? You wanted to frighten me, did you not? Come, now, confess it?... + You are too good ever to think of crimes. But is it possible that you can + have secrets that I do not know? How can you control Fate?” + </p> + <p> + “Now, when you confirm the gift of the heart that you have already given + me, I am far too happy to know exactly how to answer you. I can trust you, + Antoinette; I shall have no suspicion, no unfounded jealousy of you. But + if accident should set you free, we shall be one——” + </p> + <p> + “Accident, Armand?” (With that little dainty turn of the head that seems + to say so many things, a gesture that such women as the Duchess can use on + light occasions, as a great singer can act with her voice.) “Pure + accident,” she repeated. “Mind that. If anything should happen to M. de + Langeais by your fault, I should never be yours.” + </p> + <p> + And so they parted, mutually content. The Duchess had made a pact that + left her free to prove to the world by words and deeds that M. de + Montriveau was no lover of hers. And as for him, the wily Duchess vowed to + tire him out. He should have nothing of her beyond the little concessions + snatched in the course of contests that she could stop at her pleasure. + She had so pretty an art of revoking the grant of yesterday, she was so + much in earnest in her purpose to remain technically virtuous, that she + felt that there was not the slightest danger for her in preliminaries + fraught with peril for a woman less sure of her self-command. After all, + the Duchess was practically separated from her husband; a marriage long + since annulled was no great sacrifice to make to her love. + </p> + <p> + Montriveau on his side was quite happy to win the vaguest promise, glad + once for all to sweep aside, with all scruples of conjugal fidelity, her + stock of excuses for refusing herself to his love. He had gained ground a + little, and congratulated himself. And so for a time he took unfair + advantage of the rights so hardly won. More a boy than he had ever been in + his life, he gave himself up to all the childishness that makes first love + the flower of life. He was a child again as he poured out all his soul, + all the thwarted forces that passion had given him, upon her hands, upon + the dazzling forehead that looked so pure to his eyes; upon her fair hair; + on the tufted curls where his lips were pressed. And the Duchess, on whom + his love was poured like a flood, was vanquished by the magnetic influence + of her lover’s warmth; she hesitated to begin the quarrel that must part + them forever. She was more a woman than she thought, this slight creature, + in her effort to reconcile the demands of religion with the ever-new + sensations of vanity, the semblance of pleasure which turns a Parisienne’s + head. Every Sunday she went to Mass; she never missed a service; then, + when evening came, she was steeped in the intoxicating bliss of repressed + desire. Armand and Mme de Langeais, like Hindoo fakirs, found the reward + of their continence in the temptations to which it gave rise. Possibly, + the Duchess had ended by resolving love into fraternal caresses, harmless + enough, as it might have seemed to the rest of the world, while they + borrowed extremes of degradation from the license of her thoughts. How + else explain the incomprehensible mystery of her continual fluctuations? + Every morning she proposed to herself to shut her door on the Marquis de + Montriveau; every evening, at the appointed hour, she fell under the charm + of his presence. There was a languid defence; then she grew less unkind. + Her words were sweet and soothing. They were lovers—lovers only + could have been thus. For him the Duchess would display her most sparkling + wit, her most captivating wiles; and when at last she had wrought upon his + senses and his soul, she might submit herself passively to his fierce + caresses, but she had her <i>nec plus ultra</i> of passion; and when once + it was reached, she grew angry if he lost the mastery of himself and made + as though he would pass beyond. No woman on earth can brave the + consequences of refusal without some motive; nothing is more natural than + to yield to love; wherefore Mme de Langeais promptly raised a second line + of fortification, a stronghold less easy to carry than the first. She + evoked the terrors of religion. Never did Father of the Church, however + eloquent, plead the cause of God better than the Duchess. Never was the + wrath of the Most High better justified than by her voice. She used no + preacher’s commonplaces, no rhetorical amplifications. No. She had a + “pulpit-tremor” of her own. To Armand’s most passionate entreaty, she + replied with a tearful gaze, and a gesture in which a terrible plenitude + of emotion found expression. She stopped his mouth with an appeal for + mercy. She would not hear another word; if she did, she must succumb; and + better death than criminal happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Is it nothing to disobey God?” she asked him, recovering a voice grown + faint in the crises of inward struggles, through which the fair actress + appeared to find it hard to preserve her self-control. “I would sacrifice + society, I would give up the whole world for you, gladly; but it is very + selfish of you to ask my whole after-life of me for a moment of pleasure. + Come, now! are you not happy?” she added, holding out her hand; and + certainly in her careless toilette the sight of her afforded consolations + to her lover, who made the most of them. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes from policy, to keep her hold on a man whose ardent passion gave + her emotions unknown before, sometimes in weakness, she suffered him to + snatch a swift kiss; and immediately, in feigned terror, she flushed red + and exiled Armand from the sofa so soon as the sofa became dangerous + ground. + </p> + <p> + “Your joys are sins for me to expiate, Armand; they are paid for by + penitence and remorse,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + And Montriveau, now at two chairs’ distance from that aristocratic + petticoat, betook himself to blasphemy and railed against Providence. The + Duchess grew angry at such times. + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” she said drily, “I do not understand why you decline to + believe in God, for it is impossible to believe in man. Hush, do not talk + like that. You have too great a nature to take up their Liberal nonsense + with its pretension to abolish God.” + </p> + <p> + Theological and political disputes acted like a cold douche on Montriveau; + he calmed down; he could not return to love when the Duchess stirred up + his wrath by suddenly setting him down a thousand miles away from the + boudoir, discussing theories of absolute monarchy, which she defended to + admiration. Few women venture to be democrats; the attitude of democratic + champion is scarcely compatible with tyrannous feminine sway. But often, + on the other hand, the General shook out his mane, dropped politics with a + leonine growling and lashing of the flanks, and sprang upon his prey; he + was no longer capable of carrying a heart and brain at such variance for + very far; he came back, terrible with love, to his mistress. And she, if + she felt the prick of fancy stimulated to a dangerous point, knew that it + was time to leave her boudoir; she came out of the atmosphere surcharged + with desires that she drew in with her breath, sat down to the piano, and + sang the most exquisite songs of modern music, and so baffled the physical + attraction which at times showed her no mercy, though she was strong + enough to fight it down. + </p> + <p> + At such times she was something sublime in Armand’s eyes; she was not + acting, she was genuine; the unhappy lover was convinced that she loved + him. Her egoistic resistance deluded him into a belief that she was a pure + and sainted woman; he resigned himself; he talked of Platonic love, did + this artillery officer! + </p> + <p> + When Mme de Langeais had played with religion sufficiently to suit her own + purposes, she played with it again for Armand’s benefit. She wanted to + bring him back to a Christian frame of mind; she brought out her edition + of <i>Le Genie du Christianisme</i>, adapted for the use of military men. + Montriveau chafed; his yoke was heavy. Oh! at that, possessed by the + spirit of contradiction, she dinned religion into his ears, to see whether + God might not rid her of this suitor, for the man’s persistence was + beginning to frighten her. And in any case she was glad to prolong any + quarrel, if it bade fair to keep the dispute on moral grounds for an + indefinite period; the material struggle which followed it was more + dangerous. + </p> + <p> + But if the time of her opposition on the ground of the marriage law might + be said to be the <i>epoque civile</i> of this sentimental warfare, the + ensuing phase which might be taken to constitute the <i>epoque religieuse</i> + had also its crisis and consequent decline of severity. + </p> + <p> + Armand happening to come in very early one evening, found M. l’Abbe + Gondrand, the Duchess’s spiritual director, established in an armchair by + the fireside, looking as a spiritual director might be expected to look + while digesting his dinner and the charming sins of his penitent. In the + ecclesiastic’s bearing there was a stateliness befitting a dignitary of + the Church; and the episcopal violet hue already appeared in his dress. At + sight of his fresh, well-preserved complexion, smooth forehead, and + ascetic’s mouth, Montriveau’s countenance grew uncommonly dark; he said + not a word under the malicious scrutiny of the other’s gaze, and greeted + neither the lady nor the priest. The lover apart, Montriveau was not + wanting in tact; so a few glances exchanged with the bishop-designate told + him that here was the real forger of the Duchess’s armory of scruples. + </p> + <p> + That an ambitious abbe should control the happiness of a man of + Montriveau’s temper, and by underhand ways! The thought burst in a furious + tide over his face, clenched his fists, and set him chafing and pacing to + and fro; but when he came back to his place intending to make a scene, a + single look from the Duchess was enough. He was quiet. + </p> + <p> + Any other woman would have been put out by her lover’s gloomy silence; it + was quite otherwise with Mme de Langeais. She continued her conversation + with M. de Gondrand on the necessity of re-establishing the Church in its + ancient splendour. And she talked brilliantly. + </p> + <p> + The Church, she maintained, ought to be a temporal as well as a spiritual + power, stating her case better than the Abbe had done, and regretting that + the Chamber of Peers, unlike the English House of Lords, had no bench of + bishops. Nevertheless, the Abbe rose, yielded his place to the General, + and took his leave, knowing that in Lent he could play a return game. As + for the Duchess, Montriveau’s behaviour had excited her curiosity to such + a pitch that she scarcely rose to return her director’s low bow. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you, my friend?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I cannot stomach that Abbe of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you not take a book?” she asked, careless whether the Abbe, then + closing the door, heard her or no. + </p> + <p> + The General paused, for the gesture which accompanied the Duchess’s speech + further increased the exceeding insolence of her words. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Antoinette, thank you for giving love precedence of the Church; + but, for pity’s sake, allow me to ask one question.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you are questioning me! I am quite willing. You are my friend, are + you not? I certainly can open the bottom of my heart to you; you will see + only one image there.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you talk about our love to that man?” + </p> + <p> + “He is my confessor.” + </p> + <p> + “Does he know that I love you?” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Montriveau, you cannot claim, I think, to penetrate the secrets of + the confessional?” + </p> + <p> + “Does that man know all about our quarrels and my love for you?” + </p> + <p> + “That man, monsieur; say God!” + </p> + <p> + “God again! <i>I</i> ought to be alone in your heart. But leave God alone + where He is, for the love of God and me. Madame, you <i>shall not</i> go + to confession again, or——” + </p> + <p> + “Or?” she repeated sweetly. + </p> + <p> + “Or I will never come back here.” + </p> + <p> + “Then go, Armand. Good-bye, good-bye forever.” + </p> + <p> + She rose and went to her boudoir without so much as a glance at Armand, as + he stood with his hand on the back of a chair. How long he stood there + motionless he himself never knew. The soul within has the mysterious power + of expanding as of contracting space. + </p> + <p> + He opened the door of the boudoir. It was dark within. A faint voice was + raised to say sharply: + </p> + <p> + “I did not ring. What made you come in without orders? Go away, Suzette.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are ill,” exclaimed Montriveau. + </p> + <p> + “Stand up, monsieur, and go out of the room for a minute at any rate,” she + said, ringing the bell. + </p> + <p> + “Mme la Duchesse rang for lights?” said the footman, coming in with the + candles. When the lovers were alone together, Mme de Langeais still lay on + her couch; she was just as silent and motionless as if Montriveau had not + been there. + </p> + <p> + “Dear, I was wrong,” he began, a note of pain and a sublime kindness in + his voice. “Indeed, I would not have you without religion——” + </p> + <p> + “It is fortunate that you can recognise the necessity of a conscience,” + she said in a hard voice, without looking at him. “I thank you in God’s + name.” + </p> + <p> + The General was broken down by her harshness; this woman seemed as if she + could be at will a sister or a stranger to him. He made one despairing + stride towards the door. He would leave her forever without another word. + He was wretched; and the Duchess was laughing within herself over mental + anguish far more cruel than the old judicial torture. But as for going + away, it was not in his power to do it. In any sort of crisis, a woman is, + as it were, bursting with a certain quantity of things to say; so long as + she has not delivered herself of them, she experiences the sensation which + we are apt to feel at the sight of something incomplete. Mme de Langeais + had not said all that was in her mind. She took up her parable and said: + </p> + <p> + “We have not the same convictions, General, I am pained to think. It would + be dreadful if a woman could not believe in a religion which permits us to + love beyond the grave. I set Christian sentiments aside; you cannot + understand them. Let me simply speak to you of expediency. Would you + forbid a woman at court the table of the Lord when it is customary to take + the sacrament at Easter? People must certainly do something for their + party. The Liberals, whatever they may wish to do, will never destroy the + religious instinct. Religion will always be a political necessity. Would + you undertake to govern a nation of logic-choppers? Napoleon was afraid to + try; he persecuted ideologists. If you want to keep people from reasoning, + you must give them something to feel. So let us accept the Roman Catholic + Church with all its consequences. And if we would have France go to mass, + ought we not to begin by going ourselves? Religion, you see, Armand, is a + bond uniting all the conservative principles which enable the rich to live + in tranquillity. Religion and the rights of property are intimately + connected. It is certainly a finer thing to lead a nation by ideas of + morality than by fear of the scaffold, as in the time of the Terror—the + one method by which your odious Revolution could enforce obedience. The + priest and the king—that means you, and me, and the Princess my + neighbour; and, in a word, the interests of all honest people personified. + There, my friend, just be so good as to belong to your party, you that + might be its Scylla if you had the slightest ambition that way. I know + nothing about politics myself; I argue from my own feelings; but still I + know enough to guess that society would be overturned if people were + always calling its foundations in question——” + </p> + <p> + “If that is how your Court and your Government think, I am sorry for you,” + broke in Montriveau. “The Restoration, madam, ought to say, like Catherine + de Medici, when she heard that the battle of Dreux was lost, ‘Very well; + now we will go to the meeting-house.’ Now 1815 was your battle of Dreux. + Like the royal power of those days, you won in fact, while you lost in + right. Political Protestantism has gained an ascendancy over people’s + minds. If you have no mind to issue your Edict of Nantes; or if, when it + is issued, you publish a Revocation; if you should one day be accused and + convicted of repudiating the Charter, which is simply a pledge given to + maintain the interests established under the Republic, then the Revolution + will rise again, terrible in her strength, and strike but a single blow. + It will not be the Revolution that will go into exile; she is the very + soil of France. Men die, but people’s interests do not die. ... Eh, great + Heavens! what are France and the crown and rightful sovereigns, and the + whole world besides, to us? Idle words compared with my happiness. Let + them reign or be hurled from the throne, little do I care. Where am I + now?” + </p> + <p> + “In the Duchesse de Langeais’ boudoir, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. No more of the Duchess, no more of Langeais; I am with my dear + Antoinette.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you do me the pleasure to stay where you are,” she said, laughing + and pushing him back, gently however. + </p> + <p> + “So you have never loved me,” he retorted, and anger flashed in lightning + from his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No, dear”; but the “No” was equivalent to “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I am a great ass,” he said, kissing her hands. The terrible queen was a + woman once more.—“Antoinette,” he went on, laying his head on her + feet, “you are too chastely tender to speak of our happiness to anyone in + this world.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she cried, rising to her feet with a swift, graceful spring, “you + are a great simpleton.” And without another word she fled into the + drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + “What is it now?” wondered the General, little knowing that the touch of + his burning forehead had sent a swift electric thrill through her from + foot to head. + </p> + <p> + In hot wrath he followed her to the drawing-room, only to hear divinely + sweet chords. The Duchess was at the piano. If the man of science or the + poet can at once enjoy and comprehend, bringing his intelligence to bear + upon his enjoyment without loss of delight, he is conscious that the + alphabet and phraseology of music are but cunning instruments for the + composer, like the wood and copper wire under the hands of the executant. + For the poet and the man of science there is a music existing apart, + underlying the double expression of this language of the spirit and + senses. <i>Andiamo mio ben</i> can draw tears of joy or pitying laughter + at the will of the singer; and not unfrequently one here and there in the + world, some girl unable to live and bear the heavy burden of an unguessed + pain, some man whose soul vibrates with the throb of passion, may take up + a musical theme, and lo! heaven is opened for them, or they find a + language for themselves in some sublime melody, some song lost to the + world. + </p> + <p> + The General was listening now to such a song; a mysterious music unknown + to all other ears, as the solitary plaint of some mateless bird dying + alone in a virgin forest. + </p> + <p> + “Great Heavens! what are you playing there?” he asked in an unsteady + voice. + </p> + <p> + “The prelude of a ballad, called, I believe, <i>Fleuve du Tage</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know that there was such music in a piano,” he returned. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, and for the first time she looked at him as a woman looks + at the man she loves, “nor do you know, my friend, that I love you, and + that you cause me horrible suffering; and that I feel that I must utter my + cry of pain without putting it too plainly into words. If I did not, I + should yield——But you see nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “And you will not make me happy!” + </p> + <p> + “Armand, I should die of sorrow the next day.” + </p> + <p> + The General turned abruptly from her and went. But out in the street he + brushed away the tears that he would not let fall. + </p> + <p> + The religious phase lasted for three months. At the end of that time the + Duchess grew weary of vain repetitions; the Deity, bound hand and foot, + was delivered up to her lover. Possibly she may have feared that by sheer + dint of talking of eternity she might perpetuate his love in this world + and the next. For her own sake, it must be believed that no man had + touched her heart, or her conduct would be inexcusable. She was young; the + time when men and women feel that they cannot afford to lose time or to + quibble over their joys was still far off. She, no doubt, was on the verge + not of first love, but of her first experience of the bliss of love. And + from inexperience, for want of the painful lessons which would have taught + her to value the treasure poured out at her feet, she was playing with it. + Knowing nothing of the glory and rapture of the light, she was fain to + stay in the shadow. + </p> + <p> + Armand was just beginning to understand this strange situation; he put his + hope in the first word spoken by nature. Every evening, as he came away + from Mme de Langeais’, he told himself that no woman would accept the + tenderest, most delicate proofs of a man’s love during seven months, nor + yield passively to the slighter demands of passion, only to cheat love at + the last. He was waiting patiently for the sun to gain power, not doubting + but that he should receive the earliest fruits. The married woman’s + hesitations and the religious scruples he could quite well understand. He + even rejoiced over those battles. He mistook the Duchess’s heartless + coquetry for modesty; and he would not have had her otherwise. So he had + loved to see her devising obstacles; was he not gradually triumphing over + them? Did not every victory won swell the meagre sum of lovers’ intimacies + long denied, and at last conceded with every sign of love? Still, he had + had such leisure to taste the full sweetness of every small successive + conquest on which a lover feeds his love, that these had come to be + matters of use and wont. So far as obstacles went, there were none now + save his own awe of her; nothing else left between him and his desire save + the whims of her who allowed him to call her Antoinette. So he made up his + mind to demand more, to demand all. Embarrassed like a young lover who + cannot dare to believe that his idol can stoop so low, he hesitated for a + long time. He passed through the experience of terrible reactions within + himself. A set purpose was annihilated by a word, and definite resolves + died within him on the threshold. He despised himself for his weakness, + and still his desire remained unuttered. Nevertheless, one evening, after + sitting in gloomy melancholy, he brought out a fierce demand for his + illegally legitimate rights. The Duchess had not to wait for her + bond-slave’s request to guess his desire. When was a man’s desire a + secret? And have not women an intuitive knowledge of the meaning of + certain changes of countenance? + </p> + <p> + “What! you wish to be my friend no longer?” she broke in at the first + words, and a divine red surging like new blood under the transparent skin, + lent brightness to her eyes. “As a reward for my generosity, you would + dishonor me? Just reflect a little. I myself have thought much over this; + and I think always for us <i>both</i>. There is such a thing as a woman’s + loyalty, and we can no more fail in it than you can fail in honour. <i>I</i> + cannot blind myself. If I am yours, how, in any sense, can I be M. de + Langeais’ wife? Can you require the sacrifice of my position, my rank, my + whole life in return for a doubtful love that could not wait patiently for + seven months? What! already you would rob me of my right to dispose of + myself? No, no; you must not talk like this again. No, not another word. I + will not, I cannot listen to you.” + </p> + <p> + Mme de Langeais raised both hands to her head to push back the tufted + curls from her hot forehead; she seemed very much excited. + </p> + <p> + “You come to a weak woman with your purpose definitely planned out. You + say—‘For a certain length of time she will talk to me of her + husband, then of God, and then of the inevitable consequences. But I will + use and abuse the ascendancy I shall gain over her; I will make myself + indispensable; all the bonds of habit, all the misconstructions of + outsiders, will make for me; and at length, when our <i>liaison</i> is + taken for granted by all the world, I shall be this woman’s master.’—Now, + be frank; these are your thoughts! Oh! you calculate, and you say that you + love. Shame on you! You are enamoured? Ah! that I well believe! You wish + to possess me, to have me for your mistress, that is all! Very well then, + No! The <i>Duchesse de Langeais</i> will not descend so far. Simple <i>bourgeoises</i> + may be the victims of your treachery—I, never! Nothing gives me + assurance of your love. You speak of my beauty; I may lose every trace of + it in six months, like the dear Princess, my neighbour. You are captivated + by my wit, my grace. Great Heavens! you would soon grow used to them and + to the pleasures of possession. Have not the little concessions that I was + weak enough to make come to be a matter of course in the last few months? + Some day, when ruin comes, you will give me no reason for the change in + you beyond a curt, ‘I have ceased to care for you.’—Then, rank and + fortune and honour and all that was the Duchesse de Langeais will be + swallowed up in one disappointed hope. I shall have children to bear + witness to my shame, and——” With an involuntary gesture she + interrupted herself, and continued: “But I am too good-natured to explain + all this to you when you know it better than I. Come! let us stay as we + are. I am only too fortunate in that I can still break these bonds which + you think so strong. Is there anything so very heroic in coming to the + Hotel de Langeais to spend an evening with a woman whose prattle amuses + you?—a woman whom you take for a plaything? Why, half a dozen young + coxcombs come here just as regularly every afternoon between three and + five. They, too, are very generous, I am to suppose? I make fun of them; + they stand my petulance and insolence pretty quietly, and make me laugh; + but as for you, I give all the treasures of my soul to you, and you wish + to ruin me, you try my patience in endless ways. Hush, that will do, that + will do,” she continued, seeing that he was about to speak, “you have no + heart, no soul, no delicacy. I know what you want to tell me. Very well, + then—yes. I would rather you should take me for a cold, insensible + woman, with no devotion in her composition, no heart even, than be taken + by everybody else for a vulgar person, and be condemned to your so-called + pleasures, of which you would most certainly tire, and to everlasting + punishment for it afterwards. Your selfish love is not worth so many + sacrifices....” + </p> + <p> + The words give but a very inadequate idea of the discourse which the + Duchess trilled out with the quick volubility of a bird-organ. Nor, truly, + was there anything to prevent her from talking on for some time to come, + for poor Armand’s only reply to the torrent of flute notes was a silence + filled with cruelly painful thoughts. He was just beginning to see that + this woman was playing with him; he divined instinctively that a devoted + love, a responsive love, does not reason and count the consequences in + this way. Then, as he heard her reproach him with detestable motives, he + felt something like shame as he remembered that unconsciously he had made + those very calculations. With angelic honesty of purpose, he looked + within, and self-examination found nothing but selfishness in all his + thoughts and motives, in the answers which he framed and could not utter. + He was self-convicted. In his despair he longed to fling himself from the + window. The egoism of it was intolerable. + </p> + <p> + What indeed can a man say when a woman will not believe in love?—Let + me prove how much I love you.—The <i>I</i> is always there. + </p> + <p> + The heroes of the boudoir, in such circumstances, can follow the example + of the primitive logician who preceded the Pyrrhonists and denied + movement. Montriveau was not equal to this feat. With all his audacity, he + lacked this precise kind which never deserts an adept in the formulas of + feminine algebra. If so many women, and even the best of women, fall a + prey to a kind of expert to whom the vulgar give a grosser name, it is + perhaps because the said experts are great <i>provers</i>, and love, in + spite of its delicious poetry of sentiment, requires a little more + geometry than people are wont to think. + </p> + <p> + Now the Duchess and Montriveau were alike in this—they were both + equally unversed in love lore. The lady’s knowledge of theory was but + scanty; in practice she knew nothing whatever; she felt nothing, and + reflected over everything. Montriveau had had but little experience, was + absolutely ignorant of theory, and felt too much to reflect at all. Both + therefore were enduring the consequences of the singular situation. At + that supreme moment the myriad thoughts in his mind might have been + reduced to the formula—“Submit to be mine——” words which + seem horribly selfish to a woman for whom they awaken no memories, recall + no ideas. Something nevertheless he must say. And what was more, though + her barbed shafts had set his blood tingling, though the short phrases + that she discharged at him one by one were very keen and sharp and cold, + he must control himself lest he should lose all by an outbreak of anger. + </p> + <p> + “Mme la Duchesse, I am in despair that God should have invented no way for + a woman to confirm the gift of her heart save by adding the gift of her + person. The high value which you yourself put upon the gift teaches me + that I cannot attach less importance to it. If you have given me your + inmost self and your whole heart, as you tell me, what can the rest + matter? And besides, if my happiness means so painful a sacrifice, let us + say no more about it. But you must pardon a man of spirit if he feels + humiliated at being taken for a spaniel.” + </p> + <p> + The tone in which the last remark was uttered might perhaps have + frightened another woman; but when the wearer of a petticoat has allowed + herself to be addressed as a Divinity, and thereby set herself above all + other mortals, no power on earth can be so haughty. + </p> + <p> + “M. le Marquis, I am in despair that God should not have invented some + nobler way for a man to confirm the gift of his heart than by the + manifestation of prodigiously vulgar desires. We become bond-slaves when + we give ourselves body and soul, but a man is bound to nothing by + accepting the gift. Who will assure me that love will last? The very love + that I might show for you at every moment, the better to keep your love, + might serve you as a reason for deserting me. I have no wish to be a + second edition of Mme de Beauseant. Who can ever know what it is that + keeps you beside us? Our persistent coldness of heart is the cause of an + unfailing passion in some of you; other men ask for an untiring devotion, + to be idolized at every moment; some for gentleness, others for tyranny. + No woman in this world as yet has really read the riddle of man’s heart.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. When she spoke again it was in a different tone. + </p> + <p> + “After all, my friend, you cannot prevent a woman from trembling at the + question, ‘Will this love last always?’ Hard though my words may be, the + dread of losing you puts them into my mouth. Oh, me! it is not I who + speaks, dear, it is reason; and how should anyone so mad as I be + reasonable? In truth, I am nothing of the sort.” + </p> + <p> + The poignant irony of her answer had changed before the end into the most + musical accents in which a woman could find utterance for ingenuous love. + To listen to her words was to pass in a moment from martyrdom to heaven. + Montriveau grew pale; and for the first time in his life, he fell on his + knees before a woman. He kissed the Duchess’s skirt hem, her knees, her + feet; but for the credit of the Faubourg Saint-Germain it is necessary to + respect the mysteries of its boudoirs, where many are fain to take the + utmost that Love can give without giving proof of love in return. + </p> + <p> + The Duchess thought herself generous when she suffered herself to be + adored. But Montriveau was in a wild frenzy of joy over her complete + surrender of the position. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Antoinette,” he cried. “Yes, you are right; I will not have you + doubt any longer. I too am trembling at this moment—lest the angel + of my life should leave me; I wish I could invent some tie that might bind + us to each other irrevocably.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, under her breath, “so I was right, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me say all that I have to say; I will scatter all your fears with a + word. Listen! if I deserted you, I should deserve to die a thousand + deaths. Be wholly mine, and I will give you the right to kill me if I am + false. I myself will write a letter explaining certain reasons for taking + my own life; I will make my final arrangements, in short. You shall have + the letter in your keeping; in the eye of the law it will be a sufficient + explanation of my death. You can avenge yourself, and fear nothing from + God or men.” + </p> + <p> + “What good would the letter be to me? What would life be if I had lost + your love? If I wished to kill you, should I not be ready to follow? No; + thank you for the thought, but I do not want the letter. Should I not + begin to dread that you were faithful to me through fear? And if a man + knows that he must risk his life for a stolen pleasure, might it not seem + more tempting? Armand, the thing I ask of you is the one hard thing to + do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what is it that you wish?” + </p> + <p> + “Your obedience and my liberty.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, God!” cried he, “I am a child.” + </p> + <p> + “A wayward, much spoilt child,” she said, stroking the thick hair, for his + head still lay on her knee. “Ah! and loved far more than he believes, and + yet he is very disobedient. Why not stay as we are? Why not sacrifice to + me the desires that hurt me? Why not take what I can give, when it is all + that I can honestly grant? Are you not happy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I am happy when I have not a doubt left. Antoinette, doubt in + love is a kind of death, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + In a moment he showed himself as he was, as all men are under the + influence of that hot fever; he grew eloquent, insinuating. And the + Duchess tasted the pleasures which she reconciled with her conscience by + some private, Jesuitical ukase of her own; Armand’s love gave her a thrill + of cerebral excitement which custom made as necessary to her as society, + or the Opera. To feel that she was adored by this man, who rose above + other men, whose character frightened her; to treat him like a child; to + play with him as Poppaea played with Nero—many women, like the wives + of King Henry VIII, have paid for such a perilous delight with all the + blood in their veins. Grim presentiment! Even as she surrendered the + delicate, pale, gold curls to his touch, and felt the close pressure of + his hand, the little hand of a man whose greatness she could not mistake; + even as she herself played with his dark, thick locks, in that boudoir + where she reigned a queen, the Duchess would say to herself: + </p> + <p> + “This man is capable of killing me if he once finds out that I am playing + with him.” + </p> + <p> + Armand de Montriveau stayed with her till two o’clock in the morning. From + that moment this woman, whom he loved, was neither a duchess nor a + Navarreins; Antoinette, in her disguises, had gone so far as to appear to + be a woman. On that most blissful evening, the sweetest prelude ever + played by a Parisienne to what the world calls “a slip”; in spite of all + her affectations of a coyness which she did not feel, the General saw all + maidenly beauty in her. He had some excuse for believing that so many + storms of caprice had been but clouds covering a heavenly soul; that these + must be lifted one by one like the veils that hid her divine loveliness. + The Duchess became, for him, the most simple and girlish mistress; she was + the one woman in the world for him; and he went away quite happy in that + at last he had brought her to give him such pledges of love, that it + seemed to him impossible but that he should be but her husband henceforth + in secret, her choice sanctioned by Heaven. + </p> + <p> + Armand went slowly home, turning this thought in his mind with the + impartiality of a man who is conscious of all the responsibilities that + love lays on him while he tastes the sweetness of its joys. He went along + the Quais to see the widest possible space of sky; his heart had grown in + him; he would fain have had the bounds of the firmament and of earth + enlarged. It seemed to him that his lungs drew an ampler breath. In the + course of his self-examination, as he walked, he vowed to love this woman + so devoutly, that every day of her life she should find absolution for her + sins against society in unfailing happiness. Sweet stirrings of life when + life is at the full! The man that is strong enough to steep his soul in + the colour of one emotion, feels infinite joy as glimpses open out for him + of an ardent lifetime that knows no diminution of passion to the end; even + so it is permitted to certain mystics, in ecstasy, to behold the Light of + God. Love would be naught without the belief that it would last forever; + love grows great through constancy. It was thus that, wholly absorbed by + his happiness, Montriveau understood passion. + </p> + <p> + “We belong to each other forever!” + </p> + <p> + The thought was like a talisman fulfilling the wishes of his life. He did + not ask whether the Duchess might not change, whether her love might not + last. No, for he had faith. Without that virtue there is no future for + Christianity, and perhaps it is even more necessary to society. A + conception of life as feeling occurred to him for the first time; hitherto + he had lived by action, the most strenuous exertion of human energies, the + physical devotion, as it may be called, of the soldier. + </p> + <p> + Next day M. de Montriveau went early in the direction of the Faubourg + Saint-Germain. He had made an appointment at a house not far from the + Hotel de Langeais; and the business over, he went thither as if to his own + home. The General’s companion chanced to be a man for whom he felt a kind + of repulsion whenever he met him in other houses. This was the Marquis de + Ronquerolles, whose reputation had grown so great in Paris boudoirs. He + was witty, clever, and what was more—courageous; he set the fashion + to all the young men in Paris. As a man of gallantry, his success and + experience were equally matters of envy; and neither fortune nor birth was + wanting in his case, qualifications which add such lustre in Paris to a + reputation as a leader of fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” asked M. de Ronquerolles. + </p> + <p> + “To Mme de Langeais’.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, true. I forgot that you had allowed her to lime you. You are wasting + your affections on her when they might be much better employed elsewhere. + I could have told you of half a score of women in the financial world, any + one of them a thousand times better worth your while than that titled + courtesan, who does with her brains what less artificial women do with——” + </p> + <p> + “What is this, my dear fellow?” Armand broke in. “The Duchess is an angel + of innocence.” + </p> + <p> + Ronquerolles began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Things being thus, dear boy,” said he, “it is my duty to enlighten you. + Just a word; there is no harm in it between ourselves. Has the Duchess + surrendered? If so, I have nothing more to say. Come, give me your + confidence. There is no occasion to waste your time in grafting your great + nature on that unthankful stock, when all your hopes and cultivation will + come to nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Armand ingenuously made a kind of general report of his position, + enumerating with much minuteness the slender rights so hardly won. + Ronquerolles burst into a peal of laughter so heartless, that it would + have cost any other man his life. But from their manner of speaking and + looking at each other during that colloquy beneath the wall, in a corner + almost as remote from intrusion as the desert itself, it was easy to + imagine the friendship between the two men knew no bounds, and that no + power on earth could estrange them. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Armand, why did you not tell me that the Duchess was a puzzle to + you? I would have given you a little advice which might have brought your + flirtation properly through. You must know, to begin with, that the women + of our Faubourg, like any other women, love to steep themselves in love; + but they have a mind to possess and not to be possessed. They have made a + sort of compromise with human nature. The code of their parish gives them + a pretty wide latitude short of the last transgression. The sweets enjoyed + by this fair Duchess of yours are so many venial sins to be washed away in + the waters of penitence. But if you had the impertinence to ask in earnest + for the moral sin to which naturally you are sure to attach the highest + importance, you would see the deep disdain with which the door of the + boudoir and the house would be incontinently shut upon you. The tender + Antoinette would dismiss everything from her memory; you would be less + than a cipher for her. She would wipe away your kisses, my dear friend, as + indifferently as she would perform her ablutions. She would sponge love + from her cheeks as she washes off rouge. We know women of that sort—the + thorough-bred Parisienne. Have you ever noticed a grisette tripping along + the street? Her face is as good as a picture. A pretty cap, fresh cheeks, + trim hair, a guileful smile, and the rest of her almost neglected. Is not + this true to the life? Well, that is the Parisienne. She knows that her + face is all that will be seen, so she devotes all her care, finery, and + vanity to her head. The Duchess is the same; the head is everything with + her. She can only feel through her intellect, her heart lies in her brain, + she is a sort of intellectual epicure, she has a head-voice. We call that + kind of poor creature a Lais of the intellect. You have been taken in like + a boy. If you doubt it, you can have proof of it tonight, this morning, + this instant. Go up to her, try the demand as an experiment, insist + peremptorily if it is refused. You might set about it like the late + Marechal de Richelieu, and get nothing for your pains.” + </p> + <p> + Armand was dumb with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Has your desire reached the point of infatuation?” + </p> + <p> + “I want her at any cost!” Montriveau cried out despairingly. + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Now, look here. Be as inexorable as she is herself. Try to + humiliate her, to sting her vanity. Do <i>not</i> try to move her heart, + nor her soul, but the woman’s nerves and temperament, for she is both + nervous and lymphatic. If you can once awaken desire in her, you are safe. + But you must drop these romantic boyish notions of yours. If when once you + have her in your eagle’s talons you yield a point or draw back, if you so + much as stir an eyelid, if she thinks that she can regain her ascendancy + over you, she will slip out of your clutches like a fish, and you will + never catch her again. Be as inflexible as law. Show no more charity than + the headsman. Hit hard, and then hit again. Strike and keep on striking as + if you were giving her the knout. Duchesses are made of hard stuff, my + dear Armand; there is a sort of feminine nature that is only softened by + repeated blows; and as suffering develops a heart in women of that sort, + so it is a work of charity not to spare the rod. Do you persevere. Ah! + when pain has thoroughly relaxed those nerves and softened the fibres that + you take to be so pliant and yielding; when a shriveled heart has learned + to expand and contract and to beat under this discipline; when the brain + has capitulated—then, perhaps, passion may enter among the steel + springs of this machinery that turns out tears and affectations and + languors and melting phrases; then you shall see a most magnificent + conflagration (always supposing that the chimney takes fire). The steel + feminine system will glow red-hot like iron in the forge; that kind of + heat lasts longer than any other, and the glow of it may possibly turn to + love. + </p> + <p> + “Still,” he continued, “I have my doubts. And, after all, is it worth + while to take so much trouble with the Duchess? Between ourselves a man of + my stamp ought first to take her in hand and break her in; I would make a + charming woman of her; she is a thoroughbred; whereas, you two left to + yourselves will never get beyond the A B C. But you are in love with her, + and just now you might not perhaps share my views on this subject——. + A pleasant time to you, my children,” added Ronquerolles, after a pause. + Then with a laugh: “I have decided myself for facile beauties; they are + tender, at any rate, the natural woman appears in their love without any + of your social seasonings. A woman that haggles over herself, my poor boy, + and only means to inspire love! Well, have her like an extra horse—for + show. The match between the sofa and confessional, black and white, queen + and knight, conscientious scruples and pleasure, is an uncommonly amusing + game of chess. And if a man knows the game, let him be never so little of + a rake, he wins in three moves. Now, if I undertook a woman of that sort, + I should start with the deliberate purpose of——” His voice + sank to a whisper over the last words in Armand’s ear, and he went before + there was time to reply. + </p> + <p> + As for Montriveau, he sprang at a bound across the courtyard of the Hotel + de Langeais, went unannounced up the stairs straight to the Duchess’s + bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “This is an unheard-of thing,” she said, hastily wrapping her + dressing-gown about her. “Armand! this is abominable of you! Come, leave + the room, I beg. Just go out of the room, and go at once. Wait for me in + the drawing-room.—Come now!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear angel, has a plighted lover no privilege whatsoever?” + </p> + <p> + “But, monsieur, it is in the worst possible taste of a plighted lover or a + wedded husband to break in like this upon his wife.” + </p> + <p> + He came up to the Duchess, took her in his arms, and held her tightly to + him. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive, dear Antoinette; but a host of horrid doubts are fermenting in + my heart.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Doubts</i>? Fie!—Oh, fie on you!” + </p> + <p> + “Doubts all but justified. If you loved me, would you make this quarrel? + Would you not be glad to see me? Would you not have felt a something stir + in your heart? For I, that am not a woman, feel a thrill in my inmost self + at the mere sound of your voice. Often in a ballroom a longing has come + upon me to spring to your side and put my arms about your neck.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! if you have doubts of me so long as I am not ready to spring to your + arms before all the world, I shall be doubted all my life long, I suppose. + Why, Othello was a mere child compared with you!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he cried despairingly, “you have no love for me——” + </p> + <p> + “Admit, at any rate, that at this moment you are not lovable.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I have still to find favour in your sight?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I should think so. Come,” added she, “with a little imperious air, go + out of the room, leave me. I am not like you; I wish always to find favour + in your eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Never woman better understood the art of putting charm into insolence, and + does not the charm double the effect? is it not enough to infuriate the + coolest of men? There was a sort of untrammeled freedom about Mme de + Langeais; a something in her eyes, her voice, her attitude, which is never + seen in a woman who loves when she stands face to face with him at the + mere sight of whom her heart must needs begin to beat. The Marquis de + Ronquerolles’ counsels had cured Armand of sheepishness; and further, + there came to his aid that rapid power of intuition which passion will + develop at moments in the least wise among mortals, while a great man at + such a time possesses it to the full. He guessed the terrible truth + revealed by the Duchess’s nonchalance, and his heart swelled with the + storm like a lake rising in flood. + </p> + <p> + “If you told me the truth yesterday, be mine, dear Antoinette,” he cried; + “you shall——” + </p> + <p> + “In the first place,” said she composedly, thrusting him back as he came + nearer—“in the first place, you are not to compromise me. My woman + might overhear you. Respect me, I beg of you. Your familiarity is all very + well in my boudoir in an evening; here it is quite different. Besides, + what may your ‘you shall’ mean? ‘You shall.’ No one as yet has ever used + that word to me. It is quite ridiculous, it seems to me, absolutely + ridiculous. + </p> + <p> + “Will you surrender nothing to me on this point?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! do you call a woman’s right to dispose of herself a ‘point?’ A + capital point indeed; you will permit me to be entirely my own mistress on + that ‘point.’” + </p> + <p> + “And how if, believing in your promises to me, I should absolutely require + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! then you would prove that I made the greatest possible mistake when I + made you a promise of any kind; and I should beg you to leave me in + peace.” + </p> + <p> + The General’s face grew white; he was about to spring to her side, when + Mme de Langeais rang the bell, the maid appeared, and, smiling with a + mocking grace, the Duchess added, “Be so good as to return when I am + visible.” + </p> + <p> + Then Montriveau felt the hardness of a woman as cold and keen as a steel + blade; she was crushing in her scorn. In one moment she had snapped the + bonds which held firm only for her lover. She had read Armand’s intention + in his face, and held that the moment had come for teaching the Imperial + soldier his lesson. He was to be made to feel that though duchesses may + lend themselves to love, they do not give themselves, and that the + conquest of one of them would prove a harder matter than the conquest of + Europe. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” returned Armand, “I have not time to wait. I am a spoilt child, + as you told me yourself. When I seriously resolve to have that of which we + have been speaking, I shall have it.” + </p> + <p> + “You will have it?” queried she, and there was a trace of surprise in her + loftiness. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you would do me a great pleasure by ‘resolving’ to have it. For + curiosity’s sake, I should be delighted to know how you would set about it——” + </p> + <p> + “I am delighted to put a new interest into your life,” interrupted + Montriveau, breaking into a laugh which dismayed the Duchess. “Will you + permit me to take you to the ball tonight?” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand thanks. M. de Marsay has been beforehand with you. I gave him + my promise.” + </p> + <p> + Montriveau bowed gravely and went. + </p> + <p> + “So Ronquerolles was right,” thought he, “and now for a game of chess.” + </p> + <p> + Thenceforward he hid his agitation by complete composure. No man is strong + enough to bear such sudden alternations from the height of happiness to + the depths of wretchedness. So he had caught a glimpse of happy life the + better to feel the emptiness of his previous existence? There was a + terrible storm within him; but he had learned to endure, and bore the + shock of tumultuous thoughts as a granite cliff stands out against the + surge of an angry sea. + </p> + <p> + “I could say nothing. When I am with her my wits desert me. She does not + know how vile and contemptible she is. Nobody has ventured to bring her + face to face with herself. She has played with many a man, no doubt; I + will avenge them all.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time, it may be, in a man’s heart, revenge and love were + blended so equally that Montriveau himself could not know whether love or + revenge would carry all before it. That very evening he went to the ball + at which he was sure of seeing the Duchesse de Langeais, and almost + despaired of reaching her heart. He inclined to think that there was + something diabolical about this woman, who was gracious to him and radiant + with charming smiles; probably because she had no wish to allow the world + to think that she had compromised herself with M. de Montriveau. Coolness + on both sides is a sign of love; but so long as the Duchess was the same + as ever, while the Marquis looked sullen and morose, was it not plain that + she had conceded nothing? Onlookers know the rejected lover by various + signs and tokens; they never mistake the genuine symptoms for a coolness + such as some women command their adorers to feign, in the hope of + concealing their love. Everyone laughed at Montriveau; and he, having + omitted to consult his cornac, was abstracted and ill at ease. M. de + Ronquerolles would very likely have bidden him compromise the Duchess by + responding to her show of friendliness by passionate demonstrations; but + as it was, Armand de Montriveau came away from the ball, loathing human + nature, and even then scarcely ready to believe in such complete + depravity. + </p> + <p> + “If there is no executioner for such crimes,” he said, as he looked up at + the lighted windows of the ballroom where the most enchanting women in + Paris were dancing, laughing, and chatting, “I will take you by the nape + of the neck, Mme la Duchesse, and make you feel something that bites more + deeply than the knife in the Place de la Greve. Steel against steel; we + shall see which heart will leave the deeper mark.” + </p> + <p> + For a week or so Mme de Langeais hoped to see the Marquis de Montriveau + again; but he contented himself with sending his card every morning to the + Hotel de Langeais. The Duchess could not help shuddering each time that + the card was brought in, and a dim foreboding crossed her mind, but the + thought was vague as a presentiment of disaster. When her eyes fell on the + name, it seemed to her that she felt the touch of the implacable man’s + strong hand in her hair; sometimes the words seemed like a prognostication + of a vengeance which her lively intellect invented in the most shocking + forms. She had studied him too well not to dread him. Would he murder her, + she wondered? Would that bull-necked man dash out her vitals by flinging + her over his head? Would he trample her body under his feet? When, where, + and how would he get her into his power? Would he make her suffer very + much, and what kind of pain would he inflict? She repented of her conduct. + There were hours when, if he had come, she would have gone to his arms in + complete self-surrender. + </p> + <p> + Every night before she slept she saw Montriveau’s face; every night it + wore a different aspect. Sometimes she saw his bitter smile, sometimes the + Jovelike knitting of the brows; or his leonine look, or some disdainful + movement of the shoulders made him terrible for her. Next day the card + seemed stained with blood. The name of Montriveau stirred her now as the + presence of the fiery, stubborn, exacting lover had never done. Her + apprehensions gathered strength in the silence. She was forced, without + aid from without, to face the thought of a hideous duel of which she could + not speak. Her proud hard nature was more responsive to thrills of hate + than it had ever been to the caresses of love. Ah! if the General could + but have seen her, as she sat with her forehead drawn into folds between + her brows; immersed in bitter thoughts in that boudoir where he had + enjoyed such happy moments, he might perhaps have conceived high hopes. Of + all human passions, is not pride alone incapable of engendering anything + base? Mme de Langeais kept her thoughts to herself, but is it not + permissible to suppose that M. de Montriveau was no longer indifferent to + her? And has not a man gained ground immensely when a woman thinks about + him? He is bound to make progress with her either one way or the other + afterwards. + </p> + <p> + Put any feminine creature under the feet of a furious horse or other + fearsome beast; she will certainly drop on her knees and look for death; + but if the brute shows a milder mood and does not utterly slay her, she + will love the horse, lion, bull, or what not, and will speak of him quite + at her ease. The Duchess felt that she was under the lion’s paws; she + quaked, but she did not hate him. + </p> + <p> + The man and woman thus singularly placed with regard to each other met + three times in society during the course of that week. Each time, in reply + to coquettish questioning glances, the Duchess received a respectful bow, + and smiles tinged with such savage irony, that all her apprehensions over + the card in the morning were revived at night. Our lives are simply such + as our feelings shape them for us; and the feelings of these two had + hollowed out a great gulf between them. + </p> + <p> + The Comtesse de Serizy, the Marquis de Ronquerolles’ sister, gave a great + ball at the beginning of the following week, and Mme de Langeais was sure + to go to it. Armand was the first person whom the Duchess saw when she + came into the room, and this time Armand was looking out for her, or so + she thought at least. The two exchanged a look, and suddenly the woman + felt a cold perspiration break from every pore. She had thought all along + that Montriveau was capable of taking reprisals in some unheard-of way + proportioned to their condition, and now the revenge had been discovered, + it was ready, heated, and boiling. Lightnings flashed from the foiled + lover’s eyes, his face was radiant with exultant vengeance. And the + Duchess? Her eyes were haggard in spite of her resolution to be cool and + insolent. She went to take her place beside the Comtesse de Serizy, who + could not help exclaiming, “Dear Antoinette! what is the matter with you? + You are enough to frighten one.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be all right after a quadrille,” she answered, giving a hand to a + young man who came up at that moment. + </p> + <p> + Mme de Langeais waltzed that evening with a sort of excitement and + transport which redoubled Montriveau’s lowering looks. He stood in front + of the line of spectators, who were amusing themselves by looking on. + Every time that <i>she</i> came past him, his eyes darted down upon her + eddying face; he might have been a tiger with the prey in his grasp. The + waltz came to an end, Mme de Langeais went back to her place beside the + Countess, and Montriveau never took his eyes off her, talking all the + while with a stranger. + </p> + <p> + “One of the things that struck me most on the journey,” he was saying (and + the Duchess listened with all her ears), “was the remark which the man + makes at Westminster when you are shown the axe with which a man in a mask + cut off Charles the First’s head, so they tell you. The King made it first + of all to some inquisitive person, and they repeat it still in memory of + him.” + </p> + <p> + “What does the man say?” asked Mme de Serizy. + </p> + <p> + “‘Do not touch the axe!’” replied Montriveau, and there was menace in the + sound of his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Really, my Lord Marquis,” said Mme de Langeais, “you tell this old story + that everybody knows if they have been to London, and look at my neck in + such a melodramatic way that you seem to me to have an axe in your hand.” + </p> + <p> + The Duchess was in a cold sweat, but nevertheless she laughed as she spoke + the last words. + </p> + <p> + “But circumstances give the story a quite new application,” returned he. + </p> + <p> + “How so; pray tell me, for pity’s sake?” + </p> + <p> + “In this way, madame—you have touched the axe,” said Montriveau, + lowering his voice. + </p> + <p> + “What an enchanting prophecy!” returned she, smiling with assumed grace. + “And when is my head to fall?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no wish to see that pretty head of yours cut off. I only fear some + great misfortune for you. If your head were clipped close, would you feel + no regrets for the dainty golden hair that you turn to such good account?” + </p> + <p> + “There are those for whom a woman would love to make such a sacrifice; + even if, as often happens, it is for the sake of a man who cannot make + allowances for an outbreak of temper.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. Well, and if some wag were to spoil your beauty on a sudden by + some chemical process, and you, who are but eighteen for us, were to be a + hundred years old?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the smallpox is our Battle of Waterloo, monsieur,” she interrupted. + “After it is over we find out those who love us sincerely.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you not regret the lovely face that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! indeed I should, but less for my own sake than for the sake of + someone else whose delight it might have been. And, after all, if I were + loved, always loved, and truly loved, what would my beauty matter to me?—What + do you say, Clara?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a dangerous speculation,” replied Mme de Serizy. + </p> + <p> + “Is it permissible to ask His Majesty the King of Sorcerers when I made + the mistake of touching the axe, since I have not been to London as yet?——” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Not so</i>,” he answered in English, with a burst of ironical + laughter. + </p> + <p> + “And when will the punishment begin?” + </p> + <p> + At this Montriveau coolly took out his watch, and ascertained the hour + with a truly appalling air of conviction. + </p> + <p> + “A dreadful misfortune will befall you before this day is out.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a child to be easily frightened, or rather, I am a child + ignorant of danger,” said the Duchess. “I shall dance now without fear on + the edge of the precipice.” + </p> + <p> + “I am delighted to know that you have so much strength of character,” he + answered, as he watched her go to take her place in a square dance. + </p> + <p> + But the Duchess, in spite of her apparent contempt for Armand’s dark + prophecies, was really frightened. Her late lover’s presence weighed upon + her morally and physically with a sense of oppression that scarcely ceased + when he left the ballroom. And yet when she had drawn freer breath, and + enjoyed the relief for a moment, she found herself regretting the + sensation of dread, so greedy of extreme sensations is the feminine + nature. The regret was not love, but it was certainly akin to other + feelings which prepare the way for love. And then—as if the + impression which Montriveau had made upon her were suddenly revived—she + recollected his air of conviction as he took out his watch, and in a + sudden spasm of dread she went out. + </p> + <p> + By this time it was about midnight. One of her servants, waiting with her + pelisse, went down to order her carriage. On her way home she fell + naturally enough to musing over M. de Montriveau’s prediction. Arrived in + her own courtyard, as she supposed, she entered a vestibule almost like + that of her own hotel, and suddenly saw that the staircase was different. + She was in a strange house. Turning to call her servants, she was attacked + by several men, who rapidly flung a handkerchief over her mouth, bound her + hand and foot, and carried her off. She shrieked aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, our orders are to kill you if you scream,” a voice said in her + ear. + </p> + <p> + So great was the Duchess’s terror, that she could never recollect how nor + by whom she was transported. When she came to herself, she was lying on a + couch in a bachelor’s lodging, her hands and feet tied with silken cords. + In spite of herself, she shrieked aloud as she looked round and met Armand + de Montriveau’s eyes. He was sitting in his dressing-gown, quietly smoking + a cigar in his armchair. + </p> + <p> + “Do not cry out, Mme la Duchesse,” he said, coolly taking the cigar out of + his mouth; “I have a headache. Besides, I will untie you. But listen + attentively to what I have the honour to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + Very carefully he untied the knots that bound her feet. + </p> + <p> + “What would be the use of calling out? Nobody can hear your cries. You are + too well bred to make any unnecessary fuss. If you do not stay quietly, if + you insist upon a struggle with me, I shall tie your hands and feet again. + All things considered, I think that you have self-respect enough to stay + on this sofa as if you were lying on your own at home; cold as ever, if + you will. You have made me shed many tears on this couch, tears that I hid + from all other eyes.” + </p> + <p> + While Montriveau was speaking, the Duchess glanced about her; it was a + woman’s glance, a stolen look that saw all things and seemed to see + nothing. She was much pleased with the room. It was rather like a monk’s + cell. The man’s character and thoughts seemed to pervade it. No decoration + of any kind broke the grey painted surface of the walls. A green carpet + covered the floor. A black sofa, a table littered with papers, two big + easy-chairs, a chest of drawers with an alarum clock by way of ornament, a + very low bedstead with a coverlet flung over it—a red cloth with a + black key border—all these things made part of a whole that told of + a life reduced to its simplest terms. A triple candle-sconce of Egyptian + design on the chimney-piece recalled the vast spaces of the desert and + Montriveau’s long wanderings; a huge sphinx-claw stood out beneath the + folds of stuff at the bed-foot; and just beyond, a green curtain with a + black and scarlet border was suspended by large rings from a spear handle + above a door near one corner of the room. The other door by which the band + had entered was likewise curtained, but the drapery hung from an ordinary + curtain-rod. As the Duchess finally noted that the pattern was the same on + both, she saw that the door at the bed-foot stood open; gleams of ruddy + light from the room beyond flickered below the fringed border. Naturally, + the ominous light roused her curiosity; she fancied she could distinguish + strange shapes in the shadows; but as it did not occur to her at the time + that danger could come from that quarter, she tried to gratify a more + ardent curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, if it is not indiscreet, may I ask what you mean to do with + me?” The insolence and irony of the tone stung through the words. The + Duchess quite believed that she read extravagant love in Montriveau’s + speech. He had carried her off; was not that in itself an acknowledgment + of her power? + </p> + <p> + “Nothing whatever, madame,” he returned, gracefully puffing the last whiff + of cigar smoke. “You will remain here for a short time. First of all, I + should like to explain to you what you are, and what I am. I cannot put my + thoughts into words whilst you are twisting on the sofa in your boudoir; + and besides, in your own house you take offence at the slightest hint, you + ring the bell, make an outcry, and turn your lover out at the door as if + he were the basest of wretches. Here my mind is unfettered. Here nobody + can turn me out. Here you shall be my victim for a few seconds, and you + are going to be so exceedingly kind as to listen to me. You need fear + nothing. I did not carry you off to insult you, nor yet to take by force + what you refused to grant of your own will to my unworthiness. I could not + stoop so low. You possibly think of outrage; for myself, I have no such + thoughts.” + </p> + <p> + He flung his cigar coolly into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “The smoke is unpleasant to you, no doubt, madame?” he said, and rising at + once, he took a chafing-dish from the hearth, burnt perfumes, and purified + the air. The Duchess’s astonishment was only equaled by her humiliation. + She was in this man’s power; and he would not abuse his power. The eyes in + which love had once blazed like flame were now quiet and steady as stars. + She trembled. Her dread of Armand was increased by a nightmare sensation + of restlessness and utter inability to move; she felt as if she were + turned to stone. She lay passive in the grip of fear. She thought she saw + the light behind the curtains grow to a blaze, as if blown up by a pair of + bellows; in another moment the gleams of flame grew brighter, and she + fancied that three masked figures suddenly flashed out; but the terrible + vision disappeared so swiftly that she took it for an optical delusion. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” Armand continued with cold contempt, “one minute, just one + minute is enough for me, and you shall feel it afterwards at every moment + throughout your lifetime, the one eternity over which I have power. I am + not God. Listen carefully to me,” he continued, pausing to add solemnity + to his words. “Love will always come at your call. You have boundless + power over men: but remember that once you called love, and love came to + you; love as pure and true-hearted as may be on earth, and as reverent as + it was passionate; fond as a devoted woman’s, as a mother’s love; a love + so great indeed, that it was past the bounds of reason. You played with + it, and you committed a crime. Every woman has a right to refuse herself + to love which she feels she cannot share; and if a man loves and cannot + win love in return, he is not to be pitied, he has no right to complain. + But with a semblance of love to attract an unfortunate creature cut off + from all affection; to teach him to understand happiness to the full, only + to snatch it from him; to rob him of his future of felicity; to slay his + happiness not merely today, but as long as his life lasts, by poisoning + every hour of it and every thought—this I call a fearful crime!” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur——” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot allow you to answer me yet. So listen to me still. In any case I + have rights over you; but I only choose to exercise one—the right of + the judge over the criminal, so that I may arouse your conscience. If you + had no conscience left, I should not reproach you at all; but you are so + young! You must feel some life still in your heart; or so I like to + believe. While I think of you as depraved enough to do a wrong which the + law does not punish, I do not think you so degraded that you cannot + comprehend the full meaning of my words. I resume.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke the Duchess heard the smothered sound of a pair of bellows. + Those mysterious figures which she had just seen were blowing up the fire, + no doubt; the glow shone through the curtain. But Montriveau’s lurid face + was turned upon her; she could not choose but wait with a fast-beating + heart and eyes fixed in a stare. However curious she felt, the heat in + Armand’s words interested her even more than the crackling of the + mysterious flames. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” he went on after a pause, “if some poor wretch commits a murder + in Paris, it is the executioner’s duty, you know, to lay hands on him and + stretch him on the plank, where murderers pay for their crimes with their + heads. Then the newspapers inform everyone, rich and poor, so that the + former are assured that they may sleep in peace, and the latter are warned + that they must be on the watch if they would live. Well, you that are + religious, and even a little of a bigot, may have masses said for such a + man’s soul. You both belong to the same family, but yours is the elder + branch; and the elder branch may occupy high places in peace and live + happily and without cares. Want or anger may drive your brother the + convict to take a man’s life; you have taken more, you have taken the joy + out of a man’s life, you have killed all that was best in his life—his + dearest beliefs. The murderer simply lay in wait for his victim, and + killed him reluctantly, and in fear of the scaffold; but <i>you</i> ...! + You heaped up every sin that weakness can commit against strength that + suspected no evil; you tamed a passive victim, the better to gnaw his + heart out; you lured him with caresses; you left nothing undone that could + set him dreaming, imagining, longing for the bliss of love. You asked + innumerable sacrifices of him, only to refuse to make any in return. He + should see the light indeed before you put out his eyes! It is wonderful + how you found the heart to do it! Such villainies demand a display of + resource quite above the comprehension of those bourgeoises whom you laugh + at and despise. They can give and forgive; they know how to love and + suffer. The grandeur of their devotion dwarfs us. Rising higher in the + social scale, one finds just as much mud as at the lower end; but with + this difference, at the upper end it is hard and gilded over. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to find baseness in perfection, you must look for a noble bringing + up, a great name, a fair woman, a duchess. You cannot fall lower than the + lowest unless you are set high above the rest of the world.—I + express my thoughts badly; the wounds you dealt me are too painful as yet, + but do not think that I complain. My words are not the expression of any + hope for myself; there is no trace of bitterness in them. Know this, + madame, for a certainty—I forgive you. My forgiveness is so complete + that you need not feel in the least sorry that you came hither to find it + against your will.... But you might take advantage of other hearts as + child-like as my own, and it is my duty to spare them anguish. So you have + inspired the thought of justice. Expiate your sin here on earth; God may + perhaps forgive you; I wish that He may, but He is inexorable, and will + strike.” + </p> + <p> + The broken-spirited, broken-hearted woman looked up, her eyes filled with + tears. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you cry? Be true to your nature. You could look on indifferently + at the torture of a heart as you broke it. That will do, madame, do not + cry. I cannot bear it any longer. Other men will tell you that you have + given them life; as for myself, I tell you, with rapture, that you have + given me blank extinction. Perhaps you guess that I am not my own, that I + am bound to live for my friends, that from this time forth I must endure + the cold chill of death, as well as the burden of life? Is it possible + that there can be so much kindness in you? Are you like the desert tigress + that licks the wounds she has inflicted?” + </p> + <p> + The Duchess burst out sobbing. + </p> + <p> + “Pray spare your tears, madame. If I believed in them at all, it would + merely set me on my guard. Is this another of your artifices? or is it + not? You have used so many with me; how can one think that there is any + truth in you? Nothing that you do or say has any power now to move me. + That is all I have to say.” + </p> + <p> + Mme de Langeais rose to her feet, with a great dignity and humility in her + bearing. + </p> + <p> + “You are right to treat me very hardly,” she said, holding out a hand to + the man who did not take it; “you have not spoken hardly enough; and I + deserve this punishment.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> punish you, madame! A man must love still, to punish, must he + not? From me you must expect no feeling, nothing resembling it. If I + chose, I might be accuser and judge in my cause, and pronounce and carry + out the sentence. But I am about to fulfil a duty, not a desire of + vengeance of any kind. The cruelest revenge of all, I think, is scorn of + revenge when it is in our power to take it. Perhaps I shall be the + minister of your pleasures; who knows? Perhaps from this time forth, as + you gracefully wear the tokens of disgrace by which society marks out the + criminal, you may perforce learn something of the convict’s sense of + honour. And then, you will love!” + </p> + <p> + The Duchess sat listening; her meekness was unfeigned; it was no + coquettish device. When she spoke at last, it was after a silence. + </p> + <p> + “Armand,” she began, “it seems to me that when I resisted love, I was + obeying all the instincts of woman’s modesty; I should not have looked for + such reproaches from <i>you</i>. I was weak; you have turned all my + weaknesses against me, and made so many crimes of them. How could you fail + to understand that the curiosity of love might have carried me further + than I ought to go; and that next morning I might be angry with myself, + and wretched because I had gone too far? Alas! I sinned in ignorance. I + was as sincere in my wrongdoing, I swear to you, as in my remorse. There + was far more love for you in my severity than in my concessions. And + besides, of what do you complain? I gave you my heart; that was not + enough; you demanded, brutally, that I should give my person——” + </p> + <p> + “Brutally?” repeated Montriveau. But to himself he said, “If I once allow + her to dispute over words, I am lost.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You came to me as if I were one of those women. You showed none of + the respect, none of the attentions of love. Had I not reason to reflect? + Very well, I reflected. The unseemliness of your conduct is not + inexcusable; love lay at the source of it; let me think so, and justify + you to myself.—Well, Armand, this evening, even while you were + prophesying evil, I felt convinced that there was happiness in store for + us both. Yes, I put my faith in the noble, proud nature so often tested + and proved.” She bent lower. “And I was yours wholly,” she murmured in his + ear. “I felt a longing that I cannot express to give happiness to a man so + violently tried by adversity. If I must have a master, my master should be + a great man. As I felt conscious of my height, the less I cared to + descend. I felt I could trust you, I saw a whole lifetime of love, while + you were pointing to death.... Strength and kindness always go together. + My friend, you are so strong, you will not be unkind to a helpless woman + who loves you. If I was wrong, is there no way of obtaining forgiveness? + No way of making reparation? Repentance is the charm of love; I should + like to be very charming for you. How could I, alone among women, fail to + know a woman’s doubts and fears, the timidity that it is so natural to + feel when you bind yourself for life, and know how easily a man snaps such + ties? The bourgeoises, with whom you compared me just now, give + themselves, but they struggle first. Very well—I struggled; but here + I am!—Ah! God, he does not hear me!” she broke off, and wringing her + hands, she cried out “But I love you! I am yours!” and fell at Armand’s + feet. + </p> + <p> + “Yours! yours! my one and only master!” + </p> + <p> + Armand tried to raise her. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, it is too late! Antoinette cannot save the Duchesse de Langeais. + I cannot believe in either. Today you may give yourself; tomorrow, you may + refuse. No power in earth or heaven can insure me the sweet constancy of + love. All love’s pledges lay in the past; and now nothing of that past + exists.” + </p> + <p> + The light behind the curtain blazed up so brightly, that the Duchess could + not help turning her head; this time she distinctly saw the three masked + figures. + </p> + <p> + “Armand,” she said, “I would not wish to think ill of you. Why are those + men there? What are you going to do to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Those men will be as silent as I myself with regard to the thing which is + about to be done. Think of them simply as my hands and my heart. One of + them is a surgeon——” + </p> + <p> + “A surgeon! Armand, my friend, of all things, suspense is the hardest to + bear. Just speak; tell me if you wish for my life; I will give it to you, + you shall not take it——” + </p> + <p> + “Then you did not understand me? Did I not speak just now of justice? To + put an end to your misapprehensions,” continued he, taking up a small + steel object from the table, “I will now explain what I have decided with + regard to you.” + </p> + <p> + He held out a Lorraine cross, fastened to the tip of a steel rod. + </p> + <p> + “Two of my friends at this very moment are heating another cross, made on + this pattern, red-hot. We are going to stamp it upon your forehead, here + between the eyes, so that there will be no possibility of hiding the mark + with diamonds, and so avoiding people’s questions. In short, you shall + bear on your forehead the brand of infamy which your brothers the convicts + wear on their shoulders. The pain is a mere trifle, but I feared a nervous + crisis of some kind, of resistance——” + </p> + <p> + “Resistance?” she cried, clapping her hands for joy. “Oh no, no! I would + have the whole world here to see. Ah, my Armand, brand her quickly, this + creature of yours; brand her with your mark as a poor little trifle + belonging to you. You asked for pledges of my love; here they are all in + one. Ah! for me there is nothing but mercy and forgiveness and eternal + happiness in this revenge of yours. When you have marked this woman with + your mark, when you set your crimson brand on her, your slave in soul, you + can never afterwards abandon her, you will be mine for evermore? When you + cut me off from my kind, you make yourself responsible for my happiness, + or you prove yourself base; and I know that you are noble and great! Why, + when a woman loves, the brand of love is burnt into her soul by her own + will.—Come in, gentlemen! come in and brand her, this Duchesse de + Langeais. She is M. de Montriveau’s forever! Ah! come quickly, all of you, + my forehead burns hotter than your fire!” + </p> + <p> + Armand turned his head sharply away lest he should see the Duchess + kneeling, quivering with the throbbings of her heart. He said some word, + and his three friends vanished. + </p> + <p> + The women of Paris salons know how one mirror reflects another. The + Duchess, with every motive for reading the depths of Armand’s heart, was + all eyes; and Armand, all unsuspicious of the mirror, brushed away two + tears as they fell. Her whole future lay in those two tears. When he + turned round again to help her to rise, she was standing before him, sure + of love. Her pulses must have throbbed fast when he spoke with the + firmness she had known so well how to use of old while she played with + him. + </p> + <p> + “I spare you, madame. All that has taken place shall be as if it had never + been, you may believe me. But now, let us bid each other goodbye. I like + to think that you were sincere in your coquetries on your sofa, sincere + again in this outpouring of your heart. Good-bye. I feel that there is no + faith in you left in me. You would torment me again; you would always be + the Duchess, and——But there, good-bye, we shall never + understand each other. + </p> + <p> + “Now, what do you wish?” he continued, taking the tone of a master of the + ceremonies—“to return home, or to go back to Mme de Serizy’s ball? I + have done all in my power to prevent any scandal. Neither your servants + nor anyone else can possibly know what has passed between us in the last + quarter of an hour. Your servants have no idea that you have left the + ballroom; your carriage never left Mme de Serizy’s courtyard; your + brougham may likewise be found in the court of your own hotel. Where do + you wish to be?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you counsel, Armand?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no Armand now, Mme la Duchesse. We are strangers to each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Then take me to the ball,” she said, still curious to put Armand’s power + to the test. “Thrust a soul that suffered in the world, and must always + suffer there, if there is no happiness for her now, down into hell again. + And yet, oh my friend, I love you as your bourgeoises love; I love you so + that I could come to you and fling my arms about your neck before all the + world if you asked it off me. The hateful world has not corrupted me. I am + young at least, and I have grown younger still. I am a child, yes, your + child, your new creature. Ah! do not drive me forth out of my Eden!” + </p> + <p> + Armand shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! let me take something with me, if I go, some little thing to wear + tonight on my heart,” she said, taking possession of Armand’s glove, which + she twisted into her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “No, I am <i>not</i> like all those depraved women. You do not know the + world, and so you cannot know my worth. You shall know it now! There are + women who sell themselves for money; there are others to be gained by + gifts, it is a vile world! Oh, I wish I were a simple bourgeoise, a + working girl, if you would rather have a woman beneath you than a woman + whose devotion is accompanied by high rank, as men count it. Oh, my + Armand, there are noble, high, and chaste and pure natures among us; and + then they are lovely indeed. I would have all nobleness that I might offer + it all up to you. Misfortune willed that I should be a duchess; I would I + were a royal princess, that my offering might be complete. I would be a + grisette for you, and a queen for everyone besides.” + </p> + <p> + He listened, damping his cigars with his lips. + </p> + <p> + “You will let me know when you wish to go,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But I should like to stay——” + </p> + <p> + “That is another matter!” + </p> + <p> + “Stay, that was badly rolled,” she cried, seizing on a cigar and devouring + all that Armand’s lips had touched. + </p> + <p> + “Do you smoke?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what would I not do to please you?” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Go, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “I will obey you,” she answered, with tears in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You must be blindfolded; you must not see a glimpse of the way.” + </p> + <p> + “I am ready, Armand,” she said, bandaging her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Can you see?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Noiselessly he knelt before her. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I can hear you!” she cried, with a little fond gesture, thinking that + the pretence of harshness was over. + </p> + <p> + He made as if he would kiss her lips; she held up her face. + </p> + <p> + “You can see, madame.” + </p> + <p> + “I am just a little bit curious.” + </p> + <p> + “So you always deceive me?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! take off this handkerchief, sir,” she cried out, with the passion of + a great generosity repelled with scorn, “lead me; I will not open my + eyes.” + </p> + <p> + Armand felt sure of her after that cry. He led the way; the Duchess nobly + true to her word, was blind. But while Montriveau held her hand as a + father might, and led her up and down flights of stairs, he was studying + the throbbing pulses of this woman’s heart so suddenly invaded by Love. + Mme de Langeais, rejoicing in this power of speech, was glad to let him + know all; but he was inflexible; his hand was passive in reply to the + questionings of her hand. + </p> + <p> + At length, after some journey made together, Armand bade her go forward; + the opening was doubtless narrow, for as she went she felt that his hand + protected her dress. His care touched her; it was a revelation surely that + there was a little love still left; yet it was in some sort a farewell, + for Montriveau left her without a word. The air was warm; the Duchess, + feeling the heat, opened her eyes, and found herself standing by the fire + in the Comtesse de Serizy’s boudoir. + </p> + <p> + She was alone. Her first thought was for her disordered toilette; in a + moment she had adjusted her dress and restored her picturesque coiffure. + </p> + <p> + “Well, dear Antoinette, we have been looking for you everywhere.” It was + the Comtesse de Serizy who spoke as she opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “I came here to breathe,” said the Duchess; “it is unbearably hot in the + rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “People thought that you had gone; but my brother Ronquerolles told me + that your servants were waiting for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am tired out, dear, let me stay and rest here for a minute,” and the + Duchess sat down on the sofa. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what is the matter with you? You are shaking from head to foot!” + </p> + <p> + The Marquis de Ronquerolles came in. + </p> + <p> + “Mme la Duchesse, I was afraid that something might have happened. I have + just come across your coachman, the man is as tipsy as all the Swiss in + Switzerland.” + </p> + <p> + The Duchess made no answer; she was looking round the room, at the + chimney-piece and the tall mirrors, seeking the trace of an opening. Then + with an extraordinary sensation she recollected that she was again in the + midst of the gaiety of the ballroom after that terrific scene which had + changed the whole course of her life. She began to shiver violently. + </p> + <p> + “M. de Montriveau’s prophecy has shaken my nerves,” she said. “It was a + joke, but still I will see whether his axe from London will haunt me even + in my sleep. So good-bye, dear.—Good-bye, M. le Marquis.” + </p> + <p> + As she went through the rooms she was beset with inquiries and regrets. + Her world seemed to have dwindled now that she, its queen, had fallen so + low, was so diminished. And what, moreover, were these men compared with + him whom she loved with all her heart; with the man grown great by all + that she had lost in stature? The giant had regained the height that he + had lost for a while, and she exaggerated it perhaps beyond measure. She + looked, in spite of herself, at the servant who had attended her to the + ball. He was fast asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been here all the time?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, madame.” + </p> + <p> + As she took her seat in her carriage she saw, in fact, that her coachman + was drunk—so drunk, that at any other time she would have been + afraid; but after a great crisis in life, fear loses its appetite for + common food. She reached home, at any rate, without accident; but even + there she felt a change in herself, a new feeling that she could not shake + off. For her, there was now but one man in the world; which is to say that + henceforth she cared to shine for his sake alone. + </p> + <p> + While the physiologist can define love promptly by following out natural + laws, the moralist finds a far more perplexing problem before him if he + attempts to consider love in all its developments due to social + conditions. Still, in spite of the heresies of the endless sects that + divide the church of Love, there is one broad and trenchant line of + difference in doctrine, a line that all the discussion in the world can + never deflect. A rigid application of this line explains the nature of the + crisis through which the Duchess, like most women, was to pass. Passion + she knew, but she did not love as yet. + </p> + <p> + Love and passion are two different conditions which poets and men of the + world, philosophers and fools, alike continually confound. Love implies a + give and take, a certainty of bliss that nothing can change; it means so + close a clinging of the heart, and an exchange of happiness so constant, + that there is no room left for jealousy. Then possession is a means and + not an end; unfaithfulness may give pain, but the bond is not less close; + the soul is neither more nor less ardent or troubled, but happy at every + moment; in short, the divine breath of desire spreading from end to end of + the immensity of Time steeps it all for us in the selfsame hue; life takes + the tint of the unclouded heaven. But Passion is the foreshadowing of + Love, and of that Infinite to which all suffering souls aspire. Passion is + a hope that may be cheated. Passion means both suffering and transition. + Passion dies out when hope is dead. Men and women may pass through this + experience many times without dishonor, for it is so natural to spring + towards happiness; but there is only one love in a lifetime. All + discussions of sentiment ever conducted on paper or by word of mouth may + therefore be resumed by two questions—“Is it passion? Is it love?” + So, since love comes into existence only through the intimate experience + of the bliss which gives it lasting life, the Duchess was beneath the yoke + of passion as yet; and as she knew the fierce tumult, the unconscious + calculations, the fevered cravings, and all that is meant by that word <i>passion</i>—she + suffered. Through all the trouble of her soul there rose eddying gusts of + tempest, raised by vanity or self-love, or pride or a high spirit; for all + these forms of egoism make common cause together. + </p> + <p> + She had said to this man, “I love you; I am yours!” Was it possible that + the Duchesse de Langeais should have uttered those words—in vain? + She must either be loved now or play her part of queen no longer. And then + she felt the loneliness of the luxurious couch where pleasure had never + yet set his glowing feet; and over and over again, while she tossed and + writhed there, she said, “I want to be loved.” + </p> + <p> + But the belief that she still had in herself gave her hope of success. The + Duchess might be piqued, the vain Parisienne might be humiliated; but the + woman saw glimpses of wedded happiness, and imagination, avenging the time + lost for nature, took a delight in kindling the inextinguishable fire in + her veins. She all but attained to the sensations of love; for amid her + poignant doubt whether she was loved in return, she felt glad at heart to + say to herself, “I love him!” As for her scruples, religion, and the world + she could trample them under foot! Montriveau was her religion now. She + spent the next day in a state of moral torpor, troubled by a physical + unrest, which no words could express. She wrote letters and tore them all + up, and invented a thousand impossible fancies. + </p> + <p> + When M. de Montriveau’s usual hour arrived, she tried to think that he + would come, and enjoyed the feeling of expectation. Her whole life was + concentrated in the single sense of hearing. Sometimes she shut her eyes, + straining her ears to listen through space, wishing that she could + annihilate everything that lay between her and her lover, and so establish + that perfect silence which sounds may traverse from afar. In her tense + self-concentration, the ticking of the clock grew hateful to her; she + stopped its ill-omened garrulity. The twelve strokes of midnight sounded + from the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, God!” she cried, “to see him here would be happiness. And yet, it is + not so very long since he came here, brought by desire, and the tones of + his voice filled this boudoir. And now there is nothing.” + </p> + <p> + She remembered the times that she had played the coquette with him, and + how that her coquetry had cost her her lover, and the despairing tears + flowed for long. + </p> + <p> + Her woman came at length with, “Mme la Duchesse does not know, perhaps, + that it is two o’clock in the morning; I thought that madame was not + feeling well.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am going to bed,” said the Duchess, drying her eyes. “But + remember, Suzanne, never to come in again without orders; I tell you this + for the last time.” + </p> + <p> + For a week, Mme de Langeais went to every house where there was a hope of + meeting M. de Montriveau. Contrary to her usual habits, she came early and + went late; gave up dancing, and went to the card-tables. Her experiments + were fruitless. She did not succeed in getting a glimpse of Armand. She + did not dare to utter his name now. One evening, however, in a fit of + despair, she spoke to Mme de Serizy, and asked as carelessly as she could, + “You must have quarreled with M. de Montriveau? He is not to be seen at + your house now.” + </p> + <p> + The Countess laughed. “So he does not come here either?” she returned. “He + is not to be seen anywhere, for that matter. He is interested in some + woman, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “I used to think that the Marquis de Ronquerolles was one of his friends——” + the Duchess began sweetly. + </p> + <p> + “I have never heard my brother say that he was acquainted with him.” + </p> + <p> + Mme de Langeais did not reply. Mme de Serizy concluded from the Duchess’s + silence that she might apply the scourge with impunity to a discreet + friendship which she had seen, with bitterness of soul, for a long time + past. + </p> + <p> + “So you miss that melancholy personage, do you? I have heard most + extraordinary things of him. Wound his feelings, he never comes back, he + forgives nothing; and, if you love him, he keeps you in chains. To + everything that I said of him, one of those that praise him sky-high would + always answer, ‘He knows how to love!’ People are always telling me that + Montriveau would give up all for his friend; that his is a great nature. + Pooh! society does not want such tremendous natures. Men of that stamp are + all very well at home; let them stay there and leave us to our pleasant + littlenesses. What do you say, Antoinette?” + </p> + <p> + Woman of the world though she was, the Duchess seemed agitated, yet she + replied in a natural voice that deceived her fair friend: + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to miss him. I took a great interest in him, and promised to + myself to be his sincere friend. I like great natures, dear friend, + ridiculous though you may think it. To give oneself to a fool is a clear + confession, is it not, that one is governed wholly by one’s senses?” + </p> + <p> + Mme de Serizy’s “preferences” had always been for commonplace men; her + lover at the moment, the Marquis d’Aiglemont, was a fine, tall man. + </p> + <p> + After this, the Countess soon took her departure, you may be sure Mme de + Langeais saw hope in Armand’s withdrawal from the world; she wrote to him + at once; it was a humble, gentle letter, surely it would bring him if he + loved her still. She sent her footman with it next day. On the servant’s + return, she asked whether he had given the letter to M. de Montriveau + himself, and could not restrain the movement of joy at the affirmative + answer. Armand was in Paris! He stayed alone in his house; he did not go + out into society! So she was loved! All day long she waited for an answer + that never came. Again and again, when impatience grew unbearable, + Antoinette found reasons for his delay. Armand felt embarrassed; the reply + would come by post; but night came, and she could not deceive herself any + longer. It was a dreadful day, a day of pain grown sweet, of intolerable + heart-throbs, a day when the heart squanders the very forces of life in + riot. + </p> + <p> + Next day she sent for an answer. + </p> + <p> + “M. le Marquis sent word that he would call on Mme la Duchesse,” reported + Julien. + </p> + <p> + She fled lest her happiness should be seen in her face, and flung herself + on her couch to devour her first sensations. + </p> + <p> + “He is coming!” + </p> + <p> + The thought rent her soul. And, in truth, woe unto those for whom suspense + is not the most horrible time of tempest, while it increases and + multiplies the sweetest joys; for they have nothing in them of that flame + which quickens the images of things, giving to them a second existence, so + that we cling as closely to the pure essence as to its outward and visible + manifestation. What is suspense in love but a constant drawing upon an + unfailing hope?—a submission to the terrible scourging of passion, + while passion is yet happy, and the disenchantment of reality has not set + in. The constant putting forth of strength and longing, called suspense, + is surely, to the human soul, as fragrance to the flower that breathes it + forth. We soon leave the brilliant, unsatisfying colours of tulips and + coreopsis, but we turn again and again to drink in the sweetness of + orange-blossoms or volkameria-flowers compared separately, each in its own + land, to a betrothed bride, full of love, made fair by the past and + future. + </p> + <p> + The Duchess learned the joys of this new life of hers through the rapture + with which she received the scourgings of love. As this change wrought in + her, she saw other destinies before her, and a better meaning in the + things of life. As she hurried to her dressing-room, she understood what + studied adornment and the most minute attention to her toilet mean when + these are undertaken for love’s sake and not for vanity. Even now this + making ready helped her to bear the long time of waiting. A relapse of + intense agitation set in when she was dressed; she passed through nervous + paroxysms brought on by the dreadful power which sets the whole mind in + ferment. Perhaps that power is only a disease, though the pain of it is + sweet. The Duchess was dressed and waiting at two o clock in the + afternoon. At half-past eleven that night M. de Montriveau had not + arrived. To try to give an idea of the anguish endured by a woman who + might be said to be the spoilt child of civilization, would be to attempt + to say how many imaginings the heart can condense into one thought. As + well endeavour to measure the forces expended by the soul in a sigh + whenever the bell rang; to estimate the drain of life when a carriage + rolled past without stopping, and left her prostrate. + </p> + <p> + “Can he be playing with me?” she said, as the clocks struck midnight. + </p> + <p> + She grew white; her teeth chattered; she struck her hands together and + leapt up and crossed the boudoir, recollecting as she did so how often he + had come thither without a summons. But she resigned herself. Had she not + seen him grow pale, and start up under the stinging barbs of irony? Then + Mme de Langeais felt the horror of the woman’s appointed lot; a man’s is + the active part, a woman must wait passively when she loves. If a woman + goes beyond her beloved, she makes a mistake which few men can forgive; + almost every man would feel that a woman lowers herself by this piece of + angelic flattery. But Armand’s was a great nature; he surely must be one + of the very few who can repay such exceeding love by love that lasts + forever. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will make the advance,” she told herself, as she tossed on her + bed and found no sleep there; “I will go to him. I will not weary myself + with holding out a hand to him, but I will hold it out. A man of a + thousand will see a promise of love and constancy in every step that a + woman takes towards him. Yes, the angels must come down from heaven to + reach men; and I wish to be an angel for him.” + </p> + <p> + Next day she wrote. It was a billet of the kind in which the intellects of + the ten thousand Sevignes that Paris now can number particularly excel. + And yet only a Duchesse de Langeais, brought up by Mme la Princesse de + Blamont-Chauvry, could have written that delicious note; no other woman + could complain without lowering herself; could spread wings in such a + flight without draggling her pinions in humiliation; rise gracefully in + revolt; scold without giving offence; and pardon without compromising her + personal dignity. + </p> + <p> + Julien went with the note. Julien, like his kind, was the victim of love’s + marches and countermarches. + </p> + <p> + “What did M. de Montriveau reply?” she asked, as indifferently as she + could, when the man came back to report himself. + </p> + <p> + “M. le Marquis requested me to tell Mme la Duchesse that it was all + right.” + </p> + <p> + Oh the dreadful reaction of the soul upon herself! To have her heart + stretched on the rack before curious witnesses; yet not to utter a sound, + to be forced to keep silence! One of the countless miseries of the rich! + </p> + <p> + More than three weeks went by. Mme de Langeais wrote again and again, and + no answer came from Montriveau. At last she gave out that she was ill, to + gain a dispensation from attendance on the Princess and from social + duties. She was only at home to her father the Duc de Navarreins, her aunt + the Princesse de Blamont-Chauvry, the old Vidame de Pamiers (her maternal + great-uncle), and to her husband’s uncle, the Duc de Grandlieu. These + persons found no difficulty in believing that the Duchess was ill, seeing + that she grew thinner and paler and more dejected every day. The vague + ardour of love, the smart of wounded pride, the continual prick of the + only scorn that could touch her, the yearnings towards joys that she + craved with a vain continual longing—all these things told upon her, + mind and body; all the forces of her nature were stimulated to no purpose. + She was paying the arrears of her life of make-believe. + </p> + <p> + She went out at last to a review. M. de Montriveau was to be there. For + the Duchess, on the balcony of the Tuileries with the Royal Family, it was + one of those festival days that are long remembered. She looked supremely + beautiful in her languor; she was greeted with admiration in all eyes. It + was Montriveau’s presence that made her so fair. + </p> + <p> + Once or twice they exchanged glances. The General came almost to her feet + in all the glory of that soldier’s uniform, which produces an effect upon + the feminine imagination to which the most prudish will confess. When a + woman is very much in love, and has not seen her lover for two months, + such a swift moment must be something like the phase of a dream when the + eyes embrace a world that stretches away forever. Only women or young men + can imagine the dull, frenzied hunger in the Duchess’s eyes. As for older + men, if during the paroxysms of early passion in youth they had experience + of such phenomena of nervous power; at a later day it is so completely + forgotten that they deny the very existence of the luxuriant ecstasy—the + only name that can be given to these wonderful intuitions. Religious + ecstasy is the aberration of a soul that has shaken off its bonds of + flesh; whereas in amorous ecstasy all the forces of soul and body are + embraced and blended in one. If a woman falls a victim to the tyrannous + frenzy before which Mme de Langeais was forced to bend, she will take one + decisive resolution after another so swiftly that it is impossible to give + account of them. Thought after thought rises and flits across her brain, + as clouds are whirled by the wind across the grey veil of mist that shuts + out the sun. Thenceforth the facts reveal all. And the facts are these. + </p> + <p> + The day after the review, Mme de Langeais sent her carriage and liveried + servants to wait at the Marquis de Montriveau’s door from eight o’clock in + the morning till three in the afternoon. Armand lived in the Rue de + Tournon, a few steps away from the Chamber of Peers, and that very day the + House was sitting; but long before the peers returned to their palaces, + several people had recognised the Duchess’s carriage and liveries. The + first of these was the Baron de Maulincour. That young officer had met + with disdain from Mme de Langeais and a better reception from Mme de + Serizy; he betook himself at once therefore to his mistress, and under + seal of secrecy told her of this strange freak. + </p> + <p> + In a moment the news was spread with telegraphic speed through all the + coteries in the Faubourg Saint-Germain; it reached the Tuileries and the + Elysee-Bourbon; it was the sensation of the day, the matter of all the + talk from noon till night. Almost everywhere the women denied the facts, + but in such a manner that the report was confirmed; the men one and all + believed it, and manifested a most indulgent interest in Mme de Langeais. + Some among them threw the blame on Armand. + </p> + <p> + “That savage of a Montriveau is a man of bronze,” said they; “he insisted + on making this scandal, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” others replied, “Mme de Langeais has been guilty of a + most generous piece of imprudence. To renounce the world and rank, and + fortune, and consideration for her lover’s sake, and that in the face of + all Paris, is as fine a <i>coup d’etat</i> for a woman as that barber’s + knife-thrust, which so affected Canning in a court of assize. Not one of + the women who blame the Duchess would make a declaration worthy of ancient + times. It is heroic of Mme de Langeais to proclaim herself so frankly. Now + there is nothing left to her but to love Montriveau. There must be + something great about a woman if she says, ‘I will have but one passion.’” + </p> + <p> + “But what is to become of society, monsieur, if you honour vice in this + way without respect for virtue?” asked the Comtesse de Granville, the + attorney-general’s wife. + </p> + <p> + While the Chateau, the Faubourg, and the Chaussee d’Antin were discussing + the shipwreck of aristocratic virtue; while excited young men rushed about + on horseback to make sure that the carriage was standing in the Rue de + Tournon, and the Duchess in consequence was beyond a doubt in M. de + Montriveau’s rooms, Mme de Langeais, with heavy throbbing pulses, was + lying hidden away in her boudoir. And Armand?—he had been out all + night, and at that moment was walking with M. de Marsay in the Gardens of + the Tuileries. The elder members, of Mme de Langeais’ family were engaged + in calling upon one another, arranging to read her a homily and to hold a + consultation as to the best way of putting a stop to the scandal. + </p> + <p> + At three o’clock, therefore, M. le Duc de Navarreins, the Vidame de + Pamiers, the old Princesse de Blamont-Chauvry, and the Duc de Grandlieu + were assembled in Mme la Duchesse de Langeais’ drawing-room. To them, as + to all curious inquirers, the servants said that their mistress was not at + home; the Duchess had made no exceptions to her orders. But these four + personages shone conspicuous in that lofty sphere, of which the + revolutions and hereditary pretensions are solemnly recorded year by year + in the <i>Almanach de Gotha</i>, wherefore without some slight sketch of + each of them this picture of society were incomplete. + </p> + <p> + The Princesse de Blamont-Chauvry, in the feminine world, was a most poetic + wreck of the reign of Louis Quinze. In her beautiful prime, so it was + said, she had done her part to win for that monarch his appellation of <i>le + Bien-aime</i>. Of her past charms of feature, little remained save a + remarkably prominent slender nose, curved like a Turkish scimitar, now the + principal ornament of a countenance that put you in mind of an old white + glove. Add a few powdered curls, high-heeled pantoufles, a cap with + upstanding loops of lace, black mittens, and a decided taste for <i>ombre</i>. + But to do full justice to the lady, it must be said that she appeared in + low-necked gowns of an evening (so high an opinion of her ruins had she), + wore long gloves, and raddled her cheeks with Martin’s classic rouge. An + appalling amiability in her wrinkles, a prodigious brightness in the old + lady’s eyes, a profound dignity in her whole person, together with the + triple barbed wit of her tongue, and an infallible memory in her head, + made of her a real power in the land. The whole Cabinet des Chartes was + entered in duplicate on the parchment of her brain. She knew all the + genealogies of every noble house in Europe—princes, dukes, and + counts—and could put her hand on the last descendants of Charlemagne + in the direct line. No usurpation of title could escape the Princesse de + Blamont-Chauvry. + </p> + <p> + Young men who wished to stand well at Court, ambitious men, and young + married women paid her assiduous homage. Her salon set the tone of the + Faubourg Saint-Germain. The words of this Talleyrand in petticoats were + taken as final decrees. People came to consult her on questions of + etiquette or usages, or to take lessons in good taste. And, in truth, no + other old woman could put back her snuff-box in her pocket as the Princess + could; while there was a precision and a grace about the movements of her + skirts, when she sat down or crossed her feet, which drove the finest + ladies of the young generation to despair. Her voice had remained in her + head during one-third of her lifetime; but she could not prevent a descent + into the membranes of the nose, which lent to it a peculiar + expressiveness. She still retained a hundred and fifty thousand livres of + her great fortune, for Napoleon had generously returned her woods to her; + so that personally and in the matter of possessions she was a woman of no + little consequence. + </p> + <p> + This curious antique, seated in a low chair by the fireside, was chatting + with the Vidame de Pamiers, a contemporary ruin. The Vidame was a big, + tall, and spare man, a seigneur of the old school, and had been a + Commander of the Order of Malta. His neck had always been so tightly + compressed by a strangulation stock, that his cheeks pouched over it a + little, and he held his head high; to many people this would have given an + air of self-sufficiency, but in the Vidame it was justified by a + Voltairean wit. His wide prominent eyes seemed to see everything, and as a + matter of fact there was not much that they had not seen. Altogether, his + person was a perfect model of aristocratic outline, slim and slender, + supple and agreeable. He seemed as if he could be pliant or rigid at will, + and twist and bend, or rear his head like a snake. + </p> + <p> + The Duc de Navarreins was pacing up and down the room with the Duc de + Grandlieu. Both were men of fifty-six or thereabouts, and still hale; both + were short, corpulent, flourishing, somewhat florid-complexioned men with + jaded eyes, and lower lips that had begun to hang already. But for an + exquisite refinement of accent, an urbane courtesy, and an ease of manner + that could change in a moment to insolence, a superficial observer might + have taken them for a couple of bankers. Any such mistake would have been + impossible, however, if the listener could have heard them converse, and + seen them on their guard with men whom they feared, vapid and commonplace + with their equals, slippery with the inferiors whom courtiers and + statesmen know how to tame by a tactful word, or to humiliate with an + unexpected phrase. + </p> + <p> + Such were the representatives of the great noblesse that determined to + perish rather than submit to any change. It was a noblesse that deserved + praise and blame in equal measure; a noblesse that will never be judged + impartially until some poet shall arise to tell how joyfully the nobles + obeyed the King though their heads fell under a Richelieu’s axe, and how + deeply they scorned the guillotine of ‘89 as a foul revenge. + </p> + <p> + Another noticeable trait in all the four was a thin voice that agreed + peculiarly well with their ideas and bearing. Among themselves, at any + rate, they were on terms of perfect equality. None of them betrayed any + sign of annoyance over the Duchess’s escapade, but all of them had learned + at Court to hide their feelings. + </p> + <p> + And here, lest critics should condemn the puerility of the opening of the + forthcoming scene, it is perhaps as well to remind the reader that Locke, + once happening to be in the company of several great lords, renowned no + less for their wit than for their breeding and political consistency, + wickedly amused himself by taking down their conversation by some + shorthand process of his own; and afterwards, when he read it over to them + to see what they could make of it, they all burst out laughing. And, in + truth, the tinsel jargon which circulates among the upper ranks in every + country yields mighty little gold to the crucible when washed in the ashes + of literature or philosophy. In every rank of society (some few Parisian + salons excepted) the curious observer finds folly a constant quantity + beneath a more or less transparent varnish. Conversation with any + substance in it is a rare exception, and boeotianism is current coin in + every zone. In the higher regions they must perforce talk more, but to + make up for it they think the less. Thinking is a tiring exercise, and the + rich like their lives to flow by easily and without effort. It is by + comparing the fundamental matter of jests, as you rise in the social scale + from the street-boy to the peer of France, that the observer arrives at a + true comprehension of M. de Talleyrand’s maxim, “The manner is + everything”; an elegant rendering of the legal axiom, “The form is of more + consequence than the matter.” In the eyes of the poet the advantage rests + with the lower classes, for they seldom fail to give a certain character + of rude poetry to their thoughts. Perhaps also this same observation may + explain the sterility of the salons, their emptiness, their shallowness, + and the repugnance felt by men of ability for bartering their ideas for + such pitiful small change. + </p> + <p> + The Duke suddenly stopped as if some bright idea occurred to him, and + remarked to his neighbour: + </p> + <p> + “So you have sold Tornthon?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he is ill. I am very much afraid I shall lose him, and I should be + uncommonly sorry. He is a very good hunter. Do you know how the Duchesse + de Marigny is?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I did not go this morning. I was just going out to call when you came + in to speak about Antoinette. But yesterday she was very ill indeed; they + had given her up, she took the sacrament.” + </p> + <p> + “Her death will make a change in your cousin’s position.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. She gave away her property in her lifetime, only keeping an + annuity. She made over the Guebriant estate to her niece, Mme de + Soulanges, subject to a yearly charge.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be a great loss for society. She was a kind woman. Her family + will miss her; her experience and advice carried weight. Her son Marigny + is an amiable man; he has a sharp wit, he can talk. He is pleasant, very + pleasant. Pleasant? oh, that no one can deny, but—ill regulated to + the last degree. Well, and yet it is an extraordinary thing, he is very + acute. He was dining at the club the other day with that moneyed + Chaussee-d’Antin set. Your uncle (he always goes there for his game of + cards) found him there to his astonishment, and asked if he was a member. + ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘I don’t go into society now; I am living among the + bankers.’—You know why?” added the Marquis, with a meaning smile. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “He is smitten with that little Mme Keller, Gondreville’s daughter; she is + only lately married, and has a great vogue, they say, in that set.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Antoinette does not find time heavy on her hands, it seems,” + remarked the Vidame. + </p> + <p> + “My affection for that little woman has driven me to find a singular + pastime,” replied the Princess, as she returned her snuff-box to her + pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Dear aunt, I am extremely vexed,” said the Duke, stopping short in his + walk. “Nobody but one of Bonaparte’s men could ask such an indecorous + thing of a woman of fashion. Between ourselves, Antoinette might have made + a better choice.” + </p> + <p> + “The Montriveaus are a very old family and very well connected, my dear,” + replied the Princess; “they are related to all the noblest houses of + Burgundy. If the Dulmen branch of the Arschoot Rivaudoults should come to + an end in Galicia, the Montriveaus would succeed to the Arschoot title and + estates. They inherit through their great-grandfather. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + “I know it better than this Montriveau’s father did. I told him about it, + I used to see a good deal of him; and, Chevalier of several orders though + he was, he only laughed; he was an encyclopaedist. But his brother turned + the relationship to good account during the emigration. I have heard it + said that his northern kinsfolk were most kind in every way——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to be sure. The Comte de Montriveau died at St. Petersburg,” said + the Vidame. “I met him there. He was a big man with an incredible passion + for oysters.” + </p> + <p> + “However many did he eat?” asked the Duc de Grandlieu. + </p> + <p> + “Ten dozen every day.” + </p> + <p> + “And did they not disagree with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least bit in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that is extraordinary! Had he neither the stone nor gout, nor any + other complaint, in consequence?” + </p> + <p> + “No; his health was perfectly good, and he died through an accident.” + </p> + <p> + “By accident! Nature prompted him to eat oysters, so probably he required + them; for up to a certain point our predominant tastes are conditions of + our existence.” + </p> + <p> + “I am of your opinion,” said the Princess, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, you always put a malicious construction on things,” returned the + Marquis. + </p> + <p> + “I only want you to understand that these remarks might leave a wrong + impression on a young woman’s mind,” said she, and interrupted herself to + exclaim, “But this niece, this niece of mine!” + </p> + <p> + “Dear aunt, I still refuse to believe that she can have gone to M. de + Montriveau,” said the Duc de Navarreins. + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” returned the Princess. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think, Vidame?” asked the Marquis. + </p> + <p> + “If the Duchess were an artless simpleton, I should think that——” + </p> + <p> + “But when a woman is in love she becomes an artless simpleton,” retorted + the Princess. “Really, my poor Vidame, you must be getting older.” + </p> + <p> + “After all, what is to be done?” asked the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “If my dear niece is wise,” said the Princess, “she will go to Court this + evening—fortunately, today is Monday, and reception day—and + you must see that we all rally round her and give the lie to this absurd + rumour. There are hundreds of ways of explaining things; and if the + Marquis de Montriveau is a gentleman, he will come to our assistance. We + will bring these children to listen to reason——” + </p> + <p> + “But, dear aunt, it is not easy to tell M. de Montriveau the truth to his + face. He is one of Bonaparte’s pupils, and he has a position. Why, he is + one of the great men of the day; he is high up in the Guards, and very + useful there. He has not a spark of ambition. He is just the man to say, + ‘Here is my commission, leave me in peace,’ if the King should say a word + that he did not like.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, pray, what are his opinions?” + </p> + <p> + “Very unsound.” + </p> + <p> + “Really,” sighed the Princess, “the King is, as he always has been, a + Jacobin under the Lilies of France.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! not quite so bad,” said the Vidame. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I have known him for a long while. The man that pointed out the + Court to his wife on the occasion of her first state dinner in public + with, ‘These are our people,’ could only be a black-hearted scoundrel. I + can see Monsieur exactly the same as ever in the King. The bad brother who + voted so wrongly in his department of the Constituent Assembly was sure to + compound with the Liberals and allow them to argue and talk. This + philosophical cant will be just as dangerous now for the younger brother + as it used to be for the elder; this fat man with the little mind is + amusing himself by creating difficulties, and how his successor is to get + out of them I do not know; he holds his younger brother in abhorrence; he + would be glad to think as he lay dying, ‘He will not reign very long——‘” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt, he is the King, and I have the honour to be in his service——” + </p> + <p> + “But does your post take away your right of free speech, my dear? You come + of quite as good a house as the Bourbons. If the Guises had shown a little + more resolution, His Majesty would be a nobody at this day. It is time I + went out of this world, the noblesse is dead. Yes, it is all over with + you, my children,” she continued, looking as she spoke at the Vidame. + “What has my niece done that the whole town should be talking about her? + She is in the wrong; I disapprove of her conduct, a useless scandal is a + blunder; that is why I still have my doubts about this want of regard for + appearances; I brought her up, and I know that——” + </p> + <p> + Just at that moment the Duchess came out of her boudoir. She had + recognised her aunt’s voice and heard the name of Montriveau. She was + still in her loose morning-gown; and even as she came in, M. de Grandlieu, + looking carelessly out of the window, saw his niece’s carriage driving + back along the street. The Duke took his daughter’s face in both hands and + kissed her on the forehead. + </p> + <p> + “So, dear girl,” he said, “you do not know what is going on?” + </p> + <p> + “Has anything extraordinary happened, father dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, all Paris believes that you are with M. de Montriveau.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Antoinette, you were at home all the time, were you not?” said + the Princess, holding out a hand, which the Duchess kissed with + affectionate respect. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear mother; I was at home all the time. And,” she added, as she + turned to greet the Vidame and the Marquis, “I wished that all Paris + should think that I was with M. de Montriveau.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke flung up his hands, struck them together in despair, and folded + his arms. + </p> + <p> + “Then, cannot you see what will come of this mad freak?” he asked at last. + </p> + <p> + But the aged Princess had suddenly risen, and stood looking steadily at + the Duchess, the younger woman flushed, and her eyes fell. Mme de Chauvry + gently drew her closer, and said, “My little angel, let me kiss you!” + </p> + <p> + She kissed her niece very affectionately on the forehead, and continued + smiling, while she held her hand in a tight clasp. + </p> + <p> + “We are not under the Valois now, dear child. You have compromised your + husband and your position. Still, we will arrange to make everything + right.” + </p> + <p> + “But, dear aunt, I do not wish to make it right at all. It is my wish that + all Paris should say that I was with M. de Montriveau this morning. If you + destroy that belief, however ill grounded it may be, you will do me a + singular disservice.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really wish to ruin yourself, child, and to grieve your family?” + </p> + <p> + “My family, father, unintentionally condemned me to irreparable misfortune + when they sacrificed me to family considerations. You may, perhaps, blame + me for seeking alleviations, but you will certainly feel for me.” + </p> + <p> + “After all the endless pains you take to settle your daughters suitably!” + muttered M. de Navarreins, addressing the Vidame. + </p> + <p> + The Princess shook a stray grain of snuff from her skirts. “My dear little + girl,” she said, “be happy, if you can. We are not talking of troubling + your felicity, but of reconciling it with social usages. We all of us here + assembled know that marriage is a defective institution tempered by love. + But when you take a lover, is there any need to make your bed in the Place + du Carrousel? See now, just be a bit reasonable, and hear what we have to + say.” + </p> + <p> + “I am listening.” + </p> + <p> + “Mme la Duchesse,” began the Duc de Grandlieu, “if it were any part of an + uncle’s duty to look after his nieces, he ought to have a position; + society would owe him honours and rewards and a salary, exactly as if he + were in the King’s service. So I am not here to talk about my nephew, but + of your own interests. Let us look ahead a little. If you persist in + making a scandal—I have seen the animal before, and I own that I + have no great liking for him—Langeais is stingy enough, and he does + not care a rap for anyone but himself; he will have a separation; he will + stick to your money, and leave you poor, and consequently you will be a + nobody. The income of a hundred thousand livres that you have just + inherited from your maternal great-aunt will go to pay for his mistresses’ + amusements. You will be bound and gagged by the law; you will have to say + <i>Amen</i> to all these arrangements. Suppose M. de Montriveau leaves you——dear + me! do not let us put ourselves in a passion, my dear niece; a man does + not leave a woman while she is young and pretty; still, we have seen so + many pretty women left disconsolate, even among princesses, that you will + permit the supposition, an all but impossible supposition I quite wish to + believe.——Well, suppose that he goes, what will become of you + without a husband? Keep well with your husband as you take care of your + beauty; for beauty, after all, is a woman’s parachute, and a husband also + stands between you and worse. I am supposing that you are happy and loved + to the end, and I am leaving unpleasant or unfortunate events altogether + out of the reckoning. This being so, fortunately or unfortunately, you may + have children. What are they to be? Montriveaus? Very well; they certainly + will not succeed to their father’s whole fortune. You will want to give + them all that you have; he will wish to do the same. Nothing more natural, + dear me! And you will find the law against you. How many times have we + seen heirs-at-law bringing a law-suit to recover the property from + illegitimate children? Every court of law rings with such actions all over + the world. You will create a <i>fidei commissum</i> perhaps; and if the + trustee betrays your confidence, your children have no remedy against him; + and they are ruined. So choose carefully. You see the perplexities of the + position. In every possible way your children will be sacrificed of + necessity to the fancies of your heart; they will have no recognised + status. While they are little they will be charming; but, Lord! some day + they will reproach you for thinking of no one but your two selves. We old + gentlemen know all about it. Little boys grow up into men, and men are + ungrateful beings. When I was in Germany, did I not hear young de Horn + say, after supper, ‘If my mother had been an honest woman, I should be + prince-regnant!’ <i>If</i>?’ We have spent our lives in hearing plebeians + say <i>if</i>. <i>If</i> brought about the Revolution. When a man cannot + lay the blame on his father or mother, he holds God responsible for his + hard lot. In short, dear child, we are here to open your eyes. I will say + all I have to say in a few words, on which you had better meditate: A + woman ought never to put her husband in the right.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle, so long as I cared for nobody, I could calculate; I looked at + interests then, as you do; now, I can only feel.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear little girl,” remonstrated the Vidame, “life is simply a + complication of interests and feelings; to be happy, more particularly in + your position, one must try to reconcile one’s feelings with one’s + interests. A grisette may love according to her fancy, that is + intelligible enough, but you have a pretty fortune, a family, a name and a + place at Court, and you ought not to fling them out of the window. And + what have we been asking you to do to keep them all?—To manoeuvre + carefully instead of falling foul of social conventions. Lord! I shall + very soon be eighty years old, and I cannot recollect, under any regime, a + love worth the price that you are willing to pay for the love of this + lucky young man.” + </p> + <p> + The Duchess silenced the Vidame with a look; if Montriveau could have seen + that glance, he would have forgiven all. + </p> + <p> + “It would be very effective on the stage,” remarked the Duc de Grandlieu, + “but it all amounts to nothing when your jointure and position and + independence is concerned. You are not grateful, my dear niece. You will + not find many families where the relatives have courage enough to teach + the wisdom gained by experience, and to make rash young heads listen to + reason. Renounce your salvation in two minutes, if it pleases you to damn + yourself; well and good; but reflect well beforehand when it comes to + renouncing your income. I know of no confessor who remits the pains of + poverty. I have a right, I think, to speak in this way to you; for if you + are ruined, I am the one person who can offer you a refuge. I am almost an + uncle to Langeais, and I alone have a right to put him in the wrong.” + </p> + <p> + The Duc de Navarreins roused himself from painful reflections. + </p> + <p> + “Since you speak of feeling, my child,” he said, “let me remind you that a + woman who bears your name ought to be moved by sentiments which do not + touch ordinary people. Can you wish to give an advantage to the Liberals, + to those Jesuits of Robespierre’s that are doing all they can to vilify + the noblesse? Some things a Navarreins cannot do without failing in duty + to his house. You would not be alone in your dishonor——” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come!” said the Princess. “Dishonor? Do not make such a fuss about + the journey of an empty carriage, children, and leave me alone with + Antoinette. All three of you come and dine with me. I will undertake to + arrange matters suitably. You men understand nothing; you are beginning to + talk sourly already, and I have no wish to see a quarrel between you and + my dear child. Do me the pleasure to go.” + </p> + <p> + The three gentlemen probably guessed the Princess’s intentions; they took + their leave. M. de Navarreins kissed his daughter on the forehead with, + “Come, be good, dear child. It is not too late yet if you choose.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t we find some good fellow in the family to pick a quarrel with + this Montriveau?” said the Vidame, as they went downstairs. + </p> + <p> + When the two women were alone, the Princess beckoned her niece to a little + low chair by her side. + </p> + <p> + “My pearl,” said she, “in this world below, I know nothing worse + calumniated than God and the eighteenth century; for as I look back over + my own young days, I do not recollect that a single duchess trampled the + proprieties underfoot as you have just done. Novelists and scribblers + brought the reign of Louis XV into disrepute. Do not believe them. The du + Barry, my dear, was quite as good as the Widow Scarron, and the more + agreeable woman of the two. In my time a woman could keep her dignity + among her gallantries. Indiscretion was the ruin of us, and the beginning + of all the mischief. The philosophists—the nobodies whom we admitted + into our salons—had no more gratitude or sense of decency than to + make an inventory of our hearts, to traduce us one and all, and to rail + against the age by way of a return for our kindness. The people are not in + a position to judge of anything whatsoever; they looked at the facts, not + at the form. But the men and women of those times, my heart, were quite as + remarkable as at any other period of the Monarchy. Not one of your + Werthers, none of your notabilities, as they are called, never a one of + your men in yellow kid gloves and trousers that disguise the poverty of + their legs, would cross Europe in the dress of a travelling hawker to + brave the daggers of a Duke of Modena, and to shut himself up in the + dressing-room of the Regent’s daughter at the risk of his life. Not one of + your little consumptive patients with their tortoiseshell eyeglasses would + hide himself in a closet for six weeks, like Lauzun, to keep up his + mistress’s courage while she was lying in of her child. There was more + passion in M. de Jaucourt’s little finger than in your whole race of + higglers that leave a woman to better themselves elsewhere! Just tell me + where to find the page that would be cut in pieces and buried under the + floorboards for one kiss on the Konigsmark’s gloved finger! + </p> + <p> + “Really, it would seem today that the roles are exchanged, and women are + expected to show their devotion for men. These modern gentlemen are worth + less, and think more of themselves. Believe me, my dear, all these + adventures that have been made public, and now are turned against our good + Louis XV, were kept quite secret at first. If it had not been for a pack + of poetasters, scribblers, and moralists, who hung about our + waiting-women, and took down their slanders, our epoch would have appeared + in literature as a well-conducted age. I am justifying the century and not + its fringe. Perhaps a hundred women of quality were lost; but for every + one, the rogues set down ten, like the gazettes after a battle when they + count up the losses of the beaten side. And in any case I do not know that + the Revolution and the Empire can reproach us; they were coarse, dull, + licentious times. Faugh! it is revolting. Those are the brothels of French + history. + </p> + <p> + “This preamble, my dear child,” she continued after a pause, “brings me to + the thing that I have to say. If you care for Montriveau, you are quite at + liberty to love him at your ease, and as much as you can. I know by + experience that, unless you are locked up (but locking people up is out of + fashion now), you will do as you please; I should have done the same at + your age. Only, sweetheart, I should not have given up my right to be the + mother of future Ducs de Langeais. So mind appearances. The Vidame is + right. No man is worth a single one of the sacrifices which we are foolish + enough to make for their love. Put yourself in such a position that you + may still be M. de Langeais’ wife, in case you should have the misfortune + to repent. When you are an old woman, you will be very glad to hear mass + said at Court, and not in some provincial convent. Therein lies the whole + question. A single imprudence means an allowance and a wandering life; it + means that you are at the mercy of your lover; it means that you must put + up with insolence from women that are not so honest, precisely because + they have been very vulgarly sharp-witted. It would be a hundred times + better to go to Montriveau’s at night in a cab, and disguised, instead of + sending your carriage in broad daylight. You are a little fool, my dear + child! Your carriage flattered his vanity; your person would have ensnared + his heart. All this that I have said is just and true; but, for my own + part, I do not blame you. You are two centuries behind the times with your + false ideas of greatness. There, leave us to arrange your affairs, and say + that Montriveau made your servants drunk to gratify his vanity and to + compromise you——” + </p> + <p> + The Duchess rose to her feet with a spring. “In Heaven’s name, aunt, do + not slander him!” + </p> + <p> + The old Princess’s eyes flashed. + </p> + <p> + “Dear child,” she said, “I should have liked to spare such of your + illusions as were not fatal. But there must be an end of all illusions + now. You would soften me if I were not so old. Come, now, do not vex him, + or us, or anyone else. I will undertake to satisfy everybody; but promise + me not to permit yourself a single step henceforth until you have + consulted me. Tell me all, and perhaps I may bring it all right again.” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt, I promise——” + </p> + <p> + “To tell me everything?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, everything. Everything that can be told.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my sweetheart, it is precisely what cannot be told that I want to + know. Let us understand each other thoroughly. Come, let me put my + withered old lips on your beautiful forehead. No; let me do as I wish. I + forbid you to kiss my bones. Old people have a courtesy of their own.... + There, take me down to my carriage,” she added, when she had kissed her + niece. + </p> + <p> + “Then may I go to him in disguise, dear aunt?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—yes. The story can always be denied,” said the old Princess. + </p> + <p> + This was the one idea which the Duchess had clearly grasped in the sermon. + When Mme de Chauvry was seated in the corner of her carriage, Mme de + Langeais bade her a graceful adieu and went up to her room. She was quite + happy again. + </p> + <p> + “My person would have snared his heart; my aunt is right; a man cannot + surely refuse a pretty woman when she understands how to offer herself.” + </p> + <p> + That evening, at the Elysee-Bourbon, the Duc de Navarreins, M. de Pamiers, + M. de Marsay, M. de Grandlieu, and the Duc de Maufrigneuse triumphantly + refuted the scandals that were circulating with regard to the Duchesse de + Langeais. So many officers and other persons had seen Montriveau walking + in the Tuileries that morning, that the silly story was set down to + chance, which takes all that is offered. And so, in spite of the fact that + the Duchess’s carriage had waited before Montriveau’s door, her character + became as clear and as spotless as Membrino’s sword after Sancho had + polished it up. + </p> + <p> + But, at two o’clock, M. de Ronquerolles passed Montriveau in a deserted + alley, and said with a smile, “She is coming on, is your Duchess. Go on, + keep it up!” he added, and gave a significant cut of the riding whip to + his mare, who sped off like a bullet down the avenue. + </p> + <p> + Two days after the fruitless scandal, Mme de Langeais wrote to M. de + Montriveau. That letter, like the preceding ones, remained unanswered. + This time she took her own measures, and bribed M. de Montriveau’s man, + Auguste. And so at eight o’clock that evening she was introduced into + Armand’s apartment. It was not the room in which that secret scene had + passed; it was entirely different. The Duchess was told that the General + would not be at home that night. Had he two houses? The man would give no + answer. Mme de Langeais had bought the key of the room, but not the man’s + whole loyalty. + </p> + <p> + When she was left alone she saw her fourteen letters lying on an + old-fashioned stand, all of them uncreased and unopened. He had not read + them. She sank into an easy-chair, and for a while she lost consciousness. + When she came to herself, Auguste was holding vinegar for her to inhale. + </p> + <p> + “A carriage; quick!” she ordered. + </p> + <p> + The carriage came. She hastened downstairs with convulsive speed, and left + orders that no one was to be admitted. For twenty-four hours she lay in + bed, and would have no one near her but her woman, who brought her a cup + of orange-flower water from time to time. Suzette heard her mistress moan + once or twice, and caught a glimpse of tears in the brilliant eyes, now + circled with dark shadows. + </p> + <p> + The next day, amid despairing tears, Mme de Langeais took her resolution. + Her man of business came for an interview, and no doubt received + instructions of some kind. Afterwards she sent for the Vidame de Pamiers; + and while she waited, she wrote a letter to M. de Montriveau. The Vidame + punctually came towards two o’clock that afternoon, to find his young + cousin looking white and worn, but resigned; never had her divine + loveliness been more poetic than now in the languor of her agony. + </p> + <p> + “You owe this assignation to your eighty-four years, dear cousin,” she + said. “Ah! do not smile, I beg of you, when an unhappy woman has reached + the lowest depths of wretchedness. You are a gentleman, and after the + adventures of your youth you must feel some indulgence for women.” + </p> + <p> + “None whatever,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Everything is in their favour.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Well, you are one of the inner family circle; possibly you will be + the last relative, the last friend whose hand I shall press, so I can ask + your good offices. Will you, dear Vidame, do me a service which I could + not ask of my own father, nor of my uncle Grandlieu, nor of any woman? You + cannot fail to understand. I beg of you to do my bidding, and then to + forget what you have done, whatever may come of it. It is this: Will you + take this letter and go to M. de Montriveau? will you see him yourself, + give it into his hands, and ask him, as you men can ask things between + yourselves—for you have a code of honour between man and man which + you do not use with us, and a different way of regarding things between + yourselves—ask him if he will read this letter? Not in your + presence. Certain feelings men hide from each other. I give you authority + to say, if you think it necessary to bring him, that it is a question of + life or death for me. If he deigns——” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Deigns</i>!” repeated the Vidame. + </p> + <p> + “If he deigns to read it,” the Duchess continued with dignity, “say one + thing more. You will go to see him about five o’clock, for I know that he + will dine at home today at that time. Very good. By way of answer he must + come to see me. If, three hours afterwards, by eight o’clock, he does not + leave his house, all will be over. The Duchesse de Langeais will have + vanished from the world. I shall not be dead, dear friend, no, but no + human power will ever find me again on this earth. Come and dine with me; + I shall at least have one friend with me in the last agony. Yes, dear + cousin, tonight will decide my fate; and whatever happens to me, I pass + through an ordeal by fire. There! not a word. I will hear nothing of the + nature of comment or advice——Let us chat and laugh together,” + she added, holding out a hand, which he kissed. “We will be like two + grey-headed philosophers who have learned how to enjoy life to the last + moment. I will look my best; I will be very enchanting for you. You + perhaps will be the last man to set eyes on the Duchesse de Langeais.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte bowed, took the letter, and went without a word. At five + o’clock he returned. His cousin had studied to please him, and she looked + lovely indeed. The room was gay with flowers as if for a festivity; the + dinner was exquisite. For the grey-headed Vidame the Duchess displayed all + the brilliancy of her wit; she was more charming than she had ever been + before. At first the Vidame tried to look on all these preparations as a + young woman’s jest; but now and again the attempted illusion faded, the + spell of his fair cousin’s charm was broken. He detected a shudder caused + by some kind of sudden dread, and once she seemed to listen during a + pause. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” she said. + </p> + <p> + At seven o’clock the Duchess left him for a few minutes. When she came + back again she was dressed as her maid might have dressed for a journey. + She asked her guest to be her escort, took his arm, sprang into a hackney + coach, and by a quarter to eight they stood outside M. de Montriveau’s + door. + </p> + <p> + Armand meantime had been reading the following letter:— + </p> + <p> + “MY FRIEND,—I went to your rooms for a few minutes without your + knowledge; I found my letters there, and took them away. This cannot be + indifference, Armand, between us; and hatred would show itself quite + differently. If you love me, make an end of this cruel play, or you will + kill me, and afterwards, learning how much you were loved, you might be in + despair. If I have not rightly understood you, if you have no feeling + towards me but aversion, which implies both contempt and disgust, then I + give up all hope. A man never recovers from those feelings. You will have + no regrets. Dreadful though that thought may be, it will comfort me in my + long sorrow. Regrets? Oh, my Armand, may I never know of them; if I + thought that I had caused you a single regret——But, no, I will + not tell you what desolation I should feel. I should be living still, and + I could not be your wife; it would be too late! + </p> + <p> + “Now that I have given myself wholly to you in thought, to whom else + should I give myself?—to God. The eyes that you loved for a little + while shall never look on another man’s face; and may the glory of God + blind them to all besides. I shall never hear human voices more since I + heard yours—so gentle at the first, so terrible yesterday; for it + seems to me that I am still only on the morrow of your vengeance. And now + may the will of God consume me. Between His wrath and yours, my friend, + there will be nothing left for me but a little space for tears and + prayers. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you wonder why I write to you? Ah! do not think ill of me if I + keep a gleam of hope, and give one last sigh to happy life before I take + leave of it forever. I am in a hideous position. I feel all the inward + serenity that comes when a great resolution has been taken, even while I + hear the last growlings of the storm. When you went out on that terrible + adventure which so drew me to you, Armand, you went from the desert to the + oasis with a good guide to show you the way. Well, I am going out of the + oasis into the desert, and you are a pitiless guide to me. And yet you + only, my friend, can understand how melancholy it is to look back for the + last time on happiness—to you, and you only, I can make moan without + a blush. If you grant my entreaty, I shall be happy; if you are + inexorable, I shall expiate the wrong that I have done. After all, it is + natural, is it not, that a woman should wish to live, invested with all + noble feelings, in her friend’s memory? Oh! my one and only love, let her + to whom you gave life go down into the tomb in the belief that she is + great in your eyes. Your harshness led me to reflect; and now that I love + you so, it seems to me that I am less guilty than you think. Listen to my + justification, I owe it to you; and you that are all the world to me, owe + me at least a moment’s justice. + </p> + <p> + “I have learned by my own anguish all that I made you suffer by my + coquetry; but in those days I was utterly ignorant of love. <i>You</i> + know what the torture is, and you mete it out to me! During those first + eight months that you gave me you never roused any feeling of love in me. + Do you ask why this was so, my friend? I can no more explain it than I can + tell you why I love you now. Oh! certainly it flattered my vanity that I + should be the subject of your passionate talk, and receive those burning + glances of yours; but you left me cold. No, I was not a woman; I had no + conception of womanly devotion and happiness. Who was to blame? You would + have despised me, would you not, if I had given myself without the impulse + of passion? Perhaps it is the highest height to which we can rise—to + give all and receive no joy; perhaps there is no merit in yielding oneself + to bliss that is foreseen and ardently desired. Alas, my friend, I can say + this now; these thoughts came to me when I played with you; and you seemed + to me so great even then that I would not have you owe the gift to pity——What + is this that I have written? + </p> + <p> + “I have taken back all my letters; I am flinging them one by one on the + fire; they are burning. You will never know what they confessed—all + the love and the passion and the madness—— + </p> + <p> + “I will say no more, Armand; I will stop. I will not say another word of + my feelings. If my prayers have not echoed from my soul through yours, I + also, woman that I am, decline to owe your love to your pity. It is my + wish to be loved, because you cannot choose but love me, or else to be + left without mercy. If you refuse to read this letter, it shall be burnt. + If, after you have read it, you do not come to me within three hours, to + be henceforth forever my husband, the one man in the world for me; then I + shall never blush to know that this letter is in your hands, the pride of + my despair will protect my memory from all insult, and my end shall be + worthy of my love. When you see me no more on earth, albeit I shall still + be alive, you yourself will not think without a shudder of the woman who, + in three hours’ time, will live only to overwhelm you with her tenderness; + a woman consumed by a hopeless love, and faithful—not to memories of + past joys—but to a love that was slighted. + </p> + <p> + “The Duchesse de la Valliere wept for lost happiness and vanished power; + but the Duchesse de Langeais will be happy that she may weep and be a + power for you still. Yes, you will regret me. I see clearly that I was not + of this world, and I thank you for making it clear to me. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell; you will never touch <i>my</i> axe. Yours was the executioner’s + axe, mine is God’s; yours kills, mine saves. Your love was but mortal, it + could not endure disdain or ridicule; mine can endure all things without + growing weaker, it will last eternally. Ah! I feel a sombre joy in + crushing you that believe yourself so great; in humbling you with the + calm, indulgent smile of one of the least among the angels that lie at the + feet of God, for to them is given the right and the power to protect and + watch over men in His name. You have but felt fleeting desires, while the + poor nun will shed the light of her ceaseless and ardent prayer about you, + she will shelter you all your life long beneath the wings of a love that + has nothing of earth in it. + </p> + <p> + “I have a presentiment of your answer; our trysting place shall be—in + heaven. Strength and weakness can both enter there, dear Armand; the + strong and the weak are bound to suffer. This thought soothes the anguish + of my final ordeal. So calm am I that I should fear that I had ceased to + love you if I were not about to leave the world for your sake. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “ANTOINETTE.” + </pre> + <p> + “Dear Vidame,” said the Duchess as they reached Montriveau’s house, “do me + the kindness to ask at the door whether he is at home.” The Vidame, + obedient after the manner of the eighteenth century to a woman’s wish, got + out, and came back to bring his cousin an affirmative answer that sent a + shudder through her. She grasped his hand tightly in hers, suffered him to + kiss her on either cheek, and begged him to go at once. He must not watch + her movements nor try to protect her. “But the people passing in the + street,” he objected. + </p> + <p> + “No one can fail in respect to me,” she said. It was the last word spoken + by the Duchess and the woman of fashion. + </p> + <p> + The Vidame went. Mme de Langeais wrapped herself about in her cloak, and + stood on the doorstep until the clocks struck eight. The last stroke died + away. The unhappy woman waited ten, fifteen minutes; to the last she tried + to see a fresh humiliation in the delay, then her faith ebbed. She turned + to leave the fatal threshold. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God!” the cry broke from her in spite of herself; it was the first + word spoken by the Carmelite. + </p> + <p> + Montriveau and some of his friends were talking together. He tried to + hasten them to a conclusion, but his clock was slow, and by the time he + started out for the Hotel de Langeais the Duchess was hurrying on foot + through the streets of Paris, goaded by the dull rage in her heart. She + reached the Boulevard d’Enfer, and looked out for the last time through + falling tears on the noisy, smoky city that lay below in a red mist, + lighted up by its own lamps. Then she hailed a cab, and drove away, never + to return. When the Marquis de Montriveau reached the Hotel de Langeais, + and found no trace of his mistress, he thought that he had been duped. He + hurried away at once to the Vidame, and found that worthy gentleman in the + act of slipping on his flowered dressing-gown, thinking the while of his + fair cousin’s happiness. + </p> + <p> + Montriveau gave him one of the terrific glances that produced the effect + of an electric shock on men and women alike. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible that you have lent yourself to some cruel hoax, monsieur?” + Montriveau exclaimed. “I have just come from Mme de Langeais’ house; the + servants say that she is out.” + </p> + <p> + “Then a great misfortune has happened, no doubt,” returned the Vidame, + “and through your fault. I left the Duchess at your door——” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “At a quarter to eight.” + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” returned Montriveau, and he hurried home to ask the porter + whether he had seen a lady standing on the doorstep that evening. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my Lord Marquis, a handsome woman, who seemed very much put out. She + was crying like a Magdalen, but she never made a sound, and stood as + upright as a post. Then at last she went, and my wife and I that were + watching her while she could not see us, heard her say, ‘Oh, God!’ so that + it went to our hearts, asking your pardon, to hear her say it.” + </p> + <p> + Montriveau, in spite of all his firmness, turned pale at those few words. + He wrote a few lines to Ronquerolles, sent off the message at once, and + went up to his rooms. Ronquerolles came just about midnight. + </p> + <p> + Armand gave him the Duchess’s letter to read. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” asked Ronquerolles. + </p> + <p> + “She was here at my door at eight o’clock; at a quarter-past eight she had + gone. I have lost her, and I love her. Oh! if my life were my own, I could + blow my brains out.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh, pooh! Keep cool,” said Ronquerolles. “Duchesses do not fly off like + wagtails. She cannot travel faster than three leagues an hour, and + tomorrow we will ride six.—Confound it! Mme de Langeais is no + ordinary woman,” he continued. “Tomorrow we will all of us mount and ride. + The police will put us on her track during the day. She must have a + carriage; angels of that sort have no wings. We shall find her whether she + is on the road or hidden in Paris. There is the semaphore. We can stop + her. You shall be happy. But, my dear fellow, you have made a blunder, of + which men of your energy are very often guilty. They judge others by + themselves, and do not know the point when human nature gives way if you + strain the cords too tightly. Why did you not say a word to me sooner? I + would have told you to be punctual. Good-bye till tomorrow,” he added, as + Montriveau said nothing. “Sleep if you can,” he added, with a grasp of the + hand. + </p> + <p> + But the greatest resources which society has ever placed at the disposal + of statesmen, kings, ministers, bankers, or any human power, in fact, were + all exhausted in vain. Neither Montriveau nor his friends could find any + trace of the Duchess. It was clear that she had entered a convent. + Montriveau determined to search, or to institute a search, for her through + every convent in the world. He must have her, even at the cost of all the + lives in a town. And in justice to this extraordinary man, it must be said + that his frenzied passion awoke to the same ardour daily and lasted + through five years. Only in 1829 did the Duc de Navarreins hear by chance + that his daughter had travelled to Spain as Lady Julia Hopwood’s maid, + that she had left her service at Cadiz, and that Lady Julia never + discovered that Mlle Caroline was the illustrious duchess whose sudden + disappearance filled the minds of the highest society of Paris. + </p> + <p> + The feelings of the two lovers when they met again on either side of the + grating in the Carmelite convent should now be comprehended to the full, + and the violence of the passion awakened in either soul will doubtless + explain the catastrophe of the story. + </p> + <p> + In 1823 the Duc de Langeais was dead, and his wife was free. Antoinette de + Navarreins was living, consumed by love, on a ledge of rock in the + Mediterranean; but it was in the Pope’s power to dissolve Sister Theresa’s + vows. The happiness bought by so much love might yet bloom for the two + lovers. These thoughts sent Montriveau flying from Cadiz to Marseilles, + and from Marseilles to Paris. + </p> + <p> + A few months after his return to France, a merchant brig, fitted out and + munitioned for active service, set sail from the port of Marseilles for + Spain. The vessel had been chartered by several distinguished men, most of + them Frenchmen, who, smitten with a romantic passion for the East, wished + to make a journey to those lands. Montriveau’s familiar knowledge of + Eastern customs made him an invaluable travelling companion, and at the + entreaty of the rest he had joined the expedition; the Minister of War + appointed him lieutenant-general, and put him on the Artillery Commission + to facilitate his departure. + </p> + <p> + Twenty-fours hours later the brig lay to off the north-west shore of an + island within sight of the Spanish coast. She had been specially chosen + for her shallow keel and light mastage, so that she might lie at anchor in + safety half a league away from the reefs that secure the island from + approach in this direction. If fishing vessels or the people on the island + caught sight of the brig, they were scarcely likely to feel suspicious of + her at once; and besides, it was easy to give a reason for her presence + without delay. Montriveau hoisted the flag of the United States before + they came in sight of the island, and the crew of the vessel were all + American sailors, who spoke nothing but English. One of M. de Montriveau’s + companions took the men ashore in the ship’s longboat, and made them so + drunk at an inn in the little town that they could not talk. Then he gave + out that the brig was manned by treasure-seekers, a gang of men whose + hobby was well known in the United States; indeed, some Spanish writer had + written a history of them. The presence of the brig among the reefs was + now sufficiently explained. The owners of the vessel, according to the + self-styled boatswain’s mate, were looking for the wreck of a galleon + which foundered thereabouts in 1778 with a cargo of treasure from Mexico. + The people at the inn and the authorities asked no more questions. + </p> + <p> + Armand, and the devoted friends who were helping him in his difficult + enterprise, were all from the first of the opinion that there was no hope + of rescuing or carrying off Sister Theresa by force or stratagem from the + side of the little town. Wherefore these bold spirits, with one accord, + determined to take the bull by the horns. They would make a way to the + convent at the most seemingly inaccessible point; like General Lamarque, + at the storming of Capri, they would conquer Nature. The cliff at the end + of the island, a sheer block of granite, afforded even less hold than the + rock of Capri. So it seemed at least to Montriveau, who had taken part in + that incredible exploit, while the nuns in his eyes were much more + redoubtable than Sir Hudson Lowe. To raise a hubbub over carrying off the + Duchess would cover them with confusion. They might as well set siege to + the town and convent, like pirates, and leave not a single soul to tell of + their victory. So for them their expedition wore but two aspects. There + should be a conflagration and a feat of arms that should dismay all + Europe, while the motives of the crime remained unknown; or, on the other + hand, a mysterious, aerial descent which should persuade the nuns that the + Devil himself had paid them a visit. They had decided upon the latter + course in the secret council held before they left Paris, and subsequently + everything had been done to insure the success of an expedition which + promised some real excitement to jaded spirits weary of Paris and its + pleasures. + </p> + <p> + An extremely light pirogue, made at Marseilles on a Malayan model, enabled + them to cross the reef, until the rocks rose from out of the water. Then + two cables of iron wire were fastened several feet apart between one rock + and another. These wire ropes slanted upwards and downwards in opposite + directions, so that baskets of iron wire could travel to and fro along + them; and in this manner the rocks were covered with a system of baskets + and wire-cables, not unlike the filaments which a certain species of + spider weaves about a tree. The Chinese, an essentially imitative people, + were the first to take a lesson from the work of instinct. Fragile as + these bridges were, they were always ready for use; high waves and the + caprices of the sea could not throw them out of working order; the ropes + hung just sufficiently slack, so as to present to the breakers that + particular curve discovered by Cachin, the immortal creator of the harbour + at Cherbourg. Against this cunningly devised line the angry surge is + powerless; the law of that curve was a secret wrested from Nature by that + faculty of observation in which nearly all human genius consists. + </p> + <p> + M. de Montriveau’s companions were alone on board the vessel, and out of + sight of every human eye. No one from the deck of a passing vessel could + have discovered either the brig hidden among the reefs, or the men at work + among the rocks; they lay below the ordinary range of the most powerful + telescope. Eleven days were spent in preparation, before the Thirteen, + with all their infernal power, could reach the foot of the cliffs. The + body of the rock rose up straight from the sea to a height of thirty + fathoms. Any attempt to climb the sheer wall of granite seemed impossible; + a mouse might as well try to creep up the slippery sides of a plain china + vase. Still there was a cleft, a straight line of fissure so fortunately + placed that large blocks of wood could be wedged firmly into it at a + distance of about a foot apart. Into these blocks the daring workers drove + iron cramps, specially made for the purpose, with a broad iron bracket at + the outer end, through which a hole had been drilled. Each bracket carried + a light deal board which corresponded with a notch made in a pole that + reached to the top of the cliffs, and was firmly planted in the beach at + their feet. With ingenuity worthy of these men who found nothing + impossible, one of their number, a skilled mathematician, had calculated + the angle from which the steps must start; so that from the middle they + rose gradually, like the sticks of a fan, to the top of the cliff, and + descended in the same fashion to its base. That miraculously light, yet + perfectly firm, staircase cost them twenty-two days of toil. A little + tinder and the surf of the sea would destroy all trace of it forever in a + single night. A betrayal of the secret was impossible; and all search for + the violators of the convent was doomed to failure. + </p> + <p> + At the top of the rock there was a platform with sheer precipice on all + sides. The Thirteen, reconnoitring the ground with their glasses from the + masthead, made certain that though the ascent was steep and rough, there + would be no difficulty in gaining the convent garden, where the trees were + thick enough for a hiding-place. After such great efforts they would not + risk the success of their enterprise, and were compelled to wait till the + moon passed out of her last quarter. + </p> + <p> + For two nights Montriveau, wrapped in his cloak, lay out on the rock + platform. The singing at vespers and matins filled him with unutterable + joy. He stood under the wall to hear the music of the organ, listening + intently for one voice among the rest. But in spite of the silence, the + confused effect of music was all that reached his ears. In those sweet + harmonies defects of execution are lost; the pure spirit of art comes into + direct communication with the spirit of the hearer, making no demand on + the attention, no strain on the power of listening. Intolerable memories + awoke. All the love within him seemed to break into blossom again at the + breath of that music; he tried to find auguries of happiness in the air. + During the last night he sat with his eyes fixed upon an ungrated window, + for bars were not needed on the side of the precipice. A light shone there + all through the hours; and that instinct of the heart, which is sometimes + true, and as often false, cried within him, “She is there!” + </p> + <p> + “She is certainly there! Tomorrow she will be mine,” he said to himself, + and joy blended with the slow tinkling of a bell that began to ring. + </p> + <p> + Strange unaccountable workings of the heart! The nun, wasted by yearning + love, worn out with tears and fasting, prayer and vigils; the woman of + nine-and-twenty, who had passed through heavy trials, was loved more + passionately than the lighthearted girl, the woman of four-and-twenty, the + sylphide, had ever been. But is there not, for men of vigorous character, + something attractive in the sublime expression engraven on women’s faces + by the impetuous stirrings of thought and misfortunes of no ignoble kind? + Is there not a beauty of suffering which is the most interesting of all + beauty to those men who feel that within them there is an inexhaustible + wealth of tenderness and consoling pity for a creature so gracious in + weakness, so strong with love? It is the ordinary nature that is attracted + by young, smooth, pink-and-white beauty, or, in one word, by prettiness. + In some faces love awakens amid the wrinkles carved by sorrow and the ruin + made by melancholy; Montriveau could not but feel drawn to these. For + cannot a lover, with the voice of a great longing, call forth a wholly new + creature? a creature athrob with the life but just begun breaks forth for + him alone, from the outward form that is fair for him, and faded for all + the world besides. Does he not love two women?—One of them, as + others see her, is pale and wan and sad; but the other, the unseen love + that his heart knows, is an angel who understands life through feeling, + and is adorned in all her glory only for love’s high festivals. + </p> + <p> + The General left his post before sunrise, but not before he had heard + voices singing together, sweet voices full of tenderness sounding faintly + from the cell. When he came down to the foot of the cliffs where his + friends were waiting, he told them that never in his life had he felt such + enthralling bliss, and in the few words there was that unmistakable thrill + of repressed strong feeling, that magnificent utterance which all men + respect. + </p> + <p> + That night eleven of his devoted comrades made the ascent in the darkness. + Each man carried a poniard, a provision of chocolate, and a set of + house-breaking tools. They climbed the outer walls with scaling-ladders, + and crossed the cemetery of the convent. Montriveau recognised the long, + vaulted gallery through which he went to the parlour, and remembered the + windows of the room. His plans were made and adopted in a moment. They + would effect an entrance through one of the windows in the Carmelite’s + half of the parlour, find their way along the corridors, ascertain whether + the sister’s names were written on the doors, find Sister Theresa’s cell, + surprise her as she slept, and carry her off, bound and gagged. The + programme presented no difficulties to men who combined boldness and a + convict’s dexterity with the knowledge peculiar to men of the world, + especially as they would not scruple to give a stab to ensure silence. + </p> + <p> + In two hours the bars were sawn through. Three men stood on guard outside, + and two inside the parlour. The rest, barefooted, took up their posts + along the corridor. Young Henri de Marsay, the most dexterous man among + them, disguised by way of precaution in a Carmelite’s robe, exactly like + the costume of the convent, led the way, and Montriveau came immediately + behind him. The clock struck three just as the two men reached the + dormitory cells. They soon saw the position. Everything was perfectly + quiet. With the help of a dark lantern they read the names luckily written + on every door, together with the picture of a saint or saints and the + mystical words which every nun takes as a kind of motto for the beginning + of her new life and the revelation of her last thought. Montriveau reached + Sister Theresa’s door and read the inscription, <i>Sub invocatione sanctae + matris Theresae</i>, and her motto, <i>Adoremus in aeternum</i>. Suddenly + his companion laid a hand on his shoulder. A bright light was streaming + through the chinks of the door. M. de Ronquerolles came up at that moment. + </p> + <p> + “All the nuns are in the church,” he said; “they are beginning the Office + for the Dead.” + </p> + <p> + “I will stay here,” said Montriveau. “Go back into the parlour, and shut + the door at the end of the passage.” + </p> + <p> + He threw open the door and rushed in, preceded by his disguised companion, + who let down the veil over his face. + </p> + <p> + There before them lay the dead Duchess; her plank bed had been laid on the + floor of the outer room of her cell, between two lighted candles. Neither + Montriveau nor de Marsay spoke a word or uttered a cry; but they looked + into each other’s faces. The General’s dumb gesture tried to say, “Let us + carry her away!” + </p> + <p> + “Quickly” shouted Ronquerolles, “the procession of nuns is leaving the + church. You will be caught!” + </p> + <p> + With magical swiftness of movement, prompted by an intense desire, the + dead woman was carried into the convent parlour, passed through the + window, and lowered from the walls before the Abbess, followed by the + nuns, returned to take up Sister Theresa’s body. The sister left in charge + had imprudently left her post; there were secrets that she longed to know; + and so busy was she ransacking the inner room, that she heard nothing, and + was horrified when she came back to find that the body was gone. Before + the women, in their blank amazement, could think of making a search, the + Duchess had been lowered by a cord to the foot of the crags, and + Montriveau’s companions had destroyed all traces of their work. By nine + o’clock that morning there was not a sign to show that either staircase or + wire-cables had ever existed, and Sister Theresa’s body had been taken on + board. The brig came into the port to ship her crew, and sailed that day. + </p> + <p> + Montriveau, down in the cabin, was left alone with Antoinette de + Navarreins. For some hours it seemed as if her dead face was transfigured + for him by that unearthly beauty which the calm of death gives to the body + before it perishes. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Ronquerolles when Montriveau reappeared on deck, “<i>that</i> + was a woman once, now it is nothing. Let us tie a cannon ball to both feet + and throw the body overboard; and if ever you think of her again, think of + her as of some book that you read as a boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” assented Montriveau, “it is nothing now but a dream.” + </p> + <p> + “That is sensible of you. Now, after this, have passions; but as for love, + a man ought to know how to place it wisely; it is only a woman’s last love + that can satisfy a man’s first love.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ADDENDUM + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Note: The Duchesse de Langeais is the second part of a trilogy. + Part one is entitled Ferragus and part three is The Girl with + the Golden Eyes. 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"> + Blamont-Chauvry, Princesse de + Madame Firmiani + The Lily of the Valley + + Grandlieu, Duc Ferdinand de + The Gondreville Mystery + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Modeste Mignon + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + + Granville, Comtesse Angelique de + A Second Home + A Daughter of Eve + + Keller, Madame Francois + Domestic Peace + The Member for Arcis + + Langeais, Duc de + An Episode under the Terror + + Langeais, Duchesse Antoinette de + Father Goriot + Ferragus + + Marsay, Henri de + Ferragus + The Girl with the Golden Eyes + 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 + + Montriveau, General Marquis Armand de + Father Goriot + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Another Study of Woman + Pierrette + The Member for Arcis + + Navarreins, Duc de + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Colonel Chabert + The Muse of the Department + Jealousies of a Country Town + The Peasantry + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + The Country Parson + The Magic Skin + The Gondreville Mystery + The Secrets of a Princess + Cousin Betty + + Pamiers, Vidame de + Ferragus + Jealousies of a Country Town + + Ronquerolles, Marquis de + The Imaginary Mistress + The Peasantry + Ursule Mirouet + A Woman of Thirty + Another Study of Woman + Ferragus + The Girl with the Golden Eyes + The Member for Arcis + + Serizy, Comtesse de + A Start in Life + Ferragus + Ursule Mirouet + A Woman of Thirty + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Another Study of Woman + The Imaginary Mistress + + Soulanges, Comtesse Hortense de + Domestic Peace + The Peasantry + + Talleyrand-Perigord, Charles-Maurice de + The Chouans + The Gondreville Mystery + Letters of Two Brides + Gaudissart II +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN EYES + </h2> + <p> + Translated by Ellen Marriage + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEDICATION + + To Eugene Delacroix, Painter +</pre> + <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> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <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 the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Thirteen, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE THIRTEEN *** + +***** This file should be named 7416-h.htm or 7416-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/4/1/7416/ + +Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, 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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