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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:30:10 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:30:10 -0700 |
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diff --git a/7749-h/7749-h.htm b/7749-h/7749-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c1e83d2 --- /dev/null +++ b/7749-h/7749-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,31374 @@ +<?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 Parisians, by Edward Bulwer-lytton + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; 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; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's The Parisians, Complete, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +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 Parisians, Complete + +Author: Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +Release Date: March 16, 2009 [EBook #7749] +Last Updated: August 28, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARISIANS, COMPLETE *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE PARISIANS + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Edward Bulwer-Lytton + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> PREFATORY NOTE. (BY THE AUTHOR’S SON.) + </a><br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. </a><br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> <b>THE PARISIANS.</b> </a><br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0046"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0047"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0048"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0049"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0050"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0051"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0052"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0053"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0054"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0055"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0056"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0057"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0058"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0059"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0060"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0061"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0062"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0063"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0064"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0065"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0066"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0067"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0068"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0069"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0070"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0071"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0072"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0073"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0074"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0075"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0076"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0077"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0078"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0079"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0080"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0093"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0081"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0082"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0083"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0084"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0085"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0086"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0087"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0101"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0088"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0089"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0090"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0091"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0092"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0093"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0094"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0095"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0096"> CHAPTER, IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0097"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0098"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0099"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0100"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0101"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0102"> CHAPTER XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0103"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0104"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0105"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0120"> <br /><b>BOOK</b> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0106"> CHAPTER I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0107"> CHAPTER II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0108"> CHAPTER III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0109"> CHAPTER IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0110"> CHAPTER V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0111"> CHAPTER VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0112"> CHAPTER VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0113"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0114"> CHAPTER IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0115"> CHAPTER X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0116"> CHAPTER XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0117"> CHAPTER XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0118"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0119"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0120"> CHAPTER THE LAST. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0136"> L’ENVOI. </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PREFATORY NOTE. (BY THE AUTHOR’S SON.) + </h2> + <p> + “The Parisians” and “Kenelm Chillingly” were begun about the same time, + and had their common origin in the same central idea. That idea first + found fantastic expression in “The Coming Race;” and the three books, + taken together, constitute a special group, distinctly apart from all the + other works of their author. + </p> + <p> + The satire of his earlier novels is a protest against false social + respectabilities; the humour of his later ones is a protest against the + disrespect of social realities. By the first he sought to promote social + sincerity and the free play of personal character; by the last, to + encourage mutual charity and sympathy amongst all classes, on whose + interrelation depends the character of society itself. But in these three + books, his latest fictions, the moral purpose is more definite and + exclusive. Each of them is an expostulation against what seemed to him the + perilous popularity of certain social and political theories, or a warning + against the influence of certain intellectual tendencies upon individual + character and national life. This purpose, however, though common to the + three fictions, is worked out in each of them by a different method. “The + Coming Race” is a work of pure fancy, and the satire of it is vague and + sportive. The outlines of a definite purpose are more distinctly drawn in + “Chillingly,”—a romance which has the source of its effect in a + highly wrought imagination. The humour and pathos of “Chillingly” are of a + kind incompatible with the design of “The Parisians,” which is a work of + dramatized observation. “Chillingly” is a romance; “The Parisians” is a + novel. The subject of “Chillingly” is psychological; that of “The + Parisians” is social. The author’s object in “Chillingly” being to + illustrate the effects of “modern ideas” upon an individual character, he + has confined his narrative to the biography of that one character; hence + the simplicity of plot and small number of dramatis personae, whereby the + work gains in height and depth what it loses in breadth of surface. “The + Parisians,” on the contrary, is designed to illustrate the effect of + “modern ideas” upon a whole community. This novel is therefore panoramic + in the profusion and variety of figures presented by it to the reader’s + imagination. No exclusive prominence is vouchsafed to any of these + figures. All of them are drawn and coloured with an equal care, but by + means of the bold, broad touches necessary for their effective + presentation on a canvas so large and so crowded. Such figures are, + indeed, but the component features of one great form, and their actions + only so many modes of one collective impersonal character,—that of + the Parisian Society of Imperial and Democratic France; a character + everywhere present and busy throughout the story, of which it is the real + hero or heroine. This society was doubtless selected for characteristic + illustration as being the most advanced in the progress of “modern ideas.” + Thus, for a complete perception of its writer’s fundamental purpose, “The + Parisians” should be read in connection with “Chillingly,” and these two + books in connection with “The Coming Race.” It will then be perceived that + through the medium of alternate fancy, sentiment, and observation, + assisted by humour and passion, these three books (in all other respects + so different from each other) complete the presentation of the same + purpose under different aspects, and thereby constitute a group of + fictions which claims a separate place of its own in any thoughtful + classification of their author’s works. + </p> + <p> + One last word to those who will miss from these pages the connecting and + completing touches of the master’s hand. It may be hoped that such a + disadvantage, though irreparable, is somewhat mitigated by the essential + character of the work itself. The aesthetic merit of this kind of novel is + in the vivacity of a general effect produced by large, swift strokes of + character; and in such strokes, if they be by a great artist, force and + freedom of style must still be apparent, even when they are left rough and + unfinished. Nor can any lack of final verbal correction much diminish the + intellectual value which many of the more thoughtful passages of the + present work derive from a long, keen, and practical study of political + phenomena, guided by personal experience of public life, and enlightened + by a large, instinctive knowledge of the human heart. + </p> + <p> + Such a belief is, at least, encouraged by the private communications + spontaneously made to him who expresses it, by persons of political + experience and social position in France, who have acknowledged the + general accuracy of the author’s descriptions, and noticed the suggestive + sagacity and penetration of his occasional comments on the circumstances + and sentiments he describes. + </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> + INTRODUCTORY CHAPTER. + </h2> + <p> + They who chance to have read the “Coming Race” may perhaps remember that + I, the adventurous discoverer of the land without a sun, concluded the + sketch of my adventures by a brief reference to the malady which, though + giving no perceptible notice of its encroachments, might, in the opinion + of my medical attendant, prove suddenly fatal. + </p> + <p> + I had brought my little book to this somewhat melancholy close a few years + before the date of its publication, and in the meanwhile I was induced to + transfer my residence to Paris, in order to place myself under the care of + an English physician, renowned for his successful treatment of complaints + analogous to my own. + </p> + <p> + I was the more readily persuaded to undertake this journey,—partly + because I enjoyed a familiar acquaintance with the eminent physician + referred to, who had commenced his career and founded his reputation in + the United States; partly because I had become a solitary man, the ties of + home broken, and dear friends of mine were domiciled in Paris, with whom I + should be sure of tender sympathy and cheerful companionship. I had reason + to be thankful for this change of residence: the skill of Dr. C______ soon + restored me to health. Brought much into contact with various circles of + Parisian society, I became acquainted with the persons and a witness of + the events that form the substance of the tale I am about to submit to the + public, which has treated my former book with so generous an indulgence. + Sensitively tenacious of that character for strict and unalloyed veracity + which, I flatter myself, my account of the abodes and manners of the + Vril-ya has established, I could have wished to preserve the following + narrative no less jealously guarded than its predecessor from the vagaries + of fancy. But Truth undisguised, never welcome in any civilized community + above ground, is exposed at this time to especial dangers in Paris; and my + life would not be worth an hour’s purchase if I exhibited her ‘in puris + naturalibus’ to the eyes of a people wholly unfamiliarized to a spectacle + so indecorous. That care for one’s personal safety which is the first duty + of thoughtful man compels me therefore to reconcile the appearance of ‘la + Verite’ to the ‘bienseances’ of the polished society in which ‘la Liberte’ + admits no opinion not dressed after the last fashion. + </p> + <p> + Attired as fiction, Truth may be peacefully received; and, despite the + necessity thus imposed by prudence, I indulge the modest hope that I do + not in these pages unfaithfully represent certain prominent types of the + brilliant population which has invented so many varieties of Koom-Posh; + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [Koom-Posh, Glek-Nas. For the derivation of these terms and their + metaphorical signification, I must refer the reader to the “Coming + Race,” chapter xii., on the language of the Vril-ya. To those who + have not read or have forgotten that historical composition, it may + be convenient to state briefly that Koom-Posh with the Vril-ya is + the name for the government of the many, or the ascendency of the + most ignorant or hollow, and may be loosely rendered Hollow-Bosh. + When Koom-Posh degenerates from popular ignorance into the popular + ferocity which precedes its decease, the name for that state of + things is Glek-Nas; namely, the universal strife-rot.] +</pre> + <p> + and even when it appears hopelessly lost in the slough of a Glek-Nas, + re-emerges fresh and lively as if from an invigorating plunge into the + Fountain of Youth. O Paris, ‘foyer des idees, et oeil du monde!’—animated + contrast to the serene tranquillity of the Vril-ya, which, nevertheless, + thy noisiest philosophers ever pretend to make the goal of their desires: + of all communities on which shines the sun and descend the rains of + heaven, fertilizing alike wisdom and folly, virtue and vice; in every city + men have yet built on this earth,—mayest thou, O Paris, be the last + to brave the wands of the Coming Race and be reduced into cinders for the + sake of the common good! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TISH. +</pre> + <p> + PARIS, August 28, 1872. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE PARISIANS. + </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> + BOOK I. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + It was a bright day in the early spring of 1869. All Paris seemed to have + turned out to enjoy itself. The Tuileries, the Champs Elysees, the Bois de + Boulogne, swarmed with idlers. A stranger might have wondered where Toil + was at work, and in what nook Poverty lurked concealed. A millionaire from + the London Exchange, as he looked round on the magasins, the equipages, + the dresses of the women; as he inquired the prices in the shops and the + rent of apartments,—might have asked himself, in envious wonder, How + on earth do those gay Parisians live? What is their fortune? Where does it + come from? + </p> + <p> + As the day declined, many of the scattered loungers crowded into the + Boulevards; the cafes and restaurants began to light up. + </p> + <p> + About this time a young man, who might be some five or six and twenty, was + walking along the Boulevard des Italiens, heeding little the throng + through which he glided his solitary way: there was that in his aspect and + bearing which caught attention. He looked a somebody; but though + unmistakably a Frenchman, not a Parisian. His dress was not in the + prevailing mode: to a practised eye it betrayed the taste and the cut of a + provincial tailor. His gait was not that of the Parisian,—less + lounging, more stately; and, unlike the Parisian, he seemed indifferent to + the gaze of others. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless there was about him that air of dignity or distinction which + those who are reared from their cradle in the pride of birth acquire so + unconsciously that it seems hereditary and inborn. It must also be + confessed that the young man himself was endowed with a considerable share + of that nobility which Nature capriciously distributes among her + favourites with little respect for their pedigree and blazon, the nobility + of form and face. He was tall and well shaped, with graceful length of + limb and fall of shoulders; his face was handsome, of the purest type of + French masculine beauty,—the nose inclined to be aquiline, and + delicately thin, with finely-cut open nostrils; the complexion clear,—the + eyes large, of a light hazel, with dark lashes,—the hair of a + chestnut brown, with no tint of auburn,—the beard and mustache a + shade darker, clipped short, not disguising the outline of lips, which + were now compressed, as if smiles had of late been unfamiliar to them; yet + such compression did not seem in harmony with the physiognomical character + of their formation, which was that assigned by Lavater to temperaments + easily moved to gayety and pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Another man, about his own age, coming quickly out of one of the streets + of the Chausee d’Antin, brushed close by the stately pedestrian above + described, caught sight of his countenance, stopped short, and exclaimed, + “Alain!” The person thus abruptly accosted turned his eye tranquilly on + the eager face, of which all the lower part was enveloped in black beard; + and slightly lifting his hat, with a gesture of the head that implied, + “Sir, you are mistaken; I have not the honour to know you,” continued his + slow indifferent way. The would-be acquaintance was not so easily + rebuffed. “Peste,” he said, between his teeth, “I am certainly right. He + is not much altered: of course I AM; ten years of Paris would improve an + orang-outang.” Quickening his step, and regaining the side of the man he + had called “Alain,” he said, with a well-bred mixture of boldness and + courtesy in his tone and countenance, + </p> + <p> + “Ten thousand pardons if I am wrong. Put surely I accost Alain de Kerouec, + son of the Marquis de Rochebriant.” + </p> + <p> + “True, sir; but—” + </p> + <p> + “But you do not remember me, your old college friend, Frederic Lemercier?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possibly?” cried Alain, cordially, and with an animation which + charged the whole character of his countenance. “My dear Frederic, my dear + friend, this is indeed good fortune! So you, too, are at Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course; and you? Just come, I perceive,” he added, somewhat + satirically, as, linking his arm in his new-found friend’s, he glanced at + the cut of that friend’s coat-collar. + </p> + <p> + “I have been here a fortnight,” replied Alain. + </p> + <p> + “Hem! I suppose you lodge in the old Hotel de Rochebriant. I passed it + yesterday, admiring its vast facade, little thinking you were its inmate.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither am I; the hotel does not belong to me; it was sold some years ago + by my father.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! I hope your father got a good price for it; those grand hotels + have trebled their value within the last five years. And how is your + father? Still the same polished grand seigneur? I never saw him but once, + you know; and I shall never forget his smile, style grand monarque, when + he patted me on the head and tipped me ten napoleons.” + </p> + <p> + “My father is no more,” said Alain, gravely; “he has been dead nearly + three years.” + </p> + <p> + “Ciel! forgive me; I am greatly shocked. Hem! so you are now the Marquis + de Rochebriant, a great historical name, worth a large sum in the market. + Few such names left. Superb place your old chateau, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “A superb place, no—a venerable ruin, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, a ruin! so much the better. All the bankers are mad after ruins: so + charming an amusement to restore them. You will restore yours, without + doubt. I will introduce you to such an architect! has the ‘moyen age’ at + his fingers’ ends. Dear,—but a genius.” + </p> + <p> + The young Marquis smiled,—for since he had found a college friend, + his face showed that it could smile,—smiled, but not cheerfully, and + answered, + </p> + <p> + “I have no intention to restore Rochebriant. The walls are solid: they + have weathered the storms of six centuries, they will last my time, and + with me the race perishes.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! the race perish, indeed! you will marry. ‘Parlez moi de ca’: you + could not come to a better man. I have a list of all the heiresses at + Paris, bound in russia leather. You may take your choice out of twenty. + Ah, if I were but a Rochebriant! It is an infernal thing to come into the + world a Lemercier. I am a democrat, of course. A Lemercier would be in a + false position if he were not. But if any one would leave me twenty acres + of land, with some antique right to the De and a title, faith, would not I + be an aristocrat, and stand up for my order? But now we have met, pray let + us dine together. Ah! no doubt you are engaged every day for a month. A + Rochebriant just new to Paris must be ‘fete’ by all the Faubourg.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Alain, simply, “I am not engaged; my range of acquaintance + is more circumscribed than you suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better for me. I am luckily disengaged today, which is not + often the case, for I am in some request in my own set, though it is not + that of the Faubourg. Where shall we dine?—at the Trois Freres?” + </p> + <p> + “Wherever you please. I know no restaurant at Paris, except a very ignoble + one, close by my lodging.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Apropos’, where do you lodge?” + </p> + <p> + “Rue de l’Universite, Numero —.” + </p> + <p> + “A fine street, but ‘triste’. If you have no longer your family hotel, you + have no excuse to linger in that museum of mummies, the Faubourg St. + Germain; you must go into one of the new quarters by the Champs Elysees. + Leave it to me; I’ll find you a charming apartment. I know one to be had a + bargain,—a bagatelle,—five hundred naps a-year. Cost you about + two or three thousand more to furnish tolerably, not showily. Leave all to + me. In three days you shall be settled. Apropos! horses! You must have + English ones. How many?—three for the saddle, two for your ‘coupe’? + I’ll find them for you. I will write to London to-morrow: Reese [Rice] is + your man.” + </p> + <p> + “Spare yourself that trouble, my dear Frederic. I keep no horses and no + coupe. I shall not change my apartment.” As he said this, Rochebriant drew + himself up somewhat haughtily. + </p> + <p> + “Faith,” thought Lemercier, “is it possible that the Marquis is poor? No. + I have always heard that the Rochebriants were among the greatest + proprietors in Bretagne. Most likely, with all his innocence of the + Faubourg St. Germain, he knows enough of it to be aware that I, Frederic + Lemercier, am not the man to patronize one of its greatest nobles. ‘Sacre + bleu!’ if I thought that; if he meant to give himself airs to me, his old + college friend,—I would—I would call him out.” + </p> + <p> + Just as M. Lemercier had come to that bellicose resolution, the Marquis + said, with a smile which, though frank, was not without a certain grave + melancholy in its expression, “My dear Frederic, pardon me if I seem to + receive your friendly offers ungraciously. But I believe that I have + reasons you will approve for leading at Paris a life which you certainly + will not envy;” then, evidently desirous to change the subject, he said in + a livelier tone, “But what a marvellous city this Paris of ours is! + Remember I had never seen it before: it burst on me like a city in the + Arabian Nights two weeks ago. And that which strikes me most—I say + it with regret and a pang of conscience—is certainly not the Paris + of former times, but that Paris which M. Buonaparte—I beg pardon, + which the Emperor—has called up around him, and identified forever + with his reign. It is what is new in Paris that strikes and enthrals me. + Here I see the life of France, and I belong to her tombs!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t quite understand you,” said Lemercier. “If you think that because + your father and grandfather were Legitimists, you have not the fair field + of living ambition open to you under the Empire, you never were more + mistaken. ‘Moyen age,’ and even rococo, are all the rage. You have no idea + how valuable your name would be either at the Imperial Court or in a + Commercial Company. But with your fortune you are independent of all but + fashion and the Jockey Club. + </p> + <p> + “And ‘apropos’ of that, pardon me,—what villain made your coat?—let + me know; I will denounce him to the police.” Half amused, half amazed, + Alain Marquis de Rochebriant looked at Frederic Lemercier much as a + good-tempered lion may look upon a lively poodle who takes a liberty with + his mane, and after a pause he replied curtly, “The clothes I wear at + Paris were made in Bretagne; and if the name of Rochebriant be of any + value at all in Paris, which I doubt, let me trust that it will make me + acknowledged as ‘gentilhomme,’ whatever my taste in a coat or whatever the + doctrines of a club composed—of jockeys.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha!” cried Lemercier, freeing himself from the arm of his friend, and + laughing the more irresistibly as he encountered the grave look of the + Marquis. “Pardon me,—I can’t help it,—the Jockey Club,—composed + of jockeys!—it is too much!—the best joke. My dear, Alain, + there is some of the best blood of Europe in the Jockey Club; they would + exclude a plain bourgeois like me. But it is all the same: in one respect + you are quite right. Walk in a blouse if you please: you are still + Rochebriant; you would only be called eccentric. Alas! I am obliged to + send to London for my pantaloons: that comes of being a Lemercier. But + here we are in the Palais Royal.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + The salons of the Trois Freres were crowded; our friends found a table + with some little difficulty. Lemercier proposed a private cabinet, which, + for some reason known to himself, the Marquis declined. + </p> + <p> + Lemercier spontaneously and unrequested ordered the dinner and the wines. + </p> + <p> + While waiting for their oysters, with which, when in season, French + ‘bon-vivants’ usually commence their dinner, Lemercier looked round the + salon with that air of inimitable, scrutinizing, superb impertinence which + distinguishes the Parisian dandy. Some of the ladies returned his glance + coquettishly, for Lemercier was ‘beau garcon;’ others turned aside + indignantly, and muttered something to the gentlemen dining with them. The + said gentlemen, when old, shook their heads, and continued to eat unmoved; + when young, turned briskly round, and looked at first fiercely at M. + Lemercier, but, encountering his eye through the glass which he had + screwed into his socket, noticing the hardihood of his countenance and the + squareness of his shoulders, even they turned back to the tables, shook + their heads, and continued to eat unmoved, just like the old ones. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried Lemercier, suddenly, “here comes a man you should know, ‘mon + cher.’ He will tell you how to place your money,—a rising man, a + coming man, a future minister. Ah! ‘bon jour,’ Duplessis, ‘bon jour,’” + kissing his hand to a gentleman who had just entered and was looking about + him for a seat. He was evidently well and favourably known at the Trois + Freres. The waiters had flocked round him, and were pointing to a table by + the window, which a saturnine Englishman, who had dined off a beefsteak + and potatoes, was about to vacate. + </p> + <p> + M. Duplessis, having first assured himself, like a prudent man, that his + table was secure, having ordered his oysters, his chablis, and his ‘potage + a la bisque,’ now paced calmly and slowly across the salon, and halted + before Lemercier. + </p> + <p> + Here let me pause for a moment, and give the reader a rapid sketch of the + two Parisians. + </p> + <p> + Frederic Lemercier is dressed, somewhat too showily, in the extreme of the + prevalent fashion. He wears a superb pin in his cravat,—a pin worth + two thousand francs; he wears rings on his fingers, ‘breloques’ to his + watch-chain. He has a warm though dark complexion, thick black eyebrows, + full lips, a nose somewhat turned up, but not small, very fine large dark + eyes, a bold, open, somewhat impertinent expression of countenance; withal + decidedly handsome, thanks to colouring, youth, and vivacity of regard. + </p> + <p> + Lucien Duplessis, bending over the table, glancing first with curiosity at + the Marquis de Rochebriant, who leans his cheek on his hand and seems not + to notice him, then concentrating his attention on Frederic Lemercier, who + sits square with his hands clasped,—Lucien Duplessis is somewhere + between forty and fifty, rather below the middle height, slender, but not + slight,—what in English phrase is called “wiry.” He is dressed with + extreme simplicity: black frockcoat buttoned up; black cravat worn higher + than men who follow the fashions wear their neckcloths nowadays; a hawk’s + eye and a hawk’s beak; hair of a dull brown, very short, and wholly + without curl; his cheeks thin and smoothly shaven, but he wears a mustache + and imperial, plagiarized from those of his sovereign, and, like all + plagiarisms, carrying the borrowed beauty to extremes, so that the points + of mustache and imperial, stiffened and sharpened by cosmetics which must + have been composed of iron, looked like three long stings guarding lip and + jaw from invasion; a pale olive-brown complexion, eyes small, deep-sunk, + calm, piercing; his expression of face at first glance not striking, + except for quiet immovability. Observed more heedfully, the expression was + keenly intellectual,—determined about the lips, calculating about + the brows: altogether the face of no ordinary man, and one not, perhaps, + without fine and high qualities, concealed from the general gaze by + habitual reserve, but justifying the confidence of those whom he admitted + into his intimacy. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mon cher,” said Lemercier, “you promised to call on me yesterday at + two o’clock. I waited in for you half an hour; you never came.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I went first to the Bourse. The shares in that Company we spoke of + have fallen; they will fall much lower: foolish to buy in yet; so the + object of my calling on you was over. I took it for granted you would not + wait if I failed my appointment. Do you go to the opera to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “I think not; nothing worth going for: besides, I have found an old + friend, to whom I consecrate this evening. Let me introduce you to the + Marquis de Rochebriant. Alain, M. Duplessis.” + </p> + <p> + The two gentlemen bowed. + </p> + <p> + “I had the honour to be known to Monsieur your father,” said Duplessis. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” returned Rochebriant. “He had not visited Paris for many years + before he died.” + </p> + <p> + “It was in London I met him, at the house of the Russian Princess C____.” + </p> + <p> + The Marquis coloured high, inclined his head gravely, and made no reply. + Here the waiter brought the oysters and the chablis, and Duplessis retired + to his own table. + </p> + <p> + “That is the most extraordinary man,” said Frederic, as he squeezed the + lemon over his oysters, “and very much to be admired.” + </p> + <p> + “How so? I see nothing at least to admire in his face,” said the Marquis, + with the bluntness of a provincial. + </p> + <p> + “His face. Ah! you are a Legitimist,—party prejudice. He dresses his + face after the Emperor; in itself a very clever face, surely.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, but not an amiable one. He looks like a bird of prey.” + </p> + <p> + “All clever men are birds of prey. The eagles are the heroes, and the owls + the sages. Duplessis is not an eagle nor an owl. I should rather call him + a falcon, except that I would not attempt to hoodwink him.” + </p> + <p> + “Call him what you will,” said the Marquis, indifferently; “M. Duplessis + can be nothing to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure of that,” answered Frederic, somewhat nettled by the + phlegm with which the Provincial regarded the pretensions of the Parisian. + “Duplessis, I repeat it, is an extraordinary man. Though untitled, he + descends from your old aristocracy; in fact, I believe, as his name shows, + from the same stem as the Richelieus. His father was a great scholar, and + I believe he has read much himself. Might have distinguished himself in + literature or at the bar, but his parents died fearfully poor; and some + distant relations in commerce took charge of him, and devoted his talents + to the ‘Bourse.’ Seven years ago he lived in a single chamber, ‘au + quatrieme,’ near the Luxembourg. He has now a hotel, not large but + charming, in the Champs Elysees, worth at least six hundred thousand + francs. Nor has he made his own fortune alone, but that of many others; + some of birth as high as your own. He has the genius of riches, and knocks + off a million as a poet does an ode, by the force of inspiration. He is + hand-in-glove with the Ministers, and has been invited to Compiegne by the + Emperor. You will find him very useful.” + </p> + <p> + Alain made a slight movement of incredulous dissent, and changed the + conversation to reminiscences of old school-boy days. + </p> + <p> + The dinner at length came to a close. Frederic rang for the bill,—glanced + over it. “Fifty-nine francs,” said he, carelessly flinging down his + napoleon and a half. The Marquis silently drew forth his purse and + extracted the same sum. When they were out of the restaurant, Frederic + proposed adjourning to his own rooms. “I can promise you an excellent + cigar, one of a box given to me by an invaluable young Spaniard attached + to the Embassy here. Such cigars are not to be had at Paris for money, nor + even for love; seeing that women, however devoted and generous, never + offer you anything better than a cigarette. Such cigars are only to be had + for friendship. Friendship is a jewel.” + </p> + <p> + “I never smoke,” answered the Marquis, “but I shall be charmed to come to + your rooms; only don’t let me encroach on your good-nature. Doubtless you + have engagements for the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “None till eleven o’clock, when I have promised to go to a soiree to which + I do not offer to take you; for it is one of those Bohemian entertainments + at which it would do you harm in the Faubourg to assist,—at least + until you have made good your position. Let me see, is not the Duchesse de + Tarascon a relation of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; my poor mother’s first cousin.” + </p> + <p> + “I congratulate you. ‘Tres grande dame.’ She will launch you in ‘puro + cielo,’ as Juno might have launched one of her young peacocks.” + </p> + <p> + “There has been no acquaintance between our houses,” returned the Marquis, + dryly, “since the mesalliance of her second nuptials.” + </p> + <p> + “Mesalliance! second nuptials! Her second husband was the Duc de + Tarascon.” + </p> + <p> + “A duke of the First Empire, the grandson of a butcher.” + </p> + <p> + “Diable! you are a severe genealogist, Monsieur le Marquis. How can you + consent to walk arm-in-arm with me, whose great-grandfather supplied bread + to the same army to which the Due de Tarascon’s grandfather furnished the + meat?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Frederic, we two have an equal pedigree, for our friendship dates + from the same hour. I do not blame the Duchesse de Tarascon for marrying + the grandson of a butcher, but for marrying the son of a man made duke by + a usurper. She abandoned the faith of her house and the cause of her + sovereign. Therefore her marriage is a blot on our scutcheon.” + </p> + <p> + Frederic raised his eyebrows, but had the tact to pursue the subject no + further. He who interferes in the quarrels of relations must pass through + life without a friend. + </p> + <p> + The young men now arrived at Lemercier’s apartment, an entresol looking on + the Boulevard des Italiens, consisting of more rooms than a bachelor + generally requires; low-pitched, indeed, but of good dimensions, and + decorated and furnished with a luxury which really astonished the + provincial, though, with the high-bred pride of an oriental, he suppressed + every sign of surprise. + </p> + <p> + Florentine cabinets, freshly retouched by the exquisite skill of Mombro; + costly specimens of old Sevres and Limoges; pictures and bronzes and + marble statuettes,—all well chosen and of great price, reflected + from mirrors in Venetian frames,—made a ‘coup d’oeil’ very + favourable to that respect which the human mind pays to the evidences of + money. Nor was comfort less studied than splendour. Thick carpets covered + the floors, doubled and quilted portieres excluded all draughts from + chinks in the doors. Having allowed his friend a few minutes to + contemplate and admire the ‘salle a manger’ and ‘salon’ which constituted + his more state apartments, Frederic then conducted him into a small + cabinet, fitted up with scarlet cloth and gold fringes, whereon were + artistically arranged trophies of Eastern weapons and Turkish pipes with + amber mouthpieces. + </p> + <p> + There, placing the Marquis at ease on a divan and flinging himself on + another, the Parisian exquisite ordered a valet, well dressed as himself, + to bring coffee and liqueurs; and after vainly pressing one of his + matchless cigars on his friend, indulged in his own Regalia. + </p> + <p> + “They are ten years old,” said Frederic, with a tone of compassion at + Alain’s self-inflicted loss,—“ten years old. Born therefore about + the year in which we two parted—” + </p> + <p> + “When you were so hastily summoned from college,” said the Marquis, “by + the news of your father’s illness. We expected you back in vain. Have you + been at Paris ever since?” + </p> + <p> + “Ever since; my poor father died of that illness. His fortune proved much + larger than was suspected: my share amounted to an income from investments + in stocks, houses, etc., to upwards of sixty thousand francs a-year; and + as I wanted six years to my majority of course the capital on attaining my + majority would be increased by accumulation. My mother desired to keep me + near her; my uncle, who was joint guardian with her, looked with disdain + on our poor little provincial cottage; so promising an heir should acquire + his finishing education under masters at Paris. Long before I was of age, + I was initiated into politer mysteries of our capital than those + celebrated by Eugene Sue. When I took possession of my fortune five years + ago, I was considered a Croesus; and really for that patriarchal time I + was wealthy. Now, alas! my accumulations have vanished in my outfit; and + sixty thousand francs a-year is the least a Parisian can live upon. It is + not only that all prices have fabulously increased, but that the dearer + things become, the better people live. When I first came out, the world + speculated upon me; now, in order to keep my standing, I am forced to + speculate on the world. Hitherto I have not lost; Duplessis let me into a + few good things this year, worth one hundred thousand francs or so. + Croesus consulted the Delphic Oracle. Duplessis was not alive in the time + of Croesus, or Croesus would have consulted Duplessis.” + </p> + <p> + Here there was a ring at the outer door of the apartment, and in another + minute the valet ushered in a gentleman somewhere about the age of thirty, + of prepossessing countenance, and with the indefinable air of + good-breeding and ‘usage du monde.’ Frederic started up to greet cordially + the new-comer, and introduced him to the Marquis under the name of “Sare + Grarm Varn.” + </p> + <p> + “Decidedly,” said the visitor, as he took off his paletot and seated + himself beside the Marquis,—“decidedly, my dear Lemercier,” said he, + in very correct French, and with the true Parisian accent and intonation, + “you Frenchmen merit that praise for polished ignorance of the language of + barbarians which a distinguished historian bestows on the ancient Romans. + Permit me, Marquis, to submit to you the consideration whether Grarm Varn + is a fair rendering of my name as truthfully printed on this card.” + </p> + <p> + The inscription on the card, thus drawn from its case and placed in + Alain’s hand, was— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MR. GRAHAM VANE, + + No. __ Rue d’Anjou. +</pre> + <p> + The Marquis gazed at it as he might on a hieroglyphic, and passed it on to + Lemercier in discreet silence. + </p> + <p> + That gentleman made another attempt at the barbarian appellation. + </p> + <p> + “‘Grar—ham Varne.’ ‘C’est ca!’ I triumph! all difficulties yield to + French energy.” + </p> + <p> + Here the coffee and liqueurs were served; and after a short pause the + Englishman, who had very quietly been observing the silent Marquis, turned + to him and said, “Monsieur le Marquis, I presume it was your father whom I + remember as an acquaintance of my own father at Ems. It is many years ago; + I was but a child. The Count de Chambord was then at that enervating + little spa for the benefit of the Countess’s health. If our friend + Lemercier does not mangle your name as he does mine, I understand him to + say that you are the Marquis de Rochebriant.” + </p> + <p> + “That is my name: it pleases me to hear that my father was among those who + flocked to Ems to do homage to the royal personage who deigns to assume + the title of Count de Chambord.” + </p> + <p> + “My own ancestors clung to the descendants of James II. till their claims + were buried in the grave of the last Stuart, and I honour the gallant men + who, like your father, revere in an exile the heir to their ancient + kings.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman said this with grace and feeling; the Marquis’s heart + warmed to him at once. + </p> + <p> + “The first loyal ‘gentilhome’ I have met at Paris,” thought the + Legitimist; “and, oh, shame! not a Frenchman!” Graham Vane, now stretching + himself and accepting the cigar which Lemercier offered him, said to that + gentleman “You who know your Paris by heart—everybody and everything + therein worth the knowing, with many bodies and many things that are not + worth it—can you inform me who and what is a certain lady who every + fine day may be seen walking in a quiet spot at the outskirts of the Bois + de Boulogne, not far from the Baron de Rothschild’s villa? The said lady + arrives at this selected spot in a dark-blue coupe without armorial + bearings, punctually at the hour of three. She wears always the same + dress,—a kind of gray pearl-coloured silk, with a ‘cachemire’ shawl. + In age she may be somewhat about twenty—a year or so more or less—and + has a face as haunting as a Medusa’s; not, however, a face to turn a man + into a stone, but rather of the two turn a stone into a man. A clear + paleness, with a bloom like an alabaster lamp with the light flashing + through. I borrow that illustration from Sare Scott, who applied it to + Milor Bee-ren.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not seen the lady you describe,” answered Lemercier, feeling + humiliated by the avowal; “in fact, I have not been in that sequestered + part of the Bois for months; but I will go to-morrow: three o’clock you + say,—leave it to me; to-morrow evening, if she is a Parisienne, you + shall know all about her. But, mon cher, you are not of a jealous + temperament to confide your discovery to another.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am of a very jealous temperament,” replied the Englishman; “but + jealousy comes after love, and not before it. I am not in love; I am only + haunted. To-morrow evening, then, shall we dine at Philippe’s, seven + o’clock?” + </p> + <p> + “With all my heart,” said Lemercier; “and you too, Alain?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, no,” said the Marquis, briefly; and he rose, drew on his + gloves, and took up his hat. + </p> + <p> + At these signals of departure, the Englishman, who did not want tact nor + delicacy, thought that he had made himself ‘de trop’ in the ‘tete-a-tete’ + of two friends of the same age and nation; and, catching up his paletot, + said hastily, “No, Marquis, do not go yet, and leave our host in solitude; + for I have an engagement which presses, and only looked in at Lemercier’s + for a moment, seeing the light at his windows. Permit me to hope that our + acquaintance will not drop, and inform me where I may have the honour to + call on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said the Marquis; “I claim the right of a native to pay my respects + first to the foreigner who visits our capital, and,” he added in a lower + tone, “who speaks so nobly of those who revere its exiles.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman saluted, and walked slowly towards the door; but on + reaching the threshold turned back and made a sign to Lemercier, + unperceived by Alain. + </p> + <p> + Frederic understood the sign, and followed Graham Vane into the adjoining + room, closing the door as he passed. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Lemercier, of course I should not have intruded on you at this + hour on a mere visit of ceremony. I called to say that the Mademoiselle + Duval whose address you sent me is not the right one,—not the lady + whom, knowing your wide range of acquaintance, I asked you to aid me in + finding out.” + </p> + <p> + “Not the right Duval? Diable! she answered your description, exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all.” + </p> + <p> + “You said she was very pretty and young,—under twenty.” + </p> + <p> + “You forgot that I said she deserved that description twenty-one years + ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, so you did; but some ladies are always young. ‘Age,’ says a wit in + the ‘Figaro,’ ‘tis a river which the women compel to reascend to its + source when it has flowed onward more than twenty years.’ Never mind: + ‘soyez tranquille;’ I will find your Duval yet if she is to be found. But + why could not the friend who commissioned you to inquire choose a name + less common? Duval! every street in Paris has a shop-door over which is + inscribed the name of Duval.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true, there is the difficulty; however, my dear Lemercier, pray + continue to look out for a Louise Duval who was young and pretty + twenty-one years ago: this search ought to interest me more than that + which I entrusted to you tonight, respecting the pearly-robed lady; for in + the last I but gratify my own whim, in the first I discharge a promise to + a friend. You, so perfect a Frenchman, know the difference; honour is + engaged to the first. Be sure you let me know if you find any other Madame + or Mademoiselle Duval; and of course you remember your promise not to + mention to any one the commission of inquiry you so kindly undertake. I + congratulate you on your friendship for M. de Rochebriant. What a noble + countenance and manner!” + </p> + <p> + Lemercier returned to the Marquis. “Such a pity you can’t dine with us + to-morrow. I fear you made but a poor dinner to-day. But it is always + better to arrange the menu beforehand. I will send to Philippe’s tomorrow. + Do not be afraid.” + </p> + <p> + The Marquis paused a moment, and on his young face a proud struggle was + visible. At last he said, bluntly and manfully, + </p> + <p> + “My dear Frederic, your world and mine are not and cannot be the same. Why + should I be ashamed to own to my old schoolfellow that I am poor,—very + poor; that the dinner I have shared with you to-day is to me a criminal + extravagance? I lodge in a single chamber on the fourth-story; I dine off + a single plat at a small restaurateur’s; the utmost income I can allow to + myself does not exceed five thousand francs a year: my fortunes I cannot + hope much to improve. In his own country Alain de Rochebriant has no + career.” Lemercier was so astonished by this confession that he remained + for some moments silent, eyes and mouth both wide open; at length he + sprang up, embraced his friend well-nigh sobbing, and exclaimed, “‘Tant + mieux pour moi!’ You must take your lodging with me. I have a charming + bedroom to spare. Don’t say no. It will raise my own position to say ‘I + and Rochebriant keep house together.’ It must be so. Come here to-morrow. + As for not having a career,—bah! I and Duplessis will settle that. + You shall be a millionaire in two years. Meanwhile we will join capitals: + I my paltry notes, you your grand name. Settled!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, dear Frederic,” said the young noble, deeply affected, “on + reflection you will see what you propose is impossible. Poor I may be + without dishonour; live at another man’s cost I cannot do without + baseness. It does not require to be ‘gentilhomme’ to feel that: it is + enough to be a Frenchman. Come and see me when you can spare the time. + There is my address. You are the only man in Paris to whom I shall be at + home. Au revoir.” And breaking away from Lemercier’s clasp, the Marquis + hurried off. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + Alain reached the house in which he lodged. Externally a fine house, it + had been the hotel of a great family in the old regime. On the first floor + were still superb apartments, with ceilings painted by Le Brun, with walls + on which the thick silks still seemed fresh. These rooms were occupied by + a rich ‘agent de change;’ but, like all such ancient palaces, the upper + stories were wretchedly defective even in the comforts which poor men + demand nowadays: a back staircase, narrow, dirty, never lighted, dark as + Erebus, led to the room occupied by the Marquis, which might be naturally + occupied by a needy student or a virtuous ‘grisette.’ But there was to him + a charm in that old hotel, and the richest ‘locataire’ therein was not + treated with a respect so ceremonious as that which at tended the lodger + on the fourth story. The porter and his wife were Bretons; they came from + the village of Rochebriant; they had known Alain’s parents in their young + days; it was their kinsman who had recommended him to the hotel which they + served: so, when he paused at the lodge for his key, which he had left + there, the porter’s wife was in waiting for his return, and insisted on + lighting him upstairs and seeing to his fire, for after a warm day the + night had turned to that sharp biting cold which is more trying in Paris + than even in London. + </p> + <p> + The old woman, running up the stairs before him, opened the door of his + room, and busied herself at the fire. “Gently, my good Marthe,” said he, + “that log suffices. I have been extravagant to-day, and must pinch for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “M. le Marquis jests,” said the old woman, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “No, Marthe; I am serious. I have sinned, but I shall reform. ‘Entre + nous,’ my dear friend, Paris is very dear when one sets one’s foot out of + doors: I must soon go back to Rochebriant.” + </p> + <p> + “When M. le Marquis goes back to Rochebriant he must take with him a + Madame la Marquise,—some pretty angel with a suitable dot.” + </p> + <p> + “A dot suitable to the ruins of Rochebriant would not suffice to repair + them, Marthe: give me my dressing-gown, and good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Bon repos, M. le Marquis! beaux reves, et bel avenir.’” + </p> + <p> + “‘Bel avenir!’” murmured the young man, bitterly, leaning his cheek on his + hand; “what fortune fairer than the present can be mine? yet inaction in + youth is more keenly felt than in age. How lightly I should endure poverty + if it brought poverty’s ennobling companion, Labour,—denied to me! + Well, well; I must go back to the old rock: on this ocean there is no + sail, not even an oar, for me.” + </p> + <p> + Alain de Rochebriant had not been reared to the expectation of poverty. + The only son of a father whose estates were large beyond those of most + nobles in modern France, his destined heritage seemed not unsuitable to + his illustrious birth. Educated at a provincial academy, he had been + removed at the age of sixteen to Rochebriant, and lived there simply and + lonelily enough, but still in a sort of feudal state, with an aunt, an + elder and unmarried sister to his father. + </p> + <p> + His father he never saw but twice after leaving college. That brilliant + seigneur visited France but rarely, for very brief intervals, residing + wholly abroad. To him went all the revenues of Rochebriant save what + sufficed for the manage of his son and his sister. It was the cherished + belief of these two loyal natures that the Marquis secretly devoted his + fortune to the cause of the Bourbons; how, they knew not, though they + often amused themselves by conjecturing: and, the young man, as he grew + up, nursed the hope that he should soon hear that the descendant of Henri + Quatre had crossed the frontier on a white charger and hoisted the old + gonfalon with its ‘fleur-de-lis.’ Then, indeed, his own career would be + opened, and the sword of the Kerouecs drawn from its sheath. Day after day + he expected to hear of revolts, of which his noble father was doubtless + the soul. But the Marquis, though a sincere Legitimist, was by no means an + enthusiastic fanatic. He was simply a very proud, a very polished, a very + luxurious, and, though not without the kindliness and generosity which + were common attributes of the old French noblesse, a very selfish grand + seigneur. + </p> + <p> + Losing his wife (who died the first year of marriage in giving birth to + Alain) while he was yet very young, he had lived a frank libertine life + until he fell submissive under the despotic yoke of a Russian Princess, + who, for some mysterious reason, never visited her own country and + obstinately refused to reside in France. She was fond of travel, and moved + yearly from London to Naples, Naples to Vienna, Berlin, Madrid, Seville, + Carlsbad, Baden-Baden,—anywhere for caprice or change, except Paris. + This fair wanderer succeeded in chaining to herself the heart and the + steps of the Marquis de Rochebriant. + </p> + <p> + She was very rich; she lived semi-royally. Hers was just the house in + which it suited the Marquis to be the ‘enfant qate.’ I suspect that, + cat-like, his attachment was rather to the house than to the person of his + mistress. Not that he was domiciled with the Princess; that would have + been somewhat too much against the proprieties, greatly too much against + the Marquis’s notions of his own dignity. He had his own carriage, his own + apartments, his own suite, as became so grand a seigneur and the lover of + so grand a dame. His estates, mortgaged before he came to them, yielded no + income sufficient for his wants; he mortgaged deeper and deeper, year + after year, till he could mortgage them no more. He sold his hotel at + Paris; he accepted without scruple his sister’s fortune; he borrowed with + equal ‘sang froid’ the two hundred thousand francs which his son on coming + of age inherited from his mother. Alain yielded that fortune to him + without a murmur,—nay, with pride; he thought it destined to go + towards raising a regiment for the fleur-de-lis. + </p> + <p> + To do the Marquis justice, he was fully persuaded that he should shortly + restore to his sister and son what he so recklessly took from them. He was + engaged to be married to his Princess so soon as her own husband died. She + had been separated from the Prince for many years, and every year it was + said he could not last a year longer. But he completed the measure of his + conjugal iniquities by continuing to live; and one day, by mistake, Death + robbed the lady of the Marquis instead of the Prince. + </p> + <p> + This was an accident which the Marquis had never counted upon. He was + still young enough to consider himself young; in fact, one principal + reason for keeping Alain secluded in Bretagne was his reluctance to + introduce into the world a son “as old as myself” he would say + pathetically. The news of his death, which happened at Baden after a short + attack of bronchitis caught in a supper ‘al fresco’ at the old castle, was + duly transmitted to Rochebriant by the Princess; and the shock to Alain + and his aunt was the greater because they had seen so little of the + departed that they regarded him as a heroic myth, an impersonation of + ancient chivalry, condemning himself to voluntary exile rather than do + homage to usurpers. But from their grief they were soon roused by the + terrible doubt whether Rochebriant could still be retained in the family. + Besides the mortgagees, creditors from half the capitals in Europe sent in + their claims; and all the movable effects transmitted to Alain by his + father’s confidential Italian valet, except sundry carriages and horses + which were sold at Baden for what they would fetch, were a magnificent + dressing-case, in the secret drawer of which were some bank-notes + amounting to thirty thousand francs, and three large boxes containing the + Marquis’s correspondence, a few miniature female portraits, and a great + many locks of hair. + </p> + <p> + Wholly unprepared for the ruin that stared him in the face, the young + Marquis evinced the natural strength of his character by the calmness with + which he met the danger, and the intelligence with which he calculated and + reduced it. + </p> + <p> + By the help of the family notary in the neighbouring town, he made himself + master of his liabilities and his means; and he found that, after paying + all debts and providing for the interest of the mortgages, a property + which ought to have realized a rental of L10,000 a year yielded not more + than L400. Nor was even this margin safe, nor the property out of peril; + for the principal mortgagee, who was a capitalist in Paris named Louvier, + having had during the life of the late Marquis more than once to wait for + his half-yearly interest longer than suited his patience,—and his + patience was not enduring,—plainly declared that if the same delay + recurred he should put his right of seizure in force; and in France still + more than in England, bad seasons seriously affect the security of rents. + To pay away L9,600 a year regularly out of L10,000, with the penalty of + forfeiting the whole if not paid,—whether crops may fail, farmers + procrastinate, and timber fall in price,—is to live with the sword + of Damocles over one’s head. + </p> + <p> + For two years and more, however, Alain met his difficulties with prudence + and vigour; he retrenched the establishment hitherto kept at the chateau, + resigned such rural pleasures as he had been accustomed to indulge, and + lived like one of his petty farmers. But the risks of the future remained + undiminished. + </p> + <p> + “There is but one way, Monsieur le Marquis,” said the family notary, M. + Hebert, “by which you can put your estate in comparative safety. Your + father raised his mortgages from time to time, as he wanted money, and + often at interest above the average market interest. You may add + considerably to your income by consolidating all these mortgages into one + at a lower percentage, and in so doing pay off this formidable mortgagee, + M. Louvier, who, I shrewdly suspect, is bent upon becoming the proprietor + of Rochebriant. Unfortunately those few portions of your land which were + but lightly charged, and, lying contiguous to small proprietors, were + coveted by them, and could be advantageously sold, are already gone to pay + the debts of Monsieur the late Marquis. There are, however, two small + farms which, bordering close on the town of S______, I think I could + dispose of for building purposes at high rates; but these lands are + covered by M. Louvier’s general mortgage, and he has refused to release + them, unless the whole debt be paid. Were that debt therefore transferred + to another mortgagee, we might stipulate for their exception, and in so + doing secure a sum of more than 100,000 francs, which you could keep in + reserve for a pressing or unforeseen occasion, and make the nucleus of a + capital devoted to the gradual liquidation of the charges on the estate. + For with a little capital, Monsieur le Marquis, your rent-roll might be + very greatly increased, the forests and orchards improved, those meadows + round S_____ drained and irrigated. Agriculture is beginning to be + understood in Bretagne, and your estate would soon double its value in the + hands of a spirited capitalist. My advice to you, therefore, is to go to + Paris, employ a good ‘avoue,’ practised in such branch of his profession, + to negotiate the consolidation of your mortgages upon terms that will + enable you to sell outlying portions, and so pay off the charge by + instalments agreed upon; to see if some safe company or rich individual + can be found to undertake for a term of years the management of your + forests, the draining of the S_____ meadows, the superintendence of your + fisheries, etc. They, it is true, will monopolize the profits for many + years,—perhaps twenty; but you are a young man: at the end of that + time you will reenter on your estate with a rental so improved that the + mortgages, now so awful, will seem to you comparatively trivial.” + </p> + <p> + In pursuance of this advice, the young Marquis had come to Paris fortified + with a letter from M. Hebert to an ‘avoue’ of eminence, and with many + letters from his aunt to the nobles of the Faubourg connected with his + house. Now one reason why M. Hebert had urged his client to undertake this + important business in person, rather than volunteer his own services in + Paris, was somewhat extra-professional. He had a sincere and profound + affection for Alain; he felt compassion for that young life so barrenly + wasted in seclusion and severe privations; he respected, but was too + practical a man of business to share, those chivalrous sentiments of + loyalty to an exiled dynasty which disqualified the man for the age he + lived in, and, if not greatly modified, would cut him off from the hopes + and aspirations of his eager generation. He thought plausibly enough that + the air of the grand metropolis was necessary to the mental health, + enfeebled and withering amidst the feudal mists of Bretagne; that once in + Paris, Alain would imbibe the ideas of Paris, adapt himself to some career + leading to honour and to fortune, for which he took facilities from his + high birth, an historical name too national for any dynasty not to welcome + among its adherents, and an intellect not yet sharpened by contact and + competition with others, but in itself vigorous, habituated to thought, + and vivified by the noble aspirations which belong to imaginative natures. + </p> + <p> + At the least, Alain would be at Paris in the social position which would + afford him the opportunities of a marriage, in which his birth and rank + would be readily accepted as an equivalent to some ample fortune that + would serve to redeem the endangered seigneuries. He therefore warned + Alain that the affair for which he went to Paris might be tedious, that + lawyers were always slow, and advised him to calculate on remaining + several months, perhaps a year; delicately suggesting that his rearing + hitherto had been too secluded for his age and rank, and that a year at + Paris, even if he failed in the object which took him there, would not be + thrown away in the knowledge of men and things that would fit him better + to grapple with his difficulties on his return. + </p> + <p> + Alain divided his spare income between his aunt and himself, and had come + to Paris resolutely determined to live within the L200 a year which + remained to his share. He felt the revolution in his whole being that + commenced when out of sight of the petty principality in which he was the + object of that feudal reverence, still surviving in the more unfrequented + parts of Bretagne, for the representatives of illustrious names connected + with the immemorial legends of the province. + </p> + <p> + The very bustle of a railway, with its crowd and quickness and + unceremonious democracy of travel, served to pain and confound and + humiliate that sense of individual dignity in which he had been nurtured. + He felt that, once away from Rochebriant, he was but a cipher in the sum + of human beings. Arrived at Paris, and reaching the gloomy hotel to which + he had been recommended, he greeted even the desolation of that solitude + which is usually so oppressive to a stranger in the metropolis of his + native land. Loneliness was better than the loss of self in the reek and + pressure of an unfamiliar throng. For the first few days he had wandered + over Paris without calling even on the ‘avoue’ to whom M. Hebert had + directed him. He felt with the instinctive acuteness of a mind which, + under sounder training, would have achieved no mean distinction, that it + was a safe precaution to imbue himself with the atmosphere of the place, + and seize on those general ideas which in great capitals are so contagious + that they are often more accurately caught by the first impressions than + by subsequent habit, before he brought his mind into collision with those + of the individuals he had practically to deal with. + </p> + <p> + At last he repaired to the ‘avoue,’ M. Gandrin, Rue St. Florentin. He had + mechanically formed his idea of the abode and person of an ‘avoue’ from + his association with M. Hebert. He expected to find a dull house in a dull + street near the centre of business, remote from the haunts of idlers, and + a grave man of unpretending exterior and matured years. + </p> + <p> + He arrived at a hotel newly fronted, richly decorated, in the fashionable + quartier close by the Tuileries. He entered a wide ‘porte cochere,’ and + was directed by the concierge to mount ‘au premier.’ There, first detained + in an office faultlessly neat, with spruce young men at smart desks, he + was at length admitted into a noble salon, and into the presence of a + gentleman lounging in an easy-chair before a magnificent bureau of + ‘marqueterie, genre Louis Seize,’ engaged in patting a white curly lapdog, + with a pointed nose and a shrill bark. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman rose politely on his entrance, and released the dog, who, + after sniffing the Marquis, condescended not to bite. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Marquis,” said M. Gandrin, glancing at the card and the + introductory note from M. Hebert, which Alain had sent in, and which lay + on the ‘secretaire’ beside heaps of letters nicely arranged and labelled, + “charmed to make the honour of your acquaintance; just arrived at Paris? + So M. Hebert—a very worthy person whom I have never seen, but with + whom I have had correspondence—tells me you wish for my advice; in + fact, he wrote to me some days ago, mentioning the business in question,—consolidation + of mortgages. A very large sum wanted, Monsieur le Marquis, and not to be + had easily.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless,” said Alain, quietly, “I should imagine that there must be + many capitalists in Paris willing to invest in good securities at fair + interest.” + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken, Marquis; very few such capitalists. Men worth money + nowadays like quick returns and large profits, thanks to the magnificent + system of ‘Credit Mobilier,’ in which, as you are aware, a man may place + his money in any trade or speculation without liabilities beyond his + share. Capitalists are nearly all traders or speculators.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” said the Marquis, half rising, “I am to presume, sir, that you are + not likely to assist me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t say that, Marquis. I will look with care into the matter. + Doubtless you have with you an abstract of the necessary documents, the + conditions of the present mortgages, the rental of the estate, its + probable prospects, and so forth.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, I have such an abstract with me at Paris; and having gone into it + myself with M. Hebert, I can pledge you my word that it is strictly + faithful to the facts.” + </p> + <p> + The Marquis said this with naive simplicity, as if his word were quite + sufficient to set that part of the question at rest. M. Gandrin smiled + politely and said, “‘Eh bien,’ M. le Marquis: favour me with the abstract; + in a week’s time you shall have my opinion. You enjoy Paris? Greatly + improved under the Emperor. ‘Apropos,’ Madame Gandrin receives tomorrow + evening; allow me that opportunity to present you to her.” Unprepared for + the proffered hospitality, the Marquis had no option but to murmur his + gratification and assent. + </p> + <p> + In a minute more he was in the streets. The next evening he went to Madame + Gandrin’s,—a brilliant reception,—a whole moving flower-bed of + “decorations” there. Having gone through the ceremony of presentation to + Madame Gandrin,—a handsome woman dressed to perfection, and + conversing with the secretary to an embassy,—the young noble + ensconced himself in an obscure and quiet corner, observing all and + imagining that he escaped observation. And as the young men of his own + years glided by him, or as their talk reached his ears, he became aware + that from top to toe, within and without, he was old-fashioned, obsolete, + not of his race, not of his day. His rank itself seemed to him a + waste-paper title-deed to a heritage long lapsed. Not thus the princely + seigneurs of Rochebriant made their ‘debut’ at the capital of their + nation. They had had the ‘entree’ to the cabinets of their kings; they had + glittered in the halls of Versailles; they had held high posts of + distinction in court and camp; the great Order of St. Louis had seemed + their hereditary appanage. His father, though a voluntary exile in + manhood, had been in childhood a king’s page, and throughout life remained + the associate of princes; and here, in an ‘avoue’s soiree,’ unknown, + unregarded, an expectant on an ‘avoue’s’ patronage, stood the last lord of + Rochebriant. + </p> + <p> + It is easy to conceive that Alain did not stay long. But he stayed long + enough to convince him that on L200 a year the polite society of Paris, + even as seen at M. Gandrin’s, was not for him. Nevertheless, a day or two + after, he resolved to call upon the nearest of his kinsmen to whom his + aunt had given him letters. With the Count de Vandemar, one of his + fellow-nobles of the sacred Faubourg, he should be no less Rochebriant, + whether in a garret or a palace. The Vandemars, in fact, though for many + generations before the First Revolution a puissant and brilliant family, + had always recognized the Rochebriants as the head of their house,—the + trunk from which they had been slipped in the fifteenth century, when a + younger son of the Rochebriants married a wealthy heiress and took the + title with the lands of Vandemar. + </p> + <p> + Since then the two families had often intermarried. The present count had + a reputation for ability, was himself a large proprietor, and might + furnish advice to guide Alain in his negotiations with M. Gandrin. The + Hotel do Vandemar stood facing the old Hotel de Rochebriant; it was less + spacious, but not less venerable, gloomy, and prison-like. + </p> + <p> + As he turned his eyes from the armorial scutcheon which still rested, + though chipped and mouldering, over the portals of his lost ancestral + house, and was about to cross the street, two young men, who seemed two or + three years older than himself, emerged on horseback from the Hotel de + Vandemar. + </p> + <p> + Handsome young men, with the lofty look of the old race, dressed with the + punctilious care of person which is not foppery in men of birth, but seems + part of the self-respect that appertains to the old chivalric point of + honour. The horse of one of these cavaliers made a caracole which brought + it nearly upon Alain as he was about to cross. The rider, checking his + steed, lifted his hat to Alain and uttered a word of apology in the + courtesy of ancient high-breeding, but still with condescension as to an + inferior. This little incident, and the slighting kind of notice received + from coevals of his own birth, and doubtless his own blood,—for he + divined truly that they were the sons of the Count de Vandemar,—disconcerted + Alain to a degree which perhaps a Frenchman alone can comprehend. He had + even half a mind to give up his visit and turn back. However, his native + manhood prevailed over that morbid sensitiveness which, born out of the + union of pride and poverty, has all the effects of vanity, and yet is not + vanity itself. + </p> + <p> + The Count was at home, a thin spare man with a narrow but high forehead, + and an expression of countenance keen, severe, and ‘un peu moqueuse.’ + </p> + <p> + He received the Marquis, however, at first with great cordiality, kissed + him on both sides of his cheek, called him “cousin,” expressed + immeasurable regret that the Countess was gone out on one of the missions + of charity in which the great ladies of the Faubourg religiously interest + themselves, and that his sons had just ridden forth to the Bois. + </p> + <p> + As Alain, however, proceeded, simply and without false shame, to + communicate the object of his visit at Paris, the extent of his + liabilities, and the penury of his means, the smile vanished from the + Count’s face. He somewhat drew back his fauteuil in the movement common to + men who wish to estrange themselves from some other man’s difficulties; + and when Alain came to a close, the Count remained some moments seized + with a slight cough; and, gazing intently on the carpet, at length he + said, “My dear young friend, your father behaved extremely ill to you,—dishonourably, + fraudulently.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold!” said the Marquis, colouring high. “Those are words no man can + apply to my father in my presence.” + </p> + <p> + The Count stared, shrugged his shoulders, and replied with ‘sang froid,’ + “Marquis, if you are contented with your father’s conduct, of course it is + no business of mine: he never injured me. I presume, however, that, + considering my years and my character, you come to me for advice: is it + so?” + </p> + <p> + Alain bowed his head in assent. + </p> + <p> + “There are four courses for one in your position to take,” said the Count, + placing the index of the right hand successively on the thumb and three + fingers of the left,—“four courses, and no more. + </p> + <p> + “First. To do as your notary recommended: consolidate your mortgages, + patch up your income as you best can, return to Rochebriant, and devote + the rest of your existence to the preservation of your property. By that + course your life will be one of permanent privation, severe struggle; and + the probability is that you will not succeed: there will come one or two + bad seasons, the farmers will fail to pay, the mortgagee will foreclose, + and you may find yourself, after twenty years of anxiety and torment, + prematurely old and without a sou. + </p> + <p> + “Course the second. Rochebriant, though so heavily encumbered as to yield + you some such income as your father gave to his chef de cuisine, is still + one of those superb ‘terres’ which bankers and Jews and stock-jobbers + court and hunt after, for which they will give enormous sums. If you place + it in good hands, I do not doubt that you could dispose of the property + within three months, on terms that would leave you a considerable surplus, + which, invested with judgment, would afford you whereon you could live at + Paris in a way suitable to your rank and age. Need we go further?—does + this course smile to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Pass on, Count; I will defend to the last what I take from my ancestors, + and cannot voluntarily sell their roof-tree and their tombs.” + </p> + <p> + “Your name would still remain, and you would be just as well received in + Paris, and your ‘noblesse’ just as implicitly conceded, if all Judaea + encamped upon Rochebriant. Consider how few of us ‘gentilshommes’ of the + old regime have any domains left to us. Our names alone survive: no + revolution can efface them.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be so, but pardon me; there are subjects on which we cannot + reason,—we can but feel. Rochebriant may be torn from me, but I + cannot yield it.” + </p> + <p> + “I proceed to the third course. Keep the chateau and give up its + traditions; remain ‘de facto’ Marquis of Rochebriant, but accept the new + order of things. Make yourself known to the people in power. They will be + charmed to welcome you a convert from the old noblesse is a guarantee of + stability to the new system. You will be placed in diplomacy; effloresce + into an ambassador, a minister,—and ministers nowadays have + opportunities to become enormously rich.” + </p> + <p> + “That course is not less impossible than the last. Till Henry V. formally + resign his right to the throne of Saint Louis, I can be servant to no + other man seated on that throne.” + </p> + <p> + “Such, too, is my creed,” said the Count, “and I cling to it; but my + estate is not mortgaged, and I have neither the tastes nor the age for + public employments. The last course is perhaps better than the rest; at + all events it is the easiest. A wealthy marriage; even if it must be a + ‘mesalliance.’ I think at your age, with your appearance, that your name + is worth at least two million francs in the eyes of a rich ‘roturier’ with + an ambitious daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” said the young man, rising, “I see I shall have to go back to + Rochebriant. I cannot sell my castle, I cannot sell my creed, and I cannot + sell my name and myself.” + </p> + <p> + “The last all of us did in the old ‘regime,’ Marquis. Though I still + retain the title of Vandemar, my property comes from the Farmer-General’s + daughter, whom my great-grandfather, happily for us, married in the days + of Louis Quinze. Marriages with people of sense and rank have always been + ‘marriages de convenance’ in France. It is only in ‘le petit monde’ that + men having nothing marry girls having nothing, and I don’t believe they + are a bit the happier for it. On the contrary, the ‘quarrels de menage’ + leading to frightful crimes appear by the ‘Gazette des Tribunaux’ to be + chiefly found among those who do not sell themselves at the altar.” + </p> + <p> + The old Count said this with a grim ‘persiflage.’ He was a Voltairian. + </p> + <p> + Voltairianism, deserted by the modern Liberals of France, has its chief + cultivation nowadays among the wits of the old ‘regime.’ They pick up its + light weapons on the battle-field on which their fathers perished, and + re-feather against the ‘canaille’ the shafts which had been pointed + against the ‘noblesse.’ + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, Count,” said Alain, rising; “I do not thank you less for your + advice because I have not the wit to profit by it.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Au revoir,’ my cousin; you will think better of it when you have been a + month or two at Paris. By the way, my wife receives every Wednesday; + consider our house yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Count, can I enter into the world which Madame la Comtesse receives, in + the way that becomes my birth, on the income I take from my fortune?” + </p> + <p> + The Count hesitated. “No,” said he at last, frankly; “not because you will + be less welcome or less respected, but because I see that you have all the + pride and sensitiveness of a ‘seigneur de province.’ Society would + therefore give you pain, not pleasure. More than this, I know, by the + remembrance of my own youth and the sad experience of my own sons, that + you would be irresistibly led into debt, and debt in your circumstances + would be the loss of Rochebriant. No; I invite you to visit us. I offer + you the most select but not the most brilliant circles of Paris, because + my wife is religious, and frightens away the birds of gay plumage with the + scarecrows of priests and bishops. But if you accept my invitation and my + offer, I am bound, as an old man of the world to a young kinsman, to say + that the chances are that you will be ruined.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, Count, for your candour; and I now acknowledge that I have + found a relation and a guide,” answered the Marquis, with nobility of mien + that was not without a pathos which touched the hard heart of the old man. + </p> + <p> + “Come at least whenever you want a sincere if a rude friend;” and though + he did not kiss his cousin’s cheek this time, he gave him, with more + sincerity, a parting shake of the hand. + </p> + <p> + And these made the principal events in Alain’s Paris life till he met + Frederic Lemercier. Hitherto he had received no definite answer from M. + Gandrin, who had postponed an interview, not having had leisure to make + himself master of all the details in the abstract sent to him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + The next day, towards the afternoon, Frederic Lemercier, somewhat + breathless from the rapidity at which he had ascended to so high an + eminence, burst into Alain’s chamber. + </p> + <p> + “‘Br-r! mon cher;’ what superb exercise for the health—how it must + strengthen the muscles and expand the chest! After this who should shrink + from scaling Mont Blanc? Well, well. I have been meditating on your + business ever since we parted. But I would fain know more of its details. + You shall confide them to me as we drive through the Bois. My coupe is + below, and the day is beautiful; come.” + </p> + <p> + To the young Marquis, the gayety, the heartiness of his college friend + were a cordial. How different from the dry counsels of the Count de + Vandemar! Hope, though vaguely, entered into his heart. Willingly he + accepted Frederic’s invitation, and the young men were soon rapidly borne + along the Champs Elysees. As briefly as he could Alain described the state + of his affairs, the nature of his mortgages, and the result of his + interview with M. Gandrin. + </p> + <p> + Frederic listened attentively. “Then Gandrin has given you as yet no + answer?” + </p> + <p> + “None; but I have a note from him this morning asking me to call + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “After you have seen him, decide on nothing,—if he makes you any + offer. Get back your abstract, or a copy of it, and confide it to me. + Gandrin ought to help you; he transacts affairs in a large way. ‘Belle + clientele’ among the millionnaires. But his clients expect fabulous + profits, and so does he. As for your principal mortgagee, Louvier, you + know, of course, who he is.” + </p> + <p> + “No, except that M. Hebert told me that he was very rich.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Rich’ I should think so; one of the Kings of Finance, Ah! observe those + young men on horseback.” + </p> + <p> + Alain looked forth and recognized the two cavaliers whom he had + conjectured to be the sons of the Count de Vandemar. + </p> + <p> + “Those ‘beaux garcons’ are fair specimens of your Faubourg,” said + Frederic; “they would decline my acquaintance because my grandfather kept + a shop, and they keep a shop between them.” + </p> + <p> + “A shop! I am mistaken, then. Who are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Raoul and Enguerrand, sons of that mocker of man, the Count de Vandemar.” + </p> + <p> + “And they keep a shop! You are jesting.” + </p> + <p> + “A shop at which you may buy gloves and perfumes, Rue de la Chaussee + d’Antin. Of course they don’t serve at the counter; they only invest their + pocket-money in the speculation; and, in so doing, treble at least their + pocket-money, buy their horses, and keep their grooms.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible! nobles of such birth! How shocked the Count would be if + he knew it!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, very much shocked if he was supposed to know it. But he is too wise + a father not to give his sons limited allowances and unlimited liberty, + especially the liberty to add to the allowances as they please. Look again + at them; no better riders and more affectionate brothers since the date of + Castor and Pollux. Their tastes indeed differ—Raoul is religious and + moral, melancholy and dignified; Enguerrand is a lion of the first water,—elegant + to the tips of his nails. These demigods nevertheless are very mild to + mortals. Though Enguerrand is the best pistol-shot in Paris, and Raoul the + best fencer, the first is so good-tempered that you would be a brute to + quarrel with him, the last so true a Catholic, that if you quarrelled with + him you need not fear his sword. He would not die in the committal of what + the Church holds a mortal sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you speaking ironically? Do you mean to imply that men of the name of + Vandemar are not brave?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I believe that, though masters of their weapons, they + are too brave to abuse their skill; and I must add that, though they are + sleeping partners in a shop, they would not cheat you of a farthing. + Benign stars on earth, as Castor and Pollux were in heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “But partners in a shop!” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! when a minister himself, like the late M. de M______, kept a shop, + and added the profits of ‘bons bons’ to his revenue, you may form some + idea of the spirit of the age. If young nobles are not generally sleeping + partners in shops, still they are more or less adventurers in commerce. + The Bourse is the profession of those who have no other profession. You + have visited the Bourse?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “No! this is just the hour. We have time yet for the Bois. Coachman, drive + to the Bourse.” + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” resumed Frederic, “that gambling is one of the wants of + civilized men. The ‘rouge-et-noir’ and ‘roulette’ tables are forbidden; + the hells closed: but the passion for making money without working for it + must have its vent, and that vent is the Bourse. As instead of a hundred + wax-lights you now have one jet of gas, so instead of a hundred hells you + have now one Bourse, and—it is exceedingly convenient; always at + hand; no discredit being seen there as it was to be seen at Frascati’s; on + the contrary, at once respectable, and yet the mode.” + </p> + <p> + The coupe stops at the Bourse, our friends mount the steps, glide through + the pillars, deposit their canes at a place destined to guard them, and + the Marquis follows Frederic up a flight of stairs till he gains the open + gallery round a vast hall below. Such a din! such a clamour! disputations, + wrangling, wrathful. + </p> + <p> + Here Lemercier distinguished some friends, whom he joined for a few + minutes. + </p> + <p> + Alain left alone, looked down into the hall. He thought himself in some + stormy scene of the First Revolution. An English contested election in the + market-place of a borough when the candidates are running close on each + other—the result doubtful, passions excited, the whole borough in + civil war—is peaceful compared to the scene at the Bourse. + </p> + <p> + Bulls and bears screaming, bawling, gesticulating, as if one were about to + strangle the other; the whole, to an uninitiated eye, a confusion, a + Babel, which it seems absolutely impossible to reconcile to the notion of + quiet mercantile transactions, the purchase and sale of shares and stocks. + As Alain gazed bewildered, he felt himself gently touched, and, looking + round, saw the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “A lively scene!” whispered Mr. Vane. “This is the heart of Paris: it + beats very loudly.” + </p> + <p> + “Is your Bourse in London like this?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell you: at our Exchange the general public are not admitted: + the privileged priests of that temple sacrifice their victims in closed + penetralia, beyond which the sounds made in the operation do not travel to + ears profane. But had we an Exchange like this open to all the world, and + placed, not in a region of our metropolis unknown to fashion, but in some + elegant square in St. James’s or at Hyde Park Corner, I suspect that our + national character would soon undergo a great change, and that all our + idlers and sporting-men would make their books there every day, instead of + waiting long months in ‘ennui’ for the Doncaster and the Derby. At present + we have but few men on the turf; we should then have few men not on + Exchange, especially if we adopt your law, and can contrive to be traders + without risk of becoming bankrupts. Napoleon I. called us a shopkeeping + nation. Napoleon III. has taught France to excel us in everything, and + certainly he has made Paris a shopkeeping city.” + </p> + <p> + Alain thought of Raoul and Enguerrand, and blushed to find that what he + considered a blot on his countrymen was so familiarly perceptible to a + foreigner’s eye. + </p> + <p> + “And the Emperor has done wisely, at least for the time,” continued the + Englishman, with a more thoughtful accent. “He has found vent thus for + that very dangerous class in Paris society to which the subdivision of + property gave birth; namely the crowd of well-born, daring young men + without fortune and without profession. He has opened the ‘Bourse’ and + said, ‘There, I give you employment, resource, an ‘avenir.‘’ He has + cleared the byways into commerce and trade, and opened new avenues of + wealth to the noblesse, whom the great Revolution so unwisely beggared. + What other way to rebuild a ‘noblesse’ in France, and give it a chance of + power be side an access to fortune? But to how many sides of your national + character has the Bourse of Paris magnetic attraction! You Frenchmen are + so brave that you could not be happy without facing danger, so covetous of + distinction that you would pine yourselves away without a dash, coute quo + coute, at celebrity and a red ribbon. Danger! look below at that arena: + there it is; danger daily, hourly. But there also is celebrity; win at the + Bourse, as of old in a tournament, and paladins smile on you, and ladies + give you their scarves, or, what is much the same, they allow you to buy + their cachemires. Win at the Bourse,—what follows? the Chamber, the + Senate, the Cross, the Minister’s ‘portefeuille.’ I might rejoice in all + this for the sake of Europe,—could it last, and did it not bring the + consequences that follow the demoralization which attends it. The Bourse + and the Credit Mobilier keep Paris quiet, at least as quiet as it can be. + These are the secrets of this reign of splendour; these the two lions + couchants on which rests the throne of the Imperial reconstructor.” + </p> + <p> + Alain listened surprised and struck. He had not given the Englishman + credit for the cast of mind which such reflections evinced. + </p> + <p> + Here Lemercier rejoined them, and shook hands with Graham Vane, who, + taking him aside, said, “But you promised to go to the Bois, and indulge + my insane curiosity about the lady in the pearl-coloured robe?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not forgotten; it is not half-past two yet; you said three. ‘Soyez + tranquille;’ I drive thither from the Bourse with Rochebriant.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it necessary to take with you that very good-looking Marquis?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you said you were not jealous, because not yet in love. + However, if Rochebriant occasions you the pang which your humble servant + failed to inflict, I will take care that he do not see the lady.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Englishman; “on consideration, I should be very much + obliged to any one with whom she would fall in love. That would disenchant + me. Take the Marquis by all means.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Alain, again looking down, saw just under him, close by one of + the pillars, Lucien Duplessis. He was standing apart from the throng, a + small space cleared round himself, and two men who had the air of + gentlemen of the ‘beau monde,’ with whom he was conferring. Duplessis, + thus seen, was not like the Duplessis at the restaurant. It would be + difficult to explain what the change was, but it forcibly struck Alain: + the air was more dignified, the expression keener; there was a look of + conscious power and command about the man even at that distance; the + intense, concentrated intelligence of his eye, his firm lip, his marked + features, his projecting, massive brow, would have impressed a very + ordinary observer. In fact, the man was here in his native element; in the + field in which his intellect gloried, commanded, and had signalized itself + by successive triumphs. Just thus may be the change in the great orator + whom you deemed insignificant in a drawing-room, when you see his crest + rise above a reverential audience; or the great soldier, who was not + distinguishable from the subaltern in a peaceful club, could you see him + issuing the order to his aids-de-camp amidst the smoke and roar of the + battle-field. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Marquis!” said Graham Vane, “are you gazing at Duplessis? He is the + modern genius of Paris. He is at once the Cousin, the Guizot, and the + Victor Hugo of speculation. Philosophy, Eloquence, audacious Romance,—all + Literature now is swallowed up in the sublime epic of ‘Agiotage,’ and + Duplessis is the poet of the Empire.” + </p> + <p> + “Well said, M. Grarm Varn,” cried Frederic, forgetting his recent lesson + in English names. “Alain underrates that great man. How could an + Englishman appreciate him so well?” + </p> + <p> + “‘Ma foi!’” returned Graham, quietly. “I am studying to think at Paris, in + order some day or other to know how to act in London. Time for the Bois. + Lemercier, we meet at seven,—Philippe’s.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + “What do you think of the Bourse?” asked Lemercier, as their carriage took + the way to the Bois. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot think of it yet; I am stunned. It seems to me as if I had been + at a ‘Sabbat,’ of which the wizards were ‘agents de change,’ but not less + bent upon raising Satan.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! the best way to exorcise Satan is to get rich enough not to be + tempted by him. The fiend always loved to haunt empty places; and of all + places nowadays he prefers empty purses and empty stomachs.” + </p> + <p> + “But do all people get rich at the Bourse? or is not one man’s wealth many + men’s ruin?” + </p> + <p> + “That is a question not very easy to answer; but under our present system + Paris gets rich, though at the expense of individual Parisians. I will try + and explain. The average luxury is enormously increased even in my + experience; what were once considered refinements and fopperies are now + called necessary comforts. Prices are risen enormously, house-rent doubled + within the last five or six years; all articles of luxury are very much + dearer; the very gloves I wear cost twenty per cent more than I used to + pay for gloves of the same quality. How the people we meet live, and live + so well, is an enigma that would defy AEdipus if AEdipus were not a + Parisian. But the main explanation is this: speculation and commerce, with + the facilities given to all investments, have really opened more numerous + and more rapid ways to fortune than were known a few years ago. + </p> + <p> + “Crowds are thus attracted to Paris, resolved to venture a small capital + in the hope of a large one; they live on that capital, not on their + income, as gamesters do. There is an idea among us that it is necessary to + seem rich in order to become rich. Thus there is a general extravagance + and profusion. English milords marvel at our splendour. Those who, while + spending their capital as their income, fail in their schemes of fortune, + after one, two, three, or four years, vanish. What becomes of them, I know + no more than I do what becomes of the old moons. Their place is + immediately supplied by new candidates. Paris is thus kept perennially + sumptuous and splendid by the gold it engulfs. But then some men succeed,—succeed + prodigiously, preternaturally; they make colossal fortunes, which are + magnificently expended. They set an example of show and pomp, which is of + course the more contagious because so many men say, ‘The other day those + millionnaires were as poor as we are; they never economized; why should + we?’ Paris is thus doubly enriched,—by the fortunes it swallows up, + and by the fortunes it casts up; the last being always reproductive, and + the first never lost except to the individuals.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand: but what struck me forcibly at the scene we have left was + the number of young men there; young men whom I should judge by their + appearance to be gentlemen, evidently not mere spectators,—eager, + anxious, with tablets in their hands. That old or middle-aged men should + find a zest in the pursuit of gain I can understand, but youth and avarice + seem to me a new combination, which Moliere never divined in his ‘Avare.’” + </p> + <p> + “Young men, especially if young gentlemen, love pleasure; and pleasure in + this city is very dear. This explains why so many young men frequent the + Bourse. In the old gaining now suppressed, young men were the majority; in + the days of your chivalrous forefathers it was the young nobles, not the + old, who would stake their very mantles and swords on a cast of the die. + And, naturally enough, mon cher; for is not youth the season of hope, and + is not hope the goddess of gaming, whether at rouge-et-noir or the + Bourse?” + </p> + <p> + Alain felt himself more and more behind his generation. The acute + reasoning of Lemercier humbled his amour propre. At college Lemercier was + never considered Alain’s equal in ability or book-learning. What a stride + beyond his school-fellow had Lemercier now made! How dull and stupid the + young provincial felt himself to be as compared with the easy cleverness + and half-sportive philosophy of the Parisian’s fluent talk! + </p> + <p> + He sighed with a melancholy and yet with a generous envy. He had too fine + a natural perception not to acknowledge that there is a rank of mind as + well as of birth, and in the first he felt that Lemercier might well walk + before a Rochebriant; but his very humility was a proof that he underrated + himself. + </p> + <p> + Lemercier did not excel him in mind, but in experience. And just as the + drilled soldier seems a much finer fellow than the raw recruit, because he + knows how to carry himself, but after a year’s discipline the raw recruit + may excel in martial air the upright hero whom he now despairingly + admires, and never dreams he can rival; so set a mind from a village into + the drill of a capital, and see it a year after; it may tower a head + higher than its recruiting-sergeant. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + “I believe,” said Lemercier, as the coupe rolled through the lively alleys + of the Bois de Boulogne, “that Paris is built on a loadstone, and that + every Frenchman with some iron globules in his blood is irresistibly + attracted towards it. The English never seem to feel for London the + passionate devotion that we feel for Paris. On the contrary, the London + middle class, the commercialists, the shopkeepers, the clerks, even the + superior artisans compelled to do their business in the capital, seem + always scheming and pining to have their home out of it, though but in a + suburb.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been in London, Frederic?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course; it is the mode to visit that dull and hideous metropolis.” + </p> + <p> + “If it be dull and hideous, no wonder the people who are compelled to do + business in it seek the pleasures of home out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It is very droll that though the middle class entirely govern the + melancholy Albion, it is the only country in Europe in which the middle + class seem to have no amusements; nay, they legislate against amusement. + They have no leisure-day but Sunday; and on that day they close all their + theatres, even their museums and picture-galleries. What amusements there + may be in England are for the higher classes and the lowest.” + </p> + <p> + “What are the amusements of the lowest class?” + </p> + <p> + “Getting drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing else?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I was taken at night under protection of a policeman to some + cabarets, where I found crowds of that class which is the stratum below + the working class; lads who sweep crossings and hold horses, mendicants, + and, I was told, thieves, girls whom a servant-maid would not speak to, + very merry, dancing quadrilles and waltzes, and regaling themselves on + sausages,—the happiest-looking folks I found in all London; and, I + must say, conducting themselves very decently.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” Here Lemercier pulled the check-string. “Will you object to a walk + in this quiet alley? I see some one whom I have promised the Englishman to—But + heed me, Alain, don’t fall in love with her.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + The lady in the pearl-coloured dress! Certainly it was a face that might + well arrest the eye and linger long on the remembrance. + </p> + <p> + There are certain “beauty-women” as there are certain “beauty-men,” in + whose features one detects no fault, who are the show figures of any + assembly in which they appear, but who, somehow or other, inspire no + sentiment and excite no interest; they lack some expression, whether of + mind, or of soul, or of heart, without which the most beautiful face is + but a beautiful picture. This lady was not one of those “beauty-women.” + Her features taken singly were by no means perfect, nor were they set off + by any brilliancy of colouring. But the countenance aroused and impressed + the imagination with a belief that there was some history attached to it, + which you longed to learn. The hair, simply parted over a forehead + unusually spacious and high for a woman, was of lustrous darkness; the + eyes, of a deep violet blue, were shaded with long lashes. + </p> + <p> + Their expression was soft and mournful, but unobservant. She did not + notice Alain and Lemercier as the two men slowly passed her. She seemed + abstracted, gazing into space as one absorbed in thought or revery. Her + complexion was clear and pale, and apparently betokened delicate health. + </p> + <p> + Lemercier seated himself on a bench beside the path, and invited Alain to + do the same. “She will return this way soon,” said the Parisian, “and we + can observe her more attentively and more respectfully thus seated than if + we were on foot; meanwhile, what do you think of her? Is she French? is + she Italian? can she be English?” + </p> + <p> + “I should have guessed Italian, judging by the darkness of the hair and + the outline of the features; but do Italians have so delicate a fairness + of complexion?” + </p> + <p> + “Very rarely; and I should guess her to be French, judging by the + intelligence of her expression, the simple neatness of her dress, and by + that nameless refinement of air in which a Parisienne excels all the + descendants of Eve,—if it were not for her eyes. I never saw a + Frenchwoman with eyes of that peculiar shade of blue; and if a Frenchwoman + had such eyes, I flatter myself she would have scarcely allowed us to pass + without making some use of them.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think she is married?” asked Alain. + </p> + <p> + “I hope so; for a girl of her age, if comme il faut, can scarcely walk + alone in the Bois, and would not have acquired that look so intelligent,—more + than intelligent,—so poetic.” + </p> + <p> + “But regard that air of unmistakable distinction; regard that expression + of face,-so pure, so virginal: comme il faut she must be.” + </p> + <p> + As Alain said these last words, the lady, who had turned back, was + approaching them, and in full view of their gaze. She seemed unconscious + of their existence as before, and Lemercier noticed that her lips moved as + if she were murmuring inaudibly to herself. + </p> + <p> + She did not return again, but continued her walk straight on till at the + end of the alley she entered a carriage in waiting for her, and was driven + off. + </p> + <p> + “Quick, quick!” cried Lemercier, running towards his own coupe; “we must + give chase.” + </p> + <p> + Alain followed somewhat less hurriedly, and, agreeably to instructions + Lemercier had already given to his coachman, the Parisian’s coupe set off + at full speed in the track of the strange lady’s, which was still in + sight. + </p> + <p> + In less than twenty minutes the carriage in chase stopped at the grille of + one of those charming little villas to be found in the pleasant suburb of + A——-; a porter emerged from the lodge, opened the gate; the + carriage drove in, again stopped at the door of the house, and the two + gentlemen could not catch even a glimpse of the lady’s robe as she + descended from the carriage and disappeared within the house. + </p> + <p> + “I see a cafe yonder,” said Lemercier; “let us learn all we can as to the + fair unknown, over a sorbet or a petit verre.” Alain silently, but not + reluctantly, consented. He felt in the fair stranger an interest new to + his existence. + </p> + <p> + They entered the little cafe, and in a few minutes Lemercier, with the + easy savoir vivre of a Parisian, had extracted from the garcon as much as + probably any one in the neighbourhood knew of the inhabitants of the + villa. + </p> + <p> + It had been hired and furnished about two months previously in the name of + Signora Venosta; but, according to the report of the servants, that lady + appeared to be the gouvernante or guardian of a lady much younger, out of + whose income the villa was rented and the household maintained. + </p> + <p> + It was for her the coupe was hired from Paris. The elder lady very rarely + stirred out during the day, but always accompanied the younger in any + evening visits to the theatre or the houses of friends. + </p> + <p> + It was only within the last few weeks that such visits had been made. + </p> + <p> + The younger lady was in delicate health, and under the care of an English + physician famous for skill in the treatment of pulmonary complaints. It + was by his advice that she took daily walking exercise in the Bois. The + establishment consisted of three servants, all Italians, and speaking but + imperfect French. The garcon did not know whether either of the ladies was + married, but their mode of life was free from all scandal or suspicion; + they probably belonged to the literary or musical world, as the garcon had + observed as their visitors the eminent author M. Savarin and his wife; + and, still more frequently, an old man not less eminent as a musical + composer. + </p> + <p> + “It is clear to me now,” said Lemercier, as the two friends reseated + themselves in the carriage, “that our pearly ange is some Italian singer + of repute enough in her own country to have gained already a competence; + and that, perhaps on account of her own health or her friend’s, she is + living quietly here in the expectation of some professional engagement, or + the absence of some foreign lover.” + </p> + <p> + “Lover! do you think that?” exclaimed Alain, in a tone of voice that + betrayed pain. + </p> + <p> + “It is possible enough; and in that case the Englishman may profit little + by the information I have promised to give him.” + </p> + <p> + “You have promised the Englishman?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not remember last night that he described the lady, and said that + her face haunted him: and I—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I remember now. What do you know of this Englishman? He is rich, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I hear he is very rich now; that an uncle lately left him an + enormous sum of money. He was attached to the English Embassy many years + ago, which accounts for his good French and his knowledge of Parisian + life. He comes to Paris very often, and I have known him some time. Indeed + he has intrusted to me a difficult and delicate commission. The English + tell me that his father was one of the most eminent members of their + Parliament, of ancient birth, very highly connected, but ran out his + fortune and died poor; that our friend had for some years to maintain + himself, I fancy, by his pen; that he is considered very able; and, now + that his uncle has enriched him, likely to enter public life and run a + career as distinguished as his father’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Happy man! happy are the English,” said the Marquis, with a sigh; and as + the carriage now entered Paris, he pleaded the excuse of an engagement, + bade his friend goodby, and went his way musing through the crowded + streets. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <h3> + LETTER FROM ISAURA CICOGNA TO MADAME DE GRANTMESNIL. + </h3> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VILLA D’——-, A———. +</pre> + <p> + I can never express to you, my beloved Eulalie, the strange charm which a + letter from you throws over my poor little lonely world for days after it + is received. There is always in it something that comforts, something that + sustains, but also a something that troubles and disquiets me. I suppose + Goethe is right, “that it is the property of true genius to disturb all + settled ideas,” in order, no doubt, to lift them into a higher level when + they settle down again. + </p> + <p> + Your sketch of the new work you are meditating amid the orange groves of + Provence interests me intensely; yet, do you forgive me when I add that + the interest is not without terror? I do not find myself able to + comprehend how, amid those lovely scenes of Nature, your mind voluntarily + surrounds itself with images of pain and discord. I stand in awe of the + calm with which you subject to your analysis the infirmities of reason and + the tumults of passion. And all those laws of the social state which seem + to me so fixed and immovable you treat with so quiet a scorn, as if they + were but the gossamer threads which a touch of your slight woman’s hand + could brush away. But I cannot venture to discuss such subjects with you. + It is only the skilled enchanter who can stand safely in the magic circle, + and compel the spirits that he summons, even if they are evil, to minister + to ends in which he foresees a good. + </p> + <p> + We continue to live here very quietly, and I do not as yet feel the worse + for the colder climate. Indeed, my wonderful doctor, who was recommended + to me as American, but is in reality English, assures me that a single + winter spent here under his care will suffice for my complete + re-establishment. Yet that career, to the training for which so many years + have been devoted, does not seem to me so alluring as it once did. + </p> + <p> + I have much to say on this subject, which I defer till I can better + collect my own thoughts on it; at present they are confused and + struggling. The great Maestro has been most gracious. + </p> + <p> + In what a radiant atmosphere his genius lives and breathes! Even in his + cynical moods, his very cynicism has in it the ring of a jocund music,—the + laugh of Figaro, not of Mephistopheles. + </p> + <p> + We went to dine with him last week. He invited to meet us Madame S——-, + who has this year conquered all opposition, and reigns alone, the great S——-; + Mr. T————, a pianist of admirable promise; your + friend M. Savarin, wit, critic, and poet, with his pleasant, sensible + wife; and a few others, who, the Maestro confided to me in a whisper, were + authorities in the press. After dinner S——- sang to us, + magnificently, of course. Then she herself graciously turned to me, said + how much she had heard from the Maestro in my praise, and so and so. I was + persuaded to sing after her. I need not say to what disadvantage. But I + forgot my nervousness; I forgot my audience; I forgot myself, as I always + do when once my soul, as it were, finds wing in music, and buoys itself in + the air, relieved from the sense of earth. I knew not that I had succeeded + till I came to a close, and then my eyes resting on the face of the grand + prima donna, I was seized with an indescribable sadness, with a keen pang + of remorse. Perfect artiste though she be, and with powers in her own + realm of art which admit of no living equal, I saw at once that I had + pained her: she had grown almost livid; her lips were quivering, and it + was only with a great effort that she muttered out some faint words + intended for applause. I comprehended by an instinct how gradually there + can grow upon the mind of an artist the most generous that jealousy which + makes the fear of a rival annihilate the delight in art. If ever I should + achieve S——-’s fame as a singer, should I feel the same + jealousy?—I think not now, but I have not been tested. She went away + abruptly. I spare you the recital of the compliments paid to me by my + other auditors, compliments that gave me no pleasure; for on all lips, + except those of the Maestro, they implied, as the height of eulogy, that I + had inflicted torture upon S——-. “If so,” said he, “she would + be as foolish as a rose that was jealous of the whiteness of a lily. You + would do yourself great wrong, my child, if you tried to vie with the rose + in its own colour.” + </p> + <p> + He patted my bended head as he spoke, with that kind of fatherly king-like + fondness with which he honours me; and I took his hand in mine, and kissed + it gratefully. “Nevertheless,” said Savarin, “when the lily comes out + there will be a furious attack on it, made by the clique that devotes + itself to the rose: a lily clique will be formed en revanche, and I + foresee a fierce paper war. Do not be frightened at its first outburst: + every fame worth having must be fought for.” + </p> + <p> + Is it so? have you had to fight for your fame, Eulalie? and do you hate + all contests as much as I do? + </p> + <p> + Our only other gayety since I last wrote was a soiree at M. Louvier’s. + That republican millionaire was not slow in attending to the kind letter + you addressed to him recommending us to his civilities. He called at once, + placed his good offices at our disposal, took charge of my modest fortune, + which he has invested, no doubt, as safely as it is advantageously in + point of interest, hired our carriage for us, and in short has been most + amiably useful. + </p> + <p> + At his house we met many to me most pleasant, for they spoke with such + genuine appreciation of your works and yourself. But there were others + whom I should never have expected to meet under the roof of a Croesus who + has so great a stake in the order of things established. One young man—a + noble whom he specially presented to me, as a politician who would be at + the head of affairs when the Red Republic was established—asked me + whether I did not agree with him that all private property was public + spoliation, and that the great enemy to civilization was religion, no + matter in what form. + </p> + <p> + He addressed to me these tremendous questions with an effeminate lisp, and + harangued on them with small feeble gesticulations of pale dirty fingers + covered with rings. + </p> + <p> + I asked him if there were many who in France shared his ideas. + </p> + <p> + “Quite enough to carry them some day,” he answered with a lofty smile. + “And the day may be nearer than the world thinks, when my confreres will + be so numerous that they will have to shoot down each other for the sake + of cheese to their bread.” + </p> + <p> + That day nearer than the world thinks! Certainly, so far as one may judge + the outward signs of the world at Paris, it does not think of such things + at all. With what an air of self-content the beautiful city parades her + riches! Who can gaze on her splendid palaces, her gorgeous shops, and + believe that she will give ear to doctrines that would annihilate private + rights of property; or who can enter her crowded churches, and dream that + she can ever again install a republic too civilized for religion? + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Adieu. Excuse me for this dull letter. If I have written on much that +has little interest even for me, it is that I wish to distract my mind +from brooding over the question that interests me most, and on which I +most need your counsel. I will try to approach it in my next. + + ISAURA. +FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. +</pre> + <p> + Eulalie, Eulalie!—What mocking spirit has been permitted in this + modern age of ours to place in the heart of woman the ambition which is + the prerogative of men? You indeed, so richly endowed with a man’s genius, + have a right to man’s aspirations. But what can justify such ambition in + me? Nothing but this one unintellectual perishable gift of a voice that + does but please in uttering the thoughts of others. Doubtless I could make + a name familiar for its brief time to the talk of Europe,—a name, + what name? a singer’s name. Once I thought that name a glory. Shall I ever + forget the day when you first shone upon me; when, emerging from childhood + as from a dim and solitary bypath, I stood forlorn on the great + thoroughfare of life, and all the prospects before me stretched sad in + mists and in rain? You beamed on me then as the sun coming out from the + cloud and changing the face of earth; you opened to my sight the + fairy-land of poetry and art; you took me by the hand and said, “Courage! + there is at each step some green gap in the hedgerows, some, soft escape + from the stony thoroughfare. Beside the real life expands the ideal life + to those who seek it. Droop not, seek it: the ideal life has its sorrows, + but it never admits despair; as on the ear of him who follows the winding + course of a stream, the stream ever varies the note of its music,—now + loud with the rush of the falls; now low and calm as it glides by the + level marge of smooth banks; now sighing through the stir of the reeds; + now babbling with a fretful joy as some sudden curve on the shore stays + its flight among gleaming pebbles,—so to the soul of the artist is + the voice of the art ever fleeting beside and before him. Nature gave thee + the bird’s gift of song: raise the gift into art, and make the art thy + companion. + </p> + <p> + “Art and Hope were twin-born, and they die together.” See how faithfully I + remember, methinks, your very words. But the magic of the words, which I + then but dimly understood, was in your smile and in your eye, and the + queen-like wave of your hand as if beckoning to a world which lay before + you, visible and familiar as your native land. And how devotedly, with + what earnestness of passion, I gave myself up to the task of raising my + gift into an art! I thought of nothing else, dreamed of nothing else; and + oh, now sweet to me then were words of praise! “Another year yet,” at + length said the masters, “and you ascend your throne among the queens of + song.” Then—then—I would have changed for no other throne on + earth my hope of that to be achieved in the realms of my art. And then + came that long fever: my strength broke down, and the Maestro said, “Rest, + or your voice is gone, and your throne is lost forever.” How hateful that + rest seemed to me! You again came to my aid. You said, “The time you think + lost should be but time improved. Penetrate your mind with other songs + than the trash of Libretti. The more you habituate yourself to the forms, + the more you imbue yourself with the spirit, in which passions have been + expressed and character delineated by great writers, the more completely + you will accomplish yourself in your own special art of singer and + actress.” So, then, you allured me to a new study. Ah! in so doing did you + dream that you diverted me from the old ambition? My knowledge of French + and Italian, and my rearing in childhood, which had made English familiar + to me, gave me the keys to the treasure-houses of three languages. + Naturally I began with that in which your masterpieces are composed. Till + then I had not even read your works. They were the first I chose. How they + impressed, how they startled me! what depths in the mind of man, in the + heart of woman, they revealed to me! But I owned to you then, and I repeat + it now, neither they nor any of the works in romance and poetry which form + the boast of recent French literature satisfied yearnings for that calm + sense of beauty, that divine joy in a world beyond this world, which you + had led me to believe it was the prerogative of ideal art to bestow. And + when I told you this with the rude frankness you had bid me exercise in + talk with you, a thoughtful, melancholy shade fell over your face, and you + said quietly, “You are right, child; we, the French of our time, are the + offspring of revolutions that settled nothing, unsettled all: we resemble + those troubled States which rush into war abroad in order to re-establish + peace at home. Our books suggest problems to men for reconstructing some + social system in which the calm that belongs to art may be found at last: + but such books should not be in your hands; they are not for the innocence + and youth of women as yet unchanged by the systems which exist.” And the + next day you brought me ‘l’asso’s great poem, the “Gerusalemme Liberata,” + and said, smiling, “Art in its calm is here.” + </p> + <p> + You remember that I was then at Sorrento by the order of my physician. + Never shall I forget the soft autumn day when I sat amongst the lonely + rocklets to the left of the town,—the sea before me, with scarce a + ripple; my very heart steeped in the melodies of that poem, so marvellous + for a strength disguised in sweetness, and for a symmetry in which each + proportion blends into the other with the perfectness of a Grecian statue. + The whole place seemed to me filled with the presence of the poet to whom + it had given birth. Certainly the reading of that poem formed an era in my + existence: to this day I cannot acknowledge the faults or weaknesses which + your criticisms pointed out; I believe because they are in unison with my + own nature, which yearns for harmony, and, finding that, rests contented. + I shrink from violent contrasts, and can discover nothing tame and insipid + in a continuance of sweetness and serenity. But it was not till after I + had read “La Gerusalemme” again and again, and then sat and brooded over + it, that I recognized the main charm of the poem in the religion which + clings to it as the perfume clings to a flower,—a religion sometimes + melancholy, but never to me sad. Hope always pervades it. Surely if, as + you said, “Hope is twin-born with art,” it is because art at its highest + blends itself unconsciously with religion, and proclaims its affinity with + hope by its faith in some future good more perfect than it has realized in + the past. + </p> + <p> + Be this as it may, it was in this poem so pre-eminently Christian that I + found the something which I missed and craved for in modern French + masterpieces; even yours,—a something spiritual, speaking to my own + soul, calling it forth; distinguishing it as an essence apart from mere + human reason; soothing, even when it excited; making earth nearer to + heaven. And when I ran on in this strain to you after my own wild fashion, + you took my head between your hands and kissed me, and said, “Happy are + those who believe! long may that happiness be thine!” Why did I not feel + in Dante the Christian charm that I felt in Tasso? Dante in your eyes, as + in those of most judges, is infinitely the greater genius; but reflected + on the dark stream of that genius the stars are so troubled, the heaven so + threatening. + </p> + <p> + Just as my year of holiday was expiring, I turned to English literature; + and Shakspeare, of course, was the first English poet put into my hands. + It proves how childlike my mind still was, that my earliest sensation in + reading him was that of disappointment. It was not only that, despite my + familiarity with English (thanks chiefly to the care of him whom I call my + second father), there is much in the metaphorical diction of Shakspeare + which I failed to comprehend; but he seemed to me so far like the modern + French writers who affect to have found inspiration in his muse, that he + obtrudes images of pain and suffering without cause or motive sufficiently + clear to ordinary understandings, as I had taught myself to think it ought + to be in the drama. + </p> + <p> + He makes Fate so cruel that we lose sight of the mild deity behind her. + Compare, in this, Corneille’s “Polyeucte,” with the “Hamlet.” In the first + an equal calamity befalls the good, but in their calamity they are + blessed. The death of the martyr is the triumph of his creed. But when we + have put down the English tragedy,—when Hamlet and Ophelia are + confounded in death with Polonius and the fratricidal king, we see not + what good end for humanity is achieved. The passages that fasten on our + memory do not make us happier and holier: they suggest but terrible + problems, to which they give us no solution. + </p> + <p> + In the “Horaces” of Corneille there are fierce contests, rude passions, + tears drawn from some of the bitterest sources of human pity; but then + through all stands out, large and visible to the eyes of all spectators, + the great ideal of devoted patriotism. How much of all that has been + grandest in the life of France, redeeming even its worst crimes of + revolution in the love of country, has had its origin in the “Horaces” of + Corneille. But I doubt if the fates of Coriolanus and Caesar and Brutus + and Antony, in the giant tragedies of Shakspeare, have made Englishmen + more willing to die for England. In fine, it was long before—I will + not say I understood or rightly appreciated Shakspeare, for no Englishman + would admit that I or even you could ever do so, but before I could + recognize the justice of the place his country claims for him as the + genius without an equal in the literature of Europe. Meanwhile the ardour + I had put into study, and the wear and tear of the emotions which the + study called forth, made themselves felt in a return of my former illness, + with symptoms still more alarming; and when the year was out I was + ordained to rest for perhaps another year before I could sing in public, + still less appear on the stage. How I rejoiced when I heard that fiat! for + I emerged from that year of study with a heart utterly estranged from the + profession in which I had centred my hopes before—Yes, Eulalie, you + had bid me accomplish myself for the arts of utterance; by the study of + arts in which thoughts originate the words they employ; and in doing so I + had changed myself into another being. I was forbidden all fatigue of + mind: my books were banished, but not the new self which the books had + formed. Recovering slowly through the summer, I came hither two months + since, ostensibly for the advice of Dr. C———-, but + really in the desire to commune with my own heart and be still. + </p> + <p> + And now I have poured forth that heart to you, would you persuade me still + to be a singer? If you do, remember at least how jealous and absorbing the + art of the singer and the actress is,—how completely I must + surrender myself to it, and live among books or among dreams no more. Can + I be anything else but singer? and if not, should I be contented merely to + read and to dream? + </p> + <p> + I must confide to you one ambition which during the lazy Italian summer + took possession of me; I must tell you the ambition, and add that I have + renounced it as a vain one. I had hoped that I could compose, I mean in + music. I was pleased with some things I did: they expressed in music what + I could not express in words; and one secret object in coming here was to + submit them to the great Maestro. He listened to them patiently: he + complimented me on my accuracy in the mechanical laws of composition; he + even said that my favourite airs were “touchants et gracieux.” + </p> + <p> + And so he would have left me, but I stopped him timidly, and said, “Tell + me frankly, do you think that with time and study I could compose music + such as singers equal to myself would sing to?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean as a professional composer?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And to the abandonment of your vocation as a singer?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child, I should be your worst enemy if I encouraged such a + notion: cling to the career in which you call be greatest; gain but + health, and I wager my reputation on your glorious success on the stage. + What can you be as a composer? You will set pretty music to pretty words, + and will be sung in drawing-rooms with the fame a little more or less that + generally attends the compositions of female amateurs. Aim at something + higher, as I know you would do, and you will not succeed. Is there any + instance in modern times, perhaps in any times, of a female composer who + attains even to the eminence of a third-rate opera-writer? Composition in + letters may be of no sex. In that Madame Dudevant and your friend Madame + de Grantmesnil can beat most men; but the genius of musical composition is + homme, and accept it as a compliment when I say that you are essentially + femme.” + </p> + <p> + He left me, of course, mortified and humbled; but I feel he is right as + regards myself, though whether in his depreciation of our whole sex I + cannot say. But as this hope has left me, I have become more disquieted, + still more restless. Counsel me, Eulalie; counsel, and, if possible, + comfort me. ISAURA. FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + </p> + <p> + No letter from you yet, and I have left you in peace for ten days. How do + you think I have spent them? The Maestro called on us with M. Savarin, to + insist on our accompanying them on a round of the theatres. I had not been + to one since my arrival. I divined that the kind-hearted composer had a + motive in this invitation. He thought that in witnessing the applauses + bestowed on actors, and sharing in the fascination in which theatrical + illusion holds an audience, my old passion for the stage, and with it the + longing for an artiste’s fame, would revive. + </p> + <p> + In my heart I wished that his expectations might be realized. Well for me + if I could once more concentrate all my aspirations on a prize within my + reach! + </p> + <p> + We went first to see a comedy greatly in vogue, and the author thoroughly + understands the French stage of our day. The acting was excellent in its + way. The next night we went to the Odeon, a romantic melodrama in six + acts, and I know not how many tableaux. I found no fault with the acting + there. I do not give you the rest of our programme. We visited all the + principal theatres, reserving the opera and Madame S——— + for the last. Before I speak of the opera, let me say a word or two on the + plays. + </p> + <p> + There is no country in which the theatre has so great a hold on the public + as in France; no country in which the successful dramatist has so high a + fame; no country perhaps in which the state of the stage so faithfully + represents the moral and intellectual condition of the people. I say this + not, of course, from my experience of countries which I have not visited, + but from all I hear of the stage in Germany and in England. + </p> + <p> + The impression left on my mind by the performances I witnessed is, that + the French people are becoming dwarfed. The comedies that please them are + but pleasant caricatures of petty sections in a corrupt society. They + contain no large types of human nature; their witticisms convey no + luminous flashes of truth; their sentiment is not pure and noble,—it + is a sickly and false perversion of the impure and ignoble into travesties + of the pure and noble. + </p> + <p> + Their melodramas cannot be classed as literature: all that really remains + of the old French genius is its vaudeville. Great dramatists create great + parts. One great part, such as a Rachel would gladly have accepted, I have + not seen in the dramas of the young generation. + </p> + <p> + High art has taken refuge in the opera; but that is not French opera. I do + not complain so much that French taste is less refined. I complain that + French intellect is lowered. The descent from “Polyeucte” to “Ruy Blas” is + great, not so much in the poetry of form as in the elevation of thought; + but the descent from “Ruy Blas” to the best drama now produced is out of + poetry altogether, and into those flats of prose which give not even the + glimpse of a mountain-top. + </p> + <p> + But now to the opera. S——— in Norma! The house was + crowded, and its enthusiasm as loud as it was genuine. You tell me that S——— + never rivalled Pasta, but certainly her Norma is a great performance. Her + voice has lost less of its freshness than I had been told, and what is + lost of it her practised management conceals or carries off. + </p> + <p> + The Maestro was quite right: I could never vie with her in her own line; + but conceited and vain as I may seem even to you in saying so, I feel in + my own line that I could command as large an applause,—of course + taking into account my brief-lived advantage of youth. Her acting, apart + from her voice, does not please me. It seems to me to want intelligence of + the subtler feelings, the under-current of emotion which constitutes the + chief beauty of the situation and the character. Am I jealous when I say + this? Read on and judge. + </p> + <p> + On our return that night, when I had seen the Venosta to bed, I went into + my own room, opened the window, and looked out. A lovely night, mild as in + spring at Florence,—the moon at her full, and the stars looking so + calm and so high beyond our reach of their tranquillity. The evergreens in + the gardens of the villas around me silvered over, and the summer boughs, + not yet clothed with leaves, were scarcely visible amid the changeless + smile of the laurels. At the distance lay Paris, only to be known by its + innumerable lights. And then I said to myself, + </p> + <p> + “No, I cannot be an actress; I cannot resign my real self for that + vamped-up hypocrite before the lamps. Out on those stage-robes and painted + cheeks! Out on that simulated utterance of sentiments learned by rote and + practised before the looking-glass till every gesture has its drill!” + </p> + <p> + Then I gazed on those stars which provoke our questionings, and return no + answer, till my heart grew full,—so full,—and I bowed my head + and wept like a child. + </p> + <p> + FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + </p> + <p> + And still no letter from you! I see in the journals that you have left + Nice. Is it that you are too absorbed in your work to have leisure to + write to me? I know you are not ill, for if you were, all Paris would know + of it. All Europe has an interest in your health. Positively I will write + to you no more till a word from yourself bids me do so. + </p> + <p> + I fear I must give up my solitary walks in the Bois de Boulogne: they were + very dear to me, partly because the quiet path to which I confined myself + was that to which you directed me as the one you habitually selected when + at Paris, and in which you had brooded over and revolved the loveliest of + your romances; and partly because it was there that, catching, alas! not + inspiration but enthusiasm from the genius that had hallowed the place, + and dreaming I might originate music, I nursed my own aspirations and + murmured my own airs. And though so close to that world of Paris to which + all artists must appeal for judgment or audience, the spot was so + undisturbed, so sequestered. But of late that path has lost its solitude, + and therefore its charm. + </p> + <p> + Six days ago the first person I encountered in my walk was a man whom I + did not then heed. He seemed in thought, or rather in revery, like myself; + we passed each other twice or thrice, and I did not notice whether he was + young or old, tall or short; but he came the next day, and a third day, + and then I saw that he was young, and, in so regarding him, his eyes + became fixed on mine. The fourth day he did not come, but two other men + came, and the look of one was inquisitive and offensive. They sat + themselves down on a bench in the walk, and though I did not seem to + notice them, I hastened home; and the next day, in talking with our kind + Madame Savarin, and alluding to these quiet walks of mine, she hinted, + with the delicacy which is her characteristic, that the customs of Paris + did not allow demoiselles comme il faut to walk alone even in the most + sequestered paths of the Bois. + </p> + <p> + I begin now to comprehend your disdain of customs which impose chains so + idly galling on the liberty of our sex. + </p> + <p> + We dined with the Savarins last evening: what a joyous nature he has! Not + reading Latin, I only know Horace by translations, which I am told are + bad; but Savarin seems to me a sort of half Horace,—Horace on his + town-bred side, so playfully well-bred, so good-humoured in his + philosophy, so affectionate to friends, and so biting to foes. But + certainly Savarin could not have lived in a country farm upon endives and + mallows. He is town-bred and Parisian, jusqu’au bout des ongles. How he + admires you, and how I love him for it! Only in one thing he disappoints + me there. It is your style that he chiefly praises: certainly that style + is matchless; but style is only the clothing of thought, and to praise + your style seems to me almost as invidious as the compliment to some + perfect beauty, not on her form and face, but on her taste and dress. + </p> + <p> + We met at dinner an American and his wife,—a Colonel and Mrs. + Morley: she is delicately handsome, as the American women I have seen + generally are, and with that frank vivacity of manner which distinguishes + them from English women. She seemed to take a fancy to me, and we soon + grew very good friends. + </p> + <p> + She is the first advocate I have met, except yourself, of that doctrine + upon the rights of Women, of which one reads more in the journals than one + hears discussed in salons. Naturally enough I felt great interest in that + subject, more especially since my rambles in the Bois were forbidden; and + as long as she declaimed on the hard fate of the women who, feeling within + them powers that struggle for air and light beyond the close precinct of + household duties, find themselves restricted from fair rivalry with men in + such fields of knowledge and toil and glory as men since the world began + have appropriated to themselves, I need not say that I went with her + cordially: you can guess that by my former letters. But when she entered + into the detailed catalogue of our exact wrongs and our exact rights, I + felt all the pusillanimity of my sex and shrank back in terror. + </p> + <p> + Her husband, joining us when she was in full tide of eloquence, smiled at + me with a kind of saturnine mirth. “Mademoiselle, don’t believe a word she + says: it is only tall talk! In America the women are absolute tyrants, and + it is I who, in concert with my oppressed countrymen, am going in for a + platform agitation to restore the Rights of Men.” + </p> + <p> + Upon this there was a lively battle of words between the spouses, in + which, I must own, I thought the lady was decidedly worsted. + </p> + <p> + No, Eulalie, I see nothing in these schemes for altering our relations + towards the other sex which would improve our condition. The inequalities + we suffer are not imposed by law,—not even by convention: they are + imposed by nature. + </p> + <p> + Eulalie, you have had an experience unknown to me: you have loved. In that + day did you,—you, round whom poets and sages and statesmen gather, + listening to your words as to an oracle,—did you feel that your + pride of genius had gone out from you, that your ambition lived in whom + you loved, that his smile was more to you than the applause of a world? + </p> + <p> + I feel as if love in a woman must destroy her rights of equality, that it + gives to her a sovereign even in one who would be inferior to herself if + her love did not glorify and crown him. Ah! if I could but merge this + terrible egotism which oppresses me, into the being of some one who is + what I would wish to be were I man! I would not ask him to achieve fame. + Enough if I felt that he was worthy of it, and happier methinks to console + him when he failed than to triumph with him when he won. Tell me, have you + felt this? When you loved did you stoop as to a slave, or did you bow down + as to a master? + </p> + <p> + FROM MADAME DE GRANTMESNIL TO ISAURA CICOGNA. + </p> + <p> + Chere enfant,—All your four letters have reached me the same day. In + one of my sudden whims I set off with a few friends on a rapid tour along + the Riviera to Genoa, thence to Turin on to Milan. Not knowing where we + should rest even for a day, my letters were not forwarded. + </p> + <p> + I came back to Nice yesterday, consoled for all fatigues in having insured + that accuracy in description of localities which my work necessitates. + </p> + <p> + You are, my poor child, in that revolutionary crisis through which genius + passes in youth before it knows its own self, and longs vaguely to do or + to be a something other than it has done or has been before. For, not to + be unjust to your own powers, genius you have,—that inborn + undefinable essence, including talent, and yet distinct from it. Genius + you have, but genius unconcentrated, undisciplined. I see, though you are + too diffident to say so openly, that you shrink from the fame of singer, + because, fevered by your reading, you would fain aspire to the thorny + crown of author. I echo the hard saying of the Maestro: I should be your + worst enemy did I encourage you to forsake a career in which a dazzling + success is so assured, for one in which, if it were your true vocation, + you would not ask whether you were fit for it; you would be impelled to it + by the terrible star which presides over the birth of poets. + </p> + <p> + Have you, who are so naturally observant, and of late have become so + reflective, never remarked that authors, however absorbed in their own + craft, do not wish their children to adopt it? The most successful author + is perhaps the last person to whom neophytes should come for + encouragement. This I think is not the case with the cultivators of the + sister arts. + </p> + <p> + The painter, the sculptor, the musician, seem disposed to invite disciples + and welcome acolytes. As for those engaged in the practical affairs of + life, fathers mostly wish their sons to be as they have been. + </p> + <p> + The politician, the lawyer, the merchant, each says to his children, + “Follow my steps.” All parents in practical life would at least agree in + this,—they would not wish their sons to be poets. There must be some + sound cause in the world’s philosophy for this general concurrence of + digression from a road of which the travellers themselves say to those + whom they love best, “Beware!” + </p> + <p> + Romance in youth is, if rightly understood, the happiest nutriment of + wisdom in after-years; but I would never invite any one to look upon the + romance of youth as a thing + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “To case in periods and embalm in ink.” + </pre> + <p> + Enfant, have you need of a publisher to create romance? Is it not in + yourself? Do not imagine that genius requires for its enjoyment the + scratch of the pen and the types of the printer. Do not suppose that the + poet, the romancier, is most poetic, most romantic, when he is striving, + struggling, labouring, to check the rush of his ideas, and materialize the + images which visit him as souls into such tangible likenesses of flesh and + blood that the highest compliment a reader can bestow on them is to say + that they are lifelike: No: the poet’s real delight is not in the + mechanism of composing; the best part of that delight is in the sympathies + he has established with innumerable modifications of life and form, and + art and Nature, sympathies which are often found equally keen in those who + have not the same gift of language. The poet is but the interpreter. What + of?—Truths in the hearts of others. He utters what they feel. Is the + joy in the utterance? Nay, it is in the feeling itself. So, my dear, + dark-bright child of song, when I bade thee open, out of the beaten + thoroughfare, paths into the meads and river-banks at either side of the + formal hedgerows, rightly dost thou add that I enjoined thee to make thine + art thy companion. In the culture of that art for which you are so + eminently gifted, you will find the ideal life ever beside the real. Are + you not ashamed to tell me that in that art you do but utter the thoughts + of others? You utter them in music; through the music you not only give to + the thoughts a new character, but you make them reproductive of fresh + thoughts in your audience. + </p> + <p> + You said very truly that you found in composing you could put into music + thoughts which you could not put into words. That is the peculiar + distinction of music. No genuine musician can explain in words exactly + what he means to convey in his music. + </p> + <p> + How little a libretto interprets an opera; how little we care even to read + it! It is the music that speaks to us; and how?—Through the human + voice. We do not notice how poor are the words which the voice warbles. It + is the voice itself interpreting the soul of the musician which enchants + and enthralls us. And you who have that voice pretend to despise the gift. + What! despise the power of communicating delight!—the power that we + authors envy; and rarely, if ever, can we give delight with so little + alloy as the singer. + </p> + <p> + And when an audience disperses, can you guess what griefs the singer may + have comforted? what hard hearts he may have softened? what high thoughts + he may have awakened? + </p> + <p> + You say, “Out on the vamped-up hypocrite! Out on the stage-robes and + painted cheeks!” + </p> + <p> + I say, “Out on the morbid spirit which so cynically regards the mere + details by which a whole effect on the minds and hearts and souls of races + and nations can be produced!” + </p> + <p> + There, have I scolded you sufficiently? I should scold you more, if I did + not see in the affluence of your youth and your intellect the cause of + your restlessness. Riches are always restless. It is only to poverty that + the gods give content. + </p> + <p> + You question me about love; you ask if I have ever bowed to a master, ever + merged my life in another’s: expect no answer on this from me. Circe + herself could give no answer to the simplest maid, who, never having + loved, asks, “What is love?” + </p> + <p> + In the history of the passions each human heart is a world in itself; its + experience profits no others. In no two lives does love play the same part + or bequeath the same record. + </p> + <p> + I know not whether I am glad or sorry that the word “love” now falls on my + ear with a sound as slight and as faint as the dropping of a leaf in + autumn may fall on thine. + </p> + <p> + I volunteer but this lesson, the wisest I can give, if thou canst + understand it: as I bade thee take art into thy life, so learn to look on + life itself as an art. Thou couldst discover the charm in Tasso; thou + couldst perceive that the requisite of all art, that which pleases, is in + the harmony of proportion. We lose sight of beauty if we exaggerate the + feature most beautiful. + </p> + <p> + Love proportioned adorns the homeliest existence; love disproportioned + deforms the fairest. + </p> + <p> + Alas! wilt thou remember this warning when the time comes in which it may + be needed? + </p> + <p> + E——- G———-. <a name="link2H_4_0013" + id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK II. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + It is several weeks after the date of the last chapter; the lime-trees in + the Tuileries are clothed in green. + </p> + <p> + In a somewhat spacious apartment on the ground-floor in the quiet locality + of the Rue d’Anjou, a man was seated, very still and evidently absorbed in + deep thought, before a writing-table placed close to the window. + </p> + <p> + Seen thus, there was an expression of great power both of intellect and of + character in a face which, in ordinary social commune, might rather be + noticeable for an aspect of hardy frankness, suiting well with the + clear-cut, handsome profile, and the rich dark auburn hair, waving + carelessly over one of those broad open foreheads, which, according to an + old writer, seem the “frontispiece of a temple dedicated to Honour.” + </p> + <p> + The forehead, indeed, was the man’s most remarkable feature. It could not + but prepossess the beholder. When, in private theatricals, he had need to + alter the character of his countenance, he did it effectually, merely by + forcing down his hair till it reached his eyebrows. He no longer then + looked like the same man. + </p> + <p> + The person I describe has been already introduced to the reader as Graham + Vane. But perhaps this is the fit occasion to enter into some such details + as to his parentage and position as may make the introduction more + satisfactory and complete. + </p> + <p> + His father, the representative of a very ancient family, came into + possession, after a long minority, of what may be called a fair squire’s + estate, and about half a million in moneyed investments, inherited on the + female side. Both land and money were absolutely at his disposal, + unencumbered by entail or settlement. He was a man of a brilliant, + irregular genius, of princely generosity, of splendid taste, of a gorgeous + kind of pride closely allied to a masculine kind of vanity. As soon as he + was of age he began to build, converting his squire’s hall into a ducal + palace. He then stood for the county; and in days before the first Reform + Bill, when a county election was to the estate of a candidate what a long + war is to the debt of a nation. He won the election; he obtained early + successes in Parliament. It was said by good authorities in political + circles that, if he chose, he might aspire to lead his party, and + ultimately to hold the first rank in the government of his country. + </p> + <p> + That may or may not be true; but certainly he did not choose to take the + trouble necessary for such an ambition. He was too fond of pleasure, of + luxury, of pomp. He kept a famous stud of racers and hunters. He was a + munificent patron of art. His establishments, his entertainments, were on + a par with those of the great noble who represented the loftiest (Mr. Vane + would not own it to be the eldest) branch of his genealogical tree. + </p> + <p> + He became indifferent to political contests, indolent in his attendance at + the House, speaking seldom, not at great length nor with much preparation, + but with power and fire, originality and genius; so that he was not only + effective as an orator, but combining with eloquence advantages of birth, + person, station, the reputation of patriotic independence, and genial + attributes of character, he was an authority of weight in the scales of + party. + </p> + <p> + This gentleman, at the age of forty, married the dowerless daughter of a + poor but distinguished naval officer, of noble family, first cousin to the + Duke of Alton. + </p> + <p> + He settled on her a suitable jointure, but declined to tie up any portion + of his property for the benefit of children by the marriage. He declared + that so much of his fortune was invested either in mines, the produce of + which was extremely fluctuating, or in various funds, over rapid transfers + in which it was his amusement and his interest to have control, unchecked + by reference to trustees, that entails and settlements on children were an + inconvenience he declined to incur. + </p> + <p> + Besides, he held notions of his own as to the wisdom of keeping children + dependent on their father. “What numbers of young men,” said he, “are + ruined in character and in fortune by knowing that when their father dies + they are certain of the same provision, no matter how they displease him; + and in the meanwhile forestalling that provision by recourse to usurers.” + These arguments might not have prevailed over the bride’s father a year or + two later, when, by the death of intervening kinsmen, he became Duke of + Alton; but in his then circumstances the marriage itself was so much + beyond the expectations which the portionless daughter of a sea-captain + has the right to form that Mr. Vane had it all his own way, and he + remained absolute master of his whole fortune, save of that part of his + landed estate on which his wife’s jointure was settled; and even from this + incumbrance he was very soon freed. His wife died in the second year of + marriage, leaving an only son,—Graham. He grieved for her loss with + all the passion of an impressionable, ardent, and powerful nature. Then + for a while he sought distraction to his sorrow by throwing himself into + public life with a devoted energy he had not previously displayed. + </p> + <p> + His speeches served to bring his party into power, and he yielded, though + reluctantly, to the unanimous demand of that party that he should accept + one of the highest offices in the new Cabinet. He acquitted himself well + as an administrator, but declared, no doubt honestly, that he felt like + Sinbad released from the old man on his back, when, a year or two + afterwards, he went out of office with his party. No persuasions could + induce him to come in again; nor did he ever again take a very active part + in debate. “No,” said he, “I was born to the freedom of a private + gentleman: intolerable to me is the thraldom of a public servant. But I + will bring up my son so that he may acquit the debt which I decline to pay + to my country.” There he kept his word. Graham had been carefully educated + for public life, the ambition for it dinned into his ear from childhood. + In his school vacations his father made him learn and declaim chosen + specimens of masculine oratory; engaged an eminent actor to give him + lessons in elocution; bade him frequent theatres, and study there the + effect which words derive from looks and gesture; encouraged him to take + part himself in private theatricals. To all this the boy lent his mind + with delight. He had the orator’s inborn temperament; quick, yet + imaginative, and loving the sport of rivalry and contest. Being also, in + his boyish years, good-humoured and joyous, he was not more a favourite + with the masters in the schoolroom than with the boys in the play-ground. + Leaving Eton at seventeen, he then entered at Cambridge, and became, in + his first term, the most popular speaker at the Union. + </p> + <p> + But his father cut short his academical career, and decided, for reasons + of his own, to place him at once in diplomacy. He was attached to the + Embassy at Paris, and partook of the pleasures and dissipations of that + metropolis too keenly to retain much of the sterner ambition to which he + had before devoted himself. Becoming one of the spoiled darlings of + fashion, there was great danger that his character would relax into the + easy grace of the Epicurean, when all such loiterings in the Rose Garden + were brought to abrupt close by a rude and terrible change in his + fortunes. + </p> + <p> + His father was killed by a fall from his horse in hunting; and when his + affairs were investigated, they were found to be hopelessly involved: + apparently the assets would not suffice for the debts. The elder Vane + himself was probably not aware of the extent of his liabilities. He had + never wanted ready money to the last. He could always obtain that from a + money-lender, or from the sale of his funded investments. But it became + obvious, on examining his papers, that he knew at least how impaired would + be the heritage he should bequeath to a son whom he idolized. For that + reason he had given Graham a profession in diplomacy, and for that reason + he had privately applied to the Ministry for the Viceroyalty of India, in + the event of its speedy vacancy. He was eminent enough not to anticipate + refusal, and with economy in that lucrative post much of his pecuniary + difficulties might have been redeemed, and at least an independent + provision secured for his son. + </p> + <p> + Graham, like Alain de Rochebriant, allowed no reproach on his father’s + memory; indeed, with more reason than Alain, for the elder Vane’s fortune + had at least gone on no mean and frivolous dissipation. + </p> + <p> + It had lavished itself on encouragement to art, on great objects of public + beneficence, on public-spirited aid of political objects; and even in more + selfish enjoyments there was a certain grandeur in his princely + hospitalities, in his munificent generosity, in a warm-hearted + carelessness for money. No indulgence in petty follies or degrading vices + aggravated the offence of the magnificent squanderer. + </p> + <p> + “Let me look on my loss of fortune as a gain to myself,” said Graham, + manfully. “Had I been a rich man, my experience of Paris tells me that I + should most likely have been a very idle one. Now that I have no gold, I + must dig in myself for iron.” + </p> + <p> + The man to whom he said this was an uncle-in-law,—if I may use that + phrase,—the Right Hon. Richard King, popularly styled “the blameless + King.” + </p> + <p> + This gentleman had married the sister of Graham’s mother, whose loss in + his infancy and boyhood she had tenderly and anxiously sought to supply. + It is impossible to conceive a woman more fitted to invite love and + reverence than was Lady Janet King, her manners were so sweet and gentle, + her whole nature so elevated and pure. + </p> + <p> + Her father had succeeded to the dukedom when she married Mr. King, and the + alliance was not deemed quite suitable. Still it was not one to which the + Duke would have been fairly justified in refusing his assent. + </p> + <p> + Mr. King could not indeed boast of noble ancestry, nor was even a landed + proprietor; but he was a not-undistinguished member of Parliament, of + irreproachable character, and ample fortune inherited from a distant + kinsman, who had enriched himself as a merchant. It was on both sides a + marriage of love. + </p> + <p> + It is popularly said that a man uplifts a wife to his own rank: it as + often happens that a woman uplifts her husband to the dignity of her own + character. Richard King rose greatly in public estimation after his + marriage with Lady Janet. + </p> + <p> + She united to a sincere piety a very active and a very enlightened + benevolence. She guided his ambition aside from mere party politics into + subjects of social and religious interest, and in devoting himself to + these he achieved a position more popular and more respected than he could + ever have won in the strife of party. + </p> + <p> + When the Government of which the elder Vane became a leading Minister was + formed, it was considered a great object to secure a name as high in the + religious world, so beloved by the working classes, as that of Richard + King; and he accepted one of those places which, though not in the + cabinet, confers the rank of Privy Councillor. + </p> + <p> + When that brief-lived Administration ceased, he felt the same sensation of + relief that Vane had felt, and came to the same resolution never again to + accept office, but from different reasons, all of which need not now be + detailed. Amongst them, however, certainly this: he was exceedingly + sensitive to opinion, thin-skinned as to abuse, and very tenacious of the + respect due to his peculiar character of sanctity and philanthropy. He + writhed under every newspaper article that had made “the blameless King” + responsible for the iniquities of the Government to which he belonged. In + the loss of office he seemed to recover his former throne. + </p> + <p> + Mr. King heard Graham’s resolution with a grave approving smile, and his + interest in the young man became greatly increased. He devoted himself + strenuously to the object of saving to Graham some wrecks of his paternal + fortunes, and having a clear head and great experience in the transaction + of business, he succeeded beyond the most sanguine expectations formed by + the family solicitor. A rich manufacturer was found to purchase at a fancy + price the bulk of the estate with the palatial mansion, which the estate + alone could never have sufficed to maintain with suitable establishments. + </p> + <p> + So that when all debts were paid, Graham found himself in possession of a + clear income of about L500 a year, invested in a mortgage secured on a + part of the hereditary lands, on which was seated an old hunting-lodge + bought by a brewer. + </p> + <p> + With this portion of the property Graham parted very reluctantly. It was + situated amid the most picturesque scenery on the estate, and the lodge + itself was a remnant of the original residence of his ancestors before it + had been abandoned for that which, built in the reign of Elizabeth, had + been expanded into a Trenthain-like palace by the last owner. + </p> + <p> + But Mr. King’s argument reconciled him to the sacrifice. “I can manage,” + said the prudent adviser, “if you insist on it, to retain that remnant of + the hereditary estate which you are so loath to part with. But how? by + mortgaging it to an extent that will scarcely leave you L50. a year net + from the rents. This is not all. Your mind will then be distracted from + the large object of a career to the small object of retaining a few family + acres; you will be constantly hampered by private anxieties and fears; you + could do nothing for the benefit of those around you,—could not + repair a farmhouse for a better class of tenant, could not rebuild a + labourer’s dilapidated cottage. Give up an idea that might be very well + for a man whose sole ambition was to remain a squire, however beggarly. + Launch yourself into the larger world of metropolitan life with energies + wholly unshackled, a mind wholly undisturbed, and secure of an income + which, however modest, is equal to that of most young men who enter that + world as your equals.” + </p> + <p> + Graham was convinced, and yielded, though with a bitter pang. It is hard + for a man whose fathers have lived on the soil to give up all trace of + their whereabouts. But none saw in him any morbid consciousness of change + of fortune, when, a year after his father’s death, he reassumed his place + in society. If before courted for his expectations, he was still courted + for himself; by many of the great who had loved his father, perhaps even + courted more. + </p> + <p> + He resigned the diplomatic career, not merely because the rise in that + profession is slow, and in the intermediate steps the chances of + distinction are slight and few, but more because he desired to cast his + lot in the home country, and regarded the courts of other lands as exile. + </p> + <p> + It was not true, however, as Lemercier had stated on report, that he lived + on his pen. Curbing all his old extravagant tastes, L500 a year amply + supplied his wants. But he had by his pen gained distinction, and created + great belief in his abilities for a public career. He had written critical + articles, read with much praise, in periodicals of authority, and had + published one or two essays on political questions which had created yet + more sensation. It was only the graver literature, connected more or less + with his ultimate object of a public career, in which he had thus evinced + his talents of composition. Such writings were not of a nature to bring + him much money, but they gave him a definite and solid station. In the old + time, before the first Reform Bill, his reputation would have secured him + at once a seat in Parliament; but the ancient nurseries of statesmen are + gone, and their place is not supplied. + </p> + <p> + He had been invited, however, to stand for more than one large and + populous borough, with very fair prospects of success; and, whatever the + expense, Mr. King had offered to defray it. But Graham would not have + incurred the latter obligation; and when he learned the pledges which his + supporters would have exacted, he would not have stood if success had been + certain and the cost nothing. “I cannot,” he said to his friends, “go into + the consideration of what is best for the country with my thoughts + manacled; and I cannot be both representative and slave of the greatest + ignorance of the greatest number. I bide my time, and meanwhile I prefer + to write as I please, rather than vote as I don’t please.” + </p> + <p> + Three years went by, passed chiefly in England, partly in travel; and at + the age of thirty, Graham Vane was still one of those of whom admirers + say, “He will be a great man some day;” and detractors reply, “Some day + seems a long way off.” + </p> + <p> + The same fastidiousness which had operated against that entrance into + Parliament, to which his ambition not the less steadily adapted itself, + had kept him free from the perils of wedlock. In his heart he yearned for + love and domestic life, but he had hitherto met with no one who realized + the ideal he had formed. With his person, his accomplishments, his + connections, and his repute, he might have made many an advantageous + marriage. But somehow or other the charm vanished from a fair face, if the + shadow of a money-bag fell on it; on the other hand, his ambition occupied + so large a share in his thoughts that he would have fled in time from the + temptation of a marriage that would have overweighted him beyond the + chance of rising. Added to all, he desired in a wife an intellect that, if + not equal to his own, could become so by sympathy,—a union of high + culture and noble aspiration, and yet of loving womanly sweetness which a + man seldom finds out of books; and when he does find it, perhaps it does + not wear the sort of face that he fancies. Be that as it may, Graham was + still unmarried and heart-whole. + </p> + <p> + And now a new change in his life befell him. Lady Janet died of a fever + contracted in her habitual rounds of charity among the houses of the poor. + She had been to him as the most tender mother, and a lovelier soul than + hers never alighted on the earth. His grief was intense; but what was her + husband’s?—one of those griefs that kill. + </p> + <p> + To the side of Richard King his Janet had been as the guardian angel. His + love for her was almost worship: with her, every object in a life hitherto + so active and useful seemed gone. He evinced no noisy passion of sorrow. + He shut himself up, and refused to see even Graham. But after some weeks + had passed, he admitted the clergyman in whom on spiritual matters he + habitually confided, and seemed consoled by the visits; then he sent for + his lawyer and made his will; after which he allowed Graham to call on him + daily, on the condition that there should be no reference to his loss. He + spoke to the young man on other subjects, rather drawing him out about + himself, sounding his opinion on various grave matters, watching his face + while he questioned, as if seeking to dive into his heart, and sometimes + pathetically sinking into silence, broken but by sighs. So it went on for + a few more weeks; then he took the advice of his physician to seek change + of air and scene. He went away alone, without even a servant, not leaving + word where he had gone. After a little while he returned, more ailing, + more broken than before. One morning he was found insensible,—stricken + by paralysis. He regained consciousness, and even for some days rallied + strength. He might have recovered, but he seemed as if he tacitly refused + to live. He expired at last, peacefully, in Graham’s arms. + </p> + <p> + At the opening of his will it was found that he had left Graham his sole + heir and executor. Deducting government duties, legacies to servants, and + donations to public charities, the sum thus bequeathed to his lost wife’s + nephew was two hundred and twenty thousand pounds. + </p> + <p> + With such a fortune, opening indeed was made for an ambition so long + obstructed. But Graham affected no change in his mode of life; he still + retained his modest bachelor’s apartments, engaged no servants, bought no + horses, in no way exceeded the income he had possessed before. He seemed, + indeed, depressed rather than elated by the succession to a wealth which + he had never anticipated. + </p> + <p> + Two children had been born from the marriage of Richard King: they had + died young, it is true, but Lady Janet at the time of her own decease was + not too advanced in years for the reasonable expectation of other + offspring; and even after Richard King became a widower, he had given to + Graham no hint of his testamentary dispositions. The young man was no + blood-relation to him, and naturally supposed that such relations would + become the heirs. But in truth the deceased seemed to have no + blood-relations: none had ever been known to visit him; none raised a + voice to question the justice of his will. + </p> + <p> + Lady Janet had been buried at Kensal Green; her husband’s remains were + placed in the same vault. + </p> + <p> + For days and days Graham went his way lonelily to the cemetery. He might + be seen standing motionless by that tomb, with tears rolling down his + cheeks; yet his was not a weak nature,—not one of those that love + indulgence of irremediable grief. On the contrary, people who did not know + him well said “that he had more head than heart,” and the character of his + pursuits, as of his writings, was certainly not that of a sentimentalist. + He had not thus visited the tomb till Richard King had been placed within + it. Yet his love for his aunt was unspeakably greater than that which he + could have felt for her husband. Was it, then, the husband that he so much + more acutely mourned; or was there something that, since the husband’s + death, had deepened his reverence for the memory of her whom he had not + only loved as a mother, but honoured as a saint? + </p> + <p> + These visits to the cemetery did not cease till Graham was confined to his + bed by a very grave illness,—the only one he had ever known. His + physician said it was nervous fever, and occasioned by moral shock or + excitement; it was attended with delirium. His recovery was slow, and when + it was sufficiently completed he quitted England; and we find him now, + with his mind composed, his strength restored, and his spirits braced, in + that gay city of Paris; hiding, perhaps, some earnest purpose amid his + participation in its holiday enjoyments. He is now, as I have said, seated + before his writing-table in deep thought. He takes up a letter which he + had already glanced over hastily, and reperuses it with more care. + </p> + <p> + The letter is from his cousin, the Duke of Alton, who had succeeded a few + years since to the family honours,—an able man, with no small degree + of information, an ardent politician, but of very rational and temperate + opinions; too much occupied by the cares of a princely estate to covet + office for himself; too sincere a patriot not to desire office for those + to whose hands he thought the country might be most safely entrusted; an + intimate friend of Graham’s. The contents of the letter are these:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MY DEAR GRAHAM,—I trust that you will welcome the brilliant opening + into public life which these lines are intended to announce to you. + Vavasour has just been with me to say that he intends to resign his + seat for the county when Parliament meets, and agreeing with me that + there is no one so fit to succeed him as yourself, he suggests the + keeping his intention secret until you have arranged your committee + and are prepared to take the field. You cannot hope to escape a + contest; but I have examined the Register, and the party has gained + rather than lost since the last election, when Vavasour was so + triumphantly returned. The expenses for this county, where there + are so many outvoters to bring up, and so many agents to retain, are + always large in comparison with some other counties; but that + consideration is all in your favour, for it deters Squire Hunston, + the only man who could beat you, from starting; and to your + resources a thousand pounds more or less are a trifle not worth + discussing. You know how difficult it is nowadays to find a seat + for a man of moderate opinions like yours and mine. Our county + would exactly suit you. The constituency is so evenly divided + between the urban and rural populations, that its representative + must fairly consult the interests of both. He can be neither an + ultra-Tory nor a violent Radical. He is left to the enviable + freedom, to which you say you aspire, of considering what is best + for the country as a whole. + + Do not lose so rare an opportunity. There is but one drawback to + your triumphant candidature. It will be said that you have no + longer an acre in the county in which the Vanes have been settled so + long. That drawback can be removed. It is true that you can never + hope to buy back the estates which you were compelled to sell at + your father’s death: the old manufacturer gripes them too firmly to + loosen his hold; and after all, even were your income double what it + is, you would be overhoused in the vast pile in which your father + buried so large a share of his fortune. But that beautiful old + hunting-lodge, the Stamm Schloss of your family, with the adjacent + farms, can be now repurchased very reasonably. The brewer who + bought them is afflicted with an extravagant son, whom he placed in + the—Hussars, and will gladly sell the property for L5,000 more than + he gave: well worth the difference, as he has improved the farm- + buildings and raised the rental. I think, in addition to the sum + you have on mortgage, L3,000 will be accepted, and as a mere + investment pay you nearly three per cent. But to you it is worth + more than double the money; it once more identifies your ancient + name with the county. You would be a greater personage with that + moderate holding in the district in which your race took root, and + on which your father’s genius threw such a lustre, than you would be + if you invested all your wealth in a county in which every squire + and farmer would call you “the new man.” Pray think over this most + seriously, and instruct your solicitor to open negotiations with the + brewer at once. But rather put yourself into the train, and come + back to England straight to me. I will ask Vavasour to meet you. + What news from Paris? Is the Emperor as ill as the papers + insinuate? And is the revolutionary party gaining ground? + + Your affectionate cousin, + + ALTON. +</pre> + <p> + As he put down this letter, Graham heaved a short impatient sigh. + </p> + <p> + “The old Stamm Schloss,” he muttered,—“a foot on the old soil once + more! and an entrance into the great arena with hands unfettered. Is it + possible!—is it?—is it?” + </p> + <p> + At this moment the door-bell of the apartment rang, and a servant whom + Graham had hired at Paris as a laquais de place announced “Ce Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + Graham hurried the letter into his portfolio, and said, “You mean the + person to whom I am always at home?” + </p> + <p> + “The same, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Admit him, of course.” + </p> + <p> + There entered a wonderfully thin man, middle-aged, clothed in black, his + face cleanly shaven, his hair cut very short, with one of those faces + which, to use a French expression, say “nothing.” It was absolutely + without expression: it had not even, despite its thinness, one salient + feature. If you had found yourself anywhere seated next to that man, your + eye would have passed him over as too insignificant to notice; if at a + cafe, you would have gone on talking to your friend without lowering your + voice. What mattered it whether a bete like that overheard or not? Had you + been asked to guess his calling and station, you might have said, minutely + observing the freshness of his clothes and the undeniable respectability + of his tout ensemble, “He must be well off, and with no care for customers + on his mind,—a ci-devant chandler who has retired on a legacy.” + </p> + <p> + Graham rose at the entrance of his visitor, motioned him courteously to a + seat beside him, and waiting till the laquais had vanished, then asked, + “What news?” + </p> + <p> + “None, I fear, that will satisfy Monsieur. I have certainly hunted out, + since I had last the honour to see you, no less than four ladies of the + name of Duval, but only one of them took that name from her parents, and + was also christened Louise.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—Louise!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the daughter of a perfumer, aged twenty-eight. She, therefore, is + not the Louise you seek. Permit me to refer to your instructions.” Here M. + Renard took out a note-book, turned over the leaves, and resumed, “Wanted, + Louise Duval, daughter of Auguste Duval, a French drawing-master, who + lived for many years at Tours, removed to Paris in 1845, lived at No. 12, + Rue de S—— at Paris for some years, but afterwards moved to a + different guartier of the town, and died 1848, in Rue I——, No. + 39. Shortly after his death, his daughter Louise left that lodging, and + could not be traced. In 1849 official documents reporting her death were + forwarded from Munich to a person (a friend of yours, Monsieur). Death, of + course, taken for granted; but nearly five years afterwards, this very + person encountered the said Louise Duval at Aix-la-Chapelle, and never + heard nor saw more of her. Demande submitted, to find out said Louise + Duval or any children of hers born in 1848-9; supposed in 1852-3 to have + one child, a girl, between four and five years old. Is that right, + Monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right.” + </p> + <p> + “And this is the whole information given to me. Monsieur on giving it + asked me if I thought it desirable that he should commence inquiries at + Aix-la-Chapelle, where Louise Duval was last seen by the person interested + to discover her. I reply, No; pains thrown away. Aix-la-Chapelle is not a + place where any Frenchwoman not settled there by marriage would remain. + Nor does it seem probable that the said Duval would venture to select for + her residence Munich, a city in which she had contrived to obtain + certificates of her death. A Frenchwoman who has once known Paris always + wants to get back to it; especially, Monsieur, if she has the beauty which + you assign to this lady. I therefore suggested that our inquiries should + commence in this capital. Monsieur agreed with me, and I did not grudge + the time necessary for investigation.” + </p> + <p> + “You were most obliging. Still I am beginning to be impatient if time is + to be thrown away.” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally. Permit me to return to my notes. Monsieur informs me that + twenty-one years ago, in 1848, the Parisian police were instructed to find + out this lady and failed, but gave hopes of discovering her through her + relations. He asks me to refer to our archives; I tell him that is no use. + However, in order to oblige him, I do so. No trace of such inquiry: it + must have been, as Monsieur led me to suppose, a strictly private one, + unconnected with crime or with politics; and as I have the honour to tell + Monsieur, no record of such investigations is preserved in our office. + Great scandal would there be, and injury to the peace of families, if we + preserved the results of private inquiries intrusted to us—by + absurdly jealous husbands, for instance. Honour,—Monsieur, honour + forbids it. Next I suggest to Monsieur that his simplest plan would be an + advertisement in the French journals, stating, if I understand him right, + that it is for the pecuniary interest of Madame or Mademoiselle Duval, + daughter of Auguste Duval, artiste en dessin, to come forward. Monsieur + objects to that.” + </p> + <p> + “I object to it extremely; as I have told you, this is a strictly + confidential inquiry; and an advertisement which in all likelihood would + be practically useless (it proved to be so in a former inquiry) would not + be resorted to unless all else failed, and even then with reluctance.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. Accordingly, Monsieur delegates to me, who have been + recommended to him as the best person he can employ in that department of + our police which is not connected with crime or political surveillance, a + task the most difficult. I have, through strictly private investigations, + to discover the address and prove the identity of a lady bearing a name + among the most common in France, and of whom nothing has been heard for + fifteen years, and then at so migratory an endroit as Aix-la-Chapelle. You + will not or cannot inform me if since that time the lady has changed her + name by marriage.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no reason to think that she has; and there are reasons against the + supposition that she married after 1849.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to observe that the more details of information Monsieur can + give me, the easier my task of research will be.” + </p> + <p> + “I have given you all the details I can, and, aware of the difficulty of + tracing a person with a name so much the reverse of singular, I adopted + your advice in our first interview, of asking some Parisian friend of + mine, with a large acquaintance in the miscellaneous societies of your + capital, to inform me of any ladies of that name whom he might chance to + encounter; and he, like you, has lighted upon one or two, who alas! + resemble the right one in name and nothing more.” + </p> + <p> + “You will do wisely to keep him on the watch as well as myself. If it were + but a murderess or a political incendiary, then you might trust + exclusively to the enlightenment of our corps, but this seems an affair of + sentiment, Monsieur. Sentiment is not in our way. Seek the trace of that + in the haunts of pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + M. Renard, having thus poetically delivered himself of that philosophical + dogma, rose to depart. + </p> + <p> + Graham slipped into his hand a bank-note of sufficient value to justify + the profound bow he received in return. + </p> + <p> + When M. Renard had gone, Graham heaved another impatient sigh, and said to + himself, “No, it is not possible,—at least not yet.” + </p> + <p> + Then, compressing his lips as a man who forces himself to something he + dislikes, he dipped his pen into the inkstand, and wrote rapidly thus to + his kinsman: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MY DEAR COUSIN,—I lose not a post in replying to your kind and + considerate letter. It is not in my power at present to return to + England. I need not say how fondly I cherish the hope of + representing the dear old county some day. If Vavasour could be + induced to defer his resignation of the seat for another session, or + at least for six or seven months, why then I might be free to avail + myself of the opening; at present I am not. Meanwhile I am sorely + tempted to buy back the old Lodge; probably the brewer would allow + me to leave on mortgage the sum I myself have on the property, and a + few additional thousands. I have reasons for not wishing to + transfer at present much of the money now invested in the Funds. I + will consider this point, which probably does not press. + + I reserve all Paris news till my next; and begging you to forgive so + curt and unsatisfactory a reply to a letter so important that it + excites me more than I like to own, believe me your affectionate + friend and cousin, + + GRAHAM. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + AT about the same hour on the same day in which the Englishman held the + conference with the Parisian detective just related, the Marquis de + Rochebriant found himself by appointment in the cabinet d’affaires of his + avoue M. Gandrin that gentleman had hitherto not found time to give him a + definite opinion as to the case submitted to his judgment. The avoue + received Alain with a kind of forced civility, in which the natural + intelligence of the Marquis, despite his inexperience of life, discovered + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Marquis,” said Gandrin, fidgeting among the papers on his + bureau, “this is a very complicated business. I have given not only my + best attention to it, but to your general interests. To be plain, your + estate, though a fine one, is fearfully encumbered—fearfully— + frightfully.” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” said the Marquis, haughtily, “that is a fact which was never + disguised from you.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not say that it was, Marquis; but I scarcely realized the amount of + the liabilities nor the nature of the property. It will be difficult—nay, + I fear, impossible—to find any capitalist to advance a sum that will + cover the mortgages at an interest less than you now pay. As for a Company + to take the whole trouble off your hands, clear off the mortgages, manage + the forests, develop the fisheries, guarantee you an adequate income, and + at the end of twenty-one years or so render up to you or your heirs the + free enjoyment of an estate thus improved, we must dismiss that prospect + as a wild dream of my good friend M. Hebert. People in the provinces do + dream; in Paris everybody is wide awake.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said the Marquis, with that inborn imperturbable loftiness of + sang froid which has always in adverse circumstances characterized the + French noblesse, “be kind enough to restore my papers. I see that you are + not the man for me. Allow me only to thank you, and inquire the amount of + my debt for the trouble I have given.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you are quite justified in thinking I am not the man for you, + Monsieur le Marquis; and your papers shall, if you decide on dismissing + me, be returned to you this evening. But as to my accepting remuneration + where I have rendered no service, I request M. le Marquis to put that out + of the question. Considering myself, then, no longer your avoue, do not + think I take too great a liberty in volunteering my counsel as a friend,—or + a friend at least to M. Hebert, if you do not vouchsafe my right so to + address yourself.” + </p> + <p> + M. Gandrin spoke with a certain dignity of voice and manner which touched + and softened his listener. + </p> + <p> + “You make me your debtor far more than I pretend to repay,” replied Alain. + “Heaven knows I want a friend, and I will heed with gratitude and respect + all your counsels in that character.” + </p> + <p> + “Plainly and briefly, my advice is this: M. Louvier is the principal + mortgagee. He is among the six richest capitalists of Paris. He does not, + therefore, want money, but, like most self-made men, he is very accessible + to social vanities. He would be proud to think he had rendered a service + to a Rochebriant. Approach him, either through me, or, far better, at once + introduce yourself, and propose to consolidate all your other liabilities + in one mortgage to him, at a rate of interest lower than that which is now + paid to some of the small mortgagees. This would add considerably to your + income and would carry out M. Hebert’s advice.” + </p> + <p> + “But does it not strike you, dear M. Gandrin, that such going cap-in-hand + to one who has power over my fate, while I have none over his, would + scarcely be consistent with my self-respect, not as Rochebriant only, but + as Frenchman?” + </p> + <p> + “It does not strike me so in the least; at all events, I could make the + proposal on your behalf, without compromising yourself, though I should be + far more sanguine of success if you addressed M. Louvier in person.” + </p> + <p> + “I should nevertheless prefer leaving it in your hands; but even for that + I must take a few days to consider. Of all the mortgagees M. Louvier has + been hitherto the severest and most menacing, the one whom Hebert dreads + the most; and should he become sole mortgagee, my whole estate would pass + to him if, through any succession of bad seasons and failing tenants, the + interest was not punctually paid.” + </p> + <p> + “It could so pass to him now.” + </p> + <p> + “No; for there have been years in which the other mortgagees, who are + Bretons and would be loath to ruin a Rochebriant, have been lenient and + patient.” + </p> + <p> + “If Louvier has not been equally so, it is only because he knew nothing of + you, and your father no doubt had often sorely tasked his endurance. Come, + suppose we manage to break the ice easily. Do me the honour to dine here + to meet him; you will find that he is not an unpleasant man.” + </p> + <p> + The Marquis hesitated, but the thought of the sharp and seemingly hopeless + struggle for the retention of his ancestral home to which he would be + doomed if he returned from Paris unsuccessful in his errand overmastered + his pride. He felt as if that self-conquest was a duty he owed to the very + tombs of his fathers. “I ought not to shrink from the face of a creditor,” + said he, smiling somewhat sadly, “and I accept the proposal you so + graciously make.” + </p> + <p> + “You do well, Marquis, and I will write at once to Louvier to ask him to + give me his first disengaged day.” + </p> + <p> + The Marquis had no sooner quitted the house than M. Gandrin opened a door + at the side of his office, and a large portly man strode into the room,—stride + it was rather than step,—firm, self-assured, arrogant, masterful. + </p> + <p> + “Well, mon ami,” said this man, taking his stand at the hearth, as a king + might take his stand in the hall of his vassal, “and what says our petit + muscadin?” + </p> + <p> + “He is neither petit nor muscadin, Monsieur Louvier,” replied Gandrin, + peevishly; “and he will task your powers to get him thoroughly into your + net. But I have persuaded him to meet you here. What day can you dine with + me? I had better ask no one else.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow I dine with my friend O——-, to meet the chiefs of + the Opposition,” said M. Louvier, with a sort of careless rollicking + pomposity. “Thursday with Pereire; Saturday I entertain at home. Say + Friday. Your hour?” + </p> + <p> + “Seven.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Show me those Rochebriant papers again; there is something I had + forgotten to note. Never mind me. Go on with your work as if I were not + here.” + </p> + <p> + Louvier took up the papers, seated himself in an armchair by the + fireplace, stretched out his legs, and read at his ease, but with a very + rapid eye, as a practised lawyer skims through the technical forms of a + case to fasten upon the marrow of it. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! as I thought. The farms could not pay even the interest on my present + mortgage; the forests come in for that. If a contractor for the yearly + sale of the woods was bankrupt and did not pay, how could I get my + interest? Answer me that, Gandrin.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly you must run the risk of that chance.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course the chance occurs, and then I foreclose, seize,—Rochebriant + and its seigneuries are mine.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke he laughed, not sardonically,—a jovial laugh,—and + opened wide, to reshut as in a vice, the strong iron hand which had + doubtless closed over many a man’s all. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. On Friday, seven o’clock.” He tossed the papers back on the + bureau, nodded a royal nod, and strode forth imperiously as he had strode + in. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + MEANWHILE the young Marquis pursued his way thoughtfully through the + streets, and entered the Champs Elysees. Since we first, nay, since we + last saw him, he is strikingly improved in outward appearances. He has + unconsciously acquired more of the easy grace of the Parisian in gait and + bearing. You would no longer detect the Provincial—perhaps, however, + because he is now dressed, though very simply, in habiliments that belong + to the style of the day. Rarely among the loungers in the Champs Elysees + could be seen a finer form, a comelier face, an air of more unmistakable + distinction. + </p> + <p> + The eyes of many a passing fair one gazed on him, admiringly or + coquettishly. But he was still so little the true Parisian that they got + no smile, no look in return. He was wrapped in his own thoughts; was he + thinking of M. Louvier? + </p> + <p> + He had nearly gained the entrance of the Bois de Boulogne, when he was + accosted by a voice behind, and turning round saw his friend Lemercier + arm-in-arm with Graham Vane. + </p> + <p> + “Bonjour, Alain,” said Lemercier, hooking his disengaged arm into + Rochebriant’s. “I suspect we are going the same way.” + </p> + <p> + Alain felt himself change countenance at this conjecture, and replied + coldly, “I think not; I have got to the end of my walk, and shall turn + back to Paris;” addressing himself to the Englishman, he said with formal + politeness, “I regret not to have found you at home when I called some + weeks ago, and no less so to have been out when you had the complaisance + to return my visit.” + </p> + <p> + “At all events,” replied the Englishman, “let me not lose the opportunity + of improving our acquaintance which now offers. It is true that our friend + Lemercier, catching sight of me in the Rue de Rivoli, stopped his coupe + and carried me off for a promenade in the Bois. The fineness of the day + tempted us to get out of his carriage as the Bois came in sight. But if + you are going back to Paris I relinquish the Bois and offer myself as your + companion.” + </p> + <p> + Frederic (the name is so familiarly English that the reader might think me + pedantic did I accentuate it as French) looked from one to the other of + his two friends, half amused and half angry. + </p> + <p> + “And am I to be left alone to achieve a conquest, in which, if I succeed, + I shall change into hate and envy the affection of my two best friends? Be + it so. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “’ Un veritable amant ne connait point d’amis.’” + </pre> + <p> + “I do not comprehend your meaning,” said the Marquis, with a compressed + lip and a slight frown. + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” cried Frederic; “come, franc jeu; cards on the table. M. Gram Varn + was going into the Bois at my suggestion on the chance of having another + look at the pearl-coloured angel; and you, Rochebriant, can’t deny that + you were going into the Bois for the same object.” + </p> + <p> + “One may pardon an enfant terrible,” said the Englishman, laughing, “but + an ami terrible should be sent to the galleys. Come, Marquis, let us walk + back and submit to our fate. Even were the lady once more visible, we have + no chance of being observed by the side of a Lovelace so accomplished and + so audacious!” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, then, recreants: I go alone. Victory or death.” The Parisian + beckoned his coachman, entered his carriage, and with a mocking grimace + kissed his hand to the companions thus deserting or deserted. + </p> + <p> + Rochebriant touched the Englishman’s arm, and said, “Do you think that + Lemercier could be impertinent enough to accost that lady?” + </p> + <p> + “In the first place,” returned the Englishman, “Lemercier himself tells me + that the lady has for several weeks relinquished her walks in the Bois, + and the probability is, therefore, that he will not have the opportunity + to accost her. In the next place, it appears that when she did take her + solitary walk, she did not stray far from her carriage, and was in reach + of the protection of her laquais and coachman. But to speak honestly, do + you, who know Lemercier better than I, take him to be a man who would + commit an impertinence to a woman unless there were viveurs of his own sex + to see him do it?” + </p> + <p> + Alain smiled. “No. Frederic’s real nature is an admirable one, and if he + ever do anything that he ought to be ashamed of, ‘twill be from the pride + of showing how finely he can do it. Such was his character at college, and + such it still seems at Paris. But it is true that the lady has forsaken + her former walk; at least I—I have not seen her since the day I + first beheld her in company with Frederic. Yet—yet, pardon me, you + were going to the Bois on the chance of seeing her. Perhaps she has + changed the direction of her walk, and—and—” + </p> + <p> + The Marquis stopped short, stammering and confused. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman scanned his countenance with the rapid glance of a + practised observer of men and things, and after a short pause said: “If + the lady has selected some other spot for her promenade, I am ignorant of + it; nor have I ever volunteered the chance of meeting with her, since I + learned—first from Lemercier, and afterwards from others—that + her destination is the stage. Let us talk frankly, Marquis. I am + accustomed to take much exercise on foot, and the Bois is my favourite + resort: one day I there found myself in the allee which the lady we speak + of used to select for her promenade, and there saw her. Something in her + face impressed me; how shall I describe the impression? Did you ever open + a poem, a romance, in some style wholly new to you, and before you were + quite certain whether or not its merits justified the interest which the + novelty inspired, you were summoned away, or the book was taken out of + your hands? If so, did you not feel an intellectual longing to have + another glimpse of the book? That illustration describes my impression, + and I own that I twice again went to the same allee. The last time I only + caught sight of the young lady as she was getting into her carriage. As + she was then borne away, I perceived one of the custodians of the Bois; + and learned, on questioning him, that the lady was in the habit of walking + always alone in the same allee at the same hour on most fine days, but + that he did not know her name or address. A motive of curiosity—perhaps + an idle one—then made me ask Lemercier, who boasts of knowing his + Paris so intimately, if he could inform me who the lady was. He undertook + to ascertain.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” interposed the Marquis, “he did not ascertain who she was; he only + ascertained where she lived, and that she and an elder companion were + Italians;—whom he suspected, without sufficient ground, to be + professional singers.” + </p> + <p> + “True; but since then I ascertained more detailed particulars from two + acquaintances of mine who happen to know her,—M. Savarin, the + distinguished writer, and Mrs. Morley, an accomplished and beautiful + American lady, who is more than an acquaintance. I may boast the honour of + ranking among her friends. As Savarin’s villa is at A———, + I asked him incidentally if he knew the fair neighbour whose face had so + attracted me; and Mrs. Morley being present, and overhearing me, I learned + from both what I now repeat to you. + </p> + <p> + “The young lady is a Signorina Cicogna,—at Paris, exchanging (except + among particular friends), as is not unusual, the outlandish designation + of Signorina for the more conventional one of Mademoiselle. Her father was + a member of the noble Milanese family of the same name, therefore the + young lady is well born. Her father has been long dead; his widow married + again an English gentleman settled in Italy, a scholar and antiquarian; + his name was Selby. This gentleman, also dead, bequeathed the Signorina a + small but sufficient competence. She is now an orphan, and residing with a + companion, a Signora Venosta, who was once a singer of some repute at the + Neapolitan Theatre, in the orchestra of which her husband was principal + performer; but she relinquished the stage several years ago on becoming a + widow, and gave lessons as a teacher. She has the character of being a + scientific musician, and of unblemished private respectability. + Subsequently she was induced to give up general teaching, and undertake + the musical education and the social charge of the young lady with her. + This girl is said to have early given promise of extraordinary excellence + as a singer, and excited great interest among a coterie of literary + critics and musical cognoscenti. She was to have come out at the Theatre + of Milan a year or two ago, but her career has been suspended in + consequence of ill-health, for which she is now at Paris under the care of + an English physician, who has made remarkable cures in all complaints of + the respiratory organs. ———, the great composer, who + knows her, says that in expression and feeling she has no living superior, + perhaps no equal since Malibran.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem, dear Monsieur, to have taken much pains to acquire this + information.” + </p> + <p> + “No great pains were necessary; but had they been I might have taken them, + for, as I have owned to you, Mademoiselle Cicogna, while she was yet a + mystery to me, strangely interested my thoughts or my fancies. That + interest has now ceased. The world of actresses and singers lies apart + from mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet,” said Alain, in a tone of voice that implied doubt, “if I understand + Lemercier aright, you were going with him to the Bois on the chance of + seeing again the lady in whom your interest has ceased.” + </p> + <p> + “Lemercier’s account was not strictly accurate. He stopped his carriage to + speak to me on quite another subject, on which I have consulted him, and + then proposed to take me on to the Bois. I assented; and it was not till + we were in the carriage that he suggested the idea of seeing whether the + pearly-robed lady had resumed her walk in the allee. You may judge how + indifferent I was to that chance when I preferred turning back with you to + going on with him. Between you and me, Marquis, to men of our age, who + have the business of life before them, and feel that if there be aught in + which noblesse oblige it is a severe devotion to noble objects, there is + nothing more fatal to such devotion than allowing the heart to be blown + hither and thither at every breeze of mere fancy, and dreaming ourselves + into love with some fair creature whom we never could marry consistently + with the career we have set before our ambition. I could not marry an + actress,—neither, I presume, could the Marquis de Rochebriant; and + the thought of a courtship which excluded the idea of marriage to a young + orphan of name unblemished, of virtue unsuspected, would certainly not be + compatible with ‘devotion to noble objects.’” + </p> + <p> + Alain involuntarily bowed his head in assent to the proposition, and, it + may be, in submission to an implied rebuke. + </p> + <p> + The two men walked in silence for some minutes, and Graham first spoke, + changing altogether the subject of conversation. “Lemercier tells me you + decline going much into this world of Paris, the capital of capitals, + which appears so irresistibly attractive to us foreigners.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly; but, to borrow your words, I have the business of life before + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Business is a good safeguard against the temptations to excess in + pleasure, in which Paris abounds. But there is no business which does not + admit of some holiday, and all business necessitates commerce with + mankind. A propos, I was the other evening at the Duchese de Tarascon’s,—a + brilliant assembly, filled with ministers, senators, and courtiers. I + heard your name mentioned.” + </p> + <p> + “Mine?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Duplessis, the rising financier—who rather to my surprise was + not only present among these official and decorated celebrities, but + apparently quite at home among them—asked the Duchess if she had not + seen you since your arrival at Paris. She replied, ‘No; that though you + were among her nearest connections, you had not called on her;’ and bade + Duplessis tell you that you were a monstre for not doing so. Whether or + not Duplessis will take that liberty I know not; but you must pardon me if + I do. She is a very charming woman, full of talent; and that stream of the + world which reflects the stars, with all their mythical influences on + fortune, flows through her salons.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not born under those stars. I am a Legitimist.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not forget your political creed; but in England the leaders of + opposition attend the salons of the Prime Minister. A man is not supposed + to compromise his opinions because he exchanges social courtesies with + those to whom his opinions are hostile. Pray excuse me if I am indiscreet, + I speak as a traveller who asks for information: but do the Legitimists + really believe that they best serve their cause by declining any mode of + competing with its opponents? Would there not be a fairer chance of the + ultimate victory of their principles if they made their talents and + energies individually prominent; if they were known as skilful generals, + practical statesmen, eminent diplomatists, brilliant writers? Could they + combine,—not to sulk and exclude themselves from the great + battle-field of the world, but in their several ways to render themselves + of such use to their country that some day or other, in one of those + revolutionary crises to which France, alas! must long be subjected, they + would find themselves able to turn the scale of undecided councils and + conflicting jealousies.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, we hope for the day when the Divine Disposer of events will + strike into the hearts of our fickle and erring countrymen the conviction + that there will be no settled repose for France save under the sceptre of + her rightful kings. But meanwhile we are,—I see it more clearly + since I have quitted Bretagne,—we are a hopeless minority.” + </p> + <p> + “Does not history tell us that the great changes of the world have been + wrought by minorities,—but on the one condition that the minorities + shall not be hopeless? It is almost the other day that the Bonapartists + were in a minority that their adversaries called hopeless, and the + majority for the Emperor is now so preponderant that I tremble for his + safety. When a majority becomes so vast that intellect disappears in the + crowd, the date of its destruction commences; for by the law of reaction + the minority is installed against it. It is the nature of things that + minorities are always more intellectual than multitudes, and intellect is + ever at work in sapping numerical force. What your party want is hope; + because without hope there is no energy. I remember hearing my father say + that when he met the Count de Chambord at Ems, that illustrious personage + delivered himself of a belle phrase much admired by his partisans. The + Emperor was then President of the Republic, in a very doubtful and + dangerous position. France seemed on the verge of another convulsion. A + certain distinguished politician recommended the Count de Chambord to hold + himself ready to enter at once as a candidate for the throne. And the + Count, with a benignant smile on his handsome face, answered, ‘All wrecks + come to the shore: the shore does not go to the wrecks.’” + </p> + <p> + “Beautifully said!” exclaimed the Marquis. + </p> + <p> + “Not if ‘Le beau est toujours le vrai.’ My father, no inexperienced nor + unwise politician, in repeating the royal words, remarked: ‘The fallacy of + the Count’s argument is in its metaphor. A man is not a shore. Do you not + think that the seamen on board the wrecks would be more grateful to him + who did not complacently compare himself to a shore, but considered + himself a human being like themselves, and risked his own life in a boat, + even though it were a cockleshell, in the chance of saving theirs?” + </p> + <p> + Alain de Rochebriant was a brave man, with that intense sentiment of + patriotism which characterizes Frenchmen of every rank and persuasion, + unless they belong to the Internationalists; and, without pausing to + consider, he cried, “Your father was right.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman resumed: “Need I say, my dear Marquis, that I am not a + Legitimist? I am not an Imperialist, neither am I an Orleanist nor a + Republican. Between all those political divisions it is for Frenchmen to + make their choice, and for Englishmen to accept for France that government + which France has established. I view things here as a simple observer. But + it strikes me that if I were a Frenchman in your position, I should think + myself unworthy my ancestors if I consented to be an insignificant + looker-on.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not in my position,” said the Marquis, half mournfully, half + haughtily, “and you can scarcely judge of it even in imagination.” + </p> + <p> + “I need not much task my imagination; I judge of it by analogy. I was very + much in your position when I entered upon what I venture to call my + career; and it is the curious similarity between us in circumstances, that + made me wish for your friendship when that similarity was made known to me + by Lemercier, who is not less garrulous than the true Parisian usually is. + Permit me to say that, like you, I was reared in some pride of no + inglorious ancestry. I was reared also in the expectation of great wealth. + Those expectations were not realized: my father had the fault of noble + natures,—generosity pushed to imprudence: he died poor and in debt. + You retain the home of your ancestors; I had to resign mine.” + </p> + <p> + The Marquis had felt deeply interested in this narrative, and as Graham + now paused, took his hand and pressed it. “One of our most eminent + personages said to me about that time, ‘Whatever a clever man of your age + determines to do or to be, the odds are twenty to one that he has only to + live on in order to do or to be it.’ Don’t you think he spoke truly? I + think so.” + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely know what to think,” said Rochebriant; “I feel as if you had + given me so rough a shake when I was in the midst of a dull dream, that I + am not yet quite sure whether I am asleep or awake.” + </p> + <p> + Just as he said this, and towards the Paris end of the Champs Elysees, + there was a halt, a sensation among the loungers round them; many of them + uncovered in salute. + </p> + <p> + A man on the younger side of middle age, somewhat inclined to corpulence, + with a very striking countenance, was riding slowly by. He returned the + salutations he received with the careless dignity of a Personage + accustomed to respect, and then reined in his horse by the side of a + barouche, and exchanged some words with a portly gentleman who was its + sole occupant. The loungers, still halting, seemed to contemplate this + parley—between him on horseback and him in the carriage—with + very eager interest. Some put their hands behind their ears and pressed + forward, as if trying to overhear what was said. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” quoth Graham, “whether, with all his cleverness, the Prince + has in any way decided what he means to do or to be.” + </p> + <p> + “The Prince!” said Rochebriant, rousing himself from revery; “what + Prince?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not recognize him by his wonderful likeness to the first Napoleon,—him + on horseback talking to Louvier, the great financier.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that stout bourgeois in the carriage Louvier,—my mortgagee, + Louvier?” + </p> + <p> + “Your mortgagee, my dear Marquis? Well, he is rich enough to be a very + lenient one upon pay-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Hein!—I doubt his leniency,” said Alain. “I have promised my avoue + to meet him at dinner. Do you think I did wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Wrong! of course not; he is likely to overwhelm you with civilities. Pray + don’t refuse if he gives you an invitation to his soiree next Saturday; I + am going to it. One meets there the notabilities most interesting to + study,—artists, authors, politicians, especially those who call + themselves Republicans. He and the Prince agree in one thing; namely, the + cordial reception they give to the men who would destroy the state of + things upon which Prince and financier both thrive. Hillo! here comes + Lemercier on return from the Bois.” + </p> + <p> + Lemercier’s coupe stopped beside the footpath. “What tidings of the Belle + Inconnue?” asked the Englishman. “None; she was not there. But I am + rewarded: such an adventure! a dame of the haute volee; I believe she is a + duchess. She was walking with a lap-dog, a pure Pomeranian. A strange + poodle flew at the Pomeranian, I drove off the poodle, rescued the + Pomeranian, received the most gracious thanks, the sweetest smile: femme + superbe, middle aged. I prefer women of forty. Au revoir, I am due at the + club.” + </p> + <p> + Alain felt a sensation of relief that Lemercier had not seen the lady in + the pearl-coloured dress, and quitted the Englishman with a lightened + heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + “Piccola, piccola! com e cortese! another invitation from M. Louvier for + next Saturday,—conversazione.” This was said in Italian by an + elderly lady bursting noisily into the room,—elderly, yet with a + youthful expression of face, owing perhaps to a pair of very vivacious + black eyes. She was dressed, after a somewhat slatternly fashion, in a + wrapper of crimson merino much the worse for wear, a blue handkerchief + twisted turban-like round her head, and her feet encased in list slippers. + The person to whom she addressed herself was a young lady with dark hair, + which, despite its evident repugnance, was restrained into smooth glossy + braids over the forehead, and at the crown of the small graceful head into + the simple knot which Horace has described as “Spartan.” Her dress + contrasted the speaker’s by an exquisite neatness. + </p> + <p> + We have seen her before as the lady in the pearl-coloured robe; but seen + now at home she looks much younger. She was one of those whom, encountered + in the streets or in society, one might guess to be married,—probably + a young bride; for thus seen there was about her an air of dignity and of + self-possession which suits well with the ideal of chaste youthful + matronage; and in the expression of the face there was a pensive + thoughtfulness beyond her years. But as she now sat by the open window + arranging flowers in a glass bowl, a book lying open on her lap, you would + never have said, “What a handsome woman!” you would have said, “What a + charming girl!” All about her was maidenly, innocent, and fresh. The + dignity of her bearing was lost in household ease, the pensiveness of her + expression in an untroubled serene sweetness. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps many of my readers may have known friends engaged in some + absorbing cause of thought, and who are in the habit when they go out, + especially if on solitary walks, to take that cause of thought with them. + The friend may be an orator meditating his speech, a poet his verses, a + lawyer a difficult case, a physician an intricate malady. If you have such + a friend, and you observe him thus away from his home, his face will seem + to you older and graver. He is absorbed in the care that weighs on him. + When you see him in a holiday moment at his own fireside, the care is + thrown aside; perhaps he mastered while abroad the difficulty that had + troubled him; he is cheerful, pleasant, sunny. This appears to be very + much the case with persons of genius. When in their own houses we usually + find them very playful and childlike. Most persons of real genius, + whatever they may seem out of doors, are very sweet-tempered at home, and + sweet temper is sympathizing and genial in the intercourse of private + life. Certainly, observing this girl as she now bends over the flowers, it + would be difficult to believe her to be the Isaura Cicogna whose letters + to Madame de Grantinesnil exhibit the doubts and struggles of an unquiet, + discontented, aspiring mind. Only in one or two passages in those letters + would you have guessed at the writer in the girl as we now see her. It is + in those passages where she expresses her love of harmony, and her + repugnance to contest: those were characteristics you might have read in + her face. + </p> + <p> + Certainly the girl is very lovely: what long dark eyelashes! what soft, + tender, dark-blue eyes! now that she looks up and smiles, what a + bewitching smile it is! by what sudden play of rippling dimples the smile + is enlivened and redoubled! Do you notice one feature? In very showy + beauties it is seldom noticed; but I, being in my way a physiognomist, + consider that it is always worth heeding as an index of character. It is + the ear. Remark how delicately it is formed in her: none of that heaviness + of lobe which is a sure sign of sluggish intellect and coarse perception. + Hers is the artist’s ear. Note next those hands: how beautifully shaped! + small, but not doll-like hands,—ready and nimble, firm and nervous + hands, that could work for a helpmate. By no means very white, still less + red, but somewhat embrowned as by the sun, such as you may see in girls + reared in southern climes, and in her perhaps betokening an impulsive + character which had not accustomed itself, when at sport in the open air, + to the thraldom of gloves,—very impulsive people even in cold + climates seldom do. + </p> + <p> + In conveying to us by a few bold strokes an idea of the sensitive, + quick-moved, warm-blooded Henry II., the most impulsive of the + Plantagenets, his contemporary chronicler tells us that rather than + imprison those active hands of his, even in hawking-gloves, he would + suffer his falcon to fix its sharp claws into his wrist. No doubt there is + a difference as to what is befitting between a burly bellicose creature + like Henry II. and a delicate young lady like Isaura Cicogna; and one + would not wish to see those dainty wrists of hers seamed and scarred by a + falcon’s claws. But a girl may not be less exquisitely feminine for slight + heed of artificial prettiness. Isaura had no need of pale bloodless hands + to seem one of Nature’s highest grade of gentlewomen even to the most + fastidious eyes. About her there was a charm apart from her mere beauty, + and often disturbed instead of heightened by her mere intellect: it + consisted in a combination of exquisite artistic refinement, and of a + generosity of character by which refinement was animated into vigour and + warmth. + </p> + <p> + The room, which was devoted exclusively to Isaura, had in it much that + spoke of the occupant. That room, when first taken furnished, had a good + deal of the comfortless showiness which belongs to ordinary furnished + apartments in France, especially in the Parisian suburbs, chiefly let for + the summer: thin limp muslin curtains that decline to draw; stiff mahogany + chairs covered with yellow Utrecht velvet; a tall secretaire in a dark + corner; an oval buhl-table set in tawdry ormolu, islanded in the centre of + a poor but gaudy Scotch carpet; and but one other table of dull + walnut-wood, standing clothless before a sofa to match the chairs; the + eternal ormolu clock flanked by the two eternal ormolu candelabra on the + dreary mantelpiece. Some of this garniture had been removed, others + softened into cheeriness and comfort. The room somehow or other—thanks + partly to a very moderate expenditure in pretty twills with pretty + borders, gracefully simple table-covers, with one or two additional small + tables and easy-chairs, two simple vases filled with flowers; thanks still + more to a nameless skill in re-arrangement, and the disposal of the slight + knick-knacks and well-bound volumes, which, even in travelling, women who + have cultivated the pleasures of taste carry about them—had been + coaxed into that quiet harmony, that tone of consistent subdued colour, + which corresponded with the characteristics of the inmate. Most people + might have been puzzled where to place the piano, a semi-grand, so as not + to take up too much space in the little room; but where it was placed it + seemed so at home that you might have supposed the room had been built for + it. + </p> + <p> + There are two kinds of neatness,—one is too evident, and makes + everything about it seem trite and cold and stiff; and another kind of + neatness disappears from our sight in a satisfied sense of completeness,—like + some exquisite, simple, finished style of writing, an Addison’s or a St. + Pierre’s. + </p> + <p> + This last sort of neatness belonged to Isaura, and brought to mind the + well-known line of Catullus when on recrossing his threshold he invokes + its welcome,—a line thus not inelegantly translated by Leigh Hunt, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Smile every dimple on the cheek of Home.” + </pre> + <p> + I entreat the reader’s pardon for this long descriptive digression; but + Isaura is one of those characters which are called many-sided, and + therefore not very easy to comprehend. She gives us one side of her + character in her correspondence with Madame de Grantmesnil, and another + side of it in her own home with her Italian companion,—half nurse, + half chaperon. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Louvier is indeed very courteous,” said Isaura, looking up from + the flowers with the dimpled smile we have noticed. “But I think, Madre, + that we should do well to stay at home on Saturday,—not peacefully, + for I owe you your revenge at Euchre.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t mean it, Piecola!” exclaimed the Signora, in evident + consternation. “Stay at home!—why stay at home? Euchre is very well + when there is nothing else to do: but change is pleasant; le bon Dieu + likes it, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Ne caldo ne gelo + Resta mai in cielo.’ +</pre> + <p> + “And such beautiful ices one gets at M. Louvier’s! Did you taste the + pistachio ice? What fine rooms, and so well lit up! I adore light. And the + ladies so beautifully dressed: one sees the fashions. Stay at home! play + at Euchre indeed! Piccola, you cannot be so cruel to yourself: you are + young.” + </p> + <p> + “But, dear Madre, just consider; we are invited because we are considered + professional singers: your reputation as such is of course established,—mine + is not; but still I shall be asked to sing, as I was asked before; and you + know Dr. C. forbids me to do so except to a very small audience; and it is + so ungracious always to say ‘No;’ and besides, did you not yourself say, + when we came away last time from M. Louvier’s, that it was very dull, that + you knew nobody, and that the ladies had such superb toilets that you felt + mortified—and—” + </p> + <p> + “Zitto! zitto! you talk idly, Piccola,—very idly. I was mortified + then in my old black Lyons silk; but have I not bought since then my + beautiful Greek jacket,—scarlet and gold lace? and why should I buy + it if I am not to show it?” + </p> + <p> + “But, dear Madre, the jacket is certainly very handsome, and will make an + effect in a little dinner at the Savarins or Mrs. Morley’s; but in a great + formal reception like M. Louvier’s will it not look—” + </p> + <p> + “Splendid!” interrupted the Signora. + </p> + <p> + “But singolare.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better; did not that great English Lady wear such a jacket, + and did not every one admire her, piu tosto invidia the compassione?” + </p> + <p> + Isaura sighed. Now the jacket of the Signora was a subject of disquietude + to her friend. It so happened that a young English lady of the highest + rank and the rarest beauty had appeared at M. Louvier’s, and indeed + generally in the beau monde of Paris, in a Greek jacket that became her + very much. The jacket had fascinated, at M. Louvier’s, the eyes of the + Signora. But of this Isaura was unaware. The Signora, on returning home + from M. Louvier’s, had certainly lamented much over the mesquin appearance + of her old-fashioned Italian habiliments compared with the brilliant + toilette of the gay Parisiennes; and Isaura—quite woman enough to + sympathize with woman in such womanly vanities—proposed the next day + to go with the Signora to one of the principal couturieres of Paris, and + adapt the Signora’s costume to the fashions of the place. But the Signora + having predetermined on a Greek jacket, and knowing by instinct that + Isaura would be disposed to thwart that splendid predilection, had + artfully suggested that it would be better to go to the couturiere with + Madame Savarin, as being a more experienced adviser,—and the coupe + only held two. + </p> + <p> + As Madame Savarin was about the same age as the Signora, and dressed as + became her years and in excellent taste, Isaura thought this an admirable + suggestion; and pressing into her chaperon’s hand a billet de banque + sufficient to re-equip her cap-a pie, dismissed the subject from her mind. + But the Signora was much too cunning to submit her passion for the Greek + jacket to the discouraging comments of Madame Savarin. Monopolizing the + coupe, she became absolute mistress of the situation. She went to no + fashionable couturiere’s. She went to a magasin that she had seen + advertised in the Petites Afiches as supplying superb costumes for + fancy-balls and amateur performers in private theatricals. She returned + home triumphant, with a jacket still more dazzling to the eye than that of + the English lady. + </p> + <p> + When Isaura first beheld it, she drew back in a sort of superstitious + terror, as of a comet or other blazing portent. + </p> + <p> + “Cosa stupenda!” (stupendous thing!) She might well be dismayed when the + Signora proposed to appear thus attired in M. Louvier’s salon. What might + be admired as coquetry of dress in a young beauty of rank so great that + even a vulgarity in her would be called distinguee, was certainly an + audacious challenge of ridicule in the elderly ci-devant music-teacher. + </p> + <p> + But how could Isaura, how can any one of common humanity, say to a woman + resolved upon wearing a certain dress, “You are not young and handsome + enough for that?” Isaura could only murmur, “For many reasons I would + rather stay at home, dear Madre.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I see you are ashamed of me,” said the Signora, in softened tones: + “very natural. When the nightingale sings no more, she is only an ugly + brown bird;” and therewith the Signora Venosta seated herself + submissively, and began to cry. + </p> + <p> + On this Isaura sprang up, wound her arms round the Signora’s neck, soothed + her with coaxing, kissed and petted her, and ended by saying, “Of course + we will go;” and, “but let me choose you another dress,—a dark-green + velvet trimmed with blonde: blonde becomes you so well.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no: I hate green velvet; anybody can wear that. Piccola, I am not + clever like thee; I cannot amuse myself like thee with books. I am in a + foreign land. I have a poor head, but I have a big heart” (another burst + of tears); “and that big heart is set on my beautiful Greek jacket.” + </p> + <p> + “Dearest Madre,” said Isaura, half weeping too, “forgive me, you are + right. The Greek jacket is splendid; I shall be so pleased to see you wear + it: poor Madre! so pleased to think that in the foreign land you are not + without something that pleases you!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + CONFORMABLY with his engagement to meet M. Louvier, Alain found himself on + the day and at the hour named in M. Gandrin’s salon. On this occasion + Madame Gandrin did not appear. Her husband was accustomed to give diners + d’hommes. The great man had not yet arrived. “I think, Marquis,” said M. + Gandrin, “that you will not regret having followed my advice: my + representations have disposed Louvier to regard you with much favour, and + he is certainly flattered by being permitted to make your personal + acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + The avoue had scarcely finished this little speech, when M. Louvier was + announced. He entered with a beaming smile, which did not detract from his + imposing presence. His flatterers had told him that he had a look of Louis + Philippe; therefore he had sought to imitate the dress and the bonhomie of + that monarch of the middle class. He wore a wig, elaborately piled up, and + shaped his whiskers in royal harmony with the royal wig. Above all, he + studied that social frankness of manner with which the able sovereign + dispelled awe of his presence or dread of his astuteness. Decidedly he was + a man very pleasant to converse and to deal with—so long as there + seemed to him something to gain and nothing to lose by being pleasant. He + returned Alain’s bow by a cordial offer of both expansive hands, into the + grasp of which the hands of the aristocrat utterly disappeared. “Charmed + to make your acquaintance, Marquis; still more charmed if you will let me + be useful during your sejour at Paris. Ma foi, excuse my bluntness, but + you are a fort beau garcon. Monsieur your father was a handsome man, but + you beat him hollow. Gandrin, my friend, would not you and I give half our + fortunes for one year of this fine fellow’s youth spent at Paris? Peste! + what love-letters we should have, with no need to buy them by billets de + banque!” Thus he ran on, much to Alain’s confusion, till dinner was + announced. Then there was something grandiose in the frank bourgeois style + wherewith he expanded his napkin and twisted one end into his waistcoat; + it was so manly a renunciation of the fashions which a man so repandu in + all circles might be supposed to follow,—as if he were both too + great and too much in earnest for such frivolities. He was evidently a + sincere bon vivant, and M. Gandrin had no less evidently taken all + requisite pains to gratify his taste. The Montrachet served with the + oysters was of precious vintage; that vin de madere which accompanied the + potage a la bisque would have contented an American. And how radiant + became Louvier’s face when amongst the entrees he came upon laitances de + carpes! “The best thing in the world,” he cried, “and one gets it so + seldom since the old Rocher de Cancale has lost its renown. At private + houses, what does one get now? blanc de poulet, flavourless trash. After + all, Gandrin, when we lose the love-letters, it is some consolation that + laitances de carpes and sautes de foie gras are still left to fill up the + void in our hearts. Marquis, heed my counsel; cultivate betimes the taste + for the table,—that and whist are the sole resources of declining + years. You never met my old friend Talleyrand—ah, no! he was long + before your time. He cultivated both, but he made two mistakes. No man’s + intellect is perfect on all sides. He confined himself to one meal a day, + and he never learned to play well at whist. Avoid his errors, my young + friend,—avoid them. Gandrin, I guess this pineapple is English,—it + is superb.” + </p> + <p> + “You are right,—a present from the Marquis of H———-.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! instead of a fee, I wager. The Marquis gives nothing for nothing, + dear man! Droll people the English. You have never visited England, I + presume, cher Rochebriant?” The affable financier had already made vast + progress in familiarity with his silent fellow-guest. + </p> + <p> + When the dinner was over and the three men had reentered the salon for + coffee and liqueurs, Gandrin left Louvier and Alain alone, saying he was + going to his cabinet for cigars which he could recommend. Then Louvier, + lightly patting the Marquis on the shoulder, said with what the French + call effusion, “My dear Rochebriant, your father and I did not quite + understand each other. He took a tone of grand seigneur that sometimes + wounded me; and I in turn was perhaps too rude in asserting my rights—as + creditor, shall I say?—no, as fellow-citizen; and Frenchmen are so + vain, so over-susceptible; fire up at a word; take offence when none is + meant. We two, my dear boy, should be superior to such national foibles. + Bref—I have a mortgage on your lands. Why should that thought mar + our friendship? At my age, though I am not yet old, one is flattered if + the young like us, pleased if we can oblige them, and remove from their + career any little obstacle in its way. Gandrin tells me you wish to + consolidate all the charges on your estate into one on a lower rate of + interest. Is it so?” + </p> + <p> + “I am so advised,” said the Marquis. + </p> + <p> + “And very rightly advised; come and talk with me about it some day next + week. I hope to have a large sum of money set free in a few days. Of + course, mortgages on land don’t pay like speculations at the Bourse; but I + am rich enough to please myself. We will see, we will see.” + </p> + <p> + Here Gandrin returned with the cigars; but Alain at that time never + smoked, and Louvier excused himself, with a laugh and a sly wink, on the + plea that he was going to pay his respects—as doubtless that joli + garcon was going to do likewise—to a belle dame who did not reckon + the smell of tobacco among the perfumes of Houbigant or Arabia. + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile,” added Louvier, turning to Gandrin, “I have something to say + to you on business about the contract for that new street of mine. No + hurry,—after our young friend has gone to his ‘assignation.’” + </p> + <p> + Alain could not misinterpret the hint; and in a few moments took leave of + his host, more surprised than disappointed that the financier had not + invited him, as Graham had assumed he would, to his soiree the following + evening. + </p> + <p> + When Alain was gone, Louvier’s jovial manner disappeared also, and became + bluffly rude rather than bluntly cordial. “Gandrin, what did you mean by + saying that that young man was no muscadin! Muscadin, aristocrate, + offensive from top to toe.” + </p> + <p> + “You amaze me; you seemed to take to him so cordially.” + </p> + <p> + “And pray, were you too blind to remark with what cold reserve he + responded to my condescensions; how he winced when I called him + Rochebriant; how he coloured when I called him ‘dear boy’? These + aristocrats think we ought to thank them on our knees when they take our + money, and” here Louvier’s face darkened—“seduce our women.” + “Monsieur Louvier, in all France I do not know a greater aristocrat than + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + I don’t know whether M. Gandrin meant that speech as a compliment, but M. + Louvier took it as such,—laughed complacently and rubbed his hands. + “Ay, ay, millionnaires are the real aristocrats, for they have power, as + my beau Marquis will soon find. I must bid you good night. Of course I + shall see Madame Gandrin and yourself to-morrow. Prepare for a motley + gathering,—lots of democrats and foreigners, with artists and + authors, and such creatures.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that the reason why you did not invite the Marquis?” + </p> + <p> + “To be sure; I would not shock so pure a Legitimist by contact with the + sons of the people, and make him still colder to myself. No; when he comes + to my house he shall meet lions and viveurs of the haut ton, who will play + into my hands by teaching him how to ruin himself in the quickest manner + and in the genre Regence. Bon soir, mon vieux.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + The next night Graham in vain looked round for Alain in M. Louvier’s + salons, and missed his high-bred mien and melancholy countenance. M. + Louvier had been for some four years a childless widower, but his + receptions were not the less numerously attended, nor his establishment + less magnificently monde for the absence of a presiding lady: very much + the contrary; it was noticeable how much he had increased his status and + prestige as a social personage since the death of his unlamented spouse. + </p> + <p> + To say truth, she had been rather a heavy drag on his triumphal car. She + had been the heiress of a man who had amassed a great deal of money,—not + in the higher walks of commerce, but in a retail trade. + </p> + <p> + Louvier himself was the son of a rich money-lender; he had entered life + with an ample fortune and an intense desire to be admitted into those more + brilliant circles in which fortune can be dissipated with eclat. He might + not have attained this object but for the friendly countenance of a young + noble who was then— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The glass of fashion and the mould of form;” + </pre> + <p> + but this young noble, of whom later we shall hear more, came suddenly to + grief, and when the money-lender’s son lost that potent protector, the + dandies, previously so civil, showed him a very cold shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Louvier then became an ardent democrat, and recruited the fortune he had + impaired by the aforesaid marriage, launched into colossal speculations, + and became enormously rich. His aspirations for social rank now revived, + but his wife sadly interfered with them. She was thrifty by nature; + sympathized little with her husband’s genius for accumulation; always said + he would end in a hospital; hated Republicans; despised authors and + artists, and by the ladies of the beau monde was pronounced common and + vulgar. + </p> + <p> + So long as she lived, it was impossible for Louvier to realize his + ambition of having one of the salons which at Paris establish celebrity + and position. He could not then command those advantages of wealth which + he especially coveted. He was eminently successful in doing this now. As + soon as she was safe in Pere la Chaise, he enlarged his hotel by the + purchase and annexation of an adjoining house; redecorated and refurnished + it, and in this task displayed, it must be said to his credit, or to that + of the administrators he selected for the purpose, a nobleness of taste + rarely exhibited nowadays. His collection of pictures was not large, and + consisted exclusively of the French school, ancient and modern, for in all + things Louvier affected the patriot. But each of those pictures was a gem; + such Watteaus, such Greuzes, such landscapes by Patel, and, above all, + such masterpieces by Ingres, Horace Vernet, and Delaroche were worth all + the doubtful originals of Flemish and Italian art which make the ordinary + boast of private collectors. + </p> + <p> + These pictures occupied two rooms of moderate size, built for their + reception, and lighted from above. The great salon to which they led + contained treasures scarcely less precious; the walls were covered with + the richest silks which the looms of Lyons could produce. Every piece of + furniture here was a work of art in its way: console-tables of Florentine + mosaic, inlaid with pearl and lapis-lazuli; cabinets in which the + exquisite designs of the Renaissance were carved in ebony; colossal vases + of Russian malachite, but wrought by French artists. The very knick-knacks + scattered carelessly about the room might have been admired in the + cabinets of the Palazzo Pitti. Beyond this room lay the salle de danse, + its ceiling painted by ———, supported by white marble + columns, the glazed balcony and the angles of the room filled with tiers + of exotics. In the dining-room, on the same floor, on the other side of + the landing-place, were stored in glazed buffets not only vessels and + salvers of plate, silver and gold, but, more costly still, matchless + specimens of Sevres and Limoges, and mediaeval varieties of Venetian + glass. On the ground-floor, which opened on the lawn of a large garden, + Louvier had his suite of private apartments, furnished, as he said, + “simply, according to English notions of comfort;”—Englishmen would + have said, “according to French notions of luxury.” Enough of these + details, which a writer cannot give without feeling himself somewhat + vulgarized in doing so, but without a loose general idea of which a reader + would not have an accurate conception of something not vulgar,—of + something grave, historical, possibly tragical,—the existence of a + Parisian millionaire at the date of this narrative. + </p> + <p> + The evidence of wealth was everywhere manifest at M. Louvier’s, but it was + everywhere refined by an equal evidence of taste. The apartments devoted + to hospitality ministered to the delighted study of artists, to whom free + access was given, and of whom two or three might be seen daily in the + “show-rooms,” copying pictures or taking sketches of rare articles of + furniture or effects for palatian interiors. + </p> + <p> + Among the things which rich English visitors of Paris most coveted to see + was M. Louvier’s hotel, and few among the richest left it without a sigh + of envy and despair. Only in such London houses as belong to a Sutherland + or a Holford could our metropolis exhibit a splendour as opulent and a + taste as refined. + </p> + <p> + M. Louvier had his set evenings for popular assemblies. At these were + entertained the Liberals of every shade, from tricolor to rouge, with the + artists and writers most in vogue, pele-mele with decorated diplomatists, + ex-ministers, Orleanists, and Republicans, distinguished foreigners, + plutocrats of the Bourse, and lions male and female from the arid nurse of + that race, the Chaussee d’Antin. Of his more select reunions something + will be said later. + </p> + <p> + “And how does this poor Paris metamorphosed please Monsieur Vane?” asked a + Frenchman with a handsome, intelligent countenance, very carefully dressed + though in a somewhat bygone fashion, and carrying off his tenth lustrum + with an air too sprightly to evince any sense of the weight. This + gentleman, the Vicomte de Breze, was of good birth, and had a legitimate + right to his title of Vicomte,—which is more than can be said of + many vicomtes one meets at Paris. He had no other property, however, than + a principal share in an influential journal, to which he was a lively and + sparkling contributor. In his youth, under the reign of Louis Philippe, he + had been a chief among literary exquisites; and Balzac was said to have + taken him more than once as his model for those brilliant young vauriens + who figure in the great novelist’s comedy of Human Life. The Vicomte’s + fashion expired with the Orleanist dynasty. + </p> + <p> + “Is it possible, my dear Vicomte,” answered Graham, “not to be pleased + with a capital so marvellously embellished?” + </p> + <p> + “Embellished it may be to foreign eyes,” said the Vicomte, sighing, “but + not improved to the taste of a Parisian like me. I miss the dear Paris of + old,—the streets associated with my beaux jours are no more. Is + there not something drearily monotonous in those interminable + perspectives? How frightfully the way lengthens before one’s eyes! In the + twists and curves of the old Paris one was relieved from the pain of + seeing how far one had to go from one spot to another,—each tortuous + street had a separate idiosyncrasy; what picturesque diversities, what + interesting recollections,—all swept away! Mon Dieu! and what for,—miles + of florid facades staring and glaring at one with goggle-eyed pitiless + windows; house-rents trebled, and the consciousness that if you venture to + grumble underground railways, like concealed volcanoes, can burst forth on + you at any moment with an eruption of bayonets and muskets. This maudit + empire seeks to keep its hold on France much as a grand seigneur seeks to + enchain a nymph of the ballet,—tricks her out in finery and baubles, + and insures her infidelity the moment he fails to satisfy her whims.” + </p> + <p> + “Vicomte,” answered Graham, “I have had the honour to know you since I was + a small boy at a preparatory school home for the holidays, and you were a + guest at my father’s country-house. You were then fete as one of the most + promising writers among the young men of the day, especially favoured by + the princes of the reigning family. I shall never forget the impression + made on me by your brilliant appearance and your no less brilliant talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! ces beaux jours! ce bon Louis Philippe, ce cher petit Joinville,” + sighed the Vicomte. + </p> + <p> + “But at that day you compared le bon Louis Philippe to Robert Macaire. You + described all his sons, including, no doubt, ce cher petit Joinville, in + terms of resentful contempt, as so many plausible gamins whom Robert + Macaire was training to cheat the public in the interest of the family + firm. I remember my father saying to you in answer, ‘No royal house in + Europe has more sought to develop the literature of an epoch and to + signalize its representatives by social respect and official honours than + that of the Orleans dynasty. You, Monsieur de Breze, do but imitate your + elders in seeking to destroy the dynasty under which you flourish; should + you succeed, you hommes de plume will be the first sufferers and the + loudest complainers.’” + </p> + <p> + “Cher Monsieur Vane,” said the Vicomte, smiling complacently, “your father + did me great honour in classing me with Victor Hugo, Alexandre Dumas, + Emile de Girardin, and the other stars of the Orleanist galaxy, including + our friend here, M. Savarin. A very superior man was your father.” + </p> + <p> + “And,” said Savarin, who, being an Orleanist, had listened to Graham’s + speech with an approving smile,—“and if I remember right, my dear De + Breze, no one was more brilliantly severe than yourself on poor De + Lamartine and the Republic that succeeded Louis Philippe; no one more + emphatically expressed the yearning desire for another Napoleon to restore + order at home and renown abroad. Now you have got another Napoleon.” + </p> + <p> + “And I want change for my Napoleon,” said De Breze, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Vicomte,” said Graham, “one thing we may all grant,—that in + culture and intellect you are far superior to the mass of your fellow + Parisians; that you are therefore a favourable type of their political + character.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mon cher, vous etes trop aimable.” + </p> + <p> + “And therefore I venture to say this,—if the archangel Gabriel were + permitted to descend to Paris and form the best government for France that + the wisdom of seraph could devise, it would not be two years—I doubt + if it would be six months—before out of this Paris, which you call + the Foyer des Idees, would emerge a powerful party, adorned by yourself + and other hommes de plume, in favour of a revolution for the benefit of ce + bon Satan and ce cher petit Beelzebub.” + </p> + <p> + “What a pretty vein of satire you have, mon cher!” said the Vicomte, + good-humouredly; “there is a sting of truth in your witticism. Indeed, I + must send you some articles of mine in which I have said much the same + thing,—les beaux, esprits se rencontrent. The fault of us French is + impatience, desire of change; but then it is that desire which keeps the + world going and retains our place at the head of it. However, at this time + we are all living too fast for our money to keep up with it, and too slow + for our intellect not to flag. We vie with each other on the road to ruin, + for in literature all the old paths to fame are shut up.” + </p> + <p> + Here a tall gentleman, with whom the Vicomte had been conversing before he + accosted Vane, and who had remained beside De Breze listening in silent + attention to this colloquy, interposed, speaking in the slow voice of one + accustomed to measure his words, and with a slight but unmistakable German + accent. “There is that, Monsieur de Breze, which makes one think gravely + of what you say so lightly. Viewing things with the unprejudiced eyes of a + foreigner, I recognize much for which France should be grateful to the + Emperor. Under his sway her material resources have been marvellously + augmented; her commerce has been placed by the treaty with England on + sounder foundations, and is daily exhibiting richer life; her agriculture + had made a prodigious advance wherever it has allowed room for + capitalists, and escaped from the curse of petty allotments and + peasant-proprietors, a curse which would have ruined any country less + blessed by Nature; turbulent factions have been quelled; internal order + maintained; the external prestige of France, up at least to the date of + the Mexican war, increased to an extent that might satisfy even a + Frenchman’s amour propre; and her advance in civilization has been + manifested by the rapid creation of a naval power which should put even + England on her mettle. But, on the other hand—” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, on the other hand,” said the Vicomte. + </p> + <p> + “On the other hand there are in the imperial system two causes of decay + and of rot silently at work. They may not be the faults of the Emperor, + but they are such misfortunes as may cause the fall of the Empire. The + first is an absolute divorce between the political system and the + intellectual culture of the nation. The throne and the system rest on + universal suffrage,—on a suffrage which gives to classes the most + ignorant a power that preponderates over all the healthful elements of + knowledge. It is the tendency of all ignorant multitudes to personify + themselves, as it were, in one individual. They cannot comprehend you when + you argue for a principle; they do comprehend you when you talk of a name. + The Emperor Napoleon is to them a name, and the prefects and officials who + influence their votes are paid for incorporating all principles in the + shibboleth of that single name. You have thus sought the well-spring of a + political system in the deepest stratum of popular ignorance. To rid + popular ignorance of its normal revolutionary bias, the rural peasants are + indoctrinated with the conservatism that comes from the fear which + appertains to property. They have their roots of land or their shares in a + national loan. Thus you estrange the crassitude of an ignorant democracy + still more from the intelligence of the educated classes by combining it + with the most selfish and abject of all the apprehensions that are + ascribed to aristocracy and wealth. What is thus embedded in the depths of + your society makes itself shown on the surface. Napoleon III. has been + compared to Augustus; and there are many startling similitudes between + them in character and in fate. Each succeeds to the heritage of a great + name that had contrived to unite autocracy with the popular cause; each + subdued all rival competitors, and inaugurated despotic rule in the name + of freedom; each mingled enough of sternness with ambitious will to stain + with bloodshed the commencement of his power,—but it would be an + absurd injustice to fix the same degree of condemnation on the coup d’etat + as humanity fixes on the earlier cruelties of Augustus; each, once firm in + his seat, became mild and clement,—Augustus perhaps from policy, + Napoleon III. from a native kindliness of disposition which no fair critic + of character can fail to acknowledge. Enough of similitudes; now for one + salient difference. Observe how earnestly Augustus strove, and how + completely he succeeded in the task, to rally round him all the leading + intellects in every grade and of every party,—the followers of + Antony, the friends of Brutus; every great captain, every great statesman, + every great writer, every mail who could lend a ray of mind to his own + Julian constellation, and make the age of Augustus an era in the annals of + human intellect and genius. But this has not been the good fortune of your + Emperor. The result of his system has been the suppression of intellect in + every department. He has rallied round him not one great statesman; his + praises are hymned by not one great poet. The celebrates of a former day + stand aloof; or, preferring exile to constrained allegiance, assail him + with unremitting missiles from their asylum in foreign shores. His reign + is sterile of new celebrites. The few that arise enlist themselves against + him. Whenever he shall venture to give full freedom to the press and to + the legislature, the intellect thus suppressed or thus hostile will burst + forth in collected volume. His partisans have not been trained and + disciplined to meet such assailants. They will be as weak as no doubt they + will be violent. And the worst is, that the intellect thus rising in mass + against him will be warped and distorted, like captives who, being kept in + chains, exercise their limbs on escaping in vehement jumps without + definite object. The directors of emancipated opinion may thus be terrible + enemies to the Imperial Government, but they will be very unsafe + councillors to France. Concurrently with this divorce between the Imperial + system and the national intellect,—a divorce so complete that even + your salons have lost their wit, and even your caricatures their point,—a + corruption of manners which the Empire, I own, did not originate, but + inherit, has become so common that every one owns and nobody blames it. + The gorgeous ostentation of the Court has perverted the habits of the + people. The intelligence abstracted from other vents betakes itself to + speculating for a fortune; and the greed of gain and the passion for show + are sapping the noblest elements of the old French manhood. Public opinion + stamps with no opprobrium a minister or favourite who profits by a job; + and I fear you will find that jobbing pervades all your administrative + departments.” + </p> + <p> + “All very true,” said De Breze, with a shrug of the shoulders and in a + tone of levity that seemed to ridicule the assertion he volunteered; + “Virtue and Honour banished from courts and salons and the cabinet of + authors ascend to fairer heights in the attics of ouvriers.” + </p> + <p> + “The ouvriers, ouvriers of Paris!” cried this terrible German. + </p> + <p> + “Ay, Monsieur le Comte, what can you say against our ouvriers? A German + count cannot condescend to learn anything about ces petites gens.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied the German, “in the eyes of a statesman there are no + petites gens, and in those of a philosopher no petites choses. We in + Germany have too many difficult problems affecting our working classes to + solve, not to have induced me to glean all the information I can as to the + ouvriers of Paris. They have among them men of aspirations as noble as can + animate the souls of philosophers and poets, perhaps not the less noble + because common-sense and experience cannot follow their flight; but as a + body the ouvriers of Paris have not been elevated in political morality by + the benevolent aim of the Emperor to find them ample work and good wages + independent of the natural laws that regulate the markets of labour. + Accustomed thus to consider the State bound to maintain them, the moment + the State fails in that impossible task, they will accommodate their + honesty to a rush upon property under the name of social reform. + </p> + <p> + “Have you not noticed how largely increased within the last few years is + the number of those who cry out, ‘La Propriete, cest le vol’? Have you + considered the rapid growth of the International Association? I do not say + that for all these evils—the Empire is exclusively responsible. To a + certain degree they are found in all rich communities, especially where + democracy is more or less in the ascendant. To a certain extent they exist + in the large towns of Germany; they are conspicuously increasing in + England; they are acknowledged to be dangerous in the United States of + America; they are, I am told on good authority, making themselves visible + with the spread of civilization in Russia. But under the French Empire + they have become glaringly rampant, and I venture to predict that the day + is not far off when the rot at work throughout all layers and strata of + French society will insure a fall of the fabric at the sound of which the + world will ring. + </p> + <p> + “There is many a fair and stately tree which continues to throw out its + leaves and rear its crest till suddenly the wind smites it, and then, and + not till then, the trunk which seems so solid is found to be but the rind + to a mass of crumbled powder.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Comte,” said the Vicomte, “you are a severe critic and a + lugubrious prophet; but a German is so safe from revolution that he takes + alarm at the stir of movement which is the normal state of the French + esprit.” + </p> + <p> + “French esprit may soon evaporate into Parisian betise. As to Germany + being safe from revolution, allow me to repeat a saying of Goethe’s-but + has Monsieur le Vicomte ever heard of Goethe?” + </p> + <p> + “Goethe, of course,—tres joli ecrivain.” + </p> + <p> + “Goethe said to some one who was making much the same remark as yourself, + ‘We Germans are in a state of revolution now, but we do things so slowly + that it will be a hundred years before we Germans shall find it out; but + when completed, it will be the greatest revolution society has yet seen, + and will last like the other revolutions that, beginning, scarce noticed, + in Germany, have transformed the world.’” + </p> + <p> + “Diable, Monsieur le Comte! Germans transformed the world! What + revolutions do you speak of?” + </p> + <p> + “The invention of gunpowder, the invention of printing, and the expansion + of a monk’s quarrel with his Pope into the Lutheran revolution.” + </p> + <p> + Here the German paused, and asked the Vicomte to introduce him to Vane, + which De Breze did by the title of Count von Rudesheim. On hearing Vane’s + name, the Count inquired if he were related to the orator and statesman, + George Graham Vane, whose opinions, uttered in Parliament, were still + authoritative among German thinkers. This compliment to his deceased + father immensely gratified but at the same time considerably surprised the + Englishman. His father, no doubt, had been a man of much influence in the + British House of Commons,—a very weighty speaker, and, while in + office, a first-rate administrator; but Englishmen know what a House of + Commons reputation is,—how fugitive, how little cosmopolitan; and + that a German count should ever have heard of his father delighted but + amazed him. In stating himself to be the son of George Graham Vane, he + intimated not only the delight but the amaze, with the frank savoir vivre + which was one of his salient characteristics. + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” replied the German, speaking in very correct English, but still + with his national accent, “every German reared to political service + studies England as the school for practical thought distinct from + impracticable theories. Long may you allow us to do so! Only excuse me one + remark,—never let the selfish element of the practical supersede the + generous element. Your father never did so in his speeches, and therefore + we admired him. At the present day we don’t so much care to study English + speeches; they may be insular,—they are not European. I honour + England; Heaven grant that you may not be making sad mistakes in the + belief that you can long remain England if you cease to be European.” + Herewith the German bowed, not uncivilly,—on the contrary, somewhat + ceremoniously,—and disappeared with a Prussian Secretary of Embassy, + whose arm he linked in his own, into a room less frequented. + </p> + <p> + “Vicomte, who and what is your German count?” asked Vane. + </p> + <p> + “A solemn pedant,” answered the lively Vicomte,—“a German count, que + voulez-vous de plus?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + A LITTLE later Graham found himself alone amongst the crowd. Attracted by + the sound of music, he had strayed into one of the rooms whence it came, + and in which, though his range of acquaintance at Paris was for an + Englishman large and somewhat miscellaneous, he recognized no familiar + countenance. A lady was playing the pianoforte—playing remarkably + well—with accurate science, with that equal lightness and strength + of finger which produces brilliancy of execution; but to appreciate her + music one should be musical one’s self. It wanted the charm that + fascinates the uninitiated. The guests in the room were musical + connoisseurs,—a class with whom Graham Vane had nothing in common. + Even if he had been more capable of enjoying the excellence of the + player’s performance, the glance he directed towards her would have + sufficed to chill him into indifference. She was not young, and with + prominent features and puckered skin, was twisting her face into strange + sentimental grimaces, as if terribly overcome by the beauty and pathos of + her own melodies. To add to Vane’s displeasure, she was dressed in a + costume wholly antagonistic to his views of the becoming,—in a Greek + jacket of gold and scarlet, contrasted by a Turkish turban. + </p> + <p> + Muttering “What she-mountebank have we here?” he sank into a chair behind + the door, and fell into an absorbed revery. From this he was aroused by + the cessation of the music and the hum of subdued approbation by which it + was followed. Above the hum swelled the imposing voice of M. Louvier as he + rose from a seat on the other side of the piano, by which his bulky form + had been partially concealed. + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! perfectly played! excellent! Can we not persuade your charming + young countrywoman to gratify us even by a single song?” Then turning + aside and addressing some one else invisible to Graham he said, “Does that + tyrannical doctor still compel you to silence, Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + A voice so sweetly modulated that if there were any sarcasm in the words + it was lost in the softness of pathos, answered, “Nay, Monsieur Louvier, + he rather overtasks the words at my command in thankfulness to those who + like yourself, so kindly regard me as something else than a singer.” + </p> + <p> + It was not the she-mountebank who thus spoke. Graham rose and looked round + with instinctive curiosity. He met the face that he said had haunted him. + She too had risen, standing near the piano, with one hand tenderly resting + on the she-mountebank’s scarlet and gilded shoulder,—the face that + haunted him, and yet with a difference. There was a faint blush on the + clear pale cheek, a soft yet playful light in the grave dark-blue eyes, + which had not been visible in the countenance of the young lady in the + pearl-coloured robe. Graham did not hear Louvier’s reply, though no doubt + it was loud enough for him to hear. He sank again into revery. Other + guests now came into the room, among them Frank Morley, styled Colonel,—eminent + military titles in the United States do not always denote eminent military + services,—a wealthy American, and his sprightly and beautiful wife. + The Colonel was a clever man, rather stiff in his deportment, and grave in + speech, but by no means without a vein of dry humour. By the French he was + esteemed a high-bred specimen of the kind of grand seigneur which + democratic republics engender. He spoke French like a Parisian, had an + imposing presence, and spent a great deal of money with the elegance of a + man of taste and the generosity of a man of heart. His high breeding was + not quite so well understood by the English, because the English are apt + to judge breeding by little conventional rules not observed by the + American Colonel. He had a slight nasal twang, and introduced “sir” with + redundant ceremony in addressing Englishmen, however intimate he might be + with them, and had the habit (perhaps with a sly intention to startle or + puzzle them) of adorning his style of conversation with quaint + Americanisms. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, the genial amiability and the inherent dignity of his + character made him acknowledged as a thorough gentleman by every + Englishman, however conventional in tastes, who became admitted into his + intimate acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morley, ten or twelve years younger than her husband, had no nasal + twang, and employed no Americanisms in her talk, which was frank, lively, + and at times eloquent. She had a great ambition to be esteemed of a + masculine understanding; Nature unkindly frustrated that ambition in + rendering her a model of feminine grace. Graham was intimately acquainted + with Colonel Morley; and with Mrs. Morley had contracted one of those + cordial friendships, which, perfectly free alike from polite flirtation + and Platonic attachment, do sometimes spring up between persons of + opposite sexes without the slightest danger of changing their honest + character into morbid sentimentality or unlawful passion. The Morleys + stopped to accost Graham, but the lady had scarcely said three words to + him, before, catching sight of the haunting face, she darted towards it. + Her husband, less emotional, bowed at the distance, and said, “To my + taste, sir, the Signorina Cicogna is the loveliest girl in the present + bee,* and full of mind, sir.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [*Bee, a common expression in “the West” for a meeting or gathering + ]of people. +</pre> + <p> + “Singing mind,” said Graham, sarcastically, and in the ill-natured impulse + of a man striving to check his inclination to admire. + </p> + <p> + “I have not heard her sing,” replied the American, dryly; “and the words + ‘singing mind’ are doubtless accurately English, since you employ them; + but at Boston the collocation would be deemed barbarous. You fly off the + handle. The epithet, sir, is not in concord with the substantive.” + </p> + <p> + “Boston would be in the right, my dear Colonel. I stand rebuked; mind has + little to do with singing.” + </p> + <p> + “I take leave to deny that, sir. You fire into the wrong flock, and would + not hazard the remark if you had conversed as I have with Signorina + Cicogna.” + </p> + <p> + Before Graham could answer, Signorina Cicogna stood before him, leaning + lightly on Mrs. Morley’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “Frank, you must take us into the refreshment-room,” said Mrs. Morley to + her husband; and then, turning to Graham, added, “Will you help to make + way for us?” + </p> + <p> + Graham bowed, and offered his arm to the fair speaker. “No,” said she, + taking her husband’s. “Of course you know the Signorina, or, as we usually + call her, Mademoiselle Cicogna. No? Allow me to present you. Mr. Graham + Vane, Mademoiselle Cicogna. Mademoiselle speaks English like a native.” + </p> + <p> + And thus abruptly Graham was introduced to the owner of the haunting face. + He had lived too much in the great world all his life to retain the innate + shyness of an Englishman; but he certainly was confused and embarrassed + when his eyes met Isaura’s, and he felt her hand on his arm. Before + quitting the room she paused and looked back. Graham’s look followed her + own, and saw behind them the lady with the scarlet jacket escorted by some + portly and decorated connoisseur. Isaura’s face brightened to another kind + of brightness,—a pleased and tender light. + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear Madre,” she murmured to herself in Italian. “Madre!” echoed + Graham, also in Italian. “I have been misinformed, then; that lady is your + mother.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura laughed a pretty, low, silvery laugh, and replied in English, “She + is not my mother; but I call her Madre, for I know no name more loving.” + </p> + <p> + Graham was touched, and said gently, “Your own mother was evidently very + dear to you.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura’s lip quivered, and she made a slight movement as if she would have + withdrawn her hand from his arm. He saw that he had offended or wounded + her, and with the straightforward frankness natural to him, resumed + quickly, “My remark was impertinent in a stranger; forgive it.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to forgive, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + The two now threaded their way through the crowd, both silent. At last + Isaura, thinking she ought to speak first in order to show that Graham had + not offended her, said, + </p> + <p> + “How lovely Mrs. Morley is!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and I like the spirit and ease of her American manner. Have you + known her long, Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “No; we met her for the first time some weeks ago at M. Savarin’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Was she very eloquent on the rights of women?” + </p> + <p> + “What! you have heard her on that subject?” + </p> + <p> + “I have rarely heard her on any other, though she is the best and perhaps + the cleverest friend I have at Paris; but that may be my fault, for I like + to start it. It is a relief to the languid small-talk of society to listen + to any one thoroughly in earnest upon turning the world topsy-turvy.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose poor Mrs. Morley would seek to do that if she had her + rights?” asked Isaura, with her musical laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Not a doubt of it; but perhaps you share her opinions.” + </p> + <p> + “I scarcely know what her opinions are, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?—but—” + </p> + <p> + “There is a—what shall I call it?—a persuasion, a sentiment, + out of which the opinions probably spring, that I do share.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed? a persuasion, a sentiment, for instance, that a woman should have + votes in the choice of legislators, and, I presume, in the task of + legislation?” + </p> + <p> + “No, that is not what I mean. Still, that is an opinion, right or wrong, + which grows out of the sentiment I speak of.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray explain the sentiment.” + </p> + <p> + “It is always so difficult to define a sentiment; but does it not strike + you that in proportion as the tendency of modern civilization has been to + raise women more and more to an intellectual equality with men, in + proportion as they read and study and think, an uneasy sentiment, perhaps + querulous, perhaps unreasonable, grows up within their minds that the + conventions of the world are against the complete development of the + faculties thus aroused and the ambition thus animated; that they cannot + but rebel, though it may be silently, against the notions of the former + age, when women were not thus educated, notions that the aim of the sex + should be to steal through life unremarked; that it is a reproach to be + talked of; that women are plants to be kept in a hothouse and forbidden + the frank liberty of growth in the natural air and sunshine of heaven? + This, at least, is a sentiment which has sprung up within myself; and I + imagine that it is the sentiment which has given birth to many of the + opinions or doctrines that seem absurd, and very likely are so, to the + general public. I don’t pretend even to have considered those doctrines; I + don’t pretend to say what may be the remedies for the restlessness and + uneasiness I feel. I doubt if on this earth there be any remedies; all I + know is, that I feel restless and uneasy.” + </p> + <p> + Graham gazed on her countenance as she spoke with an astonishment not + unmingled with tenderness and compassion, astonishment at the contrast + between a vein of reflection so hardy, expressed in a style of language + that seemed to him so masculine, and the soft velvet dreamy eyes, the + gentle tones, and delicate purity of hues rendered younger still by the + blush that deepened their bloom. + </p> + <p> + At this moment they had entered the refreshment-room; but a dense group + being round the table, and both perhaps forgetting the object for which + Mrs. Morley had introduced them to each other, they had mechancially + seated themselves on an ottoman in a recess while Isaura was yet speaking. + It must seem as strange to the reader as it did to Graham that such a + speech should have been spoken by so young a girl to an acquaintance so + new; but in truth Isaura was very little conscious of Graham’s presence. + She had got on a subject that perplexed and tormented her solitary + thoughts; she was but thinking aloud. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” said Graham, after a pause, “that I comprehend your sentiment + much better than I do Mrs. Morley’s opinions; but permit me one + observation. You say truly that the course of modern civilization has more + or less affected the relative position of woman cultivated beyond that + level on which she was formerly contented to stand,—the nearer + perhaps to the heart of man because not lifting her head to his height,—and + hence a sense of restlessness, uneasiness; but do you suppose that, in + this whirl and dance of the atoms which compose the rolling ball of the + civilized world, it is only women that are made restless and uneasy? Do + you not see amid the masses congregated in the wealthiest cities of the + world, writhings and struggles against the received order of things? In + this sentiment of discontent there is a certain truthfulness, because it + is an element of human nature, and how best to deal with it is a problem + yet unsolved; but in the opinions and doctrines to which, among the + masses, the sentiment gives birth, the wisdom of the wisest detects only + the certainty of a common ruin, offering for reconstruction the same + building-materials as the former edifice,—materials not likely to be + improved because they may be defaced. Ascend from the working classes to + all others in which civilized culture prevails, and you will find that + same restless feeling,—the fluttering of untried wings against the + bars between wider space and their longings. Could you poll all the + educated ambitious young men in England,—perhaps in Europe,—at + least half of them, divided between a reverence for the past and a + curiosity as to the future, would sigh, ‘I am born a century too late or a + century too soon!’” + </p> + <p> + Isaura listened to this answer with a profound and absorbing interest. It + was the first time that a clever young man talked thus sympathetically to + her, a clever young girl. + </p> + <p> + Then, rising, he said, “I see your Madre and our American friends are + darting angry looks at me. They have made room for us at the table, and + are wondering why I should keep you thus from the good things of this + little life. One word more ere we join them,—consult your own mind, + and consider whether your uneasiness and unrest are caused solely by + conventional shackles on your sex. Are they not equally common to the + youth of ours,—common to all who seek in art, in letters, nay, in + the stormier field of active life, to clasp as a reality some image yet + seen but as a dream?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + No further conversation in the way of sustained dialogue took place that + evening between Graham and Isaura. + </p> + <p> + The Americans and the Savarins clustered round Isaura when they quitted + the refreshment-room. The party was breaking up. Vane would have offered + his arm again to Isaura, but M. Savarin had forestalled him. The American + was despatched by his wife to see for the carriage; and Mrs. Morley said, + with her wonted sprightly tone of command, + </p> + <p> + “Now, Mr. Vane, you have no option but to take care of me to the + shawl-room.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Savarin and Signora Venosta had each found their cavaliers, the + Italian still retaining hold of the portly connoisseur, and the + Frenchwoman accepting the safeguard of the Vicomte de Breze. As they + descended the stairs, Mrs. Morley asked Graham what he thought of the + young lady to whom she had presented him. + </p> + <p> + “I think she is charming,” answered Graham. + </p> + <p> + “Of course; that is the stereotyped answer to all such questions, + especially by you Englishmen. In public or in private, England is the + mouthpiece of platitudes.” + </p> + <p> + “It is natural for an American to think so. Every child that has just + learned to speak uses bolder expressions than its grandmamma; but I am + rather at a loss to know by what novelty of phrase an American would have + answered your question.” + </p> + <p> + “An American would have discovered that Isaura Cicogna had a soul, and his + answer would have confessed it.” + </p> + <p> + “It strikes me that he would then have uttered a platitude more stolid + than mine. Every Christian knows that the dullest human being has a soul. + But, to speak frankly, I grant that my answer did not do justice to the + Signorina, nor to the impression she makes on me; and putting aside the + charm of the face, there is a charm in a mind that seems to have gathered + stores of reflection which I should scarcely have expected to find in a + young lady brought up to be a professional singer.” + </p> + <p> + “You add prejudice to platitude, and are horribly prosaic to-night; but + here we are in the shawl-room. I must take another opportunity of + attacking you. Pray dine with us tomorrow; you will meet our Minister and + a few other pleasant friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I must not say, ‘I shall be charmed,’” answered Vane; “but I + shall be.” + </p> + <p> + “Bon Dieu! that horrid fat man has deserted Signora Venosta,—looking + for his own cloak, I dare say; selfish monster! Go and hand her to her + carriage; quick, it is announced!” + </p> + <p> + Graham, thus ordered, hastened to offer his arm to the she-mountebank. + Somehow she had acquired dignity in his eyes, and he did not feel the + least ashamed of being in contact with the scarlet jacket. + </p> + <p> + The Signora grappled to him with a confiding familiarity. “I am afraid,” + she said in Italian, as they passed along the spacious hall to the porte + cochere,—“I am afraid that I did not make a good effect to-night. I + was nervous; did not you perceive it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed; you enchanted us all;” replied the dissimulator. + </p> + <p> + “How amiable you are to say so! You must think that I sought for a + compliment. So I did; you gave me more than I deserved. Wine is the milk + of old men, and praise of old women; but an old man may be killed by too + much wine, and an old woman lives all the longer for too much praise. + Buona notte.” + </p> + <p> + Here she sprang, lithesomely enough, into the carriage, and Isaura + followed, escorted by M. Savarin. As the two men returned towards the + shawl-room, the Frenchman said, “Madame Savarin and I complain that you + have not let us see so much of you as we ought. No doubt you are greatly + sought after; but are you free to take your soup with us the day after + to-morrow? You will meet the Count von Rudesheim, and a few others more + lively if less wise.” + </p> + <p> + “The day after to-morrow I will mark with a white stone. To dine with M. + Savarin is an event to a man who covets distinction.” + </p> + <p> + “Such compliments reconcile an author to his trade. You deserve the best + return I can make you. You will meet la belle Isaura. I have just engaged + her and her chaperon. She is a girl of true genius; and genius is like + those objects of virtu which belong to a former age, and become every day + more scarce and more precious.” + </p> + <p> + Here they encountered Colonel Morley and his wife hurrying to their + carriage. The American stopped Vane, and whispered, “I am glad, sir, to + hear from my wife that you dine with us to-morrow. Sir, you will meet + Mademoiselle Cicogna, and I am not without a kinkle [notion] that you will + be enthused.” + </p> + <p> + “This seems like a fatality,” soliloquized Vane as he walked through the + deserted streets towards his lodging. “I strove to banish that haunting + face from my mind. I had half forgotten it, and now—” Here his + murmur sank into silence. He was deliberating in very conflicted thought + whether or not he should write to refuse the two invitations he had + accepted. + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” he said at last, as he reached the door of his lodging, “is my + reason so weak that it should be influenced by a mere superstition? Surely + I know myself too well, and have tried myself too long, to fear that I + should be untrue to the duty and ends of my life, even if I found my heart + in danger of suffering.” + </p> + <p> + Certainly the Fates do seem to mock our resolves to keep our feet from + their ambush, and our hearts from their snare! How our lives may be + coloured by that which seems to us the most trivial accident, the merest + chance! Suppose that Alain de Rochebriant had been invited to that reunion + at M. Louvier’s, and Graham Vane had accepted some other invitation and + passed his evening elsewhere, Alain would probably have been presented to + Isaura—what then might have happened? The impression Isaura had + already made upon the young Frenchman was not so deep as that made upon + Graham; but then, Alain’s resolution to efface it was but commenced that + day, and by no means yet confirmed. And if he had been the first clever + young man to talk earnestly to that clever young girl, who can guess what + impression he might have made upon her? His conversation might have had + less philosophy and strong sense than Graham’s, but more of poetic + sentiment and fascinating romance. + </p> + <p> + However, the history of events that do not come to pass is not in the + chronicle of the Fates. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK III. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + The next day the guests at the Morleys’ had assembled when Vane entered. + His apology for unpunctuality was cut short by the lively hostess. “Your + pardon is granted without the humiliation of asking for it; we know that + the characteristic of the English is always to be a little behindhand.” + </p> + <p> + She then proceeded to introduce him to the American Minister, to a + distinguished American poet, with a countenance striking for mingled + sweetness and power, and one or two other of her countrymen sojourning at + Paris; and this ceremony over, dinner was announced, and she bade Graham + offer his arm to Mademoiselle Cicogna. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever visited the United States, Mademoiselle?” asked Vane, as + they seated themselves at the table. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a voyage you are sure to make soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because report says you will create a great sensation at the very + commencement of your career; and the New World is ever eager to welcome + each celebrity that is achieved in the Old,—more especially that + which belongs to your enchanting art.” + </p> + <p> + “True, sir,” said an American senator, solemnly striking into the + conversation; “we are an appreciative people; and if that lady be as fine + a singer as I am told, she might command any amount of dollars.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura coloured, and turning to Graham, asked him in a low voice if he + were fond of music. + </p> + <p> + “I ought of course to say ‘yes,’” answered Graham, in the same tone; “but + I doubt if that ‘yes’ would be an honest one. In some moods, music—if + a kind of music I like—affects me very deeply; in other moods, not + at all. And I cannot bear much at a time. A concert wearies me shamefully; + even an opera always seems to me a great deal too long. But I ought to add + that I am no judge of music; that music was never admitted into my + education; and, between ourselves, I doubt if there be one Englishman in + five hundred who would care for opera or concert if it were not the + fashion to say he did. Does my frankness revolt you?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, I sometimes doubt, especially of late, if I am fond of + music myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Signorina,—pardon me,—it is impossible that you should not + be. Genius can never be untrue to itself, and must love that in which it + excels, that by which it communicates joy, and,” he added, with a + half-suppressed sigh, “attains to glory.” + </p> + <p> + “Genius is a divine word, and not to be applied to a singer,” said Isaura, + with a humility in which there was an earnest sadness. + </p> + <p> + Graham was touched and startled; but before he could answer, the American + Minister appealed to him across the table, asking if he had quoted + accurately a passage in a speech by Graham’s distinguished father, in + regard to the share which England ought to take in the political affairs + of Europe. + </p> + <p> + The conversation now became general, very political and very serious. + Graham was drawn into it, and grew animated and eloquent. + </p> + <p> + Isaura listened to him with admiration. She was struck by what seemed to + her a nobleness of sentiment which elevated his theme above the level of + commonplace polemics. She was pleased to notice, in the attentive silence + of his intelligent listeners, that they shared the effect produced on + herself. In fact, Graham Vane was a born orator, and his studies had been + those of a political thinker. In common talk he was but the accomplished + man of the world, easy and frank and genial, with a touch of good-natured + sarcasm; but when the subject started drew him upward to those heights in + which politics become the science of humanity, he seemed a changed being. + His cheek glowed, his eye brightened, his voice mellowed into richer + tones, his language be came unconsciously adorned. In such moments there + might scarcely be an audience, even differing from him in opinion, which + would not have acknowledged his spell. + </p> + <p> + When the party adjourned to the salon, Isaura said softly to Graham, “I + understand why you did not cultivate music; and I think, too, that I can + now understand what effects the human voice can produce on human minds + without recurring to the art of song.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Graham, with a pleased smile, “do not make me ashamed of my + former rudeness by the revenge of compliment; and, above all, do not + disparage your own art by supposing that any prose effect of voice in its + utterance of mind can interpret that which music alone can express, even + to listeners so uncultured as myself. Am I not told truly by musical + composers, when I ask them to explain in words what they say in their + music, that such explanation is impossible, that music has a language of + its own untranslatable by words?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Isaura, with thoughtful brow but brightening eyes, “you are + told truly. It was only the other day that I was pondering over that + truth.” + </p> + <p> + “But what recesses of mind, of heart, of soul, this untranslatable + language penetrates and brightens up! How incomplete the grand nature of + man—though man the grandest—would be, if you struck out of his + reason the comprehension of poetry, music, and religion! In each are + reached and are sounded deeps in his reason otherwise concealed from + himself. History, knowledge, science, stop at the point in which mystery + begins. There they meet with the world of shadow. Not an inch of that + world can they penetrate without the aid of poetry and religion, two + necessities of intellectual man much more nearly allied than the votaries + of the practical and the positive suppose. To the aid and elevation of + both those necessities comes in music, and there has never existed a + religion in the world which has not demanded music as its ally. If, as I + said frankly, it is only in certain moods of my mind that I enjoy music, + it is only because in certain moods of my mind I am capable of quitting + the guidance of prosaic reason for the world of shadow; that I am so + susceptible as at every hour, were my nature perfect, I should be to the + mysterious influences of poetry and religion. Do you understand what I + wish to express?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do, and clearly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, Signorina, you are forbidden to undervalue the gift of song. You + must feel its power over the heart, when you enter the opera-house; over + the soul, when you kneel in a cathedral.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” cried Isaura, with enthusiasm, a rich glow mantling over her lovely + face, “how I thank you! Is it you who say you do not love music? How much + better you understand it than I did till this moment!” + </p> + <p> + Here Mrs. Morley, joined by the American poet, came to the corner in which + the Englishman and the singer had niched themselves. The poet began to + talk, the other guests gathered round, and every one listened + reverentially till the party broke up. Colonel Morley handed Isaura to her + carriage; the she-mountebank again fell to the lot of Graham. + </p> + <p> + “Signor,” said she, as he respectfully placed her shawl round her + scarlet-and-gilt jacket, “are we so far from Paris that you cannot spare + the time to call? My child does not sing in public, but at home you can + hear her. It is not every woman’s voice that is sweetest at home.” + </p> + <p> + Graham bowed, and said he would call on the morrow. Isaura mused in silent + delight over the words which had so extolled the art of the singer. Alas, + poor child! she could not guess that in those words, reconciling her to + the profession of the stage, the speaker was pleading against his own + heart. + </p> + <p> + There was in Graham’s nature, as I think it commonly is in that of most + true orators, a wonderful degree of intellectual conscience which impelled + him to acknowledge the benignant influences of song, and to set before the + young singer the noblest incentives to the profession to which he deemed + her assuredly destined; but in so doing he must have felt that he was + widening the gulf between her life and his own. Perhaps he wished to widen + it in proportion as he dreaded to listen to any voice in his heart which + asked if the gulf might not be overleapt. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + ON the morrow Graham called at the villa at A———. The + two ladies received him in Isaura’s chosen sitting-room. + </p> + <p> + Somehow or other, conversation at first languished. Graham was reserved + and distant, Isaura shy and embarrassed. The Venosta had the frais of + making talk to herself. Probably at another time Graham would have been + amused and interested in the observation of a character new to him, and + thoroughly southern,—lovable not more from its naive simplicity of + kindliness than from various little foibles and vanities, all of which + were harmless, and some of them endearing as those of a child whom it is + easy to make happy, and whom it seems so cruel to pain; and with all the + Venosta’s deviations from the polished and tranquil good taste of the beau + monde, she had that indescribable grace which rarely deserts a Florentine, + so that you might call her odd but not vulgar; while, though uneducated, + except in the way of her old profession, and never having troubled herself + to read anything but a libretto and the pious books commended to her by + her confessor, the artless babble of her talk every now and then flashed + out with a quaint humour, lighting up terse fragments of the old Italian + wisdom which had mysteriously embedded themselves in the groundwork of her + mind. + </p> + <p> + But Graham was not at this time disposed to judge the poor Venosta kindly + or fairly. Isaura had taken high rank in his thoughts. He felt an + impatient resentment mingled with anxiety and compassionate tenderness at + a companionship which seemed to him derogatory to the position he would + have assigned to a creature so gifted, and unsafe as a guide amidst the + perils and trials to which the youth, the beauty, and the destined + profession of Isaura were exposed. Like most Englishmen—especially + Englishmen wise in the knowledge of life—he held in fastidious + regard the proprieties and conventions by which the dignity of woman is + fenced round; and of those proprieties and conventions the Venosta + naturally appeared to him a very unsatisfactory guardian and + representative. + </p> + <p> + Happily unconscious of these hostile prepossessions, the elder Signora + chatted on very gayly to the visitor. She was in excellent spirits; people + had been very civil to her both at Colonel Morley’s and M. Louvier’s. The + American Minister had praised the scarlet jacket. She was convinced she + had made a sensation two nights running. When the amour propre is pleased, + the tongue is freed. + </p> + <p> + The Venosta ran on in praise of Paris and the Parisians; of Louvier and + his soiree and the pistachio ice; of the Americans, and a certain creme de + maraschino which she hoped the Signor Inglese had not failed to taste,—the + creme de maraschino led her thoughts back to Italy. Then she grew + mournful. How she missed the native beau ciel! Paris was pleasant, but how + absurd to call it “le Paradis des Femmes,”—as if les Femmes could + find Paradise in a brouillard! + </p> + <p> + “But,” she exclaimed, with vivacity of voice and gesticulation, “the + Signor does not come to hear the parrot talk; he is engaged to come that + he may hear the nightingale sing. A drop of honey attracts the fly more + than a bottle of vinegar.” + </p> + <p> + Graham could not help smiling at this adage. “I submit,” said he, “to your + comparison as regards myself; but certainly anything less like a bottle of + vinegar than your amiable conversation I cannot well conceive. However, + the metaphor apart, I scarcely know how I dare ask Mademoiselle to sing + after the confession I made to her last night.” + </p> + <p> + “What confession?” asked the Venosta. + </p> + <p> + “That I know nothing of music and doubt if I can honestly say that I am + fond of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not fond of music! Impossible! You slander yourself. He who loves not + music would have a dull time of it in heaven. But you are English, and + perhaps have only heard the music of your own country. Bad, very bad—a + heretic’s music! Now listen.” + </p> + <p> + Seating herself at the piano, she began an air from the “Lucia,” crying + out to Isaura to come and sing to her accompaniment. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really wish it?” asked Isaura of Graham, fixing on him + questioning, timid eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say how much I wish to hear you.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura moved to the instrument, and Graham stood behind her. Perhaps he + felt that he should judge more impartially of her voice if not subjected + to the charm of her face. + </p> + <p> + But the first note of the voice held him spell-bound. In itself the organ + was of the rarest order, mellow and rich, but so soft that its power was + lost in its sweetness, and so exquisitely fresh in every note. + </p> + <p> + But the singer’s charm was less in voice than in feeling; she conveyed to + the listener so much more than was said by the words, or even implied by + the music. Her song in this caught the art of the painter who impresses + the mind with the consciousness of a something which the eye cannot detect + on the canvas. + </p> + <p> + She seemed to breathe out from the depths of her heart the intense pathos + of the original romance, so far exceeding that of the opera,-the human + tenderness, the mystic terror of a tragic love-tale more solemn in its + sweetness than that of Verona. + </p> + <p> + When her voice died away no applause came,—not even a murmur. Isaura + bashfully turned round to steal a glance at her silent listener, and + beheld moistened eyes and quivering lips. At that moment she was + reconciled to her art. Graham rose abruptly and walked to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Do you doubt now if you are fond of music?” cried the Venosta. + </p> + <p> + “This is more than music,” answered Graham, still with averted face. Then, + after a short pause, he approached Isaura, and said, with a melancholy + half-smile,— + </p> + <p> + “I do not think, Mademoiselle, that I could dare to hear you often; it + would take me too far from the hard real world: and he who would not be + left behindhand on the road that he must journey cannot indulge frequent + excursions into fairyland.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet,” said Isaura, in a tone yet sadder, “I was told in my childhood, by + one whose genius gives authority to her words, that beside the real world + lies the ideal. The real world then seemed rough to me. ‘Escape,’ said my + counsellor, ‘is granted from that stony thoroughfare into the fields + beyond its formal hedgerows. The ideal world has its sorrows, but it never + admits despair.’ That counsel then, methought, decided my choice of life. + I know not now if it has done so.” + </p> + <p> + “Fate,” answered Graham, slowly and thoughtfully, “Fate, which is not the + ruler but the servant of Providence, decides our choice of life, and + rarely from outward circumstances. Usually the motive power is within. We + apply the word ‘genius’ to the minds of the gifted few; but in all of us + there is a genius that is inborn, a pervading something which + distinguishes our very identity, and dictates to the conscience that which + we are best fitted to do and to be. In so dictating it compels our choice + of life; or if we resist the dictate, we find at the close that we have + gone astray. My choice of life thus compelled is on the stony + thoroughfares, yours in the green fields.” + </p> + <p> + As he thus said, his face became clouded and mournful. The Venosta, + quickly tired of a conversation in which she had no part, and having + various little household matters to attend to, had during this dialogue + slipped unobserved from the room; yet neither Isaura nor Graham felt the + sudden consciousness that they were alone which belongs to lovers. “Why,” + asked Isaura, with that magic smile reflected in countless dimples which, + even when her words were those of a man’s reasoning, made them seem gentle + with a woman’s sentiment,—“why must your road through the world be + so exclusively the stony one? It is not from necessity, it can not be from + taste; and whatever definition you give to genius, surely it is not your + own inborn genius that dictates to you a constant exclusive adherence to + the commonplace of life.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mademoiselle, do not misrepresent me. I did not say that I could not + sometimes quit the real world for fairyland,—I said that I could not + do so often. My vocation is not that of a poet or artist.” + </p> + <p> + “It is that of an orator, I know,” said Isaura, kindling; “so they tell + me, and I believe them. But is not the orator somewhat akin to the poet? + Is not oratory an art?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us dismiss the word orator; as applied to English public life, it is + a very deceptive expression. The Englishman who wishes to influence his + countrymen by force of words spoken must mix with them in their beaten + thoroughfares; must make himself master of their practical views and + interests; must be conversant with their prosaic occupations and business; + must understand how to adjust their loftiest aspirations to their material + welfare; must avoid as the fault most dangerous to himself and to others + that kind of eloquence which is called oratory in France, and which has + helped to make the French the worst politicians in Europe. Alas! + Mademoiselle, I fear that an English statesman would appear to you a very + dull orator.” + </p> + <p> + “I see that I spoke foolishly,—yes, you show me that the world of + the statesman lies apart from that of the artist. Yet—” + </p> + <p> + “Yet what?” + </p> + <p> + “May not the ambition of both be the same?” + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “To refine the rude, to exalt the mean; to identify their own fame with + some new beauty, some new glory, added to the treasure-house of all.” + </p> + <p> + Graham bowed his head reverently, and then raised it with the flush of + enthusiasm on his cheek and brow. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mademoiselle,” he exclaimed, “what a sure guide and what a noble + inspirer to a true Englishman’s ambition nature has fitted you to be, were + it not—” He paused abruptly. + </p> + <p> + This outburst took Isaura utterly by surprise. She had been accustomed to + the language of compliment till it had begun to pall, but a compliment of + this kind was the first that had ever reached her ear. She had no words in + answer to it; involuntarily she placed her hand on her heart as if to + still its beatings. But the unfinished exclamation, “Were it not,” + troubled her more than the preceding words had flattered, and mechanically + she murmured, “Were it not—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” answered Graham, affecting a tone of gayety, “I felt too ashamed of + my selfishness as man to finish my sentence.” + </p> + <p> + “Do so, or I shall fancy you refrained lest you might wound me as woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so; on the contrary, had I gone on it would have been to say that a + woman of your genius, and more especially of such mastery in the most + popular and fascinating of all arts, could not be contented if she + inspired nobler thoughts in a single breast,—she must belong to the + public, or rather the public must belong to her; it is but a corner of her + heart that an individual can occupy, and even that individual must merge + his existence in hers, must be contented to reflect a ray of the light she + sheds on admiring thousands. Who could dare to say to you, ‘Renounce your + career; confine your genius, your art, to the petty circle of home’? To an + actress, a singer, with whose fame the world rings, home would be a + prison. Pardon me, pardon—” + </p> + <p> + Isaura had turned away her face to hide tears that would force their way; + but she held out her hand to him with a childlike frankness, and said + softly, “I am not offended.” Graham did not trust himself to continue the + same strain of conversation. Breaking into a new subject, he said, after a + constrained pause, “Will you think it very impertinent in so new an + acquaintance, if I ask how it is that you, an Italian, know our language + as a native; and is it by Italian teachers that you have been trained to + think and to feel?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Selby, my second father, was an Englishman, and did not speak any + other language with comfort to himself. He was very fond of me; and had he + been really my father I could not have loved him more. We were constant + companions till—till I lost him.” + </p> + <p> + “And no mother left to console you!” + </p> + <p> + Isaura shook her head mournfully, and the Venosta here re-entered. Graham + felt conscious that he had already stayed too long, and took leave. + </p> + <p> + They knew that they were to meet that evening at the Savarins’. + </p> + <p> + To Graham that thought was not one of unmixed pleasure; the more he knew + of Isaura, the more he felt self-reproach that he had allowed himself to + know her at all. + </p> + <p> + But after he had left, Isaura sang low to herself the song which had so + affected her listener; then she fell into abstracted revery, but she felt + a strange and new sort of happiness. In dressing for M. Savarin’s dinner, + and twining the classic ivy wreath in her dark locks, her Italian servant + exclaimed, “How beautiful the Signorina looks to-night!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + M. Savarin was one of the most brilliant of that galaxy of literary men + which shed lustre on the reign of Louis Philippe. + </p> + <p> + His was an intellect peculiarly French in its lightness and grace. Neither + England nor Germany nor America has produced any resemblance to it. + Ireland has, in Thomas Moore; but then in Irish genius there is so much + that is French. + </p> + <p> + M. Savarin was free from the ostentatious extravagance which had come into + vogue with the Empire. His house and establishment were modestly + maintained within the limit of an income chiefly, perhaps entirely, + derived from literary profits. + </p> + <p> + Though he gave frequent dinners, it was but to few at a time, and without + show or pretence. Yet the dinners, though simple, were perfect of their + kind; and the host so contrived to infuse his own playful gayety into the + temper of his guests, that the feasts at his house were considered the + pleasantest at Paris. On this occasion the party extended to ten, the + largest number his table admitted. + </p> + <p> + All the French guests belonged to the Liberal party, though in changing + tints of the tricolor. Place aux dames! first to be named were the + Countess de Craon and Madame Vertot, both without husbands. The Countess + had buried the Count, Madame Vertot had separated from Monsieur. The + Countess was very handsome, but she was sixty; Madame Vertot was twenty + years younger, but she was very plain. She had quarrelled with the + distinguished author for whose sake she had separated from Monsieur, and + no man had since presumed to think that he could console a lady so plain + for the loss of an author so distinguished. + </p> + <p> + Both these ladies were very clever. The Countess had written lyrical poems + entitled “Cries of Liberty,” and a drama of which Danton was the hero, and + the moral too revolutionary for admission to the stage; but at heart the + Countess was not at all a revolutionist,—the last person in the + world to do or desire anything that could bring a washerwoman an inch + nearer to a countess. She was one of those persons who play with fire in + order to appear enlightened. + </p> + <p> + Madame Vertot was of severer mould. She had knelt at the feet of M. + Thiers, and went into the historico-political line. She had written a + remarkable book upon the modern Carthage (meaning England), and more + recently a work that had excited much attention upon the Balance of Power, + in which she proved it to be the interest of civilization and the + necessity of Europe that Belgium should be added to France, and Prussia + circumscribed to the bounds of its original margraviate. She showed how + easily these two objects could have been effected by a constitutional + monarch instead of an egotistical Emperor. Madame Vertot was a decided + Orleanist. + </p> + <p> + Both these ladies condescended to put aside authorship in general society. + Next amongst our guests let me place the Count de Passy and Madame son + espouse. The Count was seventy-one, and, it is needless to add, a type of + Frenchman rapidly vanishing, and not likely to find itself renewed. How + shall I describe him so as to make my English reader understand? Let me + try by analogy. Suppose a man of great birth and fortune, who in his youth + had been an enthusiastic friend of Lord Byron and a jocund companion of + George IV.; who had in him an immense degree of lofty romantic sentiment + with an equal degree of well-bred worldly cynicism, but who, on account of + that admixture, which is so rare, kept a high rank in either of the two + societies into which, speaking broadly, civilized life divides itself,—the + romantic and the cynical. The Count de Passy had been the most ardent + among the young disciples of Chateaubriand, the most brilliant among the + young courtiers of Charles X. Need I add that he had been a terrible + lady-killer? + </p> + <p> + But in spite of his admiration of Chateaubriand and his allegiance to + Charles X., the Count had been always true to those caprices of the French + noblesse from which he descended,—caprices which destroyed them in + the old Revolution; caprices belonging to the splendid ignorance of their + nation in general and their order in particular. Speaking without regard + to partial exceptions, the French gentilhomme is essentially a Parisian; a + Parisian is essentially impressionable to the impulse or fashion of the + moment. Is it a la mode for the moment to be Liberal or anti-Liberal? + Parisians embrace and kiss each other, and swear through life and death to + adhere forever to the mode of the moment. The Three Days were the mode of + the moment,—the Count de Passy became an enthusiastic Orleanist. + Louis Philippe was very gracious to him. He was decorated; he was named + prefet of his department; he was created senator; he was about to be sent + Minister to a German Court when Louis Philippe fell. The Republic was + proclaimed. The Count caught the popular contagion, and after exchanging + tears and kisses with patriots whom a week before he had called canaille, + he swore eternal fidelity to the Republic. The fashion of the moment + suddenly became Napoleonic, and with the coup d’etat the Republic was + metamorphosed into an Empire. The Count wept on the bosoms of all the + Vieilles Moustaches he could find, and rejoiced that the sun of Austerlitz + had re-arisen. But after the affair of Mexico the sun of Austerlitz waxed + very sickly. Imperialism was fast going out of fashion. The Count + transferred his affection to Jules Favre, and joined the ranks of the + advanced Liberals. During all these political changes, the Count had + remained very much the same man in private life; agreeable, good-natured, + witty, and, above all, a devotee of the fair sex. When he had reached the + age of sixty-eight he was still fort bel homme, unmarried, with a grand + presence and charming manner. At that age he said, “Je me range,” and + married a young lady of eighteen. She adored her husband, and was wildly + jealous of him; while the Count did not seem at all jealous of her, and + submitted to her adoration with a gentle shrug of the shoulders. + </p> + <p> + The three other guests who, with Graham and the two Italian ladies, made + up the complement of ten, were the German Count von Rudesheim, a + celebrated French physician named Bacourt, and a young author whom Savarin + had admitted into his clique and declared to be of rare promise. This + author, whose real name was Gustave Rameau, but who, to prove, I suppose, + the sincerity of that scorn for ancestry which he professed, published his + verses under the patrician designation of Alphonse de Valcour, was about + twenty-four, and might have passed at the first glance for younger; but, + looking at him closely, the signs of old age were already stamped on his + visage. + </p> + <p> + He was undersized, and of a feeble slender frame. In the eyes of women and + artists the defects of his frame were redeemed by the extraordinary beauty + of the face. His black hair, carefully parted in the centre, and worn long + and flowing, contrasted the whiteness of a high though narrow forehead, + and the delicate pallor of his cheeks. His feature, were very regular, his + eyes singularly bright; but the expression of the face spoke of fatigue + and exhaustion; the silky locks were already thin, and interspersed with + threads of silver; the bright eyes shone out from sunken orbits; the lines + round the mouth were marked as they are in the middle age of one who has + lived too fast. + </p> + <p> + It was a countenance that might have excited a compassionate and tender + interest but for something arrogant and supercilious in the + expression,-something that demanded not tender pity but enthusiastic + admiration. Yet that expression was displeasing rather to men than to + women; and one could well conceive that, among the latter, the + enthusiastic admiration it challenged would be largely conceded. + </p> + <p> + The conversation at dinner was in complete contrast to that at the + Americans’ the day before. There the talk, though animated, had been + chiefly earnest and serious; here it was all touch and go, sally and + repartee. The subjects were the light on lots and lively anecdotes of the + day, not free from literature and politics, but both treated as matters of + persiflage, hovered round with a jest and quitted with an epigram. The two + French lady authors, the Count de Passy, the physician, and the host far + outspoke all the other guests. Now and then, however, the German Count + struck in with an ironical remark condensing a great deal of grave wisdom, + and the young author with ruder and more biting sarcasm. If the sarcasm + told, he showed his triumph by a low-pitched laugh; if it failed, he + evinced his displeasure by a contemptuous sneer or a grim scowl. + </p> + <p> + Isaura and Graham were not seated near each other, and were for the most + part contented to be listeners. + </p> + <p> + On adjourning to the salon after dinner, Graham, however, was approaching + the chair in which Isaura had placed herself, when the young author, + forestalling him, dropped into the seat next to her, and began a + conversation in a voice so low that it might have passed for a whisper. + The Englishman drew back and observed them. He soon perceived, with a pang + of jealousy not unmingled with scorn, that the author’s talk appeared to + interest Isaura. She listened with evident attention; and when she spoke + in return, though Graham did not hear her words, he could observe on her + expressive countenance an increased gentleness of aspect. + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” said the physician, joining Graham, as most of the other guests + gathered round Savarin, who was in his liveliest vein of anecdote and wit,—“I + hope that the fair Italian will not allow that ink-bottle imp to persuade + her that she has fallen in love with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do young ladies generally find him so seductive?” asked Graham, with a + forced smile. + </p> + <p> + “Probably enough. He has the reputation of being very clever and very + wicked, and that is a sort of character which has the serpent’s + fascination for the daughters of Eve.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the reputation merited?” + </p> + <p> + “As to the cleverness, I am not a fair judge. I dislike that sort of + writing which is neither manlike nor womanlike, and in which young Rameau + excels. He has the knack of finding very exaggerated phrases by which to + express commonplace thoughts. He writes verses about love in words so + stormy that you might fancy that Jove was descending upon Semele; but when + you examine his words, as a sober pathologist like myself is disposed to + do, your fear for the peace of households vanishes,—they are Fox et + proeterea nihil; no man really in love would use them. He writes prose + about the wrongs of humanity. You feel for humanity; you say, ‘Grant the + wrongs, now for the remedy,’—and you find nothing but balderdash. + Still I am bound to say that both in verse and prose Gustave Rameau is in + unison with a corrupt taste of the day, and therefore he is coming into + vogue. So much as to his writings; as to his wickedness, you have only to + look at him to feel sure that he is not a hundredth part so wicked as he + wishes to seem. In a word, then, M. Gustave Rameau is a type of that + somewhat numerous class among the youth of Paris, which I call ‘the lost + Tribe of Absinthe.’ There is a set of men who begin to live full gallop + while they are still boys. As a general rule, they are originally of the + sickly frames which can scarcely even trot, much less gallop without the + spur of stimulants, and no stimulant so fascinates their peculiar nervous + system as absinthe. The number of patients in this set who at the age of + thirty are more worn out than septuagenarians increases so rapidly as to + make one dread to think what will be the next race of Frenchmen. To the + predilection for absinthe young Rameau and the writers of his set add the + imitation of Heine, after, indeed, the manner of caricaturists, who effect + a likeness striking in proportion as it is ugly. It is not easy to imitate + the pathos and the wit of Heine; but it is easy to imitate his defiance of + the Deity, his mockery of right and wrong, his relentless war on that + heroic standard of thought and action which the writers who exalt their + nation intuitively preserve. Rameau cannot be a Heine, but he can be to + Heine what a misshapen snarling dwarf is to a mangled blaspheming Titan. + Yet he interests the women in general, and he evidently interests the fair + Signorina in especial.” + </p> + <p> + Just as Bacourt finished that last sentence, Isaura lifted the head which + had hitherto bent in an earnest listening attitude that seemed to justify + the Doctor’s remarks, and looked round. Her eyes met Graham’s with the + fearless candour which made half the charm of their bright yet soft + intelligence; but she dropped them suddenly with a half-start and a change + of colour, for the expression of Graham’s face was unlike that which she + had hitherto seen on it,—it was hard, stern, and somewhat + disdainful. A minute or so afterwards she rose, and in passing across the + room towards the group round the host, paused at a table covered with + books and prints near to which Graham was standing alone. The Doctor had + departed in company with the German Count. + </p> + <p> + Isaura took up one of the prints. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she exclaimed, “Sorrento, my Sorrento. Have you ever visited + Sorrento, Mr. Vane?” + </p> + <p> + Her question and her movement were evidently in conciliation. Was the + conciliation prompted by coquetry, or by a sentiment more innocent and + artless? + </p> + <p> + Graham doubted, and replied coldly, as he bent over the print,— + </p> + <p> + “I once stayed there a few days, but my recollection of it is not + sufficiently lively to enable me to recognize its features in this + design.” + </p> + <p> + “That is the house, at least so they say, of Tasso’s father; of course you + visited that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it was a hotel in my time; I lodged there.” + </p> + <p> + “And I too. There I first read ‘The Gerusalemine.’” The last words were + said in Italian, with a low measured tone, inwardly and dreamily. + </p> + <p> + A somewhat sharp and incisive voice speaking in French here struck in and + prevented Graham’s rejoinder: “Quel joli dessin! What is it, + Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + Graham recoiled; the speaker was Gustave Rameau, who had, unobserved, + first watched Isaura, then rejoined her side. + </p> + <p> + “A view of Sorrento, Monsieur, but it does not do justice to the place. I + was pointing out the house which belonged to Tasso’s father.” + </p> + <p> + “Tasso! Hein! and which is the fair Eleonora’s?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” answered Isaura, rather startled at that question, from a + professed homme de lettres, “Eleonora did not live at Sorrento.” + </p> + <p> + “Tant pis pour Sorrente,” said the homme de lettres, carelessly. “No one + would care for Tasso if it were not for Eleonora.” + </p> + <p> + “I should rather have thought,” said Graham, “that no one would have cared + for Eleonora if it were not for Tasso.” + </p> + <p> + Rameau glanced at the Englishman superciliously. “Pardon, Monsieur, in + every age a love-story keeps its interest; but who cares nowadays for le + clinquant du Tasse?” + </p> + <p> + “Le clinquant du Tasse!” exclaimed Isaura, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “The expression is Boileau’s, Mademoiselle, in ridicule of the ‘Sot de + qualite,’ who prefers— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Le clinquant du Tasse a tout l’or de Virgile.’ +</pre> + <p> + “But for my part I have as little faith in the last as the first.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know Latin, and have therefore not read Virgil,” said Isaura. + </p> + <p> + “Possibly,” remarked Graham, “Monsieur does not know Italian, and has + therefore not read Tasso.” + </p> + <p> + “If that be meant in sarcasm,” retorted Rameau, “I construe it as a + compliment. A Frenchman who is contented to study the masterpieces of + modern literature need learn no language and read no authors but his own.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura laughed her pleasant silvery laugh. “I should admire the frankness + of that boast, Monsieur, if in our talk just now you had not spoken as + contemptuously of what we are accustomed to consider French masterpieces + as you have done of Virgil and Tasso.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mademoiselle! it is not my fault if you have had teachers of taste so + rococo as to bid you find masterpieces in the tiresome stilted tragedies + of Corneille and Racine. Poetry of a court, not of a people, one simple + novel, one simple stanza that probes the hidden recesses of the human + heart, reveals the sores of this wretched social state, denounces the + evils of superstition, kingcraft, and priestcraft, is worth a library of + the rubbish which pedagogues call ‘the classics.’ We agree, at least, in + one thing, Mademoiselle; we both do homage to the genius of your friend + Madame de Grantmesnil.” + </p> + <p> + “Your friend, Signorina!” cried Graham, incredulously; “is Madame de + Grantmesnil your friend?” + </p> + <p> + “The dearest I have in the world.” + </p> + <p> + Graham’s face darkened; he turned away in silence, and in another minute + vanished from the room, persuading himself that he felt not one pang of + jealousy in leaving Gustave Rameau by the side of Isaura. “Her dearest + friend Madame de Grantmesnil!” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + A word now on Isaura’s chief correspondent. Madame de Grantmesnil was a + woman of noble birth and ample fortune. She had separated from her husband + in the second year after marriage. She was a singularly eloquent writer, + surpassed among contemporaries of her sex in popularity and renown only by + Georges Sand. + </p> + <p> + At least as fearless as that great novelist in the frank exposition of her + views, she had commenced her career in letters by a work of astonishing + power and pathos, directed against the institution of marriage as + regulated in Roman Catholic communities. I do not know that it said more + on this delicate subject than the English Milton has said; but then Milton + did not write for a Roman Catholic community, nor adopt a style likely to + captivate the working classes. Madame de Grantmesnil’s first book was + deemed an attack on the religion of the country, and captivated those + among the working classes who had already abjured that religion. This work + was followed up by others more or less in defiance of “received opinions,”—some + with political, some with social revolutionary aim and tendency, but + always with a singular purity of style. Search all her books, and however + you might revolt from her doctrine, you could not find a hazardous + expression. The novels of English young ladies are naughty in comparison. + Of late years, whatever might be hard or audacious in her political or + social doctrines softened itself into charm amid the golden haze of + romance. Her writings had grown more and more purely artistic,—poetizing + what is good and beautiful in the realities of life rather than creating a + false ideal out of what is vicious and deformed. Such a woman, separated + young from her husband, could not enunciate such opinions and lead a life + so independent and uncontrolled as Madame de Grantmesnil had done, without + scandal, without calumny. Nothing, however, in her actual life had ever + been so proved against her as to lower the high position she occupied in + right of birth, fortune, renown. Wherever she went she was fetee, as in + England foreign princes, and in America foreign authors, are fetes. Those + who knew her well concurred in praise of her lofty, generous, lovable + qualities. Madame de Grantmesnil had known Mr. Selby; and when, at his + death, Isaura, in the innocent age between childhood and youth, had been + left the most sorrowful and most lonely creature on the face of the earth, + this famous woman, worshipped by the rich for her intellect, adored by the + poor for her beneficence, came to the orphan’s friendless side, breathing + love once more into her pining heart, and waking for the first time the + desires of genius, the aspirations of art, in the dim self-consciousness + of a soul between sleep and waking. + </p> + <p> + But, my dear Englishman, put yourself in Graham’s place, and suppose that + you were beginning to fall in love with a girl whom for many good reasons + you ought not to marry; suppose that in the same hour in which you were + angrily conscious of jealousy on account of a man whom it wounds your + self-esteem to consider a rival, the girl tells you that her dearest + friend is a woman who is famed for her hostility to the institution of + marriage! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + On the same day in which Graham dined with the Savarins, M. Louvier + assembled round his table the elite of the young Parisians who constituted + the oligarchy of fashion, to meet whom he had invited his new friend the + Marquis de Rochebriant. Most of them belonged to the Legitimist party, the + noblesse of the faubourg; those who did not, belonged to no political + party at all,—indifferent to the cares of mortal States as the gods + of Epicurus. Foremost among this Jeunesse doree were Alain’s kinsmen, + Raoul and Enguerrand de Vandemar. To these Louvier introduced him with a + burly parental bonhomie, as if he were the head of the family. “I need not + bid you, young folks, to make friends with each other. A Vandemar and a + Rochebriant are not made friends,—they are born friends.” So saying + he turned to his other guests. + </p> + <p> + Almost in an instant Alain felt his constraint melt away in the cordial + warmth with which his cousins greeted him. These young men had a striking + family likeness to each other, and yet in feature, colouring, and + expression, in all save that strange family likeness, they were contrasts. + Raoul was tall, and, though inclined to be slender, with sufficient + breadth of shoulder to indicate no inconsiderable strength of frame. His + hair worn short and his silky beard worn long were dark; so were his eyes, + shaded by curved drooping lashes; his complexion was pale, but clear and + healthful. In repose the expression of his face was that of a somewhat + melancholy indolence, but in speaking it became singularly sweet, with a + smile of the exquisite urbanity which no artificial politeness can bestow; + it must emanate from that native high breeding which has its source in + goodness of heart. + </p> + <p> + Enguerrand was fair, with curly locks of a golden chestnut. He wore no + beard, only a small mustache rather darker than his hair. His complexion + might in itself be called effeminate, its bloom was so fresh and delicate; + but there was so much of boldness and energy in the play of his + countenance, the hardy outline of the lips, and the open breadth of the + forehead, that “effeminate” was an epithet no one ever assigned to his + aspect. He was somewhat under the middle height, but beautifully + proportioned, carried himself well, and somehow or other did not look + short even by the side of tall men. Altogether he seemed formed to be a + mother’s darling, and spoiled by women, yet to hold his own among men with + a strength of will more evident in his look and his bearing than it was in + those of his graver and statelier brother. + </p> + <p> + Both were considered by their young co-equals models in dress, but in + Raoul there was no sign that care or thought upon dress had been bestowed; + the simplicity of his costume was absolute and severe. On his plain + shirt-front there gleamed not a stud, on his fingers there sparkled not a + ring. Enguerrand, on the contrary, was not without pretension in his + attire; the broderie in his shirt-front seemed woven by the Queen of the + Fairies. His rings of turquoise and opal, his studs and wrist-buttons of + pearl and brilliants, must have cost double the rental of Rochebriant, but + probably they cost him nothing. He was one of those happy Lotharios to + whom Calistas make constant presents. All about him was so bright that the + atmosphere around seemed gayer for his presence. + </p> + <p> + In one respect at least the brothers closely resembled each other,—in + that exquisite graciousness of manner for which the genuine French noble + is traditionally renowned; a graciousness that did not desert them even + when they came reluctantly into contact with roturiers or republicans; but + the graciousness became egalite, fraternite, towards one of their caste + and kindred. + </p> + <p> + “We must do our best to make Paris pleasant to you,” said Raoul, still + retaining in his grasp the hand he had taken. + </p> + <p> + “Vilain cousin,” said the livelier Enguerrand, “to have been in Paris + twenty-four hours, and without letting us know.” + </p> + <p> + “Has not your father told you that I called upon him?” + </p> + <p> + “Our father,” answered Raoul, “was not so savage as to conceal that fact; + but he said you were only here on business for a day or two, had declined + his invitation, and would not give your address. Pauvre pere! we scolded + him well for letting you escape from us thus. My mother has not forgiven + him yet; we must present you to her to-morrow. I answer for your liking + her almost as much as she will like you.” + </p> + <p> + Before Alain could answer dinner was announced. Alain’s place at dinner + was between his cousins. How pleasant they made themselves! It was the + first time in which Alain had been brought into such familiar conversation + with countrymen of his own rank as well as his own age. His heart warmed + to them. The general talk of the other guests was strange to his ear; it + ran much upon horses and races, upon the opera and the ballet; it was + enlivened with satirical anecdotes of persons whose names were unknown to + the Provincial; not a word was said that showed the smallest interest in + politics or the slightest acquaintance with literature. The world of these + well-born guests seemed one from which all that concerned the great mass + of mankind was excluded, yet the talk was that which could only be found + in a very polished society. In it there was not much wit, but there was a + prevalent vein of gayety, and the gayety was never violent, the laughter + was never loud; the scandals circulated might imply cynicism the most + absolute, but in language the most refined. The Jockey Club of Paris has + its perfume. + </p> + <p> + Raoul did not mix in the general conversation; he devoted himself + pointedly to the amusement of his cousin, explaining to him the point of + the anecdotes circulated, or hitting off in terse sentences the characters + of the talkers. + </p> + <p> + Enguerrand was evidently of temper more vivacious than his brother, and + contributed freely to the current play of light gossip and mirthful sally. + </p> + <p> + Louvier, seated between a duke and a Russian prince, said little except to + recommend a wine or an entree, but kept his eye constantly on the + Vandemars and Alain. + </p> + <p> + Immediately after coffee the guests departed. Before they did so, however, + Raoul introduced his cousin to those of the party most distinguished by + hereditary rank or social position. With these the name of Rochebriant was + too historically famous not to insure respect of its owner; they welcomed + him among them as if he were their brother. + </p> + <p> + The French duke claimed him as a connection by an alliance in the + fourteenth century; the Russian prince had known the late Marquis, and + trusted that the son would allow him to improve into friendship the + acquaintance he had formed with the father. + </p> + <p> + Those ceremonials over, Raoul linked his arm in Alain’s and said: “I am + not going to release you so soon after we have caught you. You must come + with me to a house in which I at least spend an hour or two every evening. + I am at home there. Bah! I take no refusal. Do not suppose I carry you off + to Bohemia,—a country which, I am sorry to say, Enguerrand now and + then visits, but which is to me as unknown as the mountains of the moon. + The house I speak of is comme il faut to the utmost. It is that of the + Contessa di Rimini,—a charming Italian by marriage, but by birth and + in character on ne peut plus Francaise. My mother adores her.” + </p> + <p> + That dinner at M. Louvier’s had already effected a great change in the + mood and temper of Alain de Rochebriant; he felt, as if by magic, the + sense of youth, of rank, of station, which had been so suddenly checked + and stifled, warmed to life within his veins. He should have deemed + himself a boor had he refused the invitation so frankly tendered. + </p> + <p> + But on reaching the coupe which the brothers kept in common, and seeing it + only held two, he drew back. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, enter, mon cher,” said Raoul, divining the cause of his hesitation; + “Enguerrand has gone on to his club.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + “Tell me,” said Raoul, when they were in the carriage, “how you came to + know M. Louvier.” + </p> + <p> + “He is my chief mortgagee.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! that explains it. But you might be in worse hands; the man has a + character for liberality.” + </p> + <p> + “Did your father mention to you my circumstances, and the reason that + brings me to Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Since you put the question point-blank, my dear cousin, he did.” + </p> + <p> + “He told you how poor I am, and how keen must be my lifelong struggle to + keep Rochebriant as the home of my race?” + </p> + <p> + “He told us all that could make us still more respect the Marquis de + Rochebriant, and still more eagerly long to know our cousin and the head + of our house,” answered Raoul, with a certain nobleness of tone and + manner. + </p> + <p> + Alain pressed his kinsman’s hand with grateful emotion. “Yet,” he said + falteringly, “your father agreed with me that my circumstances would not + allow me to—” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” interrupted Raoul, with a gentle laugh; “my father is a very clever + man, doubtless, but he knows only the world of his own day, nothing of the + world of ours. I and Enguerrand will call on you to-morrow, to take you to + my mother, and before doing so, to consult as to affairs in general. On + this last matter Enguerrand is an oracle. Here we are at the Contessa’s.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + The Contessa di Rimini received her visitors in a boudoir furnished with + much apparent simplicity, but a simplicity by no means inexpensive. The + draperies were but of chintz, and the walls covered with the same + material,—a lively pattern, in which the prevalents were rose-colour + and white; but the ornaments on the mantelpiece, the china stored in the + cabinets or arranged on the shelves, the small knickknacks scattered on + the tables, were costly rarities of art. + </p> + <p> + The Contessa herself was a woman who had somewhat passed her thirtieth + year,—not strikingly handsome, but exquisitely pretty. “There is,” + said a great French writer, “only one way in which a woman can be + handsome, but a hundred thousand ways in which she can be pretty;” and it + would be impossible to reckon up the number of ways in which Adeline di + Rimini carried off the prize in prettiness. + </p> + <p> + Yet it would be unjust to the personal attractions of the Contessa to + class them all under the word “prettiness.” When regarded more + attentively, there was an expression in her countenance that might almost + be called divine, it spoke so unmistakably of a sweet nature and an + untroubled soul. An English poet once described her by repeating the old + lines, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Her face is like the milky way I’ the sky, + —A meeting of gentle lights without a name.” + </pre> + <p> + She was not alone; an elderly lady sat on an armchair by the fire, engaged + in knitting; and a man, also elderly, and whose dress proclaimed him an + ecclesiastic, sat at the opposite corner, with a large Angora cat on his + lap. + </p> + <p> + “I present to you, Madame,” said Raoul, “my new-found cousin, the + seventeenth Marquis de Rochebriant, whom I am proud to consider on the + male side the head of our house, representing its eldest branch. Welcome + him for my sake,—in future he will be welcome for his own.” + </p> + <p> + The Contessa replied very graciously to this introduction, and made room + for Alain on the divan from which she had risen. + </p> + <p> + The old lady looked up from her knitting; the ecclesiastic removed the cat + from his lap. Said the old lady, “I announce myself to M. le Marquis. I + knew his mother well enough to be invited to his christening; otherwise I + have no pretension to the acquaintance of a cavalier si beau, being old, + rather deaf, very stupid, exceedingly poor—” + </p> + <p> + “And,” interrupted Raoul, “the woman in all Paris the most adored for + bonte, and consulted for savoir vivre by the young cavaliers whom she + deigns to receive. Alain, I present you to Madame de Maury, the widow of a + distinguished author and academician, and the daughter of the brave Henri + de Gerval, who fought for the good cause in La Vendee. I present you also + to the Abbe Vertpre, who has passed his life in the vain endeavour to make + other men as good as himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Base flatterer!” said the Abbe, pinching Raoul’s ear with one hand, while + he extended the other to Alain. “Do not let your cousin frighten you from + knowing me, Monsieur le Marquis; when he was my pupil, he so convinced me + of the incorrigibility of perverse human nature, that I now chiefly + address myself to the moral improvement of the brute creation. Ask the + Contessa if I have not achieved a beau succes with her Angora cat. Three + months ago that creature had the two worst propensities of man,—he + was at once savage and mean; he bit, he stole. Does he ever bite now? No. + Does he ever steal? No. Why? I have awakened in that cat the dormant + conscience, and that done, the conscience regulates his actions; once made + aware of the difference between wrong and right, the cat maintains it + unswervingly, as if it were a law of nature. But if, with prodigious + labour, one does awaken conscience in a human sinner, it has no steady + effect on his conduct,—he continues to sin all the same. Mankind at + Paris, Monsieur le Marquis, is divided between two classes,-one bites and + the other steals. Shun both; devote yourself to cats.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbe delivered this oration with a gravity of mien and tone which made + it difficult to guess whether he spoke in sport or in earnest, in simple + playfulness or with latent sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + But on the brow and in the eye of the priest there was a general + expression of quiet benevolence, which made Alain incline to the belief + that he was only speaking as a pleasant humourist; and the Marquis replied + gayly,— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur L’Abbe, admitting the superior virtue of cats when taught by so + intelligent a preceptor, still the business of human life is not + transacted by cats; and since men must deal with men, permit me, as a + preliminary caution, to inquire in which class I must rank yourself. Do + you bite or do you steal?” + </p> + <p> + This sally, which showed that the Marquis was already shaking off his + provincial reserve, met with great success. Raoul and the Contessa laughed + merrily; Madame de Maury clapped her hands, and cried “Bien!” + </p> + <p> + The Abbe replied, with unmoved gravity, “Both. I am a priest; it is my + duty to bite the bad and steal from the good, as you will see, Monsieur le + Marquis, if you will glance at this paper.” + </p> + <p> + Here he handed to Alain a memorial on behalf of an afflicted family who + had been burnt out of their home, and reduced from comparative ease to + absolute want. There was a list appended of some twenty subscribers, the + last being the Contessa, fifty francs, and Madame de Maury, five. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me, Marquis,” said the Abbe, “to steal from you. Bless you + two-fold, mon fils!” (taking the napoleon Alain extended to him) “first + for your charity; secondly, for the effect of its example upon the heart + of your cousin. Raoul de Vandemar, stand and deliver. Bah! what! only ten + francs.” + </p> + <p> + Raoul made a sign to the Abbe, unperceived by the rest, as he answered, + “Abbe, I should excel your expectations of my career if I always continue + worth half as much as my cousin.” + </p> + <p> + Alain felt to the bottom of his heart the delicate tact of his richer + kinsman in giving less than himself, and the Abbe replied, “Niggard, you + are pardoned. Humility is a more difficult virtue to produce than charity, + and in your case an instance of it is so rare that it merits + encouragement.” + </p> + <p> + The “tea equipage” was now served in what at Paris is called the English + fashion; the Contessa presided over it, the guests gathered round the + table, and the evening passed away in the innocent gayety of a domestic + circle. The talk, if not especially intellectual, was at least not + fashionable. Books were not discussed, neither were scandals; yet somehow + or other it was cheery and animated, like that of a happy family in a + country-house. Alain thought still the better of Raoul that, Parisian + though he was, he could appreciate the charm of an evening so innocently + spent. + </p> + <p> + On taking leave, the Contessa gave Alain a general invitation to drop in + whenever he was not better engaged. + </p> + <p> + “I except only the opera nights,” said she. “My husband has gone to Milan + on his affairs, and during his absence I do not go to parties; the opera I + cannot resist.” + </p> + <p> + Raoul set Alain down at his lodgings. “Au revoir; tomorrow at one o’clock + expect Enguerrand and myself.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + Raul and Enguerrand called on Alain at the hour fixed. “In the first + place,” said Raoul, “I must beg you to accept my mother’s regrets that she + cannot receive you to-day. She and the Contessa belong to a society of + ladies formed for visiting the poor, and this is their day; but to-morrow + you must dine with us en famille. Now to business. Allow me to light my + cigar while you confide the whole state of affairs to Enguerrand. Whatever + he counsels, I am sure to approve.” + </p> + <p> + Alain, as briefly as he could, stated his circumstances, his mortgages, + and the hopes which his avow had encouraged him to place in the friendly + disposition of M. Louvier. When he had concluded, Enguerrand mused for a + few moments before replying. At last he said, “Will you trust me to call + on Louvier on your behalf? I shall but inquire if he is inclined to take + on himself the other mortgages; and if so, on what terms. Our relationship + gives me the excuse for my interference; and to say truth, I have had much + familiar intercourse with the man. I too am a speculator, and have often + profited by Louvier’s advice. You may ask what can be his object in + serving me; he can gain nothing by it. To this I answer, the key to his + good offices is in his character. Audacious though he be as a speculator, + he is wonderfully prudent as a politician. This belle France of ours is + like a stage tumbler; one can never be sure whether it will stand on its + head or its feet. Louvier very wisely wishes to feel himself safe whatever + party comes uppermost. He has no faith in the duration of the Empire; and + as, at all events, the Empire will not confiscate his millions, he takes + no trouble in conciliating Imperialists. But on the principle which + induces certain savages to worship the devil and neglect the bon Dieu, + because the devil is spiteful and the bon Dieu is too beneficent to injure + them, Louvier, at heart detesting as well as dreading a republic, lays + himself out to secure friends with the Republicans of all classes, and + pretends to espouse their cause; next to them, he is very conciliatory to + the Orleanists; lastly, though he thinks the Legitimists have no chance, + he desires to keep well with the nobles of that party, because they + exercise a considerable influence over that sphere of opinion which + belongs to fashion,—for fashion is never powerless in Paris. Raoul + and myself are no mean authorities in salons and clubs, and a good word + from us is worth having. + </p> + <p> + “Besides, Louvier himself in his youth set up for a dandy; and that + deposed ruler of dandies, our unfortunate kinsman, Victor de Mauleon, shed + some of his own radiance on the money-lender’s son. But when Victor’s star + was eclipsed, Louvier ceased to gleam. The dandies cut him. In his heart + he exults that the dandies now throng to his soirees. + </p> + <p> + “Bref, the millionaire is especially civil to me,—the more so as I + know intimately two or three eminent journalists; and Louvier takes pains + to plant garrisons in the press. I trust I have explained the grounds on + which I may be a better diplomatist to employ than your avoue; and with + your leave I will go to Louvier at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Let him go,” said Raoul. “Enguerrand never fails in anything he + undertakes; especially,” he added, with a smile half sad, half tender, + “when one wishes to replenish one’s purse.” + </p> + <p> + “I too gratefully grant such an ambassador all powers to treat,” said + Alain. “I am only ashamed to consign to him a post so much beneath his + genius,” and “his birth” he was about to add, but wisely checked himself. + Enguerrand said, shrugging his shoulders, “You can’t do me a greater + kindness than by setting my wits at work. I fall a martyr to ennui when I + am not in action;” he said, and was gone. + </p> + <p> + “It makes me very melancholy at times,” said Raoul, flinging away the end + of his cigar, “to think that a man so clever and so energetic as + Enguerrand should be as much excluded from the service of his country as + if he were an Iroquois Indian. He would have made a great diplomatist.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” replied Alain, with a sigh, “I begin to doubt whether we + Legitimists are justified in maintaining a useless loyalty to a sovereign + who renders us morally exiles in the land of our birth.” + </p> + <p> + “I have no doubt on the subject,” said Raoul. “We are not justified on the + score of policy, but we have no option at present on the score of honour. + We should gain so much for ourselves if we adopted the State livery and + took the State wages that no man would esteem us as patriots; we should + only be despised as apostates. So long as Henry V. lives, and does not + resign his claim, we cannot be active citizens; we must be mournful + lookers-on. But what matters it? We nobles of the old race are becoming + rapidly extinct. Under any form of government likely to be established in + France we are equally doomed. The French people, aiming at an impossible + equality, will never again tolerate a race of gentilshommes. They cannot + prevent, without destroying commerce and capital altogether, a quick + succession of men of the day, who form nominal aristocracies much more + opposed to equality than any hereditary class of nobles; but they refuse + these fleeting substitutes of born patricians all permanent stake in the + country, since whatever estate they buy must be subdivided at their death + my poor Alain, you are making it the one ambition of your life to preserve + to your posterity the home and lands of your forefathers. How is that + possible, even supposing you could redeem the mortgages? You marry some + day; you have children, and Rochebriant must then be sold to pay for their + separate portions. How this condition of things, while rendering us so + ineffective to perform the normal functions of a noblesse in public life, + affects us in private life, may be easily conceived. + </p> + <p> + “Condemned to a career of pleasure and frivolity, we can scarcely escape + from the contagion of extravagant luxury which forms the vice of the time. + With grand names to keep up, and small fortunes whereon to keep them, we + readily incur embarrassment and debt. Then neediness conquers pride. We + cannot be great merchants, but we can be small gamblers on the Bourse, or, + thanks to the Credit Mobilier, imitate a cabinet minister, and keep a shop + under another name. Perhaps you have heard that Enguerrand and I keep a + shop. Pray, buy your gloves there. Strange fate for men whose ancestors + fought in the first Crusade—mais que voulez-vous?” + </p> + <p> + “I was told of the shop,” said Alain; “but the moment I knew you I + disbelieved the story.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true. Shall I confide to you why we resorted to that means of + finding ourselves in pocket-money? My father gives us rooms in his hotel; + the use of his table, which we do not much profit by; and an allowance, on + which we could not live as young men of our class live at Paris. + Enguerrand had his means of spending pocket-money, I mine; but it came to + the same thing,—the pockets were emptied. We incurred debts. Two + years ago my father straitened himself to pay them, saying, ‘The next time + you come to me with debts, however small, you must pay them yourselves, or + you must marry, and leave it to me to find you wives.’ This threat + appalled us both. A month afterwards, Enguerrand made a lucky hit at the + Bourse, and proposed to invest the proceeds in a shop. I resisted as long + as I could; but Enguerrand triumphed over me, as he always does. He found + an excellent deputy in a bonne who had nursed us in childhood, and married + a journeyman perfumer who understands the business. It answers well; we + are not in debt, and we have preserved our freedom.” + </p> + <p> + After these confessions Raoul went away, and Alain fell into a mournful + revery, from which he was roused by a loud ring at his bell. He opened the + door, and beheld M. Louvier. The burly financier was much out of breath + after making so steep an ascent. It was in gasps that he muttered, “Bon + jour; excuse me if I derange you.” Then entering and seating himself on a + chair, he took some minutes to recover speech, rolling his eyes staringly + round the meagre, unluxurious room, and then concentrating their gaze upon + its occupier. + </p> + <p> + “Peste, my dear Marquis!” he said at last, “I hope the next time I visit + you the ascent may be less arduous. One would think you were in training + to ascend the Himalaya.” + </p> + <p> + The haughty noble writhed under this jest, and the spirit inborn in his + order spoke in his answer. + </p> + <p> + “I am accustomed to dwell on heights, Monsieur Louvier; the castle of + Rochebriant is not on a level with the town.” An angry gleam shot out from + the eyes of the millionaire, but there was no other sign of displeasure in + his answer. “Bien dit, mon cher; how you remind me of your father! Now, + give me leave to speak on affairs. I have seen your cousin Enguerrand de + Vandemar. Homme de moyens, though joli garcon. He proposed that you should + call on me. I said ‘no’ to the cher petit Enguerrand,—a visit from + me was due to you. To cut matters short, M. Gandrin has allowed me to look + into your papers. I was disposed to serve you from the first; I am still + more disposed to serve you now. I undertake to pay off all your other + mortgages, and become sole mortgagee, and on terms that I have jotted down + on this paper, and which I hope will content you.” + </p> + <p> + He placed a paper in Alain’s hand, and took out a box, from which he + extracted a jujube, placed it in his mouth, folded his hands, and reclined + back in his chair, with his eyes half closed, as if exhausted alike by his + ascent and his generosity. + </p> + <p> + In effect, the terms were unexpectedly liberal. The reduced interest on + the mortgages would leave the Marquis an income of L1,000 a year instead + of L400. Louvier proposed to take on himself the legal cost of transfer, + and to pay to the Marquis 25,000 francs, on the completion of the deed, as + a bonus. The mortgage did not exempt the building-land, as Hebert desired. + In all else it was singularly advantageous, and Alain could but feel a + thrill of grateful delight at an offer by which his stinted income was + raised to comparative affluence. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Marquis,” said Louvier, “what does the castle say to the town?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Louvier,” answered Alain, extending his hand with cordial + eagerness, “accept my sincere apologies for the indiscretion of my + metaphor. Poverty is proverbially sensitive to jests on it. I owe it to + you if I cannot hereafter make that excuse for any words of mine that may + displease you. The terms you propose are most liberal, and I close with + them at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Bon,” said Louvier, shaking vehemently the hand offered to him; “I will + take the paper to Gandrin, and instruct him accordingly. And now, may I + attach a condition to the agreement which is not put down on paper? It may + have surprised you perhaps that I should propose a gratuity of 25,000 + francs on completion of the contract. It is a droll thing to do, and not + in the ordinary way of business, therefore I must explain. Marquis, pardon + the liberty I take, but you have inspired me with an interest in your + future. With your birth, connections, and figure you should push your way + in the world far and fast. But you can’t do so in a province. You must + find your opening at Paris. I wish you to spend a year in the capital, and + live, not extravagantly, like a nouveau riche, but in a way not unsuited + to your rank, and permitting you all the social advantages that belong to + it. These 25,000 francs, in addition to your improved income, will enable + you to gratify my wish in this respect. Spend the money in Paris; you will + want every sou of it in the course of the year. It will be money well + spent. Take my advice, cher Marquis. Au plaisir.” + </p> + <p> + The financier bowed himself out. The young Marquis forgot all the mournful + reflections with which Raoul’s conversation had inspired him. He gave a + new touch to his toilette, and sallied forth with the air of a man on + whose morning of life a sun heretofore clouded has burst forth and bathed + the landscape in its light. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + Since the evening spent at the Savarins’, Graham had seen no more of + Isaura. He had avoided all chance of seeing her; in fact, the jealousy + with which he had viewed her manner towards Rameau, and the angry amaze + with which he had heard her proclaim her friendship for Madame de + Grantmesnil, served to strengthen the grave and secret reasons which made + him desire to keep his heart yet free and his hand yet unpledged. But + alas! the heart was enslaved already. It was under the most fatal of all + spells,—first love conceived at first sight. He was wretched; and in + his wretchedness his resolves became involuntarily weakened. He found + himself making excuses for the beloved. What cause had he, after all, for + that jealousy of the young poet which had so offended him; and if in her + youth and inexperience Isaura had made her dearest friend of a great + writer by whose genius she might be dazzled, and of whose opinions she + might scarcely be aware, was it a crime that necessitated her eternal + banishment from the reverence which belongs to all manly love? Certainly + he found no satisfactory answers to such self-questionings. And then those + grave reasons known only to himself, and never to be confided to another—why + he should yet reserve his hand unpledged—were not so imperative as + to admit of no compromise. They might entail a sacrifice, and not a small + one to a man of Graham’s views and ambition. But what is love if it can + think any sacrifice, short of duty and honour, too great to offer up + unknown uncomprehended, to the one beloved? Still, while thus softened in + his feelings towards Isaura, he became, perhaps in consequence of such + softening, more and more restlessly impatient to fulfil the object for + which he had come to Paris, the great step towards which was the discovery + of the undiscoverable Louise Duval. + </p> + <p> + He had written more than once to M. Renard since the interview with that + functionary already recorded, demanding whether Renard had not made some + progress in the research on which he was employed, and had received short + unsatisfactory replies preaching patience and implying hope. + </p> + <p> + The plain truth, however, was that M. Renard had taken no further pains in + the matter. He considered it utter waste of time and thought to attempt a + discovery to which the traces were so faint and so obsolete. If the + discovery were effected, it must be by one of those chances which occur + without labour or forethought of our own. He trusted only to such a chance + in continuing the charge he had undertaken. But during the last day or two + Graham had become yet more impatient than before, and peremptorily + requested another visit from this dilatory confidant. + </p> + <p> + In that visit, finding himself pressed hard, and though naturally willing, + if possible, to retain a client unusually generous, yet being on the whole + an honest member of his profession, and feeling it to be somewhat unfair + to accept large remuneration for doing nothing, M. Renard said frankly, + “Monsieur, this affair is beyond me; the keenest agent of our police could + make nothing of it. Unless you can tell me more than you have done, I am + utterly without a clew. I resign, therefore, the task with which you + honoured me, willing to resume it again if you can give me information + that could render me of use.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of information?” + </p> + <p> + “At least the names of some of the lady’s relations who may yet be + living.” + </p> + <p> + “But it strikes me that, if I could get at that piece of knowledge, I + should not require the services of the police. The relations would tell me + what had become of Louise Duval quite as readily as they would tell a + police agent.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true, Monsieur. It would really be picking your pockets if I did + not at once retire from your service. Nay, Monsieur, pardon me, no further + payments; I have already accepted too much. Your most obedient servant.” + </p> + <p> + Graham, left alone, fell into a very gloomy revery. He could not but be + sensible of the difficulties in the way of the object which had brought + him to Paris, with somewhat sanguine expectations of success founded on a + belief in the omniscience of the Parisian police, which is only to be + justified when they have to deal with a murderess or a political + incendiary. But the name of Louise Duval is about as common in France as + that of Mary Smith in England; and the English reader may judge what would + be the likely result of inquiring through the ablest of our detectives + after some Mary Smith of whom you could give little more information than + that she was the daughter of a drawing-master who had died twenty years + ago, that it was about fifteen years since anything had been heard of her, + that you could not say if through marriage or for other causes she had + changed her name or not, and you had reasons for declining resort to + public advertisements. In the course of inquiry so instituted, the + probability would be that you might hear of a great many Mary Smiths, in + the pursuit of whom your employee would lose all sight and scent of the + one Mary Smith for whom the chase was instituted. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of Graham’s despairing reflections his laquais announced M. + Frederic Lemercier. + </p> + <p> + “Cher Grarm-Varn. A thousand pardons if I disturb you at this late hour of + the evening; but you remember the request you made me when you first + arrived in Paris this season?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do,—in case you should ever chance in your wide round + of acquaintance to fall in with a Madame or Mademoiselle Duval of about + the age of forty, or a year or so less, to let me know; and you did fall + in with two ladies of that name, but they were not the right one, not the + person whom my friend begged me to discover; both much too young.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh bien, mon cher. If you will come with me to the bal champetre in the + Champs Elysees to-night, I can show you a third Madame Duval,—her + Christian name is Louise, too, of the age you mention,—though she + does her best to look younger, and is still very handsome. You said your + Duval was handsome. It was only last evening that I met this lady at a + soiree given by Mademoiselle Julie Caumartin, coryphee distinguee, in love + with young Rameau.” + </p> + <p> + “In love with young Rameau? I am very glad to hear it. He returns the + love?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so. He seems very proud of it. But apropos of Madame Duval, she + has been long absent from Paris, just returned, and looking out for + conquests. She says she has a great penchant for the English; promises me + to be at this ball. Come.” + </p> + <p> + “Hearty thanks, my dear Lemercier. I am at your service.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + The bal champetre was gay and brilliant, as such festal scenes are at + Paris. A lovely night in the midst of May, lamps below and stars above; + the society mixed, of course. Evidently, when Graham has singled out + Frederic Lemercier from all his acquaintances at Paris to conjoin with the + official aid of M. Renard in search of the mysterious lady, he had + conjectured the probability that she might be found in the Bohemian world + so familiar to Frederic; if not as an inhabitant, at least as an explorer. + Bohemia was largely represented at the bal champetre, but not without a + fair sprinkling of what we call the “respectable classes,” especially + English and Americans, who brought their wives there to take care of them. + Frenchmen, not needing such care, prudently left their wives at home. + Among the Frenchmen of station were the Comte de Passy and the Vicomte de + Breze. + </p> + <p> + On first entering the gardens, Graham’s eye was attracted and dazzled by a + brilliant form. It was standing under a festoon of flowers extended from + tree to tree, and a gas jet opposite shone full upon the face,—the + face of a girl in all the freshness of youth. If the freshness owed + anything to art, the art was so well disguised that it seemed nature. The + beauty of the countenance was Hebe-like, joyous, and radiant; and yet one + could not look at the girl without a sentiment of deep mournfulness. She + was surrounded by a group of young men, and the ring of her laugh jarred + upon Graham’s ear. He pressed Frederic’s arm, and directing his attention + to the girl, asked who she was. + </p> + <p> + “Who? Don’t you know? That is Julie Caumartin. A little while ago her + equipage was the most admired in the Bois, and great ladies condescended + to copy her dress or her coiffure; but she has lost her splendour, and + dismissed the rich admirer who supplied the fuel for its blaze, since she + fell in love with Gustave Rameau. Doubtless she is expecting him to-night. + You ought to know her; shall I present you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Graham, with a compassionate expression in his manly face. + “So young; seemingly so gay. How I pity her!” + </p> + <p> + “What! for throwing herself away on Rameau? True. There is a great deal of + good in that girl’s nature, if she had been properly trained. Rameau wrote + a pretty poem on her which turned her head and won her heart, in which she + is styled the ‘Ondine of Paris,’—a nymph-like type of Paris itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Vanishing type, like her namesake; born of the spray, and vanishing soon + into the deep,” said Graham. “Pray go and look for the Duval; you will + find me seated yonder.” + </p> + <p> + Graham passed into a retired alley, and threw himself on a solitary bench, + while Lemercier went in search of Madame Duval. In a few minutes the + Frenchman reappeared. By his side was a lady well dressed, and as she + passed under the lamps Graham perceived that, though of a certain age, she + was undeniably handsome. His heart beat more quickly. Surely this was the + Louise Duval he sought. + </p> + <p> + He rose from his seat, and was presented in due form to the lady, with + whom Frederic then discreetly left him. “M. Lemercier tells me that you + think that we were once acquainted with each other.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, Madame; I should not fail to recognize you were that the case. A + friend of mine had the honour of knowing a lady of your name; and should I + be fortunate enough to meet that lady, I am charged with a commission that + may not be unwelcome to her. M. Lemercier tells me your nom de bapteme is + Louise.” + </p> + <p> + “Louise Corinne, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “And I presume that Duval is the name you take from your parents?” + </p> + <p> + “No; my father’s name was Bernard. I married, when I was a mere child, M. + Duval, in the wine trade at Bordeaux.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, indeed!” said Graham, much disappointed, but looking at her with a + keen, searching eye, which she met with a decided frankness. Evidently, in + his judgment, she was speaking the truth. + </p> + <p> + “You know English, I think, Madame,” he resumed, addressing her in that + language. + </p> + <p> + “A leetle; speak un peu.” + </p> + <p> + “Only a little?” + </p> + <p> + Madame Duval looked puzzled, and replied in French, with a laugh, “Is it + that you were told that I spoke English by your countryman, Milord Sare + Boulby? Petit scelerat, I hope he is well. He sends you a commission for + me,—so he ought; he behaved to me like a monster.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! I know nothing of Milord Sir Boulby. Were you never in England + yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” with a coquettish side-glance; “I should like so much to go. I + have a foible for the English in spite of that vilain petit Boulby. Who is + it gave you the commission for me? Ha! I guess, le Capitaine Nelton.” + </p> + <p> + “No. What year, Madame, if not impertinent, were you at Aix-la-Chapelle?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean Baden? I was there seven years ago, when I met le Capitaine + Nelton, bel homme aux cheveux rouges.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have been at Aix?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “I have, then, been mistaken, Madame, and have only to offer my most + humble apologies.” + </p> + <p> + “But perhaps you will favour me with a visit, and we may on further + conversation find that you are not mistaken. I can’t stay now, for I am + engaged to dance with the Belgian of whom, no doubt, M. Lemercier has told + you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Madame, he has not.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, he will tell you. The Belgian is very jealous; but I am + always at home between three and four; this is my card.” + </p> + <p> + Graham eagerly took the card, and exclaimed, “Is this you’re your own + handwriting, Madame?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Tres belle ecriture,” said Graham, and receded with a ceremonious bow. + “Anything so unlike her handwriting! Another disappointment,” muttered the + Englishman as the lady went back to the ball. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Graham joined Lemercier, who was talking with De Passy + and De Breze. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Lemercier, when his eye rested on Graham, “I hit the right + nail on the head this time, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Graham shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “What! is she not the right Louise Duval?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + The Count de Passy overheard the name, and turned. “Louise Duval,” he + said; “does Monsieur Vane know a Louise Duval?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but a friend asked me to inquire after a lady of that name whom he + had met many years ago at Paris.” The Count mused a moment, and said, “Is + it possible that your friend knew the family De Mauleon?” + </p> + <p> + “I really can’t say. What then?” + </p> + <p> + “The old Vicomte de Mauleon was one of my most intimate associates. In + fact, our houses are connected. And he was extremely grieved, poor man, + when his daughter Louise married her drawing-master, Auguste Duval.” + </p> + <p> + “Her drawing-master, Auguste Duval? Pray say on. I think the Louise Duval + my friend knew must have been her daughter. She was the only child of a + drawing-master or artist named Auguste Duval, and probably enough her + Christian name would have been derived from her mother. A Mademoiselle de + Mauleon, then, married M. Auguste Duval?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; the old Vicomte had espoused en premieres noces Mademoiselle Camille + de Chavigny, a lady of birth equal to his own; had by her one daughter, + Louise. I recollect her well,—a plain girl, with a high nose and a + sour expression. She was just of age when the first Vicomtesse died, and + by the marriage settlement she succeeded at once to her mother’s fortune, + which was not large. The Vicomte was, however, so poor that the loss of + that income was no trifle to him. Though much past fifty, he was still + very handsome. Men of that generation did not age soon, Monsieur,” said + the Count, expanding his fine chest and laughing exultingly. + </p> + <p> + “He married, en secondes noces, a lady of still higher birth than the + first, and with a much larger dot. Louise was indignant at this, hated her + stepmother; and when a son was born by the second marriage she left the + paternal roof, went to reside with an old female relative near the + Luxembourg, and there married this drawing-master. Her father and the + family did all they could to prevent it; but in these democratic days a + woman who has attained her majority can, if she persist in her + determination, marry to please herself and disgrace her ancestors. After + that mesalliance her father never would see her again. I tried in vain to + soften him. All his parental affections settled on his handsome Victor. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are too young to have known Victor de Mauleon during his short + reign at Paris, as roi des viveurs.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he was before my time; but I have heard of him as a young man of + great fashion; said to be very clever, a duellist, and a sort of Don + Juan.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “And then I remember vaguely to have heard that he committed, or was said + to have committed, some villanous action connected with a great lady’s + jewels, and to have left Paris in consequence.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes; a sad scrape. At that time there was a political crisis; we were + under a Republic; anything against a noble was believed. But I am sure + Victor de Mauleon was not the man to commit a larceny. However, it is + quite true that he left Paris, and I don’t know what has become of him + since.” Here he touched De Breze, who, though still near, had not been + listening to this conversation, but interchanging jest and laughter with + Lemercier on the motley scene of the dance. + </p> + <p> + “De Breze, have you ever heard what became of poor dear Victor de Mauleon?—you + knew him.” + </p> + <p> + “Knew him? I should think so. Who could be in the great world and not know + le beau Victor? No; after he vanished I never heard more of him; doubtless + long since dead. A good-hearted fellow in spite of all his sins.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Monsieur de Breze, did you know his half-sister?” asked Graham,—“a + Madame Duval?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I never heard he had a half-sister. Halt there; I recollect that I + met Victor once, in the garden at Versailles, walking arm-in-arm with the + most beautiful girl I ever saw; and when I complimented him afterwards at + the Jockey Club on his new conquest, he replied very gravely that the + young lady was his niece. ‘Niece!’ said I; ‘why, there can’t be more than + five or six years between you.’ ‘About that, I suppose,’ said he; ‘my + half-sister, her mother, was more than twenty years older than I at the + time of my birth.’ I doubted the truth of his story at the time; but since + you say he really had a sister, my doubt wronged him.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you never seen that same young lady since?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “How many years ago was this?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see, about twenty or twenty-one years ago. How time flies!” + </p> + <p> + Graham still continued to question, but could learn no further + particulars. He turned to quit the gardens just as the band was striking + up for a fresh dance, a wild German waltz air; and mingled with that + German music his ear caught the sprightly sounds of the French laugh, one + laugh distinguished from the rest by a more genuine ring of light-hearted + joy, the laugh that he had heard on entering the gardens, and the sound of + which had then saddened him. Looking towards the quarter from which it + came, he again saw the “Ondine of Paris.” She was not now the centre of a + group. She had just found Gustave Rameau, and was clinging to his arm with + a look of happiness in her face, frank and innocent as a child’s; and so + they passed amid the dancers down a solitary lamplit alley, till lost to + the Englishman’s lingering gaze. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + The next morning Graham sent again for M. Renard. “Well,” he cried, when + that dignitary appeared and took a seat beside him, “chance has favoured + me.” + </p> + <p> + “I always counted on chance, Monsieur. Chance has more wit in its little + finger than the Paris police in its whole body.” + </p> + <p> + “I have ascertained the relations, on the mother’s side, of Louise Duval, + and the only question is how to get at them.” Here Graham related what he + had heard, and ended by saying, “This Victor de Mauleon is therefore my + Louise Duval’s uncle. He was, no doubt, taking charge of her in the year + that the persons interested in her discovery lost sight of her in Paris; + and surely he must know what became of her afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + “Very probably; and chance may befriend us yet in the discovery of Victor + de Mauleon. You seem not to know the particulars of that story about the + jewels which brought him into some connection with the police, and + resulted in his disappearance from Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “No; tell me the particulars.” + </p> + <p> + “Victor de Mauleon was heir to some 60,000 or 70,000 francs a year, + chiefly on the mother’s side; for his father, though the representative of + one of the most ancient houses in Normandy, was very poor, having little + of his own except the emoluments of an appointment in the Court of Louis + Philippe. + </p> + <p> + “But before, by the death of his parents, Victor came into that + inheritance, he very largely forestalled it. His tastes were magnificent. + He took to ‘sport,’ kept a famous stud, was a great favourite with the + English, and spoke their language fluently. Indeed he was considered very + accomplished, and of considerable intellectual powers. It was generally + said that some day or other, when he had sown his wild oats, he would, if + he took to politics, be an eminent man. Altogether he was a very strong + creature. That was a very strong age under Louis Philippe. The viveurs of + Paris were fine types for the heroes of Dumas and Sue,—full of + animal life and spirits. Victor de Mauleon was a romance of Dumas, + incarnated.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Renard, forgive me that I did not before do justice to your + taste in polite literature.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, a man in my profession does not attain even to my humble + eminence if he be not something else than a professional. He must study + mankind wherever they are described, even in les romans. To return to + Victor de Mauleon. Though he was a ‘sportman,’ a gambler, a Don Juan, a + duel list, nothing was ever said against his honour. On the contrary, on + matters of honour he was a received oracle; and even though he had fought + several duels (that was the age of duels), and was reported without a + superior, almost without an equal, in either weapon, the sword or the + pistol, he is said never to have wantonly provoked an encounter, and to + have so used his skill that he contrived never to slay, nor even gravely + to wound, an antagonist. + </p> + <p> + “I remember one instance of his generosity in this respect; for it was + much talked of at the time. One of your countrymen, who had never handled + a fencing-foil nor fired a pistol, took offence at something M. de Mauleon + had said in disparagement of the Duke of Wellington, and called him out. + Victor de Mauleon accepted the challenge, discharged his pistol, not in + the air—that might have been an affront—but so as to be wide + of the mark, walked up to the lines to be shot at, and when missed, said, + ‘Excuse the susceptibility of a Frenchman loath to believe that his + countryman can be beaten save by accident, and accept every apology one + gentleman can make to another for having forgotten the respect due to one + of the most renowned of your national heroes.’ The Englishman’s name was + Vane. Could it have been your father?” + </p> + <p> + “Very probably; just like my father to call out any man who insulted the + honour of his country, as represented by its men. I hope the two + combatants became friends?” + </p> + <p> + “That I never heard; the duel was over; there my story ends.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray go on.” + </p> + <p> + “One day—it was in the midst of political events which would have + silenced most subjects of private gossip—the beau monde was startled + by the news that the Vicomte (he was then, by his father’s death, Vicomte) + de Mauleon had been given into the custody of the police on the charge of + stealing the jewels of the Duchesse de (the wife of a distinguished + foreigner). It seems that some days before this event, the Duc, wishing to + make Madame his spouse an agreeable surprise, had resolved to have a + diamond necklace belonging to her, and which was of setting so + old-fashioned that she had not lately worn it, reset for her birthday. He + therefore secretly possessed himself of the key to an iron safe in a + cabinet adjoining her dressing-room (in which safe her more valuable + jewels were kept), and took from it the necklace. Imagine his dismay when + the jeweller in the Rue Vivienne to whom he carried it recognized the + pretended diamonds as imitation paste which he himself had some days + previously inserted into an empty setting brought to him by a Monsieur + with whose name he was unacquainted. The Duchesse was at that time in + delicate health; and as the Duc’s suspicions naturally fell on the + servants, especially on the femme de chambre, who was in great favour with + his wife, he did not like to alarm Madame, nor through her to put the + servants on their guard. He resolved, therefore, to place the matter in + the hands of the famous ————, who was then the + pride and ornament of the Parisian police. And the very night afterwards + the Vicomte de Mauleon was caught and apprehended in the cabinet where the + jewels were kept, and to which he had got access by a false key, or at + least a duplicate key, found in his possession. I should observe that M. + de Mauleon occupied the entresol in the same hotel in which the upper + rooms were devoted to the Duc and Duchesse and their suite. As soon as + this charge against the Vicomte was made known (and it was known the next + morning), the extent of his debts and the utterness of his ruin (before + scarcely conjectured or wholly unheeded) became public through the medium + of the journals, and furnished an obvious motive for the crime of which he + was accused. We Parisians, Monsieur, are subject to the most startling + reactions of feeling. The men we adore one day we execrate the next. The + Vicomte passed at once from the popular admiration one bestows on a hero + to the popular contempt with which one regards a petty larcener. Society + wondered how it had ever condescended to receive into its bosom the + gambler, the duellist, the Don Juan. However, one compensation in the way + of amusement he might still afford to society for the grave injuries he + had done it. Society would attend his trial, witness his demeanour at the + bar, and watch the expression of his face when he was sentenced to the + galleys. But, Monsieur, this wretch completed the measure of his + iniquities. He was not tried at all. The Duc and Duchesse quitted Paris + for Spain, and the Duc instructed his lawyer to withdraw his charge, + stating his conviction of the Vicomte’s complete innocence of any other + offence than that which he himself had confessed.” + </p> + <p> + “What did the Vicomte confess? You omitted to state that.” + </p> + <p> + “The Vicomte, when apprehended, confessed that, smitten by an insane + passion for the Duchesse, which she had, on his presuming to declare it, + met with indignant scorn, he had taken advantage of his lodgment in the + same house to admit himself into the cabinet adjoining her dressing-room + by means of a key which he had procured, made from an impression of the + key-hole taken in wax. + </p> + <p> + “No evidence in support of any other charge against the Vicomte was + forthcoming,—nothing, in short, beyond the infraction du domicile + caused by the madness of youthful love, and for which there was no + prosecution. The law, therefore, could have little to say against him. But + society was more rigid; and exceedingly angry to find that a man who had + been so conspicuous for luxury should prove to be a pauper, insisted on + believing that M. de Mauleon was guilty of the meaner, though not perhaps, + in the eyes of husbands and fathers, the more heinous, of the two + offences. I presume that the Vicomte felt that he had got into a dilemma + from which no pistol-shot or sword-thrust could free him, for he left + Paris abruptly, and has not since reappeared. The sale of his stud and + effects sufficed, I believe, to pay his debts, for I will do him the + justice to say that they were paid.” + </p> + <p> + “But though the Vicomte de Mauleon has disappeared, he must have left + relations at Paris, who would perhaps know what has become of him and of + his niece.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt it. He had no very near relations. The nearest was an old + celibataire of the same name, from whom he had some expectations, but who + died shortly after this esclandre, and did not name the Vicomte in his + will. M. Victor had numerous connections among the highest families, the + Rochebriants, Chavignys, Vandemars, Passys, Beauvilliers; but they are not + likely to have retained any connection with a ruined vaurien, and still + less with a niece of his who was the child of a drawing-master. But now + you have given me a clew, I will try to follow it up. We must find the + Vicomte, and I am not without hope of doing so. Pardon me if I decline to + say more at present. I would not raise false expectations; but in a week + or two I will have the honour to call again upon Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait one instant. You have really a hope of discovering M. de Mauleon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I cannot say more at present.” + </p> + <p> + M. Renard departed. Still that hope, however faint it might prove, served + to reanimate Graham; and with that hope his heart, as if a load had been + lifted from its mainspring, returned instinctively to the thought of + Isaura. Whatever seemed to promise an early discharge of the commission + connected with the discovery of Louise Duval seemed to bring Isaura nearer + to him, or at least to excuse his yearning desire to see more of her, to + understand her better. Faded into thin air was the vague jealousy of + Gustave Rameau which he had so unreasonably conceived; he felt as if it + were impossible that the man whom the “Ondine of Paris” claimed as her + lover could dare to woo or hope to win an Isaura. He even forgot the + friendship with the eloquent denouncer of the marriage-bond, which a + little while ago had seemed to him an unpardonable offence. He remembered + only the lovely face, so innocent, yet so intelligent; only the sweet + voice, which had for the first time breathed music into his own soul; only + the gentle hand, whose touch had for the first time sent through his veins + the thrill which distinguishes from all her sex the woman whom we love. He + went forth elated and joyous, and took his way to Isaura’s villa. As he + went, the leaves on the trees under which he passed seemed stirred by the + soft May breeze in sympathy with his own delight. Perhaps it was rather + the reverse: his own silent delight sympathized with all delight in + awakening Nature. The lover seeking reconciliation with the loved one from + whom some trifle has unreasonably estranged him, in a cloudless day of + May,—if he be not happy enough to feel a brotherhood in all things + happy,—a leaf in bloom, a bird in song,—then indeed he may + call himself lover, but he does not know what is love. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK IV. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <h3> + FROM ISAURA CICOGNA TO MADAME DE GRANTMESNIL. + </h3> + <p> + It is many days since I wrote to you, and but for your delightful note + just received, reproaching me for silence, I should still be under the + spell of that awe which certain words of M. Savarin were well fitted to + produce. Chancing to ask him if he had written to you lately, he said, + with that laugh of his, good-humouredly ironical, “No, Mademoiselle, I am + not one of the Facheux whom Moliere has immortalized. If the meeting of + lovers should be sacred from the intrusion of a third person, however + amiable, more sacred still should be the parting between an author and his + work. Madame de Grantmesnil is in that moment so solemn to a genius + earnest as hers,—she is bidding farewell to a companion with whom, + once dismissed into the world, she can never converse familiarly again; it + ceases to be her companion when it becomes ours. Do not let us disturb the + last hours they will pass together.” + </p> + <p> + These words struck me much. I suppose there is truth in them. I can + comprehend that a work which has long been all in all to its author, + concentrating his thoughts, gathering round it the hopes and fears of his + inmost heart, dies, as it were, to him when he has completed its life for + others, and launched it into a world estranged from the solitude in which + it was born and formed. I can almost conceive that, to a writer like you, + the very fame which attends the work thus sent forth chills your own love + for it. The characters you created in a fairyland, known but to yourself, + must lose something of their mysterious charm when you hear them discussed + and cavilled at, blamed or praised, as if they were really the creatures + of streets and salons. + </p> + <p> + I wonder if hostile criticism pains or enrages you as it seems to do such + other authors as I have known. M. Savarin, for instance, sets down in his + tablets as an enemy to whom vengeance is due the smallest scribbler who + wounds his self-love, and says frankly, “To me praise is food, dispraise + is poison. Him who feeds me I pay; him who poisons me I break on the + wheel.” M. Savarin is, indeed, a skilful and energetic administrator to + his own reputation. He deals with it as if it were a kingdom,—establishes + fortifications for its defence, enlists soldiers to fight for it. He is + the soul and centre of a confederation in which each is bound to defend + the territory of the others, and all those territories united constitute + the imperial realm of M. Savarin. Don’t think me an ungracious satirist in + what I am thus saying of our brilliant friend. It is not I who here speak; + it is himself. He avows his policy with the naivete which makes the charm + of his style as writer. “It is the greatest mistake,” he said to me + yesterday, “to talk of the Republic of Letters. Every author who wins a + name is a sovereign in his own domain, be it large or small. Woe to any + republican who wants to dethrone me!” Somehow or other, when M. Savarin + thus talks I feel as if he were betraying the cause of, genius. I cannot + bring myself to regard literature as a craft,—to me it is a sacred + mission; and in hearing this “sovereign” boast of the tricks by which he + maintains his state, I seem to listen to a priest who treats as imposture + the religion he professes to teach. M. Savarin’s favourite eleve now is a + young contributor to his journal, named Gustave Rameau. M. Savarin said + the other day in my hearing, “I and my set were Young France; Gustave + Rameau and his set are New Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “And what is the distinction between the one and the other?” asked my + American friend, Mrs. Morley. + </p> + <p> + “The set of ‘Young France,’” answered M. Savarin, “had in it the hearty + consciousness of youth; it was bold and vehement, with abundant vitality + and animal spirits; whatever may be said against it in other respects, the + power of thews and sinews must be conceded to its chief representatives. + But the set of ‘New Paris’ has very bad health, and very indifferent + spirits. Still, in its way, it is very clever; it can sting and bite as + keenly as if it were big and strong. Rameau is the most promising member + of the set. He will be popular in his time, because he represents a good + deal of the mind of his time,—namely, the mind and the time of ‘New + Paris.’” + </p> + <p> + Do you know anything of this young Rameau’s writings? You do not know + himself, for he told me so, expressing a desire, that was evidently very + sincere, to find some occasion on which to render you his homage. He said + this the first time I met him at M. Savarin’s, and before he knew how dear + to me are yourself and your fame. He came and sat by me after dinner, and + won my interest at once by asking me if I had heard that you were busied + on a new work; and then, without waiting for my answer, he launched forth + into praises of you, which made a notable contrast to the scorn with which + he spoke of all your contemporaries,—except indeed M. Savarin, who, + however, might not have been pleased to hear his favourite pupil style him + “a great writer in small things.” I spare you his epigrams on Dumas and + Victor Hugo and my beloved Lamartine. Though his talk was showy, and + dazzled me at first, I soon got rather tired of it, even the first time we + met. Since then I have seen him very often, not only at M. Savarin’s, but + he calls here at least every other day, and we have become quite good + friends. He gains on acquaintance so far that one cannot help feeling how + much he is to be pitied. He is so envious! and the envious must be so + unhappy. And then he is at once so near and so far from all the things + that he envies. He longs for riches and luxury, and can only as yet earn a + bare competence by his labours. Therefore he hates the rich and luxurious. + His literary successes, instead of pleasing him, render him miserable by + their contrast with the fame of the authors whom he envies and assails. He + has a beautiful head, of which he is conscious, but it is joined to a body + without strength or grace. He is conscious of this too,—but it is + cruel to go on with this sketch. You can see at once the kind of person + who, whether he inspire affection or dislike, cannot fail to create an + interest, painful but compassionate. + </p> + <p> + You will be pleased to hear that Dr. C. considers my health so improved + that I may next year enter fairly on the profession for which I was + intended and trained. Yet I still feel hesitating and doubtful. To give + myself wholly up to the art in which I am told I could excel must alienate + me entirely from the ambition that yearns for fields in which, alas! it + may perhaps never appropriate to itself a rood for culture,—only + wander, lost in a vague fairyland, to which it has not the fairy’s + birthright. O thou great Enchantress, to whom are equally subject the + streets of Paris and the realm of Faerie, thou who hast sounded to the + deeps that circumfluent ocean called “practical human life,” and hast + taught the acutest of its navigators to consider how far its courses are + guided by orbs in heaven,—canst thou solve this riddle which, if it + perplexes me, must perplex so many? What is the real distinction between + the rare genius and the commonalty of human souls that feel to the quick + all the grandest and divinest things which the rare genius places before + them, sighing within themselves, “This rare genius does but express that + which was previously familiar to us, so far as thought and sentiment + extend”? Nay, the genius itself, however eloquent, never does, never can, + express the whole of the thought or the sentiment it interprets; on the + contrary, the greater the genius is, the more it leaves a something of + incomplete satisfaction on our minds,—it promises so much more than + it performs; it implies so much more than it announces. I am impressed + with the truth of what I thus say in proportion as I re-peruse and + re-study the greatest writers that have come within my narrow range of + reading; and by the greatest writers I mean those who are not exclusively + reasoners (of such I cannot judge), nor mere poets (of whom, so far as + concerns the union of words with music, I ought to be able to judge), but + the few who unite reason and poetry, and appeal at once to the + common-sense of the multitude and the imagination of the few. The highest + type of this union to me is Shakspeare; and I can comprehend the justice + of no criticism on him which does not allow this sense of incomplete + satisfaction augmenting in proportion as the poet soars to his highest. I + ask again, In what consists this distinction between the rare genius and + the commonalty of minds that exclaim, “He expresses what we feel, but + never the whole of what we feel”? Is it the mere power over language, a + larger knowledge of dictionaries, a finer ear for period and cadence, a + more artistic craft in casing our thoughts and sentiments in well-selected + words? Is it true what Buffon says, “that the style is the man”? Is it + true what I am told Goethe said, “Poetry is form”? I cannot believe this; + and if you tell me it is true, then I no longer pine to be a writer. But + if it be not true, explain to me how it is that the greatest genius is + popular in proportion as it makes itself akin to us by uttering in better + words than we employ that which was already within us, brings to light + what in our souls was latent, and does but correct, beautify, and publish + the correspondence which an ordinary reader carries on privately every day + between himself and his mind or his heart. If this superiority in the + genius be but style and form, I abandon my dream of being something else + than a singer of words by another to the music of another. But then, what + then? My knowledge of books and art is wonderfully small. What little I do + know I gather from very few books and from what I hear said by the few + worth listening to whom I happen to meet; and out of these, in solitude + and revery, not by conscious effort, I arrive at some results which appear + to my inexperience original. Perhaps, indeed, they have the same kind of + originality as the musical compositions of amateurs who effect a cantata + or a quartette made up of borrowed details from great masters, and + constituting a whole so original that no real master would deign to own + it. Oh, if I could get you to understand how unsettled, how struggling my + whole nature at this moment is! I wonder what is the sensation of the + chrysalis which has been a silkworm, when it first feels the new wings + stirring within its shell,—wings, alas! they are but those of the + humblest and shortest-lived sort of moth, scarcely born into daylight + before it dies. Could it reason, it might regret its earlier life, and + say, “Better be the silkworm than the moth.” + </p> + <p> + FROM THE SAME TO THE SAME. + </p> + <p> + Have you known well any English people in the course of your life? I say + well, for you must have had acquaintance with many. But it seems to me so + difficult to know an Englishman well. Even I, who so loved and revered Mr. + Selby,—I, whose childhood was admitted into his companionship by + that love which places ignorance and knowledge, infancy and age, upon + ground so equal that heart touches heart, cannot say that I understand the + English character to anything like the extent to which I fancy I + understand the Italian and the French. Between us of the Continent and + them of the island the British Channel always flows. There is an + Englishman here to whom I have been introduced, whom I have met, though + but seldom, in that society which bounds the Paris world to me. Pray, pray + tell me, did you ever know, ever meet him? His name is Graham Vane. He is + the only son, I am told, of a man who was a celebrite in England as an + orator and statesman, and on both sides he belongs to the haute + aristocratic. He himself has that indescribable air and mien to which we + apply the epithet ‘distinguished.’ In the most crowded salon the eye would + fix on him, and involuntarily follow his movements. Yet his manners are + frank and simple, wholly without the stiffness or reserve which are said + to characterize the English. There is an inborn dignity in his bearing + which consists in the absence of all dignity assumed. But what strikes me + most in this Englishman is an expression of countenance which the English + depict by the word ‘open,’—that expression which inspires you with a + belief in the existence of sincerity. Mrs. Morley said of him, in that + poetic extravagance of phrase by which the Americans startle the English, + “That man’s forehead would light up the Mammoth Cave.” Do you not know, + Eulalie, what it is to us cultivators of art—art being the + expression of truth through fiction—to come into the atmosphere of + one of those souls in which Truth stands out bold and beautiful in itself, + and needs no idealization through fiction? Oh, how near we should be to + heaven could we live daily, hourly, in the presence of one the honesty of + whose word we could never doubt, the authority of whose word we could + never disobey! Mr. Vane professes not to understand music, not even to + care for it, except rarely, and yet he spoke of its influence over others + with an enthusiasm that half charmed me once more back to my destined + calling; nay, might have charmed me wholly, but that he seemed to think + that I—that any public singer—must be a creature apart from + the world,—the world in which such men live. Perhaps that is true. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + It was one of those lovely noons towards the end of May in which a rural + suburb has the mellow charm of summer to him who escapes awhile from the + streets of a crowded capital. The Londoner knows its charm when he feels + his tread on the softening swards of the Vale of Health, or, pausing at + Richmond under the budding willow, gazes on the river glittering in the + warmer sunlight, and hears from the villa-gardens behind him the brief + trill of the blackbird. But the suburbs round Paris are, I think, a yet + more pleasing relief from the metropolis; they are more easily reached, + and I know not why, but they seem more rural,—perhaps because the + contrast of their repose with the stir left behind, of their redundance of + leaf and blossom compared with the prim efflorescence of trees in the + Boulevards and Tuileries, is more striking. However that may be, when + Graham reached the pretty suburb in which Isaura dwelt, it seemed to him + as if all the wheels of the loud busy life were suddenly smitten still. + The hour was yet early; he felt sure that he should find Isaura at home. + The garden-gate stood unfastened and ajar; he pushed it aside and entered. + I think I have before said that the garden of the villa was shut out from + the road and the gaze of neighbours by a wall and thick belts of + evergreens; it stretched behind the house somewhat far for the garden of a + suburban villa. He paused when he had passed the gateway, for he heard in + the distance the voice of one singing,—singing low, singing + plaintively. He knew it was the voice of Isaura-he passed on, leaving the + house behind him, and tracking the voice till he reached the singer. + </p> + <p> + Isaura was seated within an arbour towards the farther end of the garden,—an + arbour which, a little later in the year, must indeed be delicate and + dainty with lush exuberance of jessamine and woodbine; now into its iron + trelliswork leaflets and flowers were insinuating their gentle way. Just + at the entrance one white rose—a winter rose that had mysteriously + survived its relations—opened its pale hues frankly to the noonday + sun. Graham approached slowly, noiselessly, and the last note of the song + had ceased when he stood at the entrance of the arbour. Isaura did not + perceive him at first, for her face was bent downward musingly, as was + often her wont after singing, especially when alone; but she felt that the + place was darkened, that something stood between her and the sunshine. She + raised her face, and a quick flush mantled over it as she uttered his + name, not loudly, not as in surprise, but inwardly and whisperingly, as in + a sort of fear. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Mademoiselle,” said Graham, entering; “but I heard your voice + as I came into the garden, and it drew me onward involuntarily. What a + lovely air! and what simple sweetness in such of the words as reached me! + I am so ignorant of music that you must not laugh at me if I ask whose is + the music and whose are the words? Probably both are so well known as to + convict me of a barbarous ignorance.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” said Isaura, with a still heightened colour, and in accents + embarrassed and hesitating. “Both the words and music are by an unknown + and very humble composer, yet not, indeed, quite original,—they have + not even that merit; at least they were suggested by a popular song in the + Neapolitan dialect which is said to be very old.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know if I caught the true meaning of the words, for they seemed + to me to convey a more subtle and refined sentiment than is common in the + popular songs of southern Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “The sentiment in the original is changed in the paraphrase, and not, I + fear, improved by the change.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you explain to me the sentiment in both, and let me judge which I + prefer?” + </p> + <p> + “In the Neapolitan song a young fisherman, who has moored his boat under a + rock on the shore, sees a beautiful face below the surface of the waters; + he imagines it to be that of a Nereid, and casts in his net to catch this + supposed nymph of the ocean. He only disturbs the water, loses the image, + and brings up a few common fishes. He returns home disappointed, and very + much enamoured of the supposed Nereid. The next day he goes again to the + same place, and discovers that the face which had so charmed him was that + of a mortal girl reflected on the waters from the rock behind him, on + which she had been seated, and on which she had her home. The original air + is arch and lively; just listen to it.” And Isaura warbled one of those + artless and somewhat meagre tunes to which light-stringed instruments are + the fitting accompaniment. + </p> + <p> + “That,” said Graham, “is a different music indeed from the other, which is + deep and plaintive, and goes to the heart.” + </p> + <p> + “But do you not see how the words have been altered? In the song you first + heard me singing, the fisherman goes again to the spot, again and again + sees the face in the water, again and again seeks to capture the Nereid, + and never knows to the last that the face was that of the mortal on the + rock close behind him, and which he passed by without notice every day. + Deluded by an ideal image, the real one escapes from his eye.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the verse that is recast meant to symbolize a moral in love?” + </p> + <p> + “In love? nay, I know not; but in life, yes,—at least the life of + the artist.” + </p> + <p> + “The paraphrase of the original is yours, Signorina, words and music both. + Am I not right? Your silence answers ‘Yes.’ Will you pardon me if I say + that, though there can be no doubt of the new beauty you have given to the + old song, I think that the moral of the old was the sounder one, the truer + to human life. We do not go on to the last duped by an allusion. If + enamoured by the shadow on the waters, still we do look around us and + discover the image it reflects.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura shook her head gently, but made no answer. On the table before her + there were a few myrtle-sprigs and one or two buds from the last winter + rose, which she had been arranging into a simple nosegay; she took up + these, and abstractedly began to pluck and scatter the rose-leaves. + </p> + <p> + “Despise the coming May flowers if you will, they will soon be so + plentiful,” said Graham; “but do not cast away the few blossoms which + winter has so kindly spared, and which even summer will not give again;” + and placing his hand on the winter buds, it touched hers,—lightly, + indeed, but she felt the touch, shrank from it, coloured, and rose from + her seat. + </p> + <p> + “The sun has left this side of the garden, the east wind is rising, and + you must find it chilly here,” she said, in an altered tone; “will you not + come into the house?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not the air that I feel chilly,” said Graham, with a half-smile; “I + almost fear that my prosaic admonitions have displeased you.” + </p> + <p> + “They were not prosaic; and they were kind and very wise,” she added, with + her exquisite laugh,—laugh so wonderfully sweet and musical. She now + had gained the entrance of the arbour; Graham joined her, and they walked + towards the house. He asked her if she had seen much of the Savarins since + they had met. + </p> + <p> + “Once or twice we have been there of an evening.” + </p> + <p> + “And encountered, no doubt, the illustrious young minstrel who despises + Tasso and Corneille?” + </p> + <p> + “M. Rameau? Oh, yes; he is constantly at the Savarins. Do not be severe on + him. He is unhappy, he is struggling, he is soured. An artist has thorns + in his path which lookers-on do not heed.” + </p> + <p> + “All people have thorns in their path, and I have no great respect for + those who want lookers-on to heed them whenever they are scratched. But M. + Rameau seems to me one of those writers very common nowadays, in France + and even in England; writers who have never read anything worth studying, + and are, of course, presumptuous in proportion to their ignorance. I + should not have thought an artist like yourself could have recognized an + artist in a M. Rameau who despises Tasso without knowing Italian.” + </p> + <p> + Graham spoke bitterly; he was once more jealous. + </p> + <p> + “Are you not an artist yourself? Are you not a writer? M. Savarin told me + you were a distinguished man of letters.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Savarin flatters me too much. I am not an artist, and I have a great + dislike to that word as it is now hackneyed and vulgarized in England and + in France. A cook calls himself an artist; a tailor does the same; a man + writes a gaudy melodrame, a spasmodic song, a sensational novel, and + straightway he calls Himself an artist, and indulges in a pedantic jargon + about ‘essence’ and ‘form,’ assuring us that a poet we can understand + wants essence, and a poet we can scan wants form. Thank heaven, I am not + vain enough to call myself artist. I have written some very dry + lucubrations in periodicals, chiefly political, or critical upon other + subjects than art. But why, a propos of M. Rameau, did you ask me that + question respecting myself?” + </p> + <p> + “Because much in your conversation,” answered Isaura, in rather a mournful + tone, “made me suppose you had more sympathies with art and its + cultivators than you cared to avow; and if you had such sympathies, you + would comprehend what a relief it is to a poor aspirant to art like myself + to come into communication with those who devote themselves to any art + distinct from the common pursuits of the world, what a relief it is to + escape from the ordinary talk of society. There is a sort of instinctive + freemasonry among us, including masters and disciples; and one art has a + fellowship with other arts. Mine is but song and music, yet I feel + attracted towards a sculptor, a painter, a romance-writer, a poet, as much + as towards a singer, a musician. Do you understand why I cannot contemn M. + Rameau as you do? I differ from his tastes in literature; I do not much + admire such of his writings as I have read; I grant that he overestimates + his own genius, whatever that be,—yet I like to converse with him. + He is a struggler upwards, though with weak wings, or with erring + footsteps, like myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” said Graham, earnestly, “I cannot say how I thank you for + this candour. Do not condemn me for abusing it, if—” he paused. + </p> + <p> + “If what?” + </p> + <p> + “If I, so much older than yourself,—I do not say only in years, but + in the experience of life, I whose lot is cast among those busy and + ‘positive’ pursuits, which necessarily quicken that unromantic faculty + called common-sense,—if, I say, the deep interest with which you + must inspire all whom you admit into an acquaintance even as unfamiliar as + that now between us makes me utter one caution, such as might be uttered + by a friend or brother. Beware of those artistic sympathies which you so + touchingly confess; beware how, in the great events of life, you allow + fancy to misguide your reason. In choosing friends on whom to rely, + separate the artist from the human being. Judge of the human being for + what it is in itself. Do not worship the face on the waters, blind to the + image on the rock. In one word, never see in an artist like a M. Rameau + the human being to whom you could intrust the destinies of your life. + Pardon me, pardon me; we may meet little hereafter, but you are a creature + so utterly new to me, so wholly unlike any woman I have ever before + encountered and admired, and to me seem endowed with such wealth of mind + and soul, exposed to such hazard, that—that—” again he paused, + and his voice trembled as he concluded—“that it would be a deep + sorrow to me if, perhaps years hence, I should have to say, ‘Alas’! by + what mistake has that wealth been wasted!’” + </p> + <p> + While they had thus conversed, mechanically they had turned away from the + house, and were again standing before the arbour. + </p> + <p> + Graham, absorbed in the passion of his adjuration, had not till now looked + into the face of the companion by his side. Now, when he had concluded, + and heard no reply, he bent down and saw that Isaura was weeping silently. + </p> + <p> + His heart smote him. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” he exclaimed, drawing her hand into his; “I have had no + right to talk thus; but it was not from want of respect; it was—it + was—” + </p> + <p> + The hand which was yielded to his pressed it gently, timidly, chastely. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive!” murmured Isaura; “do you think that I, an orphan, have never + longed for a friend who would speak to me thus?” And so saying, she lifted + her eyes, streaming still, to his bended countenance,—eyes, despite + their tears, so clear in their innocent limpid beauty, so ingenuous, so + frank, so virgin-like, so unlike the eyes of ‘any other woman he had + encountered and admired.’ + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” he said, in quick and hurried accents, “you may remember, when we + have before conversed, how I, though so uncultured in your art, still + recognized its beautiful influence upon human breasts; how I sought to + combat your own depreciation of its rank among the elevating agencies of + humanity; how, too, I said that no man could venture to ask you to + renounce the boards, the lamps,—resign the fame of actress, of + singer. Well, now that you accord to me the title of friend, now that you + so touchingly remind me that you are an orphan, thinking of all the perils + the young and the beautiful of your sex must encounter when they abandon + private life for public, I think that a true friend might put the + question, ‘Can you resign the fame of actress, of singer?’” + </p> + <p> + “I will answer you frankly. The profession which once seemed to me so + alluring began to lose its charms in my eyes some months ago. It was your + words, very eloquently expressed, on the ennobling effects of music and + song upon a popular audience, that counteracted the growing distaste to + rendering up my whole life to the vocation of the stage; but now I think I + should feel grateful to the friend whose advice interpreted the voice of + my own heart, and bade me relinquish the career of actress.” + </p> + <p> + Graham’s face grew radiant. But whatever might have been his reply was + arrested; voices and footsteps were heard behind. He turned round and saw + the Venosta, the Savarins, and Gustave Rameau. + </p> + <p> + Isaura heard and saw also, started in a sort of alarmed confusion, and + then instinctively retreated towards the arbour. Graham hurried on to meet + the Signora and the visitors, giving time to Isaura to compose herself by + arresting them in the pathway with conventional salutations. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Isaura joined them, and there was talk to which Graham + scarcely listened, though he shared in it by abstracted monosyllables. He + declined going into the house, and took leave at the gate. In parting, his + eyes fixed themselves on Isaura. Gustave Rameau was by her side. That + nosegay which had been left in the arbour was in her hand; and though she + was bending over it, she did not now pluck and scatter the rose-leaves. + Graham at that moment felt no jealousy of the fair-faced young poet beside + her. + </p> + <p> + As he walked slowly back, he muttered to himself, “But am I yet in the + position to hold myself wholly free? Am I, am I? Were the sole choice + before me that between her and ambition and wealth, how soon it would be + made! Ambition has no prize equal to the heart of such a woman; wealth no + sources of joy equal to the treasures of her love.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <h3> + FROM ISAURA CICOGNA TO MADAME DE GRANTMESNIL. + </h3> + <p> + The day after I posted my last, Mr. Vane called on us. I was in our little + garden at the time. Our conversation was brief, and soon interrupted by + visitors,—the Savarins and M. Rameau. I long for your answer. I + wonder how he impressed you, if you have met him; how he would impress, if + you met him now. To me he is so different from all others; and I scarcely + know why his words ring in my ears, and his image rests in my thoughts. It + is strange altogether; for though he is young, he speaks to me as if he + were so much older than I,—so kindly, so tenderly, yet as if I were + a child, and much as the dear Maestro might do, if he thought I needed + caution or counsel. Do not fancy, Eulalie, that there is any danger of my + deceiving myself as to the nature of such interest as he may take in me. + Oh, no! There is a gulf between us there which he does not lose sight of, + and which we could not pass. How, indeed, I could interest him at all, I + cannot guess. A rich, high-born Englishman, intent on political life; + practical, prosaic—no, not prosaic; but still with the kind of sense + which does not admit into its range of vision that world of dreams which + is familiar as their daily home to Romance and to Art. It has always + seemed to me that for love, love such as I conceive it, there must be a + deep and constant sympathy between two persons,—not, indeed, in the + usual and ordinary trifles of taste and sentiment, but in those essentials + which form the root of character, and branch out in all the leaves and + blooms that expand to the sunshine and shrink from the cold,—that + the worldling should wed the worldling, the artist the artist. Can the + realist and the idealist blend together, and hold together till death and + beyond death? If not, can there be true love between them? + </p> + <p> + By true love, I mean the love which interpenetrates the soul, and once + given can never die. Oh, Eulalie, answer me, answer! + </p> + <p> + P. S.—I have now fully made up my mind to renounce all thought of + the stage. + </p> + <p> + FROM MADAME DE GRANTMESNIL TOISAURA CICOGNA. + </p> + <p> + MY DEAR CHILD,—how your mind has grown since you left me, the + sanguine and aspiring votary of an art which, of all arts, brings the most + immediate reward to a successful cultivator, and is in itself so divine in + its immediate effects upon human souls! Who shall say what may be the + after-results of those effects which the waiters on posterity presume to + despise because they are immediate? A dull man, to whose mind a ray of + that vague starlight undetected in the atmosphere of workday life has + never yet travelled; to whom the philosopher, the preacher, the poet + appeal in vain,—nay, to whom the conceptions of the grandest master + of instrumental music are incomprehensible; to whom Beethoven unlocks no + portal in heaven; to whom Rossini has no mysteries on earth unsolved by + the critics of the pit,—suddenly hears the human voice of the human + singer, and at the sound of that voice the walls which enclosed him fall. + The something far from and beyond the routine of his commonplace existence + becomes known to him. He of himself, poor man, can make nothing of it. He + cannot put it down on paper, and say the next morning, “I am an inch + nearer to heaven than I was last night;” but the feeling that he is an + inch nearer to heaven abides with him. Unconsciously he is gentler, he is + less earthly, and, in being nearer to heaven, he is stronger for earth. + You singers do not seem to me to understand that you have—to use + your own word, so much in vogue that it has become abused and trite—a + mission! When you talk of missions, from whom comes the mission? Not from + men. If there be a mission from man to men, it must be appointed from on + high. + </p> + <p> + Think of all this; and in being faithful to your art, be true to yourself. + If you feel divided between that art and the art of the writer, and + acknowledge the first to be too exacting to admit a rival, keep to that in + which you are sure to excel. Alas, my fair child! do not imagine that we + writers feel a happiness in our pursuits and aims more complete than that + which you can command. If we care for fame (and, to be frank, we all do), + that fame does not come up before us face to face, a real, visible, + palpable form, as it does to the singer, to the actress. I grant that it + may be more enduring, but an endurance on the length of which we dare not + reckon. A writer cannot be sure of immortality till his language itself be + dead; and then he has but a share in an uncertain lottery. Nothing but + fragments remains of the Phrynichus who rivalled AEschylus; of the Agathon + who perhaps excelled Euripides; of the Alcaeus, in whom Horace + acknowledged a master and a model; their renown is not in their works, it + is but in their names. And, after all, the names of singers and actors + last perhaps as long. Greece retains the name of Polus, Rome of Roscius, + England of Garrick, France of Talma, Italy of Pasta, more lastingly than + posterity is likely to retain mine. You address to me a question, which I + have often put to myself,—“What is the distinction between the + writer and the reader, when the reader says, ‘These are my thoughts, these + are my feelings; the writer has stolen them, and clothed them in his own + words’?” And the more the reader says this, the more wide is the audience, + the more genuine the renown, and, paradox though it seems, the more + consummate the originality, of the writer. But no, it is not the mere gift + of expression, it is not the mere craft of the pen, it is not the mere + taste in arrangement of word and cadence, which thus enables the one to + interpret the mind, the heart, the soul of the many. It is a power + breathed into him as he lay in his cradle, and a power that gathered + around itself, as he grew up, all the influences he acquired, whether from + observation of external nature, or from study of men and books, or from + that experience of daily life which varies with every human being. No + education could make two intellects exactly alike, as no culture can make + two leaves exactly alike. How truly you describe the sense of + dissatisfaction which every writer of superior genius communicates to his + admirers! how truly do you feel that the greater is the dissatisfaction in + proportion to the writer’s genius, and the admirer’s conception of it! But + that is the mystery which makes—let me borrow a German phrase—the + cloud-land between the finite and the infinite. The greatest philosopher, + intent on the secrets of Nature, feels that dissatisfaction in Nature + herself. The finite cannot reduce into logic and criticism the infinite. + </p> + <p> + Let us dismiss these matters, which perplex the reason, and approach that + which touches the heart, which in your case, my child, touches the heart + of woman. You speak of love, and deem that the love which lasts—the + household, the conjugal love—should be based upon such sympathies of + pursuit that the artist should wed the artist. + </p> + <p> + This is one of the questions you do well to address to me; for whether + from my own experience, or from that which I have gained from observation + extended over a wide range of life, and quickened and intensified by the + class of writing that I cultivate, and which necessitates a calm study of + the passions, I am an authority on such subjects, better than most women + can be. And alas, my child, I come to this result: there is no prescribing + to men or to women whom to select, whom to refuse. I cannot refute the + axiom of the ancient poet, “In love there is no wherefore.” But there is a + time—it is often but a moment of time—in which love is not yet + a master, in which we can say, “I will love, I will not love.” + </p> + <p> + Now, if I could find you in such a moment, I would say to you, “Artist, do + not love, do not marry, an artist.” Two artistic natures rarely combine. + The artistic nature is wonderfully exacting. I fear it is supremely + egotistical,—so jealously sensitive that it writhes at the touch of + a rival. Racine was the happiest of husbands; his wife adored his genius, + but could not understand his plays. Would Racine have been happy if he had + married a Corneille in petticoats? I who speak have loved an artist, + certainly equal to myself. I am sure that he loved me. That sympathy in + pursuits of which you speak drew us together, and became very soon the + cause of antipathy. To both of us the endeavour to coalesce was misery. + </p> + <p> + I don’t know your M. Rameau. Savarin has sent me some of his writings; + from these I judge that his only chance of happiness would be to marry a + commonplace woman, with separation de biens. He is, believe me, but one of + the many with whom New Paris abounds, who because they have the + infirmities of genius imagine they have its strength. + </p> + <p> + I come next to the Englishman. I see how serious is your questioning about + him. You not only regard him as a being distinct from the crowd of a + salon; he stands equally apart in the chamber of your thoughts,—you + do not mention him in the same letter as that which treats of Rameau and + Savarin. He has become already an image not to be lightly mixed up with + others. You would rather not have mentioned him at all to me, but you + could not resist it. The interest you feel in him so perplexed you, that + in a kind of feverish impatience you cry out to me, “Can you solve the + riddle? Did you ever know well Englishmen? Can an Englishman be understood + out of his island?” etc. Yes, I have known well many Englishmen; in + affairs of the heart they are much like all other men. No; I do not know + this Englishman in particular, nor any one of his name. + </p> + <p> + Well, my child, let us frankly grant that this foreigner has gained some + hold on your thoughts, on your fancy, perhaps also on your heart. Do not + fear that he will love you less enduringly, or that you will become + alienated from him, because he is not an artist. If he be a strong nature, + and with some great purpose in life, your ambition will fuse itself in + his; and knowing you as I do, I believe you would make an excellent wife + to an Englishman whom you honoured as well as loved; and sorry though I + should be that you relinquished the singer’s fame, I should be consoled in + thinking you safe in the woman’s best sphere,—a contented home, safe + from calumny, safe from gossip. I never had that home; and there has been + no part in my author’s life in which I would not have given all the + celebrity it won for the obscure commonplace of such woman-lot. Could I + move human beings as pawns on a chessboard, I should indeed say that the + most suitable and congenial mate for you, for a woman of sentiment and + genius, would be a well-born and well-educated German; for such a German + unites, with domestic habits and a strong sense of family ties, a romance + of sentiment, a love of art, a predisposition towards the poetic side of + life, which is very rare among Englishmen of the same class. But as the + German is not forthcoming, I give my vote for the Englishman, provided + only you love him. Ah, child, be sure of that. Do not mistake fancy for + love. All women do not require love in marriage, but without it that which + is best and highest in you would wither and die. Write to me often and + tell me all. M. Savarin is right. My book is no longer my companion. It is + gone from me, and I am once more alone in the world. + </p> + <p> + Yours affectionately. + </p> + <p> + P. S.—Is not your postscript a woman’s? Does it not require a + woman’s postscript in reply? You say in yours that you have fully made up + your mind to renounce all thoughts of the stage. I ask in mine, “What has + the Englishman to do with that determination?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + Some weeks have passed since Graham’s talk with Isaura in the garden; he + has not visited the villa since. His cousins the D’Altons have passed + through Paris on their way to Italy, meaning to stay a few days; they + stayed nearly a month, and monopolized much of Graham’s companionship. + Both these were reasons why, in the habitual society of the Duke, Graham’s + persuasion that he was not yet free to court the hand of Isaura became + strengthened, and with that persuasion necessarily came a question equally + addressed to his conscience. “If not yet free to court her hand, am I free + to expose myself to the temptation of seeking to win her affection?” But + when his cousin was gone, his heart began to assert its own rights, to + argue its own case, and suggest modes of reconciling its dictates to the + obligations which seemed to oppose them. In this hesitating state of mind + he received the following note:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VILLA ———, LAC D’ENGHIEN. +</pre> + <p> + MY DEAR MR. VANE,—We have retreated from Paris to the banks of this + beautiful little lake. Come and help to save Frank and myself from + quarrelling with each other, which, until the Rights of Women are firmly + established, married folks always will do when left to themselves, + especially if they are still lovers, as Frank and I are. Love is a + terribly quarrelsome thing. Make us a present of a few days out of your + wealth of time. We will visit Montmorency and the haunts of Rousseau, sail + on the lake at moonlight, dine at gypsy restaurants under trees not yet + embrowned by summer heats, discuss literature and politics, “Shakspeare + and the musical glasses,”—and be as sociable and pleasant as + Boccaccio’s tale-tellers, at Fiesole. We shall be but a small party, only + the Savarins, that unconscious sage and humourist Signora Venosta, and + that dimple-cheeked Isaura, who embodies the song of nightingales and the + smile of summer. Refuse, and Frank shall not have an easy moment till he + sends in his claims for thirty millions against the Alabama. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Yours, as you behave, + LIZZIE MORLEY. +</pre> + <p> + Graham did not refuse. He went to Enghien for four days and a quarter. He + was under the same roof as Isaura. Oh, those happy days! so happy that + they defy description. But though to Graham the happiest days he had ever + known, they were happier still to Isaura. There were drawbacks to his + happiness, none to hers,—drawbacks partly from reasons the weight of + which the reader will estimate later; partly from reasons the reader may + at once comprehend and assess. In the sunshine of her joy, all the vivid + colourings of Isaura’s artistic temperament came forth, so that what I may + call the homely, domestic woman-side of her nature faded into shadow. If, + my dear reader, whether you be man or woman, you have come into familiar + contact with some creature of a genius to which, even assuming that you + yourself have a genius in its own way, you have no special affinities, + have you not felt shy with that creature? Have you not, perhaps, felt how + intensely you could love that creature, and doubted if that creature could + possibly love you? Now I think that shyness and that disbelief are common + with either man or woman, if, however conscious of superiority in the + prose of life, he or she recognizes inferiority in the poetry of it. And + yet this self-abasement is exceedingly mistaken. The poetical kind of + genius is so grandly indulgent, so inherently deferential, bows with such + unaffected modesty to the superiority in which it fears it may fail (yet + seldom does fail),—the superiority of common-sense. And when we come + to women, what marvellous truth is conveyed by the woman who has had no + superior in intellectual gifts among her own sex! Corinne, crowned at the + Capitol, selects out of the whole world as the hero of her love no rival + poet and enthusiast, but a cold-blooded, sensible Englishman. + </p> + <p> + Graham Vane, in his strong masculine form of intellect—Graham Vane, + from whom I hope much, if he live to fulfil his rightful career—had, + not unreasonably, the desire to dominate the life of the woman whom he + selected as the partner of his own; but the life of Isaura seemed to + escape him. If at moments, listening to her, he would say to himself, + “What a companion! life could never be dull with her,” at other moments he + would say, “True, never dull, but would it be always safe?” And then comes + in that mysterious power of love which crushes all beneath its feet, and + makes us end self-commune by that abject submission of reason, which only + murmurs, “Better be unhappy with the one you love than happy with one whom + you do not.” All such self-communes were unknown to Isaura. She lived in + the bliss of the hour. If Graham could have read her heart, he would have + dismissed all doubt whether he could dominate her life. Could a Fate or an + Angel have said to her, “Choose,—on one side I promise you the + glories of a Catalani, a Pasta, a Sappho, a De Stael, a Georges Sand, all + combined into one immortal name; or, on the other side, the whole heart of + the man who would estrange himself from you if you had such combination of + glories,”—her answer would have brought Graham Vane to her feet. All + scruples, all doubts, would have vanished; he would have exclaimed, with + the generosity inherent in the higher order of man, “Be glorious, if your + nature wills it so. Glory enough to me that you would have resigned glory + itself to become mine.” But how is it that men worth a woman’s loving + become so diffident when they love intensely? Even in ordinary cases of + love there is so ineffable a delicacy in virgin woman, that a man, be he + how refined soever, feels himself rough and rude and coarse in comparison; + and while that sort of delicacy was pre-eminent in this Italian orphan, + there came, to increase the humility of the man so proud and so confident + in himself when he had only men to deal with, the consciousness that his + intellectual nature was hard and positive beside the angel-like purity and + the fairy-like play of hers. + </p> + <p> + There was a strong wish on the part of Mrs. Morley to bring about the + union of these two. She had a great regard and a great admiration for + both. To her mind, unconscious of all Graham’s doubts and prejudices, they + were exactly suited to each other. A man of intellect so cultivated as + Graham’s, if married to a commonplace English “Miss,” would surely feel as + if life had no sunshine and no flowers. The love of an Isaura would steep + it in sunshine, pave it with flowers. Mrs. Morley admitted—all + American Republicans of gentle birth do admit—the instincts which + lead “like” to match with “like,” an equality of blood and race. With all + her assertion of the Rights of Woman, I do not think that Mrs. Morley + would ever have conceived the possibility of consenting that the richest + and prettiest and cleverest girl in the States could become the wife of a + son of hers if the girl had the taint of negro blood, even though shown + nowhere save the slight distinguishing hue of her finger-nails. So had + Isaura’s merits been threefold what they were and she had been the wealthy + heiress of a retail grocer, this fair Republican would have opposed (more + strongly than many an English duchess, or at least a Scotch duke, would + do, the wish of a son), the thought of an alliance between Graham Vane and + the grocer’s daughter! But Isaura was a Cicogna, an offspring of a very + ancient and very noble house. Disparities of fortune, or mere worldly + position, Mrs. Morley supremely despised. Here were the great parities of + alliance,—parities in years and good looks and mental culture. So, + in short, she in the invitation given to them had planned for the union + between Isaura and Graham. To this plan she had an antagonist, whom she + did not even guess, in Madame Savarin. That lady, as much attached to + Isaura as was Mrs. Morley herself, and still more desirous of seeing a + girl, brilliant and parentless, transferred from the companionship of + Signora Venosta to the protection of a husband, entertained no belief in + the serious attentions of Graham Vane. Perhaps she exaggerated his worldly + advantages, perhaps she undervalued the warmth of his affections; but it + was not within the range of her experience, confined much to Parisian + life, nor in harmony with her notions of the frigidity and morgue of the + English national character, that a rich and high-born young man, to whom a + great career in practical public life was predicted, should form a + matrimonial alliance with a foreign orphan girl, who, if of gentle birth, + had no useful connections, would bring no correspondent dot, and had been + reared and intended for the profession of the stage. She much more feared + that the result of any attentions on the part of such a man would be + rather calculated to compromise the orphan’s name, or at least to mislead + her expectations, than to secure her the shelter of a wedded home. + Moreover, she had cherished plans of her own for Isaura’s future. Madame + Savarin had conceived for Gustave Rameau a friendly regard, stronger than + that which Mrs. Morley entertained for Graham Vane, for it was more + motherly. Gustave had been familiarized to her sight and her thoughts + since he had first been launched into the literary world under her + husband’s auspices; he had confided to her his mortification in his + failures, his joy in his successes. His beautiful countenance, his + delicate health, his very infirmities and defects, had endeared him to her + womanly heart. Isaura was the wife of all others who, in Madame Savarin’s + opinion, was made for Rameau. Her fortune, so trivial beside the wealth of + the Englishman, would be a competence to Rameau; then that competence + might swell into vast riches if Isaura succeeded on the stage. She found + with extreme displeasure that Isaura’s mind had become estranged from the + profession to which she had been destined, and divined that a deference to + the Englishman’s prejudices had something to do with that estrangement. It + was not to be expected that a Frenchwoman, wife to a sprightly man of + letters, who had intimate friends and allies in every department of the + artistic world, should cherish any prejudice whatever against the exercise + of an art in which success achieved riches and renown; but she was + prejudiced, as most Frenchwomen are, against allowing to unmarried girls + the same freedom and independence of action that are the rights of women—French + women—when married; and she would have disapproved the entrance of + Isaura on her professional career until she could enter it as a wife, the + wife of an artist, the wife of Gustave Rameau. + </p> + <p> + Unaware of the rivalry between these friendly diplomatists and schemers, + Graham and Isaura glided hourly more and more down the current, which as + yet ran smooth. No words by which love is spoken were exchanged between + them; in fact, though constantly together, they were very rarely, and then + but for moments, alone with each other. Mrs. Morley artfully schemed more + than once to give them such opportunities for that mutual explanation of + heart which, she saw, had not yet taken place; with art more practised and + more watchful, Madame Savarin contrived to baffle her hostess’s intention. + But, indeed, neither Graham nor Isaura sought to make opportunities for + themselves. He, as we know, did not deem himself wholly justified in + uttering the words of love by which a man of honour binds himself for + life; and she!—what girl pure-hearted and loving truly does not + shrink from seeking the opportunities which it is for the man to court? + Yet Isaura needed no words to tell her that she was loved,—no, nor + even a pressure of the hand, a glance of the eye; she felt it + instinctively, mysteriously, by the glow of her own being in the presence + of her lover. She knew that she herself could not so love unless she were + beloved. + </p> + <p> + Here woman’s wit is keener and truthfuller than man’s. Graham, as I have + said, did not feel confident that he had reached the heart of Isaura. He + was conscious that he had engaged her interest, that he had attracted her + fancy; but often, when charmed by the joyous play of her imagination, he + would sigh to himself, “To natures so gifted what single mortal can be the + all in all.” + </p> + <p> + They spent the summer mornings in excursions round the beautiful + neighbourhood, dined early, and sailed on the calm lake at moonlight. + Their talk was such as might be expected from lovers of books in summer + holidays. Savarin was a critic by profession; Graham Vane, if not that, at + least owed such literary reputation as he had yet gained to essays in + which the rare critical faculty was conspicuously developed. + </p> + <p> + It was pleasant to hear the clash of these two minds encountering each + other; they differed perhaps less in opinions than in the mode by which + opinions are discussed. The Englishman’s range of reading was wider than + the Frenchman’s, and his scholarship more accurate; but the Frenchman had + a compact neatness of expression, a light and nimble grace, whether in the + advancing or the retreat of his argument, which covered deficiencies, and + often made them appear like merits. Graham was compelled, indeed, to + relinquish many of the forces of superior knowledge or graver eloquence, + which with less lively antagonists he could have brought into the field, + for the witty sarcasm of Savarin would have turned them aside as pedantry + or declamation. But though Graham was neither dry nor diffuse, and the + happiness at his heart brought out the gayety of humour which had been his + early characteristic, and yet rendered his familiar intercourse genial and + playful, still there was this distinction between his humour and Savarin’s + wit,—that in the first there was always something earnest, in the + last always something mocking. And in criticism Graham seemed ever anxious + to bring out a latent beauty, even in writers comparatively neglected; + Savarin was acutest when dragging forth a blemish never before discovered + in writers universally read. + </p> + <p> + Graham did not perhaps notice the profound attention with which Isaura + listened to him in these intellectual skirmishes with the more glittering + Parisian. There was this distinction she made between him and Savarin,—when + the last spoke she often chimed in with some happy sentiment of her own; + but she never interrupted Graham, never intimated a dissent from his + theories of art, or the deductions he drew from them; and she would remain + silent and thoughtful for some minutes when his voice ceased. There was + passing from his mind into hers an ambition which she imagined, poor girl, + that he would be pleased to think he had inspired, and which might become + a new bond of sympathy between them. But as yet the ambition was vague and + timid,—an idea or a dream to be fulfilled in some indefinite future. + </p> + <p> + The last night of this short-lived holiday-time, the party, after staying + out on the lake to a later hour than usual, stood lingering still on the + lawn of the villa; and their host, who was rather addicted to superficial + studies of the positive sciences, including, of course, the most popular + of all, astronomy, kept his guests politely listening to speculative + conjectures on the probable size of the inhabitants of Sirius, that very + distant and very gigantic inhabitant of heaven who has led philosophers + into mortifying reflections upon the utter insignificance of our own poor + little planet, capable of producing nothing greater than Shakspeares and + Newtons, Aristotles and Caesars,—mannikins, no doubt, beside + intellects proportioned to the size of the world in which they flourish. + </p> + <p> + As it chanced, Isaura and Graham were then standing close to each other + and a little apart from the rest. “It is very strange,” said Graham, + laughing low, “how little I care about Sirius. He is the sun of some other + system, and is perhaps not habitable at all, except by Salamanders. He + cannot be one of the stars with which I have established familiar + acquaintance, associated with fancies and dreams and hopes, as most of us + do, for instance, with Hesperus, the moon’s harbinger and comrade. But + amid all those stars there is one—not Hesperus—which has + always had from my childhood a mysterious fascination for me. Knowing as + little of astrology as I do of astronomy, when I gaze upon that star I + become credulously superstitious, and fancy it has an influence on my + life. Have you, too, any favourite star?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Isaura; “and I distinguish it now, but I do not even know its + name, and never would ask it.” + </p> + <p> + “So like me. I would not vulgarize my unknown source of beautiful + illusions by giving it the name it takes in technical catalogues. For fear + of learning that name I never have pointed it out to any one before. I too + at this moment distinguish it apart from all its brotherhood. Tell me + which is yours.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura pointed and explained. The Englishman was startled. By what strange + coincidence could they both have singled out from all the host of heaven + the same favourite star? “Cher Vane,” cried Savarin, “Colonel Morley + declares that what America is to the terrestrial system Sirius is to the + heavenly. America is to extinguish Europe, and then Sirius is to + extinguish the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Not for some millions of years; time to look about us,” said the Colonel, + gravely. “But I certainly differ from those who maintain that Sirius + recedes from us. I say that he approaches. The principles of a body so + enlightened must be those of progress.” Then addressing Graham in English, + he added, “there will be a mulling in this fogified planet some day, I + predicate. Sirius is a keener!” + </p> + <p> + “I have not imagination lively enough to interest myself in the destinies + of Sirius in connection with our planet at a date so remote,” said Graham, + smiling. Then he added in a whisper to Isaura, “My imagination does not + carry me further than to wonder whether this day twelvemonth—the 8th + of July-we two shall both be singling out that same star, and gazing on it + as now, side by side.” + </p> + <p> + This was the sole utterance of that sentiment in which the romance of love + is so rich that the Englishman addressed to Isaura during those memorable + summer days at Enghien. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + The next morning the party broke up. Letters had been delivered both to + Savarin and to Graham, which, even had the day for departure not been + fixed, would have summoned them away. On reading his letter, Savarin’s + brow became clouded. He made a sign to his wife after breakfast, and + wandered away with her down an alley in the little garden. His trouble was + of that nature which a wife either soothes or aggravates, according + sometimes to her habitual frame of mind, sometimes to the mood of temper + in which she may chance to be,—a household trouble, a pecuniary + trouble. + </p> + <p> + Savarin was by no means an extravagant man. His mode of living, though + elegant and hospitable, was modest compared to that of many French authors + inferior to himself in the fame which at Paris brings a very good return + in francs; but his station itself as the head of a powerful literary + clique necessitated many expenses which were too congenial to his extreme + good-nature to be regulated by strict prudence. His hand was always open + to distressed writers and struggling artists, and his sole income was + derived from his pen and a journal in which he was chief editor and + formerly sole proprietor. But that journal had of late not prospered. He + had sold or pledged a considerable share in the proprietorship. He had + been compelled also to borrow a sum large for him, and the debt obtained + from a retired bourgeois who lent out his moneys “by way,” he said, “of + maintaining an excitement and interest in life,” would in a few days + become due. The letter was not from that creditor; but it was from his + publisher, containing a very disagreeable statement of accounts, pressing + for settlement, and declining an offer of Savarin for a new book (not yet + begun) except upon terms that the author valued himself too highly to + accept. Altogether, the situation was unpleasant. There were many times in + which Madame Savarin presumed to scold her distinguished husband for his + want of prudence and thrift. But those were never the times when scolding + could be of no use. It could clearly be of no use now. Now was the moment + to cheer and encourage him; to reassure him as to his own undiminished + powers and popularity, for he talked dejectedly of himself as obsolete and + passing out of fashion; to convince him also of the impossibility that the + ungrateful publisher whom Savarin’s more brilliant successes had enriched + could encounter the odium of hostile proceedings; and to remind him of all + the authors, all the artists, whom he in their earlier difficulties had so + liberally assisted, and from whom a sum sufficing to pay the bourgeois + creditor when the day arrived could now be honourably asked and would be + readily contributed. In this last suggestion the homely prudent good-sense + of Madame Savarin failed her. She did not comprehend that delicate pride + of honour which, with all his Parisian frivolities and cynicism, dignified + the Parisian man of genius. Savarin could not, to save his neck from a + rope, have sent round the begging-hat to friends whom he had obliged. + Madame Savarin was one of those women with large-lobed ears, who can be + wonderfully affectionate, wonderfully sensible, admirable wives and + mothers, and yet are deficient in artistic sympathies with artistic + natures. Still, a really good honest wife is such an incalculable blessing + to her lord, that, at the end of the talk in the solitary alley, this man + of exquisite finesse, of the undefinably high-bred temperament, and, alas! + the painful morbid susceptibility, which belongs to the genuine artistic + character, emerged into the open sunlit lawn with his crest uplifted, his + lip curved upward in its joyous mockery, and perfectly persuaded that + somehow or other he should put down the offensive publisher, and pay off + the unoffending creditor when the day for payment came. Still he had + judgment enough to know that to do this he must get back to Paris, and + could not dawdle away precious hours in discussing the principles of + poetry with Graham Vane. + </p> + <p> + There was only one thing, apart from “the begging-hat,” in which Savarin + dissented from his wife.—She suggested his starting a new journal in + conjunction with Gustave Rameau, upon whose genius and the expectations to + be formed from it (here she was tacitly thinking of Isaura wedded to + Rameau, and more than a Malibran on the stage) she insisted vehemently. + Savarin did not thus estimate Gustave Rameau, thought him a clever, + promising young writer in a very bad school of writing, who might do well + some day or other. But that a Rameau could help a Savarin to make a + fortune! No; at that idea he opened his eyes, patted his wife’s shoulder, + and called her “enfant.” + </p> + <p> + Graham’s letter was from M. Renard, and ran thus:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MONSIEUR,—I had the honour to call at your apartment this morning, + and I write this line to the address given to me by your concierge + to say that I have been fortunate enough to ascertain that the + relation of the missing lady is now at Paris. I shall hold myself + in readiness to attend your summons. Deign to accept, Monsieur, the + assurance of my profound consideration. + J. RENARD. +</pre> + <p> + This communication sufficed to put Graham into very high spirits. Anything + that promised success to his research seemed to deliver his thoughts from + a burden and his will from a fetter. Perhaps in a few days he might + frankly and honourably say to Isaura words which would justify his + retaining longer, and pressing more ardently, the delicate hand which + trembled in his as they took leave. + </p> + <p> + On arriving at Paris, Graham despatched a note to M. Renard requesting to + see him, and received a brief line in reply that M. Renard feared he + should be detained on other and important business till the evening, but + hoped to call at eight o’clock. A few minutes before that hour he entered + Graham’s apartment. + </p> + <p> + “You have discovered the uncle of Louise Duval!” exclaimed Graham; “of + course you mean M. de Mauleon, and he is at Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “True so far, Monsieur; but do not be too sanguine as to the results of + the information I can give you. Permit me, as briefly as possible, to + state the circumstances. When you acquainted me with the fact that M. de + Mauleon was the uncle of Louise Duval, I told you that I was not without + hopes of finding him out, though so long absent from Paris. I will now + explain why. Some months ago, one of my colleagues engaged in the + political department (which I am not) was sent to Lyons, in consequence of + some suspicions conceived by the loyal authorities there of a plot against + the emperor’s life. The suspicions were groundless, the plot a mare’s + nest. But my colleague’s attention was especially drawn towards a man not + mixed up with the circumstances from which a plot had been inferred, but + deemed in some way or other a dangerous enemy to the Government. + Ostensibly, he exercised a modest and small calling as a sort of courtier + or agent de change; but it was noticed that certain persons familiarly + frequenting his apartment, or to whose houses he used to go at night, were + disaffected to the Government,—not by any means of the lowest rank,—some + of them rich malcontents who had been devoted Orleanists; others, + disappointed aspirants to office or the ‘cross;’ one or two well-born and + opulent fanatics dreaming of another Republic. Certain very able articles + in the journals of the excitable Midi, though bearing another signature, + were composed or dictated by this man,—articles evading the censure + and penalties of the law, but very mischievous in their tone. All who had + come into familiar communication with this person were impressed with a + sense of his powers; and also with a vague belief that he belonged to a + higher class in breeding and education than that of a petty agent de + change. My colleague set himself to watch the man, and took occasions of + business at his little office to enter into talk with him. Not by personal + appearance, but by voice, he came to a conclusion that the man was not + wholly a stranger to him,—a peculiar voice with a slight Norman + breadth of pronunciation, though a Parisian accent; a voice very low, yet + very distinct; very masculine, yet very gentle. My colleague was puzzled + till late one evening he observed the man coming out of the house of one + of these rich malcontents, the rich malcontent himself accompanying him. + My colleague, availing himself of the dimness of light, as the two passed + into a lane which led to the agent’s apartment, contrived to keep close + behind and listen to their conversation; but of this he heard nothing,—only, + when at the end of the lane, the rich man turned abruptly, shook his + companion warmly by the hand, and parted from him, saying, ‘Never fear; + all shall go right with you, my dear Victor.’ At the sound of that name + ‘Victor,’ my colleague’s memories, before so confused, became + instantaneously clear. Previous to entering our service, he had been in + the horse business, a votary of the turf; as such he had often seen the + brilliant ‘sportman,’ Victor de Mauleon; sometimes talked to him. Yes, + that was the voice,—the slight Norman intonation (Victor de + Mauleon’s father had it strongly, and Victor had passed some of his early + childhood in Normandy), the subdued modulation of speech which had made so + polite the offence to men, or so winning the courtship to women,—that + was Victor de Mauleon. But why there in that disguise? What was his real + business and object? My confrere had no time allowed to him to prosecute + such inquiries. Whether Victor or the rich malcontent had observed him at + their heels, and feared he might have overheard their words, I know not; + but the next day appeared in one of the popular journals circulating among + the ouvriers a paragraph stating that a Paris spy had been seen at Lyons, + warning all honest men against his machinations, and containing a + tolerably accurate description of his person. And that very day, on + venturing forth, my estimable colleague suddenly found himself hustled by + a ferocious throng, from whose hands he was with great difficulty rescued + by the municipal guard. He left Lyons that night; and for recompense of + his services received a sharp reprimand from his chief. He had committed + the worst offence in our profession, trop de zele. Having only heard the + outlines of this story from another, I repaired to my confrere after my + last interview with Monsieur, and learned what I now tell you from his own + lips. As he was not in my branch of the service, I could not order him to + return to Lyons; and I doubt whether his chief would have allowed it. But + I went to Lyons myself, and there ascertained that our supposed Vicomte + had left that town for Paris some months ago, not long after the adventure + of my colleague. The man bore a very good character generally,—was + said to be very honest and inoffensive; and the notice taken of him by + persons of higher rank was attributed generally to a respect for his + talents, and not on account of any sympathy in political opinions. I found + that the confrere mentioned, and who alone could identify M. de Mauleon in + the disguise which the Vicomte had assumed, was absent on one of those + missions abroad in which he is chiefly employed. I had to wait for his + return, and it was only the day before yesterday that I obtained the + following particulars. M. de Mauleon bears the same name as he did at + Lyons,—that name is Jean Lebeau; he exercises the ostensible + profession of a ‘letter-writer,’ and a sort of adviser on business among + the workmen and petty bourgeoisie, and he nightly frequents the cafe Jean + Jacques, Rue Faubourg Montmartre. It is not yet quite half-past eight, + and, no doubt, you could see him at the cafe this very night, if you + thought proper to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent! I will go! Describe him!” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! that is exactly what I cannot do at present; for after hearing what + I now tell you, I put the same request you do to my colleague, when, + before he could answer me, he was summoned to the bureau of his chief, + promising to return and give me the requisite description. He did not + return; and I find that he was compelled, on quitting his chief, to seize + the first train starting for Lille upon an important political + investigation which brooked no delay. He will be back in a few days, and + then Monsieur shall have the description.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay; I think I will seize time by the forelock, and try my chance + tonight. If the man be really a conspirator, and it looks likely enough, + who knows but what he may see quick reason to take alarm and vanish from + Paris at any hour?—Cafe Jean Jacques, Rue ———; I + will go. Stay; you have seen Victor de Mauleon in his youth: what was he + like then?” + </p> + <p> + “Tall, slender, but broad-shouldered, very erect, carrying his head high, + a profusion of dark curls, a small black mustache, fair clear complexion, + light-coloured eyes with dark lashes, fort bel homme. But he will not look + like that now.” + </p> + <p> + “His present age?” + </p> + <p> + “Forty-seven or forty-eight. But before you go, I must beg you to consider + well what you are about. It is evident that M. de Mauleon has some strong + reason, whatever it be, for merging his identity in that of Jean Lebeau. I + presume, therefore, that you could scarcely go up to M. Lebeau, when you + have discovered him, and say, ‘Pray, Monsieur le Vicomte, can you give me + some tidings of your niece, Louise Duval?’ If you thus accosted him, you + might possibly bring some danger on yourself, but you would certainly gain + no information from him.” + </p> + <p> + “True.” + </p> + <p> + “On the other hand, if you make his acquaintance as M. Lebeau, how can you + assume him to know anything about Louise Duval?” + </p> + <p> + “Parbleu! Monsieur Renard, you try to toss me aside on both horns of the + dilemma; but it seems to me that, if I once make his acquaintance as M. + Lebeau, I might gradually and cautiously feel my way as to the best mode + of putting the question to which I seek reply. I suppose, too, that the + man must be in very poor circumstances to adopt so humble a calling, and + that a small sum of money may smooth all difficulties.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not so sure of that,” said M. Renard, thoughtfully; “but grant that + money may do so, and grant also that the Vicomte, being a needy man, has + become a very unscrupulous one,—is there anything in your motives + for discovering Louise Duval which might occasion you trouble and + annoyance, if it were divined by a needy and unscrupulous man; anything + which might give him a power of threat or exaction? Mind, I am not asking + you to tell me any secret you have reasons for concealing, but I suggest + that it might be prudent if you did not let M. Lebeau know your real name + and rank; if, in short, you could follow his example, and adopt a + disguise. But no; when I think of it, you would doubtless be so + unpractised in the art of disguise that he would detect you at once to be + other than you seem; and if suspecting you of spying into his secrets, and + if those secrets be really of a political nature, your very life might not + be safe.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for your hint; the disguise is an excellent idea, and combines + amusement with precaution. That this Victor de Mauleon must be a very + unprincipled and dangerous man is, I think, abundantly clear. Granting + that he was innocent of all design of robbery in the affair of the jewels, + still, the offence which he did own—that of admitting himself at + night by a false key into the rooms of a wife, whom he sought to surprise + or terrify into dishonour—was a villanous action; and his present + course of life is sufficiently mysterious to warrant the most unfavourable + supposition. Besides, there is another motive for concealing my name from + him: you say that he once had a duel with a Vane, who was very probably my + father, and I have no wish to expose myself to the chance of his turning + up in London some day, and seeking to renew there the acquaintance that I + had courted at Paris. As for my skill in playing any part I may assume, do + not fear; I am no novice in that. In my younger days I was thought clever + in private theatricals, especially in the transformations of appearance + which belong to light comedy and farce. Wait a few minutes, and you shall + see.” + </p> + <p> + Graham then retreated into his bedroom, and in a few minutes reappeared so + changed, that Renard at first glance took him for a stranger. He had + doffed his dress—which habitually, when in Capitals, was + characterized by the quiet, indefinable elegance that to a man of the + great world, high-bred and young, seems “to the manner born”—for one + of those coarse suits which Englishmen are wont to wear in their travels, + and by which they are represented in French or German caricatures,—loose + jacket of tweed with redundant pockets, waistcoat to match, short + dust-coloured trousers. He had combed his hair straight over his forehead, + which, as I have said somewhere before, appeared in itself to alter the + character of his countenance, and, without any resort to paints or + cosmetics, had somehow or other given to the expression of his face an + impudent, low-bred expression, with a glass screwed on to his right eye,—such + a look as a cockney journeyman, wishing to pass for a “swell” about town, + may cast on a servant-maid in the pit of a suburban theatre. + </p> + <p> + “Will it do, old fellow?” he exclaimed, in a rollicking, swaggering tone + of voice, speaking French with a villanous British accent. + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly,” said Renard, laughing. “I offer my compliments, and if ever + you are ruined, Monsieur, I will promise you a place in our police. Only + one caution,—take care not to overdo your part.” + </p> + <p> + “Right. A quarter to nine; I’m off.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + There is generally a brisk exhilaration of spirits in the return to any + special amusement or light accomplishment associated with the pleasant + memories of earlier youth; and remarkably so, I believe, when the + amusement or accomplishment has been that of the amateur stage-player. + Certainly I have known persons of very grave pursuits, of very dignified + character and position, who seem to regain the vivacity of boyhood when + disguising look and voice for a part in some drawing-room comedy or + charade. I might name statesmen of solemn repute rejoicing to raise and to + join in a laugh at their expense in such travesty of their habitual + selves. + </p> + <p> + The reader must not therefore be surprised, nor, I trust, deem it + inconsistent with the more serious attributes of Graham’s character, if + the Englishman felt the sort of joyful excitement I describe, as, in his + way to the cafe Jean Jacques, he meditated the role he had undertaken; and + the joyousness was heightened beyond the mere holiday sense of humouristic + pleasantry by the sanguine hope that much to effect his lasting happiness + might result from the success of the object for which his disguise was + assumed. + </p> + <p> + It was just twenty minutes past nine when he arrived at the cafe Jean + Jacques. He dismissed the fiacre and entered. + </p> + <p> + The apartment devoted to customers comprised two large rooms. The first + was the cafe properly speaking; the second, opening on it, was the + billiard-room. Conjecturing that he should probably find the person of + whom he was in quest employed at the billiard-table, Graham passed thither + at once. A tall man, who might be seven-and-forty, with a long black + beard, slightly grizzled, was at play with a young man of perhaps + twenty-eight, who gave him odds,—as better players of twenty-eight + ought to give odds to a player, though originally of equal force, whose + eye is not so quick, whose hand is not so steady, as they were twenty + years ago. Said Graham to himself, “The bearded man is my Vicomte.” He + called for a cup of coffee, and seated himself on a bench at the end of + the room. + </p> + <p> + The bearded man was far behind in the game. It was his turn to play; the + balls were placed in the most awkward position for him. Graham himself was + a fair billiard-player, both in the English and the French game. He said + to himself, “No man who can make a cannon there should accept odds.” The + bearded man made a cannon; the bearded man continued to make cannons; the + bearded man did not stop till he had won the game. The gallery of + spectators was enthusiastic. Taking care to speak in very bad, very + English-French, Graham expressed to one of the enthusiasts seated beside + him his admiration of the bearded man’s playing, and ventured to ask if + the bearded man were a professional or an amateur player. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” replied the enthusiast, taking a short cutty-pipe from his + mouth, “it is an amateur, who has been a great player in his day, and is + so proud that he always takes less odds than he ought of a younger man. It + is not once in a month that he comes out as he has done to-night; but + to-night he has steadied his hand. He has had six petits verres.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, indeed! Do you know his name?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think so: he buried my father, my two aunts, and my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Buried?” said Graham, more and more British in his accent; “I don’t + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, you are English.” + </p> + <p> + “I confess it.” + </p> + <p> + “And a stranger to the Faubourg Montmartre.” + </p> + <p> + “True.” + </p> + <p> + “Or you would have heard of M. Giraud, the liveliest member of the State + Company for conducting funerals. They are going to play La Poule.” + </p> + <p> + Much disconcerted, Graham retreated into the cafe, and seated himself + haphazard at one of the small tables. Glancing round the room, he saw no + one in whom he could conjecture the once brilliant Vicomte. + </p> + <p> + The company appeared to him sufficiently decent, and especially what may + be called local. There were some blouses drinking wine, no doubt of the + cheapest and thinnest; some in rough, coarse dresses, drinking beer. These + were evidently English, Belgian, or German artisans. At one table, four + young men, who looked like small journeymen, were playing cards. At three + other tables, men older, better dressed, probably shop-keepers, were + playing dominos. Graham scrutinized these last, but among them all could + detect no one corresponding to his ideal of the Vicomte de Mauleon. + “Probably,” thought he, “I am too late, or perhaps he will not be here + this evening. At all events, I will wait a quarter of an hour.” Then, the + garcon approaching his table, he deemed it necessary to call for + something, and, still in strong English accent, asked for lemonade and an + evening journal. The garcon nodded and went his way. A monsieur at the + round table next his own politely handed to him the “Galignani,” saying in + very good English, though unmistakably the good English of a Frenchman, + “The English journal, at your service.” + </p> + <p> + Graham bowed his head, accepted the “Galignani,” and inspected his + courteous neighbour. A more respectable-looking man no Englishman could + see in an English country town. He wore an unpretending flaxen wig, with + limp whiskers that met at the chin, and might originally have been the + same colour as the wig, but were now of a pale gray,—no beard, no + mustache. He was dressed with the scrupulous cleanliness of a sober + citizen,—a high white neckcloth, with a large old-fashioned pin, + containing a little knot of hair covered with glass or crystal, and + bordered with a black framework, in which were inscribed letters,—evidently + a mourning pin, hallowed to the memory of lost spouse or child,—a + man who, in England, might be the mayor of a cathedral town, at least the + town-clerk. He seemed suffering from some infirmity of vision, for he wore + green spectacles. The expression of his face was very mild and gentle; + apparently he was about sixty years old,—somewhat more. + </p> + <p> + Graham took kindly to his neighbour, insomuch that, in return for the + “Galignani,” he offered him a cigar, lighting one himself. + </p> + <p> + His neighbour refused politely. + </p> + <p> + “Merci! I never smoke, never; mon medecin forbids it. If I could be + tempted, it would be by, an English cigar. Ah, how you English beat us in + all things,—your ships, your iron, your tabac,—which you do + not grow!” + </p> + <p> + This speech rendered literally as we now render it may give the idea of a + somewhat vulgar speaker. But there was something in the man’s manner, in + his smile, in his courtesy, which did not strike Graham as vulgar; on the + contrary, he thought within himself, “How instinctive to all Frenchmen + good breeding is!” + </p> + <p> + Before, however, Graham had time to explain to his amiable neighbour the + politico-economical principle according to which England, growing no + tobacco, had tobacco much better than France, which did grow it, a rosy + middle-aged monsieur made his appearance, saying hurriedly to Graham’s + neighbour, “I’m afraid I’m late, but there is still a good half-hour + before us if you will give me my revenge.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly, Monsieur Georges. Garcon, the dominos.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been playing at billiards?” asked M. Georges. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, two games.” + </p> + <p> + “With success?” + </p> + <p> + “I won the first, and lost the second through the defect of my eyesight; + the game depended on a stroke which would have been easy to an infant,—I + missed it.” + </p> + <p> + Here the dominos arrived, and M. Georges began shuffling them; the other + turned to Graham and asked politely if he understood the game. + </p> + <p> + “A little, but not enough to comprehend why it is said to require so much + skill.” + </p> + <p> + “It is chiefly an affair of memory with me; but M. Georges, my opponent, + has the talent of combination, which I have not.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless,” replied M. Georges, gruffly, “you are not easily beaten; + it is for you to play first, Monsieur Lebeau.” Graham almost started. Was + it possible! This mild, limp-whiskered, flaxen-wigged man Victor de + Mauleon, the Don Juan of his time; the last person in the room he should + have guessed. Yet, now examining his neighbour with more attentive eye, he + wondered at his stupidity in not having recognized at once the ci-devant + gentilhomme and beau garcon. It happens frequently that our imagination + plays us this trick; we form to ourselves an idea of some one eminent for + good or for evil,—a poet, a statesman, a general, a murderer, a + swindler, a thief. The man is before us, and our ideas have gone into so + different a groove that he does not excite a suspicion; we are told who he + is, and immediately detect a thousand things that ought to have proved his + identity. + </p> + <p> + Looking thus again with rectified vision at the false Lebeau, Graham + observed an elegance and delicacy of feature which might, in youth, have + made the countenance very handsome, and rendered it still good-looking, + nay, prepossessing. He now noticed, too, the slight Norman accent, its + native harshness of breadth subdued into the modulated tones which bespoke + the habits of polished society. Above all, as M. Lebeau moved his dominos + with one hand, not shielding his pieces with the other (as M. Georges + warily did), but allowing it to rest carelessly on the table, he detected + the hands of the French aristocrat,—hands that had never done work; + never (like those of the English noble of equal birth) been embrowned or + freckled, or roughened or enlarged by early practice in athletic sports; + but hands seldom seen save in the higher circles of Parisian life,—partly + perhaps of hereditary formation, partly owing their texture to great care + begun in early youth, and continued mechanically in after life,—with + long taper fingers and polished nails; white and delicate as those of a + woman, but not slight, not feeble; nervous and sinewy as those of a + practised swordsman. + </p> + <p> + Graham watched the play, and Lebeau good-naturedly explained to him its + complications as it proceeded; though the explanation, diligently attended + to by M. Georges, lost Lebeau the game. + </p> + <p> + The dominos were again shuffled, and during that operation M. Georges + said, “By the way, Monsieur Lebeau, you promised to find me a locataire + for my second floor; have you succeeded?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. Perhaps you had better advertise in ‘Les Petites Affiches.’ You + ask too much for the habitues of this neighbourhood,—one hundred + francs a month.” + </p> + <p> + “But the lodging is furnished, and well too, and has four rooms. One + hundred francs are not much.” + </p> + <p> + A thought flashed upon Graham. “Pardon, Monsieur,” he said, “have you an + appartement de garcon to let furnished?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Monsieur, a charming one. Are you in search of an apartment?” + </p> + <p> + “I have some idea of taking one, but only by the month. I am but just + arrived at Paris, and I have business which may keep me here a few weeks. + I do but require a bedroom and a small cabinet, and the rent must be + modest. I am not a milord.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure we could arrange, Monsieur,” said M. Georges, “though I could + not well divide my logement. But one hundred francs a month is not much!” + </p> + <p> + “I fear it is more than I can afford; however, if you will give me your + address, I will call and see the rooms,—say the day after to-morrow. + Between this and then, I expect letters which may more clearly decide my + movements.” + </p> + <p> + “If the apartments suit you,” said M. Lebeau, “you will at least be in the + house of a very honest man, which is more than can be said of every one + who lets furnished apartments. The house, too, has a concierge, with a + handy wife who will arrange your rooms and provide you with coffee—or + tea, which you English prefer—if you breakfast at home.” Here M. + Georges handed a card to Graham, and asked what hour he would call. + </p> + <p> + “About twelve, if that hour is convenient,” said Graham, rising. “I + presume there is a restaurant in the neighbourhood where I could dine + reasonably.” + </p> + <p> + “Je crois bien, half-a-dozen. I can recommend to you one where you can + dine en prince for thirty sous. And if you are at Paris on business, and + want any letters written in private, I can also recommend to you my friend + here, M. Lebeau. Ay, and on affairs his advice is as good as a lawyer’s, + and his fee a bagatelle.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t believe all that Monsieur Georges so flatteringly says of me,” put + in M. Lebeau, with a modest half-smile, and in English. “I should tell you + that I, like yourself, am recently arrived at Paris, having bought the + business and goodwill of my predecessor in the apartment I occupy; and it + is only to the respect due to his antecedents, and on the score of a few + letters of recommendation which I bring from Lyons, that I can attribute + the confidence shown to me, a stranger in this neighbourhood. Still I have + some knowledge of the world, and I am always glad if I can be of service + to the English. I love the English”—he said this with a sort of + melancholy earnestness which seemed sincere; and then added in a more + careless tone,—“I have met with much kindness from them in the + course of a chequered life.” + </p> + <p> + “You seem a very good fellow,—in fact, a regular trump, Monsieur + Lebeau,” replied Graham, in the same language. “Give me your address. To + say truth, I am a very poor French scholar, as you must have seen, and am + awfully bother-headed how to manage some correspondence on matters with + which I am entrusted by my employer, so that it is a lucky chance which + has brought me acquainted with you.” + </p> + <p> + M. Lebeau inclined his head gracefully, and drew from a very neat morocco + case a card, which Graham took and pocketed. Then he paid for his coffee + and lemonade, and returned home well satisfied with the evening’s + adventure. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + The next morning Graham sent for M. Renard, and consulted with that + experienced functionary as to the details of the plan of action which he + had revolved during the hours of a sleepless night. + </p> + <p> + “In conformity with your advice,” said he, “not to expose myself to the + chance of future annoyance, by confiding to a man so dangerous as the + false Lebeau my name and address, I propose to take the lodging offered to + me, as Mr. Lamb, an attorney’s clerk, commissioned to get in certain + debts, and transact other matters of business, on behalf of his employer’s + clients. I suppose there will be no difficulty with the police in this + change of name, now that passports for the English are not necessary?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. You will have no trouble in that respect.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall thus be enabled very naturally to improve acquaintance with the + professional letter-writer, and find an easy opportunity to introduce the + name of Louise Duval. My chief difficulty, I fear, not being a practical + actor, will be to keep up consistently the queer sort of language I have + adopted, both in French and in English. I have too sharp a critic in a man + so consummate himself in stage trick and disguise as M. Lebeau not to feel + the necessity of getting through my role as quickly as I can. Meanwhile, + can you recommend me to some magasin where I can obtain a suitable change + of costume? I can’t always wear a travelling suit, and I must buy linen of + coarser texture than mine, and with the initials of my new name inscribed + on it.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right to study such details; I will introduce you to a magasin near + the Temple, where you will find all you want.” + </p> + <p> + “Next, have you any friends or relations in the provinces unknown to M. + Lebeau, to whom I might be supposed to write about debts or business + matters, and from whom I might have replies?” + </p> + <p> + “I will think over it, and manage that for you very easily. Your letters + shall find their way to me, and I will dictate the answers.” + </p> + <p> + After some further conversation on that business, M. Renard made an + appointment to meet Graham at a cafe near the Temple later in the + afternoon, and took his departure. + </p> + <p> + Graham then informed his laquais de place that, though he kept on his + lodgings, he was going into the country for a few days, and should not + want the man’s services till he returned. He therefore dismissed and paid + him off at once, so that the laquais might not observe, when he quitted + his rooms the next day, that he took with him no change of clothes, etc. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + Graham Vane has been for some days in the apartment rented of M. Georges. + He takes it in the name of Mr. Lamb,—a name wisely chosen, less + common than Thompson and Smith, less likely to be supposed an assumed + name, yet common enough not to be able easily to trace it to any special + family. He appears, as he had proposed, in the character of an agent + employed by a solicitor in London to execute sundry commissions and to + collect certain outstanding debts. There is no need to mention the name of + the solicitor; if there were, he could give the name of his own solicitor, + to whose discretion he could trust implicitly. He dresses and acts up to + his assumed character with the skill of a man who, like the illustrious + Charles Fox, has, though in private representations, practised the + stage-play in which Demosthenes said the triple art of oratory consisted; + who has seen a great deal of the world, and has that adaptability of + intellect which knowledge of the world lends to one who is so thoroughly + in earnest as to his end that he agrees to be sportive as to his means. + </p> + <p> + The kind of language he employs when speaking English to Lebeau is that + suited to the role of a dapper young underling of vulgar mind habituated + to vulgar companionships. I feel it due, if not to Graham himself, at + least to the memory of the dignified orator whose name he inherits, so to + modify and soften the hardy style of that peculiar diction in which he + disguises his birth and disgraces his culture, that it is only here and + there that I can venture to indicate the general tone of it; but in order + to supply my deficiencies therein, the reader has only to call to mind the + forms of phraseology which polite novelists in vogue, especially + young-lady novelists, ascribe to well-born gentlemen, and more + emphatically to those in the higher ranks of the Peerage. No doubt Graham, + in his capacity of critic, had been compelled to read, in order to review, + those contributions to refined literature, and had familiarized himself to + a vein of conversation abounding with “swell” and “stunner” and “awfully + jolly,” in its libel on manners and outrage on taste. + </p> + <p> + He has attended nightly the cafe Jean Jacques; he has improved + acquaintance with M. Georges and M. Lebeau; he has played at billiards, he + has played at dominos, with the latter. He has been much surprised at the + unimpeachable honesty which M. Lebeau has exhibited in both these games. + In billiards, indeed, a man cannot cheat except by disguising his + strength; it is much the same in dominos,—it is skill combined with + luck, as in whist; but in whist there are modes of cheating which dominos + do not allow,—you can’t mark a domino as you can a card. It was + perfectly clear to Graham that M. Lebeau did not gain a livelihood by + billiards or dominos at the cafe Jean Jacques. In the former he was not + only a fair but a generous player. He played exceedingly well, despite his + spectacles; but he gave, with something of a Frenchman’s lofty + fanfaronnade, larger odds to his adversary than his play justified. In + dominos, where such odds could not well be given, he insisted on playing + such small stakes as two or three francs might cover. In short, M. Lebeau + puzzled Graham. All about M. Lebeau, his manner, his talk, was + irreproachable, and baffled suspicion; except in this,—Graham + gradually discovered that the cafe had a quasi-political character. + Listening to talkers round him, he overheard much that might well have + shocked the notions of a moderate Liberal; much that held in disdain the + objects to which, in 1869, an English Radical directed his aspirations. + Vote by ballot, universal suffrage, etc.,—such objects the French + had already attained. By the talkers at the cafe Jean Jacques they were + deemed to be the tricky contrivances of tyranny. In fact, the talk was + more scornful of what Englishmen understand by radicalism or democracy + than Graham ever heard from the lips of an ultra-Tory. It assumed a strain + of philosophy far above the vulgar squabbles of ordinary party + politicians,—a philosophy which took for its fundamental principles + the destruction of religion and of private property. These two objects + seemed dependent the one on the other. The philosophers of the Jean + Jacques held with that expounder of Internationalism, Eugene Dupont, “Nous + ne voulons plus de religion, car les religions etouffent l’intelligence.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [Discours par Eugene Dupont a la Cloture du Congres de Bruxelles, + Sept. 3, 1868] +</pre> + <p> + Now and then, indeed, a dissentient voice was raised as to the existence + of a Supreme Being, but, with one exception, it soon sank into silence. No + voice was raised in defence of private property. These sages appeared for + the most part to belong to the class of ouvriers or artisans. Some of them + were foreigners,—Belgian, German, English; all seemed well off for + their calling. Indeed they must have had comparatively high wages, to + judge by their dress and the money they spent on regaling themselves. The + language of several was well chosen, at times eloquent. Some brought with + them women who seemed respectable, and who often joined in the + conversation, especially when it turned upon the law of marriage as a main + obstacle to all personal liberty and social improvement. If this was a + subject on which the women did not all agree, still they discussed it, + without prejudice and with admirable sang froid. Yet many of them looked + like wives and mothers. Now and then a young journeyman brought with him a + young lady of more doubtful aspect, but such a couple kept aloof from the + others. Now and then, too, a man evidently of higher station than that of + ouvrier, and who was received by the philosophers with courtesy and + respect, joined one of the tables and ordered a bowl of punch for general + participation. In such occasional visitors, Graham, still listening, + detected a writer of the press; now and then, a small artist or actor or + medical student. Among the habitues there was one man, an ouvrier, in whom + Graham could not help feeling an interest. He was called Monnier, + sometimes more familiarly Armand, his baptismal appellation. This man had + a bold and honest expression of countenance. He talked like one who, if he + had not read much, had thought much on the subjects he loved to discuss. + He argued against the capital of employers quite as ably as Mr. Mill has + argued against the rights of property in land. He was still more eloquent + against the laws of marriage and Heritage. But his was the one voice not + to be silenced in favour of a Supreme Being. He had at least the courage + of his opinions, and was always thoroughly in earnest. M. Lebeau seemed to + know this man, and honoured him with a nod and a smile, when passing by + him to the table he generally occupied. This familiarity with a man of + that class, and of opinions so extreme, excited Graham’s curiosity. One + evening he said to Lebeau, “A queer fellow that you have just nodded to. + </p> + <p> + “How so?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he has queer notions.” + </p> + <p> + “Notions shared, I believe, by many of your countrymen?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think not many. Those poor simpletons yonder may have caught ‘em + from their French fellow-workmen, but I don’t think that even the + gobemouches in our National Reform Society open their mouths to swallow + such wasps.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet I believe the association to which most of those ouvriers belong had + its origin in England.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! what association?” + </p> + <p> + “The International.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I have heard of that.” + </p> + <p> + Lebeau turned his green spectacles full on Graham’s face as he said + slowly, “And what do you think of it?” + </p> + <p> + Graham prudently checked the disparaging reply that first occurred to him, + and said, “I know so little about it that I would rather ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it might become formidable if it found able leaders who knew how + to use it. Pardon me, how came you to know of this cafe? Were you + recommended to it?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I happened to be in this neighbourhood on business, and walked in, as + I might into any other cafe.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t interest yourself in the great social questions which are + agitated below the surface of this best of all possible worlds?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t say that I trouble my head much about them.” + </p> + <p> + “A game at dominos before M. Georges arrives?” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly. Is M. Georges one of those agitators below the surface?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed. It is for you to play.” + </p> + <p> + Here M. Georges arrived, and no further conversation on political or + social questions ensued. + </p> + <p> + Graham had already called more than once at M. Lebeau’s office, and asked + him to put into good French various letters on matters of business, the + subjects of which had been furnished by M. Renard. The office was rather + imposing and stately, considering the modest nature of M. Lebeau’s + ostensible profession. It occupied the entire ground-floor of a corner + house, with a front-door at one angle and a back-door at the other. The + anteroom to his cabinet, and in which Graham had generally to wait some + minutes before he was introduced, was generally well filled, and not only + by persons who, by their dress and outward appearance, might be fairly + supposed sufficiently illiterate to require his aid as polite + letter-writers,—not only by servant-maids and grisettes, by sailors, + zouaves, and journeymen workmen,—but not unfrequently by clients + evidently belonging to a higher, or at least a richer, class of society,—men + with clothes made by a fashionable tailor; men, again, who, less + fashionably attired; looked like opulent tradesmen and fathers of + well-to-do families,—the first generally young, the last generally + middle-aged. All these denizens of a higher world were introduced by a + saturnine clerk into M. Lebeau’s reception-room, very quickly and in + precedence of the ouvriers and grisettes. + </p> + <p> + “What can this mean?” thought Graham; “is it really that this humble + business avowed is the cloak to some political conspiracy concealed,—the + International Association?” And so pondering, the clerk one day singled + him from the crowd and admitted him into M. Lebeau’s cabinet. Graham + thought the time had now arrived when he might safely approach the subject + that had brought him to the Faubourg Montmartre. + </p> + <p> + “You are very good,” said Graham, speaking in the English of a young earl + in our elegant novels,—“you are very good to let me in while you + have so many swells and nobs waiting for you in the other room. But, I + say, old fellow, you have not the cheek to tell me that they want you to + correct their cocker or spoon for them by proxy?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” answered M. Lebeau in French, “if I prefer my own language in + replying to you. I speak the English I learned many years ago, and your + language in the beau monde, to which you evidently belong, is strange to + me. You are quite right, however, in your surmise that I have other + clients than those who, like yourself, think I could correct their verbs + or their spelling. I have seen a great deal of the world,—I know + something of it, and something of the law; so that many persons come to me + for advice and for legal information on terms more moderate than those of + an avoue. But my ante-chamber is full, I am pressed for time; excuse me if + I ask you to say at once in what I can be agreeable to you to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Graham, assuming a very earnest look, “you do know the world, + that is clear; and you do know the law of France, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, a little.” + </p> + <p> + “What I wanted to say at present may have something to do with French law, + and I meant to ask you either to recommend to me a sharp lawyer, or to + tell me how I can best get at your famous police here.” + </p> + <p> + “Police?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I may require the service of one of those officers whom we in + England call detectives; but if you are busy now, I can call to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I spare you two minutes. Say at once, dear Monsieur, what you want with + law or police.” + </p> + <p> + “I am instructed to find out the address of a certain Louise Duval, + daughter of a drawing-master named Adolphe Duval, living in the Rue + ——in the year 1848.” + </p> + <p> + Graham, while he thus said, naturally looked Lebeau in the face,—not + pryingly, not significantly, but as a man generally does look in the face + the other man whom he accosts seriously. The change in the face he + regarded was slight, but it was unmistakable. It was the sudden meeting of + the eyebrows, accompanied with the sudden jerk of the shoulder and bend of + the neck, which betoken a man taken by surprise, and who pauses to reflect + before he replies. His pause was but momentary, + </p> + <p> + “For what object is this address required?” + </p> + <p> + “That I don’t know; but evidently for some advantage to Madame or + Mademoiselle Duval, if still alive, because my employer authorizes me to + spend no less than L100 in ascertaining where she is, if alive, or where + she was buried, if dead; and if other means fail, I am instructed to + advertise to the effect that if Louise Duval, or, in case of her death, + any children of hers living in the year 1849, will communicate with some + person whom I may appoint at Paris, such intelligence, authenticated, may + prove to the advantage of the party advertised for. I am, however, told + not to resort to this means without consulting either with a legal adviser + or the police.” + </p> + <p> + “Hem! have you inquired at the house where this lady was, you say, living + in 1848?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I have done that; but very clumsily, I dare say, through a + friend, and learned nothing. But I must not keep you now. I think I shall + apply at once to the police. What should I say when I get to the bureau?” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, Monsieur, stop. I do not advise you to apply to the police. It + would be waste of time and money. Allow me to think over the matter. I + shall see you this evening at the cafe Jean Jacques at eight o’clock. Till + then do nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; I obey you. The whole thing is out of my way of business + awfully. Bonjour.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + Punctually at eight o’clock Graham Vane had taken his seat at a corner + table at the remote end of the cafe Jean Jacques, called for his cup of + coffee and his evening journal, and awaited the arrival of M. Lebeau. His + patience was not tasked long. In a few minutes the Frenchman entered, + paused at the comptoir, as was his habit, to address a polite salutation + to the well-dressed lady who there presided, nodded as usual to Armand + Monnier, then glanced round, recognized Graham with a smile, and + approached his table with the quiet grace of movement by which he was + distinguished. + </p> + <p> + Seating himself opposite to Graham, and speaking in a voice too low to be + heard by others, and in French, he then said, + </p> + <p> + “In thinking over your communication this morning, it strikes me as + probable, perhaps as certain, that this Louise Duval or her children, if + she have any, must be entitled to some moneys bequeathed to her by a + relation or friend in England. What say you to that assumption, Monsieur + Lamb?” + </p> + <p> + “You are a sharp fellow,” answered Graham. “Just what I say to myself. Why + else should I be instructed to go to such expense in finding her out? Most + likely, if one can’t trace her, or her children born before the date + named, any such moneys will go to some one else; and that some one else, + whoever he be, has commissioned my employer to find out. But I don’t + imagine any sum due to her or her heirs can be much, or that the matter is + very important; for, if so, the thing would not be carelessly left in the + hands of one of the small fry like myself, and clapped in along with a lot + of other business as an off-hand job.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me who employed you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t feel authorized to do that at present; and I don’t see the + necessity of it. It seems to me, on consideration, a matter for the police + to ferret out; only, as I asked before, how should I get at the police?” + </p> + <p> + “That is not difficult. It is just possible that I might help you better + than any lawyer or any detective.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, did you ever know this Louise Duval?” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Monsieur Lamb; you refuse me your full confidence; allow me to + imitate your reserve.” + </p> + <p> + “Oho!” said Graham; “shut up as close as you like; it is nothing to me. + Only observe, there is this difference between us, that I am employed by + another. He does not authorize me to name him, and if I did commit that + indiscretion, I might lose my bread and cheese. Whereas you have nobody’s + secret to guard but your own, in saying whether or not you ever knew a + Madame or Mademoiselle Duval; and if you have some reason for not getting + me the information I am instructed to obtain, that is also a reason for + not troubling you further. And after all, old boy” (with a familiar slap + on Lebeau’s stately shoulder), “after all, it is I who would employ you; + you don’t employ me. And if you find out the lady, it is you who would get + the L100., not I.” + </p> + <p> + M. Lebeau mechanically brushed, with a light movement of hand, the + shoulder which the Englishman had so pleasantly touched, drew himself and + chair some inches back, and said slowly,— + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Lamb, let us talk as gentleman to gentleman. Put aside the + question of money altogether; I must first know why your employer wants to + hunt out this poor Louise Duval. It may be to her injury, and I would do + her none if you offered thousands where you offer pounds. I forestall the + condition of mutual confidence; I own that I have known her,—it is + many years ago; and, Monsieur Lamb, though a Frenchman very often injures + a woman from love, he is in a worse plight for bread and cheese than I am + if he injures her for money.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he thinking of the duchess’s jewels?” thought Graham. “Bravo, mon + vieux,” he said aloud; “but as I don’t know what my employer’s motive in + his commission is, perhaps you can enlighten me. How could his inquiry + injure Louise Duval?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot say; but you English have the power to divorce your wives. + Louise Duval may have married an Englishman, separated from him, and he + wants to know where he can find, in order to criminate and divorce her, or + it may be to insist on her return to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Bosh! that is not likely.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, then, some English friend she may have known has left her a + bequest, which would of course lapse to some one else if she be not + living.” + </p> + <p> + “By gad!” cried Graham, “I think you hit the right nail on the head: c’est + cela. But what then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I thought any substantial benefit to Louise Duval might result + from the success of your inquiry, I would really see if it were in my + power to help you. But I must have time to consider.” + </p> + <p> + “How long?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t exactly say; perhaps three or four days.” + </p> + <p> + “Bon! I will wait. Here comes M. Georges. I leave you to dominos and him. + Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + Late that night M. Lebeau was seated alone in a chamber connected with the + cabinet in which he received visitors. A ledger was open before him, which + he scanned with careful eyes, no longer screened by spectacles. The survey + seemed to satisfy him. He murmured, “It suffices, the time has come,” + closed the book, returned it to his bureau, which he locked up, and then + wrote in cipher the letter here reduced into English:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “DEAR AND NOBLE FRIEND,—Events march; the Empire is everywhere + undermined. Our treasury has thriven in my hands; the sums + subscribed and received by me through you have become more than + quadrupled by advantageous speculations, in which M. Georges has + been a most trustworthy agent. A portion of them I have continued + to employ in the mode suggested,—namely, in bringing together men + discreetly chosen as being in their various ways representatives and + ringleaders of the motley varieties that, when united at the right + moment, form a Parisian mob. But from that right moment we are as + yet distant. Before we can call passion into action, we must + prepare opinion for change. I propose now to devote no + inconsiderable portion of our fund towards the inauguration of a + journal which shall gradually give voice to our designs. Trust me + to insure its success, and obtain the aid of writers who will have + no notion of the uses to which they ultimately contribute. Now that + the time has come to establish for ourselves an organ in the press, + addressing higher orders of intelligence than those which are needed + to destroy and incapable of reconstructing, the time has also + arrived for the reappearance in his proper name and rank of the man + in whom you take so gracious an interest. In vain you have pressed + him to do so before; till now he had not amassed together, by the + slow process of petty gains and constant savings, with such + additions as prudent speculations on his own account might + contribute, the modest means necessary to his resumed position; and + as he always contended against your generous offers, no + consideration should ever tempt him either to appropriate to his + personal use a single sou intrusted to him for a public purpose, or + to accept from friendship the pecuniary aid which would abase him + into the hireling of a cause. No! Victor de Mauleon despises too + much the tools that he employs to allow any man hereafter to say, + ‘Thou also wert a tool, and hast been paid for thy uses.’ + + “But to restore the victim of calumny to his rightful place in this + gaudy world, stripped of youth and reduced in fortune, is a task + that may well seem impossible. To-morrow he takes the first step + towards the achievement of the impossible. Experience is no bad + substitute for youth, and ambition is made stronger by the goad of + poverty. + + “Thou shalt hear of his news soon.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK V. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + The next day at noon M. Louvier was closeted in his study with M. Gandrin. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” cried Louvier, “I have behaved very handsomely to the beau Marquis. + No one can say to the contrary.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” answered Gandrin. “Besides the easy terms for the transfer of the + mortgages, that free bonus of one thousand louis is a generous and noble + act of munificence.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not! and my youngster has already begun to do with it as I meant + and expected. He has taken a fine apartment; he has bought a coupe and + horses; he has placed himself in the hands of the Chevalier de Finisterre; + he is entered at the Jockey Club. Parbleu, the one thousand louis will be + soon gone.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “And then! why, he will have tasted the sweets of Parisian life; he will + think with disgust of the vieux manoir. He can borrow no more. I must + remain sole mortgagee, and I shall behave as handsomely in buying his + estates as I have behaved in increasing his income.” + </p> + <p> + Here a clerk entered and said that a monsieur wished to see M. Louvier for + a few minutes in private, on urgent business. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him to send in his card.” + </p> + <p> + “He has declined to do so, but states that he has already the honour of + your acquaintance.” + </p> + <p> + “A writer in the press, perhaps; or is he an artist?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not seen him before, Monsieur, but he has the air tres comme il + faut.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you may admit him. I will not detain you longer, my dear Gandrin. + My homages to Madame. Bonjour.” + </p> + <p> + Louvier bowed out M. Gandrin, and then rubbed his hands complacently. He + was in high spirits. “Aha, my dear Marquis, thou art in my trap now. Would + it were thy father instead,” he muttered chucklingly, and then took his + stand on the hearth, with his back to the fireless grate. There entered a + gentleman exceedingly well dressed,—dressed according to the + fashion, but still as became one of ripe middle age, not desiring to pass + for younger than he was. + </p> + <p> + He was tall, with a kind of lofty ease in his air and his movements; not + slight of frame, but spare enough to disguise the strength and endurance + which belong to sinews and thews of steel, freed from all superfluous + flesh, broad across the shoulders, thin in the flanks. His dark hair had + in youth been luxuriant in thickness and curl; it was now clipped short, + and had become bare at the temples, but it still retained the lustre of + its colour and the crispness of its ringlets. He wore neither beard nor + mustache, and the darkness of his hair was contrasted by a clear fairness + of complexion, healthful, though somewhat pale, and eyes of that rare gray + tint which has in it no shade of blue,—peculiar eyes, which give a + very distinct character to the face. The man must have been singularly + handsome in youth; he was handsome still, though probably in his + forty-seventh or forty-eighth year, doubtless a very different kind of + comeliness. The form of the features and the contour of the face were + those that suit the rounded beauty of the Greek outline, and such beauty + would naturally have been the attribute of the countenance in earlier + days; but the cheeks were now thin, and with lines of care and sorrow + between nostril and lip, so that the shape of the face seemed lengthened, + and the features had become more salient. + </p> + <p> + Louvier gazed at his visitor with a vague idea that he had seen him + before, and could not remember where or when; but at all events he + recognized at the first glance a man of rank and of the great world. + </p> + <p> + “Pray be seated, Monsieur,” he said, resuming his own easy-chair. + </p> + <p> + The visitor obeyed the invitation with a very graceful bend of his head, + drew his chair near to the financier’s, stretched his limbs with the ease + of a man making himself at home, and fixing his calm bright eyes quietly + on Louvier, said, with a bland smile,— + </p> + <p> + “My dear old friend, do you not remember me? You are less altered than I + am.” + </p> + <p> + Louvier stared hard and long; his lip fell, his cheek paled, and at last + he faltered out, “Ciel! is it possible! Victor, the Vicomte de Mauleon?” + </p> + <p> + “At your service, my dear Louvier.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause; the financier was evidently confused and embarrassed, + and not less evidently the visit of the “dear old friend” was unwelcome. + </p> + <p> + “Vicomte,” he said at last, “this is indeed a surprise; I thought you had + long since quitted Paris for good.” + </p> + <p> + “‘L’homme propose,’ etc. I have returned, and mean to enjoy the rest of my + days in the metropolis of the Graces and the Pleasures. What though we are + not so young as we were, Louvier,—we have more vigour in us than the + new generation; and though it may no longer befit us to renew the gay + carousals of old, life has still excitements as vivid for the social + temperament and ambitious mind. Yes, the roi des viveurs returns to Paris + for a more solid throne than he filled before.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you serious?” + </p> + <p> + “As serious as the French gayety will permit one to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, Monsieur le Vicomte! can you flatter yourself that you will regain + the society you have quitted, and the name you have—” + </p> + <p> + Louvier stopped short; something in the Vicomte’s eye daunted him. + </p> + <p> + “The name I have laid aside for convenience of travel. Princes travel + incognito, and so may a simple gentilhomme. ‘Regain my place in society,’ + say you? Yes; it is not that which troubles me.” + </p> + <p> + “What does?” + </p> + <p> + “The consideration whether on a very modest income I can be sufficiently + esteemed for myself to render that society more pleasant than ever. Ah, + mon cher! why recoil? why so frightened? Do you think I am going to ask + you for money? Have I ever done so since we parted; and did I ever do so + before without repaying you? Bah! you roturiers are worse than the + Bourbons. You never learn or unlearn. ‘Fors non mutat genus.’” + </p> + <p> + The magnificent millionaire, accustomed to the homage of grandees from the + Faubourg and lions from the Chaussee d’Antin, rose to his feet in superb + wrath, less at the taunting words than at the haughtiness of mien with + which they were uttered. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I cannot permit you to address me in that tone. Do you mean to + insult me?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. Tranquillize your nerves, reseat yourself, and listen,—reseat + yourself, I say.” + </p> + <p> + Louvier dropped into his chair. + </p> + <p> + “No,” resumed the Vicomte, politely, “I do not come here to insult you, + neither do I come to ask money; I assume that I am in my rights when I ask + Monsieur Louvier what has become of Louise Duval?” + </p> + <p> + “Louise Duval! I know nothing about her.” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly not now; but you did know her well enough, when we two parted, + to be a candidate for her hand. You did know her enough to solicit my good + offices in promotion of your suit; and you did, at my advice, quit Paris + to seek her at Aix-la-Chapelle.” + </p> + <p> + “What! have you, Monsieur de Mauleon, not heard news of her since that + day?” + </p> + <p> + “I decline to accept your question as an answer to mine. You went to + Aix-la-Chapelle; you saw Louise Duval, at my urgent request she + condescended to accept your hand.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Monsieur de Mauleon, she did not accept my hand. I did not even see + her. The day before I arrived at Aix-la-Chapelle she had left it,—not + alone,—left it with her lover.” + </p> + <p> + “Her lover! You do not mean the miserable Englishman who—” + </p> + <p> + “No Englishman,” interrupted Louvier, fiercely. “Enough that the step she + took placed an eternal barrier between her and myself. I have never even + sought to hear of her since that day. Vicomte, that woman was the one love + of my life. I loved her, as you must have known, to folly, to madness. And + how was my love requited? Ah! you open a very deep wound, Monsieur le + Vicomte.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, Louvier; I did not give you credit for feelings so keen and so + genuine, nor did I think myself thus easily affected by matters belonging + to a past life so remote from the present. For whom did Louise forsake + you?” + </p> + <p> + “It matters not; he is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “I regret to hear that; I might have avenged you.” + </p> + <p> + “I need no one to avenge my wrong. Let this pass.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. Louise, you say, fled with a seducer? So proud as she was, I can + scarcely believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was not with a roturier she fled; her pride would not have allowed + that.” + </p> + <p> + “He must have deceived her somehow. Did she continue to live with him?” + </p> + <p> + “That question, at least, I can answer; for though I lost all trace of her + life, his life was pretty well known to me till its end; and a very few + months after she fled he was enchained to another. Let us talk of her no + more.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,” muttered De Mauleon, “some disgraces are not to be redeemed, and + therefore not to be discussed. To me, though a relation, Louise Duval was + but little known, and after what you tell me, I cannot dispute your right + to say, ‘Talk of her no more.’ You loved her, and she wronged you. My poor + Louvier, pardon me if I made an old wound bleed afresh.” + </p> + <p> + These words were said with a certain pathetic tenderness; they softened + Louvier towards the speaker. + </p> + <p> + After a short pause the Vicomte swept his hand over his brow, as if to + dismiss from his mind a painful and obtrusive thought; then with a changed + expression of countenance,—an expression frank and winning,—with + voice and with manner in which no vestige remained of the irony or the + haughtiness with which he had resented the frigidity of his reception, he + drew his chair still nearer to Louvier’s, and resumed: “Our situations, + Paul Louvier, are much changed since we two became friends. I then could + say, ‘Open sesame’ to whatever recesses, forbidden to vulgar footsteps, + the adventurer whom I took by the hand might wish to explore. In those + days my heart was warm; I liked you, Louvier,—honestly liked you. I + think our personal acquaintance commenced in some gay gathering of young + viveurs, whose behaviour to you offended my sense of good breeding?” + </p> + <p> + Louvier coloured and muttered inaudibly. De Mauleon continued: “I felt it + due to you to rebuke their incivilities, the more so as you evinced on + that occasion your own superiority in sense and temper, permit me to add, + with no lack of becoming spirit.” + </p> + <p> + Louvier bowed his head, evidently gratified. + </p> + <p> + “From that day we became familiar. If any obligation to me were incurred, + you would not have been slow to return it. On more than one occasion when + I was rapidly wasting money—and money was plentiful with you—you + generously offered me your purse. On more than one occasion I accepted the + offer; and you would never have asked repayment if I had not insisted on + repaying. I was no less grateful for your aid.” Louvier made a movement as + if to extend his hand, but he checked the impulse. + </p> + <p> + “There was another attraction which drew me towards you. I recognized in + your character a certain power in sympathy with that power which I + imagined lay dormant in myself, and not to be found among the freluquets + and lions who were my more habitual associates. Do you not remember some + hours of serious talk we have had together when we lounged in the + Tuileries, or sipped our coffee in the garden of the Palais Royal?—hours + when we forgot that those were the haunts of idlers, and thought of the + stormy actions affecting the history of the world of which they had been + the scene; hours when I confided to you, as I confided to no other man, + the ambitious hopes for the future which my follies in the present, alas! + were hourly tending to frustrate.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, I remember the starlit night; it was not in the gardens of the + Tuileries nor in the Palais Royal,—it was on the Pont de la + Concorde, on which we had paused, noting the starlight on the waters, that + you said, pointing towards the walls of the Corps Legislatif, ‘Paul, when + I once get into the Chamber, how long will it take me to become First + Minister of France?’” + </p> + <p> + “Did I say so?—possibly; but I was too young then for admission to + the Chamber, and I fancied I had so many years yet to spare in idle + loiterings at the Fountain of Youth. Pass over these circumstances. You + became in love with Louise. I told you her troubled history; it did not + diminish your love; and then I frankly favoured your suit. You set out for + Aix-la-Chapelle a day or two afterwards; then fell the thunderbolt which + shattered my existence, and we have never met again till this hour. You + did not receive me kindly, Paul Louvier.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Louvier, falteringly, “but since you refer to that + thunderbolt, you cannot but be aware that—that—” + </p> + <p> + “I was subjected to a calumny which I expect those who have known me as + well as you did to assist me now to refute.” + </p> + <p> + “If it be really a calumny.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens, man! could you ever doubt that?” cried De Mauleon, with heat; + “ever doubt that I would rather have blown out my brains than allowed them + even to conceive the idea of a crime so base?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” answered Louvier, meekly, “but I did not return to Paris for + months after you had disappeared. My mind was unsettled by the news that + awaited me at Aix; I sought to distract it by travel,—visited + Holland and England; and when I did return to Paris, all that I heard of + your story was the darker side of it. I willingly listen to your own + account. You never took, or at least never accepted, the Duchesse de + ———‘s jewels; and your friend M. de ——- + never sold them to one jeweller and obtained their substitutes in paste + from another?” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte made a perceptible effort to repress an impulse of rage; then + reseating himself in his chair, and with that slight shrug of the shoulder + by which a Frenchman implies to himself that rage would be out of place, + replied calmly, “M. de N. did as you say, but of course not employed by + me, nor with my knowledge. Listen; the truth is this,—the time has + come to tell it. Before you left Paris for Aix I found myself on the brink + of ruin. I had glided towards it with my characteristic recklessness, with + that scorn of money for itself, that sanguine confidence in the favour of + fortune, which are vices common to every roi des viveurs. Poor mock + Alexanders that we spendthrifts are in youth! we divide all we have among + others, and when asked by some prudent friend, ‘What have you left for + your own share?’ answer, ‘Hope.’ I knew, of course, that my patrimony was + rapidly vanishing; but then my horses were matchless. I had enough to last + me for years on their chance of winning—of course they would win. + But you may recollect when we parted that I was troubled,—creditors’ + bills before me—usurers’ bills too,—and you, my dear Louvier, + pressed on me your purse, were angry when I refused it. How could I + accept? All my chance of repayment was in the speed of a horse. I believed + in that chance for myself; but for a trustful friend, no. Ask your own + heart now,—nay, I will not say heart,—ask your own + common-sense, whether a man who then put aside your purse—spendthrift, + vaurien, though he might be—was likely to steal or accept a woman’s + jewels. Va, mon pauvre Louvier, again I say, ‘Fors non mutat genus.’” + </p> + <p> + Despite the repetition of the displeasing patrician motto, such + reminiscences of his visitor’s motley character—irregular, + turbulent, the reverse of severe, but, in its own loose way, grandly + generous and grandly brave—struck both on the common-sense and the + heart of the listener; and the Frenchman recognized the Frenchman. Louvier + doubted De Mauleon’s word no more, bowed his head, and said, “Victor de + Mauleon, I have wronged you; go on.” + </p> + <p> + “On the day after you left for Aix came that horse-race on which my all + depended: it was lost. The loss absorbed the whole of my remaining + fortune; it absorbed about twenty thousand francs in excess, a debt of + honour to De N., whom you called my friend. Friend he was not; imitator, + follower, flatterer, yes. Still I deemed him enough my friend to say to + him, ‘Give me a little time to pay the money; I must sell my stud, or + write to my only living relation from whom I have expectations.’ You + remember that relation,—Jacques de Mauleon, old and unmarried. By De + N.‘s advice I did write to my kinsman. No answer came; but what did come + were fresh bills from creditors. I then calmly calculated my assets. The + sale of my stud and effects might suffice to pay every sou that I owed, + including my debt to De N.; but that was not quite certain. At all events, + when the debts were paid I should be beggared. Well, you know, Louvier, + what we Frenchmen are: how Nature has denied to us the quality of + patience; how involuntarily suicide presents itself to us when hope is + lost; and suicide seemed to me here due to honour, namely, to the certain + discharge of my liabilities,—for the stud and effects of Victor de + Mauleon, roi des viveurs, would command much higher prices if he died like + Cato than if he ran away from his fate like Pompey. Doubtless De N. + guessed my intention from my words or my manner; but on the very day in + which I had made all preparations for quitting the world from which + sunshine had vanished, I received in a blank envelope bank-notes amounting + to seventy thousand francs, and the post-mark on the envelope was that of + the town of Fontainebleau, near to which lived my rich kinsman Jacques. I + took it for granted that the sum came from him. Displeased as he might + have been with my wild career, still I was his natural heir. The sum + sufficed to pay my debt to De N., to all creditors, and leave a surplus. + My sanguine spirits returned. I would sell my stud; I would retrench, + reform, go to my kinsman as the penitent son. The fatted calf would be + killed, and I should wear purple yet. You understand that, Louvier?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; so like you. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, came the thunderbolt! Ah! in those sunny days you used to envy + me for being so spoilt by women. The Duchesse de ——— had + conceived for me one of those romantic fancies which women without + children and with ample leisure for the waste of affection do sometimes + conceive for very ordinary men younger than themselves, but in whom they + imagine they discover sinners to reform or heroes to exalt. I had been + honoured by some notes from the Duchesse in which this sort of romance was + owned. I had not replied to them encouragingly. In truth, my heart was + then devoted to another,—the English girl whom I had wooed as my + wife; who, despite her parents’ retraction of their consent to our union + when they learned how dilapidated were my fortunes, pledged herself to + remain faithful to me, and wait for better days.” Again De Mauleon paused + in suppressed emotion, and then went on hurriedly: “No, the Duchesse did + not inspire me with guilty passion, but she did inspire me with an + affectionate respect. I felt that she was by nature meant to be a great + and noble creature, and was, nevertheless, at that moment wholly misled + from her right place amongst women by an illusion of mere imagination + about a man who happened then to be very much talked about, and perhaps + resembled some Lothario in the novels which she was always reading. We + lodged, as you may remember, in the same house.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember. I remember how you once took me to a great ball given by + the Duchesse; how handsome I thought her, though no longer young; and you + say right—how I did envy you, that night!” + </p> + <p> + “From that night, however, the Duc, not unnaturally, became jealous. He + reproved the Duchesse for her too amiable manner towards a mauvais sujet + like myself, and forbade her in future to receive my visits. It was then + that these notes became frequent and clandestine, brought to me by her + maid, who took back my somewhat chilling replies. + </p> + <p> + “But to proceed. In the flush of my high spirits, and in the insolence of + magnificent ease with which I paid De N——— the trifle I + owed him, something he said made my heart stand still.” + </p> + <p> + “I told him that the money received had come from Jacques de Mauleon, and + that I was going down to his house that day to thank him. He replied, + ‘Don’t go; it did not come from him.’ ‘It must; see the post-mark of the + envelope,—Fontainebleau.’ ‘I posted it at Fontainebleau.’ ‘You sent + me the money, you!’ ‘Nay, that is beyond my means. Where it came from,’ + said this miserable, ‘much more may yet come;’ and then be narrated, with + that cynicism so in vogue at Paris, how he had told the Duchesse (who knew + him as my intimate associate) of my stress of circumstance, of his fear + that I meditated something desperate; how she gave him the jewels to sell + and to substitute; how, in order to baffle my suspicion and frustrate my + scruples, he had gone to Fontainebleau and there posted the envelope + containing the bank-notes, out of which he secured for himself the payment + he deemed otherwise imperilled. De N. having made this confession, hurried + down the stairs swiftly enough to save himself a descent by the window. Do + you believe me still?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; you were always so hot-blooded, and De N. so considerate of self, I + believe you implicitly.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did what any man would do; I wrote a hasty letter to the + Duchesse, stating all my gratitude for an act of pure friendship so noble; + urging also the reasons that rendered it impossible for a man of honour to + profit by such an act. Unhappily, what had been sent was paid away ere I + knew the facts; but I could not bear the thought of life till my debt to + her was acquitted; in short, Louvier, conceive for yourself the sort of + letter which I—which any honest man—would write, under + circumstances so cruel.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” grunted Louvier. + </p> + <p> + “Something, however, in my letter, conjoined with what De N. had told her + as to my state of mind, alarmed this poor woman, who had deigned to take + in me an interest so little deserved. Her reply, very agitated and + incoherent, was brought to me by her maid, who had taken my letter, and by + whom, as I before said, our correspondence had been of late carried on. In + her reply she implored me to decide, to reflect on nothing till I had seen + her; stated how the rest of her day was pre-engaged; and since to visit + her openly had been made impossible by the Due’s interdict, enclosed the + key to the private entrance to her rooms, by which I could gain an + interview with her at ten o’clock that night, an hour at which the Duc had + informed her he should be out till late at his club. Now, however great + the indiscretion which the Duchesse here committed, it is due to her + memory to say that I am convinced that her dominant idea was that I + meditated self-destruction; that no time was to be lost to save me from + it; and for the rest she trusted to the influence which a woman’s tears + and adjurations and reasonings have over even the strongest and hardest + men. It is only one of those coxcombs in whom the world of fashion abounds + who could have admitted a thought that would have done wrong to the + impulsive, generous, imprudent eagerness of a woman to be in time to save + from death by his own hand a fellow-being for whom she had conceived an + interest. I so construed her note. At the hour she named I admitted myself + into the rooms by the key she sent. You know the rest: I was discovered by + the Duc and by the agents of police in the cabinet in which the Duchesse’s + jewels were kept. The key that admitted me into the cabinet was found in + my possession.” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon’s voice here faltered, and he covered his face with a + convulsive hand. Almost in the same breath he recovered from visible sign + of emotion, and went on with a half laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you envied me, did you, for being spoiled by the women? Enviable + position indeed was mine that night! The Duc obeyed the first impulse of + his wrath. He imagined that I had dishonoured him; he would dishonour me + in return. Easier to his pride, too, a charge against the robber of jewels + than against a favoured lover of his wife. But when I, obeying the first + necessary obligation of honour, invented on the spur of the moment the + story by which the Duchesse’s reputation was cleared from suspicion, + accused myself of a frantic passion and the trickery of a fabricated key, + the Due’s true nature of gentilhomme came back. He retracted the charge + which he could scarcely even at the first blush have felt to be + well-founded; and as the sole charge left was simply that which men comme + il faut do not refer to criminal courts and police investigations, I was + left to make my bow unmolested and retreat to my own rooms, awaiting there + such communciations as the Duc might deem it right to convey to me on the + morrow. + </p> + <p> + “But on the morrow the Duc, with his wife and personal suite, quitted + Paris en route for Spain; the bulk of his retinue, including the offending + Abigail, was discharged; and, whether through these servants or through + the police, the story before evening was in the mouth of every gossip in + club or cafe,—exaggerated, distorted, to my ignominy and shame. My + detection in the cabinet, the sale of the jewels, the substitution of + paste by De N., who was known to be my servile imitator and reputed to be + my abject tool, all my losses on the turf, my debts,—all these + scattered fibres of flax were twisted together in a rope that would have + hanged a dog with a much better name than mine. If some disbelieved that I + could be a thief, few of those who should have known me best held me + guiltless of a baseness almost equal to that of theft,—the exaction + of profit from the love of a foolish woman.” + </p> + <p> + “But you could have told your own tale, shown the letters you had received + from the Duchesse, and cleared away every stain on your honour.” + </p> + <p> + “How?—shown her letters, ruined her character, even stated that she + had caused her jewels to be sold for the uses of a young roue! Ah, no, + Louvier! I would rather have gone to the galleys.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” grunted Louvier again. + </p> + <p> + “The Duc generously gave me better means of righting myself. Three days + after he quitted Paris I received a letter from him, very politely + written, expressing his great regret that any words implying the suspicion + too monstrous and absurd to need refutation should have escaped him in the + surprise of the moment; but stating that since the offence I had owned was + one that he could not overlook, he was under the necessity of asking the + only reparation I could make. That if it ‘deranged’ me to quit Paris, he + would return to it for the purpose required; but that if I would give him + the additional satisfaction of suiting his convenience, he should prefer + to await my arrival at Bayonne, where he was detained by the indisposition + of the Duchesse.” + </p> + <p> + “You have still that letter?” asked Louvier, quickly. “Yes; with other + more important documents constituting what I may call my pieces + justificatives. + </p> + <p> + “I need not say that I replied stating the time at which I should arrive + at Bayonne, and the hotel at which I should await the Duc’s command. + Accordingly I set out that same day, gained the hotel named, despatched to + the Duc the announcement of my arrival, and was considering how I should + obtain a second in some officer quartered in the town—for my + soreness and resentment at the marked coldness of my former acquaintances + at Paris had forbidden me to seek a second among any of that faithless + number—when the Due himself entered my room. Judge of my amaze at + seeing him in person; judge how much greater the amaze became when he + advanced with a grave but cordial smile, offering me his hand! + </p> + <p> + “‘Monsieur de Mauleon,’ said he, ‘since I wrote to you, facts have become + known to me which would induce me rather to ask your friendship than call + on you to defend your life. Madame la Duchesse has been seriously ill + since we left Paris, and I refrained from all explanations likely to add + to the hysterical excitement under which she was suffering. It is only + this day that her mind became collected, and she herself then gave me her + entire confidence. Monsieur, she insisted on my reading the letters that + you addressed to her. Those letters, Monsieur, suffice to prove your + innocence of any design against my peace. The Duchesse has so candidly + avowed her own indiscretion, has so clearly established the distinction + between indiscretion and guilt, that I have granted her my pardon with a + lightened heart and a firm belief that we shall be happier together than + we have been yet.’ + </p> + <p> + “The Due continued his journey the next day, but he subsequently honoured + me with two or three letters written as friend to friend, and in which you + will find repeated the substance of what I have stated him to say by word + of mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “But why not then have returned to Paris? Such letters, at least, you + might have shown, and in braving your calumniators you would have soon + lived them down.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget that I was a ruined man. When, by the sale of my horses, etc., + my debts, including what was owed to the Duchesse, and which I remitted to + the Duc, were discharged, the balance left to me would not have maintained + me a week at Paris. Besides, I felt so sore, so indignant. Paris and the + Parisians had become to me so hateful. And to crown all, that girl, that + English girl whom I had so loved, on whose fidelity I had so counted—well, + I received a letter from her, gently but coldly bidding me farewell + forever. I do not think she believed me guilty of theft; but doubtless the + offence I had confessed, in order to save the honour of the Duchesse, + could but seem to her all sufficient! Broken in spirit, bleeding at heart + to the very core, still self-destruction was no longer to be thought of. I + would not die till I could once more lift up my head as Victor de + Mauleon.” + </p> + <p> + “What then became of you, my poor Victor?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is a tale too long for recital. I have played so many parts that + I am puzzled to recognize my own identity with the Victor de Mauleon whose + name I abandoned. I have been a soldier in Algeria, and won my cross on + the field of battle,—that cross and my colonel’s letter are among my + pieces justificatives; I have been a gold-digger in California, a + speculator in New York, of late in callings obscure and humble. But in all + my adventures, under whatever name, I have earned testimonials of probity, + could manifestations of so vulgar a virtue be held of account by the + enlightened people of Paris. I come now to a close. The Vicomte de Mauleon + is about to re-appear in Paris, and the first to whom he announces that + sublime avatar is Paul Louvier. When settled in some modest apartment, I + shall place in your hands my pieces justificatives. I shall ask you to + summon my surviving relations or connections, among which are the Counts + de Vandemar, Beauvilliers, De Passy, and the Marquis de Rochebriant, with + any friends of your own who sway the opinions of the Great World. You will + place my justification before them, expressing your own opinion that it + suffices; in a word, you will give me the sanction of your countenance. + For the rest, I trust to myself to propitiate the kindly and to silence + the calumnious. I have spoken; what say you?” + </p> + <p> + “You overrate my power in society. Why not appeal yourself to your + high-born relations?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Louvier; I have too well considered the case to alter my decision. It + is through you, and you alone, that I shall approach my relations. My + vindicator must be a man of whom the vulgar cannot say, ‘Oh, he is a + relation,—a fellow-noble; those aristocrats whitewash each other.’ + It must be an authority with the public at large,—a bourgeois, a + millionaire, a roi de la Bourse. I choose you, and that ends the + discussion.” + </p> + <p> + Louvier could not help laughing good-humouredly at the sang froid of the + Vicomte. He was once more under the domination of a man who had for a time + dominated all with whom he lived. + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon continued: “Your task will be easy enough. Society changes + rapidly at Paris. Few persons now exist who have more than a vague + recollection of the circumstances which can be so easily explained to my + complete vindication when the vindication comes from a man of your solid + respectability and social influence. Besides, I have political objects in + view. You are a Liberal; the Vandemars and Rochebriants are Legitimists. I + prefer a godfather on the Liberal side. Pardieu, mon ami, why such + coquettish hesitation? Said and done. Your hand on it.” + </p> + <p> + “There is my hand then. I will do all I can to help you.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you will, old friend; and you do both kindly and wisely.” Here De + Mauleon cordially pressed the hand he held, and departed. + </p> + <p> + On gaining the street, the Vicomte glided into a neighbouring courtyard, + in which he had left his fiacre, and bade the coachman drive towards the + Boulevard Sebastopol. On the way, he took from a small bag that he had + left in the carriage the flaxen wig and pale whiskers which distinguished + M. Lebeau, and mantled his elegant habiliments in an immense cloak, which + he had also left in the fiacre. Arrived at the Boulevard Sebastopol, he + drew up the collar of the cloak so as to conceal much of his face, stopped + the driver, paid him quickly, and, bag in hand, hurried on to another + stand of fiacres at a little distance, entered one, drove to the Faubourg + Montmartre, dismissed the vehicle at the mouth of a street not far from M. + Lebeau’s office, and gained on foot the private side-door of the house, + let himself in with his latchkey, entered the private room on the inner + side of his office, locked the door, and proceeded leisurely to exchange + the brilliant appearance which the Vicomte de Mauleon had borne on his + visit to the millionaire for the sober raiment and bourgeois air of M. + Lebeau, the letter-writer. + </p> + <p> + Then after locking up his former costume in a drawer of his secretaire, he + sat himself down and wrote the following lines:— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEAR MONSIEUR GEORGES,—I advise you strongly, from information that + has just reached me, to lose no time in pressing M. Savarin to repay + the sum I recommended you to lend him, and for which you hold his + bill due this day. The scandal of legal measures against a writer + so distinguished should be avoided if possible. He will avoid it + and get the money somehow; but he must be urgently pressed. If you + neglect this warning, my responsibility is past. Agreez mes + sentimens les plus sinceres. + J. L. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + The Marquis de Rochebriant is no longer domiciled in an attic in the + gloomy Faubourg. See him now in a charming appartement de garcon an + premier in the Rue du Helder, close by the promenades and haunts of the + mode. It had been furnished and inhabited by a brilliant young provincial + from Bordeaux, who, coming into an inheritance of one hundred thousand + francs, had rushed up to Paris to enjoy himself, and make his million at + the Bourse. He had enjoyed himself thoroughly,—he had been a darling + of the demi monde; he had been a successful and an inconstant gallant. + Zelie had listened to his vows of eternal love, and his offers of + unlimited cachemires; Desiree, succeeding Zelie, had assigned to him her + whole heart—or all that was left of it—in gratitude for the + ardour of his passion, and the diamonds and coupe which accompanied and + attested the ardour; the superb Hortense, supplanting Desiree, received + his visits in the charming apartment he furnished for her, and entertained + him and his friends at the most delicate little suppers, for the moderate + sum of four thousand francs a month. Yes, he had enjoyed himself + thoroughly, but he had not made a million at the Bourse. Before the year + was out, the one hundred thousand francs were gone. Compelled to return to + his province, and by his hard-hearted relations ordained, on penalty of + starvation, to marry the daughter of an avoue, for the sake of her dot and + a share in the hated drudgery of the avoue’s business,—his apartment + was to be had for a tenth part of the original cost of its furniture. A + certain Chevalier de Finisterre, to whom Louvier had introduced the + Marquis as a useful fellow who knew Paris, and would save him from being + cheated, had secured this bijou of an apartment for Alain, and concluded + the bargain for the bagatelle of L500. The Chevalier took the same + advantageous occasion to purchase the English well-bred hack and the neat + coupe and horses which the Bordelais was also necessitated to dispose of. + These purchases made, the Marquis had some five thousand francs (L200) + left out of Louvier’s premium of L1,000. The Marquis, however, did not + seem alarmed or dejected by the sudden diminution of capital so + expeditiously effected. The easy life thus commenced seemed to him too + natural to be fraught with danger; and easy though it was, it was a very + simple and modest sort of life compared with that of many other men of his + age to whom Enguerrand had introduced him, though most of them had an + income less than his, and few, indeed, of them were his equals in dignity + of birth. Could a Marquis de Rochebriant, if he lived at Paris at all, + give less than three thousand francs a year for his apartment, or mount a + more humble establishment than that confined to a valet and a tiger, two + horses for his coupe and one for the saddle? “Impossible,” said the + Chevalier de Finisterre, decidedly; and the Marquis bowed to so high an + authority. He thought within himself, “If I find in a few months that I am + exceeding my means, I can but dispose of my rooms and my horses, and + return to Rochebriant a richer man by far than I left it.” + </p> + <p> + To say truth, the brilliant seductions of Paris had already produced their + effect, not only on the habits, but on the character and cast of thought, + which the young noble had brought with him from the feudal and melancholy + Bretagne. + </p> + <p> + Warmed by the kindness with which, once introduced by his popular kinsmen, + he was everywhere received, the reserve or shyness which is the compromise + between the haughtiness of self-esteem and the painful doubt of + appreciation by others rapidly melted away. He caught insensibly the + polished tone, at once so light and so cordial, of his new-made friends. + With all the efforts of the democrats to establish equality and + fraternity, it is among the aristocrats that equality and fraternity are + most to be found. All gentilshommes in the best society are equals; and + whether they embrace or fight each other, they embrace or fight as + brothers of the same family. But with the tone of manners Alain de + Rochebriant imbibed still more insensibly the lore of that philosophy + which young idlers in pursuit of pleasure teach to each other. Probably in + all civilized and luxurious capitals that philosophy is very much the same + among the same class of idlers at the same age; probably it flourishes in + Pekin not less than at Paris. If Paris has the credit, or discredit, of it + more than any other capital, it is because in Paris more than in any other + capital it charms the eye by grace and amuses the ear by wit. A philosophy + which takes the things of this life very easily; which has a smile and a + shrug of the shoulders for any pretender to the Heroic; which subdivides + the wealth of passion into the pocket-money of caprices, is always in or + out of love ankle-deep, never venturing a plunge; which, light of heart as + of tongue, turns “the solemn plausibilities” of earth into subjects for + epigrams and bons mots,—jests at loyalty to kings and turns up its + nose at enthusiasm for commonwealths, abjures all grave studies and shuns + all profound emotions. We have crowds of such philosophers in London; but + there they are less noticed, because the agreeable attributes of the sect + are there dimmed and obfuscated. It is not a philosophy that flowers + richly in the reek of fogs and in the teeth of east winds; it wants for + full development the light atmosphere of Paris. Now this philosophy began + rapidly to exercise its charms upon Alain de Rochebriant. Even in the + society of professed Legitimists, he felt that faith had deserted the + Legitimist creed or taken refuge only as a companion of religion in the + hearts of high-born women and a small minority of priests. His chivalrous + loyalty still struggled to keep its ground, but its roots were very much + loosened. He saw—for his natural intellect was keen—that the + cause of the Bourbon was hopeless, at least for the present, because it + had ceased, at least for the present, to be a cause. His political creed + thus shaken, with it was shaken also that adherence to the past which had + stifled his ambition of a future. That ambition began to breathe and to + stir, though he owned it not to others, though, as yet, he scarce + distinguished its whispers, much less directed its movements towards any + definite object. Meanwhile, all that he knew of his ambition was the + new-born desire for social success. + </p> + <p> + We see him, then, under the quick operation of this change in sentiments + and habits, reclined on the fauteuil before his fireside, and listening to + his college friend, of whom we have so long lost sight, Frederic + Lemercier. Frederic had breakfasted with Alain,—a breakfast such as + might have contented the author of the “Almanach des Gourmands,” and + provided from the cafe Anglais. Frederic has just thrown aside his + regalia. + </p> + <p> + “Pardieu! my dear Alain. If Louvier has no sinister object in the + generosity of his dealings with you, he will have raised himself + prodigiously in my estimation. I shall forsake, in his favour, my + allegiance to Duplessis, though that clever fellow has just made a + wondrous coup in the Egyptians, and I gain forty thousand francs by having + followed his advice. But if Duplessis has a head as long as Louvier’s, he + certainly has not an equal greatness of soul. Still, my dear friend, will + you pardon me if I speak frankly, and in the way of a warning homily?” + </p> + <p> + “Speak; you cannot oblige me more.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, I know that you can no more live at Paris in the way you are + doing, or mean to do, without some fresh addition to your income, than a + lion could live in the Jardin des Plantes upon an allowance of two mice a + week.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see that. Deducting what I pay to my aunt,—and I cannot get + her to take more than six thousand francs a year,—I have seven + hundred napoleons left, net and clear. My rooms and stables are equipped, + and I have twenty-five hundred francs in hand. On seven hundred napoleons + a year, I calculate that I can very easily live as I do; and if I fail—well, + I must return to Pochebriant. Seven hundred napoleons a year will be a + magnificent rental there.” + </p> + <p> + Frederic shook his head. “You do not know how one expense leads to + another. Above all, you do not calculate the chief part of one’s + expenditure,—the unforeseen. You will play at the Jockey Club, and + lose half your income in a night.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never touch a card.” + </p> + <p> + “So you say now, innocent as a lamb of the force of example. At all + events, beau seigneur, I presume you are not going to resuscitate the part + of the Ermite de la Chaussee d’Antin; and the fair Parisiennes are demons + of extravagance.” + </p> + <p> + “Demons whom I shall not court.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I say you would? They will court you. Before another month has flown + you will be inundated with billets-doux.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not a shower that will devastate my humble harvest. But, mon cher, + we are falling upon very gloomy topics. Laissez-moi tranquille in my + illusions, if illusions they be. Ah, you cannot conceive what a new life + opens to the man who, like myself, has passed the dawn of his youth in + privation and fear, when he suddenly acquires competence and hope. If it + lasts only a year, it will be something to say ‘Vixi.’” + </p> + <p> + “Alain,” said Frederic; very earnestly, “believe me, I should not have + assumed the ungracious and inappropriate task of Mentor, if it were only a + year’s experience at stake, or if you were in the position of men like + myself,—free from the encumbrance of a great name and heavily + mortgaged lands. Should you fail to pay regularly the interest due to + Louvier, he has the power to put up at public auction, and there to buy in + for himself, your chateau and domain.” + </p> + <p> + “I am aware that in strict law he would have such power, though I doubt if + he would use it. Louvier is certainly a much better and more generous + fellow than I could have expected; and if I believe De Finisterre, he has + taken a sincere liking to me on account of affection to my poor father. + But why should not the interest be paid regularly? The revenues from + Rochebriant are not likely to decrease, and the charge on them is + lightened by the contract with Louvier. And I will confide to you a hope I + entertain of a very large addition to my rental.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “A chief part of my rental is derived from forests, and De Finisterre has + heard of a capitalist who is disposed to make a contract for their sale at + the fall this year, and may probably extend it to future years, at a price + far exceeding that which I have hitherto obtained.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray be cautious. De Finisterre is not a man I should implicitly trust in + such matters.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? Do you know anything against him? He is in the best society,—perfect + gentilhomme,—and, as his name may tell you, a fellow-Breton. You + yourself allow, and so does Enguerrand, that the purchases he made for me—in + this apartment, my horses, etc.—are singularly advantageous.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true; the Chevalier is reputed sharp and clever, is said to be very + amusing, and a first-rate piquet-player. I don’t know him personally,—I + am not in his set. I have no valid reason to disparage his character, nor + do I conjecture any motive he could have to injure or mislead you. Still, + I say, be cautious how far you trust to his advice or recommendation.” + </p> + <p> + “Again I ask why?” + </p> + <p> + “He is unlucky to his friends. He attaches himself much to men younger + than himself; and somehow or other I have observed that most of them have + come to grief. Besides, a person in whose sagacity I have great confidence + warned me against making the Chevalier’s acquaintance, and said to me, in + his blunt way, ‘De Finisterre came to Paris with nothing; he has succeeded + to nothing; he belongs to no ostensible profession by which anything can + be made. But evidently now he has picked up a good deal; and in proportion + as any young associate of his becomes poorer, De Finisterre seems + mysteriously to become richer. Shun that sort of acquaintance.’” + </p> + <p> + “Who is your sagacious adviser!” + </p> + <p> + “Duplessis.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I thought so. That bird of prey fancies every other bird looking out + for pigeons. I fancy that Duplessis is, like all those money-getters, a + seeker after fashion, and De Finisterre has not returned his bow.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Alain, I am to blame; nothing is so irritating as a dispute about + the worth of the men we like. I began it, now let it be dropped; only make + me one promise,—that if you should be in arrear, or if need presses, + you will come at once to me. It was very well to be absurdly proud in an + attic, but that pride will be out of place in your appartement au + premier.” + </p> + <p> + “You are the best fellow in the world, Frederic, and I make you the + promise you ask,” said Alain, cheerfully, but yet with a secret emotion of + tenderness and gratitude. “And now, mon cher, what day will you dine with + me to meet Raoul and Enguerrand, and some others whom you would like to + know?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, and hearty ones, but we move now in different spheres, and I + shall not trespass on yours. Je suis trop bourgeois to incur the ridicule + of le bourgeois gentilhomme.” + </p> + <p> + “Frederic, how dare you speak thus? My dear fellow, my friends shall + honour you as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “But that will be on your account, not mine. No; honestly that kind of + society neither tempts nor suits me. I am a sort of king in my own walk; + and I prefer my Bohemian royalty to vassalage in higher regions. Say no + more of it. It will flatter my vanity enough if you will now and then + descend to my coteries, and allow me to parade a Rochebriant as my + familiar crony, slap him on the shoulder, and call him Alain.” + </p> + <p> + “Fie! you who stopped me and the English aristocrat in the Champs Elysees, + to humble us with your boast of having fascinated une grande dame,—I + think you said a duchesse.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Lemercier, conceitedly, and passing his hand through his + scented locks, “women are different; love levels all ranks. I don’t blame + Ruy Blas for accepting the love of a queen, but I do blame him for passing + himself off as a noble,—a plagiarism, by the by, from an English + play. I do not love the English enough to copy them. A propos, what has + become of ce beau Grarm Varn? I have not seen him of late.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither have I.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor the belle Italienne?” + </p> + <p> + “Nor her,” said Alain, slightly blushing. + </p> + <p> + At this moment Enguerrand lounged into the room. Alain stopped Lemercier + to introduce him to his kinsman. “Enguerrand, I present to you M. + Lemercier, my earliest and one of my dearest friends.” + </p> + <p> + The young noble held out his hand with the bright and joyous grace which + accompanied all his movements, and expressed in cordial words his delight + to make M. Lemercier’s acquaintance. Bold and assured as Frederic was in + his own circles, he was more discomposed than set at ease by the gracious + accost of a lion, whom he felt at once to be of a breed superior to his + own. He muttered some confused phrases, in which ravi and flatte were + alone audible, and evanished. + </p> + <p> + “I know M. Lemercier by sight very well,” said Enguerrand, seating + himself. “One sees him very often in the Bois; and I have met him in the + Coulisses and the Bal Mabille. I think, too, that he plays at the Bourse, + and is lie with M. Duplessis, who bids fair to rival Louvier one of these + days. Is Duplessis also one of your dearest friends?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed. I once met him, and was not prepossessed in his favour.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, he is a man much to be admired and respected.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he understands so well the art of making what we all covet,—money. + I will introduce you to him.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been already introduced.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I will re-introduce you. He is much courted in a society which I + have recently been permitted by my father to frequent,—the society, + of the Imperial Court.” + </p> + <p> + “You frequent that society, and the Count permits it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; better the Imperialists than the Republicans; and my father begins + to own that truth, though he is too old or too indolent to act on it.” + </p> + <p> + “And Raoul?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Raoul, the melancholy and philosophical Raoul, has no ambition of any + kind, so long as—thanks somewhat to me—his purse is always + replenished for the wants of his stately existence, among the foremost of + which wants are the means to supply the wants of others. That is the true + reason why he consents to our glove-shop. Raoul belongs, with some other + young men of the Faubourg, to a society enrolled under the name of Saint + Francois de Sales, for the relief of the poor. He visits their houses, and + is at home by their sickbeds as at their stinted boards. Nor does he + confine his visitations to the limits of our Faubourg; he extends his + travels to Montmartre and Belleville. As to our upper world, he does not + concern himself much with its changes. He says that we have destroyed too + much ever to rebuild solidly; and that whatever we do build could be upset + any day by a Paris mob, which he declares to be the only institution we + have left. A wonderful fellow is Raoul,—full of mind, though he does + little with it; full of heart, which he devotes to suffering humanity, and + to a poetic, knightly reverence (not to be confounded with earthly love, + and not to be degraded into that sickly sentiment called Platonic + affection) for the Comtesse di Rimini, who is six years older than + himself, and who is very faithfully attached to her husband, Raoul’s + intimate friend, whose honour he would guard as his own. It is an episode + in the drama of Parisian life, and one not so uncommon as the malignant + may suppose. Di Rimini knows and approves of his veneration; my mother, + the best of women, sanctions it, and deems truly that it preserves Raoul + safe from all the temptations to which ignobler youth is exposed. I + mention this lest you should imagine there was anything in Raoul’s worship + of his star less pure than it is. For the rest, Raoul, to the grief and + amazement of that disciple of Voltaire, my respected father, is one of the + very few men I know in our circles who is sincerely religious,—an + orthodox Catholic,—and the only man I know who practises the + religion he professes; charitable, chaste, benevolent; and no bigot, no + intolerant ascetic. His only weakness is his entire submission to the + worldly common-sense of his good-for-nothing, covetous, ambitious brother + Enguerrand. I cannot say how I love him for that. If he had not such a + weakness, his excellence would gall me, and I believe I should hate him.” + </p> + <p> + Alain bowed his head at this eulogium. Such had been the character that a + few months ago he would have sought as example and model. He seemed to + gaze upon a flattered portrait of himself as he had been. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Enguerrand, “I have not come here to indulge in the overflow + of brotherly affection. I come to take you to your relation, the Duchesse + of Tarascon. I have pledged myself to her to bring you, and she is at home + on purpose to receive you.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case I cannot be such a churl as to refuse. And, indeed, I no + longer feel quite the same prejudices against her and the Imperialists as + I brought from Bretagne. Shall I order my carriage?” + </p> + <p> + “No; mine is at the door. Yours can meet you where you will, later. + Allons.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + The Duchesse de Tarascon occupied a vast apartment in the Rue Royale, + close to the Tuileries. She held a high post among the ladies who graced + the brilliant court of the Empress. She had survived her second husband + the duke, who left no issue, and the title died with him. + </p> + <p> + Alain and Enguerrand were ushered up the grand staircase, lined with tiers + of costly exotics as if for a fete; but in that and in all kinds of female + luxury, the Duchesse lived in a state of fete perpetuelle. The doors on + the landing-place were screened by heavy portieres of Genoa velvet, richly + embroidered in gold with the ducal crown and cipher. The two salons + through which the visitors passed to the private cabinet or boudoir were + decorated with Gobelin tapestries, fresh, with a mixture of roseate hues, + and depicting incidents in the career of the first emperor; while the + effigies of the late duke’s father—the gallant founder of a + short-lived race figured modestly in the background. On a table of Russian + malachite within the recess of the central window lay, preserved in glass + cases, the baton and the sword, the epaulettes and the decorations of the + brave Marshal. On the consoles and the mantelpieces stood clocks and vases + of Sevres that could scarcely be eclipsed by those in the Imperial + palaces. Entering the cabinet, they found the Duchesse seated at her + writing-table, with a small Skye terrier, hideous in the beauty of the + purest breed, nestled at her feet. This room was an exquisite combination + of costliness and comfort,—Luxury at home. The hangings were of + geranium-coloured silk, with double curtains of white satin; near to the + writing-table a conservatory, with a white marble fountain at play in the + centre, and a trellised aviary at the back. The walls were covered with + small pictures,—chiefly portraits and miniatures of the members of + the imperial family, of the late Duc, of his father the Marshal and Madame + la Marechale, of the present Duchesse herself, and of some of the + principal ladies of the court. + </p> + <p> + The Duchesse was still in the prime of life. She had passed her fortieth + year, but was so well “conserved” that you might have guessed her to be + ten years younger. She was tall; not large, but with rounded figure + inclined to en bon point; with dark hair and eyes, but fair complexion, + injured in effect rather than improved by pearl-powder, and that atrocious + barbarism of a dark stain on the eyelids which has of late years been a + baneful fashion; dressed,—I am a man, and cannot describe her dress; + all I know is that she had the acknowledged fame of the best-dressed + subject of France. As she rose from her seat there was in her look and air + the unmistakable evidence of grande dame,—a family likeness in + feature to Alain himself, a stronger likeness to the picture of her first + cousin (his mother) which was preserved at Rochebriant. Her descent was + indeed from ancient and noble houses. But to the distinction of race she + added that of fashion, crowning both with a tranquil consciousness of + lofty position and unblemished reputation. + </p> + <p> + “Unnatural cousin!” she said to Alain, offering her hand to him, with a + gracious smile,—“all this age in Paris, and I see you for the first + time. But there is joy on earth as in heaven over sinners who truly + repent. You repent truly—n’est ce pas?” + </p> + <p> + It is impossible to describe the caressing charm which the Duchesse threw + into her words, voice, and look. Alain was fascinated and subdued. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Madame la Duchesse,” said he, bowing over the fait hand he lightly + held, “it was not sin, unless modesty be a sin, which made a rustic + hesitate long before he dared to offer his homage to the queen of the + graces.” + </p> + <p> + “Not badly said for a rustic,” cried Enguerrand; “eh, Madame?” + </p> + <p> + “My cousin, you are pardoned,” said the Duchesse. “Compliment is the + perfume of gentilhommerie; and if you brought enough of that perfume from + the flowers of Rochebriant to distribute among the ladies at court, you + will be terribly the mode there. Seducer!”—here she gave the Marquis + a playful tap on the cheek, not in a coquettish but in a mother-like + familiarity, and looking at him attentively, said: “Why, you are even + handsomer than your father. I shall be proud to present to their Imperial + Majesties so becoming a cousin. But seat yourselves here, Messieurs, close + to my arm-chair, caussons.” + </p> + <p> + The Duchesse then took up the ball of the conversation. She talked without + any apparent artifice, but with admirable tact; put just the questions + about Rochebriant most calculated to please Alain, shunning all that might + have pained him; asking him for descriptions of the surrounding scenery, + the Breton legends; hoping that the old castle would never be spoiled by + modernizing restorations; inquiring tenderly after his aunt, whom she had + in her childhood once seen, and still remembered with her sweet, grave + face; paused little for replies; then turned to Enguerrand with sprightly + small-talk on the topics of the day, and every now and then bringing Alain + into the pale of the talk, leading on insensibly until she got Enguerrand + himself to introduce the subject of the emperor, and the political + troubles which were darkening a reign heretofore so prosperous and + splendid. + </p> + <p> + Her countenance then changed; it became serious, and even grave in its + expression. + </p> + <p> + “It is true,” she said, “that the times grow menacing, menacing not only + to the throne, but to order and property and France. One by one they are + removing all the breakwaters which the empire had constructed between the + executive and the most fickle and impulsive population that ever shouted + ‘long live’ one day to the man whom they would send to the guillotine the + next. They are denouncing what they call personal government. Grant that + it has its evils; but what would they substitute,—a constitutional + monarchy like the English? That is impossible with universal suffrage and + without an hereditary chamber. The nearest approach to it was the monarchy + of Louis Philippe,—we know how sick they became of that. A republic?—mon + Dieu! composed of Republicans terrified out of their wits at each other. + The moderate men, mimics of the Girondins, with the Reds and the + Socialists and the Communists, ready to tear them to pieces. And then—What + then?—the commercialists, the agriculturists, the middle class + combining to elect some dictator who will cannonade the mob and become a + mimic Napoleon, grafted on a mimic Necker or a mimic Danton. Oh, + Messieurs, I am French to the core. You inheritors of such names must be + as French as I am; and yet you men insist on remaining more useless to + France in the midst of her need than I am,—I, a woman who can but + talk and weep.” + </p> + <p> + The Duchesse spoke with a warmth of emotion which startled and profoundly + affected Alain. He remained silent, leaving it to Enguerrand to answer. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Madame,” said the latter, “I do not see how either myself or our + kinsman can merit your reproach. We are not legislators. I doubt if there + is a single department in France that would elect us, if we offered + ourselves. It is not our fault if the various floods of revolution leave + men of our birth and opinions stranded wrecks of a perished world. The + emperor chooses his own advisers, and if they are bad ones, his Majesty + certainly will not ask Alain and me to replace them.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not answer—you evade me,” said the Duchesse; with a mournful + smile. “You are too skilled a man of the world, Monsieur Enguerrand, not + to know that it is not only legislators and ministers that are necessary + to the support of a throne, and the safeguard of a nation. Do you not see + how great a help it is to both throne and nation when that section of + public opinion which is represented by names illustrious in history, + identified with records of chivalrous deeds and loyal devotion, rallies + round the order established? Let that section of public opinion stand + aloof, soured and discontented, excluded from active life, lending no + counter-balance to the perilous oscillations of democratic passion, and + tell me if it is not an enemy to itself as well as a traitor to the + principles it embodies?” + </p> + <p> + “The principles it embodies, Madame,” said Alain, “are those of fidelity + to a race of kings unjustly set aside, less for the vices than the virtues + of ancestors. Louis XV. was the worst of the Bourbons,—he was the + bien aime: he escapes. Louis XVI. was in moral attributes the best of the + Bourbons,—he dies the death of a felon. Louis XVIII., against whom + much may be said, restored to the throne by foreign bayonets, reigning as + a disciple of Voltaire might reign, secretly scoffing alike at the royalty + and the religion which were crowned in his person, dies peacefully in his + bed. Charles X., redeeming the errors of his youth by a reign untarnished + by a vice, by a religion earnest and sincere, is sent into exile for + defending established order from the very inroads which you lament. He + leaves an heir against whom calumny cannot invent a tale, and that heir + remains an outlaw simply because he descends from Henry IV., and has a + right to reign. Madame, you appeal to us as among the representatives of + the chivalrous deeds and loyal devotion which characterized the old + nobility of France. Should we deserve that character if we forsook the + unfortunate, and gained wealth and honour in forsaking?” + </p> + <p> + “Your words endear you to me. I am proud to call you cousin,” said the + Duchesse. “But do you, or does any man in his senses believe that if you + upset the Empire you could get back the Bourbons; that you would not be in + imminent danger of a Government infinitely more opposed to the theories on + which rests the creed of Legitimists than that of Louis Napoleon? After + all, what is there in the loyalty of you Bourbonites that has in it the + solid worth of an argument which can appeal to the comprehension of + mankind, except it be the principle of a hereditary monarchy? Nobody + nowadays can maintain the right divine of a single regal family to impose + itself upon a nation. That dogma has ceased to be a living principle; it + is only a dead reminiscence. But the institution of monarchy is a + principle strong and vital, and appealing to the practical interests of + vast sections of society. Would you sacrifice the principle which concerns + the welfare of millions, because you cannot embody it in the person of an + individual utterly insignificant in himself? In a word, if you prefer + monarchy to the hazard of republicanism for such a country as France, + accept the monarchy you find, since it is quite clear you cannot rebuild + the monarchy you would prefer. Does it not embrace all the great objects + for which you call yourself Legitimist? Under it religion is honoured, a + national Church secured, in reality if not in name; under it you have + united the votes of millions to the establishment of the throne; under it + all the material interests of the country, commercial, agricultural, have + advanced with an unequalled rapidity of progress; under it Paris has + become the wonder of the world for riches, for splendour, for grace and + beauty; under it the old traditional enemies of France have been humbled + and rendered impotent. The policy of Richelieu has been achieved in the + abasement of Austria; the policy of Napoleon I. has been consummated in + the salvation of Europe from the semi-barbarous ambition of Russia. + England no longer casts her trident in the opposition scale of the balance + of European power. Satisfied with the honour of our alliance, she has lost + every other ally; and her forces neglected, her spirit enervated, her + statesmen dreaming believers in the safety of their island, provided they + withdraw from the affairs of Europe, may sometimes scold us, but will + certainly not dare to fight. With France she is but an inferior satellite; + without France she is—nothing. Add to all this a court more + brilliant than that of Louis XIV., a sovereign not indeed without faults + and errors, but singularly mild in his nature, warm-hearted to friends, + forgiving to foes, whom personally no one could familiarly know and not be + charmed with a bonte of character, lovable as that of Henri IV.,—and + tell me what more than all this could you expect from the reign of a + Bourbon?” + </p> + <p> + “With such results,” said Alain, “from the monarchy you so eloquently + praise, I fail to discover what the emperor’s throne could possibly gain + by a few powerless converts from an unpopular, and you say, no doubt + truly, from a hopeless cause.” + </p> + <p> + “I say monarchy gains much by the loyal adhesion of any man of courage, + ability, and honour. Every new monarchy gains much by conversions from the + ranks by which the older monarchies were strengthened and adorned. But I + do not here invoke your aid merely to this monarchy, my cousin; I demand + your devotion to the interests of France; I demand that you should not + rest an outlaw from her service. Ah, you think that France is in no + danger, that you may desert or oppose the Empire as you list, and that + society will remain safe! You are mistaken. Ask Enguerrand.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said Enguerrand, “you overrate my political knowledge in that + appeal; but, honestly speaking, I subscribe to your reasonings. I agree + with you that the empire sorely needs the support of men of honour; it has + one cause of rot which now undermines it,—dishonest jobbery in its + administrative departments; even in that of the army, which apparently is + so heeded and cared for. I agree with you that France is in danger, and + may need the swords of all her better sons, whether against the foreigner + or against her worst enemies,—the mobs of her great towns. I myself + received a military education, and but for my reluctance to separate + myself from my father and Raoul, I should be a candidate for employments + more congenial to me than those of the Bourse and my trade in the + glove-shop. But Alain is happily free from all family ties, and Alain + knows that my advice to him is not hostile to your exhortations.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to think he is under so salutary an influence,” said the + Duchesse; and seeing that Alain remained silent and thoughtful, she wisely + changed the subject, and shortly afterwards the two friends took leave. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + Three days elapsed before Graham again saw M. Lebeau. The letter-writer + did not show himself at the cafe, and was not to be found at his office, + the ordinary business of which was transacted by his clerk, saying that + his master was much engaged on important matters that took him from home. + </p> + <p> + Graham naturally thought that these matters concerned the discovery of + Louise Duval, and was reconciled to suspense. At the cafe, awaiting + Lebeau, he had slid into some acquaintance with the ouvrier Armand + Monnier, whose face and talk had before excited his interest. Indeed, the + acquaintance had been commenced by the ouvrier, who seated himself at a + table near to Graham’s, and, after looking at him earnestly for some + minutes, said, “You are waiting for your antagonist at dominos, M. Lebeau,—a + very remarkable man.” + </p> + <p> + “So he seems. I know, however, but little of him. You, perhaps, have known + him longer?” + </p> + <p> + “Several months. Many of your countrymen frequent this cafe, but you do + not seem to care to associate with the blouses.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not that; but we islanders are shy, and don’t make acquaintance + with each other readily. By the way, since you so courteously accost me, I + may take the liberty of saying that I overheard you defend the other + night, against one of my countrymen, who seemed to me to talk great + nonsense, the existence of le bon Dieu. You had much the best of it. I + rather gathered from your argument that you went somewhat further, and + were not too enlightened to admit of Christianity.” + </p> + <p> + Armand Monnier looked pleased. He liked praise; and he liked to hear + himself talk, and he plunged at once into a very complicated sort of + Christianity,—partly Arian, partly Saint Simonian, with a little of + Rousseau and a great deal of Armand Monnier. Into this we need not follow + him; but, in sum, it was a sort of Christianity, the main heads of which + consisted in the removal of your neighbour’s landmarks, in the right of + the poor to appropriate the property of the rich, in the right of love to + dispense with marriage, and the duty of the State to provide for any + children that might result from such union,—the parents being + incapacitated to do so, as whatever they might leave was due to the + treasury in common. Graham listened to these doctrines with melancholy not + unmixed with contempt. “Are these opinions of yours,” he asked, “derived + from reading or your own reflection?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, from both, but from circumstances in life that induced me to read + and reflect. I am one of the many victims of the tyrannical law of + marriage. When very young I married a woman who made me miserable, and + then forsook me. Morally, she has ceased to be my wife; legally, she is. I + then met with another woman who suits me, who loves me. She lives with me; + I cannot marry her; she has to submit to humiliations, to be called + contemptuously an ouvrier’s mistress. Then, though before I was only a + Republican, I felt there was something wrong in society which needed a + greater change than that of a merely political government; and then, too, + when I was all troubled and sore, I chanced to read one of Madame de + Grantmesnil’s books. A glorious genius that woman’s!” + </p> + <p> + “She has genius, certainly,” said Graham, with a keen pang at his heart,—Madame + de Grantmesnil, the dearest friend of Isaura! “But,” he added, “though I + believe that eloquent author has indirectly assailed certain social + institutions, including that of marriage, I am perfectly persuaded that + she never designed to effect such complete overthrow of the system which + all civilized communities have hitherto held in reverence as your + doctrines would attempt; and, after all, she but expresses her ideas + through the medium of fabulous incidents and characters. And men of your + sense should not look for a creed in the fictions of poets and + romance-writers.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Monnier, “I dare say neither Madame de Grantmesnil nor even + Rousseau ever even guessed the ideas they awoke in their readers; but one + idea leads on to another. And genuine poetry and romance touch the heart + so much more than dry treatises. In a word, Madame de Grantmesnil’s book + set me thinking; and then I read other books, and talked with clever men, + and educated myself. And so I became the man I am.” Here, with a + self-satisfied air, Monnier bowed to the Englishman, and joined a group at + the other end of the room. + </p> + <p> + The next evening, just before dusk, Graham Vane was seated musingly in his + own apartment in the Faubourg Montmartre, when there came a slight knock + at his door. He was so wrapped in thought that he did not hear the sound, + though twice repeated. The door opened gently, and M. Lebeau appeared on + the threshold. The room was lighted only by the gas-lamp from the street + without. + </p> + <p> + Lebeau advanced through the gloom, and quietly seated himself in the + corner of the fireplace opposite to Graham before he spoke. “A thousand + pardons for disturbing your slumbers, Monsieur Lamb.” + </p> + <p> + Startled then by the voice so near him, Graham raised his head, looked + round, and beheld very indistinctly the person seated so near him. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Lebeau?” + </p> + <p> + “At your service. I promise to give an answer to your question; accept my + apologies that it has been deferred so long. I shall not this evening go + to our cafe. I took the liberty of calling—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Lebeau, you are a brick.” + </p> + <p> + “A what, Monsieur!—a brique?” + </p> + <p> + “I forgot; you are not up to our fashionable London idioms. A brick means + a jolly fellow, and it is very kind in you to call. What is your + decision?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I can give you some information, but it is so slight that I + offer it gratis, and forego all thought of undertaking further inquiries. + They could only be prosecuted in another country, and it would not be + worth my while to leave Paris on the chance of gaining so trifling a + reward as you propose. Judge for yourself. In the year 1849, and in the + month of July, Louise Duval left Paris for Aix-la-Chapelle. There she + remained some weeks, and then left it. I can learn no further traces of + her movements.” + </p> + <p> + “Aix-la-Chapelle! What could she do there?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a Spa in great request; crowded during the summer season with + visitors from all countries. She might have gone there for health or for + pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that one could learn more at the Spa itself if one went + there?” + </p> + <p> + “Possibly. But it is so long,—twenty years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “She might have revisited the place.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; but I know no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Was she there under the same name,—Duval?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure of that.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think she left it alone or with others? You tell me she was + awfully belle; she might have attracted admirers.” + </p> + <p> + “If,” answered Lebeau, reluctantly, “I could believe the report of my + informant, Louise Duval left Aix not alone, but with some gallant; not an + Englishman. They are said to have parted soon, and the man is now dead. + But, speaking frankly, I do not think Mademoiselle Duval would have thus + compromised her honour and sacrificed her future. I believe she would have + scorned all proposals that were not those of marriage. But all I can say + for certainty is that nothing is known to me of her fate since she quitted + Aix-la-Chapelle.” + </p> + <p> + “In 1849? She had then a child living.” + </p> + <p> + “A child? I never heard that she had any child; and I do not believe she + could have had any child in 1849.” + </p> + <p> + Graham mused. Somewhat less than five years after 1849 Louise Duval had + been seen at Aix-la-Chapelle. Possibly she found some attraction at that + place, and might yet be discovered there. “Monsieur Lebeau,” said Graham, + “you know this lady by sight; you would recognize her in spite of the + lapse of years. Will you go to Aix and find out there what you can? Of + course, expenses will be paid, and the reward will be given if you + succeed.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot oblige you. My interest in this poor lady is not very strong, + though I should be willing to serve her, and glad to know that she were + alive. I have now business on hand which interests me much more, and which + will take me from Paris, but not in the direction of Aix.” + </p> + <p> + “If I wrote to my employer, and got him to raise the reward to some higher + amount, that might make it worth your while?” + </p> + <p> + “I should still answer that my affairs will not permit such a journey. But + if there be any chance of tracing Louise Duval at Aix,—and there may + be,—you would succeed quite as well as I should. You must judge for + yourself if it be worth your trouble to attempt such a task; and if you do + attempt it, and do succeed, pray let me know.—A line to my office + will reach me for some little time, even if I am absent from Paris. Adieu, + Monsieur Lamb.” + </p> + <p> + Here M. Lebeau Lose and departed. + </p> + <p> + Graham relapsed into thought; but a train of thought much more active, + much more concentred than before. “No,” thus ran his meditations,—“no, + it would not be safe to employ that man further. The reasons that forbid + me to offer any very high reward for the discovery of this woman operate + still more strongly against tendering to her own relation a sum that might + indeed secure his aid, but would unquestionably arouse his suspicions, and + perhaps drag into light all that must be concealed. Oh, this cruel + mission! I am, indeed, an impostor to myself till it be fulfilled. I will + go to Aix, and take Renard with me. I am impatient till I set out, but I + cannot quit Paris without once more seeing Isaura. She consents to + relinquish the stage; surely I could wean her too from intimate friendship + with a woman whose genius has so fatal an effect upon enthusiastic minds. + And then—and then?” + </p> + <p> + He fell into a delightful revery; and contemplating Isaura as his future + wife, he surrounded her sweet image with all those attributes of dignity + and respect with which an Englishman is accustomed to invest the destined + bearer of his name, the gentle sovereign of his household, the sacred + mother of his children. In this picture the more brilliant qualities of + Isaura found, perhaps, but faint presentation. Her glow of sentiment, her + play of fancy, her artistic yearnings for truths remote, for the invisible + fairyland of beautiful romance, receded into the background of the + picture. It was all these, no doubt, that had so strengthened and enriched + the love at first sight, which had shaken the equilibrium of his positive + existence; and yet he now viewed all these as subordinate to the one image + of mild decorous matronage into which wedlock was to transform the child + of genius, longing for angel wings and unlimited space. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + On quitting the sorry apartment of the false M. Lamb, Lebeau walked on + with slow steps and bended head, like a man absorbed in thought. He + threaded a labyrinth of obscure streets, no longer in the Faubourg + Montmartre, and dived at last into one of the few courts which preserve + the cachet of the moyen age untouched by the ruthless spirit of + improvement which during the second empire has so altered the face of + Paris. At the bottom of the court stood a large house, much dilapidated, + but bearing the trace of former grandeur in pilasters and fretwork in the + style of the Renaissance, and a defaced coat of arms, surmounted with a + ducal coronet, over the doorway. The house had the aspect of desertion: + many of the windows were broken; others were jealously closed with + mouldering shutters. The door stood ajar; Lebeau pushed it open, and the + action set in movement a bell within a porter’s lodge. The house, then, + was not uninhabited; it retained the dignity of a concierge. A man with a + large grizzled beard cut square, and holding a journal in his hand, + emerged from the lodge, and moved his cap with a certain bluff and surly + reverence on recognizing Lebeau. + </p> + <p> + “What! so early, citizen?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it too early?” said Lebeau, glancing at his watch. “So it is; I was + not aware of the time. But I am tired with waiting; let me into the salon. + I will wait for the rest; I shall not be sorry for a little repose.” + </p> + <p> + “Bon,” said the porter, sententiously; “while man reposes men advance.” + </p> + <p> + “A profound truth, citizen Le Roux; though if they advance on a reposing + foe, they have blundering leaders unless they march through unguarded + by-paths and with noiseless tread.” + </p> + <p> + Following the porter up a dingy broad staircase, Lebeau was admitted into + a large room, void of all other furniture than a table, two benches at its + sides, and a fauteuil at its head. On the mantelpiece there was a huge + clock, and some iron sconces were fixed on the panelled walls. + </p> + <p> + Lebeau flung himself, with a wearied air, into the fauteuil. The porter + looked at him with a kindly expression. He had a liking to Lebeau, whom he + had served in his proper profession of messenger or commissionnaire before + being placed by that courteous employer in the easy post he now held. + Lebeau, indeed, had the art, when he pleased, of charming inferiors; his + knowledge of mankind allowed him to distinguish peculiarities in each + individual, and flatter the amour propre by deference to such + eccentricities. Marc le Roux, the roughest of “red caps,” had a wife of + whom he was very proud. He would have called the empress Citoyenne + Eugenie, but he always spoke of his wife as Madame. Lebeau won his heart + by always asking after Madame. + </p> + <p> + “You look tired, citizen,” said the porter; “let me bring you a glass of + wine.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, mon ami, no. Perhaps later, if I have time, after we break up, + to pay my respects to Madame.” + </p> + <p> + The porter smiled, bowed, and retired muttering, “Nom d’un petit bonhomme; + il n’y a rien de tel que les belles manieres.” + </p> + <p> + Left alone, Lebeau leaned his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his + hand, and gazing into the dim space,—for it was now, indeed, night, + and little light came through the grimy panes of the one window left + unclosed by shutters. He was musing deeply. This man was, in much, an + enigma to himself. Was he seeking to unriddle it? A strange compound of + contradictory elements. In his stormy youth there had been lightning-like + flashes of good instincts, of irregular honour, of inconsistent + generosity,—a puissant wild nature, with strong passions of love and + of hate, without fear, but not without shame. In other forms of society + that love of applause which had made him seek and exult in the notoriety + which he mistook for fame might have settled down into some solid and + useful ambition. He might have become great in the world’s eye, for at the + service of his desires there were no ordinary talents. Though too true a + Parisian to be a severe student, still, on the whole, he had acquired much + general information, partly from books, partly from varied commerce with + mankind. He had the gift, both by tongue and by pen, of expressing himself + with force and warmth; time and necessity had improved that gift. + Coveting, during his brief career of fashion, the distinctions which + necessitate lavish expenditure, he had been the most reckless of + spendthrifts; but the neediness which follows waste had never destroyed + his original sense of personal honour. Certainly Victor de Mauleon was + not, at the date of his fall, a man to whom the thought of accepting, much + less of stealing, the jewels of a woman who loved him could have occurred + as a possible question of casuistry between honour and temptation. Nor + could that sort of question have, throughout the sternest trials or the + humblest callings to which his after-life had been subjected, forced + admission into his brain. He was one of those men, perhaps the most + terrible though unconscious criminals, who are the offsprings produced by + intellectual power and egotistical ambition. If you had offered to Victor + de Mauleon the crown of the Caesars, on condition of his doing one of + those base things which “a gentleman” cannot do, pick a pocket, cheat at + cards,—Victor de Mauleon would have refused the crown. He would not + have refused on account of any laws of morality affecting the foundations + of the social system, but from the pride of his own personality. “I, + Victor de Mauleon! I pick a pocket! I cheat at cards! I!” But when + something incalculably worse for the interests of society than picking a + pocket or cheating at cards was concerned; when for the sake either of + private ambition or political experiment hitherto untested, and therefore + very doubtful, the peace and order and happiness of millions might be + exposed to the release of the most savage passions, rushing on + revolutionary madness or civil massacre, then this French dare-devil would + have been just as unscrupulous as any English philosopher whom a + metropolitan borough might elect as its representative. The system of the + empire was in the way of Victor de Mauleon,—in the way of his + private ambition, in the way of his political dogmas; and therefore it + must be destroyed, no matter what nor whom it crushed beneath its ruins. + He was one of those plotters of revolutions not uncommon in democracies, + ancient and modern, who invoke popular agencies with the less scruple + because they have a supreme contempt for the populace. A man with mental + powers equal to De Mauleon’s, and who sincerely loves the people and + respects the grandeur of aspiration with which, in the great upheaving of + their masses, they so often contrast the irrational credulities of their + ignorance and the blind fury of their wrath, is always exceedingly loath + to pass the terrible gulf that divides reform from revolution. He knows + how rarely it happens that genuine liberty is not disarmed in the passage, + and what sufferings must be undergone by those who live by their labour + during the dismal intervals between the sudden destruction of one form of + society and the gradual settlement of another. Such a man, however, has no + type in a Victor de Mauleon. The circumstances of his life had placed this + strong nature at war with society, and corrupted into misanthropy + affections that had once been ardent. That misanthropy made his ambition + more intense, because it increased his scorn for the human instruments it + employed. + </p> + <p> + Victor de Mauleon knew that however innocent of the charges that had so + long darkened his name, and however—thanks to his rank, his manners, + his savoir vivre, the aid of Louvier’s countenance and the support of his + own high-born connections—he might restore himself to his rightful + grade in private life, the higher prizes in public life would scarcely be + within reach, to a man of his antecedents and stinted means, in the + existent form and conditions of established political order. Perforce, the + aristocrat must make himself democrat if he would become a political + chief. Could he assist in turning upside down the actual state of things, + he trusted to his individual force of character to find himself among the + uppermost in the general bouleversement. And in the first stage of popular + revolution the mob has no greater darling than the noble who deserts his + order, though in the second stage it may guillotine him at the + denunciation of his cobbler. A mind so sanguine and so audacious as that + of Victor de Mauleon never thinks of the second step if it sees a way to + the first. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + The room was in complete darkness, save where a ray from a gas-lamp at the + mouth of the court came aslant through the window, when citizen Le Roux + re-entered, closed the window, lighted two of the sconces, and drew forth + from a drawer in the table implements of writing, which he placed thereon + noiselessly, as if he feared to disturb M. Lebeau, whose head, buried in + his hands, rested on the table. He seemed in a profound sleep. At last the + porter gently touched the arm of the slumberer, and whispered in his ear, + “It is on the stroke of ten, citizen; they will be here in a minute or + so.” Lebeau lifted his head drowsily. + </p> + <p> + “Eh,” said he—“what?” + </p> + <p> + “You have been asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so, for I have been dreaming. Ha! I hear the door-bell. I am + wide awake now.” + </p> + <p> + The porter left him, and in a few minutes conducted into the salon two men + wrapped in cloaks, despite the warmth of the summer night. Lebeau shook + hands with them silently, and not less silently they laid aside their + cloaks and seated themselves. Both these men appeared to belong to the + upper section of the middle class. One, strongly built, with a keen + expression of countenance, was a surgeon considered able in his + profession, but with limited practice, owing to a current suspicion + against his honour in connection with a forged will. The other, tall, + meagre, with long grizzled hair and a wild unsettled look about the eyes, + was a man of science; had written works well esteemed upon mathematics and + electricity, also against the existence of any other creative power than + that which he called “nebulosity,” and defined to be the combination of + heat and moisture. The surgeon was about the age of forty, the atheist a + few years older. In another minute or so, a knock was heard against the + wall. One of the men rose and touched a spring in the panel, which then + flew back, and showed an opening upon a narrow stair, by which, one after + the other, entered three other members of the society. Evidently there was + more than one mode of ingress and exit. + </p> + <p> + The three new-comers were not Frenchmen,—one might see that at a + glance; probably they had reasons for greater precaution than those who + entered by the front door. One, a tall, powerfully-built man, with fair + hair and beard, dressed with a certain pretension to elegance,—faded + threadbare elegance,—exhibiting no appearance of linen, was a Pole. + One, a slight bald man, very dark and sallow, was an Italian. The third, + who seemed like an ouvrier in his holiday clothes, was a Belgian. + </p> + <p> + Lebeau greeted them all with an equal courtesy, and each with an equal + silence took his seat at the table. + </p> + <p> + Lebeau glanced at the clock. “Confreres,” he said, “our number as fixed + for this seance still needs two to be complete, and doubtless they will + arrive in a few minutes. Till they come, we can but talk upon trifles. + Permit me to offer you my cigar-case.” And so saying, he who professed to + be no smoker handed his next neighbour, who was the Pole, a large + cigar-case amply furnished; and the Pole, helping himself to two cigars, + handed the case to the man next him,—two only declining the luxury, + the Italian and the Belgian. But the Pole was the only man who took two + cigars. + </p> + <p> + Steps were now heard on the stairs, the door opened, and citizen Le Toux + ushered in, one after the other, two men, this time unmistakably French,—to + an experienced eye unmistakably Parisians: the one, a young beardless man, + who seemed almost boyish, with a beautiful face, and a stinted, meagre + frame; the other, a stalwart man of about eight-and twenty, dressed partly + as an ouvrier, not in his Sunday clothes, rather affecting the blouse,—not + that he wore that antique garment, but that he was in rough costume + unbrushed and stained, with thick shoes and coarse stockings, and a + workman’s cap. But of all who gathered round the table at which M. Lebeau + presided, he had the most distinguished exterior,—a virile honest + exterior, a massive open forehead, intelligent eyes, a handsome clear-cut + incisive profile, and solid jaw. The expression of the face was stern, but + not mean,—an expression which might have become an ancient baron as + well as a modern workman; in it plenty of haughtiness and of will, and + still more of self-esteem. + </p> + <p> + “Confreres,” said Lebeau, rising, and every eye turned to him, “our number + for the present seance is complete. To business. Since we last met, our + cause has advanced with rapid and not with noiseless stride. I need not + tell you that Louis Bonaparte has virtually abnegated Les idees + Napoleoniennes,—a fatal mistake for him, a glorious advance for us. + The liberty of the press must very shortly be achieved, and with it + personal government must end. When the autocrat once is compelled to go by + the advice of his ministers, look for sudden changes. His ministers will + be but weathercocks, turned hither and thither according as the wind chops + at Paris; and Paris is the temple of the winds. The new revolution is + almost at hand. [Murmurs of applause.] It would move the laughter of the + Tuileries and its ministers, of the Bourse and of its gamblers, of every + dainty salon of this silken city of would-be philosophers and wits, if + they were told that here within this mouldering baraque, eight men, so + little blessed by fortune, so little known to fame as ourselves, met to + concert the fall of an empire. The Government would not deem us important + enough to notice our existence.” + </p> + <p> + “I know not that,” interrupted the Pole. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, pardon,” resumed the orator; “I should have confined my remark to the + five of us who are French. I did injustice to the illustrious antecedents + of our foreign allies. I know that you, Thaddeus Loubisky, that you, + Leonardo Raselli, have been too eminent for hands hostile to tyrants not + to be marked with a black cross in the books of the police; I know that + you, Jan Vanderstegen, if hitherto unscarred by those wounds in defence of + freedom which despots and cowards would fain miscall the brands of the + felon, still owe it to your special fraternity to keep your movements + rigidly concealed. The tyrant would suppress the International Society, + and forbids it the liberty of congress. To you three is granted the secret + entrance to our council-hall. But we Frenchmen are as yet safe in our + supposed insignificance. Confreres, permit me to impress on you the causes + why, insignificant as we seem, we are really formidable. In the first + place, we are few: the great mistake in most secret associations has been + to admit many councillors; and disunion enters wherever many tongues can + wrangle. In the next place, though so few in council, we are legion when + the time comes for action; because we are representative men, each of his + own section, and each section is capable of an indefinite expansion. + </p> + <p> + “You, valiant Pole, you, politic Italian, enjoy the confidence of + thousands now latent in unwatched homes and harmless callings, but who, + when you lift a finger, will, like the buried dragon’s teeth, spring up + into armed men. You, Jan Vanderstegen, the trusted delegate from Verviers, + that swarming camp of wronged labour in its revolt from the iniquities of + capital,—you, when the hour arrives, can touch the wire that flashes + the telegram ‘Arise’ through all the lands in which workmen combine + against their oppressors. + </p> + <p> + “Of us five Frenchmen, let me speak more modestly. You, sage and scholar, + Felix Ruvigny, honoured alike for the profundity of your science and the + probity of your manners, induced to join us by your abhorrence of + priestcraft and superstition,—you made a wide connection among all + the enlightened reasoners who would emancipate the mind of man from the + trammels of Church-born fable, and when the hour arrives in which it is + safe to say, ‘Delenda est Roma,’ you know where to find the pens that are + more victorious than swords against a Church and a Creed. You” (turning to + the surgeon)—“you, Gaspard le Noy, whom a vile calumny has robbed of + the throne in your profession so justly due to your skill, you, nobly + scorning the rich and great, have devoted yourself to tend and heal the + humble and the penniless, so that you have won the popular title of the + ‘Medecin des Pauvres,’ when the time comes wherein soldiers shall fly + before the sansculottes, and the mob shall begin the work which they who + move mobs will complete, the clients of Gaspard le Noy will be the + avengers of his wrongs. + </p> + <p> + “You, Armand Monnier, simple ouvrier, but of illustrious parentage, for + your grandsire was the beloved friend of the virtuous Robespierre, your + father perished a hero and a martyr in the massacre of the coup d’etat; + you, cultured in the eloquence of Robespierre himself, and in the + persuasive philosophy of Robespierre’s teacher, Rousseau; you, the + idolized orator of the Red Republicans,—you will be indeed a chief + of dauntless bands when the trumpet sounds for battle. Young publicist and + poet, Gustave Rameau,—I care not which you are at present, I know + what you will be soon, you need nothing for the development of your powers + over the many but an organ for their manifestation. Of that anon. I now + descend into the bathos of egotism. I am compelled lastly to speak of + myself. It was at Marseilles and Lyons, as you already know, that I first + conceived the plan of this representative association. For years before I + had been in familiar intercourse with the friends of freedom,—that + is, with the foes of the Empire. They are not all poor; some few are rich + and generous. I do not say these rich and few concur in the ultimate + objects of the poor and many; ‘but they concur in the first object, the + demolition of that which exists,—the Empire. In the course of my + special calling of negotiator or agent in the towns of the Midi, I formed + friendships with some of these prosperous malcontents; and out of these + friendships I conceived the idea which is embodied in this council. + </p> + <p> + “According to that conception, while the council may communicate as it + will with all societies, secret or open, having revolution for their + object, the council refuses to merge itself in any other confederation; it + stands aloof and independent; it declines to admit into its code any + special articles of faith in a future beyond the bounds to which it limits + its design and its force. That design unites us; to go beyond would + divide. We all agree to destroy the Napoleonic dynasty; none of us might + agree as to what we should place in its stead. All of us here present + might say, ‘A republic.’ Ay, but of what kind? Vanderstegen would have it + socialistic; Monnier goes further, and would have it communistic, on the + principles of Fourier; Le Noy adheres to the policy of Danton, and would + commence the republic by a reign of terror; our Italian ally abhors the + notion of general massacre, and advocates individual assassination. + Ruvigny would annihilate the worship of a Deity; Monnier holds with + Voltaire and Robespierre, that, ‘if there were no Deity, it would be + necessary to man to create one.’ Bref, we could not agree upon any plan + for the new edifice, and therefore we refuse to discuss one till the + ploughshare has gone over the ruins of the old. But I have another and + more practical reason for keeping our council distinct from all societies + with professed objects beyond that of demolition. We need a certain + command of money. It is I who bring to you that, and—how? Not from + my own resources,—they but suffice to support myself; not by + contributions from ouvriers who, as you well know, will subscribe only for + their own ends in the victory of workmen over masters. I bring money to + you from the coffers of the rich malcontents. Their politics are not those + of most present; their politics are what they term moderate. Some are + indeed for a republic, but for a republic strong in defence of order, in + support of property; others—and they are more numerous and the more + rich—for a constitutional monarchy, and, if possible, for the + abridgment of universal suffrage, which in their eyes tends only to + anarchy in the towns and arbitrary rule under priestly influence in the + rural districts. They would not subscribe a sou if they thought it went to + further the designs whether of Ruvigny the atheist, or of Monnier, who + would enlist the Deity of Rousseau on the side of the drapeau rouge; not a + sou if they knew I had the honour to boast such confreres as I see around + me. They subscribe, as we concert, for the fall of Bonaparte. The policy I + adopt I borrow from the policy of the English Liberals. In England, potent + millionnaires, high-born dukes, devoted Churchmen, belonging to the + Liberal party, accept the services of men who look forward to measures + which would ruin capital, eradicate aristocracy, and destroy the Church, + provided these men combine with them in some immediate step onward against + the Tories. They have a proverb which I thus adapt to French localities: + if a train passes Fontainebleau on its way to Marseilles, why should I not + take it to Fontainebleau because other passengers are going on to + Marseilles? + </p> + <p> + “Confreres, it seems to me the moment has come when we may venture some of + the fund placed at my disposal to other purposes than those to which it + has been hitherto devoted. I propose, therefore, to set up a journal under + the auspices of Gustave Rameau as editor-in-chief,—a journal which, + if he listen to my advice, will create no small sensation. It will begin + with a tone of impartiality; it will refrain from all violence of + invective; it will have wit, it will have sentiment, and eloquence; it + will win its way into the salons and cafes of educated men; and then, and + then, when it does change from polished satire into fierce denunciation + and sides with the blouses, its effect will be startling and terrific. Of + this I will say more to citizen Rameau in private. To you I need not + enlarge upon the fact that, at Paris, a combination of men, though + immeasurably superior to us in status or influence, without a journal at + command is nowhere; with such a journal, written not to alarm but to + seduce fluctuating opinions, a combination of men immeasurably inferior to + us may be anywhere. + </p> + <p> + “Confreres, this affair settled, I proceed to distribute amongst you sums + of which each who receives will render me an account, except our valued + confrere the Pole. All that we can subscribe to the cause of humanity a + representative of Poland requires for himself.” (A suppressed laugh among + all but the Pole, who looked round with a grave, imposing air, as much as + to say, “What is there to laugh at?—a simple truth.”) + </p> + <p> + M. Lebeau then presented to each of his confreres a sealed envelope, + containing no doubt a bank-note, and perhaps also private instructions as + to its disposal. It was one of his rules to make the amount of any sum + granted to an individual member of the society from the fund at his + disposal a confidential secret between himself and the recipient. Thus + jealousy was avoided if the sums were unequal; and unequal they generally + were. In the present instance the two largest sums were given to the + “Medecin des Pauvres” and to the delegate from Verviers. Both were no + doubt to be distributed among “the poor,” at the discretion of the trustee + appointed. + </p> + <p> + Whatever rules with regard to the distribution of money M. Lebeau laid + down were acquiesced in without demur, for the money was found exclusively + by himself, and furnished without the pale of the Secret Council, of which + he had made himself founder and dictator. Some other business was then + discussed, sealed reports from each member were handed to the president, + who placed them unopened in his pocket, and resumed, “Confreres, our + seance is now concluded. The period for our next meeting must remain + indefinite, for I myself shall leave Paris as soon as I have set on foot + the journal, on the details of which I will confer with citizen Rameau. I + am not satisfied with the progress made by the two travelling missionaries + who complete our Council of Ten; and though I do not question their zeal, + I think my experience may guide it if I take a journey to the towns of + Bordeaux and Marseilles, where they now are. But should circumstances + demanding concert or action arise, you may be sure that I will either + summon a meeting or transmit instructions to such of our members as may be + most usefully employed. For the present, confreres, you are relieved. + Remain only you, dear young author.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + Left alone with Gustave Rameau, the President of the Secret Council + remained silently musing for some moments; but his countenance was no + longer moody and overcast,—his nostrils were dilated, as in triumph; + there was a half-smile of pride on his lips. Rameau watched him curiously + and admiringly. The young man had the impressionable, excitable + temperament common to Parisian genius,—especially when it nourishes + itself on absinthe. He enjoyed the romance of belonging to a secret + society; he was acute enough to recognize the sagacity by which this small + conclave was kept out of those crazed combinations for impracticable + theories more likely to lead adventurers to the Tarpeian Rock than to the + Capitol, while yet those crazed combinations might, in some critical + moment, become strong instruments in the hands of practical ambition. + Lebeau fascinated him, and took colossal proportions in his intoxicated + vision,—vision indeed intoxicated at this moment, for before it + floated the realized image of his aspirations,—a journal of which he + was to be the editor-in-chief; in which his poetry, his prose, should + occupy space as large as he pleased; through which his name, hitherto + scarce known beyond a literary clique, would resound in salon and club and + cafe, and become a familiar music on the lips of fashion. And he owed this + to the man seated there,—a prodigious man. + </p> + <p> + “Cher poete,” said Lebeau, breaking silence, “it gives me no mean pleasure + to think I am opening a career to one whose talents fit him for those + goals on which they who reach write names that posterity shall read. + Struck with certain articles of yours in the journal made celebrated by + the wit and gayety of Savarin, I took pains privately to inquire into your + birth, your history, connections, antecedents. All confirmed my first + impression,—that you were exactly the writer I wish to secure to our + cause. I therefore sought you in your rooms, unintroduced and a stranger, + in order to express my admiration of your compositions. Bref, we soon + became friends; and after comparing minds, I admitted you, at your + request, into this Secret Council. Now, in proposing to you the conduct of + the journal I would establish, for which I am prepared to find all + necessary funds, I am compelled to make imperative conditions. Nominally + you will be editor-in-chief: that station, if the journal succeeds, will + secure you position and fortune; if it fail, you fail with it. But we will + not speak of failure; I must have it succeed. Our interest, then, is the + same. Before that interest all puerile vanities fade away. Nominally, I + say, you are editor-in-chief; but all the real work of editing will, at + first, be done by others.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed Rameau, aghast and stunned. Lebeau resumed, + </p> + <p> + “To establish the journal I propose needs more than the genius of youth; + it needs the tact and experience of mature years.” + </p> + <p> + Rameau sank back on his chair with a sullen sneer on his pale lips. + Decidedly Lebeau was not so great a man as he had thought. + </p> + <p> + “A certain portion of the journal,” continued Lebeau, “will be exclusively + appropriated to your pen.” + </p> + <p> + Rameau’s lip lost the sneer. + </p> + <p> + “But your pen must be therein restricted to compositions of pure fancy, + disporting in a world that does not exist; or, if on graver themes + connected with the beings of the world that does exist, the subjects will + be dictated to you and revised. Yet even in the higher departments of a + journal intended to make way at its first start, we need the aid, not + indeed of men who write better than you, but of men whose fame is + established,—whose writings, good or bad, the public run to read, + and will find good even if they are bad. You must consign one column to + the playful comments and witticisms of Savarin.” + </p> + <p> + “Savarin? But he has a journal of his own. He will not, as an author, + condescend to write in one just set up by me; and as a politician, he as + certainly will not aid in an ultrademocratic revolution. If he care for + politics at all, he is a constitutionalist, an Orleanist.” + </p> + <p> + “Enfant! as an author Savarin will condescend to contribute to your + journal, first, because it in no way attempts to interfere with his own; + secondly,—I can tell you a secret, Savarin’s journal no longer + suffices for his existence. He has sold more than two-thirds of its + property; he is in debt, and his creditor is urgent; and to-morrow you + will offer Savarin thirty thousand francs for one column from his pen, and + signed by his name, for two months from the day the journal starts. He + will accept, partly because the sum will clear off the debt that hampers + him, partly because he will take care that the amount becomes known; and + that will help him to command higher terms for the sale of the remaining + shares in the journal he now edits, for the new book which you told me he + intended to write, and for the new journal which he will be sure to set up + as soon as he has disposed of the old one. You say that, as a politician, + Savarin, an Orleanist, will not aid in an ultra-democratic revolution. Who + asks him to do so? Did I not imply at the meeting that we commence our + journal with politics the mildest? Though revolutions are not made with + rose-water, it is rose-water that nourishes their roots. The polite + cynicism of authors, read by those who float on the surface of society, + prepares the way for the social ferment in its deeps. Had there been no + Voltaire, there would have been no Camille Desmoulins; had there been no + Diderot, there would have been no Marat. We start as polite cynics. Of all + cynics Savarin is the politest. But when I bid high for him, it is his + clique that I bid for. Without his clique he is but a wit; with his + clique, a power. Partly out of that clique, partly out of a circle beyond + it, which Savarin can more or less influence, I select ten. Here is the + list of them; study it. Entre nous, I esteem their writings as little as I + do artificial flies; but they are the artificial flies at which, in this + particular season of the year, the public rise. You must procure at least + five of the ten; and I leave you carte blanche as to the terms. Savarin + gained, the best of them will be proud of being his associates. Observe, + none of these messieurs of brilliant imagination are to write political + articles; those will be furnished to you anonymously, and inserted without + erasure or omission. When you have secured Savarin, and five at least of + the collaborateurs in the list, write to me at my office. I give you four + days to do this; and the day the journal starts you enter into the income + of fifteen thousand francs a year, with a rise in salary proportioned to + profits. Are you contented with the terms?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am; but supposing I do not gain the aid of Savarin, or five + at least of the list you give, which I see at a glance contains names the + most a la mode in this kind of writing, more than one of them of high + social rank, whom it is difficult for me even to approach,—if, I + say, I fail?” + </p> + <p> + “What! with a carte blanche of terms? fie! Are you a Parisian? Well, to + answer you frankly, if you fail in so easy a task, you are not the man to + edit our journal, and I shall find another. Allez, courage! Take my + advice; see Savarin the first thing to-morrow morning. Of course, my name + and calling you will keep a profound secret from him, as from all. Say as + mysteriously as you can that parties you are forbidden to name instruct + you to treat with M. Savarin, and offer him the terms I have specified, + the thirty thousand francs paid to him in advance the moment he signs the + simple memorandum of agreement. The more mysterious you are, the more you + will impose,—that is, wherever you offer money and don’t ask for + it.” + </p> + <p> + Here Lebeau took up his hat, and, with a courteous nod of adieu, lightly + descended the gloomy stairs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + At night, after this final interview with Lebeau, Graham took leave for + good of his lodgings in Montmartre, and returned to his apartment in the + Rue d’Anjou. He spent several hours of the next morning in answering + numerous letters accumulated during his absence. Late in the afternoon he + had an interview with M. Renard, who, as at that season of the year he was + not over-busied with other affairs, engaged to obtain leave to place his + services at Graham’s command during the time requisite for inquiries at + Aix, and to be in readiness to start the next day. Graham then went forth + to pay one or two farewell visits; and these over, bent his way through + the Champs Elysees towards Isaura’s villa, when he suddenly encountered + Rochebriant on horseback. The Marquis courteously dismounted, committing + his horse to the care of the groom, and linking his arm in Graham’s, + expressed his pleasure at seeing him again; then, with some visible + hesitation and embarrassment, he turned the conversation towards the + political aspects of France. + </p> + <p> + “There was,” he said, “much in certain words of yours, when we last walked + together in this very path, that sank deeply into my mind at the time, and + over which I have of late still more earnestly reflected. You spoke of the + duties a Frenchman owed to France, and the ‘impolicy’ of remaining aloof + from all public employment on the part of those attached to the Legitimist + cause.” + </p> + <p> + “True; it cannot be the policy of any party to forget that between the + irrevocable past and the uncertain future there intervenes the action of + the present time.” + </p> + <p> + “Should you, as an impartial bystander, consider it dishonourable in me if + I entered the military service under the ruling sovereign?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, if your country needed you.” + </p> + <p> + “And it may, may it not? I hear vague rumours of coming war in almost + every salon I frequent. There has been gunpowder in the atmosphere we + breathe ever since the battle of Sadowa. What think you of German + arrogance and ambition? Will they suffer the swords of France to rust in + their scabbards?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Marquis, I should incline to put the question otherwise. Will the + jealous amour propre of France permit the swords of Germany to remain + sheathed? But in either case, no politician can see without grave + apprehension two nations so warlike, close to each other, divided by a + borderland that one covets and the other will not yield, each armed to the + teeth,—the one resolved to brook no rival, the other equally + determined to resist all aggression. And therefore, as you say, war is in + the atmosphere; and we may also hear, in the clouds that give no sign of + dispersion, the growl of the gathering thunder. War may come any day; and + if France be not at once the victor—” + </p> + <p> + “France not at once the victor?” interrupted Alain, passionately; “and + against a Prussian! Permit me to say no Frenchman can believe that.” + </p> + <p> + “Let no man despise a foe,” said Graham, smiling half sadly. “However, I + must not incur the danger of wounding your national susceptibilities. To + return to the point you raise. If France needed the aid of her best and + bravest, a true descendant of Henri Quatre ought to blush for his ancient + noblesse were a Rochebriant to say, ‘But I don’t like the colour of the + flag.’” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Alain, simply; “that is enough.” There was a pause, the + young men walking on slowly, arm in arm. And then there flashed across + Graham’s mind the recollection of talk on another subject in that very + path. Here he had spoken to Alain in deprecation of any possible alliance + with Isaura Cicogna, the destined actress and public; singer. His cheek + flushed; his heart smote him. What! had he spoken slightingly of her—of + her? What if she became his own wife? What! had he himself failed in the + respect which he would demand as her right from the loftiest of his + high-born kindred? What, too, would this man, of fairer youth than + himself, think of that disparaging counsel, when he heard that the monitor + had won the prize from which he had warned another? Would it not seem that + he had but spoken in the mean cunning dictated by the fear of a worthier + rival? Stung by these thoughts, he arrested his steps, and, looking the + Marquis full in the face, said, “You remind me of one subject in our talk + many weeks since; it is my duty to remind you of another. At that time + you, and, speaking frankly, I myself, acknowledged the charm in the face + of a young Italian lady. I told you then that, on learning she was + intended for the stage, the charm for me had vanished. I said bluntly that + it should vanish perhaps still more utterly for a noble of your + illustrious name; you remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Alain, hesitatingly, and with a look of surprise. + </p> + <p> + “I wish now to retract all I said thereon. Mademoiselle Cicogna is not + bent on the profession for which she was educated. She would willingly + renounce all idea of entering it. The only counterweight which, viewed + whether by my reason or my prejudices, could be placed in the opposite + scale to that of the excellences which might make any man proud to win + her, is withdrawn. I have become acquainted with her since the date of our + conversation. Hers is a mind which harmonizes with the loveliness of her + face. In one word, Marquis, I should deem myself honoured, as well as + blest, by such a bride. It was due to her that I should say this; it was + due also to you, in case you should retain the impression I sought in + ignorance to efface. And I am bound, as a gentleman, to obey this twofold + duty, even though in so doing I bring upon myself the affliction of a + candidate for the hand to which I would fain myself aspire,—a + candidate with pretensions in every way far superior to my own.” + </p> + <p> + An older or a more cynical man than Alain de Rochebriant might well have + found something suspicious in a confession thus singularly volunteered; + but the Marquis was himself so loyal that he had no doubt of the loyalty + of Graham. + </p> + <p> + “I reply to you,” he said, “with a frankness which finds an example in + your own. The first fair face which attracted my fancy since my arrival at + Paris was that of the Italian demoiselle of whom you speak in terms of + such respect. I do think if I had then been thrown into her society, and + found her to be such as you no doubt truthfully describe, that fancy might + have become a very grave emotion. I was then so poor, so friendless, so + despondent! Your words of warning impressed me at the time, but less + durably than you might suppose; for that very night as I sat in my + solitary attic I said to myself, ‘Why should I shrink, with an obsolete + old-world prejudice, from what my forefathers would have termed a + mesalliance? What is the value of my birthright now? None,—worse + than none. It excludes me from all careers; my name is but a load that + weighs me down. Why should I make that name a curse as well as a burden? + Nothing is left to me but that which is permitted to all men,—wedded + and holy love. Could I win to my heart the smile of a woman who brings me + that dower, the home of my fathers would lose its gloom.’ And therefore, + if at that time I had become familiarly acquainted with her who had thus + attracted my eye and engaged my thoughts, she might have become my + destiny; but now!” + </p> + <p> + “But now?” + </p> + <p> + “Things have changed. I am no longer poor, friendless, solitary. I have + entered the world of my equals as a Rochebriant; I have made myself + responsible for the dignity of my name. I could not give that name to one, + however peerless in herself, of whom the world would say, ‘But for her + marriage she would have been a singer on the stage!’ I will own more: the + fancy I conceived for the first fair face, other fair faces have + dispelled. At this moment, however, I have no thought of marriage; and + having known the anguish of struggle, the privations of poverty, I would + ask no woman to share the hazard of my return to them. You might present + me, then, safely to this beautiful Italian,—certain, indeed, that I + should be her admirer; equally certain that I could not become your + rival.” + </p> + <p> + There was something in this speech that jarred upon Graham’s sensitive + pride; but on the whole, he felt relieved, both in honour and in heart. + After a few more words, the two young men shook hands and parted. Alain + remounted his horse. The day was now declining. Graham hailed a vacant + fiacre, and directed the driver to Isaura’s villa. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <h3> + ISAURA. + </h3> + <p> + The sun was sinking slowly as Isaura sat at her window, gazing dreamily on + the rose-hued clouds that made the western borderland between earth and + heaven. On the table before her lay a few sheets of manuscript hastily + written, not yet reperused. That restless mind of hers had left its trace + on the manuscript. + </p> + <p> + It is characteristic perhaps of the different genius of the sexes, that + woman takes to written composition more impulsively, more intuitively, + than man,—letter-writing, to him a task-work, is to her a + recreation. Between the age of sixteen and the date of marriage, six + well-educated clever girls out of ten keep a journal; not one + well-educated man in ten thousand does. So, without serious and settled + intention of becoming an author, how naturally a girl of ardent feeling + and vivid fancy seeks in poetry or romance a confessional,—an + outpouring of thought and sentiment, which are mysteries to herself till + she has given them words, and which, frankly revealed on the page, she + would not, perhaps could not, utter orally to a living ear. + </p> + <p> + During the last few days, the desire to create in the realm of fable + beings constructed by her own breath, spiritualized by her own soul, had + grown irresistibly upon this fair child of song. In fact, when Graham’s + words had decided the renunciation of her destined career, her instinctive + yearnings for the utterance of those sentiments or thoughts which can only + find expression in some form of art, denied the one vent, irresistibly + impelled her to the other. And in this impulse she was confirmed by the + thought that here at least there was nothing which her English friend + could disapprove,—none of the perils that beset the actress. Here it + seemed as if, could she but succeed, her fame would be grateful to the + pride of all who loved her. Here was a career ennobled by many a woman, + and side by side in rivalry with renowned men. To her it seemed that, + could she in this achieve an honoured name, that name took its place at + once amid the higher ranks of the social world, and in itself brought a + priceless dowry and a starry crown. It was, however, not till after the + visit to Enghien that this ambition took practical life and form. One + evening after her return to Paris, by an effort so involuntary that it + seemed to her no effort, she had commenced a tale,—without plan, + without method, without knowing in one page what would fill the next. Her + slight fingers hurried on as if, like the pretended spirit manifestations, + impelled by an invisible agency without the pale of the world. She was + intoxicated by the mere joy of inventing ideal images. In her own special + art an elaborate artist, here she had no thought of art; if art was in her + work, it sprang unconsciously from the harmony between herself and her + subject,—as it is, perhaps, with the early soarings of the genuine + lyric poets, in contrast to the dramatic. For the true lyric poet is + intensely personal, intensely subjective. It is himself that he expresses, + that he represents; and he almost ceases to be lyrical when he seeks to go + out of his own existence into that of others with whom he has no sympathy, + no rapport. This tale was vivid with genius as yet untutored,—genius + in its morning freshness, full of beauties, full of faults. Isaura + distinguished not the faults from the beauties. She felt only a vague + persuasion that there was a something higher and brighter—a + something more true to her own idiosyncrasy—than could be achieved + by the art that “sings other people’s words to other people’s music.” From + the work thus commenced she had now paused; and it seemed to her fancies + that between her inner self and the scene without, whether in the skies + and air and sunset, or in the abodes of men stretching far and near till + lost amid the roofs and domes of the great city, she had fixed and riveted + the link of a sympathy hitherto fluctuating, unsubstantial, evanescent, + undefined. Absorbed in her revery, she did not notice the deepening of the + short twilight, till the servant entering drew the curtains between her + and the world without, and placed the lamp on the table beside her. Then + she turned away with a restless sigh; her eyes fell on the manuscript, but + the charm of it was gone. A sentiment of distrust in its worth had crept + into her thoughts, unconsciously to herself, and the page open before her + at an uncompleted sentence seemed unwelcome and wearisome as a copy-book + is to a child condemned to relinquish a fairy tale half told, and apply + himself to a task half done. She fell again into a revery, when, starting + as from a dream, she heard herself addressed by name, and turning round + saw Savarin and Gustave Rameau in the room. + </p> + <p> + “We are come, Signorina,” said Savarin, “to announce to you a piece of + news, and to hazard a petition. The news is this: my young friend here has + found a Maecenas who has the good taste so to admire his lucubrations + under the nom de plume of Alphonse de Valcour as to volunteer the expenses + for starting a new journal, of which Gustave Rameau is to be + editor-in-chief; and I have promised to assist him as contributor for the + first two months. I have given him notes of introduction to certain other + feuilletonistes and critics whom he has on his list. But all put together + would not serve to float the journal like a short roman from Madame de + Grantmesnil. Knowing your intimacy with that eminent artist, I venture to + back Rameau’s supplication that you would exert your influence on his, + behalf. As to the honoraires, she has but to name them.” + </p> + <p> + “Carte blanche,” cried Rameau, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “You know Eulalie too well, Monsieur Savarin,” answered Isaura, with a + smile half reproachful, “to suppose that she is a mercenary in letters, + and sells her services to the best bidder.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah, belle enfant!” said Savarin, with his gay light laugh. “Business is + business, and books as well as razors are made to sell. But, of course, a + proper prospectus of the journal must accompany your request to write in + it. Meanwhile Rameau will explain to you, as he has done to me, that the + journal in question is designed for circulation among readers of haute + classe it is to be pleasant and airy, full of bons mots and anecdote; + witty, but not ill-natured. Politics to be Liberal, of course, but of + elegant admixture,—champagne and seltzer-water. In fact, however, I + suspect that the politics will be a very inconsiderable feature in this + organ of fine arts and manners; some amateur scribbler in the beau monde + will supply them. For the rest, if my introductory letters are successful, + Madame de Grantmesnil will not be in bad company.” + </p> + <p> + “You will write to Madame de Grantmesnil?” asked Rameau, pleadingly. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I will, as soon—” + </p> + <p> + “As soon as you have the prospectus, and the names of the collaborateurs,” + interrupted Rameau. “I hope to send you these in a very few days.” + </p> + <p> + While Rameau was thus speaking, Savarin had seated himself by the table, + and his eye mechanically resting on the open manuscript lighted by chance + upon a sentence—an aphorism—embodying a very delicate + sentiment in very felicitous diction,—one of those choice + condensations of thought, suggesting so much more than is said, which are + never found in mediocre writers, and, rare even in the best, come upon us + like truths seized by surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Parbleu!” exclaimed Savarin, in the impulse of genuine admiration, “but + this is beautiful; what is more, it is original,”—and he read the + words aloud. Blushing with shame and resentment, Isaura turned and hastily + placed her hand on the manuscript. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon,” said Savarin, humbly; “I confess my sin, but it was so + unpremeditated that it does not merit a severe penance. Do not look at me + so reproachfully. We all know that young ladies keep commonplace books in + which they enter passages that strike them in the works they read; and you + have but shown an exquisite taste in selecting this gem. Do tell me where + you found it. Is it somewhere in Lamartine?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Isaura, half inaudibly, and with an effort to withdraw the + paper. Savarin gently detained her hand, and looking earnestly into her + tell-tale face, divined her secret. + </p> + <p> + “It is your own, Signorina! Accept the congratulations of a very practised + and somewhat fastidious critic. If the rest of what you write resembles + this sentence, contribute to Rameau’s journal, and I answer for its + success.” + </p> + <p> + Rameau approached, half incredulous, half envious. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” resumed Savarin, drawing away the manuscript from + Isaura’s coy, reluctant clasp, “do permit me to cast a glance over these + papers. For what I yet know, there may be here more promise of fame than + even you could gain as a singer.” + </p> + <p> + The electric chord in Isaura’s heart was touched. Who cannot conceive what + the young writer feels, especially the young woman-writer, when hearing + the first cheery note of praise from the lips of a writer of established + fame? + </p> + <p> + “Nay, this cannot be worth your reading,” said Isaura, falteringly; “I + have never written anything of the kind before, and this is a riddle to + me. I know not,” she added, with a sweet low laugh, “why I began, nor how + I should end it.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better,” said Savarin; and he took the manuscript, withdrew + to a recess by the farther window, and seated himself there, reading + silently and quickly, but now and then with a brief pause of reflection. + </p> + <p> + Rameau placed himself beside Isaura on the divan, and began talking with + her earnestly,—earnestly, for it was about himself and his aspiring + hopes. Isaura, on the other hand, more woman-like than author-like, + ashamed even to seem absorbed in herself and her hopes, and with her back + turned, in the instinct of that shame, against the reader of her + manuscript,—Isaura listened and sought to interest herself solely in + the young fellow-author. Seeking to do so she succeeded genuinely, for + ready sympathy was a prevalent characteristic of her nature. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Rameau, “I am at the turning-point of my life. Ever since + boyhood I have been haunted with the words of Andre Chenier on the morning + he was led to the scaffold ‘And yet there was something here,’ striking + his forehead. Yes, I, poor, low-born, launching myself headlong in the + chase of a name; I, underrated, uncomprehended, indebted even for a + hearing to the patronage of an amiable trifler like Savarin, ranked by + petty rivals in a grade below themselves,—I now see before me, + suddenly, abruptly presented, the expanding gates into fame and fortune. + Assist me, you!” + </p> + <p> + “But how?” said Isaura, already forgetting her manuscript; and certainly + Rameau did not refer to that. + </p> + <p> + “How!” echoed Rameau; “how! But do you not see—or at least, do you + not conjecture—this journal of which Savarin speaks contains my + present and my future? Present independence, opening to fortune and + renown. Ay,—and who shall say? renown beyond that of the mere + writer. Behind the gaudy scaffolding of this rickety Empire, a new social + edifice unperceived arises; and in that edifice the halls of State shall + be given to the men who help obscurely to build it,—to men like me.” + Here, drawing her hand into his own, fixing on her the most imploring gaze + of his dark persuasive eyes, and utterly unconscious of bathos in his + adjuration, he added: “Plead for me with your whole mind and heart; use + your uttermost influence with the illustrious writer whose pen can assure + the fates of my journal.” + </p> + <p> + Here the door suddenly opened, and following the servant, who announced + unintelligibly his name, there entered Graham Vane. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + The Englishman halted at the threshold. His eye, passing rapidly over the + figure of Savarin reading in the window-niche, rested upon Rameau and + Isaura seated on the same divan, he with her hand clasped in both his own, + and bending his face towards hers so closely that a loose tress of her + hair seemed to touch his forehead. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman halted, and no revolution which changes the habitudes and + forms of States was ever so sudden as that which passed without a word in + the depths of his unconjectured heart. The heart has no history which + philosophers can recognize. An ordinary political observer, contemplating + the condition of a nation, may very safely tell us what effects must + follow the causes patent to his eyes; but the wisest and most far-seeing + sage, looking at a man at one o’clock, cannot tell us what revulsions of + his whole being may be made ere the clock strike two. + </p> + <p> + As Isaura rose to greet her visitor, Savarin came from the window-niche, + the manuscript in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Son of perfidious Albion,” said Savarin, gayly, “we feared you had + deserted the French alliance. Welcome back to Paris, and the entente + cordiale.” + </p> + <p> + “Would I could stay to enjoy such welcome! but I must again quit Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Soon to return, n’est ce pas? Paris is an irresistible magnet to les + beaux esprits. A propos of beaux esprits, be sure to leave orders with + your bookseller, if you have one, to enter your name as subscriber to a + new journal.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, if Monsieur Savarin recommends it.” + </p> + <p> + “He recommends it as a matter of course; he writes in it,” said Rameau. + </p> + <p> + “A sufficient guarantee for its excellence. What is the name of the + journal?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet thought of,” answered Savarin. “Babes must be born before they + are christened; but it will be instruction enough to your bookseller to + order the new journal to be edited by Gustave Rameau.” + </p> + <p> + Bowing ceremoniously to the editor in prospect, Graham said, half + ironically, “May I hope that in the department of criticism you will not + be too hard upon poor Tasso?” + </p> + <p> + “Never fear; the Signorina, who adores Tasso, will take him under her + special protection,” said Savarin, interrupting Rameau’s sullen and + embarrassed reply. + </p> + <p> + Graham’s brow slightly contracted. “Mademoiselle,” he said, “is then to be + united in the conduct of this journal with M. Gustave Rameau?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed!” exclaimed Isaura, somewhat frightened at the idea. + </p> + <p> + “But I hope,” said Savarin, “that the Signorina may become a contributor + too important for an editor to offend by insulting her favourites, Tasso + included. Rameau and I came hither to entreat her influence with her + intimate and illustrious friend, Madame de Grantmesnil, to insure the + success of our undertaking by sanctioning the announcement of her name as + a contributor.” + </p> + <p> + “Upon social questions,—such as the laws of marriage?” said Graham, + with a sarcastic smile, which concealed the quiver of his lip and the pain + in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” answered Savarin, “our journal will be too sportive, I hope, for + matters so profound. We would rather have Madame de Grantmesnil’s aid in + some short roman, which will charm the fancy of all and offend the + opinions of none. But since I came into the room, I care less for the + Signorina’s influence with the great authoress,” and he glanced + significantly at the manuscript. + </p> + <p> + “How so?” asked Graham, his eye following the glance. + </p> + <p> + “If the writer of this manuscript will conclude what she has begun, we + shall be independent of Madame de Grantmesnil.” + </p> + <p> + “Fie!” cried Isaura, impulsively, her face and neck bathed in blushes,—“fie! + such words are a mockery.” + </p> + <p> + Graham gazed at her intently, and then turned his eyes on Savarin. He + guessed aright the truth. “Mademoiselle then is an author? In the style of + her friend Madame de Grantmesnil?” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” said Savarin, “I should indeed be guilty of mockery if I paid the + Signorina so false a compliment as to say that in a first effort she + attained to the style of one of the most finished sovereigns of language + that has ever swayed the literature of France. When I say, ‘Give us this + tale completed, and I shall be consoled if the journal does not gain the + aid of Madame de Grantmesnil,’ I mean that in these pages there is that + nameless charm of freshness and novelty which compensates for many faults + never committed by a practised pen like Madame de Grantmesnil’s. My dear + young lady, go on with this story,—finish it; when finished, do not + disdain any suggestions I may offer in the way of correction,—and I + will venture to predict to you so brilliant a career as author, that you + will not regret should you resign for that career the bravoes you could + command as actress and singer.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman pressed his hand convulsively to his heart, as if smitten + by a sudden spasm. But as his eyes rested on Isaura’s face, which had + become radiant with the enthusiastic delight of genius when the path it + would select opens before it as if by a flash from heaven, whatever of + jealous irritation, whatever of selfish pain he might before have felt; + was gone, merged in a sentiment of unutterable sadness and compassion. + Practical man as he was, he knew so well all the dangers, all the snares, + all the sorrows, all the scandals menacing name and fame, that in the + world of Paris must beset the fatherless girl who, not less in authorship + than on the stage, leaves the safeguard of private life forever behind + her, who becomes a prey to the tongues of the public. At Paris, how + slender is the line that divides the authoress from the Bohemienne! He + sank into his chair silently, and passed his hand over his eyes, as if to + shut out a vision of the future. + </p> + <p> + Isaura in her excitement did not notice the effect on her English visitor. + She could not have divined such an effect as possible. On the contrary, + even subordinate to her joy at the thought that she had not mistaken the + instincts which led her to a nobler vocation than that of the singer, that + the cage-bar was opened, and space bathed in sunshine was inviting the + new-felt wings,—subordinate even to that joy was a joy more wholly, + more simply woman’s. “If,” thought she, in this joy, “if this be true, my + proud ambition is realized; all disparities of worth and fortune are + annulled between me and him to whom I would bring no shame of + mesalliance!” Poor dreamer, poor child! + </p> + <p> + “You will let me see what you have written,” said Rameau, somewhat + imperiously, in the sharp voice habitual to him, and which pierced + Graham’s ear like a splinter of glass. + </p> + <p> + “No, not now; when finished.” + </p> + <p> + “You will finish it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; how can I help it after such encouragement?” She held out her + hand to Savarin, who kissed it gallantly; then her eyes intuitively sought + Graham’s. By that time he had recovered his self-possession. He met her + look tranquilly, and with a smile; but the smile chilled her, she knew not + why. + </p> + <p> + The conversation then passed upon books and authors of the day, and was + chiefly supported by the satirical pleasantries of Savarin, who was in + high good-spirits. + </p> + <p> + Graham, who, as we know, had come with the hope of seeing Isaura alone, + and with the intention of uttering words which, however guarded, might yet + in absence serve as links of union, now no longer coveted that interview, + no longer meditated those words. He soon rose to depart. + </p> + <p> + “Will you dine with me to-morrow?” asked Savarin. “Perhaps I may induce + the Signorina and Rameau to offer you the temptation of meeting them.” + </p> + <p> + “By to-morrow I shall be leagues away.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura’s heart sank. This time the manuscript was fairly forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “You never said you were going so soon,” cried Savarin. “When do you come + back, vile deserter?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot even guess. Monsieur Rameau, count me among your subscribers. + Mademoiselle, my best regards to Signora Venosta. When I see you again, no + doubt you will have become famous.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura here could not control herself. She rose impulsively, and + approached him, holding out her hand, and attempting a smile. + </p> + <p> + “But not famous in the way that you warned me from,” she said in whispered + tones. “You are friends with me still?” It was like the piteous wail of a + child seeking to make it up with one who wants to quarrel, the child knows + not why. Graham was moved, but what could he say? Could he have the right + to warn her from this profession also; forbid all desires, all roads of + fame to this brilliant aspirant? Even a declared and accepted lover might + well have deemed that that would be to ask too much. He replied, “Yes, + always a friend, if you could ever need one.” Her hand slid from his, and + she turned away wounded to the quick. + </p> + <p> + “Have you your coupe at the door?” asked Savarin. + </p> + <p> + “Simply a fiacre.” + </p> + <p> + “And are going back at once to Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you kindly drop me in the Rue de Rivoli?” + </p> + <p> + “Charmed to be of use.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0046" id="link2HCH0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + As the fiacre bore to Paris Savarin and Graham, the former said, “I cannot + conceive what rich simpleton could entertain so high an opinion of Gustave + Rameau as to select a man so young, and of reputation though promising so + undecided, for an enterprise which requires such a degree of tact and + judgment as the conduct of a new journal,—and a journal, too, which + is to address itself to the beau monde. However, it is not for me to + criticise a selection which brings a god-send to myself.” + </p> + <p> + “To yourself? You jest; you have a journal of your own. It can only be + through an excess of good-nature that you lend your name and pen to the + service of M. Gustave Rameau.” + </p> + <p> + “My good-nature does not go to that extent. It is Rameau who confers a + service upon me. Peste! mon cher, we French authors have not the rents of + you rich English milords. And though I am the most economical of our + tribe, yet that journal of mine has failed me of late; and this morning I + did not exactly see how I was to repay a sum I had been obliged to borrow + of a money-lender,—for I am too proud to borrow of friends, and too + sagacious to borrow of publishers,—when in walks ce cher petit + Gustave with an offer, for a few trifles towards starting this new-born + journal, which makes a new man of me. Now I am in the undertaking, my + amour propre and my reputation are concerned in its success; and I shall + take care that collaborateurs of whose company I am not ashamed are in the + same boat. But that charming girl, Isaura! What an enigma the gift of the + pen is! No one can ever guess who has it until tried.” + </p> + <p> + “The young lady’s manuscript, then, really merits the praise you bestowed + on it?” + </p> + <p> + “Much more praise, though a great deal of blame, which I did not bestow,—for + in a first work faults insure success as much as beauties. Anything better + than tame correctness. Yes, her first work, to judge by what is written, + must make a hit,—a great hit. And that will decide her career. A + singer, an actress, may retire,—often does when she marries an + author; but once an author always an author.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! is it so? If you had a beloved daughter, Savarin, would you encourage + her to be an author?” + </p> + <p> + “Frankly, no: principally because in that case the chances are that she + would marry an author; and French authors, at least in the imaginative + school, make very uncomfortable husbands.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you think the Signorina will marry one of those uncomfortable + husbands,—M. Rameau, perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “Rameau! Hein! nothing more likely. That beautiful face of his has its + fascination. And to tell you the truth, my wife, who is a striking + illustration of the truth that what woman wills heaven wills, is bent upon + that improvement in Gustave’s moral life which she thinks a union with + Mademoiselle Cicogna would achieve. At all events, the fair Italian would + have in Rameau a husband who would not suffer her to bury her talents + under a bushel. If she succeeds as a writer (by succeeding I mean making + money), he will see that her ink-bottle is never empty; and if she don’t + succeed as a writer, he will take care that the world shall gain an + actress or a singer. For Gustave Rameau has a great taste for luxury and + show; and whatever his wife can make, I will venture to say that he will + manage to spend.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you had an esteem and regard for Mademoiselle Cicogna. It is + Madame your wife, I suppose, who has a grudge against her?” + </p> + <p> + “On the contrary, my wife idolizes her.” + </p> + <p> + “Savages sacrifice to their idols the things they deem of value; civilized + Parisians sacrifice their idols themselves, and to a thing that is + worthless.” + </p> + <p> + “Rameau is not worthless; he has beauty and youth and talent. My wife + thinks more highly of him than I do; but I must respect a man who has + found admirers so sincere as to set him up in a journal, and give him + carte blanche for terms to contributors. I know of no man in Paris more + valuable to me. His worth to me this morning is thirty thousand francs. I + own I do not think him likely to be a very safe husband; but then French + female authors and artists seldom take any husbands except upon short + leases. There are no vulgar connubial prejudices in the pure atmosphere of + art. Women of genius, like Madame de Grantmesnil, and perhaps like our + charming young friend, resemble canary-birds,—to sing their best you + must separate them from their mates.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman suppressed a groan, and turned the conversation. + </p> + <p> + When he had set down his lively companion, Vane dismissed his fiacre, and + walked to his lodgings musingly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said inly; “I must wrench myself from the very memory of that + haunting face,—the friend and pupil of Madame de Grantmesnil, the + associate of Gustave Rameau, the rival of Julie Caumartin, the aspirant to + that pure atmosphere of art in which there are no vulgar connubial + prejudices! Could I—whether I be rich or poor—see in her the + ideal of an English wife? As it is—as it is—with this mystery + which oppresses me, which, till solved, leaves my own career insoluble,—as + it is, how fortunate that I did not find her alone; did not utter the + words that would fain have leaped from my heart; did not say, ‘I may not + be the rich man I seem, but in that case I shall be yet more ambitious, + because struggle and labour are the sinews of ambition! Should I be rich, + will you adorn my station? Should I be poor, will you enrich poverty with + your smile? And can you, in either case, forego—really, painlessly + forego, as you led me to hope—the pride in your own art?’ My + ambition were killed did I marry an actress, a singer. Better that than + the hungerer after excitements which are never allayed, the struggler in a + career which admits of no retirement,—the woman to whom marriage is + no goal, who remains to the last the property of the public, and glories + to dwell in a house of glass into which every bystander has a right to + peer. Is this the ideal of an Englishman’s wife and home? No, no!—woe + is me, no!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VI. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0047" id="link2HCH0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + A few weeks after the date of the preceding chapter, a gay party of men + were assembled at supper in one of the private salons of the Maison Doree. + The supper was given by Frederic Lemercier, and the guests were, though in + various ways, more or less distinguished. Rank and fashion were not + unworthily represented by Alain de Rochebriant and Enguerrand de Vandemar, + by whose supremacy as “lion” Frederic still felt rather humbled, though + Alain had contrived to bring them familiarly together. Art, Literature, + and the Bourse had also their representatives in Henri Bernard, a rising + young portrait-painter, whom the Emperor honoured with his patronage, the + Vicomte de Braze, and M. Savarin. Science was not altogether forgotten, + but contributed its agreeable delegate in the person of the eminent + physician to whom we have been before introduced,—Dr. Bacourt. + Doctors in Paris are not so serious as they mostly are in London; and + Bacourt, a pleasant philosopher of the school of Aristippus, was no + unfrequent nor ungenial guest at any banquet in which the Graces relaxed + their zones. Martial glory was also represented at that social gathering + by a warrior, bronzed and decorated, lately arrived from Algiers, on which + arid soil he had achieved many laurels and the rank of Colonel. Finance + contributed Duplessis. Well it might; for Duplessis had just assisted the + host to a splendid coup at the Bourse. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, cher Monsieur Savarin,” says Enguerrand de Vandemar, whose patrician + blood is so pure from revolutionary taint that he is always instinctively + polite, “what a masterpiece in its way is that little paper of yours in + the ‘Sens Commun,’ upon the connection between the national character and + the national diet! so genuinely witty!—for wit is but truth made + amusing.” + </p> + <p> + “You flatter me,” replied Savarin, modestly; “but I own I do think there + is a smattering of philosophy in that trifle. Perhaps, however, the + character of a people depends more on its drinks than its food. The wines + of Italy, heady, irritable, ruinous to the digestion, contribute to the + character which belongs to active brains and disordered livers. The + Italians conceive great plans, but they cannot digest them. The English + common-people drink beer, and the beerish character is stolid, rude, but + stubborn and enduring. The English middle-class imbibe port and sherry; + and with these strong potations their ideas become obfuscated. Their + character has no liveliness; amusement is not one of their wants; they sit + at home after dinner and doze away the fumes of their beverage in the + dulness of domesticity. If the English aristocracy are more vivacious and + cosmopolitan, it is thanks to the wines of France, which it is the mode + with them to prefer; but still, like all plagiarists, they are imitators, + not inventors; they borrow our wines and copy our manners. The Germans—” + </p> + <p> + “Insolent barbarians!” growled the French Colonel, twirling his mustache; + “if the Emperor were not in his dotage, their Sadowa would ere this have + cost them their Rhine.” + </p> + <p> + “The Germans,” resumed Savarin, unheeding the interruption, “drink acrid + wines, varied with beer, to which last their commonalty owes a quasi + resemblance in stupidity and endurance to the English masses. Acrid wines + rot the teeth Germans are afflicted with toothache from infancy. All + people subject to toothache are sentimental. Goethe was a martyr to + toothache. ‘Werther’ was written in one of those paroxysms which + predispose genius to suicide. But the German character is not all + toothache; beer and tobacco step in to the relief of Rhenish acridities, + blend philosophy with sentiment, and give that patience in detail which + distinguishes their professors and their generals. Besides, the German + wines in themselves have other qualities than that of acridity. Taken with + sourkrout and stewed prunes, they produce fumes of self-conceit. A German + has little of French vanity; he has German self-esteem. He extends the + esteem of self to those around him; his home, his village, his city, his + country,—all belong to him. It is a duty he owes to himself to + defend them. Give him his pipe and his sabre, and, Monsieur le Colonel, + believe me, you will never take the Rhine from him.” + </p> + <p> + “P-r-r,” cried the Colonel; “but we have had the Rhine.” + </p> + <p> + “We did not keep it. And I should not say I had a francpiece if I borrowed + it from your purse and had to give it back the next day.” + </p> + <p> + Here there arose a very general hubbub of voices, all raised against M. + Savarin. Enguerrand, like a man of good ton, hastened to change the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Let us leave these poor wretches to their sour wines and toothaches. We + drinkers of the champagne, all our own, have only pity for the rest of the + human race. This new journal ‘Le Sens Commun’ has a strange title, + Monsieur Savarin.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; ‘Le Sens Commun’ is not common in Paris, where we all have too much + genius for a thing so vulgar.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray,” said the young painter, “tell me what you mean by the title ‘Le + Sens Commun.’ It is mysterious.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Savarin; “it may mean the Sensus communis of the Latins, or + the Good Sense of the English. The Latin phrase signifies the sense of the + common interest; the English phrase, the sense which persons of + understanding have in common. I suppose the inventor of our title meant + the latter signification.” + </p> + <p> + “And who was the inventor?” asked Bacourt. + </p> + <p> + “That is a secret which I do not know myself,” answered Savarin. + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” said Enguerrand, “that it must be the same person who writes + the political leaders. They are most remarkable; for they are so unlike + the articles in other journals, whether those journals be the best or the + worst. For my own part, I trouble my head very little about politics, and + shrug my shoulders at essays which reduce the government of flesh and + blood into mathematical problems. But these articles seem to be written by + a man of the world, and as a man of the world myself, I read them.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said the Vicomte de Breze, who piqued himself on the polish of his + style, “they are certainly not the composition of any eminent writer. No + eloquence, no sentiment; though I ought not to speak disparagingly of a + fellow-contributor.” + </p> + <p> + “All that may be very true;” said Savarin; “but M. Enguerrand is right. + The papers are evidently the work of a man of the world, and it is for + that reason that they have startled the public, and established the + success of ‘Le Sens Commun.’ But wait a week or two longer, Messieurs, and + then tell me what you think of a new roman by a new writer, which we shall + announce in our impression to-morrow. I shall be disappointed, indeed, if + that does not charm you. No lack of eloquence and sentiment there.” + </p> + <p> + “I am rather tired of eloquence and sentiment,” said Enguerrand. “Your + editor, Gustave Rameau, sickens me of them with his ‘Starlit Meditations + in the Streets of Paris,’ morbid imitations of Heine’s enigmatical + ‘Evening Songs.’ Your journal would be perfect if you could suppress the + editor.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppress Gustave Rameau!” cried Bernard, the painter; “I adore his poems, + full of heart for poor suffering humanity.” + </p> + <p> + “Suffering humanity so far as it is packed up in himself,” said the + physician, dryly,—“and a great deal of the suffering is bile. But a + propos of your new journal, Savarin, there is a paragraph in it to-day + which excites my curiosity. It says that the Vicomte de Mauleon has + arrived in Paris, after many years of foreign travel; and then, referring + modestly enough to the reputation for talent which he had acquired in + early youth, proceeds to indulge in a prophecy of the future political + career of a man who, if he have a grain of sens common, must think that + the less said about him the better. I remember him well; a terrible + mauvais sujet, but superbly handsome. There was a shocking story about the + jewels of a foreign duchess, which obliged him to leave Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Savarin, “the paragraph you refer to hints that that story is + a groundless calumny, and that the true reason for De Mauleon’s voluntary + self-exile was a very common one among young Parisians,—he had + lavished away his fortune. He returns, when, either by heritage or his own + exertions, he has secured elsewhere a competence.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless I cannot think that society will receive him,” said Bacourt. + “When he left Paris, there was one joyous sigh of relief among all men who + wished to avoid duels, and keep their wives out of temptation. Society may + welcome back a lost sheep, but not a reinvigorated wolf.” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, mon cher,” said Enguerrand; “society has already + opened its fold to this poor ill-treated wolf. Two days ago Louvier + summoned to his house the surviving relations or connections of De Mauleon—among + whom are the Marquis de Rochebriant, the Counts de Passy, De Beauvilliers, + De Chavigny, my father, and of course his two sons—and submitted to + us the proofs which completely clear the Vicomte de Mauleon of even a + suspicion of fraud or dishonour in the affair of the jewels. The proofs + include the written attestation of the Duke himself, and letters from that + nobleman after De Mauleon’s disappearance from Paris, expressive of great + esteem, and indeed, of great admiration, for the Vicomte’s sense of honour + and generosity of character. The result of this family council was that we + all went in a body to call on De Mauleon; and he dined with my father that + same day. You know enough of the Comte de Vandemar, and, I may add, of my + mother, to be sure that they are both, in their several ways, too + regardful of social conventions to lend their countenance even to a + relation without well weighing the pros and cons. And as for Raoul, Bayard + himself could not be a greater stickler on the point of honour.” + </p> + <p> + This declaration was followed by a silence that had the character of + stupor. + </p> + <p> + At last Duplessis said, “But what has Louvier to do in this galere? + Louvier is no relation of that well-born vaurien; why should he summon + your family council?” + </p> + <p> + “Louvier excused his interference on the ground of early and intimate + friendship with De Mauleon, who, he said, came to consult him on arriving + at Paris, and who felt too proud or too timid to address relations with + whom he had long dropped all intercourse. An intermediary was required, + and Louvier volunteered to take that part on himself; nothing more natural + nor more simple. By the way, Alain, you dine with Louvier to-morrow, do + you not?—a dinner in honour of our rehabilitated kinsman. I and + Raoul go.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I shall be charmed to meet again a man who, whatever might be his + errors in youth, on which,” added Alain, slightly colouring, “it certainly + does not become me to be severe, must have suffered the most poignant + anguish a man of honour can undergo,—namely, honour suspected; and + who now, whether by years or sorrow, is so changed that I cannot recognize + a likeness to the character I have just heard given to him as mauvais + sujet and vaurien.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” cried Enguerrand; “all honour to courage!—and at Paris it + requires great courage to defend the absent.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” answered Alain, in a low voice. “The gentilhomme who will not + defend another gentilhomme traduced, would, as a soldier, betray a citadel + and desert a flag.” + </p> + <p> + “You say M. de Mauleon is changed,” said De Breze; “yes, he must be + growing old. No trace left of his good looks?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said Enguerrand; “he is bien conserve, and has still a very + handsome head and an imposing presence. But one cannot help doubting + whether he deserved the formidable reputation he acquired in youth; his + manner is so singularly mild and gentle, his conversation so winningly + modest, so void of pretence, and his mode of life is as simple as that of + a Spanish hidalgo.” + </p> + <p> + “He does not, then, affect the role of Monte Cristo,” said Duplessis, “and + buy himself into notice like that hero of romance?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not: he says very frankly that he has but a very small income, + but more than enough for his wants,—richer than in his youth, for he + has learned content. We may dismiss the hint in ‘Le Sens Commun’ about his + future political career,—at least he evinces no such ambition.” + </p> + <p> + “How could he as a Legitimist?” said Alain, bitterly. “What department + would elect him?” + </p> + <p> + “But is he a Legitimist?” asked De Breze. + </p> + <p> + “I take it for granted that he must be that,” answered Alain, haughtily, + “for he is a De Mauleon.” + </p> + <p> + “His father was as good a De Mauleon as himself, I presume,” rejoined De + Breze, dryly; “and he enjoyed a place at the Court of Louis Philippe, + which a Legitimist could scarcely accept. Victor did not, I fancy, trouble + his head about politics at all, at the time I remember him; but to judge + by his chief associates, and the notice he received from the Princes of + the House of Orleans, I should guess that he had no predilections in + favour of Henri V.” + </p> + <p> + “I should regret to think so,” said Alain, yet more haughtily, “since the + De Mauleons acknowledge the head of their house in the representative of + the Rochebriants.” + </p> + <p> + “At all events,” said Duplessis, “M. de Mauleon appears to be a + philosopher of rare stamp. A Parisian who has known riches and is + contented to be poor is a phenomenon I should like to study.” + </p> + <p> + “You have that chance to-morrow evening, Monsieur Duplessis,” said + Enguerrand. + </p> + <p> + “What! at M. Louvier’s dinner? Nay, I have no other acquaintance with M. + Louvier than that of the Bourse, and the acquaintance is not cordial.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not mean at M. Louvier’s dinner, but at the Duchesse de Tarascon’s + ball. You, as one of her special favourites, will doubtless honour her + reunion.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I have promised my daughter to go to the ball. But the Duchesse is + Imperialist. M. de Mauleon seems to be either a Legitimist, according to + Monsieur le Marquis, or an Orleanist, according to our friend De Breze.” + </p> + <p> + “What of that? Can there be a more loyal Bourbonite than De Rochebriant?—and + he goes to the ball. It is given out of the season, in celebration of a + family marriage. And the Duchesse de Tarascon is connected with Alain, and + therefore with De Mauleon, though but distantly.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! excuse my ignorance of genealogy.” + </p> + <p> + “As if the genealogy of noble names were not the history of France,” + muttered Alain, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0048" id="link2HCH0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + Yes, the “Sens Commun” was a success: it had made a sensation at starting; + the sensation was on the increase. It is difficult for an Englishman to + comprehend the full influence of a successful journal at Paris; the + station—political, literary, social—which it confers on the + contributors who effect the success. M. Lebeau had shown much more + sagacity in selecting Gustave Rameau for the nominal editor than Savarin + supposed or my reader might detect. In the first place, Gustave himself, + with all his defects of information and solidity of intellect, was not + without real genius,—and a sort of genius that when kept in + restraint, and its field confined to sentiment or sarcasm, was in unison + with the temper of the day; in the second place, it was only through + Gustave that Lebeau could have got at Savarin, and the names which that + brilliant writer had secured at the outset would have sufficed to draw + attention to the earliest numbers of the “Sens Commun,” despite a title + which did not seem alluring. But these names alone could not have sufficed + to circulate the new journal to the extent it had already reached. This + was due to the curiosity excited by leading articles of a style new to the + Parisian public, and of which the authorship defied conjecture. They were + signed Pierre Firmin,—supposed to be a nom de plume, as, that name + was utterly unknown in the world of letters. They affected the tone of an + impartial observer; they neither espoused nor attacked any particular + party; they laid down no abstract doctrines of government. But somehow or + other, in language terse yet familiar, sometimes careless yet never + vulgar, they expressed a prevailing sentiment of uneasy discontent, a + foreboding of some destined change in things established, without defining + the nature of such change, without saying whether it would be for good or + for evil. In his criticisms upon individuals, the writer was guarded and + moderate—the keenest-eyed censor of the press could not have found a + pretext for interference with expression of opinions so polite. Of the + Emperor these articles spoke little, but that little was not + disrespectful; yet, day after day, the articles contributed to sap the + Empire. All malcontents of every shade comprehended, as by a secret of + freemasonry, that in this journal they had an ally. Against religion not a + word was uttered, yet the enemies of religion bought that journal; still, + the friends of religion bought it too, for those articles treated with + irony the philosophers on paper who thought that their contradictory + crotchets could fuse themselves into any single Utopia, or that any social + edifice, hurriedly run up by the crazy few, could become a permanent + habitation for the turbulent many, without the clamps of a creed. + </p> + <p> + The tone of these articles always corresponded with the title of the + journal,—“Common-sense.” It was to common-sense that it appealed,—appealed + in the utterance of a man who disdained the subtle theories, the vehement + declamation, the credulous beliefs, or the inflated bombast, which + constitute so large a portion of the Parisian press. The articles rather + resembled certain organs of the English press, which profess to be blinded + by no enthusiasm for anybody or anything, which find their sale in that + sympathy with ill-nature to which Huet ascribes the popularity of Tacitus, + and, always quietly undermining institutions with a covert sneer, never + pretend to a spirit of imagination so at variance with common-sense as a + conjecture how the institutions should be rebuilt or replaced. + </p> + <p> + Well, somehow or other the journal, as I was saying, hit the taste of the + Parisian public. It intimated, with the easy grace of an unpremeditated + agreeable talker, that French society in all its classes was rotten; and + each class was willing to believe that all the others were rotten, and + agreed that unless the others were reformed, there was something very + unsound in itself. + </p> + <p> + The ball at the Duchesse de Tarascon’s was a brilliant event. The summer + was far advanced; many of the Parisian holiday-makers had returned to the + capital, but the season had not commenced, and a ball at that time of year + was a very unwonted event. But there was a special occasion for this fete,—a + marriage between a niece of the Duchesse and the son of a great official + in high favour at the Imperial Court. + </p> + <p> + The dinner at Louvier’s broke up early, and the music for the second waltz + was sounding when Enguerrand, Alain, and the Vicomte de Mauleon ascended + the stairs. Raoul did not accompany them; he went very rarely to any + balls,—never to one given by an Imperialist, however nearly related + to him the Imperialist might be. But in the sweet indulgence of his + good-nature, he had no blame for those who did go,—not for + Enguerrand, still less, of course, for Alain. + </p> + <p> + Something too might well here be said as to his feeling towards Victor de + Mauleon. He had joined in the family acquittal of that kinsman as to the + grave charge of the jewels; the proofs of innocence thereon seemed to him + unequivocal and decisive, therefore he had called on the Vicomte and + acquiesced in all formal civilities shown to him. But such acts of justice + to a fellow-gentilhomme and a kinsman duly performed, he desired to see as + little as possible of the Vicomte de Mauleon. He reasoned thus: “Of every + charge which society made against this man he is guiltless; but of all the + claims to admiration which society accorded to him before it erroneously + condemned, there are none which make me covet his friendship, or suffice + to dispel doubts as to what he may be when society once more receives him. + And the man is so captivating that I should dread his influence over + myself did I see much of him.” + </p> + <p> + Raoul kept his reasonings to himself, for he had that sort of charity + which indisposes an amiable man to be severe on bygone offences. In the + eyes of Enguerrand and Alain, and such young votaries of the mode as they + could influence, Victor de Mauleon assumed almost heroic proportions. In + the affair which had inflicted on him a calumny so odious, it was clear + that he had acted with chivalrous delicacy of honour. And the turbulence + and recklessness of his earlier years, redeemed as they were, in the + traditions of his contemporaries, by courage and generosity, were not + offences to which young Frenchmen are inclined to be harsh. All question + as to the mode in which his life might have been passed during his long + absence from the capital was merged in the respect due to the only facts + known, and these were clearly proved in his pieces justificatives: First, + that he had served under another name in the ranks of the army in Algiers; + had distinguished himself there for signal valour, and received, with + promotion, the decoration of the cross. His real name was known only to + his colonel, and on quitting the service, the colonel placed in his hands + a letter of warm eulogy on his conduct, and identifying him as Victor de + Mauleon. Secondly, that in California he had saved a wealthy family from + midnight murder, fighting single-handed against and overmastering three + ruffians, and declining all other reward from those he had preserved than + a written attestation of their gratitude. In all countries, valour ranks + high in the list of virtues; in no country does it so absolve from vices + as it does in France. + </p> + <p> + But as yet Victor de Mauleon’s vindication was only known by a few, and + those belonging to the gayer circles of life. How he might be judged by + the sober middle class, which constitutes the most important section of + public opinion to a candidate for political trusts and distinctions, was + another question. + </p> + <p> + The Duchesse stood at the door to receive her visitors. Duplessis was + seated near the entrance, by the side of a distinguished member of the + Imperial Government, with whom he was carrying on a whispered + conversation. The eye of the financier, however, turned towards the + doorway as Alain and Enguerrand entered, and passing over their familiar + faces, fixed itself attentively on that of a mach older man whom + Enguerrand was presenting to the Duchesse, and in whom Duplessis rightly + divined the Vicomte de Mauleon. Certainly if no one could have recognized + M. Lebeau in the stately personage who had visited Louvier, still less + could one who had heard of the wild feats of the roi des viveurs in his + youth reconcile belief in such tales with the quiet modesty of mien which + distinguished the cavalier now replying, with bended head and subdued + accents, to the courteous welcome of the brilliant hostess. But for such + difference in attributes between the past and the present De Mauleon, + Duplessis had been prepared by the conversation at the Maison Doree. And + now, as the Vicomte, yielding his place by the Duchesse to some new-comer, + glided on, and, leaning against a column, contemplated the gay scene + before him with that expression of countenance, half sarcastic, half + mournful, with which men regard, after long estrangement, the scenes of + departed joys, Duplessis felt that no change in that man had impaired the + force of character which had made him the hero of reckless coevals. Though + wearing no beard, not even a mustache, there was something emphatically + masculine in the contour of the close-shaven cheek and resolute jaw; in a + forehead broad at the temples, and protuberant in those organs over the + eyebrows which are said to be significant of quick perception and ready + action; in the lips, when in repose compressed, perhaps somewhat stern in + their expression, but pliant and mobile when speaking, and wonderfully + fascinating when they smiled. Altogether, about this Victor de Mauleon + there was a nameless distinction, apart from that of conventional + elegance. You would have said, “That is a man of some marked + individuality, an eminence of some kind in himself.” You would not be + surprised to hear that he was a party-leader, a skilled diplomatist, a + daring soldier, an adventurous traveller; but you would not guess him to + be a student, an author, an artist. + </p> + <p> + While Duplessis thus observed the Vicomte de Mauleon, all the while + seeming to lend an attentive ear to the whispered voice of the Minister by + his side, Alain passed on into the ball-room. He was fresh enough to feel + the exhilaration of the dance. Enguerrand (who had survived that + excitement, and who habitually deserted any assembly at an early hour for + the cigar and whist of his club) had made his way to De Mauleon, and there + stationed himself. The lion of one generation has always a mixed feeling + of curiosity and respect for the lion of a generation before him, and the + young Vandemar had conceived a strong and almost an affectionate interest + in this discrowned king of that realm in fashion which, once lost, is + never to be regained; for it is only Youth that can hold its sceptre and + command its subjects. + </p> + <p> + “In this crowd, Vicomte,” said Enguerrand, “there must be many old + acquaintances of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so, but as yet I have only seen new faces.” + </p> + <p> + As he thus spoke, a middle-aged man, decorated with the grand cross of the + Legion and half-a-dozen foreign orders, lending his arm to a lady of the + same age radiant in diamonds, passed by towards the ball-room, and in some + sudden swerve of his person, occasioned by a pause of his companion to + adjust her train, he accidentally brushed against De Mauleon, whom he had + not before noticed. Turning round to apologize for his awkwardness, he + encountered the full gaze of the Vicomte, started, changed countenance, + and hurried on his companion. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not recognize his Excellency?” said Enguerrand, smiling. “His + cannot be a new face to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it the Baron de Lacy?” asked De Mauleon. + </p> + <p> + “The Baron de Lacy, now Comte d’Epinay, ambassador at the Court of ——-, + and, if report speak true, likely soon to exchange that post for the porte + feuille of Minister.” + </p> + <p> + “He has got on in life since I saw him last, the little Baron. He was then + my devoted imitator, and I was not proud of the imitation.” + </p> + <p> + “He has got on by always clinging to the skirts of some one stronger than + himself,—to yours, I dare say, when, being a parvenu despite his + usurped title of baron, he aspired to the entree into clubs and salons. + The entree thus obtained, the rest followed easily; he became a + millionaire through a wife’s dot, and an ambassador through the wife’s + lover, who is a power in the State.” + </p> + <p> + “But he must have substance in himself. Empty bags can not be made to + stand upright. Ah! unless I mistake, I see some one I knew better. Yon + pale, thin man, also with the grand cross—surely that is Alfred + Hennequin. Is he too a decorated Imperialist? I left him a socialistic + Republican.” + </p> + <p> + “But, I presume, even then an eloquent avocat. He got into the Chamber, + spoke well, defended the coup-d’etat. He has just been made Prefet of the + great department of the a popular appointment. He bears a high character. + Pray renew your acquaintance with him; he is coming this way.” + </p> + <p> + “Will so grave a dignitary renew acquaintance with me? I doubt it.” + </p> + <p> + But as De Mauleon said this, he moved from the column, and advanced + towards the Prefet. Enguerrand followed him, and saw the Vicomte extend + his hand to his old acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + The Prefet stared, and said, with frigid courtesy, “Pardon me,—some + mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “Allow me, Monsieur Hennequin,” said Enguerrand, interposing, and wishing + good-naturedly to save De Mauleon the awkwardness of introducing himself,—“allow + me to reintroduce you to my kinsman, whom the lapse of years may well + excuse you for forgetting, the Vicomte de Mauleon.” + </p> + <p> + Still the Prefet did not accept the hand. He bowed with formal ceremony, + said, “I was not aware that Monsieur le Vicomte had returned to Paris,” + and moving to the doorway, made his salutation to the hostess and + disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “The insolent!” muttered Enguerrand. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said De Mauleon, quietly, “I can fight no more duels,—especially + with a Prefet. But I own I am weak enough to feel hurt at such a reception + from Hennequin, for he owed me some obligations,—small, perhaps, but + still they were such as might have made me select him, rather than + Louvier, as the vindicator of my name, had I known him to be so high + placed. But a man who has raised himself into an authority may well be + excused for forgetting a friend whose character needs defence. I forgive + him.” + </p> + <p> + There was something pathetic in the Vicomte’s tone which touched + Enguerrand’s warm if light heart. But De Mauleon did not allow him time to + answer. He went on quickly through an opening in the gay crowd, which + immediately closed behind him, and Enguerrand saw him no more that + evening. + </p> + <p> + Duplessis ere this had quitted his seat by the Minister, drawn thence by a + young and very pretty girl resigned to his charge by a cavalier with whom + she had been dancing. She was the only daughter of Duplessis, and he + valued her even more than the millions he had made at the Bourse. “The + Princess,” she said, “has been swept off in the train of some German + Royalty; so, petit pere, I must impose myself on thee.” + </p> + <p> + The Princess, a Russian of high rank, was the chaperon that evening of + Mademoiselle Valerie Duplessis. + </p> + <p> + “And I suppose I must take thee back into the ballroom,” said the + financier, smiling proudly, “and find thee partners.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want your aid for that, Monsieur; except this quadrille, my list + is pretty well filled up.” + </p> + <p> + “And I hope the partners will be pleasant. Let me know who they are,” he + whispered, as they threaded their way into the ball-room. + </p> + <p> + The girl glanced at her tablet. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the first on the list is milord somebody, with an unpronounceable + English name.” + </p> + <p> + “Beau cavalier?” + </p> + <p> + “No; ugly, old too; thirty at least.” + </p> + <p> + Duplessis felt relieved. He did not wish his daughter to fall in love with + an Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “And the next?” + </p> + <p> + “The next?” she said hesitatingly, and he observed that a soft blush + accompanied the hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the next. Not English too?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; the Marquis de Rochebriant.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! who presented him to thee?” + </p> + <p> + “Thy friend, petit pere, M. de Braze.” + </p> + <p> + Duplessis again glanced at his daughter’s face; it was bent over her + bouquet. + </p> + <p> + “Is he ugly also?” + </p> + <p> + “Ugly!” exclaimed the girl, indignantly; “why, he is—” she checked + herself and turned away her head. + </p> + <p> + Duplessis became thoughtful. He was glad that he had accompanied his child + into the ball-room; he would stay there, and keep watch on her and + Rochebriant also. + </p> + <p> + Up to that moment he had felt a dislike to Rochebriant. That young noble’s + too obvious pride of race had nettled him, not the less that the financier + himself was vain of his ancestry. Perhaps he still disliked Alain, but the + dislike was now accompanied with a certain, not hostile, interest; and if + he became connected with the race, the pride in it might grow contagious. + </p> + <p> + They had not been long in the ball-room before Alain came up to claim his + promised partner. In saluting Duplessis, his manner was the same as usual, + not more cordial, not less ceremoniously distant. A man so able as the + financier cannot be without quick knowledge of the human heart. + </p> + <p> + “If disposed to fall in love with Valerie,” thought Duplessis, “he would + have taken more pains to please her father. Well, thank heaven, there are + better matches to be found for her than a noble without fortune and a + Legitimist without career.” + </p> + <p> + In fact, Alain felt no more for Valerie than for any other pretty girl in + the room. In talking with the Vicomte de Braze in the intervals of the + dance, he had made some passing remark on her beauty. De Braze had said, + “Yes, she is charming; I will present you,” and hastened to do so before + Rochebriant even learned her name. So introduced, he could but invite her + to give him her first disengaged dance, and when that was fixed, he had + retired, without entering into conversation. + </p> + <p> + Now, as they took their places in the quadrille, he felt that effort of + speech had become a duty, if not a pleasure; and of course, he began with + the first commonplace which presented itself to his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Do you not think it a very pleasant ball, Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” dropped, in almost inaudible reply, from Valerie’s rosy lips. + </p> + <p> + “And not over-crowded, as most balls are?” + </p> + <p> + Valerie’s lips again moved, but this time quite inaudibly. The obligations + of the figure now caused a pause. Alain racked his brains and began, + </p> + <p> + “They tell me the last season was more than usually gay; of that I cannot + judge, for it was well-nigh over when I came to Paris for the first time.” + </p> + <p> + Valerie looked up with a more animated expression than her childlike face + had yet shown, and said, this time distinctly, “This is my first ball, + Monsieur le Marquis.” + </p> + <p> + “One has only to look at Mademoiselle to divine that fact,” replied Alain, + gallantly. + </p> + <p> + Again the conversation was interrupted by the dance; but the ice between + the two was now broken; and when the quadrille was concluded, and + Rochebriant led the fair Valerie back to her father’s side, she felt as if + she had been listening to the music of the spheres, and that the music had + now suddenly stopped. Alain, alas for her! was under no such pleasing + illusion. Her talk had seemed to him artless indeed, but very insipid, + compared with the brilliant conversation of the wedded Parisiennes with + whom he more habitually danced; and it was with rather a sensation of + relief that he made his parting bow, and receded into the crowd of + bystanders. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile De Mauleon had quitted the assemblage, walking slowly through + the deserted streets towards his apartment. The civilities he had met at + Louvier’s dinner-party, and the marked distinction paid to him by kinsmen + of rank and position so unequivocal as Alain and Enguerrand, had softened + his mood and cheered his spirits. He had begun to question himself whether + a fair opening to his political ambition was really forbidden to him under + the existent order of things, whether it necessitated the employment of + such dangerous tools as those to which anger and despair had reconciled + his intellect. But the pointed way in which he had been shunned or + slighted by the two men who belonged to political life—two men who + in youth had looked up to himself, and whose dazzling career of honours + was identified with the Imperial system—reanimated his fiercer + passions and his more perilous designs. The frigid accost of Hennequin + more especially galled him; it wounded not only his pride but his heart; + it had the venom of ingratitude, and it is the peculiar privilege of + ingratitude to wound hearts that have learned to harden themselves to the + hate or contempt of men to whom no services have been rendered. In some + private affair concerning his property, De Mauleon had had occasion to + consult Hennequin, then a rising young avocat. Out of that consultation a + friendship had sprung up, despite the differing habits and social grades + of the two men. One day, calling on Hennequin, he found him in a state of + great nervous excitement. The avocat had received a public insult in the + salon of a noble, to whom De Mauleon had introduced him, from a man who + pretended to the hand of a young lady to whom Hennequin was attached, and + indeed almost affianced. The man was a notorious spadassin,—a + duellist little less renowned for skill in all weapons than De Mauleon + himself. The affair had been such that Hennequin’s friends assured him he + had no choice but to challenge this bravo. Hennequin, brave enough at the + bar, was no hero before sword-point or pistol. He was utterly ignorant of + the use of either weapon; his death in the encounter with an antagonist so + formidable seemed to him certain, and life was so precious,—an + honourable and distinguished career opening before him, marriage with the + woman he loved. Still he had the Frenchman’s point of honour. He had been + told that he must fight; well, then, he must. He asked De Mauleon to be + one of his seconds, and in asking him, sank in his chair, covered his face + with his hands, and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “Wait till to-morrow,” said De Mauleon; “take no step till then. + Meanwhile, you are in my hands, and I answer for your honour.” + </p> + <p> + On leaving Hennequin, Victor sought the spadassin at the club of which + they were both members, and contrived, without reference to Hennequin, to + pick a quarrel with him. A challenge ensued; a duel with swords took place + the next morning. De Mauleon disarmed and wounded his antagonist, not + gravely, but sufficiently to terminate the encounter. He assisted to + convey the wounded man to his apartment, and planted himself by his + bedside, as if he were a friend. + </p> + <p> + “Why on earth did you fasten a quarrel on me?” asked the spadassin; “and + why, having done so, did you spare my life; for your sword was at my heart + when you shifted its point, and pierced my shoulder?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you, and in so doing, beg you to accept my friendship + hereafter, on one condition. In the course of the day, write or dictate a + few civil words of apology to M. Hennequin. Ma foi! every one will praise + you for a generosity so becoming in a man who has given such proofs of + courage and skill to an avocat who has never handled a sword nor fired a + pistol.” + </p> + <p> + That same day De Mauleon remitted to Hennequin an apology for heated words + freely retracted, which satisfied all his friends. For the service thus + rendered by De Mauleon, Hennequin declared himself everlastingly indebted. + In fact, he entirely owed to that friend his life, his marriage, his + honour, his career. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” thought De Mauleon, “now, when he could so easily requite me,—now + he will not even take my hand. Is human nature itself at war with me?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0049" id="link2HCH0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + Nothing could be simpler than the apartment of the Vicomte de Mauleon, in + the second story of a quiet old-fashioned street. It had been furnished at + small cost out of his savings. Yet, on the whole, it evinced the good + taste of a man who had once been among the exquisites of the polite world. + You felt that you were in the apartment of a gentleman, and a gentleman of + somewhat severe tastes, and of sober matured years. He was sitting the + next morning in the room which he used as a private study. Along the walls + were arranged dwarf bookcases, as yet occupied by few books, most of them + books of reference, others cheap editions of the French classics in prose—no + poets, no romance-writers, with a few Latin authors also in prose,—Cicero, + Sallust, Tacitus. He was engaged at his desk writing,—a book with + its leaves open before him, “Paul Louis Courier,” that model of political + irony and masculine style of composition. There was a ring at his + door-bell. The Vicomte kept no servant. He rose and answered the summons. + He recoiled a few paces on recognizing his visitor in M. Hennequin. + </p> + <p> + The Prefet this time did not withdraw his hand; he extended it, but it was + with a certain awkwardness and timidity. “I thought it my duty to call on + you, Vicomte, thus early, having already seen M. Enguerrand de Vandemar. + He has shown me the copies of the pieces which were inspected by your + distinguished kinsmen, and which completely clear you of the charge that—grant + me your pardon when I say—seemed to me still to remain unanswered + when I had the honour to meet you last night.” + </p> + <p> + “It appears to me, Monsieur Hennequin, that you, as an avocat so eminent, + might have convinced yourself very readily of that fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Vicomte, I was in Switzerland with my wife at the time of the + unfortunate affair in which you were involved.” + </p> + <p> + “But when you returned to Paris, you might perhaps have deigned to make + inquiries so affecting the honour of one you had called a friend, and for + whom you had professed”—De Mauleon paused; he disdained to add—“an + eternal gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + Hennequin coloured slightly, but replied with self-possession. + </p> + <p> + “I certainly did inquire. I did hear that the charge against you with + regard to the abstraction of the jewels was withdrawn, that you were + therefore acquitted by law; but I heard also that society did not acquit + you, and that, finding this, you had quitted France. Pardon me again, no + one would listen to me when I attempted to speak on your behalf but now + that so many years have elapsed, that the story is imperfectly remembered, + that relations so high-placed receive you so cordially,—now I + rejoice to think that you will have no difficulty in regaining a social + position never really lost, but for a time resigned.” + </p> + <p> + “I am duly sensible of the friendly joy you express. I was reading the + other day in a lively author some pleasant remarks on the effects of + medisance or calumny upon our impressionable Parisian public. ‘If,’ says + the writer, ‘I found myself accused of having put the two towers of Notre + Dame into my waistcoat-pocket I should not dream of defending myself; I + should take to flight. And,’ adds the writer, ‘if my best friend were + under the same accusation, I should be so afraid of being considered his + accomplice that I should put my best friend outside the door.’ Perhaps, + Monsieur Hennequin, I was seized with the first alarm. Why should I blame + you if seized with the second? Happily, this good city of Paris has its + reactions. And you can now offer me your hand. Paris has by this time + discovered that the two towers of Notre Dame are not in my pocket.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. De Mauleon had resettled himself at his desk, bending + over his papers, and his manner seemed to imply that he considered the + conversation at an end. + </p> + <p> + But a pang of shame, of remorse, of tender remembrance, shot across the + heart of the decorous, worldly, self-seeking man, who owed all that he now + was to the ci-devant vaurien before him. Again he stretched forth his + hand, and this time grasped De Mauleon’s warmly. “Forgive me,” he said, + feelingly and hoarsely; “forgive me, I was to blame. By character, and + perhaps by the necessities of my career, I am over-timid to public + opinion, public scandal. Forgive me. Say if in anything now I can requite, + though but slightly, the service I owe you.” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon looked steadily at the Prefet, and said slowly, “Would you + serve me in turn? Are you sincere?” + </p> + <p> + The Prefet hesitated a moment, then answered firmly, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what I ask of you is a frank opinion,—not as lawyer, + not as Prefet, but as a man who knows the present state of French society. + Give that opinion without respect to my feelings one way or other. Let it + emanate solely from your practised judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “Be it so,” said Hennequin, wondering what was to come. De Mauleon + resumed, “As you may remember, during my former career I had no political + ambition. I did not meddle with politics. In the troubled times that + immediately succeeded the fall of Louis Philippe I was but an epicurean + looker-on. Grant that, so far as admission to the salons is concerned, I + shall encounter no difficulty in regaining position; but as regards the + Chamber, public life, a political career, can I have my fair opening under + the Empire? You pause. Answer as you have promised, frankly.” + </p> + <p> + “The difficulties in the way of a political career would be very great.” + </p> + <p> + “Insuperable?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear so. Of course, in my capacity of Prefet, I have no small influence + in my department in support of a Government candidate. But I do not think + that the Imperial Government could, at this time especially, in which it + must be very cautious in selecting its candidates, be induced to recommend + you. The affair of the jewels would be raked up; your vindication + disputed, denied; the fact that for so many years you have acquiesced in + that charge without taking steps to refute it; your antecedents, even + apart from that charge; your present want of property (M. Enguerrand tells + me your income is but moderate); the absence of all previous repute in + public life. No; relinquish the idea of political contest,—it would + expose you to inevitable mortifications, to a failure that would even + jeopardize the admission to the salons which you are now gaining. You + could not be a Government candidate.” + </p> + <p> + “Granted. I may have no desire to be one; but an opposition candidate, one + of the Liberal party?” + </p> + <p> + “As an Imperialist,” said Hennequin, smiling gravely, “and holding the + office I do, it would not become me to encourage a candidate against the + Emperor’s Government. But speaking with the frankness you solicit, I + should say that your chances there are infinitely worse. The Opposition + are in a pitiful minority,—the most eminent of the Liberals can + scarcely gain seats for themselves; great local popularity or property, + high established repute for established patriotism, or proved talents of + oratory and statesmanship, are essential qualifications for a seat in the + Opposition; and even these do not suffice for a third of the persons who + possess them. Be again what you were before,—the hero of salons + remote from the turbulent vulgarity of politics.” + </p> + <p> + “I am answered. Thank you once more. The service I rendered you once is + requited now.” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed,—no; but will you dine with me quietly today, and allow + me to present to you my wife and two children, born since we parted? I say + to-day, for to-morrow I return to my Prefecture.” + </p> + <p> + “I am infinitely obliged by your invitation, but to-day I dine with the + Comte de Beauvilliers to meet some of the Corps Diplomatique. I must make + good my place in the salons, since you so clearly show me that I have no + chance of one in the Legislature—unless—” + </p> + <p> + “Unless what?” + </p> + <p> + “Unless there happen one of those revolutions in which the scum comes + uppermost.” + </p> + <p> + “No fear of that. The subterranean barracks and railway have ended forever + the rise of the scum, the reign of the canaille and its barricades.” + </p> + <p> + “Adieu, my dear Hennequin. My respectful hommages a Madame.” + </p> + <p> + After that day the writing of Pierre Firmin in “Le Sens Commun,” though + still keeping within the pale of the law, became more decidedly hostile to + the Imperial system, still without committing their author to any definite + programme of the sort of government that should succeed it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0050" id="link2HCH0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + The weeks glided on. Isaura’s manuscript bad passed into print; it came + out in the French fashion of feuilletons,—a small detachment at a + time. A previous flourish of trumpets by Savarin and the clique at his + command insured it attention, if not from the general public, at least + from critical and literary coteries. Before the fourth instalment appeared + it had outgrown the patronage of the coteries; it seized hold of the + public. It was not in the last school in fashion; incidents were not + crowded and violent,—they were few and simple, rather appertaining + to an elder school, in which poetry of sentiment and grace of diction + prevailed. That very resemblance to old favourites gave it the attraction + of novelty. In a word, it excited a pleased admiration, and great + curiosity was felt as to the authorship. When it oozed out that it was by + the young lady whose future success in the musical world had been so + sanguinely predicted by all who had heard her sing, the interest + wonderfully increased. Petitions to be introduced to her acquaintance were + showered upon Savarin. Before she scarcely realized her dawning fame, she + was drawn from her quiet home and retired habits; she was fetee and + courted in the literary circle of which Savarin was a chief. That circle + touched, on one side, Bohemia; on the other, that realm of politer fashion + which, in every intellectual metropolis, but especially in Paris, seeks to + gain borrowed light from luminaries in art and letters. But the very + admiration she obtained somewhat depressed, somewhat troubled her; after + all, it did not differ from that which was at her command as a singer. + </p> + <p> + On the one hand, she shrank instinctively from the caresses of female + authors and the familiar greetings of male authors, who frankly lived in + philosophical disdain of the conventions respected by sober, decorous + mortals. On the other hand, in the civilities of those who, while they + courted a rising celebrity, still held their habitual existence apart from + the artistic world, there was a certain air of condescension, of + patronage, towards the young stranger with no other protector but Signora + Venosta, the ci-devant public singer, and who had made her debut in a + journal edited by M. Gustave Rameau, which, however disguised by + exaggerated terms of praise, wounded her pride of woman in flattering her + vanity as author. Among this latter set were wealthy, high-born men, who + addressed her as woman—as woman beautiful and young—with words + of gallantry that implied love, but certainly no thought of marriage,—many + of the most ardent were indeed married already. But once launched into the + thick of Parisian hospitalities, it was difficult to draw back. The + Venosta wept at the thought of missing some lively soiree, and Savarin + laughed at her shrinking fastidiousness as that of a child’s ignorance of + the world. But still she had her mornings to herself; and in those + mornings, devoted to the continuance of her work (for the commencement was + in print before a third was completed), she forgot the commonplace world + that received her in the evenings. Insensibly to herself the tone of this + work had changed as it proceeded. It had begun seriously indeed, but in + the seriousness there was a certain latent joy. It might be the joy of + having found vent of utterance; it might be rather a joy still more + latent, inspired by the remembrance of Graham’s words and looks, and by + the thought that she had renounced all idea of the professional career + which he had evidently disapproved. Life then seemed to her a bright + possession. We have seen that she had begun her roman without planning how + it should end. She had, however, then meant it to end, somehow or other, + happily. Now the lustre had gone from life; the tone of the work was + saddened; it foreboded a tragic close. But for the general reader it + became, with every chapter, still more interesting; the poor child had a + singularly musical gift of style,—a music which lent itself + naturally to pathos. Every very young writer knows how his work, if one of + feeling, will colour itself from the views of some truth in his innermost + self; and in proportion as it does so, how his absorption in the work + increases, till it becomes part and parcel of his own mind and heart. The + presence of a hidden sorrow may change the fate of the beings he has + created, and guide to the grave those whom, in a happier vein, he would + have united at the altar. It is not till a later stage of experience and + art that the writer escapes from the influence of his individual + personality, and lives in existences that take no colourings from his own. + Genius usually must pass through the subjective process before it gains + the objective. Even a Shakspeare represents himself in the Sonnets before + no trace of himself is visible in a Falstaff or a Lear. + </p> + <p> + No news of the Englishman,—not a word. Isaura could not but feel + that in his words, his looks, that day in her own garden, and those yet + happier days at Enghien, there had been more than friendship; there had + been love,—love enough to justify her own pride in whispering to + herself, “And I love too.” But then that last parting! how changed he was! + how cold! She conjectured that jealousy of Rameau might, in some degree, + account for the coldness when he first entered the room, but surely not + when he left; surely not when she had overpassed the reserve of her sex, + and implied by signs rarely misconstrued by those who love that he had no + cause for jealousy of another. Yet he had gone,—parted with her + pointedly as a friend, a mere friend. How foolish she had been to think + this rich ambitious foreigner could ever have meant to be more! In the + occupation of her work she thought to banish his image; but in that work + the image was never absent; there were passages in which she pleadingly + addressed it, and then would cease abruptly, stifled by passionate tears. + Still she fancied that the work would reunite them; that in its pages he + would hear her voice and comprehend her heart. And thus all praise of the + work became very, very dear to her. + </p> + <p> + At last, after many weeks, Savarin heard from Graham. The letter was dated + Aix-la-Chapelle, at which the Englishman said he might yet be some time + detained. In the letter Graham spoke chiefly of the new journal: in polite + compliment of Savarin’s own effusions; in mixed praise and condemnation of + the political and social articles signed Pierre Firmin,—praise of + their intellectual power, condemnation of their moral cynicism. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The writer,” he said, “reminds me of a passage in which Montesquieu + compares the heathen philosophers to those plants which the earth + produces in places that have never seen the heavens. The soil of + his experience does not grow a single belief; and as no community + can exist without a belief of some kind, so a politician without + belief can but help to destroy; he cannot reconstruct. Such writers + corrupt a society; they do not reform a system.” + </pre> + <p> + He closed his letter with a reference to Isaura: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Do, in your reply, my dear Savarin, tell me something about your + friends Signora Venosta and the Signorina, whose work, so far as yet + published, I have read with admiring astonishment at the power of a + female writer so young to rival the veteran practitioners of fiction + in the creation of interest in imaginary characters, and in + sentiments which, if they appear somewhat over-romantic and + exaggerated, still touch very fine chords in human nature not + awakened in our trite every-day existence. I presume that the + beauty of the roman has been duly appreciated by a public so + refined as the Parisian, and that the name of the author is + generally known. No doubt she is now much the rage of the literary + circles, and her career as a writer may be considered fixed. Pray + present my congratulations to the Signorina when you see her.” + </pre> + <p> + Savarin had been in receipt of this letter some days before he called on + Isaura, and carelessly showed it to her. She took it to the window to + read, in order to conceal the trembling of her hands. In a few minutes she + returned it silently. + </p> + <p> + “Those Englishmen,” said Savarin, “have not the heart of compliment. I am + by no means flattered by what he says of my trifles, and I dare say you + are still less pleased with this chilly praise of your charming tale; but + the man means to be civil.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Isaura, smiling faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Only think of Rameau!” resumed Savarin. “On the strength of his salary in + the ‘Sens Commun,’ and on the chateaux en Espagne which he constructs + thereon, he has already furnished an apartment in the Chaussee d’Antin, + and talks of setting up a coupe in order to maintain the dignity of + letters when he goes to dine with the duchesses who are some day or other + to invite him. Yet I admire his self-confidence, though I laugh at it. A + man gets on by a spring in his own mechanism, and he should always keep it + wound up. Rameau will make a figure. I used to pity him; I begin to + respect. Nothing succeeds like success. But I see I am spoiling your + morning. Au revoir, mon enfant.” + </p> + <p> + Left alone, Isaura brooded in a sort of mournful wonderment over the words + referring to herself in Graham’s letter. Read though but once, she knew + them by heart. What! did he consider those characters she had represented + as wholly imaginary? In one—the most prominent, the most attractive—could + he detect no likeness to himself? What! did he consider so “over-romantic + and exaggerated” sentiments which couched appeals from her heart to his? + Alas! in matters of sentiment it is the misfortune of us men that even the + most refined of us often grate upon some sentiment in a woman, though she + may not be romantic,—not romantic at all, as people go,—some + sentiment which she thought must be so obvious if we cared a straw about + her, and which, though we prize her above the Indies, is by our dim, + horn-eyed, masculine vision undiscernible. It may be something in itself + the airiest of trifles: the anniversary of a day in which the first kiss + was interchanged, nay, of a violet gathered, a misunderstanding cleared + up; and of that anniversary we remember no more than we do of our bells + and coral. But she—she remembers it; it is no bells and coral to + her. Of course, much is to be said in excuse of man, brute though he be. + Consider the multiplicity of his occupations, the practical nature of his + cares. But granting the validity of all such excuse, there is in man an + original obtuseness of fibre as regards sentiment in comparison with the + delicacy of woman’s. It comes, perhaps, from the same hardness of + constitution which forbids us the luxury of ready tears. Thus it is very + difficult for the wisest man to understand thoroughly a woman. Goethe says + somewhere that the highest genius in man must have much of the woman in + it. If this be true, the highest genius alone in man can comprehend and + explain the nature of woman, because it is not remote from him, but an + integral part of his masculine self. I am not sure, however, that it + necessitates the highest genius, but rather a special idiosyncrasy in + genius which the highest may or may not have. I think Sophocles a higher + genius than Euripides; but Euripides has that idiosyncrasy, and Sophocles + not. I doubt whether women would accept Goethe as their interpreter with + the same readiness with which they would accept Schiller. Shakspeare, no + doubt, excels all poets in the comprehension of women, in his sympathy + with them in the woman-part of his nature which Goethe ascribes to the + highest genius; but, putting aside that “monster,” I do not remember any + English poet whom we should consider conspicuously eminent in that lore, + unless it be the prose poet, nowadays generally underrated and little + read, who wrote the letters of Clarissa Harlowe. I say all this in + vindication of Graham Vane, if, though a very clever man in his way, and + by no means uninstructed in human nature, he had utterly failed in + comprehending the mysteries which to this poor woman-child seemed to need + no key for one who really loved her. But we have said somewhere before in + this book that music speaks in a language which cannot explain itself + except in music. So speaks, in the human heart, much which is akin to + music. Fiction (that is, poetry, whether in form of rhyme or prose) speaks + thus pretty often. A reader must be more commonplace than, I trust, my + gentle readers are, if he suppose that when Isaura symbolized the real + hero of her thoughts in the fabled hero of her romance, she depicted him + as one of whom the world could say, “That is Graham Vane.” I doubt if even + a male poet would so vulgarize any woman whom he thoroughly reverenced and + loved. She is too sacred to him to be thus unveiled to the public stare; + as the sweetest of all ancient love-poets says well— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Qui sapit in tacito gaudeat ille sinu.” + </pre> + <p> + But a girl, a girl in her first untold timid love, to let the world know, + “that is the man I love and would die for!”—if such a girl be, she + has no touch of the true woman-genius, and certainly she and Isaura have + nothing in common. Well, then, in Isaura’s invented hero, though she saw + the archetypal form of Graham Vane,—saw him as in her young, vague, + romantic dreams idealized, beautified, transfigured,—he would have + been the vainest of men if he had seen therein the reflection of himself. + On the contrary he said, in the spirit of that jealousy to which he was + too prone, “Alas! this, then, is some ideal, already seen perhaps, + compared to which how commonplace am I!” and thus persuading himself, no + wonder that the sentiments surrounding this unrecognized archetype + appeared to him over-romantic. His taste acknowledged the beauty of form + which clothed them; his heart envied the ideal that inspired them. But + they seemed so remote from him; they put the dreamland of the writer + farther and farther from his workday real life. + </p> + <p> + In this frame of mind, then, he had written to Savarin, and the answer he + received hardened it still more. Savarin had replied, as was his laudable + wont in correspondence, the very day he received Graham’s letter, and + therefore before he had even seen Isaura. In his reply, he spoke much of + the success her work had obtained; of the invitations showered upon her, + and the sensation she caused in the salons; of her future career, with + hope that she might even rival Madame de Grantmesnil some day, when her + ideas became emboldened by maturer experience, and a closer study of that + model of eloquent style,—saying that the young editor was evidently + becoming enamoured of his fair contributor; and that Madame Savarin had + ventured the prediction that the Signorina’s roman would end in the death + of the heroine, and the marriage of the writer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0051" id="link2HCH0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + And still the weeks glided on: autumn succeeded to summer, the winter to + autumn; the season of Paris was at its height. The wondrous capital seemed + to repay its Imperial embellisher by the splendour and the joy of its + fetes. But the smiles on the face of Paris were hypocritical and hollow. + The Empire itself had passed out of fashion. Grave men and impartial + observers felt anxious. Napoleon had renounced les ideas Napoleoniennes. + He was passing into the category of constitutional sovereigns, and + reigning, not by his old undivided prestige, but by the grace of party. + The press was free to circulate complaints as to the past and demands as + to the future, beneath which the present reeled, ominous of earthquake. + People asked themselves if it were possible that the Empire could co-exist + with forms of government not imperial, yet not genuinely constitutional, + with a majority daily yielding to a minority. The basis of universal + suffrage was sapped. About this time the articles in the “Sens Commun” + signed Pierre Firmin were creating not only considerable sensation, but + marked effect on opinion; and the sale of the journal was immense. + </p> + <p> + Necessarily the repute and the position of Gustave Rameau, as the avowed + editor of this potent journal, rose with its success. Nor only his repute + and position; bank-notes of considerable value were transmitted to him by + the publisher, with the brief statement that they were sent by the sole + proprietor of the paper as the editor’s fair share of profit. The + proprietor was never named, but Rameau took it for granted that it was M. + Lebeau. M. Lebeau he had never seen since the day he had brought him the + list of contributors, and was then referred to the publisher, whom he + supposed M. Lebeau had secured, and received the first quarter of his + salary in advance. The salary was a trifle compared to the extra profits + thus generously volunteered. He called at Lebeau’s office, and saw only + the clerk, who said that his chef was abroad. + </p> + <p> + Prosperity produced a marked change for the better, if not in the + substance of Rameau’s character, at least in his manners and social + converse. He no longer exhibited that restless envy of rivals, which is + the most repulsive symptom of vanity diseased. He pardoned Isaura her + success; nay, he was even pleased at it. The nature of her work did not + clash with his own kind of writing. It was so thoroughly woman like that + one could not compare it to a man’s. Moreover, that success had + contributed largely to the profits by which he had benefited, and to his + renown as editor of the journal which accorded place to this new-found + genius. But there was a deeper and more potent cause for sympathy with the + success of his fair young contributor. He had imperceptibly glided into + love with her,—a love very different from that with which poor Julie + Caumartin flattered herself she had inspired the young poet. Isaura was + one of those women for whom, even in natures the least chivalric, love, + however ardent, cannot fail to be accompanied with a certain reverence,—the + reverence with which the ancient knighthood, in its love for women, + honoured the ideal purity of womanhood itself. Till then Rameau had never + revered any one. + </p> + <p> + On her side, brought so frequently into communication with the young + conductor of the journal in which she wrote, Isaura entertained for him a + friendly, almost sister-like affection. + </p> + <p> + I do not think that, even if she had never known the Englishman, she would + have really become in love with Rameau, despite the picturesque beauty of + his countenance and the congeniality of literary pursuits; but perhaps she + might have fancied herself in love with him. And till one, whether man or + woman, has known real love, fancy is readily mistaken for it. But little + as she had seen of Graham, and that little not in itself wholly favourable + to him, she knew in her heart of hearts that his image would never be + replaced by one equally dear. Perhaps in those qualities that placed him + in opposition to her she felt his attractions. The poetical in woman + exaggerates the worth of the practical in man. Still for Rameau her + exquisitely kind and sympathizing nature conceived one of those sentiments + which in woman are almost angel-like. We have seen in her letters to + Madame de Grantmesnil that from the first he inspired her with a + compassionate interest; then the compassion was checked by her perception + of his more unamiable and envious attributes. But now those attributes, if + still existent, had ceased to be apparent to her, and the compassion + became unalloyed. Indeed, it was thus so far increased that it was + impossible for any friendly observer to look at the beautiful face of this + youth, prematurely wasted and worn, without the kindliness of pity. His + prosperity had brightened and sweetened the expression of that face, but + it had not effaced the vestiges of decay; rather perhaps deepened them, + for the duties of his post necessitated a regular labour, to which he had + been unaccustomed, and the regular labour necessitated, or seemed to him + to necessitate, an increase of fatal stimulants. He imbibed absinthe with + everything he drank, and to absinthe he united opium. This, of course, + Isaura knew not, any more than she knew of his liaison with the “Ondine” + of his muse; she saw only the increasing delicacy of his face and form, + contrasted by his increased geniality and liveliness of spirits, and the + contrast saddened her. Intellectually, too, she felt for him compassion. + She recognized and respected in him the yearnings of a genius too weak to + perform a tithe of what, in the arrogance of youth, it promised to its + ambition. She saw, too, those struggles between a higher and a lower self, + to which a weak degree of genius united with a strong degree of arrogance + is so often subjected. Perhaps she overestimated the degree of genius, and + what, if rightly guided, it could do; but she did, in the desire of her + own heavenlier instinct, aspire to guide it heavenward. And as if she were + twenty years older than himself, she obeyed that desire in remonstrating + and warning and urging, and the young man took all these “preachments” + with a pleased submissive patience. Such, as the new year dawned upon the + grave of the old one, was the position between these two. And nothing more + was heard from Graham Vane. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0052" id="link2HCH0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + It has now become due to Graham Vane, and to his place in the estimation + of my readers, to explain somewhat more distinctly the nature of the quest + in prosecution of which he had sought the aid of the Parisian police, and + under an assumed name made the acquaintance of M. Lebeau. + </p> + <p> + The best way of discharging this duty will perhaps be to place before the + reader the contents of the letter which passed under Graham’s eyes on the + day in which the heart of the writer ceased to beat. + </p> + <p> + (Confidential. To be opened immediately after my death, and before the + perusal of my will.—Richard King.) + </p> + <p> + TO GRAHAM VANE, Esq. + </p> + <p> + My DEAR GRAHAM,—By the direction on the envelope of this letter, + “Before the perusal of my will,” I have wished to save you from the + disappointment you would naturally experience if you learned my bequest + without being prevised of the conditions which I am about to impose upon + your honour. You will see ere you conclude this letter that you are the + only man living to whom I could intrust the secret it contains and the + task it enjoins. + </p> + <p> + You are aware that I was not born to the fortune that passed to me by the + death of a distant relation, who had, in my earlier youth, children of his + own. I was an only son, left an orphan at the age of sixteen with a very + slender pittance. My guardians designed me for the medical profession. I + began my studies at Edinburgh, and was sent to Paris to complete them, It + so chanced that there I lodged in the same house with an artist named + Auguste Duval, who, failing to gain his livelihood as a painter, in what—for + his style was ambitious—is termed the Historical School, had + accepted the humbler calling of a drawing-master. He had practised in that + branch of the profession for several years at Tours, having a good + clientele among English families settled there. This clientele, as he + frankly confessed, he had lost from some irregularities of conduct. He was + not a bad man, but of convivial temper, and easily led into temptation. He + had removed to Paris a few months before I made his acquaintance. He + obtained a few pupils, and often lost them as soon as gained. He was + unpunctual and addicted to drink. But he had a small pension, accorded to + him, he was wont to say mysteriously, by some high-born kinsfolk, too + proud to own connection with a drawing-master, and on the condition that + he should never name them. He never did name them to me, and I do not know + to this day whether the story of this noble relationship was true or + false. A pension, however, he did receive quarterly from some person or + other, and it was an unhappy provision for him. It tended to make him an + idler in his proper calling; and whenever he received the payment he spent + it in debauch, to the neglect, while it lasted, of his pupils. This man + had residing with him a young daughter, singularly beautiful. You may + divine the rest. I fell in love with her,—a love deepened by the + compassion with which she inspired me. Her father left her so frequently + that, living on the same floor, we saw much of each other. Parent and + child were often in great need,—lacking even fuel or food. Of course + I assisted them to the utmost of my scanty means Much as I was fascinated + by Louise Duval, I was not blind to great defects in her character. She + was capricious, vain, aware of her beauty, and sighing for the pleasures + or the gauds beyond her reach. I knew that she did not love me,—there + was little, indeed, to captivate her fancy in a poor, thread-bare medical + student,—and yet I fondly imagined that my own persevering devotion + would at length win her affections, I spoke to her father more than once + of my hope some day to make Louise my wife. This hope, I must frankly + acknowledge, he never encouraged. On the contrary, he treated it with + scorn,—“His child with her beauty would look much higher;” but be + continued all the same to accept my assistance, and to sanction my visits. + At length my slender purse was pretty well exhausted, and the luckless + drawing-master was so harassed with petty debts that further credit became + impossible. At this time I happened to hear from a fellow-student that his + sister, who was the principal of a lady’s school in Cheltenham, bad + commissioned him to look out for a first-rate teacher of drawing with whom + her elder pupils could converse in French, but who should be sufficiently + acquainted with English to make his instructions intelligible to the + young. The salary was liberal, the school large and of high repute, and + his appointment to it would open to an able teacher no inconsiderable + connection among private families. I communicated this intelligence to + Duval. He caught at it eagerly. He had learned at Tours to speak English + fluently; and as his professional skill was of high order, and he was + popular with several eminent artists, he obtained certificates as to his + talents, which my fellow-student forwarded to England with specimens of + Duval’s drawings. In a few days the offer of an engagement arrived, was + accepted, and Duval and his daughter set out for Cheltenham. At the eve of + their departure, Louise, profoundly dejected at the prospect of banishment + to a foreign country, and placing no trust in her father’s reform to + steady habits, evinced a tenderness for me hitherto new; she wept + bitterly; she allowed me to believe that her tears flowed at the thought + of parting with me, and even besought me to accompany them to Cheltenham, + if only for a few days. You may suppose how delightedly I complied with + the request. Duval had been about a week at the watering place, and was + discharging the duties he had undertaken with such unwonted steadiness and + regularity that I began sorrowfully to feel I had no longer an excuse for + not returning to my studies at Paris, when the poor teacher was seized + with a fit of paralysis. He lost the power of movement, and his mind was + affected. The medical attendant called in said that he might linger thus + for some time, but that, even if he recovered his intellect, which was + more than doubtful, he would never be able to resume his profession. I + could not leave Louise in circumstances so distressing,—I remained. + The little money Duval had brought from Paris was now exhausted; and when + the day on which he had been in the habit of receiving his quarter’s + pension came round, Louise was unable even to conjecture how it was to be + applied for. It seems he had always gone for it in person; but to whom he + went was a secret which he had never divulged, and at this critical + juncture his mind was too enfeebled even to comprehend us when we + inquired. I had already drawn from the small capital on the interest of + which I had maintained myself; I now drew out most of the remainder. But + this was a resource that could not last long. Nor could I, without + seriously compromising Louise’s character, be constantly in the house with + a girl so young, and whose sole legitimate protector was thus afflicted. + There seemed but one alternative to that of abandoning her altogether,—namely, + to make her my wife, to conclude the studies necessary to obtain my + diploma, and purchase some partnership in a small country practice with + the scanty surplus that might be left of my capital. I placed this option + before Louise timidly, for I could not bear the thought of forcing her + inclinations. She seemed much moved by what she called my generosity: she + consented; we were married. I was, as you may conceive, wholly ignorant of + French law. We were married according to the English ceremony and the + Protestant ritual. Shortly after our marriage we all three returned to + Paris, taking an apartment in a quarter remote from that in which we had + before lodged, in order to avoid any, harassment to which such small + creditors as Duval had left behind him might subject us. I resumed my + studies with redoubled energy, and Louise was necessarily left much alone + with her poor father in the daytime. The defects in her character became + more and more visible. She reproached me for the solitude to which I + condemned her; our poverty galled her; she had no kind greeting for me + when I returned at evening, wearied out. Before marriage she had not loved + me; after marriage, alas! I fear she hated. We had been returned to Paris + some months when poor Duval died; he had never recovered his faculties, + nor had we ever learned from whom his pension had been received. Very soon + after her father’s death I observed a singular change in the humour and + manner of Louise. She was no longer peevish, irascible, reproachful; but + taciturn and thoughtful. She seemed to me under the influence of some + suppressed excitement, her cheeks flushed and her eye abstracted. At + length, one evening when I returned I found her gone. She did not come + back that night nor the next day. It was impossible for me to conjecture + what had become of her. She had no friends, so far as I knew; no one had + visited at our squalid apartment. The poor house in which we lodged had no + concierge whom I could question; but the ground-floor was occupied by a + small tobacconist’s shop, and the woman at the counter told me that for + some days before my wife’s disappearance, she had observed her pass the + shop-window in going out in the afternoon and returning towards the + evening. Two terrible conjectures beset me either in her walk she had met + some admirer, with whom she had fled; or, unable to bear the companionship + and poverty of a union which she had begun to loathe, she had gone forth + to drown herself in the Seine. On the third day from her flight I received + the letter I enclose. Possibly the handwriting may serve you as a guide in + the mission I intrust to you. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + MONSIEUR,—You have deceived me vilely,—taken advantage of my + inexperienced youth and friendless position to decoy me into an + illegal marriage. My only consolation under my calamity and + disgrace is, that I am at least free from a detested bond. You will + not see me again,—it is idle to attempt to do so. I have obtained + refuge with relations whom I have been fortunate enough to discover, + and to whom I intrust my fate; and even if you could learn the + shelter I have sought, and have the audacity to molest me, you would + but subject yourself to the chastisement you so richly deserve. + + Louise DUVAL. +</pre> + <p> + At the perusal of this cold-hearted, ungrateful letter, the love I had + felt for this woman—already much shaken by her wayward and perverse + temper—vanished from my heart, never to return. But as an honest + man, my conscience was terribly stung. Could it be possible that I had + unknowingly deceived her,—that our marriage was not legal? When I + recovered from the stun which was the first effect of her letter, I sought + the opinion of an avoue in the neighbourbood, named Sartiges, and to my + dismay, I learned that while I, marrying according to the customs of my + own country, was legally bound to Louise in England, and could not marry + another, the marriage was in all ways illegal for her,—being without + the consent of her relations while she was under age; without the + ceremonials of the Roman Catholic Church,—to which, though I never + heard any profession of religious belief from her or her father, it might + fairly be presumed that she belonged; and, above all, without the form of + civil contract which is indispensable to the legal marriage of a French + subject. + </p> + <p> + The avoue said that the marriage, therefore, in itself was null, and that + Louise could, without incurring legal penalties for bigamy, marry again in + France according to the French laws; but that under the circumstances it + was probable that her next of kin would apply on her behalf to the proper + court for the formal annulment of the marriage, which would be the most + effectual mode of saving her from any molestation on my part, and remove + all possible questions hereafter as to her single state and absolute right + to remarry. I had better remain quiet, and wait for intimation of further + proceedings. I knew not what else to do, and necessarily submitted. + </p> + <p> + From this wretched listlessness of mind, alternated now by vehement + resentment against Louise, now by the reproach of my own sense of honour + in leaving that honour in so questionable a point of view, I was aroused + by a letter from the distant kinsman by whom hitherto I had been so + neglected. In the previous year he had lost one of his two children; the + other was just dead. No nearer relation now surviving stood between me and + my chance of inheritance from him. He wrote word of his domestic + affliction with a manly sorrow which touched me, said that his health was + failing, and begged me, as soon as possible, to come and visit him in + Scotland. I went, and continued to reside with him till his death, some + months afterwards. By his will I succeeded to his ample fortune on + condition of taking his name. + </p> + <p> + As soon as the affairs connected with this inheritance permitted, I + returned to Paris, and again saw M. Sartiges. I had never heard from + Louise, nor from any one connected with her since the letter you have + read. No steps had been taken to annul the marriage, and sufficient time + had elapsed to render it improbable that such steps would be taken now; + but if no such steps were taken, however free from the marriage-bond + Louise might be, it clearly remained binding on myself. + </p> + <p> + At my request, M. Sartiges took the most vigorous measures that occurred + to him to ascertain where Louise was, and what and who was the relation + with whom she asserted she had found refuge. The police were employed; + advertisements were issued, concealing names, but sufficiently clear to be + intelligible to Louise if they came under her eye, and to the effect that + if any informality in our marriage existed, she was implored for her own + sake to remove it by a second ceremonial—answer to be addressed to + the avoue. No answer came; the police had hitherto failed of discovering + her, but were sanguine of success, when a few weeks after these + advertisements a packet reached M. Sartiges, enclosing the certificates + annexed to this letter, of the death of Louise Duval at Munich. The + certificates, as you will see, are to appearance officially attested and + unquestionably genuine. So they were considered by M. Sartiges as well as + by myself. Here, then, all inquiry ceased; the police were dismissed. I + was free. By little and little I overcame the painful impressions which my + ill-starred union and the announcement of Louise’s early death bequeathed. + Rich, and of active mind, I learned to dismiss the trials of my youth as a + gloomy dream. I entered into public life; I made myself a creditable + position; became acquainted with your aunt; we were wedded, and the beauty + of her nature embellished mine. Alas, alas! two years after our marriage—nearly + five years after I had received the certificates of Louise’s death—I + and your aunt made a summer excursion into the country of the Rhine; on + our return we rested at Aix-la-Chapelle. One day while there I was walking + alone in the environs of the town, when, on the road, a little girl, + seemingly about five years old, in chase of a butterfly, stumbled and fell + just before my feet; I took her up, and as she was crying more from the + shock of the fall than any actual hurt, I was still trying my best to + comfort her, when a lady some paces behind her came up, and in taking the + child from my arms as I was bending over her, thanked me in a voice that + made my heart stand still. I looked up, and beheld Louise. + </p> + <p> + It was not till I had convulsively clasped her hand and uttered her name + that she recognized me. I was, no doubt, the more altered of the two,—prosperity + and happiness had left little trace of the needy, care worn, threadbare + student. But if she were the last to recognize, she was the first to + recover self-possession. The expression of her face became hard and set. I + cannot pretend to repeat with any verbal accuracy the brief converse that + took place between us, as she placed the child on the grass bank beside + the path, bade her stay there quietly, and walked on with me some paces as + if she did not wish the child to hear what was said. + </p> + <p> + The purport of what passed was to this effect: She refused to explain the + certificates of her death further than that, becoming aware of what she + called the “persecution” of the advertisements issued and inquiries + instituted, she had caused those documents to be sent to the address given + in the advertisement, in order to terminate all further molestation. But + how they could have been obtained, or by what art so ingeniously forged as + to deceive the acuteness of a practised lawyer, I know not to this day. + She declared, indeed, that she was now happy, in easy circumstances, and + that if I wished to make some reparation for the wrong I had done her, it + would be to leave her in peace; and in case—which was not likely—we + ever met again, to regard and treat her as a stranger; that she, on her + part, never would molest me, and that the certified death of Louise Duval + left me as free to marry again as she considered herself to be. + </p> + <p> + My mind was so confused, so bewildered, while she thus talked, that I did + not attempt to interrupt her. The blow had so crushed me that I scarcely + struggled under it; only, as she turned to leave me, I suddenly + recollected that the child, when taken from my arms, had called her + “Maman,” and, judging by the apparent age of the child, it must have been + born but a few months after Louise had left me,—that it must be + mine. And so, in my dreary woe, I faltered out, “But what of your infant? + Surely that has on me a claim that you relinquish for yourself. You were + not unfaithful to me while you deemed you were my wife?” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! can you insult me by such a doubt? No!” she cried out, + impulsively and haughtily. “But as I was not legally your wife, the child + is not legally yours; it is mine, and only mine. Nevertheless, if you wish + to claim it”—here she paused as in doubt. I saw at once that she was + prepared to resign to me the child if I had urged her to do so. I must + own, with a pang of remorse, that I recoiled from such a proposal. What + could I do with the child? How explain to my wife the cause of my interest + in it? If only a natural child of mine, I should have shrunk from owning + to Janet a youthful error. But as it was,—the child by a former + marriage, the former wife still living!—my blood ran cold with + dread. And if I did take the child, invent what story I might as to its + parentage, should I not expose myself, expose Janet, to terrible constant + danger? The mother’s natural affection might urge her at any time to seek + tidings of the child, and in so doing she might easily discover my new + name, and, perhaps years hence, establish on me her own claim. + </p> + <p> + No, I could not risk such perils. I replied sullenly, “You say rightly; + the child is yours,—only yours.” I was about to add an offer of + pecuniary provision for it, but Louise had already turned scornfully + towards the bank on which she had left the infant. I saw her snatch from + the child’s hand some wild flowers the poor thing had been gathering; and + how often have I thought of the rude way in which she did it,—not as + a mother who loves her child. Just then other passengers appeared on the + road; two of them I knew,—an English couple very intimate with Lady + Janet and myself. They stopped to accost me, while Louise passed by with + the infant towards the town. I turned in the opposite direction, and + strove to collect my thoughts. Terrible as was the discovery thus suddenly + made, it was evident that Louise had as strong an interest as myself to + conceal it. There was little chance that it would ever be divulged. Her + dress and that of the child were those of persons in the richer classes of + life. After all, doubtless, the child needed not pecuniary assistance from + me, and was surely best off under the mother’s care. Thus I sought to + comfort and to delude myself. + </p> + <p> + The next day Janet and I left Aix-la-Chapelle and returned to England. But + it was impossible for me to banish the dreadful thought that Janet was not + legally my wife; that could she even guess the secret lodged in my breast + she would be lost to me forever, even though she died of the separation + (you know well how tenderly she loved me). My nature underwent a silent + revolution. I had previously cherished the ambition common to most men in + public life,—the ambition for fame, for place, for power. That + ambition left me; I shrank from the thought of becoming too well known, + lest Louise or her connections, as yet ignorant of my new name, might more + easily learn what the world knew; namely that I had previously borne + another name,—the name of her husband,—and finding me wealthy + and honoured, might hereafter be tempted to claim for herself or her + daughter the ties she adjured for both while she deemed me poor and + despised. But partly my conscience, partly the influence of the angel by + my side, compelled me to seek whatever means of doing good to others + position and circumstances placed at my disposal. I was alarmed when even + such quiet exercise of mind and fortune acquired a sort of celebrity. How + pain fully I shrank from it! The world attributed my dread of publicity to + unaffected modesty. The world praised me, and I knew myself an impostor. + But the years stole on. I heard no more of Louise or her child, and my + fears gradually subsided. Yet I was consoled when the two children born to + me by Janet died in their infancy. Had they lived, who can tell whether + something might not have transpired to prove them illegitimate. + </p> + <p> + I must hasten on. At last came the great and crushing calamity of my life,—I + lost the woman who was my all in all. At least she was spared the + discovery that would have deprived me of the right of tending her + deathbed, and leaving within her tomb a place vacant for myself. + </p> + <p> + But after the first agonies that followed her loss, the conscience I had + so long sought to tranquillize became terribly reproachful. Louise had + forfeited all right to my consideration, but my guiltless child had not + done so. Did it live still? If so, was it not the heir to my fortunes,—the + only child left to me? True, I have the absolute right to dispose of my + wealth: it is not in land; it is not entailed: but was not the daughter I + had forsaken morally the first claimant; was no reparation due to her? You + remember that my physician ordered me, some little time after your aunt’s + death, to seek a temporary change of scene. I obeyed, and went away no one + knew whither. Well, I repaired to Paris; there I sought M. Sartiges, the + avoue. I found he had been long dead. I discovered his executors, and + inquired if any papers or correspondence between Richard Macdonald and + himself many years ago were in existence. All such documents, with others + not returned to correspondents at his decease, had been burned by his + desire. No possible clew to the whereabouts of Louise, should any have + been gained since I last saw her, was left. What then to do I knew not. I + did not dare to make inquiries through strangers, which, if discovering my + child, might also bring to light a marriage that would have dishonoured + the memory of my lost saint. I returned to England, feeling that my days + were numbered. It is to you that I transmit the task of those researches + which I could not institute. I bequeath to you, with the exception of + trifling legacies and donations to public charities, the whole of my + fortune; but you will understand by this letter that it is to be held on a + trust which I cannot specify in my will. I could not, without dishonouring + the venerated name of your aunt, indicate as the heiress of my wealth a + child by a wife living at the time I married Janet. I cannot form any + words for such a devise which would not arouse gossip and suspicion, and + furnish ultimately a clew to the discovery I would shun. I calculate that, + after all deductions, the sum that will devolve to you will be about + L220,000. That which I mean to be absolutely and at once yours is the + comparatively trifling legacy of L20,000. If Louise’s child be not living, + or if you find full reason to suppose that despite appearances the child + is not mine, the whole of my fortune lapses to you; but should Louise be + surviving and need pecuniary aid, you will contrive that she may have such + an annuity as you may deem fitting, without learning whence it come. You + perceive that it is your object, if possible, even more than mine, to + preserve free from slur the name and memory of her who was to you a second + mother. All ends we desire would be accomplished could you, on discovering + my lost child, feel that, without constraining your inclinations, you + could make her your wife. She would then naturally share with you my + fortune, and all claims of justice and duty would be quietly appeased. She + would now be of age suitable to yours. When I saw her at Aix she gave + promise of inheriting no small share of her mother’s beauty. If Louise’s + assurance of her easy circumstances were true, her daughter has possibly + been educated and reared with tenderness and care. You have already + assured me that you have no prior attachment. But if, on discovering this + child, you find her already married, or one whom you could not love nor + esteem, I leave it implicitly to your honour and judgment to determine + what share of the L200,000 left in your hands should be consigned to her. + She may have been corrupted by her mother’s principles. She may—Heaven + forbid!—have fallen into evil courses, and wealth would be misspent + in her hands. In that case a competence sufficing to save her from further + degradation, from the temptations of poverty, would be all that I desire + you to devote from my wealth. On the contrary, you may find in her one + who, in all respects, ought to be my chief inheritor. All this I leave in + full confidence to you, as being, of all the men I know, the one who + unites the highest sense of honour with the largest share of practical + sense and knowledge of life. The main difficulty, whatever this lost girl + may derive from my substance, will be in devising some means to convey it + to her so that neither she nor those around her may trace the bequest to + me. She can never be acknowledged as my child,—never! Your reverence + for the beloved dead forbids that. This difficulty your clear strong sense + must overcome; mine is blinded by the shades of death. You too will + deliberately consider how to institute the inquiries after mother and + child so as not to betray our secret. This will require great caution. You + will probably commence at Paris, through the agency of the police, to whom + you will be very guarded in your communications. It is most unfortunate + that I have no miniature of Louise, and that any description of her must + be so vague that it may not serve to discover her; but such as it is, it + may prevent your mistaking for her some other of her name. Louise was + above the common height, and looked taller than she was, with the peculiar + combination of very dark hair, very fair complexion, and light-gray eyes. + She would now be somewhat under the age of forty. She was not without + accomplishments, derived from the companionship with her father. She spoke + English fluently; she drew with taste, and even with talent. You will see + the prudence of confining research at first to Louise, rather than to the + child who is the principal object of it; for it is not till you can + ascertain what has become of her that you can trust the accuracy of any + information respecting the daughter, whom I assume, perhaps after all + erroneously, to be mine. Though Louise talked with such levity of holding + herself free to marry, the birth of her child might be sufficient injury + to her reputation to become a serious obstacle to such second nuptials, + not having taken formal steps to annul her marriage with myself. If not + thus remarried, there would be no reason why she should not resume her + maiden name of Duval, as she did in the signature of her letter to me: + finding that I had ceased to molest her by the inquiries, to elude which + she had invented the false statement of her death. It seems probable, + therefore, that she is residing somewhere in Paris, and in the name of + Duval. Of course the burden of uncertainty as to your future cannot be + left to oppress you for an indefinite length of time. If at the end, say, + of two years, your researches have wholly failed, consider three-fourths + of my whole fortune to have passed to you, and put by the fourth to + accumulate, should the child afterwards be discovered, and satisfy your + judgment as to her claims on me as her father. Should she not, it will be + a reserve fund for your own children. But oh, if my child could be found + in time! and oh, if she be all that could win your heart, and be the wife + you would select from free choice! I can say no more. Pity me, and judge + leniently of Janet’s husband. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + R. K. +</pre> + <p> + The key to Graham’s conduct is now given,—the deep sorrow that took + him to the tomb of the aunt he so revered, and whose honoured memory was + subjected to so great a risk; the slightness of change in his expenditure + and mode of life, after an inheritance supposed to be so ample; the + abnegation of his political ambition; the subject of his inquiries, and + the cautious reserve imposed upon them; above all, the position towards + Isaura in which he was so cruelly placed. + </p> + <p> + Certainly, his first thought in revolving the conditions of his trust had + been that of marriage with this lost child of Richard King’s, should she + be discovered single, disengaged, and not repulsive to his inclinations. + Tacitly he subscribed to the reasons for this course alleged by the + deceased. It was the simplest and readiest plan of uniting justice to the + rightful inheritor with care for a secret so important to the honour of + his aunt, of Richard King himself,—his benefactor,—of the + illustrious house from which Lady Janet had sprung. Perhaps, too, the + consideration that by this course a fortune so useful to his career was + secured was not without influence on the mind of a man naturally + ambitious. But on that consideration he forbade himself to dwell. He put + it away from him as a sin. Yet, to marriage with any one else, until his + mission was fulfilled, and the uncertainty as to the extent of his fortune + was dispelled, there interposed grave practical obstacles. How could he + honestly present himself to a girl and to her parents in the light of a + rich man, when in reality he might be but a poor man? How could he refer + to any lawyer the conditions which rendered impossible any settlement that + touched a shilling of the large sum which at any day he might have to + transfer to another? Still, when once fully conspicuous how deep was the + love with which Isaura had inspired him, the idea of wedlock with the + daughter of Richard King, if she yet lived and was single, became + inadmissible. The orphan condition of the young Italian smoothed away the + obstacles to proposals of marriage which would have embarrassed his + addresses to girls of his own rank, and with parents who would have + demanded settlements. And if he had found Isaura alone on that day on + which he had seen her last, he would doubtless have yielded to the voice + of his heart, avowed his love, wooed her own, and committed both to the + tie of betrothal. We have seen how rudely such yearnings of his heart were + repelled on that last interview. His English prejudices were so deeply + rooted, that, even if he had been wholly free from the trust bequeathed to + him, he would have recoiled from marriage with a girl who, in the ardour + for notoriety, could link herself with such associates as Gustave Rameau, + by habits a Bohemian, and by principles a Socialist. + </p> + <p> + In flying from Paris, he embraced the resolve to banish all thought of + wedding Isaura, and to devote himself sternly to the task which had so + sacred a claim upon him. Not that he could endure the idea of marrying + another, even if the lost heiress should be all that his heart could have + worshipped, had that heart been his own to give; but he was impatient of + the burden heaped on him,—of the fortune which might not be his, of + the uncertainty which paralyzed all his ambitious schemes for the future. + </p> + <p> + Yet, strive as he would—and no man could strive more resolutely—he + could not succeed in banishing the image of Isaura. It was with him + always; and with it a sense of irreparable loss, of a terrible void, of a + pining anguish. + </p> + <p> + And the success of his inquiries at Aix-la-Chapelle, while sufficient to + detain him in the place, was so slight, and advanced by such slow degrees, + that it furnished no continued occupation to his restless mind. M. Renard + was acute and painstaking. But it was no easy matter to obtain any trace + of a Parisian visitor to so popular a Spa so many years ago. The name + Duval, too, was so common, that at Aix, as we have seen at Paris, time was + wasted in the chase of a Duval who proved not to be the lost Louise. At + last M. Renard chanced on a house in which, in the year 1849, two ladies + from Paris had lodged for three weeks. One was named Madame Duval, the + other Madame Marigny. They were both young, both very handsome, and much + of the same height and colouring. But Madame Marigny was the handsomer of + the two. Madame Duval frequented the gaming-tables and was apparently of + very lively temper. Madame Marigny lived very quietly, rarely or never + stirred out, and seemed in delicate health. She, however, quitted the + apartment somewhat abruptly, and, to the best of the + lodging-house-keeper’s recollection, took rooms in the country near Aix—she + could not remember where. About two months after the departure of Madame + Marigny, Madame Duval also left Aix, and in company with a French + gentleman who had visited her much of late,—a handsome man of + striking appearance. The lodging house-keeper did not know what or who he + was. She remembered that he used to be announced to Madame Duval by the + name of M. Achille. Madame Duval had never been seen again by the + lodging-house-keeper after she had left. But Madame Marigny she had once + seen, nearly five years after she had quitted the lodgings,—seen her + by chance at the railway station, recognized her at once, and accosted + her, offering her the old apartment. Madame Marigny had, however, briefly + replied that she was only at Aix for a few hours, and should quit it the + same day. + </p> + <p> + The inquiry now turned towards Madame Marigny. The date on which the + lodging-house-keeper had last seen her coincided with the year in which + Richard King had met Louise. Possibly, therefore, she might have + accompanied the latter to Aix at that time, and could, if found, give + information as to her subsequent history and present whereabouts. + </p> + <p> + After a tedious search throughout all the environs of Aix, Graham himself + came, by the merest accident, upon the vestiges of Louise’s friend. He had + been wandering alone in the country round Aix, when a violent thunderstorm + drove him to ask shelter in the house of a small farmer, situated in a + field, a little off the byway which he had taken. While waiting for the + cessation of the storm, and drying his clothes by the fire in a room that + adjoined the kitchen, he entered into conversation with the farmer’s wife, + a pleasant, well-mannered person, and made some complimentary observation + on a small sketch of the house in water-colours that hung upon the wall. + “Ah,” said the farmer’s wife, “that was done by a French lady who lodged + here many years ago. She drew very prettily, poor thing.” + </p> + <p> + “A lady who lodged here many years ago,—how many?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess somewhere about twenty.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, indeed! Was it a Madame Marigny?” + </p> + <p> + “Bon Dieu! That was indeed her name. Did you know her? I should be so glad + to hear she is well and—I hope—happy.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know where she is now, and am making inquiries to ascertain. + Pray help me. How long did Madame Marigny lodge with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think pretty well two months; yes, two months. She left a month after + her confinement.” + </p> + <p> + “She was confined here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. When she first came, I had no idea that she was enceinte. She had a + pretty figure, and no one would have guessed it, in the way she wore her + shawl. Indeed I only began to suspect it a few days before it happened; + and that was so suddenly, that all was happily over before we could send + for the accoucheur.” + </p> + <p> + “And the child lived?—a girl or a boy?” + </p> + <p> + “A girl,—the prettiest baby.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she take the child with her when she went?” + </p> + <p> + “No; it was put out to nurse with a niece of my husband who was confined + about the same time. Madame paid liberally in advance, and continued to + send money half-yearly, till she came herself and took away the little + girl.” + </p> + <p> + “When was that,—a little less than five years after she had left + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you know all about it, Monsieur; yes, not quite five years after. + She did not come to see me, which I thought unkind, but she sent me, + through my niece-in-law, a real gold watch and a shawl. Poor dear lady—for + lady she was all over,—with proud ways, and would not bear to be + questioned. But I am sure she was none of your French light ones, but an + honest wife like myself, though she never said so.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you no idea where she was all the five years she was away, or + where she went after reclaiming her child?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “But her remittances for the infant must have been made by letters, and + the letters would have had post-marks?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I dare say; I am no scholar myself. But suppose you see Marie + Hubert, that is my niece-in-law, perhaps she has kept the envelopes.” + </p> + <p> + “Where does Madame Hubert live?” + </p> + <p> + “It is just a league off by the short path; you can’t miss the way. Her + husband has a bit of land of his own, but he is also a carrier—‘Max + Hubert, carrier,’—written over the door, just opposite the first + church you get to. The rain has ceased, but it may be too far for you + to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. Many thanks.” + </p> + <p> + “But if you find out the dear lady and see her, do tell her how pleased I + should be to hear good news of her and the little one.” + </p> + <p> + Graham strode on under the clearing skies to the house indicated. He found + Madame Hubert at home, and ready to answer all questions; but, alas! she + had not the envelopes. Madame Marigny, on removing the child, had asked + for all the envelopes or letters, and carried them away with her. Madame + Hubert, who was as little of a scholar as her aunt-in-law was, had never + paid much attention to the post-marks on the envelopes; and the only one + that she did remember was the first, that contained a bank-note, and that + post-mark was “Vienna.” + </p> + <p> + “But did not Madame Marigny’s letters ever give you an address to which to + write with news of her child?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think she cared much for her child, Monsieur. She kissed it very + coldly when she came to take it away. I told the poor infant that that was + her own mamma; and Madame said, ‘Yes, you may call me maman,’ in a tone of + voice—well, not at all like that of a mother. She brought with her a + little bag which contained some fine clothes for the child, and was very + impatient till the child had got them on.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you quite sure it was the same lady who left the child?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there is no doubt of that. She was certainly tres belle, but I did + not fancy her as aunt did. She carried her head very high, and looked + rather scornful. However, I must say she behaved very generously.” + </p> + <p> + “Still you have not answered my question whether her letters contained no + address.” + </p> + <p> + “She never wrote more than two letters. One enclosing the first remittance + was but a few lines, saying that if the child was well and thriving, I + need not write; but if it died or became dangerously ill, I might at any + time write a line to Madame ——-, Poste Restante, Vienna. She + was travelling about, but the letter would be sure to reach her sooner or + later. The only other letter I had was to apprise me that she was coming + to remove the child, and might be expected in three days after the receipt + of her letter.” + </p> + <p> + “And all the other communications from her were merely remittances in + blank envelopes?” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly so.” + </p> + <p> + Graham, finding he could learn no more, took his departure. On his way + home, meditating the new idea that his adventure that day suggested, he + resolved to proceed at once, accompanied by M. Renard, to Munich, and + there learn what particulars could be yet ascertained respecting those + certificates of the death of Louise Duval, to which (sharing Richard + King’s very natural belief that they had been skilfully forged) he had + hitherto attached no importance. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0053" id="link2HCH0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + No satisfactory result attended the inquiries made at Munich save indeed + this certainty,—the certificates attesting the decease of some + person calling herself Louise Duval had not been forged. They were + indubitably genuine. A lady bearing that name had arrived at one of the + principal hotels late in the evening, and had there taken handsome rooms. + She was attended by no servant, but accompanied by a gentleman, who, + however, left the hotel as soon as he had seen her lodged to her + satisfaction. The books of the hotel still retained the entry of her name,—Madame + Duval, Francaise rentiere. On comparing the handwriting of this entry with + the letter from Richard King’s first wife, Graham found it to differ; but + then it was not certain, though probable, that the entry had been written + by the alleged Madame Duval herself. She was visited the next day by the + same gentleman who had accompanied her on arriving. He dined and spent the + evening with her. But no one at the hotel could remember what was the + gentleman’s name, nor even if he were announced by any name. He never + called again. Two days afterwards, Madame Duval was taken ill; a doctor + was sent for, and attended her till her death. This doctor was easily + found. He remembered the case perfectly,—congestion of the lungs, + apparently caused by cold caught on her journey. Fatal symptoms rapidly + manifested themselves, and she died on the third day from the seizure. She + was a young and handsome woman. He had asked her during her short illness + if he should not write to her friends; if there were no one she would wish + to be sent for. She replied that there was only one friend, to whom she + had already written, and who would arrive in a day or two; and on + inquiring, it appeared that she had written such a letter, and taken it + herself to the post on the morning of the day she was taken ill. + </p> + <p> + She had in her purse not a large sum, but money enough to cover all her + expenses, including those of her funeral, which, according to the law in + force at the place, followed very quickly on her decease. The arrival of + the friend to whom she had written being expected, her effects were, in + the meanwhile, sealed up. The day after her death a letter arrived for + her, which was opened. It was evidently written by a man, and apparently + by a lover. It expressed an impassioned regret that the writer was + unavoidably prevented returning to Munich so soon as he had hoped, but + trusted to see his dear bouton de rose in the course of the following + week; it was only signed Achille, and gave no address. Two or three days + after, a lady, also young and handsome, arrived at the hotel, and inquired + for Madame Duval. She was greatly shocked at hearing of her decease. When + sufficiently recovered to bear being questioned as to Madame Duval’s + relations and position, she appeared confused; said, after much pressing, + that she was no relation to the deceased; that she believed Madame Duval + had no relations with whom she was on friendly terms,—at least she + had never heard her speak of any; and that her own acquaintance with the + deceased, though cordial, was very recent. She could or would not give any + clew to the writer of the letter signed Achille, and she herself quitted + Munich that evening, leaving the impression that Madame Duval had been one + of those ladies who, in adopting a course of life at variance with + conventional regulations, are repudiated by their relations, and probably + drop even their rightful names. + </p> + <p> + Achille never appeared; but a few days after, a lawyer at Munich received + a letter from another at Vienna, requesting, in compliance with a client’s + instructions, the formal certificates of Louise Duval’s death. These were + sent as directed, and nothing more about the ill-fated woman was heard of. + After the expiration of the time required by law, the seals were removed + from the effects, which consisted of two malles and a dressing-case. But + they only contained the articles appertaining to a lady’s wardrobe or + toilet,—no letters, not even another note from Achille,—no + clew, in short, to the family or antecedents of the deceased. What then + had become of these effects, no one at the hotel could give a clear or + satisfactory account. It was said by the mistress of the hotel, rather + sullenly, that they had, she supposed, been sold by her predecessor, and + by order of the authorities, for the benefit of the poor. + </p> + <p> + If the lady who had represented herself as Louise Duval’s acquaintance had + given her own name, which doubtless she did, no one recollected it. It was + not entered in the books of the hotel, for she had not lodged there; nor + did it appear that she had allowed time for formal examination by the + civil authorities. In fact, it was clear that poor Louise Duval had been + considered as an adventuress by the hotel-keeper and the medical attendant + at Munich; and her death had excited so little interest, that it was + strange that even so many particulars respecting it could be gleaned. + </p> + <p> + After a prolonged but fruitless stay at Munich, Graham and M. Renard + repaired to Vienna; there, at least, Madame Marigny had given an address, + and there she might be heard of. + </p> + <p> + At Vienna, however, no research availed to discover a trace of any such + person; and in despair Graham returned to England in the January of 1870, + and left the further prosecution of his inquiries to M. Renard, who, + though obliged to transfer himself to Paris for a time, promised that he + would leave no stone unturned for the discovery of Madame Marigny; and + Graham trusted to that assurance when M. Renard, rejecting half of the + large gratuity offered him, added, “Je suis Francais; this with me has + ceased to be an affair of money; it has become an affair that involves my + amour propre.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0054" id="link2HCH0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + If Graham Vane had been before caressed and courted for himself, he was + more than ever appreciated by polite society, now that he added the + positive repute of wealth to that of a promising intellect. Fine ladies + said that Graham Vane was a match for any girl. Eminent politicians + listened to him with a more attentive respect, and invited him to selecter + dinner-parties. His cousin the Duke urged him to announce his candidature + for the county, and purchase back, at least, the old Stamm-schloss. But + Graham obstinately refused to entertain either proposal, continued to live + as economically as before in his old apartments, and bore with an + astonishing meekness of resignation the unsolicited load of fashion heaped + upon his shoulders. At heart he was restless and unhappy. The mission + bequeathed to him by Richard King haunted his thoughts like a spectre not + to be exorcised. Was his whole life to be passed in the weary sustainment + of an imposture which in itself was gall and wormwood to a nature + constitutionally frank and open? Was he forever to appear a rich man and + live as a poor one? Was he till his deathbed to be deemed a sordid miser + whenever he refused a just claim on his supposed wealth, and to feel his + ambition excluded from the objects it earnestly coveted, and which he was + forced to appear too much of an Epicurean philosopher to prize? + </p> + <p> + More torturing than all else to the man’s innermost heart was the + consciousness that he had not conquered, could not conquer, the yearning + love with which Isaura had inspired him, and yet that against such love + all his reasonings, all his prejudices, more stubbornly than ever were + combined. In the French newspapers which he had glanced over while engaged + in his researches in Germany-nay, in German critical journals themselves—he + had seen so many notices of the young author,—highly eulogistic, it + is true, but which to his peculiar notions were more offensive than if + they had been sufficiently condemnatory of her work to discourage her from + its repetition; notices which seemed to him the supreme impertinences + which no man likes exhibited towards the woman to whom he would render the + chivalrous homage of respect. Evidently this girl had become as much + public property as if she had gone on the stage. Minute details of her + personal appearance,—of the dimples on her cheek, of the whiteness + of her arms, of her peculiar way of dressing her hair; anecdotes of her + from childhood (of course invented, but how could Graham know that?); of + the reasons why she had adopted the profession of author instead of that + of the singer; of the sensation she had created in certain salons (to + Graham, who knew Paris so well, salons in which he would not have liked + his wife to appear); of the compliments paid to her by grands seigneurs + noted for their liaisons with ballet-dancers, or by authors whose genius + soared far beyond the flammantia maenia of a world confined by respect for + one’s neighbours’ land-marks,—all this, which belongs to ground of + personal gossip untouched by English critics of female writers, ground + especially favoured by Continental, and, I am grieved to say, by American + journalists,—all this was to the sensitive Englishman much what the + minute inventory of Egeria’s charms would have been to Numa Pompilius. The + nymph, hallowed to him by secret devotion, was vulgarized by the noisy + hands of the mob, and by the popular voices, which said, “We know more + about Egeria than you do.” And when he returned to England, and met with + old friends familiar to Parisian life, who said, “of course you have read + the Cicogna’s roman. What do you think of it? Very fine writing, I dare + say, but above me. I go in for ‘Les Mysteres de Paris’ or ‘Monte Cristo;’ + but I even find Georges Sand a bore,” then as a critic Graham Vane fired + up, extolled the roman he would have given his ears for Isaura never to + have written; but retired from the contest muttering inly, “How can I—I, + Graham Vane—how can I be such an idiot; how can I in every hour of + the twenty-four sigh to myself, ‘What are other women to me? Isaura, + Isaura!’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VII. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0055" id="link2HCH0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + It is the first week in the month of May, 1870. Celebrities are of rapid + growth in the salons of Paris. Gustave Rameau has gained the position for + which he sighed. The journal he edits has increased its hold on the + public, and his share of the profits has been liberally augmented by the + secret proprietor. Rameau is acknowledged as a power in literary circles. + And as critics belonging to the same clique praise each other in Paris, + whatever they may do in communities more rigidly virtuous, his poetry has + been declared by authorities in the press to be superior to that of Alfred + de Musset in vigour—to that of Victor Hugo in refinement; neither of + which assertions would much, perhaps, shock a cultivated understanding. + </p> + <p> + It is true that it (Gustave’s poetry) has not gained a wide audience among + the public. But with regard to poetry nowadays, there are plenty of + persons who say as Dr. Johnson said of the verse of Spratt, “I would + rather praise it than read.” + </p> + <p> + At all events, Rameau was courted in gay and brilliant circles, and, + following the general example of French litterateurs in fashion, lived + well up to the income he received, had a delightful bachelor’s apartment, + furnished with artistic effect, spent largely on the adornment of his + person, kept a coupe, and entertained profusely at the cafe Anglais and + the Maison Doree. A reputation that inspired a graver and more unquiet + interest had been created by the Vicomte de Mauleon. Recent articles in + the Sens Commun, written under the name of Pierre Firmin on the + discussions on the vexed question of the plebiscite, had given umbrage to + the Government, and Rameau had received an intimation that he, as editor, + was responsible for the compositions of the contributors to the journal he + edited; and that though, so long as Pierre Firmin had kept his caustic + spirit within proper bounds, the Government had winked at the evasion of + the law which required every political article in a journal to be signed + by the real name of its author, it could do so no longer. Pierre Firmin + was apparently a nom de plume; if not, his identity must be proved, or + Rameau would pay the penalty which his contributor seemed bent on + incurring. + </p> + <p> + Rameau, much alarmed for the journal that might be suspended, and for + himself who might be imprisoned, conveyed this information through the + publisher to his correspondent Pierre Firmin, and received the next day an + article signed Victor de Mauleon, in which the writer proclaimed himself + to be one and the same with Pierre Firmin, and, taking a yet bolder tone + than he had before assumed, dared the Government to attempt legal measures + against him. The Government was prudent enough to disregard that haughty + bravado, but Victor de Mauleon rose at once into political importance. He + had already in his real name and his quiet way established a popular and + respectable place in Parisian society. But if this revelation created him + enemies whom he had not before provoked, he was now sufficiently + acquitted, by tacit consent, of the sins formerly laid to his charge, to + disdain the assaults of party wrath. His old reputation for personal + courage and skill in sword and pistol served, indeed, to protect him from + such charges as a Parisian journalist does not reply to with his pen. If + he created some enemies, he created many more friends, or, at least, + partisans and admirers. He only needed fine and imprisonment to become a + popular hero. + </p> + <p> + A few days after he had thus proclaimed himself, Victor de Mauleon—who + had before kept aloof from Rameau, and from salons at which he was likely + to meet that distinguished minstrel—solicited his personal + acquaintance, and asked him to breakfast. + </p> + <p> + Rameau joyfully went. He had a very natural curiosity to see the + contributor whose articles had so mainly insured the sale of the Sens + Commun. + </p> + <p> + In the dark-haired, keen-eyed, well-dressed, middle-aged man, with + commanding port and courtly address, he failed to recognise any + resemblance to the flaxen-wigged, long-coated, be-spectacled, shambling + sexagenarian whom he had known as Lebeau. Only now and then a tone of + voice struck him as familiar, but he could not recollect where he had + heard the voice it resembled. The thought of Lebeau did not occur to him; + if it had occurred it would only have struck him as a chance coincidence. + Rameau, like most egotists, was rather a dull observer of men. His genius + was not objective. + </p> + <p> + “I trust, Monsieur Rameau,” said the Vicomte, as he and his guest were + seated at the breakfast-table, “that you are not dissatisfied with the + remuneration your eminent services in the journal have received.” + </p> + <p> + “The proprietor, whoever he be, has behaved most liberally,” answered + Rameau. + </p> + <p> + “I take that compliment to myself, cher confrere; for though the expenses + of starting the Sens Commun, and the caution money lodged, were found by a + friend of mine, that was as a loan, which I have long since repaid, and + the property in the journal is now exclusively mine. I have to thank you + not only for your own brilliant contributions, but for those of the + colleagues you secured. Monsieur Savarin’s piquant criticisms were most + valuable to us at starting. I regret to have lost his aid. But as he has + set up a new journal of his own, even he has not wit enough to spare for + another. A propos of our contributors, I shall ask you to present me to + the fair author of The Artist’s Daughter. I am of too prosaic a nature to + appreciate justly the merits of a roman; but I have heard warm praise of + this story from the young—they are the best judges of that kind of + literature; and I can at least understand the worth of a contributor who + trebled the sale of our journal. It is a misfortune to us, indeed, that + her work is completed, but I trust that the sum sent to her through our + publisher suffices to tempt her to favour us with another roman in + series.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Cicogna,” said Rameau, with a somewhat sharper intonation of + his sharp voice, “has accepted for the republication of her roman in a + separate form terms which attest the worth of her genius, and has had + offers from other journals for a serial tale of even higher amount than + the sum so generously sent to her through your publisher.” + </p> + <p> + “Has she accepted them, Monsieur Rameau? If so, tant pis pour vous. Pardon + me, I mean that your salary suffers in proportion as the Sens Commun + declines in sale.” + </p> + <p> + “She has not accepted them. I advised her not to do so until she could + compare them with those offered by the proprietor of the Sens Commun.” + </p> + <p> + “And your advice guides her? Ah, cher confrere, you are a happy man!—you + have influence over this young aspirant to the fame of a De Stael or a + Georges Sand.” + </p> + <p> + “I flatter myself that I have some,” answered Rameau, smiling loftily as + he helped himself to another tumbler of. Volnay wine—excellent, but + rather heady. + </p> + <p> + “So much the better. I leave you free to arrange terms with Mademoiselle + Cicogna, higher than she can obtain elsewhere, and kindly contrive my own + personal introduction to her—you have breakfasted already?—permit + me to offer you a cigar—excuse me if I do not bear you company; I + seldom smoke—never of a morning. Now to business, and the state of + France. Take that easy-chair, seat yourself comfortably. So! Listen! If + ever Mephistopheles revisit the earth, how he will laugh at Universal + Suffrage and Vote by Ballot in an old country like France, as things to be + admired by educated men, and adopted by friends of genuine freedom!” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t understand you,” said Rameau. + </p> + <p> + “In this respect at least, let me hope that I can furnish you with + understanding. + </p> + <p> + “The Emperor has resorted to a plebiscite—viz., a vote by ballot and + universal suffrage—as to certain popular changes which circumstances + compel him to substitute for his former personal rule. Is there a single + intelligent Liberal who is not against that plebiscite?—is there any + such who does not know that the appeal of the Emperor to universal + suffrage and vote by ballot must result in a triumph over all the + variations of free thought, by the unity which belongs to Order, + represented through an able man at the head of the State? The multitude + never comprehend principles; principles are complex ideas; they comprehend + a single idea, and the simplest idea is, a Name that rids their action of + all responsibility to thought. + </p> + <p> + “Well, in France there are principles superabundant which you can pit + against the principle of Imperial rule. But there is not one name you can + pit against Napoleon the Third; therefore, I steer our little bark in the + teeth of the popular gale when I denounce the plebiscite, and Le Sens + Commun will necessarily fall in sale—it is beginning to fall + already. We shall have the educated men with us, the rest against. In + every country—even in China, where all are highly educated—a + few must be yet more highly educated than the many. Monsieur Rameau, I + desire to overthrow the Empire: in order to do that, it is not enough to + have on my side the educated men, I must have the canaille—the + canaille of Paris and of the manufacturing towns. But I use the canaille + for my purpose—I don’t mean to enthrone it. You comprehend?—the + canaille quiescent is simply mud at the bottom of a stream; the canaille + agitated is mud at the surface. But no man capable of three ideas builds + the palaces and senates of civilised society out of mud, be it at the top + or the bottom of an ocean. Can either you or I desire that the destinies + of France shall be swayed by coxcombical artisans who think themselves + superior to every man who writes grammar, and whose idea of a + common-wealth is the confiscation of private property?” Rameau, thoroughly + puzzled by this discourse, bowed his head, and replied whisperingly, + “Proceed. You are against the Empire, yet against the populace!—What + are you for? not, surely, the Legitimists?—are you Republican? + Orleanist? or what?” + </p> + <p> + “Your questions are very pertinent,” answered the Vicomte, courteously, + “and my answer shall be very frank. I am against absolute rule, whether + under a Buonaparte or a Bourbon. I am for a free State, whether under a + constitutional hereditary sovereign like the English or Belgian, or + whether, republican in name, it be less democratic than constitutional + monarchy in practice, like the American. But as a man interested in the + fate of le Sens Commun, I hold in profound disdain all crotchets for + revolutionising the elements of Human Nature. Enough of this abstract + talk. To the point. You are of course aware of the violent meetings held + by the Socialists, nominally against the plebiscite, really against the + Emperor himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know at least that the working class are extremely discontented; + the numerous strikes last month were not on a mere question of wages—they + were against the existing forms of society. And the articles by Pierre + Firmin which brought me into collision with the Government, seemed to + differ from what you now say. They approve those strikes; they appeared to + sympathise with the revolutionary meetings at Belleville and Montmartre.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course—we use coarse tools for destroying; we cast them aside + for finer ones when we want to reconstruct. + </p> + <p> + “I attended one of those meetings last night. See, I have a pass for all + such assemblies, signed by some dolt who cannot even spell the name he + assumes—‘Pom-de-Tair.’ A commissary of police sat yawning at the end + of the orchestra, his secretary by his side, while the orators stammer out + fragments of would-be thunderbolts. Commissary of police yawns more + wearily than before, secretary disdains to use his pen, seizes his + penknife and pares his nails. Up rises a wild-haired, weak-limbed + silhouette of a man, and affecting a solemnity of mien which might have + become the virtuous Guizot, moves this resolution: ‘The French people + condemns Charles Louis Napoleon the Third to the penalty of perpetual hard + labour.’ Then up rises the commissary of police and says quietly, ‘I + declare this meeting at an end.’ + </p> + <p> + “Sensation among the audience—they gesticulate—they screech—they + bellow—the commissary puts on his greatcoat—the secretary + gives a last touch to his nails and pockets his penknife—the + audience disperses—the silhouette of a man effaces itself—all + is over.” + </p> + <p> + “You describe the scene most wittily,” said Rameau, laughing, but the + laugh was constrained. A would-be cynic himself, there was a something + grave and earnest in the real cynic that awed him. + </p> + <p> + “What conclusion do you draw from such a scene, cher poete” asked De + Mauleon, fixing his keen quiet eyes on Rameau. + </p> + <p> + “What conclusion? Well, that—that—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, continue.” + </p> + <p> + “That the audience were sadly degenerated from the time when Mirabeau said + to a Master of the Ceremonies, ‘We are here by the power of the French + people, and nothing but the point of the bayonet shall expel us.’” + </p> + <p> + “Spoken like a poet, a French poet. I suppose you admire M. Victor Hugo. + Conceding that he would have employed a more sounding phraseology, + comprising more absolute ignorance of men, times, and manners in + unintelligible metaphor and melodramatic braggadocio, your answer might + have been his; but pardon me if I add, it would not be that of Common + Sense.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Vicomte might rebuke me more politely,” said Rameau, + colouring high. + </p> + <p> + “Accept my apologies; I did not mean to rebuke, but to instruct. The times + are not those of 1789. And Nature, ever repeating herself in the + production of coxcombs and blockheads, never repeats herself in the + production of Mirabeaus. The Empire is doomed—doomed, because it is + hostile to the free play of intellect. Any Government that gives absolute + preponderance to the many is hostile to intellect, for intellect is + necessarily confined to the few. + </p> + <p> + “Intellect is the most revengeful of all the elements of society. It cares + not what the materials through which it insinuates or forces its way to + its seat. + </p> + <p> + “I accept the aid of Pom-de-Tair. I do not demean myself to the extent of + writing articles that may favor the principles of Pom-de-Tair, signed in + the name of Victor de Mauleon or of Pierre Firinin. + </p> + <p> + “I will beg you, my dear editor, to obtain clever, smart writers, who know + nothing about Socialists and Internationalists, who therefore will not + commit Le Sens Commun by advocating the doctrines of those idiots, but who + will flatter the vanity of the canaille—vaguely; write any stuff + they please about the renown of Paris, ‘the eye of the world,’ ‘the sun of + the European system,’ &c., of the artisans of Paris as supplying soul + to that eye and fuel to that sun—any blague of that sort—genre + Victor Hugo; but nothing definite against life and property, nothing that + may not be considered hereafter as the harmless extravagance of a poetic + enthusiasm. You might write such articles yourself. In fine, I want to + excite the multitude, and yet not to commit our journal to the contempt of + the few. Nothing is to be admitted that may bring the law upon us except + it be signed by my name. There may be a moment in which it would be + desirable for somebody to be sent to prison: in that case, I allow no + substitute—I go myself. + </p> + <p> + “Now you have my most secret thoughts. I intrust them to your judgment + with entire confidence. Monsieur Lebeau gave you a high character, which + you have hitherto deserved. By the way, have you seen anything lately of + that bourgeois conspirator?” + </p> + <p> + “No, his professed business of letter-writer or agent is transferred to a + clerk, who says M. Lebeau is abroad.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I don’t think that is true. I fancy I saw him the other evening + gilding along the lanes of Belleville. He is too confirmed a conspirator + to be long out of Paris; no place like Paris for seething brains.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you known M. Lebeau long?” asked Rameau. “Ay, many years. We are + both Norman by birth, as you may perceive by something broad in our + accent.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! I knew your voice was familiar to me; certainly it does remind me of + Lebeau’s.” + </p> + <p> + “Normans are like each other in many things besides voice and accent—obstinacy, + for instance, in clinging to ideas once formed; this makes them good + friends and steadfast enemies. I would advise no man to make an enemy of + Lebeau. + </p> + <p> + “Au revoir, cher confrere. Do not forget to present me to Mademoiselle + Cicogna.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0056" id="link2HCH0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + On leaving De Mauleon and regaining his coupe, Rameau felt at once + bewildered and humbled, for he was not prepared for the tone of careless + superiority which the Vicomte assumed over him. He had expected to be much + complimented, and he comprehended vaguely that he had been somewhat + snubbed. He was not only irritated—he was bewildered; for De + Mauleon’s political disquisitions did not leave any clear or definite idea + on his mind as to the principles which as editor of the Sens Commun he was + to see adequately represented and carried out. In truth, Rameau was one of + those numerous Parisian politicians who have read little and reflected + less on the government of men and States. Envy is said by a great French + writer to be the vice of Democracies. Envy certainly had made Rameau a + democrat. He could talk and write glibly enough upon the themes of + equality and fraternity, and was so far an ultra-democrat that he thought + moderation the sign of a mediocre understanding. + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon’s talk, therefore, terribly perplexed him. It was unlike + anything he had heard before. Its revolutionary professions, accompanied + with so much scorn for the multitude, and the things the multitude + desired, were Greek to him. He was not shocked by the cynicism which + placed wisdom in using the passions of mankind as tools for the interests + of an individual; but he did not understand the frankness of its avowal. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless the man had dominated over and subdued him. He recognized the + power of his contributor without clearly analysing its nature—a + power made up of large experience of life, of cold examination of + doctrines that heated others—of patrician calm—of intellectual + sneer—of collected confidence in self. + </p> + <p> + Besides, Rameau felt, with a nervous misgiving, that in this man, who so + boldly proclaimed his contempt for the instruments he used, he had found a + master. De Mauleon, then, was sole proprietor of the journal from which + Rameau drew his resources; might at any time dismiss him; might at any + time involve the journal in penalties which, even if Rameau could escape + in his official capacity as editor, still might stop the Sens Commun, and + with it Rameau’s luxurious subsistence. + </p> + <p> + Altogether the visit to De Mauleon had been anything but a pleasant one. + He sought, as the carriage rolled on, to turn his thoughts to more + agreeable subjects, and the image of Isaura rose before him. To do him + justice he had learned to love this girl as well as his nature would + permit: he loved her with the whole strength of his imagination, and + though his heart was somewhat cold, his imagination was very ardent. He + loved her also with the whole strength of his vanity, and vanity was even + a more preponderant organ of his system than imagination. To carry off as + his prize one who had already achieved celebrity, whose beauty and + fascination of manner were yet more acknowledged than her genius, would + certainly be a glorious triumph. + </p> + <p> + Every Parisian of Rameau’s stamp looks forward in marriage to a brilliant + salon. What salon more brilliant than that which he and Isaura united + could command? He had long conquered his early impulse of envy at Isaura’s + success,—in fact that success had become associated with his own, + and had contributed greatly to his enrichment. So that to other motives of + love he might add the prudential one of interest. Rameau well knew that + his own vein of composition, however lauded by the cliques, and however + unrivalled in his own eyes, was not one that brings much profit in the + market. He compared himself to those poets who are too far in advance of + their time to be quite as sure of bread and cheese as they are of immortal + fame. + </p> + <p> + But he regarded Isaura’s genius as of a lower order, and a thing in itself + very marketable. Marry her, and the bread and cheese were so certain that + he might elaborate as slowly as he pleased the verses destined to immortal + fame. Then he should be independent of inferior creatures like Victor de + Mauleon. But while Rameau convinced himself that he was passionately in + love with Isaura, he could not satisfy himself that she was in love with + him. + </p> + <p> + Though during the past year they had seen each other constantly, and their + literary occupations had produced many sympathies between them—though + he had intimated that many of his most eloquent love-poems were inspired + by her—though he had asserted in prose, very pretty prose too, that + she was all that youthful poets dream of,—yet she had hitherto + treated such declarations with a playful laugh, accepting them as elegant + compliments inspired by Parisian gallantry; and he felt an angry and sore + foreboding that if he were to insist too seriously on the earnestness of + their import and ask her plainly to be his wife, her refusal would be + certain, and his visits to her house might be interdicted. + </p> + <p> + Still Isaura was unmarried, still she had refused offers of marriage from + men higher placed than himself,—still he divined no one whom she + could prefer. And as he now leaned back in his coupe he muttered to + himself, “Oh, if I could but get rid of that little demon Julie, I would + devote myself so completely to winning Isaura’s heart that I must succeed!—but + how to get rid of Julie? She so adores me, and is so headstrong! She is + capable of going to Isaura—showing my letters—making such a + scene!” + </p> + <p> + Here he checked the carriage at a cafe on the Boulevard—descended, + imbibed two glasses of absinthe,—and then feeling much emboldened, + remounted his coupe and directed the driver to Isaura’s apartment. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0057" id="link2HCH0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + Yes, celebrities are of rapid growth in the salons of Paris. Far more + solid than that of Rameau, far more brilliant than that of De Mauleon, was + the celebrity which Isaura had now acquired. She had been unable to retain + the pretty suburban villa at A———. The owner wanted to + alter and enlarge it for his own residence, and she had been persuaded by + Signora Venosta, who was always sighing for fresh salons to conquer, to + remove (towards the close of the previous year) to apartments in the + centre of the Parisian beau monde. Without formally professing to receive, + on one evening in the week her salon was open to those who had eagerly + sought her acquaintance—comprising many stars in the world of + fashion, as well as those in the world of art and letters. And as she had + now wholly abandoned the idea of the profession for which her voice had + been cultivated, she no longer shrank from the exercise of her surpassing + gift of song for the delight of private friends. Her physician had + withdrawn the interdict on such exercise. His skill, aided by the rich + vitality of her constitution, had triumphed over all tendencies to the + malady for which he had been consulted. To hear Isaura Cicogna sing in her + own house was a privilege sought and prized by many who never read a word + of her literary compositions. A good critic of a book is rare; but good + judges of a voice are numberless. Adding this attraction of song to her + youth, her beauty, her frank powers of converse—an innocent + sweetness of manner free from all conventional affectation—and to + the fresh novelty of a genius which inspired the young with enthusiast and + beguiled the old to indulgence, it was no wonder that Isaura became a + celebrity at Paris. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was a wonder that her head was not turned by the adulation that + surrounded her. But I believe, be it said with diffidence, that a woman of + mind so superior that the mind never pretends to efface the heart, is less + intoxicated with flattery than a man equally exposed to it. + </p> + <p> + It is the strength of her heart that keeps her head sober. Isaura had + never yet overcome her first romance of love; as yet, amid all her + triumphs, there was not a day in which her thoughts did not wistfully, + mournfully, fly back to those blessed moments in which she felt her cheek + colour before a look, her heart beat at the sound of a footfall. Perhaps + if there had been the customary finis to this young romance—the + lover’s deliberate renunciation, his formal farewell—the girl’s + pride would ere this have conquered her affection,—possibly—who + knows?—replaced it. + </p> + <p> + But, reader, be you male or female, have you ever known this sore trial of + affection and pride, that from some cause or other, to you mysterious, the + dear intercourse to which you had accustomed the secret life of your life, + abruptly ceases; you know that a something has come between you and the + beloved which you cannot distinguish, cannot measure, cannot guess, and + therefore cannot surmount; and you say to yourself at the dead of solitary + night, “Oh for an explanation! Oh for one meeting more! All might be so + easily set right; or if not, I should know the worst, and knowing it, + could conquer!” + </p> + <p> + This trial was Isaura’s. There had been no explanation, no last farewell + between her and Graham. She divined—no woman lightly makes a mistake + there—that he loved her! She knew that this dread something had + intervened between her and him when he took leave of her before others so + many months ago; that this dread something still continued—what was + it? She was certain that it would vanish, could they but once meet again + and not before others. Oh for such a meeting! + </p> + <p> + She could not herself destroy hope. She could not marry another. She would + have no heart to give to another while he was free, while in doubt if his + heart was still her own. And thus her pride did not help her to conquer + her affection. + </p> + <p> + Of Graham Vane she heard occasionally. He had ceased to correspond with + Savarin; but among those who most frequented her salon were the Morleys. + Americans so well educated and so well placed as the Morleys knew + something about every Englishman of the social station of Graham Vane. + Isaura learned from them that Graham, after a tour on the Continent, had + returned to England at the commencement of the year, had been invited to + stand for Parliament, had refused, that his name was in the list published + by the Morning Post of the elite whose arrivals in London, or whose + presence at dinner-tables, is recorded as an event. That the Athenaeum had + mentioned a rumour that Graham Vane was the author of a political pamphlet + which, published anonymously, had made no inconsiderable sensation. Isaura + sent to England for that pamphlet: the subject was somewhat dry, and the + style, though clear and vigorous, was scarcely of the eloquence which wins + the admiration of women; and yet she learned every word of it by heart. + </p> + <p> + We know how little she dreamed that the celebrity which she hailed as an + approach to him was daily making her more remote. The sweet labours she + undertook for that celebrity continued to be sweetened yet more by secret + associations with the absent one. How many of the passages most admired + could never have been written had he been never known! + </p> + <p> + And she blessed those labours the more that they upheld her from the + absolute feebleness of sickened reverie, beguiled her from the gnawing + torture of unsatisfied conjecture. She did comply with Madame de + Grantmesnil’s command—did pass from the dusty beaten road of life + into green fields and along flowery river-banks, and did enjoy that ideal + by-world. + </p> + <p> + But still the one image which reigned over her human heart moved beside + her in the gardens of fairyland. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0058" id="link2HCH0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + Isaura was seated in her pretty salon, with the Venosta, M. Savarin, the + Morleys, and the financier Louvier, when Rameau was announced. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” cried Savarin, “we were just discussing a matter which nearly + concerns you, cher poete. I have not seen you since the announcement that + Pierre Firmin is no other than Victor de Mauleon. Ma foi, that worthy + seems likely to be as dangerous with his pen as he was once with his + sword. The article in which he revealed himself makes a sharp lunge on the + Government. ‘Take care of yourself. When hawks and nightingales fly + together the hawk may escape, and the nightingale complain of the + barbarity of kings, in a cage: ‘flebiliter gemens infelix avis.‘’” + </p> + <p> + “He is not fit to conduct a journal,” replied Rameau, magniloquently, “who + will not brave a danger for his body in defence of the right to infinity + for his thought.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” said Mrs. Morley, clapping her pretty hands. “That speech reminds + me of home. The French are very much like the Americans in their style of + oratory.” + </p> + <p> + “So,” said Louvier, “my old friend the Vicomte has come out as a writer, a + politician, a philosopher; I feel hurt that he kept this secret from me + despite our intimacy. I suppose you knew it from the first, M. Rameau?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I was as much taken by surprise as the rest of the world. You have + long known M. de Mauleon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I may say we began life together—that is, much at the same + time.” + </p> + <p> + “What is he like in appearance?” asked Mrs. Morley. “The ladies thought + him very handsome when he was young,” replied Louvier. “He is still a + fine-looking man, about my height.” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know him!” cried Mrs. Morley, “if only to tease that + husband of mine. He refuses me the dearest of woman’s rights.—I + can’t make him jealous.” + </p> + <p> + “You may have the opportunity of knowing this ci-devant Lovelace very + soon,” said Rameau, “for he has begged me to present him to Mademoiselle + Cicogna, and I will ask her permission to do so, on Thursday evening when + she receives.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura, who had hitherto attended very listlessly to the conversation, + bowed assent. “Any friend of yours will be welcome. But I own the articles + signed in the name of Pierre Firmin do not prepossess me in favour of + their author.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” asked Louvier; “surely you are not an Imperialist?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, I do not pretend to be a politician at all, but there is something + in the writing of Pierre Firmin that pains and chills me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet the secret of its popularity,” said Savarin, “is that it says what + every one says—only better.” + </p> + <p> + “I see now that it is exactly that which displeases me; it is the Paris + talk condensed into epigram: the graver it is the less it elevates—the + lighter it is, the more it saddens.” + </p> + <p> + “That is meant to hit me,” said Savarin, with his sunny laugh—“me + whom you call cynical.” + </p> + <p> + “No, dear M. Savarin; for above all your cynicism is genuine gaiety, and + below it solid kindness. You have that which I do not find in M. de + Mauleon’s writing, nor often in the talk of the salon—you have + youthfulness.” + </p> + <p> + “Youthfulness at sixty—flatterer!” + </p> + <p> + “Genius does not count its years by the almanac,” said Mrs. Morley. “I + know what Isaura means—she is quite right; there is a breath of + winter in M. de Mauleon’s style, and an odour of fallen leaves. Not that + his diction wants vigour; on the contrary, it is crisp with hoar-frost. + But the sentiments conveyed by the diction are those of a nature sear and + withered. And it is in this combination of brisk words and decayed + feelings that his writing represents the talk and mind of Paris. He and + Paris are always fault-finding: fault-finding is the attribute of old + age.” + </p> + <p> + Colonel Morley looked round with pride, as much as to say, “Clever talker + my wife.” + </p> + <p> + Savarin understood that look, and replied to it courteously. “Madame has a + gift of expression which Emile de Girardin can scarcely surpass. But when + she blames us for fault-finding, can she expect the friends of liberty to + praise the present style of things?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be obliged to the friends of liberty,” said the Colonel, drily, + “to tell me how that state of things is to be mended. I find no enthusiasm + for the Orleanists, none for a Republic; people sneer at religion; no + belief in a cause, no adherence to an opinion. But the worst of it is + that, like all people who are blases, the Parisians are eager for strange + excitement, and ready to listen to any oracle who promises a relief from + indifferentism. This it is which makes the Press more dangerous in France + than it is in any other country. Elsewhere the Press sometimes leads, + sometimes follows, public opinion. Here there is no public opinion to + consult, and instead of opinion the Press represents passion.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Colonel Morley,” said Savarin, “I hear you very often say that a + Frenchman cannot understand America. Permit me to observe that an American + cannot understand France—or at least Paris. Apropos of Paris that is + a large speculation of yours, Louvier, in the new suburb.” + </p> + <p> + “And a very sound one; I advise you to invest in it. I can secure you at + present 5 per cent. on the rental; that is nothing—the houses will + be worth double when the Rue de Louvier is completed.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! I have no money; my new journal absorbs all my capital.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall I transfer the money I hold for you, Signorina, and add to them + whatever you may have made by your delightful roman, as yet lying idle, to + this investment? I cannot say more in its favour than this: I have + embarked a very large portion of my capital in the Rue de Louvier, and I + flatter myself that I am not one of those men who persuade their friends + to do a foolish thing by setting them the example.” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever you advise on such a subject,” said Isaura, graciously, “is sure + to be as wise as it is kind!” + </p> + <p> + “You consent, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + Here the Venosta, who had been listening with great attention to Louvier’s + commendation of this investment, drew him aside, and whispered in his ear: + “I suppose, M. Louvier, that one can’t put a little money-a very little + money—poco-poco pocolino, into your street.” + </p> + <p> + “Into my street! Ah, I understand—into the speculation of the Rue de + Louvier! Certainly you can. Arrangements are made on purpose to suit the + convenience of the smallest capitalists—from 500 francs upwards.” + </p> + <p> + “And you feel quite sure that we shall double our money when the street is + completed—I should not like to have my brains in my heels.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [“‘Avere il cervello nella calcagna,”—viz., to act without prudent + reflection.] +</pre> + <p> + “More than double it, I hope, long before the street is completed.” + </p> + <p> + “I have saved a little money—very little. I have no relations, and I + mean to leave it all to the Signorina; and if it could be doubled, why, + there would be twice as much to leave her.” + </p> + <p> + “So there would,” said Louvier. “You can’t do better than put it all into + the Rue de Louvier. I will send you the necessary papers to-morrow, when I + send hers to the Signorina.” + </p> + <p> + Louvier here turned to address himself to Colonel Morley, but finding that + degenerate son of America indisposed to get cent. per cent. for his money + when offered by a Parisian, he very soon took his leave. The other + visitors followed his example, except Rameau, who was left alone with the + Venosta and Isaura. The former had no liking for Rameau, who showed her + none of the attentions her innocent vanity demanded, and she soon took + herself off to her own room to calculate the amount of her savings, and + dream of the Rue de Louvier and “golden joys.” + </p> + <p> + Rameau approaching his chair to Isaura’s then commenced conversation, + drily enough, upon pecuniary matters; acquitting himself of the mission + with which De Mauleon had charged him, the request for a new work from her + pen for the Sens Commun, and the terms that ought to be asked for + compliance. The young lady-author shrank from this talk. Her private + income, though modest, sufficed for her wants, and she felt a sensitive + shame in the sale of her thoughts and fancies. + </p> + <p> + Putting hurriedly aside the mercantile aspect of the question, she said + that she had no other work in her mind at present—that, whatever her + vein of invention might be, it flowed at its own will, and could not be + commanded. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Rameau, “this is not true. We fancy, in our hours of + indolence, that we must wait for inspiration; but once force ourselves to + work, and ideas spring forth at the wave of the pen. You may believe me + here, I speak from experience: I, compelled to work, and in modes not to + my taste—I do my task I know not how. I rub the lamp, ‘the genius + comes.’” + </p> + <p> + “I have read in some English author that motive power is necessary to + continued labour: you have motive power, I have none.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not quite understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that a strong ruling motive is required to persist in any regular + course of action that needs effort: the motive with the majority of men is + the need of subsistence; with a large number (as in trades or + professions), not actually want, but a desire of gain, and perhaps of + distinction, in their calling: the desire of professional distinction + expands into the longings for more comprehensive fame, more exalted + honours, with the few who become great writers, soldiers, statesmen, + orators.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you mean to say you have no such motive?” + </p> + <p> + “None in the sting of want, none in the desire of gain.” + </p> + <p> + “But fame?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! I thought so once. I know not now—I begin to doubt if fame + should be sought by women.” This was said very dejectedly. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, dearest Signorina! what gadfly has stung you? Your doubt is a + weakness unworthy of your intellect; and even were it not, genius is + destiny and will be obeyed: you must write, despite yourself—and + your writing must bring fame, whether you wish it or not.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura was silent, her head drooped on her breast—there were tears + in her downcast eyes. + </p> + <p> + Rameau took her hand, which she yielded to him passively, and clasping it + in both his own, he rushed on impulsively— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know what these misgivings are when we feel ourselves solitary, + unloved: how often have they been mine! But how different would labour be + if shared and sympathised with by a congenial mind, by a heart that beats + in unison with one’s own!” + </p> + <p> + Isaura’s breast heaved beneath her robe, she sighed softly. + </p> + <p> + “And then how sweet the fame of which the one we love is proud! how + trifling becomes the pang of some malignant depreciation, which a word + from the beloved one can soothe! O Signorina! O Isaura! are we not made + for each other? Kindred pursuits, hopes, and fears in common; the same + race to run, the same goal to win! I need a motive stronger than I have + yet known for the persevering energy that insures success: supply to me + that motive. Let me think that whatever I win in the strife of the world + is a tribute to Isaura. No, do not seek to withdraw this hand, let me + claim it as mine for life. I love you as man never loved before—do + not reject my love.” + </p> + <p> + They say the woman who hesitates is lost. Isaura hesitated, but was not + yet lost. The words she listened to moved her deeply. Offers of marriage + she had already received: one from a rich middle-aged noble, a devoted + musical virtuoso; one from a young avocat fresh from the provinces, and + somewhat calculating on her dot; one from a timid but enthusiastic admirer + of her genius and her beauty, himself rich, handsome, of good birth, but + with shy manners and faltering tongue. + </p> + <p> + But these had made their proposals with the formal respect habitual to + French decorum in matrimonial proposals. Words so eloquently impassioned + as Gustave Rameau’s had never before thrilled her ears; Yes, she was + deeply moved; and yet, by that very emotion she knew that it was not to + the love of this wooer that her heart responded. + </p> + <p> + There is a circumstance in the history of courtship familiar to the + experience of many women, that while the suitor is pleading his cause, his + language may touch every fibre in the heart of his listener, yet + substitute, as it were, another presence for his own. She may be saying to + herself, “Oh that another had said those words!” and be dreaming of the + other, while she hears the one. Thus it was with Isaura, and not till + Rameau’s voice had ceased did that dream pass away, and with a slight + shiver she turned her face towards the wooer sadly and pityingly. “It + cannot be,” she said, in a low whisper; “I were not worthy of your love + could I accept it. Forget that you have so spoken; let me still be a + friend admiring your genius, interested in your career. I cannot be more. + Forgive me if I unconsciously led you to think I could, I am so grieved to + pain you.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I to understand,” said Rameau, coldly, for his amour propre was + resentful, “that the proposals of another have been more fortunate than + mine?” And he named the youngest and comeliest of those whom she had + rejected. “Certainly not,” said Isaura. + </p> + <p> + Rameau rose and went to the window, turning his face from her. In reality + he was striving to collect his thoughts and decide on the course it were + most prudent for him now to pursue. The fumes of the absinthe which had, + despite his previous forebodings, emboldened him to hazard his avowal, had + now subsided into the languid reaction which is generally consequent on + that treacherous stimulus, a reaction not unfavourable to passionless + reflection. He knew that if he said he could not conquer his love, he + would still cling to hope, and trust to perseverance and time, he should + compel Isaura to forbid his visits and break off their familiar + intercourse. This would be fatal to the chance of yet winning her, and + would also be of serious disadvantage to his more worldly interests. Her + literary aid might become essential to the journal on which his fortunes + depended; and at all events, in her conversation, in her encouragement, in + her sympathy with the pains and joys of his career, he felt a support, a + comfort, nay, an inspiration. For the spontaneous gush of her fresh + thoughts and fancies served to recruit his own jaded ideas, and enlarge + his own stinted range of invention. No, he could not commit himself to the + risk of banishment from Isaura. + </p> + <p> + And mingled with meaner motives for discretion, there was one of which he + was but vaguely conscious, purer and nobler. In the society of this girl, + in whom whatever was strong and high in mental organisation became so + sweetened into feminine grace by gentleness of temper and kindliness of + disposition, Rameau felt himself a better man. The virgin-like dignity + with which she moved, so untainted by a breath of scandal, amid salons in + which the envy of virtues doubted sought to bring innocence itself into + doubt, warmed into a genuine reverence the cynicism of his professed + creed. + </p> + <p> + While with her, while under her chastening influence, he was sensible of a + poetry infused within him far more true to the Camoenae than all he had + elaborated into verse. In these moments he was ashamed of the vices he had + courted as distractions. He imagined that with her all his own, it would + be easy to reform. + </p> + <p> + No; to withdraw wholly from Isaura was to renounce his sole chance of + redemption. + </p> + <p> + While these thoughts, which it takes so long to detail, passed rapidly + through his brain, he felt a soft touch on his arm, and, turning his face + slowly, encountered the tender, compassionate eyes of Isaura. + </p> + <p> + “Be consoled, dear friend,” she said, with a smile, half cheering, half + mournful. “Perhaps for all true artists the solitary lot is the best.” + </p> + <p> + “I will try to think so,” answered Rameau; “and meanwhile I thank you with + a full heart for the sweetness with which you have checked my presumption—the + presumption shall not be repeated. Gratefully I accept the friendship you + deign to tender me. You bid me forget the words I uttered. Promise in turn + that you will forget them—or at least consider them withdrawn. You + will receive me still as friend?” + </p> + <p> + “As friend, surely: yes. Do we not both need friends?” She held out her + hand as she spoke; he bent over it, kissed it with respect, and the + interview thus closed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0059" id="link2HCH0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + It was late in the evening that day when a man who had the appearance of a + decent bourgeois, in the lower grades of that comprehensive class, entered + one of the streets in the Faubourg Montmartre, tenanted chiefly by + artisans. He paused at the open doorway of a tall narrow house, and drew + back as he heard footsteps descending a very gloomy staircase. + </p> + <p> + The light from a gas lamp on the street fell full on the face of the + person thus quitting the house—the face of a young and handsome man, + dressed with the quiet elegance which betokened one of higher rank or + fashion than that neighbourhood was habituated to find among its visitors. + The first comer retreated promptly into the shade, and, as by sudden + impulse, drew his hat low down over his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The other man did not, however, observe him, went his way with a quick + step along the street, and entered another house some yards distant. + </p> + <p> + “What can that pious Bourbonite do here?” muttered the first comer. “Can + he be a conspirator? Diable! ‘tis as dark as Erebus on that staircase.” + </p> + <p> + Taking cautious hold of the banister, the man now ascended the stairs. On + the landing of the first floor there was a gas lamp which threw upward a + faint ray that finally died at the third story. But at that third story + the man’s journey ended; he pulled a bell at the door to the right, and in + another moment or so the door was opened by a young woman of twenty-eight + or thirty, dressed very simply, but with a certain neatness not often seen + in the wives of artisans in the Faubourg Montmartre. Her face, which, + though pale and delicate, retained much of the beauty of youth, became + clouded as she recognised the visitor; evidently the visit was not welcome + to her. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Lebeau again!” she exclaimed, shrinking back. + </p> + <p> + “At your service, chere dame. The goodman is of course at home? Ah, I + catch sight of him,” and sliding by the woman, M. Lebeau passed the narrow + lobby in which she stood, through the open door conducting into the room + in which Armand Monnier was seated, his chin propped on his hand, his + elbow resting on a table, looking abstractedly into space. In a corner of + the room two small children were playing languidly with a set of bone + tablets, inscribed with the letters of the alphabet. But whatever the + children were doing with the alphabet, they were certainly not learning to + read from it. + </p> + <p> + The room was of fair size and height, and by no means barely or shabbily + furnished. There was a pretty clock on the mantelpiece. On the wall were + hung designs for the decoration of apartments, and shelves on which were + ranged a few books. + </p> + <p> + The window was open, and on the sill were placed flowerpots; you could + scent the odour they wafted into the room. Altogether it was an apartment + suited to a skilled artisan earning high wages. From the room we are now + in, branched on one side a small but commodious kitchen; on the other + side, on which the door was screened by a portiere, with a border prettily + worked by female hands—some years ago, for it was faded now—was + a bedroom, communicating with one of less size in which the children + slept. We do not enter those additional rooms, but it may be well here to + mention them as indications of the comfortable state of an intelligent + skilled artisan of Paris, who thinks he can better that state by some + revolution which may ruin his employer. + </p> + <p> + Monnier started up at the entrance of Lebeau, and his face showed that he + did not share the dislike to the visit which that of the female partner of + his life had evinced. On the contrary, his smile was cordial, and there + was a hearty ring in the voice which cried out— + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to see you—something to do? Eh!” + </p> + <p> + “Always ready to work for liberty, mon brave.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so: what’s in the wind now?” + </p> + <p> + “O Armand, be prudent—be prudent!” cried the woman, piteously. “Do + not lead him into further mischief, Monsieur Lebeau;” as she faltered + forth the last words, she bowed her head over the two little ones, and her + voice died in sobs. + </p> + <p> + “Monnier,” said Lebeau, gravely, “Madame is right. I ought not to lead you + into further mischief; there are three in the room who have better claims + on you than—” + </p> + <p> + “The cause of millions,” interrupted Monnier. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + He approached the woman and took up one of the children very tenderly, + stroking back its curls and kissing the face, which, if before surprised + and saddened by the mother’s sob, now smiled gaily under the father’s + kiss. + </p> + <p> + “Canst thou doubt, my Heloise,” said the artisan, mildly, “that whatever I + do thou and these are not uppermost in my thoughts? I act for thine + interest and theirs—the world as it exists is the foe of you three. + The world I would replace it by will be more friendly.” + </p> + <p> + The poor woman made no reply, but as he drew her towards him, she leant + her head upon his breast and wept quietly. Monnier led her thus from the + room, whispering words of soothing. The children followed the parents into + the adjoining chamber. In a few minutes Monnier returned, shutting the + door behind him, and drawing the portiere close. + </p> + <p> + “You will excuse me, Citizen, and my poor wife—wife she is to me and + to all who visit here, though the law says she is not.” + </p> + <p> + “I respect Madame the more for her dislike to myself,” said Lebeau, with a + somewhat melancholy smile. + </p> + <p> + “Not dislike to you personally, Citizen, but dislike to the business which + she connects with your visits, and she is more than usually agitated on + that subject this evening, because, just before you came, another visitor + had produced a great effect on her feelings—poor dear Heloise!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! how?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I was employed in the winter in redecorating the salon, and + boudoir, of Madame de Vandemar; her son, M. Raoul, took great interest in + superintending the details. He would sometimes talk to me very civilly, + not only on my work, but on other matters. It seems that Madame now wants + something done to the salle-a-manger, and asked old Gerard—my late + master, you know—to send me. Of course he said that was impossible—for, + though I was satisfied with my own wages, I had induced his other men to + strike, and was one of the ringleaders in the recent strike of artisans in + general—a dangerous man, and he would have nothing more to do with + me. So M. Raoul came to see and talk to me—scarce gone before you + rang at the bell—you might have almost met him on the stairs.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw a beau monsieur come out of the house. And so his talk has affected + Madame.” + </p> + <p> + “Very much; it was quite brother-like. He is one of the religious set, and + they always get at the weak side of the soft sex.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay,” said Lebeau, thoughtfully; “if religion were banished from the laws + of men, it would still find a refuge in the hearts of women. But Raoul de + Vandemar did not presume to preach to Madame upon the sin of loving you + and your children?” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to have heard him preach to her,” cried Monnier, fiercely. + “No, he only tried to reason with me about matters he could not + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Strikes?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not exactly strikes—he did not contend that we workmen had + not full right to combine and to strike for obtaining fairer money’s worth + for our work; but he tried to persuade me that where, as in my case, it + was not a matter of wages, but of political principle—of war against + capitalists—I could but injure myself and mislead others. He wanted + to reconcile me to old Gerard, or to let him find me employment elsewhere; + and when I told him that my honour forbade me to make terms for myself + till those with whom I was joined were satisfied, he said, ‘But if this + lasts much longer, your children will not look so rosy;’ then poor Heloise + began to wring her hands and cry, and he took me aside and wanted to press + money on me—as a loan. He spoke so kindly that I could not be angry; + but when he found I would take nothing, he asked me about some families in + the street of whom he had a list, and who, he was informed, were in great + distress. That is true; I am feeding some of them myself out of my + savings. You see, this young Monsieur belongs to a society of men, many as + young as he is, which visits the poor and dispenses charity. I did not + feel I had a right to refuse aid for others, and I told him where his + money would be best spent. I suppose he went there when he left me.” + </p> + <p> + “I know the society you mean, that of St. Francois de Sales. It comprises + some of the most ancient of that old noblesse to which the ouvriers in the + great Revolution were so remorseless.” + </p> + <p> + “We ouvriers are wiser now; we see that in assailing them, we gave + ourselves worse tyrants in the new aristocracy of the capitalists. Our + quarrel now is that of artisans against employers.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I am aware of that; but to leave general politics, tell me + frankly, How has the strike affected you as yet? I mean in purse? Can you + stand its pressure? If not, you are above the false pride of not taking + help from me, a fellow-conspirator, though you were justified in refusing + it when offered by Raoul de Vandemar, the servant of the Church.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, I refuse aid from any one, except for the common cause. But do + not fear for me, I am not pinched as yet. I have had high wages for some + years, and since I and Heloise came together, I have not wasted a sous out + of doors, except in the way of public duty, such as making converts at the + Jean Jacques and elsewhere; a glass of beer and a pipe don’t cost much. + And Heloise is such a house-wife, so thrifty, scolds me if I buy her a + ribbon, poor love! No wonder that I would pull down a society that dares + to scoff at her—dares to say she is not my wife, and her children + are base born. No, I have some savings left yet. War to society, war to + the knife!” + </p> + <p> + “Monnier,” said Lebeau, in a voice that evinced emotion, “listen to me: I + have received injuries from society which, when they were fresh, + half-maddened me—that is twenty years ago. I would then have thrown + myself into any plot against society that proffered revenge; but society, + my friend, is a wall of very strong masonry, as it now stands; it may be + sapped in the course of a thousand years, but stormed in a day—no. + You dash your head against it—you scatter your brains, and you + dislodge a stone. Society smiles in scorn, effaces the stain, and replaces + the stone. I no longer war against society. I do war against a system in + that society which is hostile to me—systems in France are easily + overthrown. I say this because I want to use you, and I do not want to + deceive.” + </p> + <p> + “Deceive me, bah! You are an honest man,” cried Monnier; and he seized + Lebeau’s hand, and shook it with warmth and vigour. + </p> + <p> + “But for you I should have been a mere grumbler. No doubt I should have + cried out where the shoe pinched, and railed against laws that vex me; but + from the moment you first talked to me I became a new man. You taught me + to act, as Rousseau and Madame de Grantmesnil had taught me to think and + to feel. There is my brother, a grumbler too, but professes to have a + wiser head than mine. He is always warning me against you—against + joining a strike—against doing any thing to endanger my skin. I + always went by his advice till you taught me that it was well enough for + women to talk and complain; men should dare and do.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless,” said Lebeau, “your brother is a safer counsellor to a pere + de famille than I. I repeat what I have so often said before: I desire, + and I resolve, that the Empire of M. Bonaparte shall be overthrown. I see + many concurrent circumstances to render that desire and resolve of + practicable fulfilment. You desire and resolve the same thing. Up to that + point we can work together. I have encouraged your action only so far as + it served my design; but I separate from you the moment you would ask me + to aid your design in the hazard of experiments which the world has never + yet favoured, and trust me, Monnier, the world never will favour.” + </p> + <p> + “That remains to be seen,” said Monnier, with compressed, obstinate lips. + “Forgive me, but you are not young; you belong to an old school.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor young man!” said Lebeau, readjusting his spectacles, “I recognise in + you the genius of Paris, be the genius good or evil. Paris is never warned + by experience. Be it so. I want you so much, your enthusiasm is so fiery, + that I can concede no more to the mere sentiment which makes me say to + myself, ‘It is a shame to use this great-hearted, wrong-headed creature + for my personal ends.’ I come at once to the point—that is, the + matter on which I seek you this evening. At my suggestion, you have been a + ringleader in strikes which have terribly shaken the Imperial system, more + than its Ministers deem; now I want a man like you to assist in a bold + demonstration against the Imperial resort to a rural priest-ridden + suffrage, on the part of the enlightened working class of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” said Monnier. + </p> + <p> + “In a day or two the result of the plebiscite will be known. The result of + universal suffrage will be enormously in favour of the desire expressed by + one man.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe it,” said Monnier, stoutly. “France cannot be so + hoodwinked by the priests.” + </p> + <p> + “Take what I say for granted,” resumed Lebeau, calmly. “On the 8th of this + month we shall know the amount of the majority—some millions of + French votes. I want Paris to separate itself from France, and declare + against those blundering millions. I want an emeute, or rather a menacing + demonstration—not a premature revolution, mind. You must avoid + bloodshed.” + </p> + <p> + “It is easy to say that beforehand; but when a crowd of men once meets in + the streets of Paris—” + </p> + <p> + “It can do much by meeting, and cherishing resentment if the meeting be + dispersed by an armed force, which it would be waste of life to resist.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall see when the time comes,” said Monnier, with a fierce gleam in + his bold eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you, all that is required at this moment is an evident protest of + the artisans of Paris against the votes of the ‘rurals’ of France. Do you + comprehend me?” + </p> + <p> + “I think so; if not, I obey. What we ouvriers want is what we have not got—a + head to dictate action to us.” + </p> + <p> + “See to this, then. Rouse the men you can command. I will take care that + you have plentiful aid from foreigners. We may trust to the confreres of + our council to enlist Poles and Italians; Gaspard le Noy will turn out the + volunteer rioters at his command. Let the emeute be within, say a week, + after the vote of the plebiscite is taken. You will need that time to + prepare.” + </p> + <p> + “Be contented—it shall be done.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, then.” Lebeau leisurely took up his hat and drew on his + gloves—then, as if struck by a sudden thought, he turned briskly on + the artisan and said in quick blunt tones: + </p> + <p> + “Armand Monnier, explain to me why it is that you—a Parisian + artisan, the type of a class the most insubordinate, the most + self-conceited that exists on the face of earth—take without + question, with so docile a submission, the orders of a man who plainly + tells you he does not sympathise in your ultimate objects, of whom you + really know very little, and whose views you candidly own you think are + those of an old and obsolete school of political reasoners.” + </p> + <p> + “You puzzle me to explain,” said Monnier, with an ingenuous laugh, that + brightened up features stern and hard, though comely when in repose. + “Partly, because you are so straightforward, and do not talk blague; + partly, because I don’t think the class I belong to would stir an inch + unless we had a leader of another class—and you give me at least + that leader. Again, you go to that first stage which we all agree to take, + and—well, do you want me to explain more?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Et bien! you have warned me, like an honest man; like an honest man I + warn you. That first step we take together; I want to go a step further; + you retreat, you say, ‘No:’ I reply you are committed; that further step + you must take, or I cry ‘Traitre!—au la lanterne!’ You talk of + ‘superior experience:’ bah! what does experience really tell you? Do you + suppose that Philippe Egalite, when he began to plot against Louis XVI., + meant to vote for his kinsman’s execution by the guillotine? Do you + suppose that Robespierre, when he commenced his career as the foe of + capital punishment, foresaw that he should be the Minister of the Reign of + Terror? Not a bit of it. Each was committed by his use of those he + designed for his tools: so must you be—or you perish.” + </p> + <p> + Lebeau, leaning against the door, heard the frank avowal he had courted + without betraying a change of countenance. But when Armand Monnier had + done, a slight movement of his lips showed emotion; was it of fear or + disdain? + </p> + <p> + “Monnier,” he said, gently; “I am so much obliged to you for the manly + speech you have made. The scruples which my conscience had before + entertained are dispelled. I dreaded lest I, a declared wolf, might seduce + into peril an innocent sheep. I see I have to deal with a wolf of younger + vigour and sharper fangs than myself, so much the better: obey my orders + now; leave it to time to say whether I obey yours later. Au revoir.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0060" id="link2HCH0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + Isaura’s apartment, on the following Thursday evening, was more filled + than usual. Besides her habitual devotees in the artistic or literary + world, there were diplomatists and deputies commixed with many fair chiefs + of la jeunesse doree; amongst the latter the brilliant Enguerrand de + Vandemar, who, deeming the acquaintance of every celebrity essential to + his own celebrity in either Carthage, the beau monde, or the demi-monde, + had, two Thursdays before, made Louvier attend her soiree and present him. + Louvier, though gathering to his own salons authors and artists, very + rarely favoured their rooms with his presence; he did not adorn Isaura’s + party that evening. But Duplessis was there, in compensation. It had + chanced that Valerie had met Isaura at some house in the past winter, and + conceived an enthusiastic affection for her: since then, Valerie came very + often to see her, and made a point of dragging with her to Isaura’s + Thursday reunions her obedient father. Soirees, musical or literary, were + not much in his line; but he had no pleasure like that of pleasing his + spoilt child. Our old friend Frederic Lemercier was also one of Isaura’s + guests that night. He had become more and more intimate with Duplessis, + and Duplessis had introduced him to the fair Valerie as “un jeune homme + plein de moyens, qui ira loin.” + </p> + <p> + Savarin was there of course, and brought with him an English gentleman of + the name of Bevil, as well known at Paris as in London—invited + everywhere—popular everywhere,—one of those welcome + contributors to the luxuries of civilised society who trade in gossip, + sparing no pains to get the pick of it, and exchanging it liberally + sometimes for a haunch of venison, sometimes for a cup of tea. His gossip + not being adulterated with malice was in high repute for genuine worth. + </p> + <p> + If Bevil said, “This story is a fact,” you no more thought of doubting him + than you would doubt Rothschild if he said, “This is Lafitte of ‘48.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bevil was at present on a very short stay at Paris, and, naturally + wishing to make the most of his time, he did not tarry beside Savarin, + but, after being introduced to Isaura, flitted here and there through the + assembly. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Apis Matinae— + More modoque— + Grata carpentis thyma”— +</pre> + <p> + The bee proffers honey, but bears a sting. + </p> + <p> + The room was at its fullest when Gustave Rameau entered, accompanied by + Monsieur de Mauleon. + </p> + <p> + Isaura was agreeably surprised by the impression made on her by the + Vicomte’s appearance and manner. His writings, and such as she had heard + of his earlier repute, had prepared her to see a man decidedly old, of + withered aspect and sardonic smile—aggressive in demeanour—forward + or contemptuous in his very politeness—a Mephistopheles engrafted on + the stem of a Don Juan. She was startled by the sight of one who, despite + his forty-eight years—and at Paris a man is generally older at + forty-eight than he is elsewhere—seemed in the zenith of ripened + manhood—startled yet more by the singular modesty of a deportment + too thoroughly high-bred not to be quietly simple—startled most by a + melancholy expression in eyes that could be at times soft, though always + so keen, and in the grave pathetic smile which seemed to disarm censure of + past faults in saying, “I have known sorrows.” + </p> + <p> + He did not follow up his introduction to his young hostess by any of the + insipid phrases of compliment to which she was accustomed; but, after + expressing in grateful terms his thanks for the honour she had permitted + Rameau to confer on him, he moved aside, as if he had no right to detain + her from other guests more worthy her notice, towards the doorway, taking + his place by Enguerrand amidst a group of men of whom Duplessis was the + central figure. + </p> + <p> + At that time—the first week in May, 1870—all who were then in + Paris will remember that there were two subjects uppermost in the mouths + of men: first, the plebiscite; secondly, the conspiracy to murder the + Emperor—which the disaffected considered to be a mere fable, a + pretence got up in time to serve the plebiscite and prop the Empire. + </p> + <p> + Upon this latter subject Duplessis had been expressing himself with + unwonted animation. A loyal and earnest Imperialist, it was only with + effort that he could repress his scorn of that meanest sort of gossip + which is fond of ascribing petty motives to eminent men. + </p> + <p> + To him nothing could be more clearly evident than the reality of this + conspiracy, and he had no tolerance for the malignant absurdity of + maintaining that the Emperor or his Ministers could be silly and wicked + enough to accuse seventy-two persons of a crime which the police had been + instructed to invent. + </p> + <p> + As De Mauleon approached, the financier brought his speech to an abrupt + close. He knew in the Vicomte de Mauleon the writer of articles which had + endangered the Government, and aimed no pointless shafts against its + Imperial head. + </p> + <p> + “My cousin,” said Enguerrand, gaily, as he exchanged a cordial shake of + the hand with Victor, “I congratulate you on the fame of journalist, into + which you have vaulted, armed cap-a pie, like a knight of old into his + saddle; but I don’t sympathise with the means you have taken to arrive at + that renown. I am not myself an Imperialist—a Vandemar can be + scarcely that. But if I am compelled to be on board a ship, I don’t wish + to take out its planks and let in an ocean, when all offered to me instead + is a crazy tub and a rotten rope.” + </p> + <p> + “Tres bien,” said Duplessis, in Parliamentary tone and phrase. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said De Mauleon, with his calm smile, “would you like the captain + of the ship, when the sky darkened and the sea rose, to ask the common + sailors ‘whether they approved his conduct on altering his course or + shortening his sail’? Better trust to a crazy tub and a rotten rope than + to a ship in which the captain consults a plebiscite.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said Duplessis, “your metaphor is ill chosen no metaphor + indeed is needed. The head of the State was chosen by the voice of the + people, and, when required to change the form of administration which the + people had sanctioned, and inclined to do so from motives the most + patriotic and liberal, he is bound again to consult the people from whom + he holds his power. It is not, however, of the plebiscite we were + conversing, so much as of the atrocious conspiracy of assassins—so + happily discovered in time. I presume that Monsieur de Mauleon must share + the indignation which true Frenchmen of every party must feel against a + combination united by the purpose of murder.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte bowed as in assent. “But do you believe,” asked a Liberal + Depute, “that such a combination existed, except in the visions of the + police or the cabinet of a Minister?” + </p> + <p> + Duplessis looked keenly at De Mauleon while this question was put to him. + Belief or disbelief in the conspiracy was with him, and with many, the + test by which a sanguinary revolutionist was distinguished from an honest + politician. + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi,” answered De Mauleon, shrugging his shoulders, “I have only one + belief left; but that is boundless. I believe in the folly of mankind in + general, and of Frenchmen in particular. That seventy-two men should plot + the assassination of a sovereign on whose life interests so numerous and + so watchful depend, and imagine they could keep a secret which any + drunkard amongst them would blab out, any tatterdemalion would sell, is a + betise so gross that I think it highly probable. But pardon me if I look + upon the politics of Paris much as I do upon its mud—one must pass + through it when one walks in the street. One changes one’s shoes before + entering the salon. A word with you, Enguerrand,”—and taking his + kinsman’s arm he drew him aside from the circle. “What has become of your + brother? I see nothing of him now.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Raoul,” answered Enguerrand, throwing himself on a couch in a recess, + and making room for De Mauleon beside him—“Raoul is devoting himself + to the distressed ouvriers who have chosen to withdraw from work. When he + fails to persuade them to return, he forces food and fuel on their wives + and children. My good mother encourages him in this costly undertaking, + and no one but you who believe in the infinity of human folly would credit + me when I tell you that his eloquence has drawn from me all the argent de + poche I get from our shop. As for himself, he has sold his horses, and + even grudges a cab-fare, saying, ‘That is a meal for a family.’ Ah! if he + had but gone into the Church, what a saint would have deserved + canonisation!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not lament—he will probably have what is a better claim than + mere saintship on Heaven—martyrdom,” said De Mauleon, with a smile + in which sarcasm disappeared in melancholy. “Poor Raoul!—and what of + my other cousin, the beau Marquis? Several months ago his Legitimist faith + seemed vacillating—he talked to me very fairly about the duties a + Frenchman owed to France, and hinted that he should place his sword at the + command of Napoleon III. I have not yet heard of him as a soldat de France—I + hear a great deal of him as a viveur de Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know why his desire for a military career was frost-bitten?” + </p> + <p> + “No! why?” + </p> + <p> + “Alain came from Bretagne profoundly ignorant of most things known to a + gamin of Paris. When he conscientiously overcame the scruples natural to + one of his name and told the Duchesse de Tarascon that he was ready to + fight under the flag of France whatever its colour, he had a vague + reminiscence of ancestral Rochebriants earning early laurels at the head + of their regiments. At all events he assumed as a matter of course that + he, in the first rank as gentilhomme, would enter the army, if as a + sous-lieutenant, still as gentilhomme. But when told that, as he had been + at no military college, he could only enter the ranks as a private soldier—herd + with private soldiers—for at least two years before, passing through + the grade of corporal, his birth, education, habits of life could, with + great favour, raise him to the station of a sous-lieutenant, you may + conceive that the martial ardour of a Rochebriant was somewhat cooled.” + </p> + <p> + “If he knew what the dormitory of French privates is, and how difficult a + man well educated well brought up, finds it, first, to endure the coarsest + ribaldry and the loudest blasphemy, and then, having endured and been + compelled to share them, ever enforce obedience and discipline as a + superior among those with whom just before he was an equal, his ardour + would not have been merely cooled—it would have been changed into + despair for the armies of France, if hereafter they are met by those whose + officers have been trained to be officers from the outset and have imbibed + from their cradle an education not taught to the boy-pedants from school—the + two-fold education how with courtesy to command, how with dignity to obey. + To return to Rochebriant, such salons as I frequent are somewhat formal—as + befits my grave years and my modest income; I may add, now that you know + my vocation, befits me also as a man who seeks rather to be instructed + than amused. In those salons I did, last year sometimes, however, meet + Rochebriant—as I sometimes still meet you; but of late he has + deserted such sober reunions, and I hear with pain that he is drifting + among those rocks against which my own youth was shipwrecked. Is the + report true?” + </p> + <p> + “I fear,” said Enguerrand, reluctantly, “that at least the report is not + unfounded. And my conscience accuses me of having been to blame in the + first instance. You see, when Alain made terms with Louvier by which he + obtained a very fair income, if prudently managed, I naturally wished that + a man of so many claims to social distinction, and who represents the + oldest branch of my family, should take his right place in our world of + Paris. I gladly therefore presented him to the houses and the men most a + la mode—advised him as to the sort of establishment, in apartments, + horses, &c., which it appeared to me that he might reasonably afford—I + mean such as, with his means, I should have prescribed to myself—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I understand. But you, dear Enguerrand, are a born Parisian, every + inch of you: and a born Parisian is, whatever be thought to the contrary, + the best manager in the world. He alone achieves the difficult art of + uniting thrift with show. It is your Provincial who comes to Paris in the + freshness of undimmed youth, who sows his whole life on its barren + streets. I guess the rest: Alain is ruined.” Enguerrand, who certainly was + so far a born Parisian that with all his shrewdness and savoir faire, he + had a wonderfully sympathetic heart, very easily moved, one way or the + other—Enguerrand winced at his elder kinsman’s words complimentarily + reproachful, and said in unwonted tones of humility: “Cousin, you are + cruel, but you are in the right. I did not calculate sufficiently on the + chances of Alain’s head being turned. Hear my excuse. He seemed to me so + much more thoughtful than most at our age are, so much more stately and + proud; well, also so much more pure, so impressed with the + responsibilities of station, so bent on retaining the old lands in + Bretagne; by habit and rearing so simple and self-denying,—that I + took it for granted he was proof against stronger temptations than those + which a light nature like my own puts aside with a laugh. And at first I + had no reason to think myself deceived, when, some months ago, I heard + that he was getting into debt, losing at play, paying court to female + vampires, who drain the life-blood of those on whom they fasten their + fatal lips. Oh, then I spoke to him earnestly!” + </p> + <p> + “And in vain?” + </p> + <p> + “In vain. A certain Chevalier de Finisterre, whom you may have heard of—” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, and met; a friend of Louvier’s—” + </p> + <p> + “The same man—has obtained over him an influence which so far + subdues mine, that he almost challenged me when I told him his friend was + a scamp. In fine, though Alain and I have not actually quarrelled, we pass + each other with, ‘Bon jour, mon ami.’” + </p> + <p> + “Hum! My dear Enguerrand, you have done all you could. Flies will be + flies, and spiders, spiders, till the earth is destroyed by a comet. Nay, + I met a distinguished naturalist in America who maintained that we shall + find flies and spiders in the next world.” + </p> + <p> + “You have been in America? Ah, true—I remember, California!” + </p> + <p> + “Where have I not been? Tush! music—shall I hear our fair hostess + sing?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid not to-night: because Madame S————— + is to favour us, and the Signorina makes it a rule not to sing at her own + house when professional artists do. You must hear the Cicogna quietly some + day; such a voice, nothing like it.” + </p> + <p> + Madame S————-, who, since she had learned that + there was no cause to apprehend that Isaura might become her professional + rival, conceived for her a wonderful affection, and willingly contributed + her magnificent gifts of song to the charms of Isaura’s salon, now began a + fragment from I Puritani, which held the audience as silent as the ghosts + listening to Sappho, and when it was over, several of the guests slipped + away, especially those who disliked music, and feared Madame S————- + might begin again. Enguerrand was not one of such soulless recreants, but + he had many other places to go to. Besides, Madame S———— + was no novelty to him. + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon now approached Isaura, who was seated next to Valerie, and + after well-merited encomium on Madame S———‘s + performance, slid into some critical comparisons between that singer and + those of a former generation, which interested Isaura, and evinced to her + quick perceptions that kind of love for music which has been refined by + more knowledge of the art than is common to mere amateurs. + </p> + <p> + “You have studied music, Monsieur de Mauleon,” she said. “Do you not + perform yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I? No. But music has always had a fatal attraction for me. I ascribe half + the errors of my life to that temperament which makes me too fascinated by + harmonies—too revolted by discords.” + </p> + <p> + “I should have thought such a temperament would have led from errors—are + not errors discords?” + </p> + <p> + “To the inner sense, yes; but to the outer sense not always. Virtues are + often harsh to the ear—errors very sweet-voiced. The sirens did not + sing out of tune. Better to stop one’s ears than glide on Scylla or be + merged into Charybdis.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” cried Valerie, with a pretty brusquerie which became her well, + “you talk like a Vandal.” + </p> + <p> + “It is, I think, by Mademoiselle Duplessis that I have the honour to be + rebuked. Is Monsieur your father very susceptible to music?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I cannot say that he cares much for it. But then his mind is so + practical—” + </p> + <p> + “And his life so successful. No Scylla, no Charybdis for him. However, + Mademoiselle, I am not quite the Vandal you suppose, I do not say that + susceptibility to the influence of music may not be safe, nay, healthful, + to others it was not so to me in my youth. It can do me no harm now.” + </p> + <p> + Here Duplessis came up and whispered his daughter “it was time to leave; + they had promised the Duchesse de Tarascon to assist at the soiree she + gave that night.” Valerie took her father’s arm with a brightening smile + and a heightened colour. Alain de Rochebriant might probably be at the + Duchesse’s. + </p> + <p> + “Are you not going also to the Hotel de Tarascon, M. de Mauleon?” asked + Duplessis. + </p> + <p> + “No; I was never there but once. The Duchesse is an Imperialist, at once + devoted and acute, and no doubt very soon divined my lack of faith in her + idols.” + </p> + <p> + Duplessis frowned, and hastily led Valerie away. + </p> + <p> + In a few minutes the room was comparatively deserted. De Mauleon, however, + lingered by the side of Isaura till all the other guests were gone. Even + then he lingered still, and renewed the interrupted conversation with her, + the Venosta joining therein; and so agreeable did he make himself to her + Italian tastes by a sort of bitter-sweet wisdom like that of her native + proverbs—comprising much knowledge of mankind on the unflattering + side of humanity in that form of pleasantry which has a latent sentiment + of pathos—that the Venosta exclaimed, “Surely you must have been + brought up in Florence!” + </p> + <p> + There was that in De Mauleon’s talk hostile to all which we call romance + that excited the imagination of Isaura, and compelled her instinctive love + for whatever is more sweet, more beautiful, more ennobling on the many + sides of human life, to oppose what she deemed the paradoxes of a man who + had taught himself to belie even his own nature. She became eloquent, and + her countenance, which in ordinary moments owed much of its beauty to an + expression of meditative gentleness, was now lighted up by the energy of + earnest conviction—the enthusiasm of an impassioned zeal. + </p> + <p> + Gradually De Mauleon relaxed his share in the dialogue, and listened to + her, rapt and dreamily as in his fiery youth he had listened to the songs + of the sirens. No siren Isaura! She was defending her own cause, though + unconsciously—defending the vocation of art as the embellisher of + external nature, and more than embellisher of the nature which dwells + crude, but plastic in the soul of man: indeed therein the creator of a new + nature, strengthened, expanded, and brightened in proportion as it + accumulates the ideas that tend beyond the boundaries of the visible and + material nature, which is finite; for ever seeking in the unseen and the + spiritual the goals in the infinite which it is their instinct to divine. + “That which you contemptuously call romance,” said Isaura, “is not + essential only to poets and artists. The most real side of every life, + from the earliest dawn of mind in the infant, is the romantic.” + </p> + <p> + “When the child is weaving flower-chains, chasing butterflies, or sitting + apart and dreaming what it will do in the future, is not that the child’s + real life, and yet is it not also the romantic?” + </p> + <p> + “But there comes a time when we weave no flower-chains, and chase no + butterflies.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it so?—still on one side of life, flowers and butterflies may be + found to the last; and at least to the last are there no dreams of the + future? Have you no such dreams at this moment? and without the romance of + such dreams, would there be any reality to human life which could + distinguish it from the life of the weed that rots on Lethe?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas, Mademoiselle,” said De Mauleon, rising to take leave, “your + argument must rest without answer. I would not, if I could, confute the + beautiful belief that belongs to youth, fusing into one rainbow all the + tints that can colour the world. But the Signora Venosta will acknowledge + the truth of an old saying expressed in every civilised language, but + best, perhaps in that of the Florentine—‘You might as well physic + the dead as instruct the old.’” + </p> + <p> + “But you are not old!” said the Venosta, with Florentine politeness,— + “you! not a grey hair.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Tis not by the grey of the hair that one knows the age of the heart,” + answered De Mauleon, in another paraphrase of Italian proverb, and he was + gone. + </p> + <p> + As he walked homeward, through deserted streets, Victor de Mauleon thought + to himself, “Poor girl, how I pity her! married to a Gustave Rameau—married + to any man—nothing in the nature of man, be he the best and the + cleverest, can ever realise the dream of a girl who is pure and has + genius. Ah, is not the converse true? What girl, the best and the + cleverest, comes up to the ideal of even a commonplace man—if he + ever dreamed of an ideal!” + </p> + <p> + Then he paused, and in a moment or so afterwards his thought knew such + questionings no more. It turned upon personalities, on stratagems and + plots, on ambition. The man had more than his share of that peculiar + susceptibility which is one of the characteristics of his countrymen—susceptibility + to immediate impulse—susceptibility to fleeting impressions. It was + a key to many mysteries in his character when he owned his subjection to + the influence of music, and in music recognised not the seraph’s harp, but + the siren’s song. If you could have permanently fixed Victor de Mauleon in + one of the good moments of his life—even now—some moment of + exquisite kindness—of superb generosity—of dauntless courage—you + would have secured a very rare specimen of noble humanity. But so to fix + him was impossible. + </p> + <p> + That impulse of the moment vanished the moment after; swept aside by the + force of his very talents—talents concentrated by his intense sense + of individuality—sense of wrongs or of rights—interests or + objects personal to himself. He extended the royal saying, “L’etat, c’est + moi,” to words far more grandiloquent. “The universe, ‘tis I.” The Venosta + would have understood him and smiled approvingly, if he had said with + good-humoured laugh, “I dead, the world is dead!” That is an Italian + proverb, and means much the same thing. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK VIII. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0061" id="link2HCH0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + On the 8th of May the vote of the plebiscite was recorded,—between + seven and eight millions of Frenchmen in support of the Imperial programme—in + plain words, of the Emperor himself—against a minority of 1,500,000. + But among the 1,500,000 were the old throne-shakers-those who compose and + those who lead the mob of Paris. On the 14th, as Rameau was about to quit + the editorial bureau of his printing-office, a note was brought in to him + which strongly excited his nervous system. It contained a request to see + him forthwith, signed by those two distinguished foreign members of the + Secret Council of Ten, Thaddeus Loubinsky and Leonardo Raselli. + </p> + <p> + The meetings of that Council had been so long suspended that Rameau had + almost forgotten its existence. He gave orders to admit the conspirators. + The two men entered, the Pole, tall, stalwart, and with martial stride—the + Italian, small, emaciated, with skulking, noiseless, cat-like step, both + looking wondrous threadbare, and in that state called “shabby genteel,” + which belongs to the man who cannot work for his livelihood, and assumes a + superiority over the man who can. Their outward appearance was in notable + discord with that of the poet-politician—he all new in the last + fashions of Parisian elegance, and redolent of Parisian prosperity and + extrait de Mousseline! + </p> + <p> + “Confrere,” said the Pole, seating himself on the edge of the table, while + the Italian leaned against the mantelpiece, and glanced round the room + with furtive eye, as if to detect its innermost secrets, or decide where + safest to drop a Lucifer-match for its conflagration,—“confrere,” + said the Pole, “your country needs you—” + </p> + <p> + “Rather the cause of all countries,” interposed the Italian softly,—“Humanity.” + </p> + <p> + “Please to explain yourselves; but stay, wait a moment,” said Rameau; and + rising, he went to the door, opened it, looked forth, ascertained that the + coast was clear, then reclosed the door as cautiously as a prudent man + closes his pocket whenever shabby-genteel visitors appeal to him in the + cause of his country, still more if they appeal in that of Humanity. + </p> + <p> + “Confrere,” said the Pole, “this day a movement is to be made—a + demonstration on behalf of your country—” + </p> + <p> + “Of Humanity,” again softly interposed the Italian. “Attend and share it,” + said the Pole. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said Rameau, “I do not know what you mean. I am now the + editor of a journal in which the proprietor does not countenance violence; + and if you come to me as a member of the Council, you must be aware that I + should obey no orders but that of its president, whom I—I have not + seen for nearly a year; indeed I know not if the Council still exists.” + </p> + <p> + “The Council exists, and with it the obligation it imposes,” replied + Thaddeus. + </p> + <p> + “Pampered with luxury,” here the Pole raised his voice, “do you dare to + reject the voice of Poverty and Freedom?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, dear but too vehement confrere,” murmured the bland Italian; + “permit me to dispel the reasonable doubts of our confrere,” and he took + out of his breast-pocket a paper which he presented to Rameau; on it were + written these words: + </p> + <p> + “This evening May 24th. Demonstration.—Faubourg du Temple.—Watch + events, under orders of A. M. Bid the youngest member take that first + opportunity to test nerves and discretion. He is not to act, but to + observe.” + </p> + <p> + No name was appended to this instruction, but a cipher intelligible to all + members of the Council as significant of its president, Jean Lebeau. + </p> + <p> + “If I err not,” said the Italian, “Citizen Rameau is our youngest + confrere.” + </p> + <p> + Rameau paused. The penalties for disobedience to an order of the President + of the Council were too formidable to be disregarded. There could be no + doubt that,—though his name was not mentioned, he, Rameau, was + accurately designated as the youngest member of the Council. Still, + however he might have owed his present position to the recommendation of + Lebeau, there was nothing in the conversation of M. de Mauleon which would + warrant participation in a popular emeute by the editor of a journal + belonging to that mocker of the mob. Ah! but—and here again he + glanced over the paper—he was asked “not to act; but to observe.” To + observe was the duty of a journalist. He might go to the demonstration as + De Mauleon confessed he had gone to the Communist Club, a philosophical + spectator. + </p> + <p> + “You do not disobey this order?” said the Pole, crossing his arms. + </p> + <p> + “I shall certainly go into the Faubourg du Temple this evening,” answered + Rameau, drily, “I have business that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Bon!” said the Pole; “I did not think you would fail us, though you do + edit a journal which says not a word on the duties that bind the French + people to the resuscitation of Poland.” + </p> + <p> + “And is not pronounced in decided accents upon the cause of the human + race,” put in the Italian, whispering. + </p> + <p> + “I do not write the political articles in Le Seas Commun,” answered + Rameau; “and I suppose that our president is satisfied with them since he + recommended me to the preference of the person who does. Have you more to + say? Pardon me, my time is precious, for it does not belong to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Eno’!” said the Italian, “we will detain you no longer.” Here, with a bow + and a smile, he glided towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “Confrere,” muttered the Pole, lingering, “you must have become very rich!—do + not forget the wrongs of Poland—I am their Representative—I—speaking + in that character, not as myself individually—I have not + breakfasted!” + </p> + <p> + Rameau, too thoroughly Parisian not to be as lavish of his own money as he + was envious of another’s, slipped some pieces of gold in the Pole’s hand. + The Pole’s bosom heaved with manly emotion: “These pieces bear the + effigies of the tyrant—I accept them as redeemed from disgrace by + their uses to Freedom.” + </p> + <p> + “Share them with Signor Raselli in the name of the same cause,” whispered + Rameau, with a smile he might have plagiarised from De Mauleon. + </p> + <p> + The Italian, whose ear was inured to whispers, heard and turned round as + he stood at the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “No, confrere of France—no, confrere of Poland—I am Italian. + All ways to take the life of an enemy are honourable—no way is + honourable which begs money from a friend.” + </p> + <p> + An hour or so later, Rameau was driven in his comfortable coupe to the + Faubourg du Temple. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, at the angle of a street, his coachman was stopped—a + rough-looking man appeared at the door—__"Descends, mon petit + bourgeois__.” Behind the rough-looking man were menacing faces. + </p> + <p> + Rameau was not physically a coward—very few Frenchmen are, still + fewer Parisians; and still fewer no matter what their birthplace, the men + whom we call vain—the men who over-much covet distinction, and + over-much dread reproach. + </p> + <p> + “Why should I descend at your summons?” said Rameau, haughtily. “Bah! + Coachman, drive on!” + </p> + <p> + The rough-looking man opened the door, and silently extended a hand to + Rameau, saying gently: “Take my advice, mon bourgeois. Get out—we + want your carriage. It is a day of barricades—every little helps, + even your coupe!” + </p> + <p> + While this man spoke others gesticulated; some shrieked out, “He is an + employer! he thinks he can drive over the employed!” + </p> + <p> + Some leader of the crowd—a Parisian crowd always has a classical + leader, who has never read the classics—thundered forth, “Tarquin’s + car! Down with Tarquin!” Therewith came a yell, “A la lanterne—Tarquin!” + </p> + <p> + We Anglo-Saxons, of the old country or the new, are not familiarised to + the dread roar of a populace delighted to have a Roman authority for + tearing us to pieces; still Americans know what is Lynch law. Rameau was + in danger of Lynch law, when suddenly a face not unknown to him interposed + between himself and the rough-looking man. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” cried this new comer, “my young confrere, Gustave Rameau, welcome! + Citizens, make way. I answer for this patriot—I, Armand Monnier. He + comes to help use! Is this the way you receive him?” Then in a low voice + to Rameau, “Come out. Give your coupe to the barricade. What matters such + rubbish? Trust to me—I expected you. Hist!—Lebeau bids me see + that you are safe.” Rameau then, seeking to drape himself in majesty,—as + the aristocrats of journalism in a city wherein no other aristocracy is + recognised naturally and commendably do, when ignorance combined with + physical strength asserts itself to be a power, beside which the power of + knowledge is what a learned poodle is to a tiger—Rameau then + descended from his coupe, and said to this Titan of labour, as a French + marquis might have said to his valet, and as, when the French marquis has + become a ghost of the past, the man who keeps a coupe says to the man who + mends its wheels, “Honest fellow, I trust you.” + </p> + <p> + Monnier led the journalist through the mob to the rear of the barricade + hastily constructed. Here were assembled very motley groups. + </p> + <p> + The majority were ragged boys, the gamins of Paris, commingled with + several women of no reputable appearance, some dingily, some gaudily + apparelled. The crowd did not appear as if the business in hand was a very + serious one. Amidst the din of voices the sounds of laughter rose + predominant, jests and bon mots flew from lip to lip. The astonishing + good-humour of the Parisians was not yet excited into the ferocity that + grows out of it by a street contest. It was less like a popular emeute + than a gathering of schoolboys, bent not less on fun than on mischief. + But, still, amid this gayer crowd were sinister, lowering faces; the + fiercest were not those of the very poor, but rather of artisans, who, to + judge by their dress, seemed well off of men belonging to yet higher + grades. Rameau distinguished amongst these the medecin des pauvres, the + philosophical atheist, sundry young, long-haired artists, middle aged + writers for the Republican press, in close neighbourhood with ruffians of + villainous aspect, who might have been newly returned from the galleys. + None were regularly armed; still revolvers and muskets and long knives + were by no means unfrequently interspersed among the rioters. The whole + scene was to Rameau a confused panorama, and the dissonant tumult of yells + and laughter, of menace and joke, began rapidly to act on his + impressionable nerves. He felt that which is the prevalent character of a + Parisian riot—the intoxication of an impulsive sympathy; coming + there as a reluctant spectator, if action commenced he would have been + borne readily into the thick of the action—he could not have helped + it; already he grew impatient of the suspense of strife. Monnier having + deposited him safely with his back to a wall, at the corner of a street + handy for flight, if flight became expedient, had left him for several + minutes, having business elsewhere. Suddenly the whisper of the Italian + stole into his ear—“These men are fools. This is not the way to do + business; this does not hurt the robber of Nice—Garibaldi’s Nice: + they should have left it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “What would you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I have invented a new machine,” whispered the Friend of humanity; “it + would remove all at one blow—lion and lioness, whelp and jackals—and + then the Revolution if you will! not this paltry tumult. The cause of the + human race is being frittered away. I am disgusted with Lebeau. Thrones + are not overturned by gamins.” + </p> + <p> + Before Rameau could answer, Monnier rejoined him. The artisan’s face was + overcast—his lips compressed, yet quivering with indignation. + “Brother,” he said to Rameau, “to-day the cause is betrayed”—(the + word trahi was just then coming into vogue at Paris)—“the blouses I + counted on are recreant. I have just learned that all is quiet in the + other quartiers where the rising was to have been simultaneous with this. + We are in a guet-apens—the soldiers will be down on us in a few + minutes; hark! don’t you hear the distant tramp? Nothing for us but to die + like men. Our blood will be avenged later. Here,” and he thrust a revolver + into Rameau’s hand. Then with a lusty voice that rang through the crowd, + he shouted “Vive le peuple!” The rioters caught and re-echoed the cry, + mingled with other cries,’ “Vive la Republique!” “Vive le drapeau rouge!” + </p> + <p> + The shouts were yet at their full when a strong hand grasped Monnier’s + arm, and a clear, deep, but low voice thrilled through his ear: “Obey! I + warned you. No fight to-day. Time not ripe. All that is needed is done—do + not undo it. Hist! the sergens de ville are force enough to disperse the + swarm of those gnats. Behind the sergens come soldiers who will not + fraternise. Lose not one life to-day. The morrow when we shall need every + man—nay, every gamin—will dawn soon. Answer not. Obey!” The + same strong hand quitting its hold on Monnier, then seized Rameau by the + wrist, and the same deep voice said, “Come with me.” Rameau, turning in + amaze, not unmixed with anger, saw beside him a tall man with sombrero hat + pressed close over his head, and in the blouse of a labourer, but through + such disguise he recognized the pale grey whiskers and green spectacles of + Lebeau. He yielded passively to the grasp that led him away down the + deserted street at the angle. + </p> + <p> + At the further end of that street, however, was heard the steady thud of + hoofs. + </p> + <p> + “The soldiers are taking the mob at its rear,” said Lebeau, calmly; “we + have not a moment to lose—this way,” and he plunged into a dismal + court, then into a labyrinth of lanes, followed mechanically by Rameau. + They issued at last on the Boulevards, in which the usual loungers were + quietly sauntering, wholly unconscious of the riot elsewhere. “Now, take + that fiacre and go home; write down your impressions of what you have + seen, and take your MS. to M. de Mauleon.” Lebeau here quitted him. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile all happened as Lebeau had predicted. The sergens de ville + showed themselves in front of the barricades, a small troop of mounted + soldiers appeared in the rear. The mob greeted the first with yells and a + shower of stones; at the sight of the last they fled in all directions; + and the sergens de ville, calmly scaling the barricades, carried off in + triumph, as prisoners of war, 4 gamins, 3 women, and 1 Irishman loudly + protesting innocence, and shrieking “Murther!” So ended the first + inglorious rise against the plebiscite and the Empire, on the 14th of May, + 1870. + </p> + <p> + From Isaura Cicogna to Madame de Grantmesnil. Saturday. May 21. + </p> + <p> + “I am still, dearest Eulalie, under the excitement of impressions wholly + new to me. I have this day witnessed one of those scenes which take us out + of our private life, not into the world of fiction, but of history, in + which we live as in the life of a nation. You know how intimate I have + become with Valerie Duplessis. She is in herself so charming in her + combination of petulant wilfulness and guileless naivete, that she might + sit as a model for one of your exquisite heroines. Her father, who is in + great favour at Court, had tickets for the Salle des Etats of the Louvre + today—when, as the journals will tell you, the results of the + plebiscite were formally announced to the Emperor—and I accompanied + him and Valerie. I felt, on entering the hall, as if I had been living for + months in an atmosphere of false rumours, for those I chiefly meet in the + circles of artists and men of letters, and the wits and flaneurs who haunt + such circles, are nearly all hostile to the Emperor. They agree, at least, + in asserting the decline of his popularity—the failure of his + intellectual powers; in predicting his downfall—deriding the notion + of a successor in his son. Well, I know not how to reconcile these + statements with the spectacle I have beheld to-day. + </p> + <p> + “In the chorus of acclamation amidst which the Emperor entered the hall, + it seemed as if one heard the voice of the France he had just appealed to. + If the Fates are really weaving woe and shame in his woof, it is in hues + which, to mortal eyes, seem brilliant with glory and joy. + </p> + <p> + “You will read the address of the President of the Corps Legislatif; I + wonder how it will strike you! I own fairly that me it wholly carried + away. At each sentiment I murmured to myself, ‘Is not this true? and, if + true, are France and human nature ungrateful?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It is now,’ said the President, ‘eighteen years since France, wearied + with confusion, and anxious for security, confiding in your genuis and the + Napoleonic dynasty, placed in your hands, together with the Imperial + Crown, the authority which the public necessity demanded.’ Then the + address proceeded to enumerate the blessings that ensued—social + order speedily restored—the welfare of all classes of society + promoted—advances in commerce and manufactures to an extent hitherto + unknown. Is not this true? and, if so, are you, noble daughter of France, + ungrateful? + </p> + <p> + “Then came words which touched me deeply—me, who, knowing nothing of + politics, still feel the link that unites Art to Freedom: ‘But from the + first your Majesty has looked forward to the time when this concentration + of power would no longer correspond to the aspirations of a tranquil and + reassured country, and, foreseeing the progress of modern society, you + proclaimed that ‘Liberty must be the crowning of the edifice.‘’ Passing + then over the previous gradual advances in popular government, the + President came to the ‘present self-abnegation, unprecedented in history,’ + and to the vindication of that plebiscite which I have heard so assailed—viz., + Fidelity to the great principle upon which the throne was founded, + required that so important a modification of a power bestowed by the + people should not be made without the participation of the people + themselves. Then, enumerating the millions who had welcomed the new form + of government—the President paused a second or two, as if with + suppressed emotion—and every one present held his breath, till, in a + deeper voice, through which there ran a quiver that thrilled through the + hall, he concluded with—‘France is with you; France places the cause + of liberty under the protection of your dynasty and the great bodies of + the State.’ Is France with him? I know not; but if the malcontents of + France had been in the hall at that moment, I believe they would have felt + the power of that wonderful sympathy which compels all the hearts in great + audiences to beat in accord, and would have answered, ‘It is true.’ + </p> + <p> + “All eyes now fixed on the Emperor, and I noticed few eyes which were not + moist with tears. You know that calm unrevealing face of his—a face + which sometimes disappoints expectation. But there is that in it which I + have seen in no other, but which I can imagine to have been common to the + Romans of old, the dignity that arises from self-control—an + expression which seems removed from the elation of joy, the depression of + sorrow—not unbecoming to one who has known great vicissitudes of + Fortune, and is prepared alike for her frowns or her smiles. + </p> + <p> + “I had looked at that face while M. Schneider was reading the address—it + moved not a muscle, it might have been a face of marble. Even when at + moments the words were drowned in applause and the Empress, striving at + equal composure, still allowed us to see a movement of her eye lids, a + tremble on her lips. The boy at his right, heir to his dynasty, had his + looks fixed on the President, as if eagerly swallowing each word in the + address, save once or twice, when he looked around the hall curiously, and + with a smile as a mere child might look. He struck me as a mere child. + Next to the Prince was one of those countenances which once seen are never + to be forgotten—the true Napoleonic type, brooding, thoughtful, + ominous, beautiful. But not with the serene energy that characterises the + head of the first Napoleon when Emperor, and wholly without the restless + eagerness for action which is stamped in the lean outline of Napoleon when + First Consul: no—in Prince Napoleon there is a beauty to which, as + woman, I could never give my heart—were I a man, the intellect that + would not command my trust. But, nevertheless, in beauty, it is signal, + and in that beauty the expression of intellect is predominant. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear Eulalie, how I am digressing! The Emperor spoke—and + believe me, Eulalie, whatever the journals or your compatriots may + insinuate, there is in that man no sign of declining intellect or failing + health. I care not what may be his years, but that man is in mind and in + health as young as Caesar when he crossed the Rubicon. + </p> + <p> + “The old cling to the past—they do not go forward to the future. + There was no going back in that speech of the Emperor. There was something + grand and something young in the modesty with which he put aside all + references to that which his Empire had done in the past, and said with a + simple earnestness of manner which I cannot adequately describe— + </p> + <p> + “‘We must more than ever look fearlessly forward to the future. Who can be + opposed to the progressive march of a regime founded by a great people in + the midst of political disturbance, and which now is fortified by + liberty?’ + </p> + <p> + “As he closed, the walls of that vast hall seemed to rock with an applause + that must have been heard on the other side of the Seine. + </p> + <p> + “‘Vive l’Empereur!’” “‘Vive l’Imperatrice!’” “‘Vive le Prince Imperial!’”—and + the last cry was yet more prolonged than the others, as if to affirm the + dynasty. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly I can imagine no Court in the old days of chivalry more + splendid than the audience in that grand hall of the Louvre. To the right + of the throne all the ambassadors of the civilised world in the blaze of + their rich costumes and manifold orders. In the gallery at the left, yet + more behind, the dresses and jewels of the dames d’honneur and of the + great officers of State. And when the Empress rose to depart, certainly my + fancy cannot picture a more queenlike image, or one that seemed more in + unison with the representation of royal pomp and power. The very dress, of + colour which would have been fatal to the beauty of most women equally + fair—a deep golden colour—(Valerie profanely called it buff)—seemed + so to suit the splendour of the ceremony and the day; it seemed as if that + stately form stood in the midst of a sunlight reflected from itself. Day + seemed darkened when that sunlight passed away. + </p> + <p> + “I fear you will think I have suddenly grown servile to the gauds and + shows of mere royalty. I ask myself if that be so—I think not. + Surely it is a higher sense of greatness which has been impressed on me by + the pageant of to-day I feel as if there were brought vividly before me + the majesty of France, through the representation of the ruler she has + crowned. + </p> + <p> + “I feel also as if there, in that hall, I found a refuge from all the + warring contests in which no two seem to me in agreement as to the sort of + government to be established in place of the present. The ‘Liberty’ + clamoured for by one would cut the throat of the ‘Liberty’ worshipped by + another. + </p> + <p> + “I see a thousand phantom forms of LIBERTY—but only one living + symbol of ORDER—that which spoke from a throne to-day.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura left her letter uncompleted. On the following Monday she was + present at a crowded soiree given by M. Louvier. Among the guests were + some of the most eminent leaders of the Opposition, including that + vivacious master of sharp sayings, M. P———-, whom + Savarin entitled “the French Sheridan;” if laws could be framed in + epigrams he would be also the French Solon. + </p> + <p> + There, too, was Victor de Mauleon, regarded by the Republican party with + equal admiration and distrust. For the distrust, he himself pleasantly + accounted in talk with Savarin. + </p> + <p> + “How can I expect to be trusted? I represent ‘Common Sense;’ every + Parisian likes Common Sense in print, and cries ‘Je suis trahi’ when + Common Sense is to be put into action.” + </p> + <p> + A group of admiring listeners had collected round one (perhaps the most + brilliant) of those oratorical lawyers by whom, in France, the respect for + all laws has been so often talked away: he was speaking of the Saturday’s + ceremonial with eloquent indignation. It was a mockery to France to talk + of her placing Liberty under the protection of the Empire. + </p> + <p> + There was a flagrant token of the military force under which civil freedom + was held in the very dress of the Emperor and his insignificant son: the + first in the uniform of a General of Division; the second, forsooth, in + that of a sous-lieutenant. The other liberal chiefs chimed in: “The army,” + said one, “was an absurd expense; it must be put down:” “The world was + grown too civilised for war,” said another: “The Empress was + priest-ridden,” said a third: “Churches might be tolerated; Voltaire built + a church, but a church simply to the God of Nature, not of priestcraft,”—and + so on. + </p> + <p> + Isaura, whom any sneer at religion pained and revolted, here turned away + from the orators to whom she had before been listening with earnest + attention, and her eyes fell on the countenance of De Mauleon, who was + seated opposite. + </p> + <p> + The countenance startled her, its expression was so angrily scornful; that + expression, however, vanished at once as De Mauleon’s eyes met her own, + and drawing his chair near to her, he said, smiling: “Your look tells me + that I almost frightened you by the ill-bred frankness with which my face + must have betrayed my anger, at hearing such imbecile twaddle from men who + aspire to govern our turbulent France. You remember that after Lisbon was + destroyed by an earthquake a quack advertised ‘pills against earthquakes.’ + These messieurs are not so cunning as the quack; he did not name the + ingredients of his pills.” + </p> + <p> + “But, M. de Mauleon,” said Isaura, “if you, being opposed to the Empire, + think so ill of the wisdom of those who would destroy it, are you prepared + with remedies for earthquakes more efficacious than their pills?” + </p> + <p> + “I reply as a famous English statesman, when in opposition, replied to a + somewhat similar question,—‘I don’t prescribe till I’m called in.’” + </p> + <p> + “To judge by the seven millions and a half whose votes were announced on + Saturday, and by the enthusiasm with which the Emperor was greeted, there + is too little fear of an earthquake for a good trade of the pills of these + messieurs, or for fair play to the remedies you will not disclose till + called in.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mademoiselle! playful wit from lips not formed for politics makes me + forget all about emperors and earthquakes. Pardon that commonplace + compliment—remember I am a Frenchman, and cannot help being + frivolous.” + </p> + <p> + “You rebuke my presumption too gently. True, I ought not to intrude + political subjects on one like you—I understand so little about them—but + this is my excuse, I do so desire to know more.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Mauleon paused, and looked at her earnestly with a kindly, half + compassionate look, wholly free from the impertinence of gallantry. “Young + poetess,” he said, softly, “you care for politics. Happy, indeed, is he—and + whether he succeed or fail in his ambition abroad, proud should he be of + an ambition crowned at home—he who has made you desire to know more + of politics!” + </p> + <p> + The girl felt the blood surge to her temples. How could she have been so + self-confessed? She made no reply, nor did M. de Mauleon seem to expect + one; with that rare delicacy of high breeding which appears in France to + belong to a former generation, he changed his tone, and went on as if + there had been no interruption to the question her words implied. + </p> + <p> + “You think the Empire secure—that it is menaced by on earthquake? + You deceive yourself. The Emperor began with a fatal mistake, but a + mistake it needs many years to discover. He disdained the slow natural + process of adjustment between demand and supply—employer and + workmen. He desired—no ignoble ambition—to make Paris the + wonder of the world, the eternal monument of his reign. In so doing, he + sought to create artificial modes of content for revolutionary workmen. + Never has any ruler had such tender heed of manual labour to the + disparagement of intellectual culture. Paris is embellished; Paris is the + wonder of the world; other great towns have followed its example; they, + too, have their rows of palaces and temples. Well, the time comes when the + magician can no longer give work to the spirits he raises; then they must + fall on him and rend: out of the very houses he built for the better + habitation of workmen will flock the malcontents who cry, ‘Down with the + Empire!’ On the 21st of May you witnessed the pompous ceremony which + announces to the Empire a vast majority of votes, that will be utterly + useless to it except as food for gunpowder in the times that are at hand. + Seven days before, on the 14th of May, there was a riot in the Faubourg + d’Temple—easily put down—you scarcely hear of it. That riot + was not the less necessary to those who would warn the Empire that it is + mortal. True, the riot disperses—but it is unpunished; riot + unpunished is a revolution begun. The earthquake is nearer than you think; + and for that earthquake what are the pills you quacks advertise? They + prate of an age too enlightened for war; they would mutilate the army—nay, + disband it if they could—with Prussia next door to France. Prussia, + desiring, not unreasonably, to take that place in the world which France + now holds, will never challenge France; if she did, she would be too much + in the wrong to find a second: Prussia knowing that she has to do with the + vainest, the most conceited, the rashest antagonist that ever flourished a + rapier in the face of a spadassin—Prussia will make France challenge + her. + </p> + <p> + “And how do ces messieurs deal with the French army? Do they dare to say + to the ministers, ‘Reform it’? Do they dare say, ‘Prefer for men whose + first duty it is to obey, discipline to equality—insist on the + distinction between the officer and the private, and never confound it; + Prussian officers are well-educated gentlemen, see that yours are’? Oh no; + they are democrats too stanch not to fraternise with an armed mob; they + content themselves with grudging an extra sou to the Commissariat, and + winking at the millions fraudulently pocketed by some ‘Liberal + contractor.’ Dieu des dieux! France to be beaten, not as at Waterloo by + hosts combined, but in fair duel by a single foe! Oh, the shame! the + shame! But as the French army is now organised, beaten she must be, if she + meets the march of the German.” + </p> + <p> + “You appal me with your sinister predictions,” said Isaura; “but, happily, + there is no sign of war. M. Duplessis, who is in the confidence of the + Emperor, told us only the other day that Napoleon, on learning the result + of the plebiscite, said: ‘The foreign journalists who have been insisting + that the Empire cannot coexist with free institutions, will no longer hint + that it can be safely assailed from without.’ And more than ever I may say + L’Empire c’est la paix!” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur de Mauleon shrugged his shoulders. “The old story—Troy and + the wooden horse.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, M. de Mauleon, why do you, who so despise the Opposition, join + with it in opposing the Empire?” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, the Empire opposes me; while it lasts I cannot be even a + Depute; when it is gone, Heaven knows that I may be, perhaps Dictator; one + thing, you may rely upon, that I would, if not Dictator myself, support + any man who was better fitted for that task.” + </p> + <p> + “Better fitted to destroy the liberty which he pretended to fight for.” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly so,” replied M. de Mauleon, imperturbably—“better + fitted to establish a good government in lieu of the bad one he had fought + against, and the much worse governments that would seek to turn France + into a madhouse, and make the maddest of the inmates the mad doctor!” He + turned away, and here their conversation ended. + </p> + <p> + But it so impressed Isaura, that the same night she concluded her letter + to Madame de Grantmesnil, by giving a sketch of its substance, prefaced by + an ingenuous confession that she felt less sanguine confidence in the + importance of the applauses which had greeted the Emperor at the + Saturday’s ceremonial, and ending thus: “I can but confusedly transcribe + the words of this singular man, and can give you no notion of the manner + and the voice which made them eloquent. Tell me, can there be any truth in + his gloomy predictions? I try not to think so, but they seem to rest over + that brilliant hall of the Louvre like an ominous thunder-cloud.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0062" id="link2HCH0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + The Marquis de Rochebriant was seated in his pleasant apartment, glancing + carelessly at the envelopes of many notes and letters lying yet unopened + on his breakfast-table. He had risen late at noon, for he had not gone to + bed till dawn. The night had been spent at his club—over the + card-table—by no means to the pecuniary advantage of the Marquis. + The reader will have learned, through the conversation recorded in a + former chapter between De Mauleon and Enguerrand de Vandemar, that the + austere Seigneur Breton had become a fast viveur of Paris. He had long + since spent the remnant of Louvier’s premium of L10,000., and he owed a + year’s interest. For this last there was an excuse. M. Collot, the + contractor to whom he had been advised to sell the yearly fall of his + forest-trees, had removed the trees, but had never paid a sou beyond the + preliminary deposit; so that the revenue, out of which the mortgagee + should be paid his interest, was not forthcoming. Alain had instructed M. + Hebert to press the contractor; the contractor had replied, that if not + pressed he could soon settle all claims—if pressed, he must declare + himself bankrupt. The Chevalier de Finisterre had laughed at the alarm + which Alain conceived when he first found himself in the condition of + debtor for a sum he could not pay—creditor for a sum he could not + recover. + </p> + <p> + “Bagatelle!” said the Chevalier. “Tschu! Collot, if you give him time, is + as safe as the Bank of France, and Louvier knows it. Louvier will not + trouble you—Louvier, the best fellow in the world! I’ll call on him + and explain matters.” + </p> + <p> + It is to be presumed that the Chevalier did so explain; for though both at + the first, and quite recently at the second default of payment, Alain + received letters from M. Louvier’s professional agent, as reminders of + interest due, and as requests for its payment, the Chevalier assured him + that these applications were formalities of convention—that Louvier, + in fact, knew nothing about them; and when dining with the great financier + himself, and cordially welcomed and called “Mon cher,” Alain had taken him + aside and commenced explanation and excuse, Louvier had cut him short. + “Peste! don’t mention such trifles. There is such a thing as business—that + concerns my agent; such a thing as friendship—that concerns me. + Allez!” + </p> + <p> + Thus M. de Rochebriant, confiding in debtor and in creditor, had suffered + twelve months to glide by without much heed of either, and more than live + up to an income amply sufficient indeed for the wants of an ordinary + bachelor, but needing more careful thrift than could well be expected from + the head of one of the most illustrious houses in France, cast so young + into the vortex of the most expensive capital in the world. + </p> + <p> + The poor Marquis glided into the grooves that slant downward, much as the + French Marquis of tradition was wont to glide; not that he appeared to + live extravagantly, but he needed all he had for his pocket-money, and had + lost that dread of being in debt which he had brought up from the purer + atmosphere of Bretagne. + </p> + <p> + But there were some debts which; of course, a Rochebriant must pay—debts + of honour—and Alain had, on the previous night, incurred such a debt + and must pay it that day. He had been strongly tempted, when the debt rose + to the figure it had attained, to risk a change of luck; but whatever his + imprudence, he was incapable of dishonesty. If the luck did not change, + and he lost more, he would be without means to meet his obligations. As + the debt now stood, he calculated that he could just discharge it by the + sale of his coupe and horses. It is no wonder he left his letters + unopened, however charming they might be; he was quite sure they would + contain no cheque which would enable him to pay his debt and retain his + equipage. + </p> + <p> + The door opened, and the valet announced M. le Chevalier de Finisterre—a + man with smooth countenance and air distinque, a pleasant voice and + perpetual smile. + </p> + <p> + “Well, mon cher,” cried the Chevalier, “I hope that you recovered the + favour of Fortune before you quitted her green table last night. When I + left she seemed very cross with you.” + </p> + <p> + “And so continued to the end,” answered Alain, with well-simulated gaiety—much + too bon gentilhomme to betray rage or anguish for pecuniary loss. + </p> + <p> + “After all,” said de Finisterre, lighting his cigarette, “the uncertain + goddess could not do you much harm; the stakes were small, and your + adversary, the Prince, never goes double or quits.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I either. ‘Small,’ however, is a word of relative import; the stakes + might be small to you, to me large. Entre nous, cher ami, I am at the end + of my purse, and I have only this consolation-I am cured of play: not that + I leave the complaint, the complaint leaves me; it can no more feed on me + than a fever can feed on a skeleton.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you serious?” + </p> + <p> + “As serious as a mourner who has just buried his all.” + </p> + <p> + “His all? Tut, with such an estate as Rochebriant!” + </p> + <p> + For the first time in that talk Alain’s countenance became overcast. + </p> + <p> + “And how long will Rochebriant be mine? You know that I hold it at the + mercy of the mortgagee, whose interest has not been paid, and who could + if, he so pleased, issue notice, take proceedings—that—” + </p> + <p> + “Peste!” interrupted de Finisterre; “Louvier take proceedings! Louvier, + the best fellow in the world! But don’t I see his handwriting on that + envelope? No doubt an invitation to dinner.” + </p> + <p> + Alain took up the letter thus singled forth from a miscellany of epistles, + some in female handwritings, unsealed but ingeniously twisted into Gordian + knots—some also in female handwritings, carefully sealed—others + in ill-looking envelopes, addressed in bold, legible, clerk-like + caligraphy. Taken altogether, these epistles had a character in common; + they betokened the correspondence of a viveur, regarded from the female + side as young, handsome, well-born—on the male side, as a viveur who + had forgotten to pay his hosier and tailor. + </p> + <p> + Louvier wrote a small, not very intelligible, but very masculine hand, as + most men who think cautiously and act promptly do write. The letter ran + thus: + </p> + <p> + “Cher petit Marquis” (at that commencement Alain haughtily raised his head + and bit his lips). + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “CHER PETIT MARQUIS,—It is an age since I have seen you. No + doubt my humble soirees are too dull for a beau seigueur so + courted. I forgive you. Would I were a beau seigneur at your age! + Alas! I am only a commonplace man of business, growing old, too. + Aloft from the world in which I dwell, you can scarcely be aware + that I have embarked a great part of my capital in building + speculations. There is a Rue de Louvier that runs its drains right + through my purse. I am obliged to call in the moneys due to me. My + agent informs me that I am just 7000 louis short of the total I + need—all other debts being paid in—and that there is a trifle more + than 7000 louis owned to me as interest on my hypotheque on + Rochebriant: kindly pay into his hands before the end of this week + that sum. You have been too lenient to Collot, who must owe you + more than that. Send agent to him. Desole to trouble you, and am + au desespoir to think that my own pressing necessities compel me + to urge you to take so much trouble. Mais que faire? The Rue de + Louvier stops the way, and I must leave it to my agent to clear it. + + “Accept all my excuses, with the assurance of my sentiments the most + cordial. PAUL LOUVIER.” + </pre> + <p> + Alain tossed the letter to De Finisterre. “Read that from the best fellow + in the world.” + </p> + <p> + The Chevalier laid down his cigarette and read. “Diable!” he said, when he + returned the letter and resumed the cigarette—“Diable! Louvier must + be much pressed for money, or he would not have written in this strain. + What does it matter? Collot owes you more than 7000 louis. Let your lawyer + get them, and go to sleep with both ears on your pillow.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you think Collot can pay if he will?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! foi! did not M. Gandrin tell you that M. Collot was safe to buy your + wood at more money than any one else would give?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Alain, comforted. “Gandrin left that impression on my + mind. I will set him on the man. All will come right, I dare say; but if + it does not come right, what would Louvier do?” + </p> + <p> + “Louvier do!” answered Finisterre, reflectively. “Well do you ask my + opinion and advice?” + </p> + <p> + “Earnestly, I ask.” + </p> + <p> + “Honestly, then, I answer. I am a little on the Bourse myself—most + Parisians are. Louvier has made a gigantic speculation in this new street, + and with so many other irons in the fire he must want all the money he can + get at. I dare say that if you do not pay him what you owe, he must leave + it to his agent to take steps for announcing the sale of Rochebriant. But + he detests scandal; he hates the notion of being severe; rather than that, + in spite of his difficulties, he will buy Rochebriant of you at a better + price than it can command at public sale. Sell it to him. Appeal to him to + act generously, and you will flatter him. You will get more than the old + place is worth. Invest the surplus—live as you have done, or better—and + marry an heiress. Morbleu! a Marquis de Rochebriant, if he were sixty + years old, would rank high in the matrimonial market. The more the + democrats have sought to impoverish titles and laugh down historical + names, the more do rich democrat fathers-in-law seek to decorate their + daughters with titles and give their grandchildren the heritage of + historical names. You look shocked, pauvre anti. Let us hope, then, that + Collot will pay. Set your dog—I mean your lawyer—at him; seize + him by the throat!” + </p> + <p> + Before Alain had recovered from the stately silence with which he had + heard this very practical counsel, the valet again appeared, and ushered + in M. Frederic Lemercier. + </p> + <p> + There was no cordial acquaintance between the visitors. Lemercier was + chafed at finding himself supplanted in Alain’s intimate companionship by + so new a friend, and De Finisterre affected to regard Lemercier as a + would-be exquisite of low birth and bad taste. + </p> + <p> + Alain, too, was a little discomposed at the sight of Lemercier, + remembering the wise cautious which that old college friend had wasted on + him at the commencement of his Parisian career, and smitten with vain + remorse that the cautions had been so arrogantly slighted. + </p> + <p> + It was with some timidity that he extended his hand to Frederic, and he + was surprised as well as moved by the more than usual warmth with which it + was grasped by the friend he had long neglected. Such affectionate + greeting was scarcely in keeping with the pride which characterised + Frederic Lemercier. + </p> + <p> + “Ma foi!” said the Chevalier, glancing towards the clock, “how time flies! + I had no idea it was so late. I must leave you now, my dear Rochebriant. + Perhaps we shall meet at the club later—I dine there to-day. Au + plaisir, M. Lemercier.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0063" id="link2HCH0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + When the door had closed on the Chevalier, Frederic’s countenance became + very grave. Drawing his chair near to Alain, he said: “We have not seen + much of each other lately,—nay, no excuses; I am well aware that it + could scarcely be otherwise. Paris has grown so large and so subdivided + into sets, that the best friends belonging to different sets become as + divided as if the Atlantic flowed between them. I come to-day in + consequence of something I have just heard from Duplessis. Tell me, have + you got the money for the wood you sold to M. Collot a year ago?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Alain, falteringly. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! none of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Only the deposit of ten per cent., which of course I spent, for it formed + the greater part of my income. What of Collot? Is he really unsafe?” + </p> + <p> + “He is ruined, and has fled the country. His flight was the talk of the + Bourse this morning. Duplessis told me of it.” + </p> + <p> + Alain’s face paled. “How is Louvier to be paid? Read that letter!” + </p> + <p> + Lemercier rapidly scanned his eye over the contents of Louvier’s letter. + </p> + <p> + “It is true, then, that you owe this man a year’s interest—more than + 7,000 louis?” + </p> + <p> + “Somewhat more—yes. But that is not the first care that troubles me—Rochebriant + may be lost, but with it not my honour. I owe the Russian Prince 300 + louis, lost to him last night at ecarte. I must find a purchaser for my + coupe and horses; they cost me 600 louis last year,—do you know any + one who will give me three?” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! I will give you six; your alezan alone is worth half the money!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Frederic, I will not sell them to you on any account. But you + have so many friends—” + </p> + <p> + “Who would give their soul to say, ‘I bought these horses of Rochebriant.’ + Of course I do. Ha! young Rameau, you are acquainted with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Rameau! I never heard of him!” + </p> + <p> + “Vanity of vanities, then what is fame? Rameau is the editor of Le Sens + Commun. You read that journal?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it has clever articles, and I remember how I was absorbed in the + eloquent romance which appeared in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! by the Signora Cicogna, with whom I think you were somewhat smitten + last year.” + </p> + <p> + “Last year—was I? How a year can alter a man! But my debt to the + Prince. What has Le Sens Commun to do with my horses?” + </p> + <p> + “I met Rameau at Savarin’s the other evening. He was making himself out a + hero and a martyr! his coupe had been taken from him to assist in a + barricade in that senseless emeute ten days ago; the coupe got smashed, + the horses disappeared. He will buy one of your horses and coupe. + </p> + <p> + “Leave it to me! I know where to dispose of the other two horses. At what + hour do you want the money?” + </p> + <p> + “Before I go to dinner at the club.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have it within two hours; but you must not dine at the club + to-day. I have a note from Duplessis to invite you to dine with him + to-day!” + </p> + <p> + “Duplessis! I know so little of him!” + </p> + <p> + “You should know him better. He is the only man who can give you sound + advice as to this difficulty with Louvier; and he will give it the more + carefully and zealously because he has that enmity to Louvier which one + rival financier has to another. I dine with him too. We shall find an + occasion to consult him quietly; he speaks of you most kindly. What a + lovely girl his daughter is!” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say. Ah! I wish I had been less absurdly fastidious. I wish I had + entered the army as a private soldier six months ago; I should have been a + corporal by this time! Still it is not too late. When Rochebriant is gone, + I can yet say with the Mouszquetaire in the melodrame: ‘I am rich—I + have my honour and my sword!’” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! Rochebriant shall be saved; meanwhile I hasten to Rameau. Au + revoir, at the Hotel Duplessis—seven o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + Lemercier went, and in less than two hours sent the Marquis bank-notes for + 600 louis, requesting an order for the delivery of the horses and + carriage. + </p> + <p> + That order written and signed, Alain hastened to acquit himself of his + debt of honour, and contemplating his probable ruin with a lighter heart + presented himself at the Hotel Duplessis. + </p> + <p> + Duplessis made no pretensions to vie with the magnificent existence of + Louvier. His house, though agreeably situated and flatteringly styled the + Hotel Duplessis, was of moderate size, very unostentatiously furnished; + nor was it accustomed to receive the brilliant motley crowds which + assembled in the salons of the elder financier. + </p> + <p> + Before that year, indeed, Duplessis had confined such entertainments as he + gave to quiet men of business, or a few of the more devoted and loyal + partisans of the Imperial dynasty; but since Valerie came to live with him + he had extended his hospitalities to wider and livelier circles, including + some celebrities in the world of art and letters as well as of fashion. Of + the party assembled that evening at dinner were Isaura, with the Signora + Venosta, one of the Imperial Ministers, the Colonel whom Alain had already + met at Lemercier’s supper, Deputes (ardent Imperialists), and the Duchesse + de Tarascon; these, with Alain and Frederic, made up the party. The + conversation was not particularly gay. Duplessis himself, though an + exceedingly well-read and able man, had not the genial accomplishments of + a brilliant host. Constitutionally grave and habitually taciturn—though + there were moments in which he was roused out of his wonted self into + eloquence or wit—he seemed to-day absorbed in some engrossing train + of thought. The Minister, the Deputes and the Duchesse de Tarascon talked + politics, and ridiculed the trumpery emeute of the 14th; exulted in the + success of the plebiscite; and admitting, with indignation, the growing + strength of Prussia, and—with scarcely less indignation, but more + contempt, censuring the selfish egotism of England in disregarding the due + equilibrium of the European balance of power,—hinted at the + necessity of annexing Belgium as a set-off against the results of Sadowa. + </p> + <p> + Alain found himself seated next to Isaura—to the woman who had so + captivated his eye and fancy on his first arrival in Paris. + </p> + <p> + Remembering his last conversation with Graham nearly a year ago, he felt + some curiosity to ascertain whether the rich Englishman had proposed to + her, and if so, been refused or accepted. + </p> + <p> + The first words that passed between them were trite enough, but after a + little pause in the talk, Alain said: + </p> + <p> + “I think Mademoiselle and myself have an acquaintance in common-Monsieur + Vane, a distinguished Englishman. Do you know if he be in Paris at + present? I have not seen him for many months.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe he is in London; at least, Colonel Morley met the other day a + friend of his who said so.” + </p> + <p> + Though Isaura strove to speak in a tone of indifference, Alain’s ear + detected a ring of pain in her voice; and watching her countenance, he was + impressed with a saddened change in its expression. He was touched, and + his curiosity was mingled with a gentler interest as he said “When I last + saw M. Vane I should have judged him to be too much under the spell of an + enchantress to remain long without the pale of the circle she draws around + her.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura turned her face quickly towards the speaker, and her lips moved, + but she said nothing audibly. + </p> + <p> + “Can there have been quarrel or misunderstanding?” thought Alain; and + after that question his heart asked itself, “Supposing Isaura were free, + her affections disengaged, could he wish to woo and to win her?” and his + heart answered—“Eighteen months ago thou wert nearer to her than + now. Thou wert removed from her for ever when thou didst accept the world + as a barrier between you; then, poor as thou wert, thou wouldst have + preferred her to riches. Thou went then sensible only of the ingenuous + impulses of youth, but the moment thou saidst, ‘I am Rochebriant, and + having once owned the claims of birth and station, I cannot renounce them + for love, Isaura became but a dream. Now that ruin stares thee in the face—now + that thou must grapple with the sternest difficulties of adverse fate—thou + hast lost the poetry of sentiment which could alone give to that dream the + colours and the form of human life.” He could not again think of that fair + creature as a prize that he might even dare to covet. And as he met her + inquiring eyes, and saw her quivering lip, he felt instinctively that + Graham was dear to her, and that the tender interest with which she + inspired himself was untroubled by one pang of jealousy. He resumed: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the last time I saw the Englishman he spoke with such respectful + homage of one lady, whose hand he would deem it the highest reward of + ambition to secure, that I cannot but feel deep compassion for him if that + ambition has been foiled; and thus only do I account for his absence from + Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “You are an intimate friend of Mr. Vane’s?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, I have not that honour; our acquaintance is but slight, but + it impressed me with the idea of a man of vigorous intellect, frank + temper, and perfect honour.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura’s face brightened with the joy we feel when we hear the praise of + those we love. + </p> + <p> + At this moment, Duplessis, who had been observing the Italian and the + young Marquis, for the first time during dinner, broke silence. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he said, addressing Isaura across the table, “I hope I + have not been correctly informed that your literary triumph has induced + you to forego the career in which all the best judges concur that your + successes would be not less brilliant; surely one art does not exclude + another.” + </p> + <p> + Elated by Alain’s report of Graham’s words, by the conviction that these + words applied to herself, and by the thought that her renunciation of the + stage removed a barrier between them, Isaura answered, with a sort of + enthusiasm: + </p> + <p> + “I know not, M. Duplessis, if one art excludes another; if there be desire + to excel in each. But I have long lost all desire to excel in the art you + refer to, and resigned all idea of the career in which it opens.” + </p> + <p> + “So M. Vane told me,” said Alain, in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “Last year—on the day that he spoke in terms of admiration so + merited of the lady whom M. Duplessis has just had the honour to address.” + </p> + <p> + All this while, Valerie, who was seated at the further end of the table + beside the Minister, who had taken her in to dinner, had been watching, + with eyes, the anxious tearful sorrow of which none but her father had + noticed, the low-voiced confidence between Alain and the friend, whom till + that day she had so enthusiastically loved. Hitherto she had been + answering in monosyllables all attempts of the great man to draw her into + conversation; but now, observing how Isaura blushed and looked down, that + strange faculty in women, which we men call dissimulation, and which in + them is truthfulness to their own nature, enabled her to carry off the + sharpest anguish she had ever experienced, by a sudden burst of levity of + spirit. She caught up some commonplace the Minister had adapted to what he + considered the poverty of her understanding, with a quickness of satire + which startled that grave man, and he gazed at her astonished. Up to that + moment he had secretly admired her as a girl well brought up—as + girls fresh from a French convent are supposed to be; now, hearing her + brilliant rejoinder to his stupid observation, he said inly: “Dame! the + low birth of a financier’s daughter shows itself.” + </p> + <p> + But, being a clever man himself, her retort put him on his mettle, and he + became, to his own amazement, brilliant himself. With that matchless + quickness which belongs to Parisians, the guests around him seized the new + esprit de conversation which had been evoked between the statesman and the + childlike girl beside him; and as they caught up the ball, lightly flung + among them, they thought within themselves how much more sparkling the + financier’s pretty, lively daughter was than that dark-eyed young muse, of + whom all the journalists of Paris were writing in a chorus of welcome and + applause, and who seemed not to have a word to say worth listening to, + except to the handsome young Marquis, whom, no doubt, she wished to + fascinate. + </p> + <p> + Valerie fairly outshone Isaura in intellect and in wit; and neither + Valerie nor Isaura cared, to the value of a bean-straw, about that + distinction. Each was thinking only of the prize which the humblest + peasant women have in common with the most brilliantly accomplished of + their sex—the heart of a man beloved. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0064" id="link2HCH0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + On the Continent generally, as we all know, men do not sit drinking wine + together after the ladies retire. So when the signal was given all the + guests adjourned to the salon; and Alain quitted Isaura to gain the ear of + the Duchesse de Tarascon. + </p> + <p> + “It is long—at, least long for Paris life,” said the Marquis—“since + my first visit to you, in company with Enguerrand de Vandemar. Much that + you then said rested on my mind, disturbing the prejudices I took from + Bretagne.” + </p> + <p> + “I am proud to hear it, my kinsman.” + </p> + <p> + “You know that I would have taken military service under the Emperor, but + for the regulation which would have compelled me to enter the ranks as a + private soldier.” + </p> + <p> + “I sympathise with that scruple; but you are aware that the Emperor + himself could not have ventured to make any exception even in your + favour.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not. I repent me of my pride; perhaps I may enlist still in + some regiment sent to Algiers.” + </p> + <p> + “No; there are other ways in which a Rochebriant can serve a throne. There + will be an office at Court vacant soon, which would not misbecome your + birth.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me; a soldier serves his country—a courtier owns a master; + and I cannot take the livery of the Emperor, though I could wear the + uniform of France.” + </p> + <p> + “Your distinction is childish, my kinsman,” said the Duchesse, + impetuously. “You talk as if the Emperor had an interest apart from the + nation. I tell you that he has not a corner of his heart—not even + one reserved for his son and his dynasty—in which the thought of + France does not predominate.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not presume, Madame la Duchesse, to question the truth of what you + say; but I have no reason to suppose that the same thought does not + predominate in the heart of the Bourbon. The Bourbon would be the first to + say to me: ‘If France needs your sword against her foes, let it not rest + in the scabbard.’ But would the Bourbon say, ‘The place of a Rochebriant + is among the valetaille of the Corsican’s successor’?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas for poor France!” said the Duchesse; “and alas for men like you, my + proud cousin, if the Corsican’s successors or successor be—” + </p> + <p> + “Henry V.” interrupted Alain, with a brightening eye. “Dreamer! No; some + descendant of the mob-kings who gave Bourbons and nobles to the + guillotine.” + </p> + <p> + While the Duchesse and Alain were thus conversing, Isaura had seated + herself by Valerie, and, unconscious of the offence she had given, + addressed her in those pretty caressing terms with which young-lady + friends are wont to compliment each other; but Valerie answered curtly or + sarcastically, and turned aside to converse with the Minister. A few + minutes more, and the party began to break up. Lemercier, however, + detained Alain, whispering, “Duplessis will see us on your business so + soon as the other guests have gone.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0065" id="link2HCH0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + “Monsieur le Marquis,” said Duplessis, when the salon was cleared of all + but himself and the two friends, “Lemercier has confided to me the state + of your affairs in connection with M. Louvier, and flatters me by thinking + my advice may be of some service; if so, command me.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall most gratefully accept your advice,” answered Alain, “but I fear + my condition defies even your ability and skill.” + </p> + <p> + “Permit me to hope not, and to ask a few necessary questions. M. Louvier + has constituted himself your sole mortgagee; to what amount, at what + interest, and from what annual proceeds is the interest paid?” + </p> + <p> + Herewith Alain gave details already furnished to the reader. Duplessis + listened, and noted down the replies. + </p> + <p> + “I see it all,” he said, when Alain had finished. “M. Louvier had + predetermined to possess himself of your estate: he makes himself + mortgagee at a rate of interest so low, that I tell you fairly, at the + present value of money, I doubt if you could find any capitalist who would + accept the transfer of the mortgage at the same rate. This is not like + Louvier, unless he had an object to gain, and that object is your land. + The revenue from your estate is derived chiefly from wood, out of which + the interest due to Louvier is to be paid. M. Gandrin, in a + skilfully-guarded letter, encourages you to sell the wood from your + forests to a man who offers you several thousand francs more than it could + command from customary buyers. I say nothing against M. Gandrin, but every + man who knows Paris as I do, knows that M. Louvier can put, and has put, a + great deal of money into M. Gandrin’s pocket. The purchaser of your wood + does not pay more than his deposit, and has just left the country + insolvent. Your purchaser, M. Collot, was an adventurous speculator; he + would have bought anything at any price, provided he had time to pay; if + his speculations had been lucky he would have paid. M. Louvier knew, as I + knew, that M. Collot was a gambler, and the chances were that he would not + pay. M. Louvier allows a year’s interest on his hypotheque to become + due-notice thereof duly given to you by his agent—now you come under + the operation of the law. Of course, you know what the law is?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly,” answered Alain, feeling frostbitten by the congealing words + of his counsellor; “but I take it for granted that if I cannot pay the + interest of a sum borrowed on my property, that property itself is + forfeited.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not quite that—the law is mild. If the interest which should be + paid half-yearly remains unpaid at the end of a year, the mortgagee has a + right to be impatient, has he not?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly he has.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, on fait un commandement tendant de saisie immobiliere, viz: + The mortgagee gives a notice that the property shall be put up for sale. + Then it is put up for sale, and in most cases the mortgagee buys it in. + Here, certainly, no competitors in the mere business way would vie with + Louvier; the mortgage at three and a half per cent. covers more than the + estate is apparently worth. Ah! but stop, M. le Marquis; the notice is not + yet served: the whole process would take six months from the day it is + served to the taking possession after the sale; in the meanwhile, if you + pay the interest due, the action drops. Courage, M. le Marquis! Hope yet, + if you condescend to call me friend.” + </p> + <p> + “And me,” cried Lemercier; “I will sell out of my railway shares + to-morrow-see to it, Duplessis—enough to pay off the damnable + interest. See to it, mon ami.” + </p> + <p> + “Agree to that, M. le Marquis, and you are safe for another year,” said + Duplessis, folding up the paper on which he had made his notes, but fixing + on Alain quiet eyes half concealed under drooping lids. + </p> + <p> + “Agree to that!” cried Rochebriant, rising—“agree to allow even my + worst enemy to pay for me moneys I could never hope to repay—agree + to allow the oldest and most confiding friends to do so—M. + Duplessis, never! If I carried the porter’s knot of an Auverguat, I should + still remain gentilhomme and Breton.” + </p> + <p> + Duplessis, habitually the driest of men, rose with a moistened eye and + flushing cheek—“Monsieur le Marquis, vouchsafe me the honour to + shake hands with you. I, too, am by descent gentilhomme, by profession a + speculator on the Bourse. In both capacities I approve the sentiment you + have uttered. Certainly, if our friend Frederic lent you 7000 Louis or so + this year, it would be impossible for you even to foresee the year in + which you could repay it; but,”—here Duplessis paused a minute, and + then lowering the tone of his voice, which had been somewhat vehement and + enthusiastic, into that of a colloquial good-fellowship, equally rare to + the measured reserve of the financier, he asked, with a lively twinkle of + his grey eye, “Did you never hear, Marquis, of a little encounter between + me and M. Louvier?” + </p> + <p> + “Encounter at arms—does Louvier fight?” asked Alain, innocently. + </p> + <p> + “In his own way he is always fighting; but I speak metaphorically. You see + this small house of mine—so pinched in by the houses next to it that + I can neither get space for a ball-room for Valerie, nor a dining-room for + more than a friendly party like that which has honoured me to-day. Eh + bien! I bought this house a few years ago, meaning to buy the one next to + it and throw the two into one. I went to the proprietor of the next house, + who, as I knew, wished to sell. ‘Aha,’ he thought, ‘this is the rich + Monsieur Duplessis;’ and he asked me 2000 louis more than the house was + worth. We men of business cannot bear to be too much cheated; a little + cheating we submit to—much cheating raises our gall. Bref—this + was on Monday. I offered the man 1000 louis above the fair price, and gave + him till Thursday to decide. Somehow or other Louvier hears of this. + ‘Hillo!’ says Louvier, ‘here is a financier who desires a hotel to vie + with mine!’ He goes on Wednesday to my next-door neighbour. ‘Friend, you + want to sell your house. I want to buy—the price?’ The proprietor, + who does not know him by sight, says: ‘It is as good as sold. M. Duplessis + and I shall agree.’ ‘Bah! What sum did you ask M. Duplessis?’ He names the + sum; 2000 louis more than he can get elsewhere. ‘But M. Duplessis will + give me the sum.’ ‘You ask too little. I will give 3000. A fig for M. + Duplessis. I am Monsieur Louvier.’ So when I call on Thursday the house is + sold. I reconcile myself easily enough to the loss of space for a larger + dining-room; but though Valerie was then a child at a convent, I was sadly + disconcerted by the thought that I could have no salle de bal ready for + her when she came to reside with me. Well, I say to myself, patience; I + owe M. Louvier a good turn; my time to pay him off will come. It does + come, and very soon. M. Louvier buys an estate near Paris—builds a + superb villa. Close to his property is a rising forest ground for sale. He + goes to the proprietor: says the proprietor to himself, ‘The great Louvier + wants this,’ and adds 5000 louis to its market price. Louvier, like + myself, can’t bear to be cheated egregiously. Louvier offers 2000 louis + more than the man could fairly get, and leaves him till Saturday to + consider. I hear of this—speculators hear of everything. On Friday + night I go to the man and I give him 6000 louis, where he had asked 5000. + Fancy Louvier’s face the next day! But there my revenge only begins,” + continued Duplessis, chuckling inwardly. “My forest looks down on the + villa he is building. I only wait till his villa is built, in order to + send to my architect and say, Build me a villa at least twice as grand as + M. Louvier’s, then clear away the forest trees, so that every morning he + may see my palace dwarfing into insignificance his own.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” cried Lemercier, clapping his hands. Lemercier had the spirit of + party, and felt for Duplessis against Louvier much as in England Whig + feels against Tory, or vice versa. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps now,” resumed Duplessis, more soberly,—“perhaps now, M. le + Marquis, you may understand why I humiliate you by no sense of obligation + if I say that M. Louvier shall not be the Seigneur de Rochebriant if I can + help it. Give me a line of introduction to your Breton lawyer and to + Mademoiselle your aunt—let me have your letters early to-morrow. I + will take the afternoon train. I know not how many days I may be absent, + but I shall not return till I have carefully examined the nature and + conditions of your property. If I see my way to save your estate, and give + a mauvais quart d’heure to Louvier, so much the better for you, M. le + Marquis; if I cannot, I will say frankly, ‘Make the best terms you can + with your creditor.’” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing can be more delicately generous than the way you put it,” said + Alain; “but pardon me, if I say that the pleasantry with which you narrate + your grudge against M. Louvier does not answer its purpose in diminishing + my sense of obligation.” So, linking his arm in Lemercier’s, Alain made + his bow and withdrew. + </p> + <p> + When his guests had gone, Duplessis remained seated in meditation—apparently + pleasant meditation, for he smiled while indulging it; he then passed + through the reception-rooms to one at the far end appropriated to Valerie + as a boudoir or morning-room, adjoining her bed-chamber; he knocked gently + at the door, and, all remaining silent within, he opened it noiselessly + and entered. Valerie was reclining on the sofa near the window-her head + drooping, her hands clasped on her knees. Duplessis neared her with tender + stealthy steps, passed his arm round her, and drew her head towards his + bosom. “Child!” he murmured; “my child, my only one!” + </p> + <p> + At that soft loving voice, Valerie flung her arms round him, and wept + aloud like an infant in trouble. He seated himself beside her, and wisely + suffered her to weep on, till her passion had exhausted itself; he then + said, half fondly, half chillingly: “Have you forgotten our conversation + only three days ago? Have you forgotten that I then drew forth the secret + of your heart? Have you forgotten what I promised you in return for your + confidence? and a promise to you have I ever yet broken?” + </p> + <p> + “Father! father! I am so wretched and so ashamed of myself for being + wretched! Forgive me. No, I do not forget your promise; but who can + promise to dispose of the heart of another? and that heart will never be + mine. But bear with me a little, I shall soon recover.” + </p> + <p> + “Valerie, when I made you the promise you now think I cannot keep, I spoke + only from that conviction of power to promote the happiness of a child + which nature implants in the heart of parents; and it may be also from the + experience of my own strength of will, since that which I have willed I + have always won. Now I speak on yet surer ground. Before the year is out + you shall be the beloved wife of Alain de Rochebriant. Dry your tears and + smile on me, Valerie. If you will not see in me mother and father both, I + have double love for you, motherless child of her who shared the poverty + of my youth, and did not live to enjoy the wealth which I hold as a trust + for that heir to mine all which she left me.” + </p> + <p> + As this man thus spoke you would scarcely have recognized in him the old + saturnine Duplessis, his countenance became so beautified by the one soft + feeling which care and contest, ambition and money-seeking, had left + unaltered in his heart. Perhaps there is no country in which the love of + parent and child, especially of father and daughter, is so strong as it is + in France; even in the most arid soil, among the avaricious, even among + the profligate, it forces itself into flower. Other loves fade away: in + the heart of the true Frenchman that parent love blooms to the last. + Valerie felt the presence of that love as a divine protecting + guardianship. She sank on her knees and covered his hand with grateful + kisses. + </p> + <p> + “Do not torture yourself, my child, with jealous fears of the fair + Italian. Her lot and Alain de Rochebriant’s can never unite; and whatever + you may think of their whispered converse, Alain’s heart at this moment is + too filled with anxious troubles to leave one spot in it accessible even + to a frivolous gallantry. It is for us to remove these troubles; and then, + when he turns his eyes towards you, it will be with the gaze of one who + beholds his happiness. You do not weep now, Valerie!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK IX. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0066" id="link2HCH0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + On waking some morning, have you ever felt, reader, as if a change for the + brighter in the world, without and within you, had suddenly come to + pass-some new glory has been given to the sunshine, some fresh balm to the + air-you feel younger, and happier, and lighter, in the very beat of your + heart-you almost fancy you hear the chime of some spiritual music far off, + as if in the deeps of heaven? You are not at first conscious how, or + wherefore, this change has been brought about. Is it the effect of a dream + in the gone sleep, that has made this morning so different from mornings + that have dawned before? And while vaguely asking yourself that question, + you become aware that the cause is no mere illusion, that it has its + substance in words spoken by living lips, in things that belong to the + work-day world. + </p> + <p> + It was thus that Isaura woke the morning after the conversation with Alain + de Rochebriant, and as certain words, then spoken, echoed back on her ear, + she knew why she was so happy, why the world was so changed. + </p> + <p> + In those words she heard the voice of Graham Vane—nor she had not + deceived herself—she was loved! she was loved! What mattered that + long cold interval of absence? She had not forgotten—she could not + believe that absence had brought forgetfulness. There are moments when we + insist on judging another’s heart by our own. All would be explained some + day—all would come right. + </p> + <p> + How lovely was the face that reflected itself in the glass as she stood + before it, smoothing back her long hair, murmuring sweet snatches of + Italian love-song, and blushing with sweeter love-thoughts as she sang! + All that had passed in that year so critical to her outer life—the + authorship, the fame, the public career, the popular praise—vanished + from her mind as a vapour that rolls from the face of a lake to which the + sunlight restores the smile of a brightened heaven. + </p> + <p> + She was more the girl now than she had ever been since the day on which + she sat reading Tasso on the craggy shore of Sorrento. + </p> + <p> + Singing still as she passed from her chamber, and entering the + sitting-room, which fronted the east, and seemed bathed in the sunbeams of + deepening May, she took her bird from its cage, and stopped her song to + cover it with kisses, which perhaps yearned for vent somewhere. + </p> + <p> + Later in the day she went out to visit Valerie. Recalling the altered + manner of her young friend, her sweet nature became troubled. She divined + that Valerie had conceived some jealous pain which she longed to heal; she + could not bear the thought of leaving any one that day unhappy. Ignorant + before of the girl’s feelings towards Alain, she now partly guessed them—one + woman who loves in secret is clairvoyante as to such secrets in another. + </p> + <p> + Valerie received her visitor with a coldness she did not attempt to + disguise. Not seeming to notice this, Isaura commenced the conversation + with frank mention of Rochebriant. “I have to thank you so much, dear + Valerie, for a pleasure you could not anticipate—that of talking + about an absent friend, and hearing the praise he deserved from one so + capable of appreciating excellence as M. de Rochebriant appears to be.” + </p> + <p> + “You were talking to M. de Rochebriant of an absent friend—ah! you + seemed indeed very much interested in the conversation—” + </p> + <p> + “Do not wonder at that, Valerie; and do not grudge me the happiest moments + I have known for months.” + </p> + <p> + “In talking with M. de Rochebriant! No doubt, Mademoiselle Cicogna, you + found him very charming.” + </p> + <p> + To her surprise and indignation, Valerie here felt the arm of Isaura + tenderly entwining her waist, and her face drawn towards Isaura’s sisterly + kiss. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, naughty child-listen and believe. M. de Rochebriant can + never be charming to me—never touch a chord in my heart or my fancy + except as friend to another, or—kiss me in your turn, Valerie—as + suitor to yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Valerie here drew back her pretty childlike head, gazed keenly a moment + into Isaura’s eyes, felt convinced by the limpid candour of their + unmistakable honesty, and flinging herself on her friend’s bosom, kissed + her passionately, and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + The complete reconciliation between the two girls was thus peacefully + effected; and then Isaura had to listen, at no small length, to the + confidences poured into her ears by Valerie, who was fortunately too + engrossed by her own hopes and doubts to exact confidences in return. + Valerie’s was one of those impulsive eager natures that longs for a + confidante. Not so Isaura’s. Only when Valerie had unburthened her heart, + and been soothed and caressed into happy trust in the future, did she + recall Isaura’s explanatory words, and said, archly: “And your absent + friend? Tell me about him. Is he as handsome as Alain?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Isaura, rising to take up the mantle and hat she had laid + aside on entering, “they say that the colour of a flower is in our vision, + not in the leaves.” Then with a grave melancholy in the look she fixed + upon Valerie, she added: “Rather than distrust of me should occasion you + pain, I have pained myself, in making clear to you the reason why I felt + interest in M. de Rochebriant’s conversation. In turn, I ask of you a + favour—do not on this point question me farther. There are some + things in our past which influence the present, but to which we dare not + assign a future—on which we cannot talk to another. What soothsayer + can tell us if the dream of a yesterday will be renewed on the night of a + morrow? All is said—we trust one another, dearest.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0067" id="link2HCH0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + That evening the Morleys looked in at Isaura’s on their way to a crowded + assembly at the house of one of those rich Americans, who were then + outvying the English residents at Paris in the good graces of Parisian + society. I think the Americans get on better with the French than the + English do—I mean the higher class of Americans. They spend more + money; their men speak French better; the women are better dressed, and, + as a general rule, have read more largely, and converse more frankly. Mrs. + Morley’s affection for Isaura had increased during the last few months. As + so notable an advocate of the ascendancy of her sex, she felt a sort of + grateful pride in the accomplishments and growing renown of so youthful a + member of the oppressed sisterhood. But, apart from that sentiment, she + had conceived a tender mother-like interest for the girl who stood in the + world so utterly devoid of family ties, so destitute of that household + guardianship and protection which, with all her assertion of the strength + and dignity of woman, and all her opinions as to woman’s right of absolute + emancipation from the conventions fabricated by the selfishness of man, + Mrs. Morley was too sensible not to value for the individual, though she + deemed it not needed for the mass. Her great desire was that Isaura should + marry well, and soon. American women usually marry so young that it seemed + to Mrs. Morley an anomaly in social life, that one so gifted in mind and + person as Isaura should already have passed the age in which the belles of + the great Republic are enthroned as wives and consecrated as mothers. We + have seen that in the past year she had selected from our unworthy but + necessary sex, Graham Vane as a suitable spouse to her young friend. She + had divined the state of his heart—she had more than suspicions of + the state of Isaura’s. She was exceedingly perplexed and exceedingly + chafed at the Englishman’s strange disregard to his happiness and her own + projects. She had counted, all this past winter, on his return to Paris; + and she became convinced that some misunderstanding, possibly some lover’s + quarrel, was the cause of his protracted absence, and a cause that, if + ascertained, could be removed. A good opportunity now presented itself—Colonel + Morley was going to London the next day. He had business there which would + detain him at least a week. He would see Graham; and as she considered her + husband the shrewdest and wisest person in the world—I mean of the + male sex—she had no doubt of his being able to turn Graham’s mind + thoroughly inside out, and ascertain his exact feelings and intentions. If + the Englishman, thus assayed, were found of base metal, then, at least, + Mrs. Morley would be free to cast him altogether aside, and coin for the + uses of the matrimonial market some nobler effigy in purer gold. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child,” said Mrs. Morley, in a low voice, nestling herself close + to Isaura, while the Colonel, duly instructed, drew off the Venosta, “have + you heard anything lately of our pleasant friend Mr. Vane?” + </p> + <p> + You can guess with what artful design Mrs. Morley put that question + point-blank, fixing keen eyes on Isaura while she put it. She saw the + heightened colour, the quivering lip of the girl thus abruptly appealed + to, and she said inly: “I was right—she loves him!” + </p> + <p> + “I heard of Mr. Vane last night—accidentally.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he coming to Paris soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of. How charmingly that wreath becomes you! it suits the + earrings so well, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Frank chose it; he has good taste for a man. I trust him with my + commissions to Hunt and Roskell’s but I limit him as to price, he is so + extravagant—men are, when they make presents. They seem to think we + value things according to their cost. They would gorge us with jewels, and + let us starve for want of a smile. Not that Frank is so bad as the rest of + them. But a propos of Mr. Vane—Frank will be sure to see him, and + scold him well for deserting us all. I should not be surprised if he + brought the deserter back with him, for I send a little note by Frank, + inviting him to pay us a visit. We have spare rooms in our apartments.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura’s heart heaved beneath her robe, but she replied in a tone of + astonishing indifference: “I believe this is the height of the London + season, and Mr. Vane would probably be too engaged to profit even by an + invitation so tempting.” + </p> + <p> + “Nous verrons. How pleased he will be to hear of your triumphs! He admired + you so much before you were famous: what will be his admiration now! men + are so vain—they care for us so much more when people praise us. But + till we have put the creatures in their proper place, we must take them + for what they are.” + </p> + <p> + Here the Venosta, with whom the poor Colonel had exhausted all the arts at + his command for chaining her attention, could be no longer withheld from + approaching Mrs. Morley, and venting her admiration of that lady’s wreath, + earrings, robes, flounces. This dazzling apparition had on her the effect + which a candle has on a moth—she fluttered round it, and longed to + absorb herself in its blaze. But the wreath especially fascinated her—a + wreath which no prudent lady with colourings less pure, and features less + exquisitely delicate than the pretty champion of the rights of women, + could have fancied on her own brows without a shudder. But the Venosta in + such matters was not prudent. “It can’t be dear,” she cried piteously, + extending her arms towards Isaura. “I must have one exactly like. Who made + it? Cara signora, give me the address.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask the Colonel, dear Madame; he chose and bought it,” and Mrs. Morley + glanced significantly at her well-tutored Frank. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said the Colonel, speaking in English, which he usually did with + the Venosta—who valued herself on knowing that language and was + flattered to be addressed in it—while he amused himself by + introducing into its forms the dainty Americanisms with which he puzzled + the Britisher—he might well puzzle the Florentine,—“Madame, I + am too anxious for the appearance of my wife to submit to the test of a + rival schemer like yourself in the same apparel. With all the homage due + to a sex of which I am enthused dreadful, I decline to designate the + florist from whom I purchased Mrs. Morley’s head-fixings.” + </p> + <p> + “Wicked man!” cried the Venosta, shaking her finger at him coquettishly. + “You are jealous! Fie! a man should never be jealous of a woman’s rivalry + with women;” and then, with a cynicism that might have become a greybeard, + she added, “but of his own sex every man should be jealous—though of + his dearest friend. Isn’t it so, Colonello?” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel looked puzzled, bowed, and made no reply. “That only shows,” + said Mrs. Morley, rising, “what villains the Colonel has the misfortune to + call friends and fellow-men.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear it is time to go,” said Frank, glancing at the clock. + </p> + <p> + In theory the most rebellious, in practice the most obedient, of wives, + Mrs. Morley here kissed Isaura, resettled her crinoline, and shaking hands + with the Venosta, retreated to the door. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have the wreath yet,” cried the Venosta, impishly. “La speranza e + fenamina” (Hope is female). + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” said Isaura, half mournfully, half smiling, “alas! do you not + remember what the poet replied when asked what disease was most mortal?—‘the + hectic fever caught from the chill of hope.’” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0068" id="link2HCH0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + Graham Vane was musing very gloomily in his solitary apartment one + morning, when his servant announced Colonel Morley. + </p> + <p> + He received his visitor with more than the cordiality with which every + English politician receives an American citizen. Graham liked the Colonel + too well for what he was in himself to need any national title to his + esteem. After some preliminary questions and answers as to the health of + Mrs. Morley, the length of the Colonel’s stay in London, what day he could + dine with Graham at Richmond or Gravesend, the Colonel took up the ball. + “We have been reckoning to see you at Paris, sir, for the last six + months.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very much flattered to hear that you have thought of me at all; but + I am not aware of having warranted the expectation you so kindly express.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess you must have said something to my wife which led her to do more + than expect—to reckon on your return. And, by the way, sir, I am + charged to deliver to you this note from her, and to back the request it + contains that you will avail yourself of the offer. Without summarising + the points I do so.” + </p> + <p> + Graham glanced over the note addressed to him + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “DEAR MR. VANE,—Do you forget how beautiful the environs of Paris + are in May and June? how charming it was last year at the lake of + Enghien? how gay were our little dinners out of doors in the garden + arbours, with the Savarins and the fair Italian, and her + incomparably amusing chaperon? Frank has my orders to bring you + back to renew these happy days, while the birds are in their first + song, and the leaves are in their youngest green. I have prepared + your rooms chez nous—a chamber that looks out on the Champs + Elysees, and a quiet cabinet de travail at the back, in which you + can read, write, or sulk undisturbed. Come, and we will again visit + Enghien and Montmorency. Don’t talk of engagements. If man + proposes, woman disposes. Hesitate not—obey. Your sincere little + friend, Lizzy.” + </pre> + <p> + “My dear Morley,” said Graham, with emotion, “I cannot find words to thank + your wife sufficiently for an invitation so graciously conveyed. Alas! I + cannot accept it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” asked the Colonel, drily. + </p> + <p> + “I have too much to do in London.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that the true reason, or am I to suspicion that there is anything, + sir, which makes you dislike a visit to Paris?” + </p> + <p> + The Americans enjoy the reputation of being the frankest putters of + questions whom liberty of speech has yet educated into la recherche de la + verite, and certainly Colonel Morley in this instance did not impair the + national reputation. + </p> + <p> + Graham Vane’s brow slightly contracted, and he bit his lip as if stung by + a sudden pang; but after a moment’s pause, he answered with a + good-humoured smile: + </p> + <p> + “No man who has taste enough to admire the most beautiful city, and + appreciate the charms of the most brilliant society in the world, can + dislike Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear sir, I did not ask you if you disliked Paris, but if there were + anything that made you dislike coming back to it on a visit.” + </p> + <p> + “What a notion! and what a cross-examiner you would have made if you had + been called to the bar! Surely, my dear friend, you can understand that + when a man has in one place business which he cannot neglect, he may + decline going to another place, whatever pleasure it would give him to do + so. By the way, there is a great ball at one of the Ministers’ to-night; + you should go there, and I will point out to you all those English + notabilities in whom Americans naturally take interest. I will call for + you at eleven o’clock. Lord ———, who is a connection of + mine, would be charmed to know you.” + </p> + <p> + Morley hesitated; but when Graham said, “How your wife will scold you if + you lose such an opportunity of telling her whether the Duchess of —— + is as beautiful as report says, and whether Gladstone or Disraeli seems to + your phrenological science to have the finer head!” the Colonel gave in, + and it was settled that Graham should call for him at the Langham Hotel. + </p> + <p> + That matter arranged, Graham probably hoped that his inquisitive visitor + would take leave for the present, but the Colonel evinced no such + intention. On the contrary, settling himself more at ease in his + arm-chair, he said, “if I remember aright, you do not object to the odour + of tobacco?” + </p> + <p> + Graham rose and presented to his visitor a cigar-box which he took from + the mantelpiece. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel shook his head, and withdrew from his breast pocket a leather + case, from which he extracted a gigantic regalia; this he lighted from a + gold match-box in the shape of a locket attached to his watch-chain, and + took two or three preliminary puffs, with his head thrown back and his + eyes meditatively intent upon the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + We know already that strange whim of the Colonel’s (than whom, if he so + pleased, no man could speak purer English as spoken by the Britisher) to + assert the dignity of the American citizen by copious use of expressions + and phrases familiar to the lips of the governing class of the great + Republic—delicacies of speech which he would have carefully shunned + in the polite circles of the Fifth Avenue in New York. Now the Colonel was + much too experienced a man of the world not to be aware that the + commission with which his Lizzy had charged him was an exceedingly + delicate one; and it occurred to his mother wit that the best way to + acquit himself of it, so as to avoid the risk of giving or of receiving + serious affront, would be to push that whim of his into more than wonted + exaggeration. Thus he could more decidedly and briefly come to the point; + and should he, in doing so, appear too meddlesome, rather provoke a laugh + than a frown-retiring from the ground with the honours due to a humorist. + Accordingly, in his deepest nasal intonation, and withdrawing his eyes + from the ceiling, he began: + </p> + <p> + “You have not asked, sir, after the signorina, or as we popularly call + her, Mademoiselle Cicogna?” + </p> + <p> + “Have I not? I hope she is quite well, and her lively companion, Signora + Venosta.” + </p> + <p> + “They are not sick, sir; or at least they were not so last night when my + wife and I had the pleasure to see them. Of course you have read + Mademoiselle Cicogna’s book—a bright performance, sir, age + considered.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, I have read the book; it is full of unquestionable genius. Is + Mademoiselle writing another? But of course she is.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not aware of the fact, sir. It may be predicated; such a mind cannot + remain inactive; and I know from M. Savarin and that rising young man + Gustave Rameau, that the publishers bid high for her brains considerable. + Two translations have already appeared in our country. Her fame, sir, will + be world-wide. She may be another George Sand, or at least another Eulalie + Grantmesnil.” + </p> + <p> + Graham’s cheek became as white as the paper I write on. He inclined his + head as in assent, but without a word. The Colonel continued: + </p> + <p> + “We ought to be very proud of her acquaintance, sir. I think you detected + her gifts while they were yet unconjectured. My wife says so. You must be + gratified to remember that, sir—clear grit, sir, and no mistake.” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly more than once have said to Mrs. Morley, that I esteemed + Mademoiselle’s powers so highly that I hoped she would never become a + stage-singer and actress. But this M. Rameau? You say he is a rising man. + It struck me when at Paris that he was one of those charlatans with a + great deal of conceit and very little information, who are always found in + scores on the ultra-Liberal side of politics;-possibly I was mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “He is the responsible editor of Le Sens Commun, in which talented + periodical Mademoiselle Cicogna’s book was first raised.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I know that; a journal which, so far as I have looked into its + political or social articles, certainly written by a cleverer and an older + man than M. Rameau, is for unsettling all things and settling nothing. We + have writers of that kind among ourselves—I have no sympathy with + them. To me it seems that when a man says, ‘Off with your head,’ he ought + to let us know what other head he would put on our shoulders, and by what + process the change of heads shall be effected. Honestly speaking, if you + and your charming wife are intimate friends and admirers of Mademoiselle + Cicogna, I think you could not do her a greater service than that of + detaching her from all connection with men like M. Rameau, and journals + like La Sens Commun.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel here withdrew his cigar from his lips, lowered his head to a + level with Graham’s, and relaxing into an arch significant smile, said: + “Start to Paris, and dissuade her yourself. Start—go ahead—don’t + be shy—don’t seesaw on the beam of speculation. You will have more + influence with that young female than we can boast.” Never was England in + greater danger of quarrel with America than at that moment; but Graham + curbed his first wrathful impulse, and replied coldly: + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me, Colonel, that you, though very unconsciously, derogate + from the respect due to Mademoiselle Cicogna. That the counsel of a + married couple like yourself and Mrs. Morley should be freely given to and + duly heeded by a girl deprived of her natural advisers in parents, is a + reasonable and honourable supposition; but to imply that the most + influential adviser of a young lady so situated is a young single man, in + no way related to her, appears to me a dereliction of that regard to the + dignity of her sex which is the chivalrous characteristic of your + countrymen—and to Mademoiselle Cicogna herself, a surmise which she + would be justified in resenting as an impertinence.” + </p> + <p> + “I deny both allegations,” replied the Colonel serenely. “I maintain that + a single man whips all connubial creation when it comes to gallantising a + single young woman; and that no young lady would be justified in resenting + as impertinence my friendly suggestion to the single man so deserving of + her consideration as I estimate you to be, to solicit the right to advise + her for life. And that’s a caution.” + </p> + <p> + Here the Colonel resumed his regalia, and again gazed intent on the + ceiling. + </p> + <p> + “Advise her for life! You mean, I presume, as a candidate for her hand.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t Turkey now. Well, I guess, you are not wide of the mark there, + sir.” + </p> + <p> + “You do me infinite honour, but I do not presume so far.” + </p> + <p> + “So, so—not as yet. Before a man who is not without gumption runs + himself for Congress, he likes to calculate how the votes will run. Well, + sir, suppose we are in caucus, and let us discuss the chances of the + election with closed doors.” + </p> + <p> + Graham could not help smiling at the persistent officiousness of his + visitor, but his smile was a very sad one. + </p> + <p> + “Pray change the subject, my dear Colonel Morley—it is not a + pleasant one to me; and as regards Mademoiselle Cicogna, can you think it + would not shock her to suppose that her name was dragged into the + discussions you would provoke, even with closed doors?” + </p> + <p> + “Sir,” replied the Colonel, imperturbably, “since the doors are closed, + there is no one, unless it be a spirit-listener under the table, who can + wire to Mademoiselle Cicogna the substance of debate. And, for my part, I + do not believe in spiritual manifestations. Fact is, that I have the most + amicable sentiments towards both parties, and if there is a + misunderstanding which is opposed to the union of the States, I wish to + remove it while yet in time. Now, let us suppose that you decline to be a + candidate; there are plenty of others who will run; and as an elector must + choose one representative or other, so a gal must choose one husband or + other. And then you only repent when it is too late. It is a great thing + to be first in the field. Let us approximate to the point; the chances + seem good-will you run? Yes or no?” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat, Colonel Morley, that I entertain no such presumption.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel here, rising, extended his hand, which Graham shook with + constrained cordiality, and then leisurely walked to the door; there he + paused, as if struck by a new thought, and said gravely, in his natural + tone of voice, “You have nothing to say, sir, against the young lady’s + character and honour?” + </p> + <p> + “I!—heavens, no! Colonel Morley, such a question insults me.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel resumed his deepest nasal bass: “It is only, then, because you + don’t fancy her now so much as you did last year—fact, you are + soured on her and fly off the handle. Such things do happen. The same + thing has happened to myself, sir. In my days of celibacy, there was a gal + at Saratoga whom I gallantised, and whom, while I was at Saratoga, I + thought Heaven had made to be Mrs. Morley: I was on the very point of + telling her so, when I was suddenly called off to Philadelphia; and at + Philadelphia, sir, I found that Heaven had made another Mrs. Morley. I + state this fact, sir, though I seldom talk of my own affairs, even when + willing to tender my advice in the affairs of another, in order to prove + that I do not intend to censure you if Heaven has served you in the same + manner. Sir, a man may go blind for one gal when he is not yet dry behind + the ears, and then, when his eyes are skinned, go in for one better. All + things mortal meet with a change, as my sisters little boy said when, at + the age of eight, he quitted the Methodys and turned Shaker. Threep and + argue as we may, you and I are both mortals—more’s the pity. Good + morning, sir (glancing at the clock, which proclaimed the hour of 3 P.M.),—I + err—good evening.” + </p> + <p> + By the post that day the Colonel transmitted a condensed and laconic + report of his conversation with Graham Vane. I can state its substance in + yet fewer words. He wrote word that Graham positively declined the + invitation to Paris; that he had then, agreeably to Lizzy’s instruction, + ventilated the Englishman, in the most delicate terms, as to his + intentions with regard to Isaura, and that no intentions at all existed. + The sooner all thoughts of him were relinquished, as a new suitor on the + ground, the better it would be for the young lady’s happiness in the only + state in which happiness should be, if not found, at least sought, whether + by maid or man. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morley was extremely put out by this untoward result of the diplomacy + she had intrusted to the Colonel; and when, the next day, came a very + courteous letter from Graham, thanking her gratefully for the kindness of + her invitation, and expressing his regret briefly, though cordially, at + his inability to profit by it, without the most distant allusion to the + subject which the Colonel had brought on the tapis, or even requesting his + compliments to the Signoras Venosta and Cicogna, she was more than put + out, more than resentful,—she was deeply grieved. Being, however, + one of those gallant heroes of womankind who do not give in at the first + defeat, she began to doubt whether Frank had not rather overstrained the + delicacy which he said he had put into his “soundings.” He ought to have + been more explicit. Meanwhile she resolved to call on Isaura, and, without + mentioning Graham’s refusal of her invitation, endeavour to ascertain + whether the attachment which she felt persuaded the girl secretly + cherished for this recalcitrant Englishman were something more than the + first romantic fancy—whether it were sufficiently deep to justify + farther effort on Mrs. Morley’s part to bring it to a prosperous issue. + </p> + <p> + She found Isaura at home and alone; and, to do her justice, she exhibited + wonderful tact in the fulfilment of the task she had set herself. Forming + her judgment by manner and look—not words—she returned home, + convinced that she ought to seize the opportunity afforded to her by + Graham’s letter. It was one to which she might very naturally reply, and + in that reply she might convey the object at her heart more felicitously + than the Colonel had done. “The cleverest man is,” she said to herself, + “stupid compared to an ordinary woman in the real business of life, which + does not consist of fighting and moneymaking.” + </p> + <p> + Now there was one point she had ascertained by words in her visit to + Isaura—a point on which all might depend. She had asked Isaura when + and where she had seen Graham last; and when Isaura had given her that + information, and she learned it was on the eventful day on which Isaura + gave her consent to the publication of her MS. if approved by Savarin, in + the journal to be set up by the handsome-faced young author, she leapt to + the conclusion that Graham had been seized with no unnatural jealousy, and + was still under the illusive glamoury of that green-eyed fiend. She was + confirmed in this notion, not altogether an unsound one, when asking with + apparent carelessness, “And in that last interview, did you see any change + in Mr. Vane’s manner, especially when he took leave?” + </p> + <p> + Isaura turned away pale, and involuntarily clasping her hands-as women do + when they would suppress pain-replied, in a low murmur, “His manner was + changed.” + </p> + <p> + Accordingly, Mrs. Morley sat down and wrote the following letter: + </p> + <p> + “DEAR MR. VANE,—I am very angry indeed with you for refusing my + invitation—I had so counted on you, and I don’t believe a word of + your excuse. Engagements! To balls and dinners, I suppose, as if you were + not much too clever to care about such silly attempts to enjoy solitude in + crowds. And as to what you men call business, you have no right to have + any business at all. You are not in commerce; you are not in Parliament; + you told me yourself that you had no great landed estates to give you + trouble; you are rich, without any necessity to take pains to remain rich, + or to become richer; you have no business in the world except to please + yourself: and when you will not come to Paris to see one of your truest + friends—which I certainly am—it simply means, that no matter + how such a visit would please me, it does not please yourself. I call that + abominably rude and ungrateful. + </p> + <p> + “But I am not writing merely to scold you. I have something else on my + mind, and it must come out. Certainly, when you were at Paris last year + you did admire, above all other young ladies, Isaura Cicogna. And I + honoured you for doing so. I know no other young lady to be called her + equal. Well, if you admired her then, what would you do now if you met + her? Then she was but a girl—very brilliant, very charming, it is + true—but undeveloped, untested. Now she is a woman, a princess among + women, but retaining all that is most lovable in a girl; so courted, yet + so simple—so gifted, yet so innocent. Her head is not a bit turned + by all the flattery that surrounds her. Come and judge for yourself. I + still hold the door of the rooms destined to you open for repentance. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Vane, do not think me a silly match-making little woman, when + I write to you thus, a coeur ouvert. + </p> + <p> + “I like you so much that I would fain secure to you the rarest prize which + life is ever likely to offer to your ambition. Where can you hope to find + another Isaura? Among the stateliest daughters of your English dukes, + where is there one whom a proud man would be more proud to show to the + world, saying, ‘She is mine!’ where one more distinguished—I will + not say by mere beauty, there she might be eclipsed—but by sweetness + and dignity combined—in aspect, manner, every movement, every smile? + </p> + <p> + “And you, who are yourself so clever, so well read—you who would be + so lonely with a wife who was not your companion, with whom you could not + converse on equal terms of intellect,—my dear friend, where could + you find a companion in whom you would not miss the poet-soul of Isaura? + Of course I should not dare to obtrude all these questionings on your + innermost reflection, if I had not some idea, right or wrong, that since + the days when at Enghien and Montmorency, seeing you and Isaura side by + side, I whispered to Frank, ‘So should those two be through life,’ some + cloud has passed between your eyes and the future on which they gazed. + Cannot that cloud be dispelled? Were you so unjust to yourself as to be + jealous of a rival, perhaps of a Gustave Rameau? I write to you frankly—answer + me frankly; and if you answer, ‘Mrs. Morley, I don’t know, what you mean; + I admired Mademoiselle Cicogna as I might admire any other pretty, + accomplished girl, but it is really nothing to me whether she marries + Gustave Rameau or any one else,’—why, then, burn this letter—forget + that it has been written; and may you never know the pang of remorseful + sigh, if, in the days to come, you see her—whose name in that case I + should profane did I repeat it—the comrade of another man’s mind, + the half of another man’s heart, the pride and delight of another man’s + blissful home.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0069" id="link2HCH0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + There is somewhere in Lord Lytton’s writings—writings so numerous + that I may be pardoned if I cannot remember where-a critical definition of + the difference between dramatic and narrative art of story, instanced by + that marvellous passage in the loftiest of Sir Walter Scott’s works, in + which all the anguish of Ravenswood on the night before he has to meet + Lucy’s brother in mortal combat is conveyed without the spoken words + required in tragedy. It is only to be conjectured by the tramp of his + heavy boots to and fro all the night long in his solitary chamber, heard + below by the faithful Caleb. The drama could not have allowed that + treatment; the drama must have put into words, as “soliloquy,” agonies + which the non-dramatic narrator knows that no soliloquy can describe. + Humbly do I imitate, then, the great master of narrative in declining to + put into words the conflict between love and reason that tortured the + heart of Graham Vane when, dropping noiselessly the letter I have just + transcribed, he covered his face with his hands and remained—I know + not how long—in the same position, his head bowed, not a sound + escaping from his lips. + </p> + <p> + He did not stir from his rooms that day; and had there been a Caleb’s + faithful ear to listen, his tread, too, might have been heard all that + sleepless night passing to and fro, but pausing oft, along his solitary + floors. + </p> + <p> + Possibly love would have borne down all opposing seasonings, doubts, and + prejudices, but for incidents that occurred the following evening. On that + evening Graham dined en famille with his cousins the Altons. After dinner, + the Duke produced the design for a cenotaph inscribed to the memory of his + aunt, Lady Janet King, which he proposed to place in the family chapel at + Alton. + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said the Duke, kindly, “you would wish the old house from which + she sprang to preserve some such record of her who loved you as her son; + and even putting you out of the question, it gratifies me to attest the + claim of our family to a daughter who continues to be famous for her + goodness, and made the goodness so lovable that envy forgave it for being + famous. It was a pang to me when poor Richard King decided on placing her + tomb among strangers; but in conceding his rights as to her resting-place, + I retain mine to her name,—Nostris liberis virtutis exemplar.” + </p> + <p> + Graham wrung his cousin’s hand-he could not speak, choked by suppressed + tears. + </p> + <p> + The Duchess, who loved and honoured Lady Janet almost as much as did her + husband, fairly sobbed aloud. She had, indeed, reason for grateful + memories of the deceased: there had been some obstacles to her marriage + with the man who had won her heart, arising from political differences and + family feuds between their parents, which the gentle meditation of Lady + Janet had smoothed away. And never did union founded on mutual and ardent + love more belie the assertions of the great Bichat (esteemed by Dr. Buckle + the finest intellect which practical philosophy has exhibited since + Aristotle), that “Love is a sort of fever which does not last beyond two + years,” than that between those eccentric specimens of a class denounced + as frivolous and artless by philosophers, English and French, who have + certainly never heard of Bichat. + </p> + <p> + When the emotion the Duke had exhibited was calmed down, his wife pushed + towards Graham a sheet of paper, inscribed with the epitaph composed by + his hand. “Is it not beautiful,” she said, falteringly—“not a word + too much or too little?” + </p> + <p> + Graham read the inscription slowly, and with very dimmed eyes. It deserved + the praise bestowed on it; for the Duke, though a shy and awkward speaker, + was an incisive and graceful writer. + </p> + <p> + Yet, in his innermost self, Graham shivered when he read that epitaph, it + expressed so emphatically the reverential nature of the love which Lady + Janet had inspired—the genial influences which the holiness of a + character so active in doing good had diffused around it. It brought + vividly before Graham that image of perfect spotless womanhood. And a + voice within him asked, “Would that cenotaph be placed amid the monuments + of an illustrious lineage if the secret known to thee could transpire? + What though the lost one were really as unsullied by sin as the world + deems, would the name now treasured as an heirloom not be a memory of gall + and a sound of shame?” + </p> + <p> + He remained so silent after putting down the inscription, that the Duke + said modestly: “My dear Graham, I see that you do not like what I have + written. Your pen is much more practised than mine. If I did not ask you + to compose the epitaph, it was because I thought it would please you more + in coming, as a spontaneous tribute due to her, from the representative of + her family. But will you correct my sketch, or give me another according + to your own ideas?” + </p> + <p> + “I see not a word to alter,” said Graham; “forgive me if my silence + wronged my emotion; the truest eloquence is that which holds us too mute + for applause.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you would like it. Leopold is always so disposed to underrate + himself,” said the duchess, whose hand was resting fondly on her husband’s + shoulder. “Epitaphs are so difficult to write-especially epitaphs on women + of whom in life the least said the better. Janet was the only woman I ever + knew whom one could praise in safety.” + </p> + <p> + “Well expressed,” said the Duke, smiling: “and I wish you would make that + safety clear to some lady friends of yours, to whom it might serve as a + lesson. Proof against every breath of scandal herself, Janet King never + uttered and never encouraged one ill-natured word against another. But I + am afraid, my dear fellow, that I must leave you to a tete-a-tete with + Eleanor. You know that I must be at the House this evening—I only + paired till half-past nine.” + </p> + <p> + “I will walk down to the House with you, if you are going on foot.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the Duchess; “you must resign yourself to me for at least half + an hour. I was looking over your aunt’s letters to-day, and I found one + which I wish to show you; it is all about yourself, and written within the + last few months of her life.” Here she put her arm into Graham’s, and led + him into her own private drawing-room, which, though others might call it + a boudoir, she dignified by the name of her study. The Duke remained for + some minutes thoughtfully leaning his arm on the mantelpiece. It was no + unimportant debate in the Lords that night, and on a subject in which he + took great interest, and the details of which he had thoroughly mastered. + He had been requested to speak, if only a few words, for his high + character and his reputation for good sense gave weight to the mere + utterance of his opinion. But though no one had more moral courage in + action, the Duke had a terror at the very thought of addressing an + audience, which made him despise himself. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he muttered, “if Graham Vane were but in Parliament, I could trust + him to say exactly what I would rather be swallowed up by an earthquake + than stand up and say for myself. But now he has got money he seems to + think of nothing but saving it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0070" id="link2HCH0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + The letter from Lady Janet, which the Duchess took from the desk and + placed in Graham’s hand, was in strange coincidence with the subject that + for the last twenty-four hours had absorbed his thoughts and tortured his + heart. Speaking of him in terms of affectionate eulogy, the writer + proceeded to confide her earnest wish that he should not longer delay that + change in life which, concentrating so much that is vague in the desires + and aspirations of man, leaves his heart and his mind, made serene by the + contentment of home, free for the steadfast consolidation of their warmth + and their light upon the ennobling duties that unite the individual to his + race. + </p> + <p> + “There is no one,” wrote Lady Janet, “whose character and career a + felicitous choice in marriage can have greater influence over than this + dear adopted son of mine. I do not fear that in any case he will be liable + to the errors of his brilliant father. His early reverse of fortune here + seems to me one of those blessings which Heaven conceals in the form of + affliction. For in youth, the genial freshness of his gay animal spirits, + a native generosity mingled with desire of display and thirst for + applause, made me somewhat alarmed for his future. But, though he still + retains these attributes of character, they are no longer predominant; + they are modified and chastened. He has learned prudence. But what I now + fear most for him is that which he does not show in the world, which + neither Leopold nor you seem to detect,—it is an exceeding + sensitiveness of pride. I know not how else to describe it. It is so + interwoven with the highest qualities, that I sometimes dread injury to + them could it be torn away from the faultier ones which it supports. + </p> + <p> + “It is interwoven with that lofty independence of spirit which has made + him refuse openings the most alluring to his ambition; it communicates a + touching grandeur to his self-denying thrift; it makes him so tenacious of + his word once given, so cautious before he gives it. Public life to him is + essential; without it he would be incomplete; and yet I sigh to think that + whatever success he may achieve in it will be attended with proportionate + pain. Calumny goes side by side with fame, and courting fame as a man, he + is as thin-skinned to calumny as a woman. + </p> + <p> + “The wife for Graham should have qualities, not taken individually, + uncommon in English wives, but in combination somewhat rare. + </p> + <p> + “She must have mind enough to appreciate his—not to clash with it. + She must be fitted with sympathies to be his dearest companion, his + confidante in the hopes and fears which the slightest want of sympathy + would make him keep ever afterwards pent within his breast. In herself + worthy of distinction, she must merge all distinction in his. You have met + in the world men who, marrying professed beauties, or professed literary + geniuses, are spoken of as the husband of the beautiful Mrs. A———, + or of the clever Mrs. B———-: can you fancy Graham Vane + in the reflected light of one of those husbands? I trembled last year when + I thought he was attracted by a face which the artists raved about, and + again by a tongue which dropped bons mots that went the round of the club. + I was relieved, when, sounding him, he said, laughingly, ‘No, dear aunt, I + should be one sore from head to foot if I married a wife that was talked + about for anything but goodness.’ + </p> + <p> + “No,—Graham Vane will have pains sharp enough if he live to be + talked about himself. But that tenderest half of himself, the bearer of + the name he would make, and for the dignity of which he alone would be + responsible,—if that were the town talk, he would curse the hour he + gave any one the right to take on herself his man’s burden of calumny and + fame. I know not which I should pity the most, Graham Vane or his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand me, dearest Eleanor? No doubt you do so far, that you + comprehend that the women whom men most admire are not the women we, as + women ourselves, would wish our sons or brothers to marry. But perhaps you + do not comprehend my cause of fear, which is this—for in such + matters men do not see as we women do—Graham abhors, in the girls of + our time, frivolity and insipidity. Very rightly, you will say. True, but + then he is too likely to be allured by contrasts. I have seen him + attracted by the very girls we recoil from more than we do from those we + allow to be frivolous and insipid. I accused him of admiration for a + certain young lady whom you call ‘odious,’ and whom the slang that has + come into vogue calls ‘fast;’ and I was not satisfied with his answer, + ‘Certainly I admire her; she is not a doll—she has ideas.’ I would + rather of the two see Graham married to what men call a doll, than to a + girl with ideas which are distasteful to women.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Janet then went on to question the Duchess about a Miss Asterisk, + with whom this tale will have nothing to do, but who, from the little + which Lady Janet had seen of her, might possess all the requisites that + fastidious correspondent would exact for the wife of her adopted son. + </p> + <p> + This Miss Asterisk had been introduced into the London world by the + Duchess. The Duchess had replied to Lady Janet, that if earth could be + ransacked, a more suitable wife for Graham Vane than Miss Asterisk could + not be found; she was well born—an heiress; the estates she + inherited were in the county of—(viz., the county in which the + ancestors of D’Altons and Vanes had for centuries established their + whereabout). Miss Asterisk was pretty enough to please any man’s eye, but + not with the beauty of which artists rave; well informed enough to be + companion to a well-informed man, but certainly not witty enough to supply + bons mots to the clubs. Miss Asterisk was one of those women of whom a + husband might be proud, yet with whom a husband would feel safe from being + talked about. + </p> + <p> + And in submitting the letter we have read to Graham’s eye, the Duchess had + the cause of Miss Asterisk pointedly in view. Miss Asterisk had confided + to her friend, that, of all men she had seen, Mr. Graham Vane was the one + she would feel the least inclined to refuse. + </p> + <p> + So when Graham Vane returned the letter to the Duchess, simply saying, + “How well my dear aunt divined what is weakest in me!” the Duchess replied + quickly, “Miss Asterisk dines here to-morrow; pray come; you would like + her if you knew more of her.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow I am engaged—an American friend of mine dines with me; + but ‘tis no matter, for I shall never feel more for Miss Asterisk than I + feel for Mont Blanc.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0071" id="link2HCH0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + On leaving his cousin’s house Graham walked on, he scarce knew or cared + whither, the image of the beloved dead so forcibly recalled the solemnity + of the mission with which he had been intrusted, and which hitherto he had + failed to fulfil. What if the only mode by which he could, without causing + questions and suspicions that might result in dragging to day the terrible + nature of the trust he held, enrich the daughter of Richard King, repair + all wrong hitherto done to her, and guard the sanctity of Lady Janet’s + home,—should be in that union which Richard King had commended to + him while his heart was yet free? In such a case, would not gratitude to + the dead, duty to the living, make that union imperative at whatever + sacrifice of happiness to himself? The two years to which Richard King had + limited the suspense of research were not yet expired. Then, too, that + letter of Lady Janet’s,—so tenderly anxious for his future, so + clear-sighted as to the elements of his own character in its strength or + its infirmities—combined with graver causes to withhold his heart + from its yearning impulse, and—no, not steel it against Isaura, but + forbid it to realise, in the fair creature and creator of romance, his + ideal of the woman to whom an earnest, sagacious, aspiring man commits all + the destinies involved in the serene dignity of his hearth. He could not + but own that this gifted author—this eager seeker after fame—this + brilliant and bold competitor with men on their own stormy + battle-ground-was the very person from whom Lady Janet would have warned + away his choice. She (Isaura) merge her own distinctions in a husband’s;—she + leave exclusively to him the burden of fame and calumny!—she shun + “to be talked about!” she who could feel her life to be a success or a + failure, according to the extent and the loudness of the talk which it + courted! + </p> + <p> + While these thoughts racked his mind, a kindly hand was laid on his arm, + and a cheery voice accosted him. “Well met, my dear Vane! I see we are + bound to the same place; there will be a good gathering to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Bevil? I am going nowhere, except to my own quiet + rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! Come in here at least for a few minutes,”—and Bevil drew him + up to the door-step of a house close by, where, on certain evenings, a + well-known club drew together men who seldom meet so familiarly elsewhere—men + of all callings; a club especially favoured by wits, authors, and the + flaneurs of polite society. + </p> + <p> + Graham shook his head, about to refuse, when Bevil added, “I have just + come from Paris, and can give you the last news, literary, political, and + social. By the way, I saw Savarin the other night at the Cicogna’s—he + introduced me there.” Graham winced; he was spelled by the music of a + name, and followed his acquaintance into the crowded room, and, after + returning many greetings and nods, withdrew into a remote corner, and + motioned Bevil to a seat beside him. + </p> + <p> + “So you met Savarin? Where, did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “At the house of the new lady-author—I hate the word authoress—Mademoiselle + Cicogna! Of course you have read her book?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Full of fine things, is it not?—though somewhat highflown and + sentimental: however, nothing succeeds like success. No book has been more + talked about at Paris: the only thing more talked about is the lady-author + herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, and how?” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t look twenty, a mere girl—of that kind of beauty which + so arrests the eye that you pass by other faces to gaze on it, and the + dullest stranger would ask, ‘Who, and what is she?’ A girl, I say, like + that—who lives as independently as if she were a middle-aged widow, + receives every week (she has her Thursdays), with no other chaperon than + an old ci-devant Italian singing woman, dressed like a guy—must set + Parisian tongues into play even if she had not written the crack book of + the season.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Cicogna receives on Thursdays,—no harm in that; and if + she have no other chaperon than the Italian lady you mention, it is + because Mademoiselle Cicogna is an orphan, and having a fortune, such as + it is, of her own, I do not see why she should not live as independently + as many an unmarried woman in London placed under similar circumstances. I + suppose she receives chiefly persons in the literary or artistic world, + and if they are all as respectable as the Savarins, I do not think + ill-nature itself could find fault with her social circle.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you know the Cicogna, I presume. I am sure I did not wish to say + anything that could offend her best friends, only I do think it is a pity + she is not married, poor girl!” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle Cicogna, accomplished, beautiful, of good birth (the + Cicogna’s rank among the oldest of Lombard families), is not likely to + want offers.” + </p> + <p> + “Offers of marriage,—h’m—well, I dare say, from authors and + artists. You know Paris better even than I do, but I don’t suppose authors + and artists there make the most desirable husbands; and I scarcely know a + marriage in France between a man-author and lady-author which does not end + in the deadliest of all animosities—that of wounded amour propre. + Perhaps the man admires his own genius too much to do proper homage to his + wife’s.” + </p> + <p> + “But the choice of Mademoiselle Cicogna need not be restricted to the pale + of authorship—doubtless she has many admirers beyond that + quarrelsome borderland.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly-countless adorers. Enguerrand de Vandemar—you know that + diamond of dandies?” + </p> + <p> + “Perfectly—is he an admirer?” + </p> + <p> + “Cela va sans dire—he told me that though she was not the handsomest + woman in Paris, all other women looked less handsome since he had seen + her. But, of course, French lady-killers like Enguerrand, when it comes to + marriage, leave it to their parents to choose their wives and arrange the + terms of the contract. Talking of lady-killers, I beheld amid the throng + at Mademoiselle Cicogna’s the ci-devant Lovelace whom I remember some + twenty-three years ago as the darling of wives and the terror of + husbands-Victor de Mauleon.” + </p> + <p> + “Victor de Mauleon at Mademoiselle Cicogna’s!—what, is that man + restored to society?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are thinking of the ugly old story about the jewels—oh, + yes, he has got over that; all his grand relations, the Vandemars, + Beauvilliers, Rochebriant, and others, took him by the hand when he + reappeared at Paris last year; and though I believe he is still avoided by + many, he is courted by still more—and avoided, I fancy, rather from + political than social causes. The Imperialist set, of course, execrate and + prescribe him. You know he is the writer of those biting articles signed + Pierre Firmin in the Sens Commun; and I am told he is the proprietor of + that very clever journal, which has become a power.” + </p> + <p> + “So, so—that is the journal in which Mademoiselle Cicogna’s roman + first appeared. So, so—Victor de Mauleon one of her associates, her + counsellor and friend—ah!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn’t say that; on the contrary, he was presented to her the first + time the evening I was at the house. I saw that young silk-haired coxcomb, + Gustave Rameau, introduce him to her. You don’t perhaps know Rameau, + editor of the Sens Commun—writes poems and criticisms. They say he + is a Red Republican, but De Mauleon keeps truculent French politics + subdued if not suppressed in his cynical journal. Somebody told me that + the Cicogna is very much in love with Rameau; certainly he has a handsome + face of his own, and that is the reason why she was so rude to the Russian + Prince X——-.” + </p> + <p> + “How rude! Did the Prince propose to her?” + </p> + <p> + “Propose! you forget—he is married. Don’t you know the Princess? + Still there are other kinds of proposals than those of marriage which a + rich Russian prince may venture to make to a pretty novelist brought up + for the stage.” + </p> + <p> + “Bevil!” cried Graham, grasping the man’s arm fiercely, “how dare you?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy,” said Bevil, very much astonished, “I really did not know + that your interest in the young lady was so great. If I have wounded you + in relating a mere on dit picked up at the Jockey Club, I beg you a + thousand pardons. I dare say there was not a word of truth in it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word of truth, you may be sure, if the on dit was injurious to + Mademoiselle Cicogna. It is true, I have a strong interest in her; any man—any + gentleman—would have such interest in a girl so brilliant and + seemingly so friendless. It shames one of human nature to think that the + reward which the world makes to those who elevate its platitudes, brighten + its dulness, delight its leisure, is Slander! I have had the honour to + make the acquaintance of this lady before she became a ‘celebrity,’ and I + have never met in my paths through life a purer heart or a nobler nature. + What is the wretched on dit you condescend to circulate? Permit me to add: + </p> + <p> + “‘He who repeats a slander shares the crime.’” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my honour, my dear Vane,” said Bevil seriously (he did not want for + spirit), “I hardly know you this evening. It is not because duelling is + out of fashion that a man should allow himself to speak in a tone that + gives offence to another who intended none; and if duelling is out of + fashion in England, it is still possible in France.—Entre nous, I + would rather cross the Channel with you than submit to language that + conveys unmerited insult.” + </p> + <p> + Graham’s cheek, before ashen pale, flushed into dark red. “I understand + you,” he said quietly, “and will be at Boulogne to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Graham Vane,” replied Bevil, with much dignity, “you and I have known + each other a great many years, and neither of us has cause to question the + courage of the other; but I am much older than yourself—permit me to + take the melancholy advantage of seniority. A duel between us in + consequence of careless words said about a lady in no way connected with + either, would be a cruel injury to her; a duel on grounds so slight would + little injure me—a man about town, who would not sit an hour in the + House of Commons if you paid him a thousand pounds a minute. But you, + Graham Vane—you whose destiny it is to canvass electors and make + laws—would it not be an injury to you to be questioned at the + hustings why you broke the law, and why you sought another man’s life? + Come, come! shake hands and consider all that seconds, if we chose them, + would exact, is said, every affront on either side retracted, every + apology on either side made.” + </p> + <p> + “Bevil, you disarm and conquer me. I spoke like a hotheaded fool; forget + it—forgive. But—but—I can listen calmly now—what + is that on dit?” + </p> + <p> + “One that thoroughly bears out your own very manly upholding of the poor + young orphan, whose name I shall never again mention without such respect + as would satisfy her most sensitive champion. It was said that the Prince + X——— boasted that before a week was out Mademoiselle + Cicogna should appear in his carriage at the Bois de Boulogne, and wear at + the opera diamonds he had sent to her; that this boast was enforced by a + wager, and the terms of the wager compelled the Prince to confess the + means he had taken to succeed, and produce the evidence that he had lost + or won. According to this on dit, the Prince had written to Mademoiselle + Cicogna, and the letter had been accompanied by a parure that cost him + half a million of francs; that the diamonds had been sent back with a few + words of such scorn as a queen might address to an upstart lackey. But, my + dear Vane, it is a mournful position for the girl to receive such offers; + and you must agree with me in wishing she were safely married, even to + Monsieur Rameau, coxcomb though he be. Let us hope that they will be an + exception to French authors, male and female, in general, and live like + turtle-doves.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0072" id="link2HCH0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + A few days after the date of the last chapter, Colonel Morley returned to + Paris. He had dined with Graham at Greenwich, had met him afterwards in + society, and paid him a farewell visit on the day before the Colonel’s + departure; but the name of Isaura Cicogna had not again been uttered by + either. Morley was surprised that his wife did not question him minutely + as to the mode in which he had executed her delicate commission, and the + manner as well as words with which Graham had replied to his + “ventilations.” But his Lizzy cut him short when he began his recital: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to hear anything more about the man. He has thrown away a + prize richer than his ambition will ever gain, even if it gained him a + throne.” + </p> + <p> + “That it can’t gain him in the old country. The people are loyal to the + present dynasty, whatever you may be told to the contrary.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be so horribly literal, Frank; that subject is done with. How was + the Duchess of ——— dressed?” + </p> + <p> + But when the Colonel had retired to what the French call the cabinet de + traivail—and which he more accurately termed his “smoke den”—and + there indulged in the cigar which, despite his American citizenship, was + forbidden in the drawing-room of the tyrant who ruled his life, Mrs. + Morley took from her desk a letter received three days before, and brooded + over it intently, studying every word. When she had thus reperused it, her + tears fell upon the page. “Poor Isaura!” she muttered—“poor Isaura! + I know she loves him—and how deeply a nature like hers can love! But + I must break it to her. If I did not, she would remain nursing a vain + dream, and refuse every chance of real happiness for the sake of nursing + it.” Then she mechanically folded up the letter—I need not say it + was from Graham Vane—restored it to the desk, and remained musing + till the Colonel looked in at the door and said peremptorily, “Very late—come + to bed.” + </p> + <p> + The next day Madame Savarin called on Isaura. + </p> + <p> + “Chere enfant,” said she, “I have bad news for you. Poor Gustave is very + ill—an attack of the lungs and fever; you know how delicate he is.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sincerely grieved,” said Isaura, in earnest tender tones; “it must + be a very sudden attack: he was here last Thursday.” + </p> + <p> + “The malady only declared itself yesterday morning, but surely you must + have observed how ill he has been looking for several days past? It pained + me to see him.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not notice any change in him,” said Isaura, somewhat + conscience-stricken. Wrapt in her own happy thoughts, she would not have + noticed change in faces yet more familiar to her than that of her young + admirer. + </p> + <p> + “Isaura,” said Madame Savarin, “I suspect there are moral causes for our + friend’s failing health. Why should I disguise my meaning? You know well + how madly he is in love with you, and have you denied him hope?” + </p> + <p> + “I like M. Rameau as a friend; I admire him—at times I pity him.” + </p> + <p> + “Pity is akin to love.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt the truth of that saying, at all events as you apply it now. I + could not love M. Rameau; I never gave him cause to think I could.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish for both your sakes that you could make me a different answer; for + his sake, because, knowing his faults and failings, I am persuaded that + they would vanish in a companionship so pure, so elevating as yours: you + could make him not only so much happier but so much better a man. Hush! + let me go on, let me come to yourself,—I say for your sake I wish + it. Your pursuits, your ambition, are akin to his; you should not marry + one who could not sympathise with you in these. If you did, he might + either restrict the exercise of your genius or be chafed at its display. + The only authoress I ever knew whose married lot was serenely happy to the + last, was the greatest of English poetesses married to a great English + poet. You cannot, you ought not, to devote yourself to the splendid career + to which your genius irresistibly impels you, without that counsel, that + support, that protection, which a husband alone can give. My dear child, + as the wife myself of a man of letters, and familiarised to all the + gossip, all the scandal, to which they who give their names to the public + are exposed, I declare that if I had a daughter who inherited Savarin’s + talents, and was ambitious of attaining to his renown, I would rather shut + her up in a convent than let her publish a book that was in every one’s + hands until she had sheltered her name under that of a husband; and if I + say this of my child, with a father so wise in the world’s ways, and so + popularly respected as my bon homme, what must I feel to be essential to + your safety, poor stranger in our land! poor solitary orphan! with no + other advice or guardian than the singing mistress whom you touchingly + call ‘Madre!’ I see how I distress and pain you—I cannot help it. + Listen! The other evening Savarin came back from his favourite cafe in a + state of excitement that made me think he came to announce a revolution. + It was about you; he stormed, he wept—actually wept—my + philosophical laughing Savarin. He had just heard of that atrocious wager + made by a Russian barbarian. Every one praised you for the contempt with + which you had treated the savage’s insolence. But that you should have + been submitted to such an insult without one male friend who had the right + to resent and chastise it,—you cannot think how Savarin was chafed + and galled. You know how he admires, but you cannot guess how he reveres + you; and since then he says to me every day: ‘That girl must not remain + single. Better marry any man who has a heart to defend a wife’s honour and + the nerve to fire a pistol: every Frenchman has those qualifications!’” + </p> + <p> + Here Isaura could no longer restrain her emotions; she burst into sobs so + vehement, so convulsive, that Madame Savarin became alarmed; but when she + attempted to embrace and soothe her, Isaura recoiled with a visible + shudder, and gasping out, “Cruel, cruel!” turned to the door, and rushed + to her own room. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes afterwards a maid entered the salon with a message to Madame + Savarin that Mademoiselle was so unwell that she must beg Madame to excuse + her return to the salon. + </p> + <p> + Later in the day Mrs. Morley called, but Isaura would not see her. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile poor Rameau was stretched on his sick-bed, and in sharp struggle + between life and death. It is difficult to disentangle, one by one, all + the threads in a nature so complex as Rameau’s; but if we may hazard a + conjecture, the grief of disappointed love was not the immediate cause of + his illness, and yet it had much to do with it. The goad of Isaura’s + refusal had driven him into seeking distraction in excesses which a + stronger frame could not have courted with impunity. The man was + thoroughly Parisian in many things, but especially in impatience of any + trouble. Did love trouble him—love could be drowned in absinthe; and + too much absinthe may be a more immediate cause of congested lungs than + the love which the absinthe had lulled to sleep. + </p> + <p> + His bedside was not watched by hirelings. When first taken thus ill—too + ill to attend to his editorial duties—information was conveyed to + the publisher of the Sens Commun, and in consequence of that information, + Victor de Mauleon came to see the sick man. By his bed he found Savarin, + who had called, as it were by chance, and seen the doctor, who had said, + “It is grave. He must be well nursed.” Savarin whispered to De Mauleon, + “Shall we call in a professional nurse, or a soeur de charite?” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon replied, also in a whisper, “Somebody told me that the man had + a mother.” + </p> + <p> + It was true—Savarin had forgotten it. Rameau never mentioned his + parents—he was not proud of them. + </p> + <p> + They belonged to a lower class of the bourgeoisie, retired shopkeepers, + and a Red Republican is sworn to hate of the bourgeoisie, high or low; + while a beautiful young author pushing his way into the Chaussee d’Antin + does not proclaim to the world that his parents had sold hosiery in the + Rue St. Denis. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless Savarin knew that Rameau had such parents still living, and + took the hint. Two hours afterwards Rameau was leaning his burning + forehead on his mother’s breast. + </p> + <p> + The next morning the doctor said to the mother, “You are worth ten of me. + If you can stay here we shall pull him through.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay here!—my own boy!” cried indignantly the poor mother. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0073" id="link2HCH0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + The day which had inflicted on Isaura so keen an anguish was marked by a + great trial in the life of Alain de Rochebriant. + </p> + <p> + In the morning he received the notice “of un commandement tendant a saisie + immobiliere,” on the part of his creditor, M. Louvier; in plain English, + an announcement that his property at Rochebriant would be put up to public + sale on a certain day, in case all debts due to the mortgagee were not + paid before. An hour afterwards came a note from Duplessis stating that + “he had returned from Bretagne on the previous evening, and would be very + happy to see the Marquis de Rochebriant before two o’clock, if not + inconvenient to call.” + </p> + <p> + Alain put the “commandement” into his pocket, and repaired to the Hotel + Duplessis. + </p> + <p> + The financier received him with very cordial civility. Then he began: “I + am happy to say I left your excellent aunt in very good health. She + honoured the letter of introduction to her which I owe to your politeness + with the most amiable hospitalities; she insisted on my removing from the + auberge at which I first put up and becoming a guest under your venerable + roof-tree—a most agreeable lady, and a most interesting chateau.” + </p> + <p> + “I fear your accommodation was in striking contrast to your comforts at + Paris; my chateau is only interesting to an antiquarian enamoured of + ruins.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, ‘ruins’ is an exaggerated expression. I do not say that the + chateau does not want some repairs, but they would not be costly; the + outer walls are strong enough to defy time for centuries to come, and a + few internal decorations and some modern additions of furniture would make + the old manoir a home fit for a prince. I have been over the whole estate, + too, with the worthy M. Hebert,—a superb property.” + </p> + <p> + “Which M. Louvier appears to appreciate,” said Alain, with a somewhat + melancholy smile, extending to Duplessis the menacing notice. + </p> + <p> + Duplessis glanced at it, and said drily: “M. Louvier knows what he is + about. But I think we had better put an immediate stop to formalities + which must be painful to a creditor so benevolent. I do not presume to + offer to pay the interest due on the security you can give for the + repayment. If you refused that offer from so old a friend as Lemercier, of + course you could not accept it from me. I make another proposal, to which + you can scarcely object. I do not like to give my scheming rival on the + Bourse the triumph of so profoundly planned a speculation. Aid me to + defeat him. Let me take the mortgage on myself, and become sole mortgagee—hush!—on + this condition,—that there should be an entire union of interests + between us two; that I should be at liberty to make the improvements I + desire, and when the improvements be made, there should be a fair + arrangement as to the proportion of profits due to me as mortgagee and + improver, to you as original owner. Attend, my dear Marquis,—I am + speaking as a mere man of business. I see my way to adding more than a + third, I might even say a half—to the present revenues of + Rochbriant. The woods have been sadly neglected, drainage alone would add + greatly to their produce. Your orchards might be rendered magnificent + supplies to Paris with better cultivation. Lastly, I would devote to + building purposes or to market gardens all the lands round the two towns + of ——— and ————-. I think I can + lay my hands on suitable speculators for these last experiments. In a + word, though the market value of Rochebriant, as it now stands, would not + be equivalent to the debt on it, in five or six years it could be made + worth—well, I will not say how much—but we shall be both well + satisfied with the result. Meanwhile, if you allow me to find purchasers + for your timber, and if you will not suffer the Chevalier de Finisterre to + regulate your expenses, you need have no fear that the interest due to me + will not be regularly paid, even though I shall be compelled, for the + first year or two at least, to ask a higher rate of interest than Louvier + exacted—say a quarter per cent. more; and in suggesting that, you + will comprehend that this is now a matter of business between us, and not + of friendship.” + </p> + <p> + Alain turned his head aside to conceal his emotion, and then, with the + quick affectionate impulse of the genuine French nature, threw himself on + the financier’s breast and kissed him on both cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “You save me! you save the home and the tombs of my ancestors! Thank you I + cannot; but I believe in God—I pray—I will pray for you as for + a father; and if ever,” he hurried on in broken words, “I am mean enough + to squander on idle luxuries one franc that I should save for the debt due + to you, chide me as a father would chide a graceless son.” + </p> + <p> + Moved as Alain was, Duplessis was moved yet more deeply. “What father + would not be proud of such a son? Ah, if I had such a one!” he said + softly. Then, quickly recovering his wonted composure, he added, with the + sardonic smile which often chilled his friends and alarmed his foes, + “Monsieur Louvier is about to pass that which I ventured to promise him, a + ‘mauvais quart-d’heure.’ Lend me that commandement tendant a saisie. I + must be off to my avoue with instructions. If you have no better + engagement, pray dine with me to-day and accompany Valerie and myself to + the opera.” + </p> + <p> + I need not say that Alain accepted the invitation. How happy Valerie was + that evening! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0074" id="link2HCH0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + The next day Duplessis was surprised by a visit from M. Louvier—that + magnate of millionaires had never before set foot in the house of his + younger and less famous rival. + </p> + <p> + The burly man entered the room with a face much flushed, and with more + than his usual mixture of jovial brusquerie and opulent swagger. + </p> + <p> + “Startled to see me, I dare say,” began Louvier, as soon as the door was + closed. “I have this morning received a communication from your agent + containing a cheque for the interest due to me from M. Rochebriant, and a + formal notice of your intention to pay off the principal on behalf of that + popinjay prodigal. Though we two have not hitherto been the best friends + in the world, I thought it fair to a man in your station to come to you + direct and say, ‘Cher confrere, what swindler has bubbled you? You don’t + know the real condition of this Breton property, or you would never so + throw away your millions. The property is not worth the mortgage I have on + it by 30,000 louis.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, M. Louvier, you will be 30,000 louis the richer if I take the + mortgage off your hands.” + </p> + <p> + “I can afford the loss—no offence—better than you can; and I + may have fancies which I don’t mind paying for, but which cannot influence + another. See, I have brought with me the exact schedule of all details + respecting this property. You need not question their accuracy; they have + been arranged by the Marquis’s own agents, M. Gandrin and M. Hebert. They + contain, you will perceive, every possible item of revenue, down to an + apple-tree. Now, look at that, and tell me if you are justified in lending + such a sum on such a property.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much for an interest in my affairs that I scarcely + ventured to expect M. Louvier to entertain; but I see that I have a + duplicate of this paper, furnished to me very honestly by M. Hebert + himself. Besides, I, too, have fancies which I don’t mind paying for, and + among them may be a fancy for the lands of Rochebriant.” + </p> + <p> + “Look you, Duplessis, when a man like me asks a favour, you may be sure + that he has the power to repay it. Let me have my whim here, and ask + anything you like from me in return!” + </p> + <p> + “Desole not to oblige you, but this has become not only a whim of mine, + but a matter of honour; and honour you know, my dear M. Louvier, is the + first principle of sound finance. I have myself, after careful inspection + of the Rochebriant property, volunteered to its owner to advance the money + to pay off your hypotheque; and what would be said on the Bourse if Lucien + Duplessis failed in an obligation?” + </p> + <p> + “I think I can guess what will one day be said of Lucien Duplessis if he + make an irrevocable enemy of Paul Louvier. Corbleu! mon cher, a man of + thrice your capital, who watched every speculation of yours with a hostile + eye, might some beau jour make even you a bankrupt!” + </p> + <p> + “Forewarned, forearmed!” replied Duplessis, imperturbably, “Fas est ab + hoste doceri,—I mean, ‘It is right to be taught by an enemy;’ and I + never remember the day when you were otherwise, and yet I am not a + bankrupt, though I receive you in a house which, thanks to you, is so + modest in point of size!” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! that was a mistake of mine,—and, ha! ha! you had your revenge + there—that forest!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, as a peace offering, I will give you up the forest, and content my + ambition as a landed proprietor with this bad speculation of Rochebriant!” + </p> + <p> + “Confound the forest, I don’t care for it now! I can sell my place for + more than it has cost me to one of your imperial favourites. Build a + palace in your forest. Let me have Rochebriant, and name your terms.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand pardons! but I have already had the honour to inform you, that + I have contracted an obligation which does not allow me to listen to + terms.” + </p> + <p> + As a serpent, that, after all crawlings and windings, rears itself on end, + Louvier rose, crest erect: + </p> + <p> + “So then it is finished. I came here disposed to offer peace—you + refuse, and declare war.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, I do not declare war; I accept it if forced on me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that your last word, M. Duplessis?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Louvier, it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Bon jour!” + </p> + <p> + And Louvier strode to the door; here he paused: “Take a day to consider.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Your servant, Monsieur,—your very humble servant.” Louvier + vanished. + </p> + <p> + Duplessis leaned his large thoughtful forehead on his thin nervous hand. + “This loan will pinch me,” he muttered. “I must be very wary now with such + a foe. Well, why should I care to be rich? Valerie’s dot, Valerie’s + happiness, are secured.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0075" id="link2HCH0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + Madame Savarin wrote a very kind and very apologetic letter to Isaura, but + no answer was returned to it. Madame Savarin did not venture to + communicate to her husband the substance of a conversation which had ended + so painfully. He had, in theory, a delicacy of tact, which, if he did not + always exhibit it in practice, made him a very severe critic of its + deficiency in others. Therefore, unconscious of the offence given, he made + a point of calling at Isaura’s apartments, and leaving word with her + servant that “he was sure she would be pleased to hear M. Rameau was + somewhat better, though still in danger.” + </p> + <p> + It was not till the third day after her interview with Madame Savarin that + Isaura left her own room,—she did so to receive Mrs. Morley. + </p> + <p> + The fair American was shocked to see the change in Isaura’s countenance. + She was very pale, and with that indescribable appearance of exhaustion + which betrays continued want of sleep; her soft eyes were dim, the play of + her lips was gone, her light step weary and languid. + </p> + <p> + “My poor darling!” cried Mrs. Morley, embracing her, “you have indeed been + ill! What is the matter?—who attends you?” + </p> + <p> + “I need no physician, it was but a passing cold—the air of Paris is + very trying. Never mind me, dear—what is the last news?” + </p> + <p> + Therewith Mrs. Morley ran glibly through the principal topics of the hour: + the breach threatened between M. Ollivier and his former liberal + partisans; the tone unexpectedly taken by M. de Girardin; the speculations + as to the result of the trial of the alleged conspirators against the + Emperor’s life, which was fixed to take place towards the end of that + month of June,—all matters of no slight importance to the interests + of an empire. Sunk deep into the recesses of her fauteuil, Isaura seemed + to listen quietly, till, when a pause came, she said in cold clear tones: + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. Graham Vane—he has refused your invitation?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to say he has—he is so engaged in London.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew he had refused,” said Isaura, with a low bitter laugh. + </p> + <p> + “How? who told you?” + </p> + <p> + “My own good sense told me. One may have good sense, though one is a poor + scribbler.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk in that way; it is beneath you to angle for compliments.” + </p> + <p> + “Compliments, ah! And so Mr. Vane has refused to come to Paris; never + mind, he will come next year. I shall not be in Paris then. Did Colonel + Morley see Mr. Vane?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes; two or three times.” + </p> + <p> + “He is well?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite well, I believe—at least Frank did not say to the contrary; + but, from what I hear, he is not the person I took him for. Many people + told Frank that he is much changed since he came into his fortune—is + grown very stingy, quite miserly indeed; declines even a seat in + Parliament because of the expense. It is astonishing how money does spoil + a man.” + </p> + <p> + “He had come into his fortune when he was here. Money had not spoiled him + then.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura paused, pressing her hands tightly together; then she suddenly rose + to her feet, the colour on her cheek mantling and receding rapidly, and + fixing on her startled visitor eyes no longer dim, but with something half + fierce, half imploring in the passion of their gaze, said: “Your husband + spoke of me to Mr. Vane: I know he did. What did Mr. Vane answer? Do not + evade my question. The truth! the truth! I only ask the truth!” + </p> + <p> + “Give me your hand; sit here beside me, dearest child.” + </p> + <p> + “Child!—no, I am a woman!—weak as a woman, but strong as a + woman too!—The truth!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Morley had come prepared to carry out the resolution she had formed + and “break” to Isaura “the truth,” that which the girl now demanded. But + then she had meant to break the truth in her own gentle, gradual way. Thus + suddenly called upon, her courage failed her. She burst into tears. Isaura + gazed at her dry-eyed. + </p> + <p> + “Your tears answer me. Mr. Vane has heard that I have been insulted. A man + like him does not stoop to love for a woman who has known an insult. I do + not blame him; I honour him the more—he is right.” + </p> + <p> + “No-no-no!—you insulted! Who dared to insult you? (Mrs. Morley had + never heard the story about the Russian Prince.) Mr. Vane spoke to Frank, + and writes of you to me as of one whom it is impossible not to admire, to + respect; but—I cannot say it—you will have the truth,—there, + read and judge for yourself.” And Mrs. Morley drew forth and thrust into + Isaura’s hands the letter she had concealed from her husband. The letter + was not very long; it began with expressions of warm gratitude to Mrs. + Morley, not for her invitation only, but for the interest she had + conceived in his happiness. It went on thus “I join with my whole heart in + all that you say, with such eloquent justice, of the mental and personal + gifts so bounteously lavished by nature on the young lady whom you name. + </p> + <p> + “No one can feel more sensible than I of the charm of so exquisite a + loveliness; no one can more sincerely join in the belief that the praise + which greets the commencement of her career is but the whisper of the + praise that will cheer its progress with louder and louder plaudits. + </p> + <p> + “He only would be worthy of her hand, who, if not equal to herself in + genius, would feel raised into partnership with it by sympathy with its + objects and joy in its triumphs. For myself, the same pain with which I + should have learned she had adopted the profession which she originally + contemplated, saddened and stung me when, choosing a career that confers a + renown yet more lasting than the stage, she no less left behind her the + peaceful immunities of private life. Were I even free to consult only my + own heart in the choice of the one sole partner of my destinies (which I + cannot at present honestly say that I am, though I had expected to be so + ere this, when I last saw you at Paris); could I even hope—which I + have no right to do—that I could chain to myself any private portion + of thoughts which now flow into the large channels by which poets enrich + the blood of the world,—still (I say it in self-reproach, it may be + the fault of my English rearing, it may rather be the fault of an egotism + peculiar to myself)—still I doubt if I could render happy any woman + whose world could not be narrowed to the Home that she adorned and + blessed. + </p> + <p> + “And yet not even the jealous tyranny of man’s love could dare to say to + natures like hers of whom we speak, ‘Limit to the household glory of one + the light which genius has placed in its firmament for the use and + enjoyment of all.’” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you so much,” said Isaura, calmly; “suspense makes a woman so + weak—certainty so strong.” Mechanically she smoothed and refolded + the letter—mechanically, with slow, lingering hands—then she + extended it to her friend, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, will you not keep it yourself?” said Mrs. Morley. “The more you + examine the narrow-minded prejudices, the English arrogant man’s jealous + dread of superiority—nay, of equality—in the woman he ‘can + only value as he does his house or his horse, because she is his exclusive + property, the more you will be rejoiced to find yourself free for a more + worthy choice. Keep the letter; read it till you feel for the writer + forgiveness and disdain.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura took back the letter, and leaned her cheek on her hand, looking + dreamily into space. It was some moments before she replied, and her words + then had no reference to Mrs. Morley’s consolatory exhortation. + </p> + <p> + “He was so pleased when he learned that I renounced the career on which I + had set my ambition. I thought he would have been so pleased when I sought + in another career to raise myself nearer to his level—I see now how + sadly I was mistaken. All that perplexed me before in him is explained. I + did not guess how foolishly I had deceived myself till three days ago,—then + I did guess it; and it was that guess which tortured me so terribly that I + could not keep my heart to myself when I saw you to-day; in spite of all + womanly pride it would force its way—to the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Hush! I must tell you what was said to me by another friend of mine—a + good friend, a wise and kind one. Yet I was so angry when she said it that + I thought I could never see her more.” + </p> + <p> + “My sweet darling! who was this friend, and what did she say to you?” + </p> + <p> + “The friend was Madame Savarin.” + </p> + <p> + “No woman loves you more except myself—and she said?” + </p> + <p> + “That she would have suffered no daughter of hers to commit her name to + the talk of the world as I have done—be exposed to the risk of + insult as I have been—until she had the shelter and protection + denied to me. And I have thus overleaped the bound that a prudent mother + would prescribe to her child, have become one whose hand men do not seek, + unless they themselves take the same roads to notoriety. Do you not think + she was right?” + </p> + <p> + “Not as you so morbidly put it, silly girl,—certainly not right. But + I do wish that you had the shelter and protection which Madame Savarin + meant to express; I do wish that you were happily married to one very + different from Mr. Vane—one who would be more proud of your genius + than of your beauty—one who would say, ‘My name, safer far in its + enduring nobility than those that depend on titles and lands—which + are held on the tenure of the popular breath—must be honoured by + posterity, for She has deigned to make it hers. No democratic revolution + can disennoble me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay, you believe that men will be found to think with complacency that + they owe to a wife a name they could not achieve for themselves. Possibly + there are such men. Where?—among those that are already united by + sympathies in the same callings, the same labours, the same hopes and + fears with the women who have left behind them the privacies of home. + Madame de Grantmesnil was wrong. Artists should wed with artists. True—true!” + </p> + <p> + Here she passed her hand over her forehead—it was a pretty way of + hers when seeking to concentrate thought—and was silent a moment or + so. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever feel,” she then asked dreamily, “that there are moments in + life when a dark curtain seems to fall over one’s past that a day before + was so clear, so blended with the present? One cannot any longer look + behind; the gaze is attracted onward, and a track of fire flashes upon the + future,—the future which yesterday was invisible. There is a line by + some English poet—Mr. Vane once quoted it, not to me, but to M. + Savarin, and in illustration of his argument, that the most complicated + recesses of thought are best reached by the simplest forms of expression. + I said to myself, ‘I will study that truth if ever I take to literature as + I have taken to song;’ and—yes—it was that evening that the + ambition fatal to woman fixed on me its relentless fangs—at Enghien—we + were on the lake—the sun was setting.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do not tell me the line that so impressed you,” said Mrs. Morley, + with a woman’s kindly tact. + </p> + <p> + “The line—which line? Oh, I remember; the line was this: + </p> + <p> + “‘I see as from a tower the end of all.” + </p> + <p> + “And now—kiss me, dearest—never a word again to me about this + conversation: never a word about Mr. Vane—the dark curtain has + fallen on the past.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0076" id="link2HCH0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + Men and women are much more like each other in certain large elements of + character than is generally supposed, but it is that very resemblance + which makes their differences the more incomprehensible to each other; + just as in politics, theology, or that most disputatious of all things + disputable, metaphysics, the nearer the reasoners approach each other in + points that to an uncritical bystander seem the most important, the more + sure they are to start off in opposite directions upon reaching the speck + of a pin-prick. + </p> + <p> + Now there are certain grand meeting-places between man and woman—the + grandest of all is on the ground of love, and yet here also is the great + field of quarrel. And here the teller of a tale such as mine ought, if he + is sufficiently wise to be humble, to know that it is almost profanation + if, as man, he presumes to enter the penetralia of a woman’s innermost + heart, and repeat, as a man would repeat, all the vibrations of sound + which the heart of a woman sends forth undistinguishable even to her own + ear. + </p> + <p> + I know Isaura as intimately as if I had rocked her in her cradle, played + with her in her childhood, educated and trained her in her youth; and yet + I can no more tell you faithfully what passed in her mind during the + forty-eight hours that intervened between her conversation with that + American lady and her reappearance in some commonplace drawing-room, than + I can tell you what the Man in the Moon might feel if the sun that his + world reflected were blotted out of creation. + </p> + <p> + I can only say that when she reappeared in that commonplace drawing-room + world, there was a change in her face not very perceptible to the ordinary + observer. If anything, to his eye she was handsomer—the eye was + brighter—the complexion (always lustrous, though somewhat pale, the + limpid paleness that suits so well with dark hair) was yet more lustrous,—it + was flushed into delicate rose hues—hues that still better suit with + dark hair. What, then, was the change, and change not for the better? The + lips, once so pensively sweet, had grown hard; on the brow that had seemed + to laugh when the lips did, there was no longer sympathy between brow and + lip; there was scarcely seen a fine threadlike line that in a few years + would be a furrow on the space between the eyes; the voice was not so + tenderly soft; the step was haughtier. What all such change denoted it is + for a woman to decide-I can only guess. In the mean while, Mademoiselle + Cicogna had sent her servant daily to inquire after M. Rameau. That, I + think, she would have done under any circumstances. Meanwhile, too, she + had called on Madame Savarin—made it up with her—sealed the + reconciliation by a cold kiss. That, too, under any circumstances, I think + she would have done—under some circumstances the kiss might have + been less cold. + </p> + <p> + There was one thing unwonted in her habits. I mention it, though it is + only a woman who can say if it means anything worth noticing. + </p> + <p> + For six days she had left a letter from Madame de Grantmesnil unanswered. + With Madame de Grantmesnil was connected the whole of her innermost life—from + the day when the lonely desolate child had seen, beyond the dusty + thoroughfares of life, gleams of the faery land in poetry and art-onward + through her restless, dreamy, aspiring youth-onward—onward—till + now, through all that constitutes the glorious reality that we call + romance. + </p> + <p> + Never before had she left for two days unanswered letters which were to + her as Sibylline leaves to some unquiet neophyte yearning for solutions to + enigmas suggested whether by the world without or by the soul within. For + six days Madame de Grantmesnil’s letter remained unanswered, unread, + neglected, thrust out of sight; just as when some imperious necessity + compels us to grapple with a world that is, we cast aside the romance + which, in our holiday hours, had beguiled us to a world with which we have + interests and sympathies no more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0077" id="link2HCH0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + Gustave recovered, but slowly. The physician pronounced him out of all + immediate danger, but said frankly to him, and somewhat more guardedly to + his parents, “There is ample cause to beware.” “Look you, my young + friend,” he added to Rameau, “mere brain-work seldom kills a man once + accustomed to it like you; but heart-work, and stomach-work, and + nerve-work, added to brain-work, may soon consign to the coffin a frame + ten times more robust than yours. Write as much as you will—that is + your vocation; but it is not your vocation to drink absinthe—to + preside at orgies in the Maison Doree. Regulate yourself, and not after + the fashion of the fabulous Don Juan. Marry—live soberly and quietly—and + you may survive the grandchildren of viveurs. Go on as you have done, and + before the year is out you are in Pere la Chaise.” + </p> + <p> + Rameau listened languidly, but with a profound conviction that the + physician thoroughly understood his case. + </p> + <p> + Lying helpless on his bed, he had no desire for orgies at the Maison + Doree; with parched lips thirsty for innocent tisane of lime-blossoms, the + thought of absinthe was as odious to him as the liquid fire of Phlegethon. + If ever sinner became suddenly convinced that there was a good deal to be + said in favour of a moral life, that sinner at the moment I speak of was + Gustave Rameau: Certainly a moral life—‘Domus et placens uxor’,—was + essential to the poet who, aspiring to immortal glory, was condemned to + the ailments of a very perishable frame. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he murmured plaintively to himself, “that girl Isaura can have no + true sympathy with genius! It is no ordinary man that she will kill in + me!” + </p> + <p> + And so murmuring he fell asleep. When he woke and found his head pillowed + on his mother’s breast, it was much as a sensitive, delicate man may wake + after having drunk too much the night before. Repentant, mournful, + maudlin, he began to weep, and in the course of his weeping he confided to + his mother the secret of his heart. + </p> + <p> + Isaura had refused him—that refusal had made him desperate. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! with Isaura how changed would be his habits! how pure! how + healthful!” His mother listened fondly, and did her best to comfort him + and cheer his drooping spirits. + </p> + <p> + She told him of Isaura’s messages of inquiry duly twice a day. Rameau, who + knew more about women in general, and Isaura in particular, than his + mother conjectured, shook his head mournfully. “She could not do less,” he + said. “Has no one offered to do more?”—he thought of Julie when he + asked that—Madame Rameau hesitated. + </p> + <p> + The poor Parisians! it is the mode to preach against them; and before my + book closes, I shall have to preach—no, not to preach, but to imply—plenty + of faults to consider and amend. Meanwhile I try my best to take them, as + the philosophy of life tells us to take other people, for what they are. + </p> + <p> + I do not think the domestic relations of the Parisian bourgeoisie are as + bad as they are said to be in French novels. Madame Rameau is not an + uncommon type of her class. She had been when she first married singularly + handsome. It was from her that Gustave inherited his beauty; and her + husband was a very ordinary type of the French shopkeeper—very + plain, by no means intellectual, but gay, good-humoured, devotedly + attached to his wife, and with implicit trust in her conjugal virtue. + Never was trust better placed. There was not a happier nor a more faithful + couple in the quartier in which they resided. Madame Rameau hesitated when + her boy, thinking of Julie, asked if no one had done more than send to + inquire after him as Isaura had done. + </p> + <p> + After that hesitating pause she said, “Yes—a young lady calling + herself Mademoiselle Julie Caumartin wished to instal herself here as your + nurse. When I said, ‘But I am his mother—he needs no other nurses,’ + she would have retreated, and looked ashamed—poor thing! I don’t + blame her if she loved my son. But, my son, I say this,—if you love + her, don’t talk to me about that Mademoiselle Cicogna; and if you love + Mademoiselle Cicogna, why, then your father will take care that the poor + girl who loved you not knowing that you loved another is not left to the + temptation of penury.” + </p> + <p> + Rameau’s pale lips withered into a phantom-like sneer! Julie! the + resplendent Julie!—true, only a ballet-dancer, but whose equipage in + the Bois had once been the envy of duchesses—Julie! who had + sacrificed fortune for his sake—who, freed from him, could have + millionaires again at her feet!—Julie! to be saved from penury, as a + shopkeeper would save an erring nursemaid—Julie! the irrepressible + Julie! who had written to him, the day before his illness, in a pen + dipped, not in ink, but in blood from a vein she had opened in her arm: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Traitor!—I have not seen thee for three days. Dost thou dare to + love another? If so, I care not how thou attempt to conceal it—woe + to her! Ingrat! woe to thee! Love is not love, unless, when + betrayed by Love, it appeals to death. Answer me quick—quick. + JULIE.” + </pre> + <p> + Poor Gustave thought of that letter and groaned. Certainly his mother was + right—he ought to get rid of Julie; but he did not clearly see how + Julie was to be got rid of. He replied to Madame Rameau peevishly, “Don’t + trouble your head about Mademoiselle Caumartin; she is in no want of + money. Of course, if I could hope for Isaura—but, alas! I dare not + hope. Give me my tisane.” + </p> + <p> + When the doctor called next day, he looked grave, and, drawing Madame + Rameau into the next room, he said, “We are not getting on so well as I + had hoped; the fever is gone, but there is much to apprehend from the + debility left behind. His spirits are sadly depressed.” Then added the + doctor, pleasantly, and with that wonderful insight into our complex + humanity in which physicians excel poets, and in which Parisian physicians + are not excelled by any physicians in the world: “Can’t you think of any + bit of good news—that ‘M. Thiers raves about your son’s last poem! + that ‘it is a question among the Academicians between him and Jules Janin’—or + that ‘the beautiful Duchesse de ———- has been placed in + a lunatic asylum because she has gone mad for love of a certain young Red + Republican whose name begins with R.’—can’t you think of any bit of + similar good news? If you can, it will be a tonic to the relaxed state of + your dear boy’s amour propre, compared to which all the drugs in the + Pharmacopoeia are moonshine and water; and meanwhile be sure to remove him + to your own house, and out of the reach of his giddy young friends, as + soon as you possibly can.” + </p> + <p> + When that great authority thus left his patient’s case in the hands of the + mother, she said, “The boy shall be saved.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0078" id="link2HCH0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + Isaura was seated beside the Venosta,—to whom, of late, she seemed + to cling with greater fondness than ever,—working at some piece of + embroidery—a labour from which she had been estranged for years; but + now she had taken writing, reading, music, into passionate disgust. Isaura + was thus seated, silently intent upon her work, and the Venosta in full + talk, when the servant announced Madame Rameau. + </p> + <p> + The name startled both; the Venosta had never heard that the poet had a + mother living, and immediately jumped to the conclusion that Madame Rameau + must be a wife he had hitherto kept unrevealed. And when a woman, still + very handsome, with a countenance grave and sad, entered the salon, the + Venosta murmured, “The husband’s perfidy reveals itself on a wife’s face,” + and took out her handkerchief in preparation for sympathising tears. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” said the visitor, halting, with eyes fixed on Isaura. + “Pardon my intrusion-my son has the honour to be known to you. Every one + who knows him must share in my sorrow—so young—so promising, + and in such danger—my poor boy!” Madame Rameau stopped abruptly. Her + tears forced their way—she turned aside to conceal them. + </p> + <p> + In her twofold condition of being—womanhood and genius—Isaura + was too largely endowed with that quickness of sympathy which + distinguishes woman from man, and genius from talent, not to be wondrously + susceptible to pity. + </p> + <p> + Already she had wound her arm round the grieving mother—already + drawn her to the seat from which she herself had risen—and bending + over her had said some words—true, conventional enough in + themselves,—but cooed forth in a voice the softest I ever expect to + hear, save in dreams, on this side of the grave. + </p> + <p> + Madame Rameau swept her hand over her eyes, glanced round the room, and + noticing the Venosta in dressing-robe and slippers, staring with those + Italian eyes, in seeming so quietly innocent, in reality so searchingly + shrewd, she whispered pleadingly, “May I speak to you a few minutes + alone?” This was not a request that Isaura could refuse, though she was + embarrassed and troubled by the surmise of Madame Rameau’s object in + asking it; accordingly she led her visitor into the adjoining room, and + making an apologetic sign to the Venosta, closed the door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0079" id="link2HCH0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + When they were alone, Madame Rameau took Isaura’s hand in both her own, + and, gazing wistfully into her face, said, “No wonder you are so loved—yours + is the beauty that sinks into the hearts and rests there. I prize my boy + more, now that I have seen you. But, oh, Mademoiselle! pardon me—do + not withdraw your hand—pardon the mother who comes from the sick-bed + of her only son and asks if you will assist to save him! A word from you + is life or death to him!” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, nay, do not speak thus, Madame; your son knows how much I value, how + sincerely I return, his friendship; but—but,” she paused a moment, + and continued sadly and with tearful eyes—“I have no heart to give + to him-to any one.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not—I would not if I dared—ask what it would be violence + to yourself to promise. I do not ask you to bid me return to my son and + say, ‘Hope and recover,’ but let me take some healing message from your + lips. If I understand your words rightly, I at least may say that you do + not give to another the hopes you, deny to him?” + </p> + <p> + “So far you understand me rightly, Madame. It has been said, that + romance-writers give away so much of their hearts to heroes or heroines of + their own creation, that they leave nothing worth the giving to human + beings like themselves. Perhaps it is so; yet, Madame,” added Isaura, with + a smile of exquisite sweetness in its melancholy, “I have heart enough + left to feel for you.” + </p> + <p> + Madame Rameau was touched. “Ah, Mademoiselle, I do not believe in the + saying you have quoted. But I must not abuse your goodness by pressing + further upon you subjects from which you shrink. Only one word more: you + know that my husband and I are but quiet tradesfolks, not in the society, + nor aspiring to it, to which my son’s talents have raised himself; yet + dare I ask that you will not close here the acquaintance that I have + obtruded on you?—dare I ask, that I may, now and then, call on you—that + now and then I may see you at my own home? Believe that I would not here + ask anything which your own mother would disapprove if she overlooked + disparities of station. Humble as our home is, slander never passed its + threshold.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Madame, I and the Signora Venosta, whom in our Italian tongue I call + mother, can but feel honoured and grateful whenever it pleases you to + receive visits from us.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a base return for such gracious compliance with my request if + I concealed from you the reason why I pray Heaven to bless you for that + answer. The physician says that it may be long before my son is + sufficiently convalescent to dispense with a mother’s care, and resume his + former life and occupation in the great world. It is everything for us if + we can coax him into coming under our own roof-tree. This is difficult to + do. It is natural for a young man launched into the world to like his own + chez lui. Then what will happen to Gustave? He, lonely and heart-stricken, + will ask friends, young as himself, but far stronger, to come and cheer + him; or he will seek to distract his thoughts by the overwork of his + brain; in either case he is doomed. But I have stronger motives yet to fix + him a while at our hearth. This is just the moment, once lost never to be + regained, when soothing companionship, gentle reproachless advice, can fix + him lastingly in the habits and modes of life which will banish all fears + of his future from the hearts of his parents. You at least honour him with + friendship, with kindly interest—you at least would desire to wean + him from all that a friend may disapprove or lament—a creature whom + Providence meant to be good, and perhaps great. If I say to him, ‘It will + be long before you can go out and see your friends, but at my house your + friends shall come and see you—among them Signora Venosta and + Mademoiselle Cicogna will now and then drop in’—my victory is + gained, and my son is saved.” + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” said Isaura, half sobbing, “what a blessing to have a mother + like you! Love so noble ennobles those who hear its voice. Tell your son + how ardently I wish him to be well, and to fulfil more than the promise of + his genius; tell him also this—how I envy him his mother.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0080" id="link2HCH0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + It needs no length of words to inform thee, my intelligent reader, be thou + man or woman—but more especially woman—of the consequences + following each other, as wave follows wave in a tide, that resulted from + the interview with which my last chapter closed. Gustave is removed to his + parents’ house; he remains for weeks confined within doors, or, on sunny + days, takes an hour or so in his own carriage, drawn by the horse bought + from Rochebriant, into by-roads remote from the fashionable world; Isaura + visits his mother, liking, respecting, influenced by her more and more; in + those visits she sits beside the sofa on which Rameau reclines. Gradually, + gently—more and more by his mother’s lips—is impressed on her + the belief that it is in her power to save a human life, and to animate + its career towards those goals which are never based wholly upon earth in + the earnest eyes of genius, or perhaps in the yet more upward vision of + pure-souled believing woman. + </p> + <p> + And Gustave himself, as he passes through the slow stages of + convalescence, seems so gratefully to ascribe to her every step in his + progress—seems so gently softened in character—seems so + refined from the old affectations, so ennobled above the old cynicism—and, + above all, so needing her presence, so sunless without it, that—well, + need I finish the sentence?—the reader will complete what I leave + unsaid. + </p> + <p> + Enough, that one day Isaura returned home from a visit at Madame Rameau’s + with the knowledge that her hand was pledged—her future life + disposed of; and that, escaping from the Venosta, whom she so fondly, and + in her hunger for a mother’s love, called Madre, the girl shut herself up + in her own room with locked doors. + </p> + <p> + Ah, poor child! ah, sweet-voiced Isaura! whose delicate image I feel + myself too rude and too hard to transfer to this page in the purity of its + outlines, and the blended softnesses of its hues—thou who, when + saying things serious in the words men use, saidst them with a seriousness + so charming, and with looks so feminine—thou, of whom no man I ever + knew was quite worthy—ah, poor, simple, miserable girl, as I see + thee now in the solitude of that white-curtained virginal room; hast thou, + then, merged at last thy peculiar star into the cluster of all these + commonplace girls whose lips have said “Ay,” when their hearts said “No”?—thou, + O brilliant Isaura! thou, O motherless child! + </p> + <p> + She had sunk into her chair—her own favourite chair, the covering of + it had been embroidered by Madame de Grantmesnil, and bestowed on her as a + birthday present last year—the year in which she had first learned + what it is to love—the year in which she had first learned what it + is to strive for fame. And somehow uniting, as many young people do, love + and fame in dreams of the future, that silken seat had been to her as the + Tripod of Delphi was to the Pythian: she had taken to it, as it were + intuitively, in all those hours, whether of joy or sorrow, when youth + seeks to prophesy, and does but dream. + </p> + <p> + There she sat now, in a sort of stupor—a sort of dreary bewilderment—the + illusion of the Pythian gone—desire of dream and of prophecy alike + extinct—pressing her hands together, and muttering to herself, “What + has happened?—what have I done?” + </p> + <p> + Three hours later you would not have recognised the same face that you see + now. For then the bravery, the honour, the loyalty of the girl’s nature + had asserted their command. Her promise had been given to one man—it + could not be recalled. Thought itself of any other man must be banished. + On her hearth lay ashes and tinder—the last remains of every + treasured note from Graham Vane; of the hoarded newspaper extracts that + contained his name; of the dry treatise he had published, and which had + made the lovely romance-writer first desire “to know something about + politics.” Ay, if the treatise had been upon fox-hunting, she would have + desired “to know something about” that! Above all, yet distinguishable + from the rest—as the sparks still upon stem and leaf here and there + faintly glowed and twinkled—the withered flowers which recorded that + happy hour in the arbour, and the walks of the forsaken garden—the + hour in which she had so blissfully pledged herself to renounce that + career in art wherein fame would have been secured, but which would not + have united Fame with Love—in dreams evermore over now. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0093" id="link2H_4_0093"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK X. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0081" id="link2HCH0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + Graham Vane had heard nothing for months from M. Renard, when one morning + he received the letter I translate: + </p> + <p> + “MONSIEUR,—I am happy to inform you that I have at last obtained one + piece of information which may lead to a more important discovery. When we + parted after our fruitless research in Vienna, we had both concurred in + the persuasion that, for some reason known only to the two ladies + themselves, Madame Marigny and Madame Duval had exchanged names—that + it was Madame Marigny who had deceased in the name of Madame Duval, and + Madame Duval who had survived in that of Marigny. + </p> + <p> + “It was clear to me that the beau Monsieur who had visited the false Duval + must have been cognisant of this exchange of name, and that, if his name + and whereabouts could be ascertained, he, in all probability, would know + what had become of the lady who is the object of our research; and after + the lapse of so many years he would probably have very slight motive to + preserve the concealment of facts which might, no doubt, have been + convenient at the time. The lover of the soi-disant Mademoiselle Duval was + by such accounts as we could gain a man of some rank—very possibly a + married man; and the liaison, in short, was one of those which, while they + last, necessitate precautions and secrecy. + </p> + <p> + “Therefore, dismissing all attempts at further trace of the missing lady, + I resolved to return to Vienna as soon as the business that recalled me to + Paris was concluded, and devote myself exclusively to the search after the + amorous and mysterious Monsieur. + </p> + <p> + “I did not state this determination to you, because, possibly, I might be + in error—or, if not in error, at least too sanguine in my + expectations—and it is best to avoid disappointing an honourable + client. + </p> + <p> + “One thing was clear, that, at the time of the soi-disant Duval’s decease, + the beau Monsieur was at Vienna. + </p> + <p> + “It appeared also tolerably clear that when the lady friend of the + deceased quitted Munich so privately, it was to Vienna she repaired, and + from Vienna comes the letter demanding the certificates of Madame Duval’s + death. Pardon me, if I remind you of all these circumstances no doubt + fresh in your recollection. I repeat them in order to justify the + conclusions to which they led me. + </p> + <p> + “I could not, however, get permission to absent myself from Paris for the + time I might require till the end of last April. I had meanwhile sought + all private means of ascertaining what Frenchmen of rank and station were + in that capital in the autumn of 1849. Among the list of the very few such + Messieurs I fixed upon one as the most likely to be the mysterious Achille—Achille + was, indeed, his nom de bapteme. + </p> + <p> + “A man of intrigue—a bonnes fortunes—of lavish expenditure + withal; very tenacious of his dignity, and avoiding any petty scandals by + which it might be lowered; just the man who, in some passing affair of + gallantry with a lady of doubtful repute, would never have signed his + titular designation to a letter, and would have kept himself as much + incognito as he could. But this man was dead—had been dead some + years. He had not died at Vienna—never visited that capital for some + years before his death. He was then, and had long been, the ami de la + maison of one of those grandes dames of whose intimacy grands seigneurs + are not ashamed. They parade there the bonnes fortunes they conceal + elsewhere. Monsieur and the grande dame were at Baden when the former + died. Now, Monsieur, a Don Juan of that stamp is pretty sure always to + have a confidential Leporello. If I could find Leporello alive I might + learn the secrets not to be extracted from a Don Juan defunct. I + ascertained, in truth, both at Vienna, to which I first repaired in order + to verify the renseignements I had obtained at Paris, and at Baden, to + which I then bent my way, that this brilliant noble had a favourite valet + who had lived with him from his youth—an Italian, who had contrived + in the course of his service to lay by savings enough to set up a hotel + somewhere in Italy, supposed to be Pisa. To Pisa I repaired, but the man + had left some years; his hotel had not prospered—he had left in + debt. No one could say what had become of him. At last, after a long and + tedious research, I found him installed as manager of a small hotel at + Genoa—a pleasant fellow enough; and after friendly intercourse with + him (of course I lodged at his hotel), I easily led him to talk of his + earlier life and adventures, and especially of his former master, of whose + splendid career in the army of ‘La Belle Deesse’ he was not a little + proud. It was not very easy to get him to the particular subject in + question. In fact, the affair with the poor false Duval had been so brief + and undistinguished an episode in his master’s life, that it was not + without a strain of memory that he reached it. + </p> + <p> + “By little and little, however, in the course of two or three evenings, + and by the aid of many flasks of Orviette or bottles of Lacrima (wines, + Monsieur, that I do not commend to any one who desires to keep his stomach + sound and his secrets safe), I gathered these particulars. + </p> + <p> + “Our Don Juan, since the loss of a wife in the first year of marriage, had + rarely visited Paris where he had a domicile—his ancestral hotel + there he had sold. + </p> + <p> + “But happening to visit that capital of Europe a few months before we come + to our dates at Aix-la-Chapelle, he made acquaintance with Madame Marigny, + a natural daughter of high-placed parents, by whom, of course, she had + never been acknowledged, but who had contrived that she should receive a + good education at a convent; and on leaving it also contrived that an old + soldier of fortune—which means an officer without fortune—who + had served in Algiers with some distinction, should offer her his hand, + and add the modest dot they assigned her to his yet more modest income. + They contrived also that she should understand the offer must be accepted. + Thus Mademoiselle ‘Quelque Chose’ became Madame Marigny, and she, on her + part, contrived that a year or so later she should be left a widow. After + a marriage, of course the parents washed their hands of her—they had + done their duty. At the time Don Juan made this lady’s acquaintance + nothing could be said against her character; but the milliners and + butchers had begun to imply that they would rather have her money than + trust to her character. Don Juan fell in love with her, satisfied the + immediate claims of milliner and butcher, and when they quitted Paris it + was agreed that they should meet later at Aix-la-Chapelle. But when he + resorted to that sultry and, to my mind, unalluring spa, he was surprised + by a line from her saying that she had changed her name of Marigny for + that of Duval. + </p> + <p> + “‘I recollect,’ said Leporello, ‘that two days afterwards my master said + to me, ‘Caution and secrecy. Don’t mention my name at the house to which I + may send you with any note for Madame Duval. I don’t announce my name when + I call. La petite Marigny has exchanged her name for that of Louise Duval; + and I find that there is a Louise Duval here, her friend, who is niece to + a relation of my own, and a terrible relation to quarrel with—a dead + shot and unrivalled swordsman—Victor de Mauleon. My master was brave + enough, but he enjoyed life, and he did not think la petite Marigny worth + being killed for.’ + </p> + <p> + “Leporello remembered very little of what followed. All he did remember is + that Don Juan, when at Vienna, said to him one morning, looking less gay + than usual, ‘It is finished with ca petite Marigny-she is no more.’ Then + he ordered his bath, wrote a note, and said with tears in his eyes, ‘Take + this to Mademoiselle Celeste; not to be compared to la petite Marigny; but + la petite Celeste is still alive.’ Ah, Monsieur! if only any man in France + could be as proud of his ruler as that Italian was of my countrymen! Alas! + we Frenchmen are all made to command—or at least we think ourselves + so—and we are insulted by one who says to us, ‘Serve and obey.’ + Nowadays, in France, we find all Don Juans and no Leporellos. + </p> + <p> + “After strenuous exertions upon my part to recall to Leporello’s mind the + important question whether he had ever seen the true Duval, passing under + the name of Marigny—whether she had not presented herself to his + master at Vienna or elsewhere—he rubbed his forehead, and drew from + it these reminiscences. + </p> + <p> + “‘On the day that his Excellency,’—Leporello generally so styled his + master—‘Excellency,’ as you are aware, is the title an Italian would + give to Satan if taking his wages, told me that la petite Marigny was no + more, he had received previously a lady veiled and mantled, whom I did not + recognise as any one I had seen before, but I noticed her way of carrying + herself—haughtily—her head thrown back; and I thought to + myself, that lady is one of his grandes dames. She did call again two or + three times, never announcing her name; then she did not reappear. She + might be Madame Duval—I can’t say.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘But did you never hear his Excellency speak of the real Duval after that + time?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘No—non mi ricordo—I don’t remember.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Nor of some living Madame Marigny, though the real one was dead?’ + </p> + <p> + “‘Stop, I do recollect; not that he ever named such a person to me, but + that I have posted letters for him to a Madame Marigny—oh, yes! even + years after the said petite Marigny was dead; and once I did venture to + say, ‘Pardon me, Eccellenza, but may I ask if that poor lady is really + dead, since I have to prepay this letter to her?’” + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh,’ said he, ‘Madame Marigny! Of course the one you know is dead, but + there are others of the same name; this lady is of my family. Indeed, her + house, though noble in itself, recognises the representative of mine as + its head, and I am too bon prince not to acknowledge and serve any one who + branches out of my own tree.’” + </p> + <p> + “A day after this last conversation on the subject, Leporello said to me: + ‘My friend, you certainly have some interest in ascertaining what became + of the lady who took the name of Marigny (I state this frankly, Monsieur, + to show how difficult even for one so prudent as I am to beat about a bush + long but what you let people know the sort of bird you are in search of). + </p> + <p> + “‘Well,’ said I, ‘she does interest me. I knew something of that Victor de + Mauleon, whom his Excellency did not wish to quarrel with; and it would be + a kindly act to her relation if one could learn what became of Louise + Duval.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘I can put you on the way of learning all that his Excellency was likely + to have known of her through correspondence. I have often heard him quote, + with praise, a saying so clever that it might have been Italian, “Never + write, never burn;” that is, never commit yourself by a letter—keep + all letters that could put others in your power. All the letters he + received were carefully kept and labelled. I sent them to his son in four + large trunks. His son, no doubt, has them still.’ + </p> + <p> + “Now, however, I have exhausted my budget. I arrived at Paris last night. + I strongly advise you to come hither at once, if you still desire to + prosecute your search. + </p> + <p> + “You, Monsieur, can do what I could not venture to do; you can ask the son + of Don Juan if, amid the correspondence of his father, which he may have + preserved, there be any signed Marigny or Duval—any, in short, which + can throw light on this very obscure complication of circumstances. A + grand seigneur would naturally be more complaisant to a man of your + station than he would be to an agent of police. Don Juan’s son, inheriting + his father’s title, is Monsieur le Marquis de Rochebriant; and permit me + to add, that at this moment, as the journals doubtless inform you, all + Paris resounds with the rumour of the coming war; and Monsieur de + Rochebriant—who is, as I have ascertained, now in Paris—it may + be difficult to find anywhere on earth a month or two hence.—I have + the honour, with profound consideration, &c., &c., RENARD.” + </p> + <p> + The day after the receipt of this letter Graham Vane was in Paris. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0082" id="link2HCH0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + Among things indescribable is that which is called “Agitation” in Paris—“Agitation” + without riot or violence—showing itself by no disorderly act, no + turbulent outburst. Perhaps the cafes are more crowded; passengers in the + streets stop each other more often, and converse in small knots and + groups; yet, on the whole, there is little externally to show how loudly + the heart of Paris is beating. A traveller may be passing through quiet + landscapes, unconscious that a great battle is going on some miles off, + but if he will stop and put his ear to the ground he will recognise by a + certain indescribable vibration, the voice of the cannon. + </p> + <p> + But at Paris an acute observer need not stop and put his ear to the + ground; he feels within himself a vibration—a mysterious inward + sympathy which communicates to the individual a conscious thrill—when + the passions of the multitude are stirred, no matter how silently. + </p> + <p> + Tortoni’s cafe was thronged when Duplessis and Frederic Lemercier entered + it: it was in vain to order breakfast; no table was vacant either within + the rooms or under the awnings without. + </p> + <p> + But they could not retreat so quickly as they had entered. On catching + sight of the financier several men rose and gathered round him, eagerly + questioning: + </p> + <p> + “What do you think, Duplessis? Will any insult to France put a drop of + warm blood into the frigid veins of that miserable Ollivier?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not yet clear that France has been insulted, Messieurs,” replied + Duplessis, phlegmatically. + </p> + <p> + “Bah! Not insulted! The very nomination of a Hohenzollern to the crown of + Spain was an insult—what would you have more?” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you what it is, Duplessis,” said the Vicomte de Breze, whose + habitual light good temper seemed exchanged for insolent swagger—“I + tell you what it is, your friend the Emperor has no more courage than a + chicken. He is grown old, and infirm, and lazy; he knows that he can’t + even mount on horseback. But if, before this day week, he has not declared + war on the Prussians, he will be lucky if he can get off as quietly as + poor Louis Philippe did under shelter of his umbrella, and ticketed + ‘Schmidt.’ Or could you not, M. Duplessis, send him back to London in a + bill of exchange?” + </p> + <p> + “For a man of your literary repute, M. le Vicomte,” said Duplessis, “you + indulge in a strange confusion of metaphors. But, pardon me, I came here + to breakfast, and I cannot remain to quarrel. Come, Lemercier, let us take + our chance of a cutlet at the Trois Freres.” + </p> + <p> + “Fox, Fox,” cried Lemercier, whistling to a poodle that had followed him + into the cafe, and, frightened by the sudden movement and loud voices of + the habitues, had taken refuge under the table. + </p> + <p> + “Your dog is poltron,” said De Breze; “call him Nap.” At this stroke of + humour there was a general laugh, in the midst of which Duplessis escaped, + and Frederic, having discovered and caught his dog, followed with that + animal tenderly clasped in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “I would not lose Fox for a great deal,” said Lemercier with effusion; “a + pledge of love and fidelity from an English lady the most distinguished: + the lady left me—the dog remains.” + </p> + <p> + Duplessis smiled grimly: “What a thoroughbred Parisian you are, my dear + Frederic! I believe if the tramp of the last angel were sounding, the + Parisians would be divided into two sets: one would be singing the + Marseillaise, and parading the red flag; the other would be shrugging + their shoulders and saying, ‘Bah! as if le Bon Dieu would have the bad + taste to injure Paris—the Seat of the Graces, the School of the + Arts, the Fountain of Reason, the Eye of the World;’ and so be found by + the destroying angel caressing poodles and making bons mots about les + femmes.” + </p> + <p> + “And quite right, too,” said Lemercier, complacently; “what other people + in the world could retain lightness of heart under circumstances so + unpleasant? But why do you take things so solemnly? Of course there will + be war idle now to talk of explanations and excuses. When a Frenchman + says, ‘I am insulted,’ he is not going to be told that he is not insulted. + He means fighting, and not apologising. But what if there be war? Our + brave soldiers beat the Prussians—take the Rhine—return to + Paris covered with laurels; a new Boulevard de Berlin eclipses the + Boulevard Sebastopol. By the way, Duplessis, a Boulevard de Berlin will be + a good speculation—better than the Rue de Louvier. Ah! is not that + my English friend, Grarm Varn?” here, quitting the arm of Duplessis, + Lemercier stopped a gentleman who was about to pass him unnoticing. “Bon + jour, mon ami! how long have you been at Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “I only arrived last evening,” answered Graham, “and my stay will be so + short that it is a piece of good luck, my dear Lemercier, to meet with + you, and exchange a cordial shake of the hand.” + </p> + <p> + “We are just going to breakfast at the Trois Freres—Duplessis and I—pray + join us.” + </p> + <p> + “With great pleasure—ah, M. Duplessis, I shall be glad to hear from + you that the Emperor will be firm enough to check the advances of that + martial fever which, to judge by the persons I meet, seems to threaten + delirium.” + </p> + <p> + Duplessis looked very keenly at Graham’s face, as he replied slowly: “The + English, at least, ought to know that when the Emperor by his last reforms + resigned his personal authority for constitutional monarchy, it ceased to + be a question whether he could or could not be firm in matters that + belonged to the Cabinet and the Chambers. I presume that if Monsieur + Gladstone advised Queen Victoria to declare war upon the Emperor of + Russia, backed by a vast majority in Parliament, you would think me very + ignorant of constitutional monarchy and Parliamentary government if I + said, ‘I hope Queen Victoria will resist that martial fever.’” + </p> + <p> + “You rebuke me very fairly, M. Duplessis, if you can show me that the two + cases are analogous; but we do not understand in England that, despite his + last reforms, the Emperor has so abnegated his individual ascendency, that + his will, clearly and resolutely expressed, would not prevail in his + Council and silence opposition in the Chambers. Is it so? I ask for + information.” + </p> + <p> + The three men were walking on towards the Palais Royal side by side while + this conversation proceeded. + </p> + <p> + “That all depends,” replied Duplessis, “upon what may be the increase of + popular excitement at Paris. If it slackens, the Emperor, no doubt, could + turn to wise account that favourable pause in the fever. But if it + continues to swell, and Paris cries, ‘War,’ in a voice as loud as it cried + to Louis Philippe ‘Revolution,’ do you think that the Emperor could impose + on his ministers the wisdom of peace? His ministers would be too terrified + by the clamour to undertake the responsibility of opposing it—they + would resign. Where is the Emperor to find another Cabinet? a peace + Cabinet? What and who are the orators for peace?—whom a handful!—who? + Gambetta, Jules Favre, avowed Republicans,—would they even accept + the post of ministers to Louis Napoleon? If they did, would not their + first step be the abolition of the Empire? Napoleon is therefore so far a + constitutional monarch in the same sense as Queen Victoria, that the + popular will in the country (and in France in such matters Paris is the + country) controls the Chambers, controls the Cabinet; and against the + Cabinet the Emperor could not contend. I say nothing of the army—a + power in France unknown to you in England, which would certainly + fraternise with no peace party. If war is proclaimed,—let England + blame it if she will—she can’t lament it more than I should: but let + England blame the nation; let her blame, if she please, the form of the + government, which rests upon popular suffrage; but do not let her blame + our sovereign more than the French would blame her own, if compelled by + the conditions on which she holds her crown to sign a declaration of war, + which vast majorities in a Parliament just elected, and a Council of + Ministers whom she could not practically replace, enforced upon her will.” + </p> + <p> + “Your observations, M. Duplessis, impress me strongly, and add to the deep + anxieties with which, in common with all my countrymen, I regard the + menacing aspect of the present hour. Let us hope the best. Our Government, + I know, is exerting itself to the utmost verge of its power, to remove + every just ground of offence that the unfortunate nomination of a German + Prince to the Spanish throne could not fail to have given to French + statesmen.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you concede that such a nomination was a just ground of + offence,” said Lemercier, rather bitterly; “for I have met Englishmen who + asserted that France had no right to resent any choice of a sovereign that + Spain might make.” + </p> + <p> + “Englishmen in general are not very reflective politicians in foreign + affairs,” said Graham; “but those who are must see that France could not, + without alarm the most justifiable, contemplate a cordon of hostile states + being drawn around her on all sides,—Germany, is, itself so + formidable since the field of Sadowa, on the east; a German prince in the + southwest; the not improbable alliance between Prussia and the Italian + kingdom, already so alienated from the France to which it owed so much. If + England would be uneasy were a great maritime power possessed of Antwerp, + how much more uneasy might France justly be if Prussia could add the + armies of Spain to those of Germany, and launch them both upon France. But + that cause of alarm is over—the Hohenzollern is withdrawn. Let us + hope for the best.” + </p> + <p> + The three men had now seated themselves at a table in the Trois Freres, + and Lemercier volunteered the task of inspecting the menu and ordering the + repast, still keeping guard on Fox. + </p> + <p> + “Observe that man,” said Duplessis, pointing towards a gentleman who had + just entered; “the other day he was the popular hero—now, in the + excitement of threatened war, he is permitted to order his bifteck + uncongratulated, uncaressed; such is fame at Paris! here to-day and gone + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “How did the man become famous?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a painter, and refused a decoration—the only French painter + who ever did.” + </p> + <p> + “And why refuse?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he is more stared at as the man who refused than he would have + been as the man who accepted. If ever the Red Republicans have their day, + those among them most certain of human condemnation will be the coxcombs + who have gone mad for the desire of human applause.” + </p> + <p> + “You are a profound philosopher, M. Duplessis.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not—I have an especial contempt for philosophers. Pardon me + a moment—I see a man to whom I would say a word or two.” + </p> + <p> + Duplessis crossed over to another table to speak to a middle-aged man of + somewhat remarkable countenance, with the red ribbon in his buttonhole, in + whom Graham recognised an ex-minister of the Emperor, differing from most + of those at that day in his Cabinet, in the reputation of being loyal to + his master and courageous against a mob. Left thus alone with Lemercier, + Graham said: + </p> + <p> + “Pray tell me where I can find your friend the Marquis de Rochebriant. I + called at his apartment this morning, and I was told that he had gone on + some visit into the country, taking his valet, and the concierge could not + give me his address. I thought myself so lucky on meeting with you, who + are sure to know.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not; it is some days since I saw Alain. But Duplessis will be + sure to know.” Here the financier rejoined them. + </p> + <p> + “Mon cher, Grarm Varn wants to know for what Sabine shades Rochebriant has + deserted the ‘fumum opes strepitumque’ of the capital.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! the Marquis is a friend of yours, Monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “I can scarcely boast that honour, but he is an acquaintance whom I should + be very glad to see again.” + </p> + <p> + “At this moment he is at the Duchesse de Tarascon’s country-house near + Fontainebleau; I had a hurried line from him two days ago stating that he + was going there on her urgent invitation. But he may return to-morrow; at + all events he dines with me on the 8th, and I shall be charmed if you will + do me the honour to meet him at my house.” + </p> + <p> + “It is an invitation too agreeable to refuse, and I thank you very much + for it.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing worth recording passed further in conversation between Graham and + the two Frenchmen. He left them smoking their cigars in the garden, and + walked homeward by the Rue de Rivoli. As he was passing beside the Magasin + du Louvre he stopped, and made way for a lady crossing quickly out of the + shop towards her carriage at the door. Glancing at him with a slight + inclination of her head in acknowledgment of his courtesy, the lady + recognised his features,— + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mr. Vane!” she cried, almost joyfully—“you are then at Paris, + though you have not come to see me.” + </p> + <p> + “I only arrived last night, dear Mrs. Morley,” said Graham, rather + embarrassed, “and only on some matters of business which unexpectedly + summoned me. My stay will probably be very short.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case let me rob you of a few minutes—no, not rob you even + of them; I can take you wherever you want to go, and as my carriage moves + more quickly than you do on foot, I shall save you the minutes instead of + robbing you of them.” + </p> + <p> + “You are most kind, but I was only going to my hotel, which is close by.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you have no excuse for not taking a short drive with me in the + Champs Elysees—come.” + </p> + <p> + Thus bidden, Graham could not civilly disobey. He handed the fair American + into her carriage, and seated himself by her side. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0083" id="link2HCH0083"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + “Mr. Vane, I feel as if I had many apologies to make for the interest in + your life which my letter to you so indiscreetly betrayed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mrs. Morley! you cannot guess how deeply that interest touched me.” + </p> + <p> + “I should not have presumed so far,” continued Mrs. Morley, unheeding the + interruption, “if I had not been altogether in error as to the nature of + your sentiments in a certain quarter. In this you must blame my American + rearing. With us there are many flirtations between boys and girls which + come to nothing; but when in my country a man like you meets with a woman + like Mademoiselle Cicogna, there cannot be flirtation. His attentions, his + looks, his manner, reveal to the eyes of those who care enough for him to + watch, one of two things—either he coldly admires and esteems, or he + loves with his whole heart and soul a woman worthy to inspire such a love. + Well, I did watch, and I was absurdly mistaken. I imagined that I saw + love, and rejoiced for the sake of both of you to think so. I know that in + all countries, our own as well as yours, love is so morbidly sensitive and + jealous that it is always apt to invent imaginary foes to itself. Esteem + and admiration never do that. I thought that some misunderstanding, easily + removed by the intervention of a third person, might have impeded the + impulse of two hearts towards each other—and so I wrote. I had + assumed that you loved—I am humbled to the last degree—you + only admired and esteemed.” + </p> + <p> + “Your irony is very keen, Mrs. Morley, and to you it may seem very just.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t call me Mrs. Morley in that haughty tone of voice,—can’t you + talk to me as you would talk to a friend? You only esteemed and admired—there + is an end of it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, there is not an end of it,” cried Graham, giving way to an + impetuosity of passion, which rarely, indeed, before another, escaped his + self-control; “the end of it to me is a life out of which is ever stricken + such love as I could feel for woman. To me true love can only come once. + It came with my first look on that fatal face—it has never left me + in thought by day, in dreams by night. The end of it to me is farewell to + all such happiness as the one love of a life can promise—but—” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” asked Mrs. Morley, softly, and very much moved by the + passionate earnestness of Graham’s voice and words. + </p> + <p> + “But,” he continued with a forced smile, “we Englishmen are trained to the + resistance of absolute authority; we cannot submit all the elements that + make up our being to the sway of a single despot. Love is the painter of + existence, it should not be its sculptor.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand the metaphor.” + </p> + <p> + “Love colours our life, it should not chisel its form.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Mr. Vane, that is very cleverly said, but the human heart is too + large and too restless to be quietly packed up in an aphorism. Do you mean + to tell me that if you found you had destroyed Isaura Cicogna’s happiness + as well as resigned your own, that thought would not somewhat deform the + very shape you would give to your life? Is it colour alone that your life + would lose?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mrs. Morley, do not lower your friend into an ordinary girl in whom + idleness exaggerates the strength of any fancy over which it dreamily + broods. Isaura Cicogna has her occupations—her genius—her fame—her + career. Honestly speaking, I think that in these she will find a happiness + that no quiet hearth could bestow. I will say no more. I feel persuaded + that were we two united I could not make her happy. With the irresistible + impulse that urges the genius of the writer towards its vent in public + sympathy and applause, she would chafe if I said, ‘Be contented to be + wholly mine.’ And if I said it not, and felt I had no right to say it, and + allowed the full scope to her natural ambition, what then? She would chafe + yet more to find that I had no fellowship in her aims and ends—that + where I should feel pride, I felt humiliation. It would be so; I cannot + help it, ‘tis my nature.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it then. When, next year perhaps, you visit Paris, you will be safe + from my officious interference! Isaura will be the wife of another.” + </p> + <p> + Graham pressed his hand to his heart with the sudden movement of one who + feels there an agonising spasm—his cheek, his very lips were + bloodless. + </p> + <p> + “I told you,” he said bitterly, “that your fears of my influence over the + happiness of one so gifted, and so strong in such gifts, were groundless; + you allow that I should be very soon forgotten?” + </p> + <p> + “I allow no such thing—I wish I could. But do you know so little of + a woman’s heart (and in matters of heart, I never yet heard that genius + had a talisman against emotion),—do you know so little of a woman’s + heart as not to know that the very moment in which she may accept a + marriage the least fitted to render her happy, is that in which she has + lost all hope of happiness in another?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it indeed so?” murmured Graham—“Ay, I can conceive it.” + </p> + <p> + “And have you so little comprehension of the necessities which that fame, + that career to which you allow she is impelled by the instincts of genius, + impose on this girl, young, beautiful, fatherless, motherless? No matter + how pure her life, can she guard it from the slander of envious tongues? + Will not all her truest friends—would not you, if you were her + brother—press upon her by all the arguments that have most weight + with the woman who asserts independence in her modes of life, and yet is + wise enough to know that the world can only judge of virtue by its shadow—reputation, + not to dispense with the protection which a husband can alone secure? And + that is why I warn you, if it be yet time, that in resigning your own + happiness you may destroy Isaura’s. She will wed another, but she will not + be happy. What a chimera or dread your egotism as man conjures up! Oh! + forsooth, the qualities that charm and delight a world are to unfit a + woman to be helpmate to a man. Fie on you!—fie!” + </p> + <p> + Whatever answer Graham might have made to these impassioned reproaches was + here checked. + </p> + <p> + Two men on horseback stopped the carriage. One was Enguerrand de Vandemar, + the other was the Algerine Colonel whom we met at the supper given at the + Maison Doree by Frederic Lemercier. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, Madame Morley,” said Enguerrand; “but there are symptoms of a + mob-epidemic a little further up the fever began at Belleville, and is + threatening the health of the Champs Elysees. Don’t be alarmed—it + may be nothing, though it may be much. In Paris, one can never calculate + an hour beforehand the exact progress of a politico-epidemic fever. At + present I say, ‘Bah! a pack of ragged boys, gamins de Paris;’ but my + friend the Colonel, twisting his moustache en souriant amerement, says, + ‘It is the indignation of Paris at the apathy of the Government under + insult to the honour of France;’ and Heaven only knows how rapidly French + gamins grow into giants when Colonels talk about the indignation of Paris + and the honour of France!” + </p> + <p> + “But what has happened?” asked Mrs. Morley, turning to the Colonel. + </p> + <p> + “Madame,” replied the warrior, “it is rumoured that the King of Prussia + has turned his back upon the ambassador of France; and that the pekin who + is for peace at any price—M. Ollivier—will say tomorrow in the + Chamber, that France submits to a slap in the face.” + </p> + <p> + “Please, Monsieur de Vandemar, to tell my coachman to drive home,” said + Mrs. Morley. + </p> + <p> + The carriage turned and went homeward. The Colonel lifted his hat, and + rode back to see what the gamins were about. Enguerrand, who had no + interest in the gamins, and who looked on the Colonel as a bore, rode by + the side of the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything serious in this?” asked Mrs. Morley. + </p> + <p> + “At this moment, nothing. What it may be this hour to-morrow I cannot say. + Ah! Monsieur Vane, bon jour I did not recognise you at first. Once, in a + visit at the chateau of one of your distinguished countrymen, I saw two + game-cocks turned out facing each other: they needed no pretext for + quarrelling—neither do France and Prussia—no matter which + game-cock gave the last offence, the two game-cocks must have it out. All + that Ollivier can do, if he be wise, is to see that the French cock has + his steel spurs as long as the Prussians. But this I do say, that if + Ollivier attempts to put the French cock back into its bag, the Empire is + gone in forty-eight hours. That to me is a trifle—I care nothing for + the Empire; but that which is not a trifle is anarchy and chaos. Better + war and the Empire than peace and Jules Favre. But let us seize the + present hour, Mr. Vane; whatever happens to-morrow, shall we dine together + to-day? Name your restaurant.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so grieved,” answered Graham, rousing himself, “I am here only on + business, and engaged all the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “What a wonderful thing is this life of ours!” said Enguerrand. “The + destiny of France at this moment hangs on a thread—I, a Frenchman, + say to an English friend, ‘Let us dine—a cutlet to-day and a fig for + to-morrow;’ and my English friend, distinguished native of a country with + which we have the closest alliance, tells me that in this crisis of France + he has business to attend to! My father is quite right; he accepts the + Voltairean philosophy, and cries, Vivent les indifferents!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear M. de Vandemar,” said Graham, “in every country you will find the + same thing. All individuals massed together constitute public life. Each + individual has a life of his own, the claims and the habits and the needs + of which do not suppress his sympathies with public life, but imperiously + overrule them. Mrs. Morley, permit me to pull the check-string—I get + out here.” + </p> + <p> + “I like that man,” said Enguerrand, as he continued to ride by the fair + American, “in language and esprit he is so French.” + </p> + <p> + “I use to like him better than you can,” answered Mrs. Morley, “but in + prejudice and stupidity he is so English. As it seems you are disengaged, + come and partake, pot au feu, with Frank and me.” + </p> + <p> + “Charmed to do so,” answered the cleverest and best bred of all Parisian + beaux garcons, “but forgive me if I quit you soon. This poor France! Entre + nous, I am very uneasy about the Parisian fever. I must run away after + dinner to clubs and cafes to learn the last bulletins.” + </p> + <p> + “We have nothing like that French Legitimist in the States,” said the fair + American to herself, “unless we should ever be so silly as to make + Legitimists of the ruined gentlemen of the South.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Graham Vane went slowly back to his apartment. No false excuse + had he made to Enguerrand; this evening was devoted to M. Renard, who told + him little he had not known before; but his private life overruled his + public, and all that night he, professed politician, thought sleeplessly, + not over the crisis to France, which might alter the conditions of Europe, + but the talk on his private life of that intermeddling American woman. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0084" id="link2HCH0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + The next day, Wednesday, July 6th, commenced one of those eras in the + world’s history in which private life would vainly boast that it overrules + Life Public. How many private lives does such a terrible time influence, + absorb, darken with sorrow, crush into graves? + </p> + <p> + It was the day when the Duc de Gramont uttered the fatal speech which + determined the die between peace and war. No one not at Paris on that day + can conceive the popular enthusiasm with which that speech was hailed—the + greater because the warlike tone of it was not anticipated; because there + had been a rumour amidst circles the best informed that a speech of + pacific moderation was to be the result of the Imperial Council. Rapturous + indeed were the applauses with which the sentences that breathed haughty + defiance were hailed by the Assembly. The ladies in the tribune rose with + one accord, waving their handkerchiefs. Tall, stalwart, dark, with Roman + features and lofty presence, the Minister of France seemed to say with + Catiline in the fine tragedy: “Lo! where I stand, I am war!” + </p> + <p> + Paris had been hungering for some hero of the hour—the Duc de + Gramont became at once raised to that eminence. All the journals, save the + very few which were friendly to peace, because hostile to the Emperor, + resounded with praise, not only of the speech, but of the speaker. It is + with a melancholy sense of amusement that one recalls now to mind those + organs of public opinion—with what romantic fondness they dwelt on + the personal graces of the man who had at last given voice to the chivalry + of France: “The charming gravity of his countenance—the mysterious + expression of his eye!” + </p> + <p> + As the crowd poured from the Chambers, Victor de Mauleon and Savarin, who + had been among the listeners, encountered. + </p> + <p> + “No chance for my friends the Orleanists now,” said Savarin. “You who mock + at all parties are, I suppose, at heart for the Republican—small + chance, too, for that.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not agree with you. Violent impulses have quick reactions.” + </p> + <p> + “But what reaction could shake the Emperor after he returns a conqueror, + bringing in his pocket the left bank of the Rhine?” + </p> + <p> + “None—when he does that. Will he do it? Does he himself think he + will do it? I doubt—” + </p> + <p> + “Doubt the French army against the Prussian?” + </p> + <p> + “Against the German people united—yes, very much.” + </p> + <p> + “But war will disunite the German people. Bavaria will surely assist us—Hanover + will rise against the spoliator—Austria at our first successes must + shake off her present enforced neutrality?” + </p> + <p> + “You have not been in Germany, and I have. What yesterday was a Prussian + army, to-morrow will be a German population; far exceeding our own in + numbers, in hardihood of body, in cultivated intellect, in military + discipline. But talk of something else. How is my ex-editor—poor + Gustave Rameau?” + </p> + <p> + “Still very weak, but on the mend. You may have him back in his office + soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible! even in his sick-bed his vanity was more vigorous than ever. + He issued a war-song, which has gone the round of the war journals signed + by his own name. He must have known very well that the name of such a + Tyrtaeus cannot reappear as the editor of Le Sens Commun; that in + launching his little firebrand he burned all vessels that could waft him + back to the port he had quitted. But I dare say he has done well for his + own interests; I doubt if Le Sens Commun can much longer hold its ground + in the midst of the prevalent lunacy.” + </p> + <p> + “What! it has lost subscribers?—gone off in sale already, since it + declared for peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it has; and after the article which, if I live over to-night, + will appear to-morrow, I should wonder if it sell enough to cover the cost + of the print and paper.” + </p> + <p> + “Martyr to principle! I revere, but I do not envy thee.” + </p> + <p> + “Martyrdom is not my ambition. If Louis Napoleon be defeated, what then? + Perhaps he may be the martyr; and the Favres and Gambettas may roast their + own eggs on the gridiron they heat for his majesty.” + </p> + <p> + Here an English gentleman, who was the very able correspondent to a very + eminent journal, and in that capacity had made acquaintance with De + Mauleon, joined the two Frenchmen; Savarin, however, after an exchange of + salutations, went his way. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask a frank answer to a somewhat rude question, M. le Vicomte?” + said the Englishman. “Suppose that the Imperial Government had to-day + given in their adhesion to the peace party, how long would it have been + before their orators in the Chamber and their organs in the press would + have said that France was governed by poltrons?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably for most of the twenty-four hours. But there are a few who are + honest in their convictions; of that few I am one.” + </p> + <p> + “And would have supported the Emperor and his Government?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Monsieur—I do not say that.” + </p> + <p> + “Then the Emperor would have turned many friends into enemies, and no + enemies into friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur—you in England know that a party in opposition is not + propitiated when the party in power steals its measures. Ha!—pardon + me, who is that gentleman, evidently your countryman, whom I see yonder + talking to the Secretary of your Embassy?” + </p> + <p> + “He.—Mr. Vane-Graham Vane. Do you not know him? He has been much in + Paris, attached to our Embassy formerly; a clever man—much is + expected from him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I think I have seen him before, but am not quite sure. Did you say + Vane? I once knew a Monsieur Vane, a distinguished parliamentary orator.” + </p> + <p> + “That gentleman is his son—would you like to be introduced to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to-day—I am in some hurry.” Here Victor lifted his hat in + parting salutation, and as he walked away cast at Graham another glance + keen and scrutinising. “I have seen that man before,” he muttered, “where?—when?—can + it be only a family likeness to the father? No, the features are + different; the profile is—ha!—Mr. Lamb, Mr. Lamb—but why + call himself by that name?—why disguised?—what can he have to + do with poor Louise? Bah—these are not questions I can think of now. + This war—this war—can it yet be prevented? How it will + prostrate all the plans my ambition so carefully schemed! Oh!—at + least if I were but in the Chamber. Perhaps I yet may be before the war is + ended—the Clavignys have great interest in their department.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0085" id="link2HCH0085"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + Graham had left a note with Rochebriant’s concierge requesting an + interview on the Marquis’s return to Paris, and on the evening after the + day just commemorated he received a line, saying that Alain had come back, + and would be at home at nine o’clock. Graham found himself in the Breton’s + apartment punctually at the hour indicated. + </p> + <p> + Alain was in high spirits: he burst at once into enthusiastic exclamations + on the virtual announcement of war. + </p> + <p> + “Congratulate me, mon cher!” he cried—“the news was a joyous + surprise to me. Only so recently as yesterday morning I was under the + gloomy apprehension that the Imperial Cabinet would continue to back + Ollivier’s craven declaration ‘that France had not been affronted!’ The + Duchesse de Tarascon, at whose campagne I was a guest, is (as you + doubtless know) very much in the confidence of the Tuileries. On the first + signs of war, I wrote to her, saying that whatever the objections of my + pride to enter the army as a private in time of peace, such objections + ceased on the moment when all distinctions of France must vanish in the + eyes of sons eager to defend her banners. The Duchesse in reply begged me + to come to her campagne and talk over the matter. I went; she then said + that if war should break out it was the intention to organise the Mobiles + and officer them with men of birth and education, irrespective of previous + military service, and in that case I might count on my epaulets. But only + two nights ago she received a letter—I know not of course from whom—evidently + from some high authority—that induced her to think the moderation of + the Council would avert the war, and leave the swords of the Mobiles in + their sheaths. I suspect the decision of yesterday must have been a very + sudden one. Ce cher Gramont! See what it is to have a well-born man in a + sovereign’s councils.” + </p> + <p> + “If war must come, I at least wish all renown to yourself. But—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! spare me your ‘buts’; the English are always too full of them where + her own interests do not appeal to her. She had no ‘buts’ for war in India + or a march into Abyssinia.” + </p> + <p> + Alain spoke petulantly; at that moment the French were very much irritated + by the monitory tone of the English journals. Graham prudently avoided the + chance of rousing the wrath of a young hero yearning for his epaulets. + </p> + <p> + “I am English enough,” said he, with good-humoured courtesy, “to care for + English interests; and England has no interest abroad dearer to her than + the welfare and dignity of France. And now let me tell you why I presumed + on an acquaintance less intimate than I could desire, to solicit this + interview on a matter which concerns myself, and in which you could + perhaps render me a considerable service.” + </p> + <p> + “If I can, count it rendered; move to this sofa—join me in a cigar, + and let us talk at ease comme de vieux amis, whose fathers or brothers + might have fought side by side in the Crimea.” Graham removed to the sofa + beside Rochebriant, and after one or two whiffs laid aside the cigar and + began: + </p> + <p> + “Among the correspondence which Monsieur your father has left, are there + any letters of no distant date signed Marigny—Madame Marigny? Pardon + me, I should state my motive in putting this question. I am intrusted with + a charge, the fulfilment of which may prove to the benefit of this lady or + her child; such fulfilment is a task imposed upon my honour. But all the + researches to discover this lady which I have instituted stop at a certain + date, with this information,—viz., that she corresponded + occasionally with the late Marquis de Rochebriant; that he habitually + preserved the letters of his correspondents; and that these letters were + severally transmitted to you at his decease.” + </p> + <p> + Alain’s face had taken a very grave expression while Graham spoke, and he + now replied with a mixture of haughtiness and embarrassment: + </p> + <p> + “The boxes containing the letters my father received and preserved were + sent to me as you say—the larger portion of them were from ladies—sorted + and labelled, so that in glancing at any letter in each packet I could + judge of the general tenor of these in the same packet without the + necessity of reading them. All packets of that kind, Monsieur Vane, I + burned. I do not remember any letters signed ‘Marigny!” + </p> + <p> + “I perfectly understand, my dear Marquis, that you would destroy all + letters which your father himself would have destroyed if his last illness + had been sufficiently prolonged. But I do not think the letters I mean + would have come under that classification; probably they were short, and + on matters of business relating to some third person—some person, + for instance, of the name of Louise, or of Duval!” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! let me think. I have a vague remembrance of one or two letters + which rather perplexed me, they were labelled, ‘Louise D—. Mem.: to + make further inquiries as to the fate of her uncle.’” + </p> + <p> + “Marquis, these are the letters I seek. Thank heaven, you have not + destroyed them?” + </p> + <p> + “No; there was no reason why I should destroy, though I really cannot + state precisely any reason why I kept them. I have a very vague + recollection of their existence.” + </p> + <p> + “I entreat you to allow me at least a glance at the handwriting, and + compare it with that of a letter I have about me; and if the several + handwritings correspond, I would ask you to let me have the address, + which, according to your father’s memorandum, will be found in the letters + you have preserved.” + </p> + <p> + “To compliance with such a request I not only cannot demur, but perhaps it + may free me from some responsibility which I might have thought the + letters devolved upon my executorship. I am sure they did not concern the + honour of any woman of any family, for in that case I must have burned + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Marquis, shake hands there! In such concord between man and man, + there is more entente cordiale between England and France than there was + at Sebastopol. Now let me compare the handwritings.” + </p> + <p> + “The box that contained the letters is not here—I left it at + Rochebriant; I will telegraph to my aunt to send it; the day after + to-morrow it will no doubt arrive. Breakfast with me that day—say at + one o’clock, and after breakfast the Box!” + </p> + <p> + “How can I thank you?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank me! but you said your honour was concerned in your request—requests + affecting honour between men comma il faut is a ceremony of course, like a + bow between them. One bows, the other returns the bow—no thanks on + either side. Now that we have done with that matter, let me say that I + thought your wish for our interview originated in a very different cause.” + </p> + <p> + “What could that be?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, do you not recollect that last talk between us, when with such + loyalty you spoke to me about Mademoiselle Cicogna, and supposing that + there might be rivalship between us, retracted all that you might have + before said to warn me against fostering the sentiment with which she had + inspired me; even at the first slight glance of a face which cannot be + lightly forgotten by those who have once seen it.” + </p> + <p> + “I recollect perfectly every word of that talk, Marquis,” answered Graham, + calmly, but with his hand concealed within his vest and pressed tightly to + his heart. The warning of Mrs. Morley flashed upon him. “Was this the man + to seize the prize he had put aside—this man, younger than himself—handsomer + than himself—higher in rank?” + </p> + <p> + “I recollect that talk, Marquis! Well, what then?” + </p> + <p> + “In my self-conceit I supposed that you might have heard how much I + admired Mademoiselle Cicogna—how, having not long since met her at + the house of Duplessis (who by the way writes me word that I shall meet + you chez lui tomorrow), I have since sought her society wherever there was + a chance to find it. You may have heard, at our club, or elsewhere, how I + adore her genius—how, I say, that nothing so Breton—that is, + so pure and so lofty—has appeared and won readers since the days of + Chateaubriand,—and—you, knowing that les absents ont toujours + tort, come to me and ask Monsieur de Rochebriant, Are we rivals? I + expected a challenge—you relieve my mind—you abandon the field + to me?” + </p> + <p> + At the first I warned the reader how improved from his old mauvaise honte + a year or so of Paris life would make our beau Marquis. How a year or two + of London life with its horsey slang and its fast girls of the period + would have vulgarised an English Rochebriant! Graham gnawed his lips and + replied quietly, “I do not challenge! Am I to congratulate you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, that brilliant victory is not for me. I thought that was made clear + in the conversation I have referred to. But if you have done me the honour + to be jealous I am exceedingly flattered. Speaking, seriously, if I + admired Mademoiselle Cicogna when you and I last met, the admiration is + increased by the respect with which I regard a character so simply noble. + How many women older than she would have been spoiled by the adulation + that has followed her literary success!—how few women so young, + placed in a position so critical, having the courage to lead a life so + independent, would have maintained the dignity of their character free + from a single indiscretion! I speak not from my own knowledge, but from + the report of all, who would be pleased enough to censure if they could + find a cause. Good society is the paradise of mauvaises langues.” + </p> + <p> + Graham caught Alain’s hand and pressed it, but made no answer. + </p> + <p> + The young Marquis continued: + </p> + <p> + “You will pardon me for speaking thus freely in the way that I would wish + any friend to speak of the demoiselle who might become my wife. I owe you + much, not only for the loyalty with which you address me in reference to + this young lady, but for words affecting my own position in France, which + sank deep into my mind—saved me from deeming myself a proscrit in my + own land—filled me with a manly ambition, not stifled amidst the + thick of many effeminate follies—and, in fact, led me to the career + which is about to open before me, and in which my ancestors have left me + no undistinguished examples. Let us speak, then, a coeur ouvert, as one + friend to another. Has there been any misunderstanding between you and + Mademoiselle Cicogna which has delayed your return to Paris? If so, is it + over now?” + </p> + <p> + “There has been no such misunderstanding.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you doubt whether the sentiments you expressed in regard to her when + we met last year, are returned?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no right to conjecture her sentiments. You mistake altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not believe that I am dunce enough to mistake your feelings towards + Mademoiselle—they may be read in your face at this moment. Of course + I do not presume to hazard a conjecture as to those of Mademoiselle + towards yourself. But when I met her not long since at the house of + Duplessis, with whose daughter she is intimate, I chanced to speak to her + of you; and if I may judge, by looks and manner, I chose no displeasing + theme. You turn away—I offend you?” + </p> + <p> + “Offend!—no, indeed; but on this subject I am not prepared to + converse. I came to Paris on matters of business much complicated and + which ought to absorb my attention. I cannot longer trespass on your + evening. The day after to-morrow, then, I will be with you at one + o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I hope then to have the letters you wish to consult; and, meanwhile, + we meet to-morrow at the Hotel Duplessis.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0086" id="link2HCH0086"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + Graham had scarcely quitted Alain, and the young Marquis was about to + saunter forth to his club, when Duplessis was announced. + </p> + <p> + These two men had naturally seen much of each other since Duplessis had + returned from Bretagne and delivered Alain from the gripe of Louvier. + Scarcely a day had passed but what Alain had been summoned to enter into + the financier’s plans for the aggrandisement of the Rochebriant estates, + and delicately made to feel that he had become a partner in speculations, + which, thanks to the capital and the abilities Duplessis brought to bear, + seemed likely to result in the ultimate freedom of his property from all + burdens, and the restoration of his inheritance to a splendour + correspondent with the dignity of his rank. + </p> + <p> + On the plea that his mornings were chiefly devoted to professional + business, Duplessis arranged that these consultations should take place in + the evenings. From those consultations Valerie was not banished; Duplessis + took her into the council as a matter of course. “Valerie,” said the + financier to Alain, “though so young, has a very clear head for business, + and she is so interested in all that interests myself, that even where I + do not take her opinion, I at least feel my own made livelier and brighter + by her sympathy.” + </p> + <p> + So the girl was in the habit of taking her work or her book into the + cabinet de travail, and never obtruding a suggestion unasked, still, when + appealed to, speaking with a modest good sense which justified her + father’s confidence and praise; and a propos of her book, she had taken + Chateaubriand into peculiar favour. Alain had respectfully presented to + her beautifully bound copies of Atala and Ls Genie du Christianisme; it is + astonishing, indeed, how he had already contrived to regulate her tastes + in literature. The charms of those quiet family evenings had stolen into + the young Breton’s heart. + </p> + <p> + He yearned for none of the gayer reunions in which he had before sought + for a pleasure that his nature had not found; for, amidst the amusements + of Paris, Alain remained intensely Breton—viz., formed eminently for + the simple joys of domestic life, associating the sacred hearthstone with + the antique religion of his fathers; gathering round it all the images of + pure and noble affections which the romance of a poetic temperament had + evoked from the solitude which had surrounded a melancholy boyhood-an + uncontaminated youth. + </p> + <p> + Duplessis entered abruptly, and with a countenance much disturbed from its + wonted saturnine composure. + </p> + <p> + “Marquis, what is this I have just heard from the Duchesse de Tarascon? + Can it be? You ask military service in this ill-omened war?—you?” + </p> + <p> + “My dear and best friend,” said Alain, very much startled, “I should have + thought that you, of all men in the world, would have most approved of my + request—you, so devoted an Imperialist—you, indignant that the + representative of one of these families, which the First Napoleon so + eagerly and so vainly courted, should ask for the grade of sous-lieutenant + in the armies of Napoleon the Third—you, who of all men know how + ruined are the fortunes of a Rochebriant—you, feel surprised that he + clings to the noblest heritage his ancestors have left to him—their + sword! I do not understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “Marquis,” said Duplessis, seating himself, and regarding Alain with a + look in which were blended the sort of admiration and the sort of contempt + with which a practical man of the world, who, having himself gone through + certain credulous follies, has learned to despise the follies, but retains + a reminiscence of sympathy with the fools they bewitch, “Marquis, pardon + me; you talk finely, but you do not talk common sense. I should be + extremely pleased if your Legitimist scruples had allowed you to solicit, + or rather to accept, a civil appointment not unsuited to your rank, under + the ablest sovereign, as a civilian, to whom France can look for rational + liberty combined with established order. Such openings to a suitable + career you have rejected; but who on earth could expect you, never trained + to military service, to draw a sword hitherto sacred to the Bourbons, on + behalf of a cause which the madness, I do not say of France but of Paris, + has enforced on a sovereign against whom you would fight to-morrow if you + had a chance of placing the descendant of Henry IV. on his throne.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not about to fight for any sovereign, but for my country against the + foreigner.” + </p> + <p> + “An excellent answer if the foreigner had invaded your country; but it + seems that your country is going to invade the foreigner—a very + different thing. Chut! all this discussion is most painful to me. I feel + for the Emperor a personal loyalty, and for the hazards he is about to + encounter a prophetic dread, as an ancestor of yours might have felt for + Francis I. could he have foreseen Pavia. Let us talk of ourselves and the + effect the war should have upon our individual action. You are aware, of + course, that, though M. Louvier has had notice of our intention to pay off + his mortgage, that intention cannot be carried into effect for six months; + if the money be not then forthcoming his hold on Rochebriant remains + unshaken—the sum is large.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! yes.” + </p> + <p> + “The war must greatly disturb the money-market, affect many speculative + adventures and operations when at the very moment credit may be most + needed. It is absolutely necessary that I should be daily at my post on + the Bourse, and hourly watch the ebb and flow of events. Under these + circumstances I had counted, permit me to count still, on your presence in + Bretagne. We have already begun negotiations on a somewhat extensive + scale, whether as regards the improvement of forests and orchards, or the + plans for building allotments, as soon as the lands are free for disposal—for + all these the eye of a master is required. I entreat you, then, to take up + your residence at Rochebriant.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend, this is but a kindly and delicate mode of relieving me + from the dangers of war. I have, as you must be conscious, no practical + knowledge of business. Hebert can be implicitly trusted, and will carry + out your views with a zeal equal to mine, and with infinitely more + ability.” + </p> + <p> + “Marquis, pray neither to Hercules nor to Hebert; if you wish to get your + own cart out of the ruts, put your own shoulder to the wheel.” + </p> + <p> + Alain coloured high, unaccustomed to be so bluntly addressed, but he + replied with a kind of dignified meekness: “I shall ever remain grateful + for what you have done, and wish to do for me. But, assuming that you + suppose rightly, the estates of Rochebriant would, in your hands, become a + profitable investment, and more than redeem the mortgage, and the sum you + have paid Louvier on my account, let it pass to you irrespectively of me. + I shall console myself in the knowledge that the old place will be + restored, and those who honoured its old owners prosper in hands so + strong, guided by a heart so generous.” + </p> + <p> + Duplessis was deeply affected by these simple words; they seized him on + the tenderest side of his character—for his heart was generous, and + no one, except his lost wife and his loving child, had ever before + discovered it to be so. Has it ever happened to you, reader, to be + appreciated on the one point of the good or the great that is in you—on + which secretly you value yourself most—but for which nobody, not + admitted into your heart of hearts, has given you credit? If that has + happened to you, judge what Duplessis felt when the fittest representative + of that divine chivalry which, if sometimes deficient in head, owes all + that exalts it to riches of heart, spoke thus to the professional + moneymaker, whose qualities of head were so acknowledged that a compliment + to them would be a hollow impertinence, and whose qualities of heart had + never yet received a compliment! + </p> + <p> + Duplessis started from his seat and embraced Alain, murmuring, “Listen to + me, I love you—I never had a son—be mine—Rochebriant + shall be my daughter’s dot.” + </p> + <p> + Alain returned the embrace, and then recoiling, said: “Father, your first + desire must be honour for your son. You have guessed my secret—I + have learned to love Valerie. Seeing her out in the world, she seemed like + other girls, fair and commonplace—seeing her—at your house, I + have said to myself, ‘There is the one girl fairer than all others in my + eyes, and the one individual to whom all other girls are commonplace.’” + </p> + <p> + “Is that true?—is it?” + </p> + <p> + “True! does a gentilhomme ever lie? And out of that love for her has grown + this immovable desire to be something worthy of her—something that + may lift me from the vulgar platform of men who owe all to ancestors, + nothing to themselves. Do you suppose for one moment that I, saved from + ruin and penury by Valerie’s father, could be base enough to say to her, + ‘In return be Madame la Marquise de Rochebriant’? Do you suppose that I, + whom you would love and respect as son, could come to you and say: ‘I am + oppressed by your favours—I am crippled with debts—give me + your millions and we are quits.’ No, Duplessis! You, so well descended + yourself—so superior as man amongst men that you would have won name + and position had you been born the son of a shoeblack,—you would + eternally despise the noble who, in days when all that we Bretons deem + holy in noblesse are subjected to ridicule and contempt, should so vilely + forget the only motto which the scutcheons of all gentilhommes have in + common, ‘Noblesse oblige.’ War, with all its perils and all its grandeur,—war + lifts on high the banners of France,—war, in which every ancestor of + mine whom I care to recall aggrandised the name that descends to me. Let + me then do as those before me have done; let me prove that I am worth + something in myself, and then you and I are equals; and I can say with no + humbled crest, ‘Your benefits are accepted:’ the man who has fought not + ignobly for France may aspire to the hand of her daughter. Give me + Valerie; as to her dot,—be it so, Rochebriant,—it will pass to + her children.” + </p> + <p> + “Alain! Alain! my friend! my son!—but if you fall.” + </p> + <p> + “Valerie will give you a nobler son.” + </p> + <p> + Duplessis moved away, sighing heavily; but he said no more in deprecation + of Alain’s martial resolves. + </p> + <p> + A Frenchman, however practical, however worldly, however philosophical he + may be, who does not sympathise with the follies of honour—who does + not concede indulgence to the hot blood of youth when he says, “My country + is insulted and her banner is unfurled,” may certainly be a man of + excellent common sense; but if such men had been in the majority, Gaul + would never have been France—Gaul would have been a province of + Germany. + </p> + <p> + And as Duplessis walked homeward—he the calmest and most far-seeing + of all authorities on the Bourse—the man who, excepting only De + Mauleon, most decidedly deemed the cause of the war a blunder, and most + forebodingly anticipated its issues, caught the prevalent enthusiasm. + Everywhere he was stopped by cordial hands, everywhere met by + congratulating smiles. “How right you have been, Duplessis, when you have + laughed at those who have said, ‘The Emperor is ill, decrepit, done up.’” + </p> + <p> + “Vive l’Empereur! at least we shall be face to face with those insolent + Prussians!” + </p> + <p> + Before he arrived at his home, passing along the Boulevards, greeted by + all the groups enjoying the cool night air before the cafes, Duplessis had + caught the war epidemic. + </p> + <p> + Entering his hotel, he went at once to Valerie’s chamber. “Sleep well + to-night, child; Alain has told me that he adores thee, and if he will go + to the war, it is that he may lay his laurels at thy feet. Bless thee, my + child, thou couldst not have made a nobler choice.” + </p> + <p> + Whether, after these words, Valerie slept well or not ‘tis not for me to + say; but if she did sleep, I venture to guess that her dreams were + rose-coloured. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0087" id="link2HCH0087"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + All the earlier part of that next day, Graham Vane remained in-doors—a + lovely day at Paris that 8th of July, and with that summer day all hearts + at Paris were in unison. Discontent was charmed into enthusiasm—Belleville + and Montmartre forgot the visions of Communism and Socialism and other + “isms” not to be realised except in some undiscovered Atlantis! + </p> + <p> + The Emperor was the idol of the day—the names of Jules Favre and + Gambetta were by-words of scorn. Even Armand Monnier, still out of work, + beginning to feel the pinch of want, and fierce for any revolution that + might turn topsy-turvy the conditions of labour,—even Armand Monnier + was found among groups that were laying immortelles at the foot of the + column in the Place Vendome, and heard to say to a fellow malcontent, with + eyes uplifted to the statue of the First Napoleon, “Do you not feel at + this moment that no Frenchman can be long angry with the Little Corporal? + He denied La Liberte, but he gave La Gloire.” + </p> + <p> + Heeding not the stir of the world without, Graham was compelling into one + resolve the doubts and scruples which had so long warred against the heart + which they ravaged, but could not wholly subdue. + </p> + <p> + The conversations with Mrs. Morley and Rochebriant had placed in a light + in which he had not before regarded it, the image of Isaura. + </p> + <p> + He had reasoned from the starting-point of his love for her, and had + sought to convince himself that against that love it was his duty to + strive. + </p> + <p> + But now a new question was addressed to his conscience as well as to his + heart. What though he had never formally declared to her his affection—never, + in open words, wooed her as his own—never even hinted to her the + hopes of a union which at one time he had fondly entertained,—still + was it true that his love had been too transparent not to be detected by + her, and not to have led her on to return it? + </p> + <p> + Certainly he had, as we know, divined that he was not indifferent to her: + at Enghien, a year ago, that he had gained her esteem, and perhaps + interested her fancy. + </p> + <p> + We know also how he had tried to persuade himself that the artistic + temperament, especially when developed in women, is too elastic to suffer + the things of real life to have lasting influence over happiness or + sorrow,—that in the pursuits in which her thought and imagination + found employ, in the excitement they sustained, and the fame to which they + conduced, Isaura would be readily consoled for a momentary pang of + disappointed affection. And that a man so alien as himself, both by nature + and by habit, from the artistic world, was the very last person who could + maintain deep and permanent impression on her actual life or her ideal + dreams. But what if, as he gathered from the words of the fair American—what + if, in all these assumptions, she was wholly mistaken? What if, in + previously revealing his own heart, he had decoyed hers—what if, by + a desertion she had no right to anticipate, he had blighted her future? + What if this brilliant child of genius could love as warmly, as deeply, as + enduringly as any simple village girl to whom there is no poetry except + love? If this were so—what became the first claim on his honour, his + conscience, his duty? + </p> + <p> + The force which but a few days ago his reasonings had given to the + arguments that forbade him to think of Isaura, became weaker and weaker, + as now in an altered mood of reflection he resummoned and reweighed them. + </p> + <p> + All those prejudices—which had seemed to him such rational + common-sense truths, when translated from his own mind into the words of + Lady Janet’s letter,—was not Mrs. Morley right in denouncing them as + the crotchets of an insolent egotism? Was it not rather to the favour than + to the disparagement of Isaura, regarded even in the man’s narrow-minded + view of woman’s dignity, that this orphan girl could, with character so + unscathed, pass through the trying ordeal of the public babble, the public + gaze-command alike the esteem of a woman so pure as Mrs. Morley, the + reverence of a man so chivalrously sensitive to honour as Alain de + Rochebriant? + </p> + <p> + Musing thus, Graham’s countenance at last brightened—a glorious joy + entered into and possessed him. He felt as a man who had burst asunder the + swathes and trammels which had kept him galled and miserable with the + sense of captivity, and from which some wizard spell that took strength + from his own superstition had forbidden to struggle. + </p> + <p> + He was free!—and that freedom was rapture!—yes, his resolve + was taken. + </p> + <p> + The day was now far advanced. He should have just time before the dinner + with Duplessis to drive to A———, where he still supposed + Isaura resided. How, as his fiacre rolled along the well-remembered road—how + completely he lived in that world of romance of which he denied himself to + be a denizen. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at the little villa, he found it occupied only by workmen—it + was under repair. No one could tell him to what residence the ladies who + occupied it the last year had removed. + </p> + <p> + “I shall learn from Mrs. Morley,” thought Graham, and at her house he + called in going back, but Mrs. Morley was not at home; he had only just + time, after regaining his apartment, to change his dress for the dinner to + which he was invited. As it was, he arrived late, and while apologising to + his host for his want of punctuality, his tongue faltered. At the farther + end of the room he saw a face, paler and thinner than when he had seen it + last—a face across which a something of grief had gone. + </p> + <p> + The servant announced that dinner was served. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Vane,” said Duplessis, “will you take into dinner Mademoiselle + Cicogna?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0101" id="link2H_4_0101"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK XI. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0088" id="link2HCH0088"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + Amoung the frets and checks to the course that “never did run smooth,” + there is one which is sufficiently frequent, for many a reader will + remember the irritation it caused him. You have counted on a meeting with + the beloved one unwitnessed by others, an interchange of confessions and + vows which others may not hear. You have arranged almost the words in + which your innermost heart is to be expressed; pictured to yourself the + very looks by which those words will have their sweetest reply. The scene + you have thus imagined appears to you vivid and distinct, as if foreshown + in a magic glass. And suddenly, after long absence, the meeting takes + place in the midst of a common companionship: nothing that you wished to + say can be said. The scene you pictured is painted out by the irony of + Chance; and groups and backgrounds of which you had never dreamed start + forth from the disappointing canvas. Happy if that be all! But sometimes, + by a strange, subtle intuition, you feel that the person herself is + changed; and sympathetic with that change, a terrible chill comes over + your own heart. + </p> + <p> + Before Graham had taken his seat at the table beside Isaura, he felt that + she was changed to him. He felt it by her very touch as their hands met at + the first greeting,—by the tone of her voice in the few words that + passed between them,—by the absence of all glow in the smile which + had once lit up her face, as a burst of sunshine lights up a day in + spring, and gives a richer gladness of colour to all its blooms. Once + seated side by side they remained for some moments silent. Indeed, it + would have been rather difficult for anything less than the wonderful + intelligence of lovers between whom no wall can prevent the stolen + interchange of tokens, to have ventured private talk of their own amid the + excited converse which seemed all eyes, all tongues, all ears, admitting + no one present to abstract himself from the common emotion. Englishmen do + not recognise the old classic law which limited the number of guests, + where banquets are meant to be pleasant, to that of the Nine-Muses. They + invite guests so numerous, and so shy of launching talk across the table, + that you may talk to the person next to you not less secure from listeners + than you would be in talking with the stranger whom you met at a well in + the Sahara. It is not so, except on state occasions, at Paris. Difficult + there to retire into solitude with your next neighbour. The guests + collected by Duplessis completed with himself the number of the Sacred + Nine—the host, Valerie, Rochebriant, Graham, Isaura, Signora + Venosta, La Duchesse de Tarascon, the wealthy and high-born Imperialist, + Prince ————, and last and least, one who shall be + nameless. + </p> + <p> + I have read somewhere, perhaps in one of the books which American + superstition dedicates to the mysteries of Spiritualism, how a gifted + seer, technically styled medium, sees at the opera a box which to other + eyes appears untenanted and empty, but to him is full of ghosts, well + dressed in costume de-regle, gazing on the boards and listening to the + music. Like such ghosts are certain beings whom I call Lookers-on. Though + still living, they have no share in the life they survey, they come as + from another world to hear and to see what is passing in ours. In ours + they lived once, but that troubled sort of life they have survived. Still + we amuse them as stage-players and puppets amuse ourselves. One of these + Lookers-on completed the party at the house of Duplessis. + </p> + <p> + How lively, how animated the talk was at the financier’s pleasant table + that day, the 8th of July! The excitement of the coming war made itself + loud in every Gallic voice, and kindled in every Gallic eye. Appeals at + every second minute were made, sometimes courteous, sometimes sarcastic, + to the Englishman—promising son of an eminent statesman, and native + of a country in which France is always coveting an ally, and always + suspecting an enemy. Certainly Graham could not have found a less + propitious moment for asking Isaura if she really were changed. And + certainly the honour of Great Britain was never less ably represented + (that is saying a great deal) than it was on this occasion by the young + man reared to diplomacy and aspiring to Parliamentary distinction. He + answered all questions with a constrained voice and an insipid smile,—all + questions pointedly addressed to him as to what demonstrations of admiring + sympathy with the gallantry of France might be expected from the English + Government and people; what his acquaintance with the German races led him + to suppose would be the effect on the Southern States of the first defeat + of the Prussians; whether the man called Moltke was not a mere strategist + on paper, a crotchety pedant; whether, if Belgium became so enamoured of + the glories of France as to solicit fusion with her people, England would + have a right to offer any objection,&c., &c. I do not think that + during that festival Graham once thought one-millionth so much about the + fates of Prussia and France as he did think, “Why is that girl so changed + to me? Merciful heaven! is she lost to my life?” + </p> + <p> + By training, by habit, even by passion, the man was a genuine politician, + cosmopolitan as well as patriotic, accustomed to consider what effect + every vibration in that balance of European power, which no deep thinker + can despise, must have on the destinies of civilised humanity, and on + those of the nation to which he belongs. But are there not moments in life + when the human heart suddenly narrows the circumference to which its + emotions are extended? As the ebb of a tide, it retreats from the shores + it had covered on its flow, drawing on with contracted waves the + treasure-trove it has selected to hoard amid its deeps. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0089" id="link2HCH0089"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + On quitting the dining-room, the Duchesse de Tarascon said to her host, on + whose arm she was leaning, “Of course you and I must go with the stream. + But is not all the fine talk that has passed to-day at your table, and in + which we too have joined, a sort of hypocrisy? I may say this to you; I + would say it to no other.” + </p> + <p> + “And I say to you, Madame la Duchesse, that which I would say to no other. + Thinking over it as I sit alone, I find myself making a ‘terrible hazard;’ + but when I go abroad and become infected by the general enthusiasm, I + pluck up gaiety of spirit, and whisper to myself, ‘True, but it may be an + enormous gain.’ To get the left bank of the Rhine is a trifle; but to + check in our next neighbour a growth which a few years hence would overtop + us,—that is no trifle. And, be the gain worth the hazard or not, + could the Emperor, could any Government likely to hold its own for a week, + have declined to take the chance of the die?” + </p> + <p> + The Duchesse mused a moment, and meanwhile the two seated themselves on a + divan in the corner of the salon. Then she said very slowly— + </p> + <p> + “No Government that held its tenure on popular suffrage could have done + so. But if the Emperor had retained the personal authority which once + allowed the intellect of one man to control and direct the passions of + many, I think the war would have been averted. I have reason to know that + the Emperor gave his emphatic support to the least bellicose members of + the Council, and that Gramont’s speech did not contain the passage that + precipitates hostilities when the Council in which it was framed broke up. + These fatal Ministers found the Chamber, and the reports of the popular + excitement which could not be resisted without imminent danger of + revolution. It is Paris that has forced the war on the Emperor. But enough + of this subject. What must be, must, and, as you say, the gain may be + greater than the hazard. I come to something else you whispered to me + before we went in to dinner,—a sort of complaint which wounds me + sensibly. You say I had assisted to a choice of danger and possibly of + death a very distant connection of mine, who might have been a very near + connection of yours. You mean Alain de Rochebriant?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I accept him as a suitor for the hand of my only daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “I am so glad, not for your sake so much as for his. No one can know him + well without appreciating in him the finest qualities of the finest order + of the French noble; but having known your pretty Valerie so long, my + congratulations are for the man who can win her. Meanwhile, hear my + explanation: when I promised Alain any interest I can command for the + grade of officer in a regiment of Mobiles, I knew not that he had formed, + or was likely to form, ties or duties to keep him at home. I withdraw my + promise.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Duchesse, fulfil it. I should be disloyal indeed if I robbed a + sovereign under whose tranquil and prosperous reign I have acquired, with + no dishonour, the fortune which Order proffers to Commerce, of one gallant + defender in the hour of need. And, speaking frankly, if Alain were really + my son, I think I am Frenchman enough to remember that France is my + mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Say no more, my friend—say no more,” cried the Duchesse, with the + warm blood of the heart rushing through all the delicate coatings of + pearl-powder. “If every Frenchman felt as you do; if in this Paris of ours + all hostilities of class may merge in the one thought of the common + country; if in French hearts there yet thrills the same sentiment as that + which, in the terrible days when all other ties were rent asunder, revered + France as mother, and rallied her sons to her aid against the confederacy + of Europe,—why, then, we need not grow pale with dismay at the sight + of a Prussian needle-gun. Hist! look yonder: is not that a tableau of + Youth in Arcady? Worlds rage around, and Love, unconcerned, whispers to + Love!” The Duchesse here pointed to a corner of the adjoining room in + which Alain and Valerie sat apart, he whispering into her ear; her cheek + downcast, and, even seen at that distance, brightened by the delicate + tenderness of its blushes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0090" id="link2HCH0090"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + But in that small assembly there were two who did not attract the notice + of Duplessis or of the lady of the Imperial Court. While the Prince + —— and the placid Looker-on were engaged at a contest of + ecarte, with the lively Venosta, for the gallery, interposing criticisms + and admonitions, Isaura was listlessly turning over a collection of + photographs, strewed on a table that stood near to an open window in the + remoter angle of the room, communicating with a long and wide balcony + filled partially with flowers and overlooking the Champs Elysees, softly + lit up by the innumerable summer stars. Suddenly a whisper, the command of + which she could not resist, thrilled through her ear, and sent the blood + rushing back to her heart. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember that evening at Enghien? how I said that our imagination + could not carry us beyond the question whether we two should be gazing + together that night twelve months on that star which each of us had + singled out from the hosts of heaven? That was the 8th of July. It is the + 8th of July once more. Come and seek for our chosen star—come. I + have something to say, which say I must. Come.” + </p> + <p> + Mechanically, as it were,—mechanically, as they tell us the + Somnambulist obeys the Mesmeriser,—Isaura obeyed that summons. In a + kind of dreamy submission she followed his steps, and found herself on the + balcony, flowers around her and stars above, by the side of the man who + had been to her that being ever surrounded by flowers and lighted by + stars,—the ideal of Romance to the heart of virgin Woman. + </p> + <p> + “Isaura,” said the Englishman, softly. At the sound of her own name for + the first time heard from those lips, every nerve in her frame quivered. + “Isaura, I have tried to live without you. I cannot. You are all in all to + me: without you it seems to me as if earth had no flowers, and even heaven + had withdrawn its stars. Are there differences between us, differences of + taste, of sentiments, of habits, of thought? Only let me hope that you can + love me a tenth part so much as I love you, and such differences cease to + be discord. Love harmonises all sounds, blends all colours into its own + divine oneness of heart and soul. Look up! is not the star which this time + last year invited our gaze above, is it not still there? Does it not still + invite our gaze? Isaura, speak!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, hush, hush,”—the girl could say no more, but she recoiled + from his side. + </p> + <p> + The recoil did not wound him: there was no hate in it. He advanced, he + caught her hand, and continued, in one of those voices which become so + musical in summer nights under starry skies: + </p> + <p> + “Isaura, there is one name which I can never utter without a reverence due + to the religion which binds earth to heaven—a name which to man + should be the symbol of life cheered and beautified, exalted, hallowed. + That name is ‘wife.’ Will you take that name from me?” + </p> + <p> + And still Isaura made no reply. She stood mute, and cold, and rigid as a + statue of marble. At length, as if consciousness had been arrested and was + struggling back, she sighed heavily, and passed her hands slowly over her + forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Mockery, mockery,” she said then, with a smile half bitter, half + plaintive, on her colourless lips. “Did you wait to ask me that question + till you knew what my answer must be? I have pledged the name of wife to + another.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no; you say that to rebuke, to punish me! Unsay it! unsay it!” + </p> + <p> + Isaura beheld the anguish of his face with bewildered eyes. “How can my + words pain you?” she said, drearily. “Did you not write that I had + unfitted myself to be wife to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I?” + </p> + <p> + “That I had left behind me the peaceful immunities of private life? I felt + you were so right! Yes! I am affianced to one who thinks that in spite of + that misfortune—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop, I command you—stop! You saw my letter to Mrs. Morley. I have + not had one moment free from torture and remorse since I wrote it. But + whatever in that letter you might justly resent—” + </p> + <p> + “I did not resent—” + </p> + <p> + Graham heard not the interruption, but hurried on. “You would forgive + could you read my heart. No matter. Every sentiment in that letter, except + those which conveyed admiration, I retract. Be mine, and instead of + presuming to check in you the irresistible impulse of genius to the first + place in the head or the heart of the world, I teach myself to encourage, + to share, to exult in it. Do you know what a difference there is between + the absent one and the present one—between the distant image against + whom our doubts, our fears, our suspicions, raise up hosts of imaginary + giants, barriers of visionary walls, and the beloved face before the sight + of which the hosts are fled, the walls are vanished? Isaura, we meet + again. You know now from my own lips that I love you. I think your lips + will not deny that you love me. You say that you are affianced to another. + Tell the man frankly, honestly, that you mistook your heart. It is not + yours to give. Save yourself, save him, from a union in which there can be + no happiness.” + </p> + <p> + “It is too late,” said Isaura, with hollow tones, but with no trace of + vacillating weakness on her brow and lips. “Did I say now to that other + one, ‘I break the faith that I pledged to you,’ I should kill him, body + and soul. Slight thing though I be, to him I am all in all; to you, Mr. + Vane, to you a memory—the memory of one whom a year, perhaps a + month, hence, you will rejoice to think you have escaped.” + </p> + <p> + She passed from him—passed away from the flowers and the starlight; + and when Graham,—recovering from the stun of her crushing words, and + with the haughty mien and stop of the man who goes forth from the ruin of + his hopes, leaning for support upon his pride,—when Graham + re-entered the room, all the guests had departed save only Alain, who was + still exchanging whispered words with Valerie. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0091" id="link2HCH0091"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + The next day, at the hour appointed, Graham entered Alain’s apartment. “I + am glad to tell you,” said the Marquis, gaily, “that the box has arrived, + and we will very soon examine its contents. Breakfast claims precedence.” + During the meal Alain was in gay spirits, and did not at first notice the + gloomy countenance and abstracted mood of his guest. At length, surprised + at the dull response to his lively sallies on the part of a man generally + so pleasant in the frankness of his speech, and the cordial ring of his + sympathetic laugh, it occurred to him that the change in Graham must be + ascribed to something that had gone wrong in the meeting with Isaura the + evening before; and remembering the curtness with which Graham had implied + disinclination to converse about the fair Italian, he felt perplexed how + to reconcile the impulse of his good nature with the discretion imposed on + his good-breeding. At all events, a compliment to the lady whom Graham had + so admired could do no harm. + </p> + <p> + “How well Mademoiselle Cicogna looked last night!” + </p> + <p> + “Did she? It seemed to me that, in health at least, she did not look very + well. Have you heard what day M. Thiers will speak on the war?” + </p> + <p> + “Thiers? No. Who cares about Thiers? Thank heaven his day is past! I don’t + know any unmarried woman in Paris, not even Valerie—I mean + Mademoiselle Duplessis—who has so exquisite a taste in dress as + Mademoiselle Cicogna. Generally speaking, the taste of a female author is + atrocious.” + </p> + <p> + “Really—I did not observe her dress. I am no critic on subjects so + dainty as the dress of ladies, or the tastes of female authors.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said the beau Marquis, gravely. “As to dress, I think that so + essential a thing in the mind of woman, that no man who cares about women + ought to disdain critical study of it. In woman, refinement of character + is never found in vulgarity of dress. I have only observed that truth + since I came up from Bretagne.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume, my dear Marquis, that you may have read in Bretagne books + which very few not being professed scholars have ever read at Paris; and + possibly you may remember that Horace ascribes the most exquisite + refinement in dress, denoted by the untranslatable words, ‘simplex + munditiis,’ to a lady who was not less distinguished by the ease and + rapidity with which she could change her affection. Of course that + allusion does not apply to Mademoiselle Cicogna, but there are many other + exquisitely dressed ladies at Paris of whom an ill-fated admirer + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ‘fidem + Mutatosque deos flebit.’ +</pre> + <p> + “Now, with your permission, we will adjourn to the box of letters.” + </p> + <p> + The box being produced and unlocked, Alain looked with conscientious care + at its contents before he passed over to Graham’s inspection a few + epistles, in which the Englishman immediately detected the same + handwriting as that of the letter from Louise which Richard King had + bequeathed to him. + </p> + <p> + They were arranged and numbered chronologically. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + LETTER I. + + DEAR M. LE MARQUIS,—How can I thank you sufficiently for obtaining + and remitting to me those certificates? You are too aware of the + unhappy episode in my life not to know how inestimable is the + service you render me. I am saved all further molestation from the + man who had indeed no right over my freedom, but whose persecution + might compel me to the scandal and disgrace of an appeal to the law + for protection, and the avowal of the illegal marriage into which I + was duped. I would rather be torn limb from limb by wild horses, + like the Queen in the history books, than dishonour myself and the + ancestry which I may at least claim on the mother’s side, by + proclaiming that I had lived with that low Englishman as his wife, + when I was only—O heavens, I cannot conclude the sentence! + + “No, Mons. le Marquis, I am in no want of the pecuniary aid you so + generously wish to press on me. Though I know not where to address + my poor dear uncle,—though I doubt, even if I did, whether I could + venture to confide to him the secret known only to yourself as to + the name I now bear—and if he hear of me at all he must believe me + dead,—yet I have enough left of the money he last remitted to me + for present support; and when that fails, I think, what with my + knowledge of English and such other slender accomplishments as I + possess, I could maintain myself as a teacher or governess in some + German family. At all events, I will write to you again soon, and I + entreat you to let me know all you can learn about my uncle. I feel + so grateful to you for your just disbelief of the horrible calumny + which must be so intolerably galling to a man so proud, and, + whatever his errors, so incapable of a baseness. + + “Direct to me Poste restante, Augsburg. + + “Yours with all consideration, +LETTER II. +</pre> + <p> + (Seven months after the date of Letter 1.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “AUGSBURG. + + “DEAR M. LE MARQUIS,—I thank you for your kind little note + informing me of the pains you have taken, as yet with no result, to + ascertain what has become of my unfortunate uncle. My life since I + last wrote has been a very quiet one. I have been teaching among a + few families here; and among my pupils are two little girls of very + high birth. They have taken so great a fancy to me that their + mother has just asked me to come and reside at their house as + governess. What wonderfully kind hearts those Germans have,—so + simple, so truthful! They raise no troublesome questions,—accept + my own story implicitly.” Here follow a few commonplace sentences + about the German character, and a postscript. “I go into my new + home next week. When you hear more of my uncle, direct to me at the + Countess von Rudesheim, Schloss ————, near Berlin.” + </pre> + <p> + “Rudesheim!” Could this be the relation, possibly the wife, of the Count + von Rudesheim with whom Graham had formed acquaintance last year? LETTER + III. + </p> + <p> + (Between three and four years after the date of the last.) + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “You startle me indeed, dear M. le Marquis. My uncle said to have + been recognised in Algeria under another name, a soldier in the + Algerian army? My dear, proud, luxurious uncle! Ah, I cannot + believe it, any more than you do: but I long eagerly for such + further news as you can learn of him. For myself, I shall perhaps + surprise you when I say I am about to be married. Nothing can + exceed the amiable kindness I have received from the Rudesheims + since I have been in their house. For the last year especially I + have been treated on equal terms as one of the family. Among the + habitual visitors at the house is a gentleman of noble birth, but + not of rank too high, nor of fortune too great, to make a marriage + with the French widowed governess a misalliance. I am sure that he + loves me sincerely; and he is the only man I ever met whose love I + have cared to win. We are to be married in the course of the year. + Of course he is ignorant of my painful history, and will never learn + it. And after all, Louise D—— is dead. In the home to which I am + about to remove, there is no probability that the wretched + Englishman can ever cross my path. My secret is as safe with you as + in the grave that holds her whom in the name of Louise D—— you + once loved. Henceforth I shall trouble you no more with my letters; + but if you hear anything decisively authentic of my uncle’s fate, + write me a line at any time, directed as before to Madame ——, + enclosed to the Countess von Rudesheim. + + “And accept, for all the kindness you have ever shown me, as to one + whom you did not disdain to call a kinswoman, the assurance of my + undying gratitude. In the alliance she now makes, your kinswoman + does not discredit the name through which she is connected with the + yet loftier line of Rochebriant.” + </pre> + <p> + To this letter the late Marquis had appended in pencil. “Of course + Rochebriant never denies the claim of a kinswoman, even though a + drawing-master’s daughter. Beautiful creature, Louise, but a termagant. I + could not love Venus if she were a termagant. L.‘s head turned by the + unlucky discovery that her mother was noble. In one form or other, every + woman has the same disease—vanity. Name of her intended not + mentioned—easily found out.” + </p> + <p> + The next letter was dated May 7, 1859, on black-edged paper, and contained + but these lines: “I was much comforted by your kind visit yesterday, dear + Marquis. My affliction has been heavy: but for the last two years my poor + husband’s conduct has rendered my life unhappy, and I am recovering the + shock of his sudden death. It is true that I and the children are left + very ill provided for; but I cannot accept your generous offer of aid. + Have no fear as to my future fate. Adieu, my dear Marquis! This will reach + you just before you start for Naples. Bon voyage.” There was no address on + this note-no postmark on the envelope-evidently sent by hand. + </p> + <p> + The last note, dated 1861, March 20, was briefer than its predecessor. “I + have taken your advice, dear Marquis; and, overcoming all scruples, I have + accepted his kind offer, on the condition that I am never to be taken to + England. I had no option in this marriage. I can now own to you that my + poverty had become urgent.—Yours, with inalienable gratitude. This + last note, too, was without postmark, and was evidently sent by hand. + </p> + <p> + “There are no other letters, then, from this writer?” asked Graham; “and + no further clue as to her existence?” + </p> + <p> + “None that I have discovered; and I see now why I preserved these letters. + There is nothing in their contents not creditable to my poor father. They + show how capable he was of good-natured disinterested kindness towards + even a distant relation of whom he could certainly not have been proud, + judging not only by his own pencilled note, or by the writer’s condition + as a governess, but by her loose sentiments as to the marriage tie. I have + not the slightest idea who she could be. I never at least heard of one + connected, however distantly, with my family, whom I could identify with + the writer of these letters.” + </p> + <p> + “I may hold them a short time in my possession?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me a preliminary question. If I may venture to form a conjecture, + the object of your search must be connected with your countryman, whom the + lady politely calls the ‘wretched Englishman;’ but I own I should not like + to lend, through these letters, a pretence to any steps that may lead to a + scandal in which my father’s name or that of any member of my family could + be mixed up.” + </p> + <p> + “Marquis, it is to prevent the possibility of all scandal that I ask you + to trust these letters to my discretion.” + </p> + <p> + “Foi de gentilhomme?” + </p> + <p> + “Foi de gentilhomme!” + </p> + <p> + “Take them. When and where shall we meet again?” + </p> + <p> + “Soon, I trust; but I must leave Paris this evening. I am bound to Berlin + in quest of this Countess von Rudesheim: and I fear that in a very few + days intercourse between France and the German frontier will be closed + upon travellers.” + </p> + <p> + After a few more words not worth recording, the two young men shook hands + and parted. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0092" id="link2HCH0092"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + It was with an interest languid and listless indeed, compared with that + which he would have felt a day before, that Graham mused over the + remarkable advances towards the discovery of Louise Duval which were made + in the letters he had perused. She had married, then, first a foreigner, + whom she spoke of as noble, and whose name and residence could be easily + found through the Countess von Rudesheim. The marriage did not seem to + have been a happy one. Left a widow in reduced circumstances, she had + married again, evidently without affection. She was living so late as + 1861, and she had children living is 1859: was the child referred to by + Richard King one of them? + </p> + <p> + The tone and style of the letters served to throw some light on the + character of the writer: they evinced pride, stubborn self-will, and + unamiable hardness of nature; but her rejection of all pecuniary aid from + a man like the late Marquis de Rochebriant betokened a certain dignity of + sentiment. She was evidently, whatever her strange ideas about her first + marriage with Richard King, no vulgar woman of gallantry; and there must + have been some sort of charm about her to have excited a friendly interest + in a kinsman so remote, and a man of pleasure so selfish, as her high-born + correspondent. + </p> + <p> + But what now, so far as concerned his own happiness, was the hope, the + probable certainty, of a speedy fulfilment of the trust bequeathed to him? + Whether the result, in the death of the mother, and more especially of the + child, left him rich, or, if the last survived, reduced his fortune to a + modest independence, Isaura was equally lost to him, and fortune became + valueless. But his first emotions on recovering from the shock of hearing + from Isaura’s lips that she was irrevocably affianced to another, were not + those of self-reproach. They were those of intense bitterness against her + who, if really so much attached to him as he had been led to hope, could + within so brief a time reconcile her heart to marriage with another. This + bitterness was no doubt unjust; but I believe it to be natural to men of a + nature so proud and of affections so intense as Graham’s, under similar + defeats of hope. Resentment is the first impulse in a man loving with the + whole ardour of his soul, rejected, no matter why or wherefore, by the + woman by whom he had cause to believe he himself was beloved; and though + Graham’s standard of honour was certainly the reverse of low, yet man does + not view honour in the same light as woman does, when involved in + analogous difficulties of position. Graham conscientiously thought that if + Isaura so loved him as to render distasteful an engagement to another + which could only very recently have been contracted, it would be more + honourable frankly so to tell the accepted suitor than to leave him in + ignorance that her heart was estranged. But these engagements are very + solemn things with girls like Isaura, and hers was no ordinary obligation + of woman-honour. Had the accepted one been superior in rank-fortune—all + that flatters the ambition of woman in the choice of marriage; had he been + resolute, and strong, and self-dependent amid the trials and perils of + life—then possibly the woman’s honour might find excuse in escaping + the penalties of its pledge. But the poor, ailing, infirm, morbid + boy-poet, who looked to her as his saving angel in body, in mind, and + soul-to say to him, “Give me back my freedom,” would be to abandon him to + death and to sin. But Graham could not of course divine why what he as a + man thought right was to Isaura as woman impossible: and he returned to + his old prejudiced notion that there is no real depth and ardour of + affection for human lovers in the poetess whose mind and heart are devoted + to the creation of imaginary heroes. Absorbed in reverie, he took his way + slowly and with downcast looks towards the British embassy, at which it + was well to ascertain whether the impending war yet necessitated special + passports for Germany. + </p> + <p> + “Bon-jour, cher ami,” said a pleasant voice; “and how long have you been + at Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my dear M. Savarin! charmed to see you looking so well! Madame well + too, I trust? My kindest regards to her. I have been in Paris but a day or + two, and I leave this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “So soon? The war frightens you away, I suppose. Which way are you going + now?” + </p> + <p> + “To the British embassy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will go with you so far—it is in my own direction. I have + to call at the charming Italian’s with my congratulations—on news I + only heard this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean Mademoiselle Cicogna—and the news that demands + congratulations—her approaching marriage!” + </p> + <p> + “Mon Dieu! when could you have heard of that?” + </p> + <p> + “Last night at the house of M. Duplessis.” + </p> + <p> + “Parbleu! I shall scold her well for confiding to her new friend Valerie + the secret she kept from her old friends, my wife and myself.” + </p> + <p> + “By the way,” said Graham, with a tone of admirably-feigned indifference, + “who is the happy man? That part of the secret I did not hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you guess?” “NO.” + </p> + <p> + “Gustave Rameau.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” Graham almost shrieked, so sharp and shrill was his cry. “Ah! I + ought indeed to have guessed that!” + </p> + <p> + “Madame Savarin, I fancy, helped to make up the marriage. I hope it may + turn out well; certainly it will be his salvation. May it be for her + happiness!” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt of that! Two poets-born for each other, I dare say. Adieu, my + dear Savarin! Here we are at the embassy.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0093" id="link2HCH0093"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + That evening Graham found himself in the coupe of the express train to + Strasbourg. He had sent to engage the whole coupe to himself, but that was + impossible. One place was bespoken as far as C———-, + after which Graham might prosecute his journey alone on paying for the + three places. + </p> + <p> + When he took his seat another man was in the further corner whom he + scarcely noticed. The train shot rapidly on for some leagues. Profound + silence in the coupe, save at moments those heavy impatient sighs that + came from the very depths of the heart, and of which he who sighs is + unconscious, burst from the Englishman’s lips, and drew on him the + observant side-glance of his fellow-traveller. + </p> + <p> + At length the fellow-traveller said in very good English, though with + French accent, “Would you object, sir, to my lighting my little + carriage-lantern? I am in the habit of reading in the night train, and the + wretched lamp they give us does not permit that. But if you wish to sleep, + and my lantern would prevent you doing so, consider my request unasked.” + </p> + <p> + “You are most courteous, sir. Pray light your lantern—that will not + interfere with my sleep.” + </p> + <p> + As Graham thus answered, far away from the place and the moment as his + thoughts were, it yet faintly struck him that he had heard that voice + before. + </p> + <p> + The man produced a small lantern, which he attached to the window-sill, + and drew forth from a small leathern bag sundry newspapers and pamphlets. + Graham flung himself back, and in a minute or so again came his sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to offer you those evening journals—you may not have had + time to read them before starting,” said the fellow-traveller, leaning + forward, and extending the newspapers with one hand, while with the other + he lifted his lantern. Graham turned, and the faces of the two men were + close to each other—Graham with his travelling-cap drawn over his + brows, the other with head uncovered. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur Lebeau!” + </p> + <p> + “Bon soir, Mr. Lamb!” + </p> + <p> + Again silence for a moment or so. Monsieur Lebeau then broke it— + </p> + <p> + “I think, Mr. Lamb, that in better society than that of the Faubourg + Montmartre you are known under another name.” Graham had no heart then for + the stage-play of a part, and answered, with quiet haughtiness, “Possibly—and + what name?” + </p> + <p> + “Graham Vane. And, sir,” continued Lebeau, with a haughtiness equally + quiet, but somewhat more menacing, “since we two gentlemen find ourselves + thus close, do I ask too much if I inquire why you condescend to seek my + acquaintance in disguise?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Vicomte de Mauleon, when you talk of disguise, is it too much + to inquire why my acquaintance was accepted by Monsieur Lebeau?” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! Then you confess that it was Victor de Mauleon whom you sought when + you first visited the cafe Jean Jacques?” + </p> + <p> + “Frankly I confess it.” + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Lebeau drew himself back, and seemed to reflect. + </p> + <p> + “I see! Solely for the purpose of learning whether Victor de Mauleon could + give you any information about Louise Duval. Is it so?” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur le Vicomte, you say truly.” + </p> + <p> + Again M. Lebeau paused as if in reflection; and Graham, in that state of + mind when a man who may most despise and detest the practice of duelling, + may yet feel a thrill of delight if some homicide would be good enough to + put him out of his misery, flung aside his cap, lifted his broad frank + forehead, and stamped his foot impatiently as if to provoke a quarrel. + </p> + <p> + M. Lebeau lowered his spectacles, and, with those calm, keen, searching + eyes of his, gazed at the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “It strikes me,” he said, with a smile, the fascination of which not even + those faded whiskers could disguise—“it strikes me that there are + two ways in which gentlemen such as you and I are can converse: firstly, + with reservation and guard against each other; secondly, with perfect + openness. Perhaps of the two I have more need of reservation and wary + guard against any stranger than you have. Allow me to propose the + alternative—perfect openness. What say you?” and he extended his + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Perfect openness,” answered Graham, softened into sudden liking for this + once terrible swordsman, and shaking, as an Englishman shakes, the hand + held out to him in peace by the man from whom he had anticipated quarrel. + </p> + <p> + “Permit me now, before you address any questions to me, to put one to you. + How did you learn that Victor de Mauleon was identical with Jean Lebeau?” + </p> + <p> + “I heard that from an agent of the police.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Whom I consulted as to the means of ascertaining whether Louise Duval was + alive,—if so, where she could be found.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you very much for your information. I had no notion that the + police of Paris had divined the original alias of poor Monsieur Lebeau, + though something occurred at Lyons which made me suspect it. Strange that + the Government, knowing through the police that Victor de Mauleon, a + writer they had no reason to favour, had been in so humble a position, + should never, even in their official journals, have thought it prudent to + say so! But, now I think of it, what if they had? They could prove nothing + against Jean Lebeau. They could but say, ‘Jean Lebeau is suspected to be + too warm a lover of liberty, too earnest a friend of the people, and Jean + Lebeau is the editor of La Sens Commun.’ Why, that assertion would have + made Victor de Mauleon the hero of the Reds, the last thing a prudent + Government could desire. I thank you cordially for your frank reply. Now, + what question would you put to me?” + </p> + <p> + “In one word, all you can tell me about Louise Duval.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have it. I had heard vaguely in my young days that a + half-sister of mine by my father’s first marriage with Mademoiselle de + Beauvilliers had—when in advanced middle life he married a second + time—conceived a dislike for her mother-in-law, and, being of age, + with an independent fortune of her own, had quitted the house, taken up + her residence with an elderly female relative, and there had contracted a + marriage with a man who gave her lessons in drawing. After that marriage, + which my father in vain tried to prevent, my sister was renounced by her + family. That was all I knew till, after I came into my inheritance by the + death of both my parents, I learned from my father’s confidential lawyer + that the drawing-master, M. Duval, had soon dissipated his wife’s fortune, + become a widower with one child—a girl—and fallen into great + distress. He came to my father, begging for pecuniary aid. My father, + though by no means rich, consented to allow him a yearly pension, on + condition that he never revealed to his child her connection with our + family. The man agreed to the condition, and called at my father’s lawyer + quarterly for his annuity. But the lawyer informed me that this deduction + from my income had ceased, that M. Duval had not for a year called or sent + for the sum due to him, and that he must therefore be dead. One day my + valet informed me that a young lady wished to see me—in those days + young ladies very often called on me. I desired her to be shown in. There + entered a young creature, almost of my own age, who, to my amazement + saluted me as uncle. This was the child of my half-sister. Her father had + been dead several months, fulfilling very faithfully the condition on + which he had held his pension, and the girl never dreaming of the claims + that, if wise, poor child, she ought not to have cared for, viz.,—to + that obsolete useless pauper birthright, a branch on the family tree of a + French noble. But in pinch of circumstance, and from female curiosity, + hunting among the papers her father had left for some clue to the reasons + for the pension he had received, she found letters from her mother, + letters from my father, which indisputably proved that she was grandchild + to the fue Vicomte de Mauleon, and niece to myself. Her story as told to + me was very pitiable. Conceiving herself to be nothing higher in birth + than daughter to this drawing-master, at his death, poor, penniless orphan + that she was, she had accepted the hand of an English student of medicine + whom she did not care for. Miserable with this man, on finding by the + documents I refer to that she was my niece, she came to me for comfort and + counsel. What counsel could I or any man give to her but to make the best + of what had happened, and live with her husband? But then she started + another question. It seems that she had been talking with some one, I + think her landlady, or some other woman with whom she had made + acquaintance—was she legally married to this man? Had he not + entrapped her ignorance into a false marriage? This became a grave + question, and I sent at once to my lawyer. On hearing the circumstances, + he at once declared that the marriage was not legal according to the laws + of France. But, doubtless, her English soi-disant husband was not + cognisant of the French law, and a legal marriage could, with his assent, + be at once solemnised. Monsieur Vane, I cannot find words to convey to you + the joy that poor girl showed in her face and in her words when she + learned that she was not bound to pass her life with that man as his wife. + It was in vain to talk and reason with her. Then arose the other question, + scarcely less important. True, the marriage was not legal, but would it + not be better on all accounts to take steps to have it formally annulled, + thus freeing her from the harassment of any claim the Englishman might + advance, and enabling her to establish the facts in a right position, not + injurious to her honour in the eyes of any future suitor to her hand? She + would not hear of such a proposal. She declared that she could not bring + to the family she pined to re-enter the scandal of disgrace. To allow that + she had made such a misalliance would be bad enough in itself; but to + proclaim to the world that, though nominally the wife, she had in fact + been only the mistress of this medical student—she would rather + throw herself into the Seine. All she desired was to fund some refuge, + some hiding-place for a time, whence she could write to the man informing + him that he had no lawful hold on her. Doubtless he would not seek then to + molest her. He would return to his own country, and be effaced from her + life. And then, her story unknown, she might form a more suitable + alliance. Fiery young creature though she was—true De Mauleon in + being so fiery—she interested me strongly. I should say that she was + wonderfully handsome; and though imperfectly educated, and brought up in + circumstances so lowly, there was nothing common about her—a certain + je ne sais quoi of stateliness and race. At all events she did with me + what she wished. I agreed to aid her desire of a refuge and hiding-place. + Of course I could not lodge her in my own apartment, but I induced a + female relation of her mother’s, an old lady living at Versailles, to + receive her, stating her birth, but of course concealing her illegal + marriage. + </p> + <p> + “From time to time I went to see her. But one day I found this restless + bright-plumaged bird flown. Among the ladies who visited at her relative’s + house was a certain Madame Marigny, a very pretty young widow. Madame + Marigny and Louise formed a sudden and intimate friendship. The widow was + moving from Versailles into an apartment at Paris, and invited Louise to + share it. She had consented. I was not pleased at this; for the widow was + too young, and too much of a coquette, to be a safe companion to Louise. + But though professing much gratitude and great regard for me, I had no + power of controlling the poor girl’s actions. Her nominal husband, + meanwhile, had left France, and nothing more was heard or known of him. I + saw that the best thing that could possibly befall Louise was marriage + with some one rich enough to gratify her taste for luxury and pomp; and + that if such a marriage offered itself, she might be induced to free it + from all possible embarrassment by procuring the annulment of the former, + from which she had hitherto shrunk in such revolt. This opportunity + presented itself. A man already rich, and in a career that promised to + make him infinitely richer, an associate of mine in those days when I was + rapidly squandering the remnant of my inheritance—this man saw her + at the opera in company with Madame Marigny, fell violently in love with + her, and ascertaining her relationship to me, besought an introduction. I + was delighted to give it; and, to say the truth, I was then so reduced to + the bottom of my casket, I felt that it was becoming impossible for me to + continue the aid I had hitherto given to Louise, and—what then would + become of her? I thought it fair to tell Louvier—” + </p> + <p> + “Louvier—the financier?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that was a slip of the tongue, but no matter; there is no reason for + concealing his name. I thought it right, I say, to tell Louvier + confidentially the history of the unfortunate illegal marriage. It did not + damp his ardour. He wooed her to the best of his power, but she evidently + took him into great dislike. One day she sent for me in much excitement, + showed me some advertisements in the French journals which, though not + naming her, evidently pointed at her, and must have been dictated by her + soi-disant husband. The advertisements might certainly lead to her + discovery if she remained in Paris. She entreated my consent to remove + elsewhere. Madame Marigny had her own reason for leaving Paris, and would + accompany her. I supplied her with the necessary means, and a day or two + afterwards she and her friend departed, as I understood, for Brussels. I + received no letter from her; and my own affairs so seriously pre-occupied + me, that poor Louise might have passed altogether out of my thoughts, had + it not been for the suitor she had left in despair behind. Louvier + besought me to ascertain her address; but I could give him no, other clue + to it than that she said she was going to Brussels, but should soon remove + to some quiet village. It was not for a long time—I can’t remember + how long—it might be several weeks, perhaps two or three months, + that I received a short note from her stating that she waited for a small + remittance, the last she would accept from me, as she was resolved, so + soon as her health would permit, to find means to maintain herself—and + telling me to direct to her, Poste restante, Aix-la-Chapelle. I sent her + the sum she asked, perhaps a little more, but with a confession + reluctantly wrung from me that I was a ruined man; and I urged her to + think very seriously before she refused the competence and position which + a union with M. Louvier would insure. + </p> + <p> + “This last consideration so pressed on me that, when Louvier called on me, + I think that day or the nests I gave him Louise’s note, and told him that, + if he were still as much in love with her as ever, les absents ont + toujours tort, and he had better go to Aix-la-Chapelle and find her out; + that he had my hearty approval of his wooing, and consent to his marriage, + though I still urged the wisdom and fairness, if she would take the + preliminary step—which, after all, the French law frees as much as + possible from pain and scandal—of annulling the irregular marriage + into which her childlike youth had been decoyed. + </p> + <p> + “Louvier left me for Aix-la-Chapelle. The very next day came that cruel + affliction which made me a prey to the most intolerable calumny, which + robbed me of every friend, which sent me forth from my native country + penniless, and resolved to be nameless—until—until—well, + until my hour could come again—every dog, if not hanged, has its + day;—when that affliction befell me, I quitted France, heard no more + of Louvier nor of Louise; indeed, no letter addressed to me at Paris would + have reached—” + </p> + <p> + The man paused here, evidently with painful emotion. He resumed in the + quiet matter-of-fact way in which he had commenced his narrative. + </p> + <p> + “Louise had altogether faded out of my remembrance until your question + revived it. As it happened, the question came at the moment when I + meditated resuming my real name and social position. In so doing, I should + of course come in contact with my old acquaintance Louvier; and the name + of Louise was necessarily associated with us. I called on him, and made + myself known. The slight information I gave you as to my niece was gleaned + from him. + </p> + <p> + “I may now say more. It appears that when he arrived at Aix-la-Chapelle he + found that Louise Duval had left it a day or two previously, and according + to scandal had been for some time courted by a wealthy and noble lover, + whom she had gone to Munich to meet. Louvier believed this tale: quitted + Aix indignantly, and never heard more of her. The probability is, M. Vane, + that she must have been long dead. But if living still, I feel quite sure + that she will communicate with me some day or other. Now that I have + reappeared in Paris in my own name—entered into a career that, for + good or for evil, must ere long bring my name very noisily before the + public—Louise cannot fail to hear of my existence and my + whereabouts; and unless I am utterly mistaken as to her character, she + will assuredly inform me of her own. Oblige me with your address, and in + that case I will let you know. Of course I take for granted the assurance + you gave me last year, that you only desire to discover her in order to + render her some benefit, not to injure or molest her?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. To that assurance I pledge my honour. Any letter with which + you may favour me had better be directed to my London address; here is my + card. But, M. le Vicomte, there is one point on which pray pardon me if I + question you still. Had you no suspicion that there was one reason why + this lady might have quitted Paris so hastily, and have so shrunk from the + thought of a marriage so advantageous, in a worldly point of view, as that + with M. Louvier,—namely, that she anticipated the probability of + becoming the mother of a child by the man whom she refused to acknowledge + as a husband?” + </p> + <p> + “That idea did not strike me until you asked me if she had a child. Should + your conjecture be correct, it would obviously increase her repugnance to + apply for the annulment of her illegal marriage. But if Louise is still + living and comes across me, I do not doubt that, the motives for + concealment no longer operating, she will confide to me the truth. Since + we have been talking together thus frankly, I suppose I may fairly ask + whether I do not guess correctly in supposing that this soi-disant + husband, whose name I forget,—Mac—something, perhaps, Scotch-I + think she said he was Ecossais,—is dead and has left by will some + legacy to Louise and any child she may have borne to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly so. The man, as you say, is dead; but he bequeathed no legacy + to the lady who did not hold herself married to him. But there are those + connected with him who, knowing the history, think that some compensation + is due for the wrong so unconsciously done to her, and yet more to any + issue of a marriage not meant to be irregular or illegal. Permit me now to + explain why I sought you in another guise and name than my own. I could + scarcely place in M. Lebeau the confidence which I now unreservedly place + in the Vicomte de Mauleon.” + </p> + <p> + “Cela va sans dire. You believed, then, that calumny about the jewels; you + do not believe it now?” + </p> + <p> + “Now! my amazement is, that any one who had known you could believe it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how often, and with tears of rage in my exile—my wanderings—have + I asked that question of myself! That rage has ceased; and I have but one + feeling left for that credulous, fickle Paris, of which one day I was the + idol, the next the byword. Well, a man sometimes plays chess more + skilfully for having been long a mere bystander. He understands better how + to move, and when to sacrifice the pieces. Politics, M. Vane, is the only + exciting game left to me at my years. At yours, there is still that of + love. How time flies! we are nearing the station at which I descend. I + have kinsfolk of my mother’s in these districts. They are not + Imperialists; they are said to be powerful in the department. But before I + apply to them in my own name, I think it prudent that M. Lebeau should + quietly ascertain what is their real strength, and what would be the + prospects of success if Victor de Mauleon offered himself as depute at the + next election. Wish him joy, M. Vane! If he succeed, you will hear of him + some day crowned in the Capitol, or hurled from the Tarpeian rock.” + </p> + <p> + Here the train stopped. The false Lebeau gathered up his papers, + readjusted his spectacles and his bag, descended lightly, and, pressing + Graham’s hand as he paused at the door, said, “Be sure I will not forget + your address if I have anything to say. Bon voyage!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0094" id="link2HCH0094"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + Graham continued his journey to Strasbourg. On arriving there he felt very + unwell. Strong though his frame was, the anguish and self-struggle through + which he had passed since the day he had received in London Mrs. Morley’s + letter, till that on which he had finally resolved on his course of + conduct at Paris, and the shock which had annihilated his hopes in + Isaura’s rejection, had combined to exhaust its endurance, and fever had + already commenced when he took his place in the coupe. If there be a thing + which a man should not do when his system is undermined, and his pulse + between 90 and 100, it is to travel all night by a railway express. + Nevertheless, as the Englishman’s will was yet stronger than his frame, he + would not give himself more than an hour’s rest, and again started for + Berlin. Long before he got to Berlin, the will failed him—as well as + the frame. He was lifted out of the carriage, taken to a hotel in a small + German town, and six hours afterwards he was delirious. It was fortunate + for him that under such circumstances plenty of money and Scott’s + circular-notes for some hundreds were found in his pocketbook, so that he + did not fail to receive attentive nursing and skilful medical treatment. + There, for the present, I must leave him—leave him for how long? But + any village apothecary could say that fever such as his must run its + course. He was still in bed, and very dimly—and that but at times—conscious, + when the German armies were gathering round the penfold of Sedan. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0095" id="link2HCH0095"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + When the news of the disastrous day at Sedan reached Paris, the first + effect was that of timid consternation. There were a few cries of + Decheance! fewer still of Vive la Republique among the motley crowds; but + they were faint, and chiefly by ragged gamins. A small body repaired to + Trochu and offered him the sceptre, which he politely declined. A more + important and respectable body—for it comprised the majority of the + Corps Legislatif—urged Palikao to accept the temporary dictatorship, + which the War Minister declined with equal politeness. In both these + overtures it was clear that the impulse of the proposers was towards any + form of government rather than republican. The sergens de ville were + sufficient that day to put down riot. They did make a charge on a mob, + which immediately ran away. + </p> + <p> + The morning of that day the Council of Ten were summoned by Lebeau—minus + only Rameau, who was still too unwell to attend, and the Belgian, not then + at Paris; but their place was supplied by the two travelling members, who + had been absent from the meeting before recorded. These were conspirators + better known in history than those I have before described; professional + conspirators—personages who from their youth upwards had done little + else but conspire. Following the discreet plan pursued elsewhere + throughout this humble work, I give their names other than they bore. One, + a very swarthy and ill-favoured man, between forty and fifty, I call Paul + Grimm—by origin a German, but by rearing and character French; from + the hair on his head, staring up rough and ragged as a bramblebush, to the + soles of small narrow feet, shod with dainty care, he was a personal + coxcomb, and spent all he could spare on his dress. A clever man, not + ill-educated—a vehement and effective speaker at a club. Vanity and + an amorous temperament had made him a conspirator, since he fancied he + interested the ladies more in that capacity than any other. His companion, + Edgar Ferrier, would have been a journalist, only hitherto his opinions + had found no readers; the opinions were those of Marat. He rejoiced in + thinking that his hour for glory, so long deferred, had now arrived. He + was thoroughly sincere: his father and grandfather had died in a madhouse. + Both these men, insignificant in ordinary times, were likely to become of + terrible importance in the crisis of a revolution. They both had great + power with the elements that form a Parisian mob. The instructions given + to these members of the Council by Lebeau were brief: they were summed up + in the one word, Decheance. The formidable nature of a council apparently + so meanly constituted became strikingly evident at that moment, because it + was so small in number, while each one of these could put in movement a + large section of the populace; secondly, because, unlike a revolutionary + club or a numerous association, no time was wasted in idle speeches, and + all were under the orders of one man of clear head and resolute purpose; + and thirdly, and above all, because one man supplied the treasury, and + money for an object desired was liberally given and promptly at hand. The + meeting did not last ten minutes, and about two hours afterwards its + effects were visible. From Montmartre and Belleville and Montretout poured + streams of ouvriers, with whom Armand Monnier was a chief, and the Medecin + des Pauvres an oracle. Grimm and Ferrier headed other detachments that + startled the well-dressed idlers on the Boulevards. The stalwart figure of + the Pole was seen on the Place de la Concorde, towering amidst other + refugees, amid which glided the Italian champion of humanity. The cry of + Decheance became louder. But as yet there were only few cries of Vive la + Republique!—such a cry was not on the orders issued by Lebeau. At + midnight the crowd round the hall of the Corps Legislatif is large: cries + of La Dechaeance loud—a few cries, very feeble, of Vive la + Republique! + </p> + <p> + What followed on the 4th—the marvellous audacity with which + half-a-dozen lawyers belonging to a pitiful minority in a Chamber elected + by universal suffrage walked into the Hotel de Ville and said, “The + Republic is established, and we are its Government,” history has told too + recently for me to narrate. On the evening of the 5th the Council of Ten + met again: the Pole; the Italian radiant; Grimm and Ferrier much excited + and rather drunk; the Medecin des Pauvres thoughtful; and Armand Monnier + gloomy. A rumour has spread that General Trochu, in accepting the charge + imposed on him, has exacted from the Government the solemn assurance of + respect for God, and for the rights of Family and Property. The Atheist is + very indignant at the assent of the Government to the first proposition; + Monnier equal indignant at the assent to the second and third. What has + that honest ouvrier conspired for?—what has he suffered for?—of + late nearly starved for?—but to marry another man’s wife, getting + rid of his own, and to legalise a participation in the property of his + employer,—and now he is no better off than before. “There must be + another revolution,” he whispers to the Atheist. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” whispers back the Atheist; “he who desires to better this + world must destroy all belief in another.” The conclave was assembled when + Lebeau entered by the private door. He took his place at the head of the + table; and, fixing on the group eyes that emitted a cold gleam through the + spectacles, thus spoke: + </p> + <p> + “Messieurs, or Citoyens, which ye will—I no longer call ye confreres—you + have disobeyed or blundered my instructions. On such an occasion + disobedience and blunder are crimes equally heinous.” + </p> + <p> + Angry murmurs. + </p> + <p> + “Silence! Do not add mutiny to your other offences. My instructions were + simple and short. Aid in the abolition of the Empire. Do not aid in any + senseless cry for a Republic or any other form of government. Leave that + to the Legislature. What have you done? You swelled the crowd that invaded + the Corps Ligislatif. You, Dombinsky, not even a Frenchman, dare to mount + the President’s rostrum, and brawl forth your senseless jargon. You, Edgar + Ferrier, from whom I expected better, ascend the tribune, and invite the + ruffians in the crowd to march to the prisons and release the convicts; + and all of you swell the mob at the Hotel de Ville, and inaugurate the + reign of folly by creating an oligarchy of lawyers to resist the march of + triumphal armies. Messieurs, I have done with you. You are summoned for + the last time: the Council is dissolved.” + </p> + <p> + With these words Lebeau put on his hat, and turned to depart. But the + Pole, who was seated near him, sprang to his feet, exclaiming, “Traitor, + thou shalt not escape! Comrades, he wants to sell us!” + </p> + <p> + “I have a right to sell you at least, for I bought you, and a very bad + bargain I made,” said Lebeau, in a tone of withering sarcasm. + </p> + <p> + “Liar!” cried the Pole, and seized Lebeau by the left hand, while with the + right he drew forth a revolver. Ferrier and Grimm, shouting, “A bas le + renegat!” would have rushed forward in support of the Pole, but Monnier + thrust himself between them and their intended victim, crying with a voice + that dominated their yell, “Back!—we are not assassins.” Before he + had finished the sentence the Pole was on his knees. With a vigour which + no one could have expected from the seeming sexagenarian, Lebeau had + caught the right arm of his assailant, twisted it back so mercilessly as + almost to dislocate elbow and shoulder joint. One barrel of the revolver + discharged itself harmlessly against the opposite wall, and the pistol + itself then fell from the unnerved hand of the would-be assassin; and what + with the pain and the sudden shock, the stalwart Dombinsky fell in the + attitude of a suppliant at the feet of his unlooked-for vanquisher. + </p> + <p> + Lebeau released his hold, possessed himself of the pistol, pointing the + barrels towards Edgar Ferrier, who stood with mouth agape and lifted arm + arrested, and said quietly: “Monsieur, have the goodness to open that + window.” Ferrier mechanically obeyed. “Now, hireling,” continued Lebeau, + addressing the vanquished Pole, “choose between the door and the window.” + </p> + <p> + “Go, my friend,” whispered the Italian. The Pole did not utter a word; but + rising nimbly, and rubbing his arm, stalked to the door. There he paused a + moment and said, “I retire overpowered by numbers,” and vanished. + </p> + <p> + “Messieurs,” resumed Lebeau, calmly, “I repeat that the Council is + dissolved. In fact its object is fulfilled more abruptly than any of us + foresaw, and by means which I at least had been too long out of Paris to + divine as possible. I now see that every aberration of reason is possible + to the Parisians. The object that united us was the fall of the Empire. As + I have always frankly told you, with that object achieved, separation + commences. Each of us has his own crotchet, which differs from the other + man’s. Pursue yours as you will—I pursue mine—you will find + Jean Lebeau no more in Paris: il s’eface. Au plaisir, mais pas au revoir.” + </p> + <p> + He retreated to the masked door and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Marc le Roux, the porter or custos of that ruinous council-hall, alarmed + at the explosion of the pistol, had hurried into the room, and now stood + unheeded by the door with mouth agape, while Lebeau thus curtly dissolved + the assembly. But when the president vanished through the secret doorway, + Le Roux also retreated. Hastily descending the stairs, he made as quickly + as his legs could carry him for the mouth of the alley in the rear of the + house, through which he knew that Lebeau must pass. He arrived, panting + and breathless, in time to catch hold of the ex-president’s arm. “Pardon, + citizen,” stammered he, “but do I understand that you have sent the + Council of Ten to the devil?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Certainly not, my good Paul; I dismiss them to go where they like. If + they prefer the direction you name, it is their own choice. I declined to + accompany them, and I advise you not to do so.” + </p> + <p> + “But, citizen, have you considered what is to become of Madame? Is she to + be turned out of the lodge? Are my wages to stop, and Madame to be left + without a crust to put into her soup?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so bad as that; I have just paid the rent of the baraque for three + months in advance, and there is your quarter’s pay, in advance also. My + kind regards to Madame, and tell her to keep your skin safe from the + schemes of these lunatics.” Thrusting some pieces of gold into the hands + of the porter, Lebeau nodded his adieu, and hastened along his way. + </p> + <p> + Absorbed in his own reflections, he did not turn to look behind. But if he + had, he could not have detected the dark form of the porter, creeping in + the deep shadow of the streets with distant but watchful footsteps. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0096" id="link2HCH0096"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER, IX. + </h2> + <p> + The conspirators, when left by their president, dispersed in deep, not + noisy resentment. They were indeed too stunned for loud demonstration; and + belonging to different grades of life, and entertaining different + opinions, their confidence in each other seemed lost now that the chief + who had brought and kept them together was withdrawn from their union. The + Italian and the Atheist slunk away, whispering to each other. Grimm + reproached Ferrier for deserting Dombinsky and obeying Lebeau. Ferrier + accused Grimm of his German origin, and hinted at denouncing him as a + Prussian spy. Gaspard le Noy linked his arm in Monnier’s, and when they + had gained the dark street without, leading into a labyrinth of desolate + lanes, the Medicin des Pauvres said to the mechanic: “You are a brave + fellow, Monnier. Lebeau owes you a good turn. But for your cry, ‘We are + not assassins,’ the Pole might not have been left without support. No + atmosphere is so infectious as that in which we breathe the same air of + revenge: when the violence of one man puts into action the anger or + suspicion of others, they become like a pack of hounds, which follow the + spring of the first hound, whether on the wild boar or their own master. + Even I, who am by no means hot-headed, had my hand on my case-knife when + the word ‘assassin’ rebuked and disarmed me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless,” said Monnier, gloomily, “I half repent the impulse which + made me interfere to save that man. Better he should die than live to + betray the cause we allowed him to lead.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, mon ami, speaking candidly, we must confess that he never from the + first pretended to advocate the cause for which you conspired. On the + contrary, he always said that with the fall of the Empire our union would + cease, and each become free to choose his own way towards his own + after-objects.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Armand, reluctantly; “he said that to me privately, with + still greater plainness than he said it to the Council. But I answered as + plainly.” + </p> + <p> + “How?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him that the man who takes the first step in a revolution, and + persuades others to go along with him, cannot in safety stand still or + retreat when the next step is to be taken. It is ‘en avant’ or ‘a la + lanterne.’ So it shall be with him. Shall a fellow-being avail himself of + the power over my mind which he derives from superior education or + experience,—break into wild fragments my life, heretofore tranquil, + orderly, happy,—make use of my opinions, which were then but + harmless desires, to serve his own purpose, which was hostile to the + opinions he roused into action,—say to me, ‘Give yourself up to + destroy the first obstacle in the way of securing a form of society which + your inclinations prefer,’ and then, that first obstacle destroyed, cry, + ‘Halt! I go with you no further; I will not help you to piece together the + life I have induced you to shatter; I will not aid you to substitute for + the society that pained you the society that would please; I leave you, + struggling, bewildered, maddened, in the midst of chaos within and without + you’? Shall a fellow-being do this, and vanish with a mocking cry: ‘Tool! + I have had enough of thee; I cast thee aside as worthless lumber’? Ah! let + him beware! The tool is of iron, and can be shaped to edge and point.” The + passion with which this rough eloquence was uttered, and the fierce + sinister expression that had come over a countenance habitually open and + manly, even when grave and stern, alarmed and startled Le Noy. “Pooh, my + friend!” he said, rather falteringly, “you are too excited now to think + justly. Go home and kiss your children. Never do anything that may make + them shrink from their father. And as to Lebeau, try and forget him. He + says he shall disappear from Paris. I believe him. It is clear to me that + the man is not what he seemed to us. No man of sixty could by so easy a + sleight of hand have brought that giant Pole to his knee. If Lebeau + reappear it will be in some other form. Did you notice that in the + momentary struggle his flaxen wig got disturbed, and beneath it I saw a + dark curl. I suspect that the man is not only younger than he seemed, but + of higher rank—a conspirator against one throne, perhaps, in order + to be minister under another. There are such men.” + </p> + <p> + Before Monnier, who seemed struck by these conjectures, collected his + thoughts to answer, a tall man in the dress of a sous lieutenant stopped + under a dim gas-lamp, and, catching sight of the artisan’s face, seized + him by the hand, exclaiming, “Armand, mon frere! well met; strange times, + eh? Come and discuss them at the cafe de Lyon yonder over a bowl of punch. + I’ll stand treat.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreed, dear Charles.” + </p> + <p> + “And if this monsieur is a friend of yours, perhaps he will join us.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too obliging, Monsieur,” answered Le Noy, not ill-pleased to get + rid of his excited companion; “but it has been a busy day with me, and I + am only fit for bed. Be abstinent of the punch, Armand. You are feverish + already. Good-night, Messieurs.” + </p> + <p> + The cafe de Lyon, in vogue among the National Guard of the quartier, was + but a few yards off, and the brothers turned towards it arm in arm. “Who + is the friend?” asked Charles; “I don’t remember to have seen him with + thee before.” + </p> + <p> + “He belongs to the medical craft—a good patriot and a kind man—attends + the poor gratuitously. Yes, Charles, these are strange times; what dost + thou think will come of them?” + </p> + <p> + They had now entered the cafe; and Charles had ordered the punch, and + seated himself at a vacant table before he replied. “What will come of + these times? I will tell thee. National deliverance and regeneration + through the ascendency of the National Guard.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? I don’t take,” said Armand, bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “Probably not,” answered Charles, with an air of compassionate conceit; + “thou art a dreamer, but I am a politician.” He tapped his forehead + significantly. “At this custom-house, ideas are examined before they are + passed.” + </p> + <p> + Armand gazed at his brother wistfully, and with a defence he rarely + manifested towards any one who disputed his own claims to superior + intelligence. Charles was a few years older than Monnier; he was of large + build; he had shaggy lowering eyebrows, a long obstinate upper lip, the + face of a man who was accustomed to lay down the law. Inordinate + self-esteem often gives that character to a physiognomy otherwise + commonplace. Charles passed for a deep thinker in his own set, which was a + very different set from Armand’s—not among workmen but small + shopkeepers. He had risen in life to a grade beyond Armand’s; he had + always looked to the main chance, married the widow of a hosier and glover + much older than himself, and in her right was a very respectable + tradesman, comfortably well off; a Liberal, of course, but a Liberal + bourgeois, equally against those above him and those below. Needless to + add that he had no sympathy with his brother’s socialistic opinions. Still + he loved that brother as well as he could love any one except himself. And + Armand, who was very affectionate, and with whom family ties were very + strong, returned that love with ample interest; and though so fiercely at + war with the class to which Charles belonged, was secretly proud of having + a brother who was of that class. So in England I have known the most + violent antagonist of the landed aristocracy—himself a cobbler—who + interrupts a discourse on the crimes of the aristocracy by saying, “Though + I myself descend from a county family.” + </p> + <p> + In an evil day Charles Monnier, enrolled in the National Guard, had + received promotion in that patriotic corps. From that date he began to + neglect his shop, to criticise military matters, and to think that if + merit had fair play he should be a Cincinnatus or a Washington, he had not + decided which. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” resumed Charles, ladling out the punch, “thou hast wit enough to + perceive that our generals are imbeciles or traitors; that gredin + Bonaparte has sold the army for ten millions of francs to Bismarck, and I + have no doubt that Wimpffen has his share of the bargain. McMahon was + wounded conveniently, and has his own terms for it. The regular army is + nowhere. Thou wilt see—thou wilt see—they will not stop the + march of the Prussians. Trochu will be obliged to come to the National + Guard. Then we shall say, ‘General, give us our terms, and go to sleep.’ + </p> + <p> + “I shall be summoned to the council of war. I have my plan. I explain it—‘tis + accepted—it succeeds. I am placed in supreme command—the + Prussians are chased back to their sour-krout. And I—well—I + don’t like to boast, but thou’lt see—thou’lt see—what will + happen.” + </p> + <p> + “And thy plan, Charles—thou hast formed it already?” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, ay,—the really military genius is prompt, mon petit Armand—a + flash of the brain. Hark ye! Let the Vandals come to Paris and invest it. + Whatever their numbers on paper, I don’t care a button; they can only have + a few thousands at any given point in the vast circumference of the + capital. Any fool must grant that—thou must grant it eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems just.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Well, then, we proceed by sorties of 200,000 men repeated + every other day, and in twelve days the Prussians are in full flight. The + country rises on their flight—they are cut to pieces. I depose + Trochu—the National Guard elects the Saviour of France. I have a + place in my eye for thee. Thou art superb as a decorator—thou shalt + be Minister des Beaux Arts. But keep clear of the canaille. No more + strikes then—thou wilt be an employer—respect thy future + order.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [Charles Monnier seems to have indiscreetly blabbed out his “idea,” + for it was plagiarised afterwards at a meeting of the National + Guards in the Salle de la Bourse by Citizen Rochebrune (slain 19th + January, 1871, in the affair of Montretout). The plan, which he + developed nearly in the same words as Charles Monnier, was received + with lively applause; and at the close of his speech it was proposed + to name at once Citizen Rochebrune General of the National Guard, an + honour which, unhappily for his country, the citizen had the modesty + to decline.] +</pre> + <p> + Armand smiled mournfully. Though of intellect which, had it been + disciplined, was far superior to his brother’s, it was so estranged from + practical opinions, so warped, so heated, so flawed and cracked in parts, + that he did not see the ridicule of Charles’s braggadocio. Charles had + succeeded in life, Armand had failed; and Armand believed in the worldly + wisdom of the elder born. But he was far too sincere for any bribe to + tempt him to forsake his creed and betray his opinions. And he knew that + it must be a very different revolution from that which his brother + contemplated, that could allow him to marry another man’s wife, and his + “order” to confiscate other people’s property. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk of strikes, Charles. What is done is done. I was led into + heading a strike, not on my own account, for I was well paid and well off, + but for the sake of my fellow-workmen. I may regret now what I did, for + the sake of Marie and the little ones. But it is an affair of honour, and + I cannot withdraw from the cause till my order, as thou namest my class, + has its rights.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah! thou wilt think better of it when thou art an employer. Thou hast + suffered enough already. Remember that I warned thee against that old + fellow in spectacles whom I met once at thy house. I told thee he would + lead thee into mischief, and then leave thee to get out of it. I saw + through him. I have a head! Va!” + </p> + <p> + “Thou wert a true prophet—he has duped me. But in moving me he has + set others in movement; and I suspect he will find he has duped himself. + Time will show.” + </p> + <p> + Here the brothers were joined by some loungers belonging to the National + Guard. The talk became general, the potations large. Towards daybreak + Armand reeled home, drunk for the first time in his life. He was one of + those whom drink makes violent. Marie had been sitting up for him, alarmed + at his lengthened absence. But when she would have thrown herself on his + breast, her pale face and her passionate sobs enraged him. He flung her + aside roughly. From that night the man’s nature was changed. If, as a + physiognomist has said, each man has in him a portion of the wild beast, + which is suppressed by mild civilising circumstances, and comes uppermost + when self-control is lost, the nature of many an honest workman, humane + and tender-hearted as the best of us, commenced a change into the wild + beast that raged through the civil war of the Communists, on the day when + half-a-dozen Incapables, with no more claim to represent the people of + Paris than half-a-dozen monkeys would have, were allowed to elect + themselves to supreme power, and in the very fact of that election + released all the elements of passion, and destroyed all the bulwarks of + order. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0097" id="link2HCH0097"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + No man perhaps had more earnestly sought and more passionately striven for + the fall of the Empire than Victor de Mauleon; and perhaps no man was more + dissatisfied and disappointed by the immediate consequences of that fall, + In first conspiring against the Empire, he had naturally enough, in common + with all the more intelligent enemies of the dynasty, presumed that its + fate would be worked out by the normal effect of civil causes—the + alienation of the educated classes, the discontent of the artisans, the + eloquence of the press and of popular meetings, strengthened in proportion + as the Emperor had been compelled to relax the former checks upon the + license of either. And De Mauleon had no less naturally concluded that + there would be time given for the preparation of a legitimate and rational + form of government to succeed that which was destroyed. For, as has been + hinted or implied, this remarkable man was not merely an instigator of + revolution through the Secret Council, and the turbulent agencies set in + movement through the lower strata of society;—he was also in + confidential communication with men eminent for wealth, station, and + political repute, from whom he obtained the funds necessary for the darker + purposes of conspiracy, into the elaboration of which they did not + inquire; and these men, though belonging like himself to the Liberal + party, were no hot-blooded democrats. Most of them were in favour of + constitutional monarchy; all of them for forms of government very + different from any republic in which socialists or communists could find + themselves uppermost. Among these politicians were persons ambitious and + able, who, in scheming for the fall of the Empire, had been prepared to + undertake the task of conducting to ends compatible with modern + civilisation the revolution they were willing to allow a mob at Paris to + commence. The opening of the war necessarily suspended their designs. How + completely the events of the 4th September mocked the calculations of + their ablest minds, and paralysed the action of their most energetic + spirits, will appear in the conversation I am about to record. It takes + place between Victor de Mauleon and the personage to whom he had addressed + the letter written on the night before the interview with Louvier, in + which Victor had announced his intention of reappearing in Paris in his + proper name and rank. I shall designate this correspondent as vaguely as + possible; let me call him the Incognito. He may yet play so considerable a + part in the history of France as a potent representative of the political + philosophy of De Tocqueville—that is, of Liberal principles + incompatible with the absolute power either of a sovereign or a populace, + and resolutely opposed to experiments on the foundations of civilised + society—that it would be unfair to himself and his partisans if, in + a work like this, a word were said that could lead malignant conjecture to + his identity with any special chief of the opinions of which I here + present him only as a type. + </p> + <p> + The Incognito, entering Victor’s apartment: + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend, even if I had not received your telegram, I should have + hastened hither on the news of this astounding revolution. It is only in + Paris that such a tragedy could be followed by such a farce. You were on + the spot—a spectator. Explain it if you can.” + </p> + <p> + DE MAULEON.—“I was more than a spectator; I was an actor. Hiss me—I + deserve it. When the terrible news from Sedan reached Paris, in the midst + of the general stun and bewilderment I noticed a hesitating timidity among + all those who had wares in their shops and a good coat on their backs. + They feared that to proclaim the Empire defunct would be to install the + Red Republic with all its paroxysm of impulsive rage and all its theories + of wholesale confiscation. But since it was impossible for the object we + had in view to let slip the occasion of deposing the dynasty which stood + in its way, it was necessary to lose no time in using the revolutionary + part of the populace for that purpose. I assisted in doing so; my excuse + is this—that in a time of crisis a man of action must go straight to + his immediate object, and in so doing employ the instruments at his + command. I made, however, one error in judgment which admits no excuse: I + relied on all I had heard, and all I had observed, of the character of + Trochu, and I was deceived, in common, I believe, with all his admirers, + and three parts of the educated classes of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + INCOGNITO.—“I should have been equally deceived! Trochu’s conduct is + a riddle that I doubt if he himself can ever solve. He was master of the + position; he had the military force in his hands if he combined with + Palikao, which, whatever the jealousies between the two, it was his + absolute duty to do. He had a great prestige—” + </p> + <p> + DE MAULEON.—“And for the moment a still greater popularity. His ipse + dixit could have determined the wavering and confused spirits of the + population. I was prepared for his abandonment of the Emperor—even + of the Empress and the Regency. But how could I imagine that he, the man + of moderate politics, of Orleanistic leanings, the clever writer, the fine + talker, the chivalrous soldier, the religious Breton, could abandon + everything that was legal, everything that could save France against the + enemy, and Paris against civil discord; that he would connive at the + annihilation of the Senate, of the popular Assembly, of every form of + Government that could be recognised as legitimate at home or abroad, + accept service under men whose doctrines were opposed to all his + antecedents, all his professed opinions, and inaugurate a chaos under the + name of a Republic!” + </p> + <p> + INCOGNITO.—“How, indeed? How suppose that the National Assembly, + just elected by a majority of seven millions and a half, could be hurried + into a conjuring-bog, and reappear as the travesty of a Venetian + oligarchy, composed of half-a-dozen of its most unpopular members! The + sole excuse for Trochu is, that he deemed all other considerations + insignificant compared with the defence of Paris, and the united action of + the nation against the invaders. But if that were his honest desire in + siding with this monstrous usurpation of power, he did everything by which + the desire could be frustrated. Had there been any provisional body + composed of men known and esteemed, elected by the Chambers, supported by + Trochu and the troops at his back, there would have been a rallying-point + for the patriotism of the provinces; and in the wise suspense of any + constitution to succeed that Government until the enemy were chased from + the field, all partisans—Imperialists, Legitimists, Orleanists, + Republicans—would have equally adjourned their differences. But a + democratic Republic, proclaimed by a Parisian mob for a nation in which + sincere democratic Republicans are a handful, in contempt of an Assembly + chosen by the country at large; headed by men in whom the provinces have + no trust, and for whom their own representatives are violently cashiered;—can + you conceive such a combination of wet blankets supplied by the irony of + Fate for the extinction of every spark of ardour in the population from + which armies are to be gathered in haste, at the beck of usupers they + distrust and despise? Paris has excelled itself in folly. Hungering for + peace, it proclaims a Government which has no legal power to treat for it. + Shrieking out for allies among the monarchies, it annihilates the hope of + obtaining them; its sole chance of escape from siege, famine, and + bombardment, is in the immediate and impassioned sympathy of the + provinces; and it revives all the grudges which the provinces have long + sullenly felt against the domineering pretensions of the capital, and + invokes the rural populations, which comprise the pith and sinew of + armies, in the name of men whom I verily believe they detest still more + than they do the Prussians. Victor, it is enough to make one despair of + his country! All beyond the hour seems anarchy and ruin.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so!” exclaimed De Mauleon. “Everything comes to him who knows how to + wait. The Empire is destroyed; the usurpation that follows it has no + roots. It will but serve to expedite the establishment of such a condition + as we have meditated and planned—a constitution adapted to our age + and our people, not based wholly on untried experiments, taking the best + from nations that do not allow Freedom and Order to be the sport of any + popular breeze. From the American Republic we must borrow the only + safeguards against the fickleness of the universal suffrage which, though + it was madness to concede in any ancient community, once conceded cannot + be safely abolished,—viz., the salutary law that no article of the + Constitution, once settled, can be altered without the consent of + two-thirds of the legislative body. By this law we insure permanence, and + that concomitant love for institutions which is engendered by time and + custom. Secondly, the formation of a senate on such principles as may + secure to it in all times of danger a confidence and respect which + counteract in public opinion the rashness and heat of the popular + assembly. On what principles that senate should be formed, with what + functions invested, what share of the executive—especially in + foreign affairs, declarations of war, or treaties of peace—should be + accorded to it, will no doubt need the most deliberate care of the ablest + minds. But a senate I thus sketch has alone rescued America from the + rashness of counsel incident to a democratic Chamber; and it is still more + essential to France, with still more favourable elements for its creation. + From England we must borrow the great principle that has alone saved her + from revolution—that the head of the State can do no wrong. He leads + no armies, he presides over no Cabinet. All responsibility rests with his + advisers; and where we upset a dynasty, England changes an administration. + Whether the head of the State should have the title of sovereign or + president, whether he be hereditary or elected, is a question of minor + importance impossible now to determine, but on which I heartily concur + with you that hereditary monarchy is infinitely better adapted to the + habits of Frenchmen, to their love of show and of honours—and + infinitely more preservative from all the dangers which result from + constant elections to such a dignity, with parties so heated, and + pretenders to the rank so numerous—than any principle by which a + popular demagogue or a successful general is enabled to destroy the + institutions he is elected to guard. On these fundamental doctrines for + the regeneration of France I think we are agreed. And I believe when the + moment arrives to promulgate them, through an expounder of weight like + yourself, they will rapidly commend themselves to the intellect of France. + For they belong to common sense; and in the ultimate prevalence of + common-sense I have a faith which I refuse to medievalists who would + restore the right divine; and still more to fanatical quacks, who imagine + that the worship of the Deity, the ties of family, and the rights of + property are errors at variance with the progress of society. Qui vivera, + verra.” + </p> + <p> + INCOGNITO.—“In the outlines of the policy you so ably enunciate I + heartily concur. But if France is, I will not say to be regenerated, but + to have fair play among the nations of Europe, I add one or two items to + the programme. France must be saved from Paris, not by subterranean + barracks and trains, the impotence of which we see to-day with a general + in command of the military force, but by conceding to France its + proportionate share of the power now monopolised by Paris. All this system + of centralisation, equally tyrannical and corrupt, must be eradicated. + Talk of examples from America, of which I know little—from England, + of which I know much,—what can we more advantageously borrow from + England than that diffusion of all her moral and social power which + forbids the congestion of blood in one vital part? Decentralise! + decentralise! decentralise! will be my incessant cry, if ever the time + comes when my cry will be heard. France can never be a genuine France + until Paris has no more influence over the destinies of France than London + has over those of England. But on this theme I could go on till midnight. + Now to the immediate point: what do you advise me to do in this crisis, + and what do you propose to do yourself?” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon put his hand to his brow, and remained a few moments silent and + thoughtful. At last he looked up with that decided expression of face + which was not the least among his many attributes for influence over those + with whom he came into contact. + </p> + <p> + “For you, on whom so much of the future depends, my advice is brief—have + nothing to do with the present. All who join this present mockery of a + Government will share the fall that attends it—a fall from which one + or two of their body may possibly recover by casting blame on their + confreres,—you never could. But it is not for you to oppose that + Government with an enemy on its march to Paris. You are not a soldier; + military command is not in your rode. The issue of events is uncertain; + but whatever it be, the men in power cannot conduct a prosperous war nor + obtain an honourable peace. Hereafter you may be the Deus ex machina. No + personage of that rank and with that mission appears till the end of the + play: we are only in the first act. Leave Paris at once, and abstain from + all action.” + </p> + <p> + INCOGNITO (dejectedly).—“I cannot deny the soundness of your advice, + though in accepting it I feel unutterably saddened. Still you, the calmest + and shrewdest observer among my friends, think there is cause for hope, + not despair. Victor, I have more than most men to make life pleasant, but + I would lay down life at this moment with you. You know me well enough to + be sure that I utter no melodramatic fiction when I say that I love my + country as a young man loves the ideal of his dreams—with my whole + mind and heart and soul! and the thought that I cannot now aid her in the + hour of her mortal trial is—is—” + </p> + <p> + The man’s voice broke down, and he turned aside, veiling his face with a + hand that trembled. + </p> + <p> + DE MAULEON—“Courage—patience! All Frenchmen have the first; + set them an example they much need in the second. I, too, love my country, + though I owe to it little enough, heaven knows. I suppose love of country + is inherent in all who are not Internationalists. They profess only to + love humanity, by which, if they mean anything practical, they mean a rise + in wages.” + </p> + <p> + INCOGNITO (rousing himself, and with a half smile). “Always cynical, + Victor—always belying yourself. But now that you have advised my + course, what will be your own? Accompany me, and wait for better times.” + </p> + <p> + “No, noble friend; our positions are different. Yours is made—mine + yet to make. But for this war I think I could have secured a seat in the + Chamber. As I wrote you, I found that my kinsfolk were of much influence + in their department, and that my restitution to my social grade, and the + repute I had made as an Orleanist, inclined them to forget my youthful + errors and to assist my career. But the Chamber ceases to exist. My + journal I shall drop. I cannot support the Government; it is not a moment + to oppose it. My prudent course is silence.” + </p> + <p> + INCOGNITO.—“But is not your journal essential to your support?” + </p> + <p> + DE MAULEON.—“Fortunately not. Its profits enabled me to lay by for + the rainy day that has come; and having reimbursed you and all friends the + sums necessary to start it, I stand clear of all debt, and, for my slender + wants, a rich man. If I continued the journal I should be beggared; for + there would be no readers to Common Sense in this interval of lunacy. + Nevertheless, during this interval, I trust to other ways for winning a + name that will open my rightful path of ambition whenever we again have a + legislature in which Common Sense can be heard.” + </p> + <p> + INCOGNITO.—“But how win that name, silenced as a writer?” + </p> + <p> + DE MAULEON.—“You forget that I have fought in Algeria. In a few days + Paris will be in a state of siege; and then—and then,” he added, and + very quietly dilated on the renown of a patriot or the grave of a soldier. + </p> + <p> + “I envy you the chance of either,” said the Incognito; and after a few + more brief words he departed, his hat drawn over his brows, and entering a + hired carriage which he had left at the corner of the quiet street, was + consigned to the station du ————, just in time for + the next train. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0098" id="link2HCH0098"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + Victor dressed and went out. The streets were crowded. Workmen were + everywhere employed in the childish operation of removing all insignia, + and obliterating all names that showed where an Empire had existed. One + greasy citizen, mounted on a ladder, was effacing the words “Boulevard + Haussman,” and substituting for Haussman, “Victor Hugo.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly De Mauleon came on a group of blouses, interspersed with women + holding babies and ragged boys holding stones, collected round a + well-dressed slender man, at whom they were hooting and gesticulating, + with menaces of doing something much worse. By an easy effort of his + strong frame the Vicomte pushed his way through the tormentors, and gave + his arm to their intended victim. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, allow me to walk home with you.” Therewith the shrieks and + shouts and gesticulations increased. “Another impertinent! Another + traitor! Drown him! Drown them both! To the Seine! To the Seine!” A burly + fellow rushed forward, and the rest made a plunging push. The outstretched + arm of De Mauleon kept the ringleader at bay. “Mes enfans,” cried Victor + with a calm clear voice, “I am not an Imperialist. Many of you have read + the articles signed Pierre Firmin, written against the tyrant Bonaparte + when he was at the height of his power. I am Pierre Firmin—make way + for me.” Probably not one in the crowd had ever read a word written by + Pierre Firmin, nor even heard of the name. But they did not like to own + ignorance; and that burly fellow did not like to encounter that arm of + iron which touched his throat. So he cried out, “Oh! if you are the great + Pierre Firmin, that alters the case. Make way for the patriot Pierre!” + </p> + <p> + “But,” shrieked a virago, thrusting her baby into De Mauleon’s face, “the + other is the Imperialist, the capitalist, the vile Duplessis. At least we + will have him.” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon suddenly snatched the baby from her, and said, with + imperturbable good temper, “Exchange of prisoners. I resign the man, and I + keep the baby.” + </p> + <p> + No one who does not know the humours of a Parisian mob can comprehend the + suddenness of popular change, or the magical mastery over crowds which is + effected by quiet courage and a ready joke. The group was appeased at + once. Even the virago laughed; and when De Mauleon restored the infant to + her arms, with a gold piece thrust into its tiny clasp, she eyed the gold, + and cried, “God bless you, citizen!” The two gentlemen made their way + safely now. + </p> + <p> + “M. de Mauleon,” said Duplessis, “I know not how to thank you. Without + your seasonable aid I should have been in great danger of life; and—would + you believe it?—the woman who denounced and set the mob on me was + one of the objects of a charity which I weekly dispense to the poor.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I believe that. At the Red clubs no crime is more denounced + than that of charity. It is the ‘fraud against Egalite’—a vile trick + of the capitalist to save to himself the millions he ought to share with + all by giving a sou to one. Meanwhile, take my advice, M. Duplessis, and + quit Paris with your young daughter. This is no place for rich + Imperialists at present.” + </p> + <p> + “I perceived that before to-day’s adventure. I distrust the looks of my + very servants, and shall depart with Valerie this evening for Bretagne.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I heard from Louvier that you propose to pay off his mortgage on + Rochebriant, and make yourself sole proprietor of my young kinsman’s + property.” + </p> + <p> + “I trust you only believe half what you hear. I mean to save Rochebriant + from Louvier, and consign it, free of charge, to your kinsman, as the dot + of his bride, my daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “I rejoice to learn such good news for the head of my house. But Alain + himself—is he not with the prisoners of war?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank heaven. He went forth an officer of a regiment of Parisian + Mobiles—went full of sanguine confidence; he came back with his + regiment in mournful despondency. The undiscipline of his regiment, of the + Parisian Mobiles generally, appears incredible. Their insolent + disobedience to their officers, their ribald scoffs at their general—oh, + it is sickening to speak of it! Alain distinguished himself by repressing + a mutiny and is honoured by a signal compliment from the commander in a + letter of recommendation to Palikao. But Palikao is nobody now. Alain has + already been sent into Bretagne, commissioned to assist in organising a + corps of Mobiles in his neighbourhood. Trochu, as you know, is a Breton. + Alain is confident of the good conduct of the Bretons. What will Louvier + do? He is an arch Republican; is he pleased now he has got what he + wanted?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose he is pleased, for he is terribly frightened. Fright is one of + the great enjoyments of a Parisian. Good day. Your path to your hotel is + clear now. Remember me kindly to Alain.” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon continued his way through streets sometimes deserted, sometimes + thronged. At the commencement of the Rue de Florentin he encountered the + brothers Vandemar walking arm in arm. + </p> + <p> + “Ha, De Mauleon!” cried Enguerrand; “what is the last minute’s news?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t guess. Nobody knows at Paris how soon one folly swallows up + another. Saturn here is always devouring one or other of his children.” + </p> + <p> + “They say that Vinoy, after a most masterly retreat, is almost at our + gates with 80,000 men.” + </p> + <p> + “And this day twelvemonth we may know what he does with them.” + </p> + <p> + Here Raoul, who seemed absorbed in gloomy reflections, halted before the + hotel in which the Contessa di Rimini lodged, and with a nod to his + brother, and a polite, if not cordial salutation to Victor, entered the + porte cochere. + </p> + <p> + “Your brother seems out of spirits,—a pleasing contrast to the + uproarious mirth with which Parisians welcome the advance of calamity.” + </p> + <p> + “Raoul, as you know, is deeply religious. He regards the defeat we have + sustained, and the peril that threatens us, as the beginning of a divine + chastisement, justly incurred by our sins—I mean, the sins of Paris. + In vain my father reminds him of Voltaire’s story, in which the ship goes + down with a fripon on board. In order to punish the fripon, the honest + folks are drowned.” + </p> + <p> + “Is your father going to remain on board the ship, and share the fate of + the other honest folks?” + </p> + <p> + “Pas si bete. He is off to Dieppe for sea-bathing. He says that Paris has + grown so dirty since the 4th September, that it is only fit for the feet + of the Unwashed. He wished my mother to accompany him; but she replies, + ‘No; there are already too many wounded not to need plenty of nurses.’ She + is assisting to inaugurate a society of ladies in aid of the Soeurs de + Charite. Like Raoul, she is devout, but she has not his superstitions. + Still his superstitions are the natural reaction of a singularly earnest + and pure nature from the frivolity and corruption which, when kneaded well + up together with a slice of sarcasm, Paris calls philosophy.” + </p> + <p> + “And what, my dear Enguerrand, do you propose to do?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends on whether we are really besieged. If so, of course I become + a soldier.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not a National Guard?” + </p> + <p> + “I care not in what name I fight, so that I fight for France.” + </p> + <p> + As Enguerrand said these simple words, his whole countenance, seemed + changed. The crest rose; his eyes sparkled; the fair and delicate beauty + which had made him the darling of women—the joyous sweetness of + expression and dainty grace of high breeding which made him the most + popular companion to men,—were exalted in a masculine nobleness of + aspect, from which a painter might have taken hints for a study of the + young Achilles separated for ever from effeminate companionship at the + sight of the weapons of war. De Mauleon gazed on him admiringly. We have + seen that he shared the sentiments uttered—had resolved on the same + course of action. But it was with the tempered warmth of a man who seeks + to divest his thoughts and his purpose of the ardour of romance, and who, + in serving his country, calculates on the gains to his own ambition. + Nevertheless he admired in Enguerrand the image of his own impulsive and + fiery youth. + </p> + <p> + “And you, I presume,” resumed Enguerrand, “will fight too, but rather with + pen than with sword.” + </p> + <p> + “Pens will now only be dipped in red ink, and commonsense never writes in + that colour; as for the sword, I have passed the age of forty-five, at + which military service halts. But if some experience in active service, + some knowledge of the art by which soldiers are disciplined and led, will + be deemed sufficient title to a post of command, however modest the grade + be, I shall not be wanting among the defenders of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “My brave dear Vicomte, if you are past the age to serve, you are in the + ripest age to command; and with the testimonials and the cross you won in + Algeria, your application for employment will be received with gratitude + by any general so able as Trochu.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know whether I shall apply to Trochu. I would rather be elected + to command even by the Mobiles or the National Guard, of whom I have just + spoken disparagingly; and no doubt both corps will soon claim and win the + right to choose their officers. But if elected, no matter by whom, I shall + make a preliminary condition; the men under me shall train, and drill, and + obey,—soldiers of a very different kind from the youthful Pekins + nourished on absinthe and self-conceit, and applauding that Bombastes + Furioso, M. Hugo, when he assures the enemy that Paris will draw an idea + from its scabbard. But here comes Savarin. Bon jour, my dear poet.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say good day. An evil day for journalists and writers who do not + out-Herod Blanqui and Pyat. I know not how I shall get bread and cheese. + My poor suburban villa is to be pulled down by way of securing Paris; my + journal will be suppressed by way of establishing the liberty of the + press. I ventured to suggest that the people of France should have some + choice in the form of their government.” + </p> + <p> + “That was very indiscreet, my poor Savarin,” said Victor; “I wonder your + printing-office has not been pulled down. We are now at the moment when + wise men hold their tongues.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so, M. de Mauleon. It might have been wiser for all of us, you as + well as myself, if we had not allowed our tongues to be so free before + this moment arrived. We live to learn; and if we ever have what may be + called a passable government again, in which we may say pretty much what + we like, there is one thing I will not do, I will not undermine that + government without seeing a very clear way to the government that is to + follow it. What say you, Pierre Firmin?” + </p> + <p> + “Frankly, I say that I deserve your rebuke,” answered De Mauleon + thoughtfully. “But, of course, you are going to take or send Madame + Savarin out of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. We have made a very pleasant party for our hegira this + evening-among others the Morleys. Morley is terribly disgusted. A Red + Republican slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘American, we have a + republic as well as you.’ ‘Pretty much you know about republics,’ growled + Morley; ‘a French republic is as much like ours as a baboon is like a + man.’ On which the Red roused the mob, who dragged the American off to the + nearest station of the National Guard, where he was accused of being a + Prussian spy. With some difficulty, and lots of brag about the sanctity of + the stars and stripes, he escaped with a reprimand, and caution how to + behave himself in future. So he quits a city in which there no longer + exists freedom of speech. My wife hoped to induce Mademoiselle Cicogna to + accompany us; I grieve to say she refuses. You know she is engaged in + marriage to Gustave Rameau; and his mother dreads the effect that these + Red Clubs and his own vanity may have upon his excitable temperament if + the influence of Mademoiselle Cicogna be withdrawn.” + </p> + <p> + “How could a creature so exquisite as Isaura Cicogna ever find fascination + in Gustave Rameau!” exclaimed Enguerrand. + </p> + <p> + “A woman like her,” answered De Mauleon, “always finds a fascination in + self-sacrifice.” + </p> + <p> + “I think you divine the truth,” said Savarin, rather mournfully. “But I + must bid you good-bye. May we live to shake hands reunis sons des + meilleurs auspices.” + </p> + <p> + Here Savarin hurried off, and the other two men strolled into the Champs + Elysees, which were crowded with loungers, gay and careless, as if there + had been no disaster at Sedan, no overthrow of an Empire, no enemy on its + road to Paris. + </p> + <p> + In fact the Parisians, at once the most incredulous and the most credulous + of all populations, believed that the Prussians would never be so + impertinent as to come in sight of the gates. Something would occur to + stop them! The king had declared he did not war on Frenchmen, but on the + Emperor: the Emperor gone, the war was over. A democratic republic was + instituted. A horrible thing in its way, it is true; but how could the + Pandour tyrant brave the infection of democratic doctrines among his own + barbarian armies? Were not placards, addressed to our “German brethren,” + posted upon the walls of Paris, exhorting the Pandours to fraternise with + their fellow-creatures? Was not Victor Hugo going to publish “a letter to + the German people”? Had not Jules Favre graciously offered peace, with the + assurance that “France would not cede a stone of her fortresses—an + inch of her territory? She would pardon the invaders and not march upon + Berlin!” To all these, and many more such incontestable proofs, that the + idea of a siege was moonshine, did Enguerrand and Victor listen as they + joined group after group of their fellow-countrymen: nor did Paris cease + to harbour such pleasing illusions, amusing itself with piously laying + crowns at the foot of the statue of Strasbourg, swearing “they would be + worthy of their Alsatian brethren,” till on the 19th of September the last + telegram was received, and Paris was cut of from the rest of the world by + the iron line of the Prussian invaders. “Tranquil and terrible,” says + Victor Hugo, “she awaits the invasion! A volcano needs no assistance.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0099" id="link2HCH0099"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + We left Graham Vane slowly recovering from the attack of fever which had + arrested his journey to Berlin in quest of the Count von Rudesheimn. He + was, however, saved the prosecution of that journey, and his direction + turned back to France by a German newspaper which informed him that the + King of Prussia was at Rheims, and that the Count von Rudesheim was among + the eminent personages gathered there around their sovereign. In + conversing the same day with the kindly doctor who attended him, Graham + ascertained that this German noble held a high command in the German + armies, and bore a no less distinguished reputation as a wise political + counsellor than he had earned as a military chief. As soon as he was able + to travel, and indeed before the good doctor sanctioned his departure, + Graham took his way to Rheims, uncertain, however, whether the Count would + still be found there. I spare the details of his journey, interesting as + they were. On reaching the famous and, in the eyes of Legitimists, the + sacred city, the Englishman had no difficulty in ascertaining the house, + not far from the cathedral, in which the Count von Rudesheim had taken his + temporary abode. Walking towards it from the small hotel in which he had + been lucky enough to find a room disengaged—slowly, for he was still + feeble—he was struck by the quiet conduct of the German soldiery, + and, save in their appearance, the peaceful aspect of the streets. Indeed, + there was an air of festive gaiety about the place, as in an English town + in which some popular regiment is quartered. The German soldiers thronged + the shops, buying largely; lounged into the cafes; here and there + attempted flirtations with the grisettes, who laughed at their French and + blushed at their compliments; and in their good-humoured, somewhat bashful + cheeriness, there was no trace of the insolence of conquest. + </p> + <p> + But as Graham neared the precincts of the cathedral his ear caught a grave + and solemn music, which he at first supposed to come from within the + building. But as he paused and looked round, he saw a group of the German + military, on whose stalwart forms and fair manly earnest faces the setting + sun cast its calm lingering rays. They were chanting, in voices not loud + but deep, Luther’s majestic hymn: + </p> + <p> + “Nun danket alle Gott.” The chant awed even the ragged beggar boys who had + followed the Englishman, as they followed any stranger, would have + followed King William himself, whining for alms. “What a type of the + difference between the two nations!” thought Graham; “the Marseillaise, + and Luther’s Hymn!” While thus meditating and listening, a man in a + general’s uniform came slowly out of the cathedral, with his hands clasped + behind his back, and his head bent slightly downwards. He, too, paused on + hearing the hymn; then unclasped his hand and beckoned to one of the + officers, to whom approaching he whispered a word or two, and passed on + towards the Episcopal palace. The hymn hushed, and the singers quietly + dispersed. Graham divined rightly that the general had thought a hymn + thanking the God of battles might wound the feelings of the inhabitants of + the vanquished city—not, however, that any of them were likely to + understand the language in which the thanks were uttered. Graham followed + the measured steps of the general, whose hands were again clasped behind + his back—the musing habit of Von Moltke, as it had been of Napoleon + the First. Continuing his way, the Englishman soon reached the house in + which the Count von Rudesheim was lodged, and, sending in his card, was + admitted at once through an anteroom in which sate two young men, + subaltern officers apparently employed in draughting maps, into the + presence of the Count. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me,” said Graham, after the first conventional salutation, “if I + interrupt you for a moment or so in the midst of events so grave, on a + matter that must seem to you very trivial.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” answered the Count, “there is nothing so trivial in this world but + what there will be some one to whom it is important. Say how I can serve + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I think, M. le Comte, that you once received in your household, as + teacher or governess, a French lady, Madame Marigny.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember her well—a very handsome woman. My wife and + daughter took great interest in her. She was married out of my house.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly—and to whom?” + </p> + <p> + “An Italian of good birth, who was then employed by the Austrian + Government in some minor post, and subsequently promoted to a better one + in the Italian dominion, which then belonged to the house of Hapsburg, + after which we lost sight of him and his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “An Italian—what was his name?” + </p> + <p> + “Ludovico Cicogna.” + </p> + <p> + “Cicogna!” exclaimed Graham, turning very pale. “Are you sure that was the + name?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. He was a cadet of a very noble house, and disowned by + relations too patriotic to forgive him for accepting employment under the + Austrian Government.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you not give me the address of the place in Italy to which he was + transferred on leaving Austria?” + </p> + <p> + “No; but if the information be necessary to you, it can be obtained easily + at Milan, where the head of the family resides, or indeed in Vienna, + through any ministerial bureau.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me one or two questions more. Had Madame Marigny any children by a + former husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Not that I know of: I never heard so. Signor Cicogna was a widower, and + had, if I remember right, children by his first wife, who was also a + Frenchwoman. Before he obtained office in Austria, he resided, I believe, + in France. I do not remember how many children he had by his first wife. I + never saw them. Our acquaintance began at the baths of Toplitz, where he + saw and fell violently in love with Madame Marigny. After their marriage, + they went to his post, which was somewhere, I think, in the Tyrol. We saw + no more of them; but my wife and daughter kept up a correspondence with + the Signora Cicogna for a short time. It ceased altogether when she + removed into Italy.” + </p> + <p> + “You do not even know if the Signora is still living?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Her husband, I am told, is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! I am concerned to hear it. A good-looking, lively, clever man. I + fear he must have lost all income when the Austrian dominions passed to + the house of Savoy.” + </p> + <p> + “Many thanks for your information. I can detain you no longer,” said + Graham, rising. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, I am not very busy at this moment; but I fear we Germans have plenty + of work on our hands.” + </p> + <p> + “I had hoped that, now the French Emperor, against whom your king made + war, was set aside, his Prussian majesty would make peace with the French + people.” + </p> + <p> + “Most willingly would he do so if the French people would let him. But it + must be through a French Government legally chosen by the people. And they + have chosen none! A mob at Paris sets up a provisional administration, + that commences by declaring that it will not give up ‘an inch of its + territory nor a stone of its fortresses.’ No terms of peace can be made + with such men holding such talk.” After a few words more over the state of + public affairs,—in which Graham expressed the English side of + affairs, which was all for generosity to the vanquished; and the Count + argued much more ably on the German, which was all for security against + the aggressions of a people that would not admit itself to be vanquished,—the + short interview closed. + </p> + <p> + As Graham at night pursued his journey to Vienna, there came into his mind + Isaura’s song of the Neapolitan fisherman. Had he, too, been blind to the + image on the rock? Was it possible that all the while he had been + resisting the impulse of his heart, until the discharge of the mission + entrusted to him freed his choice and decided his fortunes, the very + person of whom he was in search had been before him, then to be for ever + won, lost to him now for ever? Could Isaura Cicogna be the child of Louise + Duval by Richard King? She could not have been her child by Cicogna: the + dates forbade that hypothesis. Isaura must have been five years old when + Louise married the Italian. Arrived at Milan, Graham quickly ascertained + that the post to which Ludovico Cicogna had been removed was in Verona, + and that he had there died eight years ago. Nothing was to be learned as + to his family or his circumstances at the time of his death. The people of + whose history we know the least are the relations we refuse to + acknowledge. Graham continued his journey to Verona. There he found on + inquiry that the Cicognas had occupied an apartment in a house which stood + at the outskirts of the town and had been since pulled down to make way + for some public improvements. But his closest inquiries could gain him no + satisfactory answers to the all-important questions as to Ludovico + Cicogna’s family. His political alienation from the Italian cause, which + was nowhere more ardently espoused than at Verona, had rendered him very + unpopular. He visited at no Italian houses. Such society as he had was + confined to the Austrian military within the Quadrilateral or at Venice, + to which city he made frequent excursions: was said to lead there a free + and gay life, very displeasing to the Signora, whom he left in Verona. She + was but little seen, and faintly remembered as very handsome and + proud-looking. Yes, there were children—a girl, and a boy several + years younger than the girl; but whether she was the child of the Signora + by a former marriage, or whether the Signora was only the child’s + stepmother, no one could say. The usual clue, in such doubtful matters + obtainable through servants, was here missing. The Cicognas had only kept + two servants, and both were Austrian subjects, who had long left the + country,—their very names forgotten. + </p> + <p> + Graham now called to mind the Englishman Selby, for whom Isaura had such + grateful affection, as supplying to her the place of her father. This must + have been the Englishman whom Louise Duval had married after Cicogna’s + death. It would be no difficult task, surely, to ascertain where he had + resided. Easy enough to ascertain all that Graham wanted to know from + Isaura herself, if a letter could reach her. But, as he knew by the + journals, Paris was now invested—cut off from all communication with + the world beyond. Too irritable, anxious, and impatient to wait for the + close of the siege, though he never suspected it could last so long as it + did, he hastened to Venice, and there learned through the British consul + that the late Mr. Selby was a learned antiquarian, an accomplished general + scholar, a fanatico in music, a man of gentle temper though reserved + manners; had at one time lived much at Venice: after his marriage with the + Signora Cicogna he had taken up his abode near Florence. To Florence + Graham now went. He found the villa on the skirts of Fiesole at which Mr. + Selby had resided. The peasant who had officiated as gardener and + shareholder in the profits of vines and figs, was still, with his wife, + living on the place. Both man and wife remembered the Inglese well; spoke + of him with great affection, of his wife with great dislike. They said her + manners were very haughty, her temper very violent; that she led the + Inglese a very unhappy life; that there were a girl and a boy, both hers + by a former marriage; but when closely questioned whether they were sure + that the girl was the Signora’s child by the former husband, or whether + she was not the child of that husband by a former wife, they could not + tell; they could only say that both were called by the same name—Cicogna; + that the boy was the Signora’s favourite—that indeed she seemed + wrapt up in him; that he died of a rapid decline a few months after Mr. + Selby had hired the place, and that shortly after his death the Signora + left the place and never returned to it; that it was little more than a + year that she had lived with her husband before this final separation took + place. The girl remained with Mr. Selby, who cherished and loved her as + his own child. Her Christian name was Isaura, the boy’s Luigi. A few years + later, Mr. Selby left the villa and went to Naples, where they heard he + had died. They could give no information as to what had become of his + wife: Since the death of her boy that lady had become very much changed—her + spirits quite broken, no longer violent. She would sit alone and weep + bitterly. The only person out of her family she would receive was the + priest; till the boy’s death she had never seen the priest, nor been known + to attend divine service. + </p> + <p> + “Was the priest living?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; he had been dead two years. A most excellent man—a saint,” + said the peasant’s wife. + </p> + <p> + “Good priests are like good women,” said the peasant, drily; “there are + plenty of them, but they are all underground.” + </p> + <p> + On which remark the wife tried to box his ears. The contadino had become a + freethinker since the accession of the house of Savoy. His wife remained a + good Catholic. Said the peasant as, escaping from his wife, he walked into + the high-road with Graham, “My belief, Eccellenza, is, that the priest did + all the mischief.” + </p> + <p> + “What mischief?” + </p> + <p> + “Persuaded the Signora to leave her husband. The Inglese was not a + Catholic. I heard the priest call him a heretic. And the padre, who, + though not so bad as some of his cloth, was a meddling bigot, thought it + perhaps best for her soul that it should part company with a heretic’s + person. I can’t say for sure, but I think that was it. The padre seemed to + triumph when the Signora was gone.” Graham mused. The peasant’s + supposition was not improbable. A woman such as Louise Duval appeared to + be—of vehement passions and ill-regulated mind—was just one of + those who, in a moment of great sorrow, and estranged from the ordinary + household affections, feel, though but imperfectly, the necessity of a + religion, and, ever in extremes, pass at once from indifferentism into + superstition. + </p> + <p> + Arrived at Naples, Graham heard little of Selby except as a literary + recluse, whose only distraction from books was the operatic stage. But he + heard much of Isaura; of the kindness which Madame de Grantmesnil had + shown to her, when left by Selby’s death alone in the world; of the + interest which the friendship and the warm eulogies of one so eminent as + the great French writer had created for Isaura in the artistic circles; of + the intense sensation her appearance, her voice, her universal genius, had + made in that society, and the brilliant hopes of her subsequent career on + the stage the cognoscenti had formed. No one knew anything of her mother; + no one entertained a doubt that Isaura was by birth a Cicogna. Graham + could not learn the present whereabouts of Madame de Grantmesnil. She had + long left Naples, and had been last heard of at Genoa; was supposed to + have returned to France a little before the war. In France she had no + fixed residence. + </p> + <p> + The simplest mode of obtaining authentic information whether Isaura was + the daughter of Ludovico Cicogna by his first wife—namely, by + registration of her birth—failed him; because, as von Rudesheim had + said, his first wife was a Frenchwoman. The children had been born + somewhere in France, no one could even guess where. No one had ever seen + the first wife, who had never appeared in Italy, nor had even heard what + was her maiden name. + </p> + <p> + Graham, meanwhile, was not aware that Isaura was still in the besieged + city, whether or not already married to Gustave Rameau; so large a number + of the women had quitted Paris before the siege began, that he had reason + to hope she was among them. He heard through an American that the Morleys + had gone to England before the Prussian investment; perhaps Isaura had + gone with them. He wrote to Mrs. Morley, inclosing his letter to the + Minister of the United States at the Court of St. James’s, and while still + at Naples received her answer. It was short, and malignantly bitter. “Both + myself and Madame Savarin, backed by Signora Venosta, earnestly entreated + Mademoiselle Cicogna to quit Paris, to accompany us to England. Her + devotion to her affianced husband would not permit her to listen to us. It + is only an Englishman who could suppose Isaura Cicogna to be one of those + women who do not insist on sharing the perils of those they love. You ask + whether she was the daughter of Ludovico Cicogna by his former marriage, + or of his second wife by him. I cannot answer. I don’t even know whether + Signor Cicogna ever had a former wife. Isaura Cicogna never spoke to me of + her parents. Permit me to ask—what business is it of yours now? Is + it the English pride that makes you wish to learn whether on both sides + she is of noble family? How can that discovery alter your relations + towards the affianced bride of another?” + </p> + <p> + On receipt of this letter, Graham quitted Naples, and shortly afterwards + found himself at Versailles. He obtained permission to establish himself + there, though the English were by no means popular. Thus near to Isaura, + thus sternly separated from her, Graham awaited the close of the siege. + Few among those at Versailles believed that the Parisians would endure it + much longer. Surely they would capitulate before the bombardment, which + the Germans themselves disliked to contemplate as a last resource, could + commence. + </p> + <p> + In his own mind Graham was convinced that Isaura was the child of Richard + King. It seemed to him probable that Louise Duval, unable to assign any + real name to the daughter of the marriage she disowned,—neither the + name borne by the repudiated husband, nor her own maiden name,—would, + on taking her daughter to her new home, have induced Cicogna to give the + child his name, or that after Cicogna’s death she herself had so + designated the girl. A dispassionate confidant, could Graham have admitted + any confidant whatever, might have suggested the more than equal + probability that Isaura was Cicogna’s daughter by his former espousal. But + then what could have become of Richard King’s child? To part with the + fortune in his hands, to relinquish all the ambitious dreams which + belonged to it, cost Graham Vane no pang: but he writhed with indignant + grief when he thought that the wealth of Richard King’s heiress was to + pass to the hands of Gustave Rameau,—that this was to be the end of + his researches—this the result of the sacrifice his sense of honour + imposed on him. And now that there was the probability that he must convey + to Isaura this large inheritance, the practical difficulty of inventing + some reason for such a donation, which he had, while at a distance made + light of, became seriously apparent. How could he say to Isaura that he + had L200,000. in trust for her, without naming any one so devising it? + Still more, how constitute himself her guardian, so as to secure it to + herself, independently of her husband? Perhaps Isaura was too infatuated + with Rameau, or too romantically unselfish, to permit the fortune so + mysteriously conveyed being exclusively appropriated to herself. And if + she were already married to Rameau, and if he were armed with the right to + inquire into the source of this fortune, how exposed to the risks of + disclosure would become the secret Graham sought to conceal. Such a secret + affecting the memory of the sacred dead, affixing a shame on the scutcheon + of the living, in the irreverent hands of a Gustave Rameau,—it was + too dreadful to contemplate such a hazard. And yet, if Isaura were the + missing heiress, could Graham Vane admit any excuse for basely withholding + from her, for coolly retaining to himself the wealth for which he was + responsible? Yet, torturing as were these communings with himself, they + were mild in their torture compared to the ever-growing anguish of the + thought that in any case the only woman he had ever loved—ever could + love,—who might but for his own scruples and prejudices have been + the partner of his life, was perhaps now actually the wife of another, + and, as such, in what terrible danger! Famine within the walls of the + doomed city: without, the engines of death waiting for a signal. So near + to her, and yet so far! So willing to die for her, if for her he could not + live: and with all his devotion, all his intellect, all his wealth, so + powerless! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0100" id="link2HCH0100"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + It is now the middle of November-a Sunday. The day has been mild, and is + drawing towards its close. The Parisians have been enjoying the sunshine. + Under the leafless trees in the public gardens and the Champs Elysees + children have been at play. On the Boulevards the old elegance of gaiety + is succeeded by a livelier animation. Itinerant musicians gather round + them ragged groups. Fortune-tellers are in great request, especially among + the once brilliant Laises and Thaises, now looking more shabby, to whom + they predict the speedy restoration of Nabobs and Russians, and golden + joys. Yonder Punch is achieving a victory over the Evil One, who wears the + Prussian spiked helmet, and whose face has been recently beautified into a + resemblance to Bismarck. Punch draws to his show a laughing audience of + Moblots and recruits to the new companies of the National Guard. Members + of the once formidable police, now threadbare and hunger-pinched, stand + side by side with unfortunate beggars and sinister-looking patriots who + have served their time in the jails or galleys. + </p> + <p> + Uniforms of all variety are conspicuous—the only evidence visible of + an enemy at the walls. But the aspects of the wearers of warlike + accoutrements are debonnaire and smiling, as of revellers on a holiday of + peace. Among these defenders of their country, at the door of a crowded + cafe, stands Frederic Lemercier, superb in the costume, bran-new, of a + National Guard,—his dog Fox tranquilly reposing on its haunches, + with eyes fixed upon its fellow-dog philosophically musing on the edge of + Punch’s show, whose master is engaged in the conquest of the Bismarck + fiend. + </p> + <p> + “Lemercier,” cried the Vicomte de Breze, approaching the cafe, “I scarcely + recognise you in that martial guise. You look magnifique—the galons + become you. Peste! an officer already?” + </p> + <p> + “The National Guards and Mobiles are permitted to choose their own + officers, as you are aware. I have been elected, but to subaltern grade, + by the warlike patriots of my department. Enguerrand de Vandemar is + elected a captain of the Mobiles in his, and Victor de Mauleon is + appointed to the command of a battalion of the National Guards. But I soar + above jealousy at such a moment,— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Rome a choisi mon bras; je n’examine rien.’” + </pre> + <p> + “You have no right to be jealous. De Mauldon has had experience and won + distinction in actual service, and from all I hear is doing wonders with + his men—has got them not only to keep but to love drill. I heard no + less an authority than General V—— say that if all the + officers of the National Guard were like De Mauleon, that body would give + an example of discipline to the line.” + </p> + <p> + “I say nothing as to the promotion of a real soldier like the Vicomte—but + a Parisian dandy like Euguerrand de Vande—” + </p> + <p> + “You forget that Enguerrand received a military education—an + advantage denied to you.” + </p> + <p> + “What does that matter? Who cares for education nowadays? Besides, have I + not been training ever since the 4th of September, to say nothing of the + hard work on the ramparts?” + </p> + <p> + “Parlez moi de cela it is indeed hard work on the ramparts. Infandum + dolorem quorum pars magna fui. Take the day duty. What with rising at + seven o’clock, and being drilled between a middle-aged and corpulent + grocer on one side and a meagre beardless barber’s apprentice on the + other; what with going to the bastions at eleven, and seeing half one’s + companions drunk before twelve; what with trying to keep their fists off + one’s face when one politely asks them not to call one’s general a traitor + or a poltroon,—the work of the ramparts would be insupportable, if I + did not take a pack of cards with me, and enjoy a quiet rubber with three + other heroes in some sequestered corner. As for night work, nothing short + of the indomitable fortitude of a Parisian could sustain it; the tents + made expressly not to be waterproof, like the groves of the Muses, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “’ per + Quos et aquea subeant et aurae.’ +</pre> + <p> + A fellow-companion of mine tucks himself up on my rug, and pillows his + head on my knapsack. I remonstrate—he swears—the other heroes + wake up and threaten to thrash us both; and just when peace is made, and + one hopes for a wink of sleep, a detachment of spectators, chiefly gamins, + coming to see that all is safe in the camp, strike up the Marseillaise. + Ah, the world will ring to the end of time with the sublime attitude of + Paris in the face of the Vandal invaders, especially when it learns that + the very shoes we stand in are made of cardboard. In vain we complain. The + contractor for shoes is a staunch Republican, and jobs by right divine. + May I ask if you have dined yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! no, it is too early. But I am excessively hungry. I had only a + quarter of jugged cat for breakfast, and the brute was tough. In reply to + your question, may I put another—Did you lay in plenty of stores?” + </p> + <p> + “Stores? no; I am a bachelor, and rely on the stores of my married + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor De Breze! I sympathise with you, for I am in the same boat, and + dinner invitations have become monstrous rare.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you are so confoundedly rich! What to you are forty francs for a + rabbit, or eighty francs for a turkey?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose I am rich, but I have no money, and the ungrateful + restaurants will not give me credit. They don’t believe in better days.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you want money?” + </p> + <p> + “Very naturally. I had invested my capital famously-the best speculations—partly + in house rents, partly in company shares; and houses pay no rents, and + nobody will buy company shares. I had 1,000 napoleons on hand, it is true, + when Duplessis left Paris—much more, I thought, than I could + possibly need, for I never believed in the siege. But during the first few + weeks I played at whist with bad luck, and since then so many old friends + have borrowed of me that I doubt if I have 200 francs left. I have + despatched four letters to Duplessis by pigeon and balloon, entreating him + to send me 25,000 francs by some trusty fellow who will pierce the + Prussian lines. I have had two answers: 1st, that he will find a man; 2nd, + that the man is found and on his way. Trust to that man, my dear friend, + and meanwhile lend me 200 francs.” + </p> + <p> + “Mon cher, desole to refuse; but I was about to ask you to share your 200 + francs with me who live chiefly by my pen; and that resource is cut off. + Still, il faut vivre—one must dine.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a fact, and we will dine together to-day at my expense; limited + liability, though—eight francs a head.” + </p> + <p> + “Generous Monsieur, I accept. Meanwhile let us take a turn towards the + Madeleine.” + </p> + <p> + The two Parisians quit the cafe, and proceed up the Boulevard. On their + way they encounter Savarin. “Why,” said De Breze, “I thought you had left + Paris with Madame.” + </p> + <p> + “So I did, and deposited her safely with the Morleys at Boulogne. These + kind Americans were going to England, and they took her with them. But I + quit Paris! No: I am old; I am growing obese. I have always been + short-sighted. I can neither wield a sword nor handle a musket. But Paris + needs defenders; and every moment I was away from her I sighed to myself, + ‘il faut etre la!’ I returned before the Vandals had possessed themselves + of our railways, the convoi overcrowded with men like myself, who had + removed wives and families; and when we asked each other why we went back, + every answer was the same, ‘il faut etre la.’ No, poor child, no—I + have nothing to give you.” + </p> + <p> + These last words were addressed to a woman young and handsome, with a + dress that a few weeks ago might have been admired for taste and elegance + by the lady leaders of the ton, but was now darned, and dirty, and + draggled. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I did not stop you to ask for alms. You do not seem to remember + me, M. Savarin.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do,” said Lemercier, “surely I address Mademoiselle Julie + Caumartin.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, excuse me, le petit Frederic,” said Julie with a sickly attempt at + coquettish sprightliness; “I had no eyes except for M. Savarin.” + </p> + <p> + “And why only for me, my poor child?” asked the kindhearted author. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” She drew him aside. “Because you can give me news of that monster + Gustave. It is not true, it cannot be true, that he is going to be + married?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, surely, Mademoiselle, all connection between you and young Rameau + has ceased for months—ceased from the date of that illness in July + which nearly carried him off.” + </p> + <p> + “I resigned him to the care of his mother,” said the girl; “but when he no + longer needs a mother, he belongs to me. Oh, consider, M. Savarin, for his + sake I refused the most splendid offers! When he sought me, I had my + coupe, my opera-box, my cachemires, my jewels. The Russians—the + English—vied for my smiles. But I loved the man. I never loved + before: I shall never love again; and after the sacrifices I have made for + him, nothing shall induce me to give him up. Tell me, I entreat, my dear + M. Savarin, where he is hiding. He has left the parental roof, and they + refused there to give me his address.” + </p> + <p> + “My poor girl, don’t be mechante. It is quite true that Gustave Rameau is + engaged to be married; and any attempt of yours to create scandal—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” interrupted Julie, vehemently, “don’t talk to me about + scandal! The man is mine, and no one else shall have him. His address?” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” cried Savarin, angrily, “find it out for yourself.” Then—repentant + of rudeness to one so young and so desolate—he added, in mild + expostulatory accents: “Come, come, ma belle enfant, be reasonable: + Gustave is no loss. He is reduced to poverty.” + </p> + <p> + “So much the better. When he was well off I never cost him more than a + supper at the Maison Doree; and if he is poor he shall marry me, and I + will support him!” + </p> + <p> + “You!—and how?” + </p> + <p> + “By my profession when peace comes; and meanwhile I have offers from a + cafe to recite warlike songs. Ah! you shake your head incredulously. The + ballet-dancer recite verses? Yes! he taught me to recite his own Soyez bon + pour moi. M. Savarin! do say where I can find mon homme.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “That is your last word?” + </p> + <p> + “It is.” + </p> + <p> + The girl drew her thin shawl round her and hurried off. Savarin rejoined + his friends. “Is that the way you console yourself for the absence of + Madame?” asked De Breze, drily. + </p> + <p> + “Fie!” cried Savarin, indignantly; “such bad jokes are ill-timed. What + strange mixtures of good and bad, of noble and base, every stratum of + Paris life contains! There is that poor girl, in one way contemptible, no + doubt, and yet in another way she has an element of grandeur. On the + whole, at Paris, the women, with all their faults, are of finer mould than + the men.” + </p> + <p> + “French gallantry has always admitted that truth,” said Lemercier. “Fox, + Fox, Fox.” Uttering this cry, he darted forward after the dog, who had + strayed a few yards to salute another dog led by a string, and caught the + animal in his arms. “Pardon me,” he exclaimed, returning to his friends, + “but there are so many snares for dogs at present. They are just coming + into fashion for roasts, and Fox is so plump.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought,” said Savarin, “that it was resolved at all the sporting clubs + that, be the pinch of famine ever so keen, the friend of man should not be + eaten.” + </p> + <p> + “That was while the beef lasted; but since we have come to cats, who shall + predict immunity to dogs? Quid intactum nefasti linquimus? Nothing is + sacred from the hand of rapine.” + </p> + <p> + The church of the Madeleine now stood before them. Moblots were playing + pitch-and-toss on its steps. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t wish you to accompany me, Messieurs,” said Lemercier, + apologetically, “but I am going to enter the church.” + </p> + <p> + “To pray?” asked De Breze, in profound astonishment. “Not exactly; but I + want to speak to my friend Rochebriant, and I know I shall find him + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Praying?” again asked De Breze. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That is curious—a young Parisian exquisite at prayer—that is + worth seeing. Let us enter, too, Savarin.” + </p> + <p> + They enter the church. It is filled, and even the sceptical De Breze is + impressed and awed by the sight. An intense fervour pervades the + congregation. The majority, it is true, are women, many of them in deep + mourning, and many of their faces mourning deeper than the dress. + Everywhere may be seen gushing tears, and everywhere faintly heard the + sound of stifled sighs. Besides the women are men of all ages—young, + middle-aged, old, with heads bowed and hands clasped, pale, grave, and + earnest. Most of them were evidently of the superior grade of life—nobles, + and the higher bourgeoisie: few of the ouvrier class, very few, and these + were of an earlier generation. I except soldiers, of whom there were many, + from the provincial Mobiles, chiefly Bretons; you know the Breton soldiers + by the little cross worn on their kepis. + </p> + <p> + Among them Lemercier at once distinguished the noble countenance of Alain + de Rochebriant. De Breze and Savarin looked at each other with solemn + eyes. I know not when either had last been within a church; perhaps both + were startled to find that religion still existed in Paris—and + largely exist it does, though little seen on the surface of society, + little to be estimated by the articles of journals and the reports of + foreigners. Unhappily, those among whom it exists are not the ruling class—are + of the classes that are dominated over and obscured in every country the + moment the populace becomes master. And at that moment the journals + chiefly read were warring more against the Deity than the Prussians—were + denouncing soldiers who attended mass. “The Gospel certainly makes a bad + soldier,” writes the patriot Pyat. + </p> + <p> + Lemercier knelt down quietly. The other two men crept noiselessly out, and + stood waiting for him on the steps, watching the Moblots (Parisian + Moblots) at play. + </p> + <p> + “I should not wait for the roturier if he had not promised me a roti,” + said the Vicomte de Breze, with a pitiful attempt at the patrician wit of + the ancien regime. + </p> + <p> + Savarin shrugged his shoulders. “I am not included in the invitation,” + said he, “and therefore free to depart. I must go and look up a former + confrere who was an enthusiastic Red Republican, and I fear does not get + so much to eat since he has no longer an Emperor to abuse.” + </p> + <p> + So Savarin went away. A few minutes afterwards Lemercier emerged from the + church with Alain. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0101" id="link2HCH0101"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + “I knew I should find you in the Madeleine,” said Lemercier, “and I wished + much to know when you had news from Duplessis. He and your fair fiancee + are with your aunt still staying at Rochebriant?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. A pigeon arrived this morning with a few lines. All well + there.” + </p> + <p> + “And Duplessis thinks, despite the war, that he shall be able, when the + time comes, to pay Louvier the mortgage-sum?” + </p> + <p> + “He never doubts that. His credit in London is so good. But of course all + works of improvement are stopped.” + </p> + <p> + “Pray did he mention me?—anything about the messenger who was to + pierce the Prussian lines?” + </p> + <p> + “What! has the man not arrived? It is two weeks since he left.” + </p> + <p> + “The Uhlans have no doubt shot him—the assassins, and drunk up my + 25,000 francs—the thieves.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope not. But in case of delay, Duplessis tells me I am to remit to you + 2,000 francs for your present wants. I will send them to you this + evening.” + </p> + <p> + “How the deuce do you possess such a sum?” + </p> + <p> + “I came from Brittany with a purse well filled. Of course I could have no + scruples in accepting money from my destined father-in-law.” + </p> + <p> + “And you can spare this sum?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly—the State now provides for me; I am in command of a + Breton company.” + </p> + <p> + “True. Come and dine with me and De Breze.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! I cannot. I have to see both the Vandemars before I return to the + camp for the night. And now-hush—come this way (drawing Frederic + further from De Breze), I have famous news for you. A sortie on a grand + scale is imminent; in a few days we may hope for it.” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard that so often that I am incredulous.” + </p> + <p> + “Take it as a fact now.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Trochu has at last matured his plan?” + </p> + <p> + “He has changed its original design, which was to cut through the Prussian + lines to Rouen, occupying there the richest country for supplies, guarding + the left bank of the Seine and a watercourse to convoy them to Paris. The + incidents of war prevented that: he has a better plan now. The victory of + the army of the Loire at Orleans opens a new enterprise. We shall cut our + way through the Prussians, join that army, and with united forces fall on + the enemy at the rear. Keep this a secret as yet, but rejoice with me that + we shall prove to the invaders what men who fight for their native soil + can do under the protection of Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + “Fox, Fox, mon cheri,” said Lemercier, as he walked towards the cafe Riche + with De Breze; “thou shalt have a festin de Balthazar under the protection + of Heaven.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0102" id="link2HCH0102"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. + </h2> + <p> + On leaving Lemercier and De Breze, Savarin regained the Boulevard, and + pausing every now and then to exchange a few words with acquaintances—the + acquaintances of the genial author were numerous—turned into the + quartier Chaussee d’Antin, and gaining a small neat house, with a + richly-ornamented facade, mounted very clean, well-kept stairs to a third + story. On one of the doors on the landing-place was nailed a card, + inscribed, “Gustave Rameau, homme de lettres.” Certainly it is not usual + in Paris thus to afficher one’s self as a “man of letters”? But Genius + scorns what is usual. Had not Victor Hugo left in the hotel-books on the + Rhine his designation “homme de lettres”? Did not the heir to one of the + loftiest houses in the peerage of England, and who was also a first-rate + amateur in painting, inscribe on his studio when in Italy, “—artiste”? + Such examples, no doubt, were familiar to Gustave Rameau, and “homme de + lettres” was on the scrap of pasteboard nailed to his door. + </p> + <p> + Savarin rang; the door opened, and Gustave appeared. The poet was, of + course, picturesquely attired. In his day of fashion he had worn within + doors a very pretty fanciful costume, designed after portraits of the + young Raffaelle; that costume he had preserved—he wore it now. It + looked very threadbare, and the pourpoint very soiled. But the beauty of + the poet’s face had survived the lustre of the garments. True, thanks to + absinthe, the cheeks had become somewhat puffy and bloated. Grey was + distinctly visible in the long ebon tresses. But still the beauty of the + face was of that rare type which a Thorwaldsen or a Gibson seeking a model + for a Narcissus would have longed to fix into marble. + </p> + <p> + Gustave received his former chief with a certain air of reserved dignity; + led him into his chamber, only divided by a curtain from his accommodation + for washing and slumber, and placed him in an arm-chair beside a drowsy + fire—fuel had already become very dear. + </p> + <p> + “Gustave,” said Savarin, “are you in a mood favourable to a little serious + talk?” + </p> + <p> + “Serious talk from M. Savarin is a novelty too great not to command my + profoundest interest.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,—and to begin: I who know the world and mankind advise + you, who do not, never to meet a man who wishes to do you a kindness with + an ungracious sarcasm. Irony is a weapon I ought to be skilled in, but + weapons are used against enemies, and it is only a tyro who flourishes his + rapier in the face of his friends.” + </p> + <p> + “I was not aware that M. Savarin still permitted me to regard him as a + friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Because I discharged the duties of friend—remonstrated, advised, + and warned. However, let bygones be bygones. I entreated you not to quit + the safe shelter of the paternal roof. You insisted on doing so. I + entreated you not to send to one of the most ferocious of the Red, or + rather, the Communistic, journals, articles, very eloquent, no doubt, but + which would most seriously injure you in the eyes of quiet, orderly + people, and compromise your future literary career for the sake of a + temporary flash in the pan during a very evanescent period of + revolutionary excitement. You scorned my adjurations, but at all events + you had the grace not to append your true name to those truculent + effusions. In literature, if literature revive in France, we two are + henceforth separated. But I do not forego the friendly interest I took in + you in the days when you were so continually in my house. My wife, who + liked you so cordially, implored me to look after you during her absence + from Paris, and, enfin, mon pauvre garcon, it would grieve me very much + if, when she comes back, I had to say to her, ‘Gustave Rameau has thrown + away the chance of redemption and of happiness which you deemed was secure + to him.’ A l’oeil malade, la lumiere nuit.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he held out his hand kindly. + </p> + <p> + Gustave, who was far from deficient in affectionate or tender impulses, + took the hand respectfully, and pressed it warmly. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me if I have been ungracious, M. Savarin, and vouchsafe to hear + my explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “Willingly, mon garcon.” + </p> + <p> + “When I became convalescent, well enough to leave my father’s house, there + were circumstances which compelled me to do so. A young man accustomed to + the life of a garcon can’t be always tied to his mother’s apron-strings.” + </p> + <p> + “Especially if the apron-pocket does not contain a bottle of absinthe,” + said Savarin, drily. “You may well colour and try to look angry; but I + know that the doctor strictly forbade the use of that deadly liqueur, and + enjoined your mother to keep strict watch on your liability to its + temptations. And hence one cause of your ennui under the paternal roof. + But if there you could not imbibe absinthe, you were privileged to enjoy a + much diviner intoxication. There you could have the foretaste of domestic + bliss,—the society of the girl you loved, and who was pledged to + become your wife. Speak frankly. Did not that society itself begin to be + wearisome?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” cried Gustave, eagerly, “it was not wearisome—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but—” + </p> + <p> + “But it could not be all-sufficing to a soul of fire like mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Hem,” murmured Savarin—“a soul of fire! This is very interesting; + pray go on.” + </p> + <p> + “The calm, cold, sister-like affection of a childish undeveloped nature, + which knew no passion except for art, and was really so little emancipated + from the nursery as to take for serious truth all the old myths of + religion—such companionship may be very soothing and pleasant when + one is lying on one’s sofa, and must live by rule, but when one regains + the vigour of youth and health—” + </p> + <p> + “Do not pause,” said Savarin, gazing with more compassion than envy on + that melancholy impersonation of youth and health. “When one regains that + vigour of which I myself have no recollection, what happens?” + </p> + <p> + “The thirst for excitement, the goads of ambition, the irresistible claims + which the world urges upon genius, return.” + </p> + <p> + “And that genius, finding itself at the North Pole amid Cimmerian darkness + in the atmosphere of a childish intellect—in other words, the + society of a pure-minded virgin, who, though a good romance-writer, writes + nothing but what a virgin may read, and, though a bel esprit, says her + prayers and goes to church—then genius—well, pardon my + ignorance, what does genius do?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, M. Savarin, M. Savarin! don’t let us talk any more. There is no + sympathy between us. I cannot bear that bloodless, mocking, cynical mode + of dealing with grand emotions, which belongs to the generation of the + Doctrinaires. I am not a Thiers or a Guizot.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! who ever accused you of being either? I did not mean to be + cynical. Mademoiselle Cicogna has often said I am, but I did not think you + would. Pardon me. I quite agree with the philosopher who asserted that the + wisdom of the past was an imposture, that the meanest intellect now living + is wiser than the greatest intellect which is buried in Pere la Chaise; + because the dwarf who follows the giant, when perched on the shoulders of + the giant, sees farther than the giant ever could. Allez. I go in for your + generation. I abandon Guizot and Thiers. Do condescend and explain to my + dull understanding, as the inferior mortal of a former age, what are the + grand emotions which impel a soul of fire in your wiser generation. The + thirst of excitement—what excitement? The goads of ambition—what + ambition?” + </p> + <p> + “A new social system is struggling from the dissolving elements of the old + one, as, in the fables of priestcraft, the soul frees itself from the body + which has become ripe for the grave. Of that new system I aspire to be a + champion—a leader. Behold the excitement that allures me, the + ambition that goads.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Savarin, meekly; “I am answered. I recognise the dwarf + perched on the back of the giant. Quitting these lofty themes, I venture + to address to you now one simple matter-of-fact question: How about + Mademoiselle Cicogna? Do you think you can induce her to transplant + herself to the new social system, which I presume will abolish, among + other obsolete myths, the institution of marriage?” + </p> + <p> + “M. Savarin, your question offends me. Theoretically I am opposed to the + existing superstitions that encumber the very simple principle by which + may be united two persons so long as they desire the union, and separated + so soon as the union becomes distasteful to either. But I am perfectly + aware that such theories would revolt a young lady like Mademoiselle + Cicogna. I have never even named them to her, and our engagement holds + good.” + </p> + <p> + “Engagement of marriage? No period for the ceremony fixed?” + </p> + <p> + “That is not my fault. I urged it on Isaura with all earnestness before I + left my father’s house.” + </p> + <p> + “That was long after the siege had begun. Listen to me, Gustave. No + persuasion of mine or my wife’s, nor Mrs. Morley’s, could induce Isaura to + quit Paris while it was yet time. She said very simply that, having + pledged her truth and hand to you, it would be treason to honour and duty + if she should allow any considerations for herself to be even discussed so + long as you needed her presence. You were then still suffering, and, + though convalescent, not without danger of a relapse. And your mother said + to her—I heard the words: ‘‘Tis not for his bodily health I could + dare to ask you to stay, when every man who can afford it is sending away + his wife, sisters, daughters. As for that, I should suffice to tend him; + but if you go, I resign all hope for the health of his mind and his soul.’ + I think at Paris there may be female poets and artists whom that sort of + argument would not have much influenced. But it so happens that Isaura is + not a Parisienne. She believes in those old myths which you think fatal to + sympathies with yourself; and those old myths also lead her to believe + that where a woman has promised she will devote her life to a man, she + cannot forsake him when told by his mother that she is necessary to the + health of his mind and his soul. Stay. Before you interrupt me, let me + finish what I have to say. It appears that, so soon as your bodily health + was improved, you felt that your mind and your soul could take care of + themselves; and certainly it seems to me that Isaura Cicogna is no longer + of the smallest use to either.” + </p> + <p> + Rameau was evidently much disconcerted by this speech. He saw what Savarin + was driving at—the renunciation of all bond between Isaura and + himself. He was not prepared for such renunciation. He still felt for the + Italian as much of love as he could feel for any woman who did not kneel + at his feet, as at those of Apollo condescending to the homage of Arcadian + maids. But on the one hand, he felt that many circumstances had occurred + since the disaster at Sedan to render Isaura a very much less desirable + partie than she had been when he had first wrung from her the pledge of + betrothal. In the palmy times of a Government in which literature and art + commanded station and insured fortune, Isaura, whether as authoress or + singer, was a brilliant marriage for Gustave Rameau. She had also then an + assured and competent, if modest, income. But when times change, people + change with them. As the income for the moment (and Heaven only can say + how long that moment might last), Isaura’s income had disappeared. It will + be recollected that Louvier had invested her whole fortune in the houses + to be built in the street called after his name. No houses, even when + built, paid any rent now. Louvier had quitted Paris; and Isaura could only + be subsisting upon such small sum as she might have had in hand before the + siege commenced. All career in such literature and art as Isaura adorned + was at a dead stop. Now, to do Rameau justice, he was by no means an + avaricious or mercenary man. But he yearned for modes of life to which + money was essential. He liked his “comforts;” and his comforts included + the luxuries of elegance and show-comforts not to be attained by marriage + with Isaura under existing circumstances. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless it is quite true that he had urged her to marry him at once, + before he had quitted his father’s house; and her modest shrinking from + such proposal, however excellent the reasons for delay in the national + calamities of the time, as well as the poverty which the calamity + threatened, had greatly wounded his amour propre. He had always felt that + her affection for him was not love; and though he could reconcile himself + to that conviction when many solid advantages were attached to the prize + of her love, and when he was ill, and penitent, and maudlin, and the calm + affection of a saint seemed to him infinitely preferable to the vehement + passion of a sinner,—yet when Isaura was only Isaura by herself—Isaura + minus all the et cetera which had previously been taken into account—the + want of adoration for himself very much lessened her value. + </p> + <p> + Still, though he acquiesced in the delayed fulfilment of the engagement + with Isaura, he had no thought of withdrawing from the engagement itself, + and after a slight pause he replied: “You do me great injustice if you + suppose that the occupations to which I devote myself render me less + sensible to the merits of Mademoiselle Cicogna, or less eager for our + union. On the contrary, I will confide to you—as a man of the world—one + main reason why I quitted my father’s house, and why I desire to keep my + present address a secret. Mademoiselle Caumartin conceived for me a + passion—a caprice—which was very flattering for a time, but + which latterly became very troublesome. Figure to yourself—she daily + came to our house while I was lying ill, and with the greatest difficulty + my mother got her out of it. That was not all. She pestered me with + letters containing all sorts of threats—nay, actually kept watch at + the house; and one day when I entered the carriage with my mother and + Signora Venosta for a drive in the Bois (meaning to call for Isaura by the + way), she darted to the carriage-door, caught my hand, and would have made + a scene if the coachman had given her leave to do so. Luckily he had the + tact to whip on his horses, and we escaped. I had some little difficulty + in convincing the Signora Venosta that the girl was crazed. But I felt the + danger I incurred of her coming upon me some moment when in company with + Isaura, and so I left my father’s house; and naturally wishing to steer + clear of this vehement little demon till I am safely married, I keep my + address a secret from all who are likely to tell her of it.” + </p> + <p> + “You do wisely if you are really afraid of her, and cannot trust your + nerves to say to her plainly, ‘I am engaged to be married; all is at an + end between us. Do not force me to employ the police to protect myself + from unwelcome importunities.’” + </p> + <p> + “Honestly speaking, I doubt if I have the nerve to do that, and I doubt + still more if it would be of any avail. It is very ennuayant to be so + passionately loved; but, que voulez vous? It is my fate.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor martyr! I condole with you: and, to say truth, it was chiefly to + warn you of Mademoiselle Caumartin’s pertinacity that I call this + evening.” + </p> + <p> + Here Savarin related the particulars of his rencontre with Julie, and + concluded by saying: “I suppose I may take your word of honour that you + will firmly resist all temptation to renew a connection which would be so + incompatible with the respect due to your fiancee? Fatherless and + protectorless as Isaura is, I feel bound to act as a virtual guardian to + one in whom my wife takes so deep an interest, and to whom, as she thinks, + she had some hand in bringing about your engagement: she is committed to + no small responsibilities. Do not allow poor Julie, whom I sincerely pity, + to force on me the unpleasant duty of warning your fiancee of the dangers + to which she might be subjected by marriage with an Adonis whose fate it + is to be so profoundly beloved by the sex in general, and ballet nymphs in + particular.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no chance of so disagreeable a duty being incumbent on you, M. + Savarin. Of course, what I myself have told you in confidence is sacred.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. There are things in the life of a garcon before marriage which + would be an affront to the modesty of his fiancee to communicate and + discuss. But then those things must belong exclusively to the past and + cast no shadow over the future. I will not interrupt you further. No doubt + you have work for the night before you. Do the Red journalists for whom + you write pay enough to support you in these terribly dear times?” + </p> + <p> + “Scarcely. But I look forward to wealth and fame in the future. And you?” + </p> + <p> + “I just escape starvation. If the siege last much longer, it is not of the + gout I shall die. Good-night to you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0103" id="link2HCH0103"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. + </h2> + <p> + Isaura had, as we have seen, been hitherto saved by the siege and its + consequences from the fulfilment of her engagement to Gustave Rameau; and + since he had quitted his father’s house she had not only seen less of him, + but a certain chill crept into his converse in the visits he paid to her. + The compassionate feeling his illness had excited, confirmed by the + unwonted gentleness of his mood, and the short-lived remorse with which he + spoke of his past faults and follies, necessarily faded away in proportion + as he regained that kind of febrile strength which was his normal state of + health, and with it the arrogant self-assertion which was ingrained in his + character. But it was now more than ever that she became aware of the + antagonism between all that constituted his inner life and her own. It was + not that he volunteered in her presence the express utterance of those + opinions, social or religious, which he addressed to the public in the + truculent journal to which, under a nom de plume, he was the most + inflammatory contributor. Whether it was that he shrank from insulting the + ears of the pure virgin whom he had wooed as wife with avowals of his + disdain of marriage bonds, or perhaps from shocking yet more her womanly + humanity and her religious faith by cries for the blood of anti-republican + traitors and the downfall of Christian altars; or whether he yet clung, + though with relapsing affection, to the hold which her promise had imposed + on him, and felt that that hold would be for ever gone, and that she would + recoil from his side in terror and dismay, if she once learned that the + man who had implored her to be his saving angel from the comparatively + mild errors of youth, had so belied his assurance, so mocked her + credulity, as deliberately to enter into active warfare against all that + he knew her sentiments regarded as noble and her conscience received as + divine: despite the suppression of avowed doctrine on his part, the total + want of sympathy between these antagonistic natures made itself felt by + both—more promptly felt by Isaura. If Gustave did not frankly + announce to her in that terrible time (when all that a little later broke + out on the side of the Communists was more or less forcing ominous way to + the lips of those who talked with confidence to each other, whether to + approve or to condemn) the associates with whom he was leagued, the path + to which he had committed his career—still for her instincts for + genuine Art—which for its development needs the serenity of peace, + which for its ideal needs dreams that soar into the Infinite—Gustave + had only the scornful sneer of the man who identifies with his ambition + the violent upset of all that civilisation has established in this world, + and the blank negation of all that patient hope and heroic aspiration + which humanity carries on into the next. + </p> + <p> + On his side, Gustave Rameau, who was not without certain fine and delicate + attributes in a complicated nature over which the personal vanity and the + mobile temperament of the Parisian reigned supreme, chafed at the + restraints imposed on him. No matter what a man’s doctrines may be—however + abominable you and I may deem them—man desires to find, in the + dearest fellowship he can establish, that sympathy in the woman his choice + singles out from her sex-deference to his opinions, sympathy with his + objects, as man. So, too, Gustave’s sense of honour and according to his + own Parisian code that sense was keen—became exquisitely stung by + the thought that he was compelled to play the part of a mean dissimulator + to the girl for whose opinions he had the profoundest contempt. How could + these two, betrothed to each other, not feel, though without coming to + open dissension, that between them had flowed the inlet of water by which + they had been riven asunder? What man, if he can imagine himself a Gustave + Rameau, can blame the revolutionist absorbed in ambitious projects for + turning the pyramid of society topsy-turvy, if he shrank more and more + from the companionship of a betrothed with whom he could not venture to + exchange three words without caution and reserve? And what woman can blame + an Isaura if she felt a sensation of relief at the very neglect of the + affianced whom she had compassionated and could never love? + </p> + <p> + Possibly the reader may best judge of the state of Isaura’s mind at this + time by a few brief extracts from an imperfect fragmentary journal, in + which, amid saddened and lonely hours, she held converse with herself. + </p> + <p> + “One day at Enghien I listened silently to a conversation between M. + Savarin and the Englishman, who sought to explain the conception of duty + in which the German poet has given such noble utterance to the thoughts of + the German philosopher—viz., that moral aspiration has the same goal + as the artistic,—the attainment to the calm delight wherein the pain + of effort disappears in the content of achievement. Thus in life, as in + art, it is through discipline that we arrive at freedom, and duty only + completes itself when all motives, all actions, are attuned into one + harmonious whole, and it is not striven for as duty, but enjoyed as + happiness. M. Savarin treated this theory with the mockery with which the + French wit is ever apt to treat what it terms German mysticism. According + to him, duty must always be a hard and difficult struggle; and he said + laughingly, ‘Whenever a man says, “I have done my duty,” it is with a long + face and a mournful sigh.’ + </p> + <p> + “Ah, how devoutly I listened to the Englishman! how harshly the + Frenchman’s irony jarred upon my ears! And yet now, in the duty that life + imposes on me, to fulfil which I strain every power vouchsafed to my + nature, and seek to crush down every impulse that rebels, where is the + promised calm, where any approach to the content of achievement? + Contemplating the way before me, the Beautiful even of Art has vanished. I + see but cloud and desert. Can this which I assume to be duty really be so? + Ah, is it not sin even to ask my heart that question? + </p> + <p> + “Madame Rameau is very angry with her son for his neglect both of his + parents and of me. I have had to take his part against her. I would not + have him lose their love. Poor Gustave! But when Madame Rameau suddenly + said to-day: ‘I erred in seeking the union between thee and Gustave. + Retract thy promise; in doing so thou wilt be justified,’—oh, the + strange joy that flashed upon me as she spoke. Am I justified? Am I? Oh, + if that Englishman had never crossed my path! Oh, if I had never loved! or + if in the last time we met he had not asked for my love, and confessed his + own! Then, I think, I could honestly reconcile my conscience with my + longings, and say to Gustave, ‘We do not suit each other; be we both + released!’ But now-is it that Gustave is really changed from what he was, + when in despondence at my own lot, and in pitying belief that I might + brighten and exalt his, I plighted my troth to him? or is it not rather + that the choice I thus voluntarily made became so intolerable a thought + the moment I knew I was beloved and sought by another; and from that + moment I lost the strength I had before,—strength to silence the + voice at my own heart? What! is it the image of that other one which is + persuading me to be false?—to exaggerate the failings, to be blind + to the merits of him who has a right to say, ‘I am what I was when thou + didst pledge thyself to take me for better or for worse’? + </p> + <p> + “Gustave has been here after an absence of several days. He was not alone. + The good Abbe Vertpre and Madame de Vandemar, with her son, M. Raoul, were + present. They had come on matters connected with our ambulance. They do + not know of my engagement to Gustave; and seeing him in the uniform of a + National Guard, the Abbe courteously addressed to him some questions as to + the possibility of checking the terrible increase of the vice of + intoxication, so alien till of late to the habits of the Parisians, and + becoming fatal to discipline and bodily endurance,—could the number + of the cantines on the ramparts be more limited? Gustave answered with + rudeness and bitter sarcasm, ‘Before priests could be critics in military + matters they must undertake military service themselves.’ + </p> + <p> + “The Abbe replied with unalterable good-humour, ‘But, in order to + criticise the effects of drunkenness, must one get drunk one’s self?’ + Gustave was put out, and retired into a corner of the room, keeping sullen + silence till my other visitors left. + </p> + <p> + “Then before I could myself express the pain his words and manner had + given me, he said abruptly, ‘I wonder how you can tolerate the tartuferie + which may amuse on the comic stage, but in the tragedy of these times is + revolting.’ This speech roused my anger, and the conversation that ensued + was the gravest that had ever passed between us. + </p> + <p> + “If Gustave were of stronger nature and more concentrated will, I believe + that the only feelings I should have for him would be antipathy and dread. + But it is his very weaknesses and inconsistencies that secure to him a + certain tenderness of interest. I think he could never be judged without + great indulgence by women; there is in him so much of the child,—wayward, + irritating one moment, and the next penitent, affectionate. One feels as + if persistence in evil were impossible to one so delicate both in mind and + form. That peculiar order of genius to which he belongs seems as if it + ought to be so estranged from all directions, violent or coarse. When in + poetry he seeks to utter some audacious and defying sentiment, the + substance melts away in daintiness of expression, in soft, lute-like + strains of slender music. And when he has stung, angered, revolted my + heart the most, suddenly he subsides into such pathetic gentleness, such + tearful remorse, that I feel as if resentment to one so helpless, + desertion of one who must fall without the support of a friendly hand, + were a selfish cruelty. It seems to me as if I were dragged towards a + precipice by a sickly child clinging to my robe. + </p> + <p> + “But in this last conversation with him, his language in regard to + subjects I hold most sacred drew forth from me words which startled him, + and which may avail to save him from that worst insanity of human minds,—the + mimicry of the Titans who would have dethroned a God to restore a Chaos. I + told him frankly that I had only promised to share his fate on my faith in + his assurance of my power to guide it heavenward; and that if the opinions + he announced were seriously entertained, and put forth in defiance of + heaven itself, we were separated for ever. I told him how earnestly, in + the calamities of the time, my own soul had sought to take refuge in + thoughts and hopes beyond the earth; and how deeply many a sentiment that + in former days passed by me with a smile in the light talk of the salons, + now shocked me as an outrage on the reverence which the mortal child owes + to the Divine Father. I owned to him how much of comfort, of sustainment, + of thought and aspiration, elevated beyond the sphere of Art in which I + had hitherto sought the purest air, the loftiest goal, I owed to + intercourse with minds like those of the Abbe de Vertpre; and how + painfully I felt as if I were guilty of ingratitude when he compelled me + to listen to insults on those whom I recognised as benefactors. + </p> + <p> + “I wished to speak sternly; but it is my great misfortune, my prevalent + weakness, that I cannot be stern when I ought to be. It is with me in life + as in art. I never could on the stage have taken the part of a Norma or a + Medea. If I attempt in fiction a character which deserves condemnation, I + am untrue to poetic justice. I cannot condemn and execute; I can but + compassionate and pardon the creature I myself have created. I was never + in the real world stern but to one; and then, alas! it was because I loved + where I could no longer love with honour; and I, knowing my weakness, had + terror lest I should yield. + </p> + <p> + “So Gustave did not comprehend from my voice, my manner, how gravely I was + in earnest. But, himself softened, affected to tears, he confessed his own + faults—ceased to argue in order to praise; and—and—uttering + protestations seemingly the most sincere, he left me bound to him still—bound + to him still—woe is me!” + </p> + <p> + It is true that Isaura had come more directly under the influence of + religion than she had been in the earlier dates of this narrative. There + is a time in the lives of most of us, and especially in the lives of + women, when, despondent of all joy in an earthly future, and tortured by + conflicts between inclination and duty, we transfer all the passion and + fervour of our troubled souls to enthusiastic yearnings for the Divine + Love; seeking to rebaptise ourselves in the fountain of its mercy, taking + thence the only hopes that can cheer, the only strength that can sustain + us. Such a time had come to Isaura. Formerly she had escaped from the + griefs of the work-a-day world into the garden-land of Art. Now, Art had + grown unwelcome to her, almost hateful. Gone was the spell from the + garden-land; its flowers were faded, its paths were stony, its sunshine + had vanished in mist and rain. There are two voices of Nature in the soul + of the genuine artist,—that is, of him who, because he can create, + comprehends the necessity of the great Creator. Those voices are never + both silent. When one is hushed, the other becomes distinctly audible. The + one speaks to him of Art, the other of Religion. + </p> + <p> + At that period several societies for the relief and tendance of the + wounded had been formed by the women of Paris,—the earliest, if I + mistake not, by ladies of the highest rank—amongst whom were the + Comtesse de Vandemar and the Contessa di Rimini—though it + necessarily included others of stations less elevated. To this society, at + the request of Alain de Rochebriant and of Enguerrand, Isaura had eagerly + attached herself. It occupied much of her time; and in connection with it + she was brought much into sympathetic acquaintance with Raoul de Vandemar—the + most zealous and active member of that Society of St. Francois de Sales, + to which belonged other young nobles of the Legitimist creed. The passion + of Raoul’s life was the relief of human suffering. In him was personified + the ideal of Christian charity. I think all, or most of us, have known + what it is to pass under the influence of a nature that is so far akin to + ours that it desires to become something better and higher than it is—that + desire being paramount in ourselves—but seeks to be that something + in ways not akin to, but remote from, the ways in which we seek it. When + this contact happens, either one nature, by the mere force of will, + subjugates and absorbs the other, or both, while preserving their own + individuality, apart and independent, enrich themselves by mutual + interchange, and the asperities which differences of taste and sentiment + in detail might otherwise provoke melt in the sympathy which unites + spirits striving with equal earnestness to rise nearer to the unseen and + unattainable Source, which they equally recognise as Divine. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps, had these two persons met a year ago in the ordinary intercourse + of the world, neither would have detected the sympathy of which I speak. + Raoul was not without the prejudice against artists and writers of + romance, that is shared by many who cherish the persuasion that all is + vanity which does not concentrate imagination and intellect in the + destinies of the soul hereafter; and Isaura might have excited his + compassion, certainly not his reverence. While to her, his views on all + that seeks to render the actual life attractive and embellished, through + the accomplishments of Muse and Grace, would have seemed the narrow-minded + asceticism of a bigot. But now, amid the direful calamities of the time, + the beauty of both natures became visible to each. To the eyes of Isaura + tenderness became predominant in the monastic self-denial of Raoul. To the + eyes of Raoul, devotion became predominant in the gentle thoughtfulness of + Isaura. Their intercourse was in ambulance and hospital-in care for the + wounded, in prayer for the dying. Ah! it is easy to declaim against the + frivolities and vices of Parisian society as they appear on the surface; + and, in revolutionary times, it is the very worst of Paris that ascends in + scum to the top. But descend below the surface, even in that demoralising + suspense of order, and nowhere on earth might the angel have beheld the + image of humanity more amply vindicating its claim to the heritage of + heaven. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0104" id="link2HCH0104"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. + </h2> + <p> + The warning announcement of some great effort on the part of the besieged, + which Alain had given to Lemercier, was soon to be fulfilled. + </p> + <p> + For some days the principal thoroughfares were ominously lined with + military convois. The loungers on the Boulevards stopped to gaze on the + long defiles of troops and cannons, commissariat conveyances, and, + saddening accompaniments! the vehicles of various ambulances for the + removal of the wounded. With what glee the loungers said to each other + “Enfin!” Among all the troops that Paris sent forth, none were so popular + as those which Paris had not nurtured—the sailors. From the moment + they arrived, the sailors had been the pets of the capital. They soon + proved themselves the most notable contrast to that force which Paris + herself had produced—the National Guard. Their frames were hardy, + their habits active, their discipline perfect, their manners mild and + polite. “Oh, if all our troops were like these!” was the common + exclamation of the Parisians. + </p> + <p> + At last burst forth upon Paris the proclamations of General Trochu and + General Ducrot; the first brief, calm, and Breton-like, ending with + “Putting our trust in God. March on for our country:” the second more + detailed, more candidly stating obstacles and difficulties, but fiery with + eloquent enthusiasm, not unsupported by military statistics, in the 400 + cannon, two-thirds of which were of the largest calibre, that no material + object could resist; more than 150,000 soldiers, all well armed, well + equipped, abundantly provided with munitions, and all (j’en a l’espoir) + animated by an irresistible ardour. “For me,” concludes the General, “I am + resolved. I swear before you, before the whole nation, that I will not + re-enter Paris except as dead or victorious.” + </p> + <p> + At these proclamations, who then at Paris does not recall the burst of + enthusiasm that stirred the surface? Trochu became once more popular; even + the Communistic or atheistic journals refrained from complaining that he + attended mass, and invited his countrymen to trust in God. Ducrot was more + than popular—he was adored. + </p> + <p> + The several companies in which De Mauleon and Enguerrand served departed + towards their post early on the same morning, that of the 28th. All the + previous night, while Enguerrand was buried in profound slumber, Raoul + remained in his brother’s room; sometimes on his knees before the ivory + crucifix which had been their mother’s last birthday gift to her youngest + son—sometimes seated beside the bed in profound and devout + meditation. At daybreak, Madame de Vandemar stole into the chamber. + Unconscious of his brother’s watch, he had asked her to wake him in good + time, for the young man was a sound sleeper. Shading the candle she bore + with one hand, with the other she drew aside the curtain, and looked at + Enguerrand’s calm fair face, its lips parted in the happy smile which + seemed to carry joy with it wherever its sunshine played. Her tears fell + noiselessly on her darling’s cheek; she then knelt down and prayed for + strength. As she rose she felt Raoul’s arm around her; they looked at each + other in silence; then she bowed her head and wakened Enguerrand with her + lips. “Pas de querelle, mes amis,” he murmured, opening his sweet blue + eyes drowsily. “Ah, it was a dream! I thought Jules and Emile [two young + friends of his] were worrying each other; and you know, dear Raoul, that I + am the most officious of peacemakers. Time to rise, is it? No peacemaking + to-day. Kiss me again, mother, and say ‘Bless thee.’” + </p> + <p> + “Bless thee, bless thee, my child,” cried the mother, wrapping her arms + passionately round him, and in tones choked with sobs. + </p> + <p> + “Now leave me, maman,” said Enguerrand, resorting to the infantine + ordinary name, which he had not used for years. “Raoul, stay and help me + to dress. I must be tres beau to-day. I shall join thee at breakfast, + maman. Early for such repast, but l’appetit vient en mangeant. Mind the + coffee is hot.” + </p> + <p> + Enguerrand, always careful of each detail of dress, was especially so that + morning, and especially gay, humming the old air, “Partant pour la Syrie.” + But his gaiety was checked when Raoul, taking from his breast a holy + talisman, which he habitually wore there, suspended it with loving hands + round his brother’s neck. It was a small crystal set in Byzantine + filigree; imbedded in it was a small splinter of wood, said by pious + tradition to be a relic of the Divine Cross. It had been for centuries in + the family of the Contessa di Rimini, and was given by her to Raoul, the + only gift she had ever made him, as an emblem of the sinless purity of the + affection that united those two souls in the bonds of the beautiful + belief. + </p> + <p> + “She bade me transfer it to thee to-day, my brother,” said Raoul, simply; + “and now without a pang I can gird on thee thy soldier’s sword.” + </p> + <p> + Enguerrand clasped his brother in his arms, and kissed him with passionate + fervour. “Oh, Raoul, how I love thee! how good thou hast ever been to me! + how many sins thou hast saved me from! how indulgent thou hast been to + those from which thou couldst not save! Think on that, my brother, in case + we do not meet again on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, hush, Enguerrand! No gloomy forebodings now! Come, come hither, my + half of life, my sunny half of life!” and uttering these words, he led + Enguerrand towards the crucifix, and there, in deeper and more solemn + voice, said, “Let us pray.” So the brothers knelt side by side, and Raoul + prayed aloud as only such souls can pray. + </p> + <p> + When they descended into the salon where breakfast was set out, they found + assembled several of their relations, and some of Enguerrand’s young + friends not engaged in the sortie. One or two of the latter, indeed, were + disabled from fighting by wounds in former fields; they left their + sick-beds to bid him good-bye. Unspeakable was the affection this genial + nature inspired in all who came into the circle of its winning magic; and + when, tearing himself from them, he descended the stair, and passed with + light step through the Porte cochere, there was a crowd around the house—so + widely had his popularity spread among even the lower classes, from which + the Mobiles in his regiment were chiefly composed. He departed to the + place of rendezvous amid a chorus of exhilarating cheers. + </p> + <p> + Not thus lovingly tended on, not thus cordially greeted, was that equal + idol of a former generation, Victor de Mauleon. No pious friend prayed + beside his couch, no loving kiss waked him from his slumbers. At the grey + of the November dawn he rose from a sleep which had no smiling dreams, + with that mysterious instinct of punctual will which cannot even go to + sleep without fixing beforehand the exact moment in which sleep shall end. + He, too, like Enguerrand, dressed himself with care—unlike + Enguerrand, with care strictly soldier-like. Then, seeing he had some + little time yet before him, he rapidly revisited the pigeonholes and + drawers in which might be found by prying eyes anything he would deny to + them curiosity. All that he found of this sort were some letters in female + handwriting, tied together with faded ribbon, relics of earlier days, and + treasured throughout later vicissitudes; letters from the English girl to + whom he had briefly referred in his confession to Louvier,—the only + girl he had ever wooed as his wife. She was the only daughter of highborn + Roman Catholics, residing at the time of his youth in Paris. Reluctantly + they had assented to his proposals; joyfully they had retracted their + assent when his affairs had become so involved; yet possibly the motive + that led him to his most ruinous excesses—the gambling of the turf—had + been caused by the wild hope of a nature, then fatally sanguine, to + retrieve the fortune that might suffice to satisfy the parents. But during + his permitted courtship the lovers had corresponded. Her letters were full + of warm, if innocent, tenderness—till came the last cold farewell. + The family had long ago returned to England; he concluded, of course, that + she had married another. + </p> + <p> + Near to these letters lay the papers which had served to vindicate his + honour in that old affair, in which the unsought love of another had + brought on him shame and affliction. As his eye fell on the last, he + muttered to him self, “I kept these, to clear my repute. Can I keep those, + when, if found, they might compromise the repute of her who might have + been my wife had I been worthy of her? She is doubtless now another’s; or, + if dead,—honour never dies.” He pressed his lips to the letters with + a passionate, lingering, mournful kiss; then, raking up the ashes of + yesterday’s fire, and rekindling them, he placed thereon those leaves of a + melancholy romance in his past, and watched them slowly, reluctantly + smoulder away into tinder. Then he opened a drawer in which lay the only + paper of a political character which he had preserved. All that related to + plots or conspiracies in which his agency had committed others, it was his + habit to destroy as soon as received. For the sole document thus treasured + he alone was responsible; it was an outline of his ideal for the future + constitution of France, accompanied with elaborate arguments, the heads of + which his conversation with the Incognito made known to the reader. Of the + soundness of this political programme, whatever its merits or faults (a + question on which I presume no judgment), he had an intense conviction. He + glanced rapidly over its contents, did not alter a word, sealed it up in + an envelope, inscribed, “My Legacy to my Countrymen.” The papers refuting + a calumny relating solely to himself he carried into the battle-field, + placed next to his heart,—significant of a Frenchman’s love of + honour in this world—as the relic placed round the neck of + Enguerrand by his pious brother was emblematic of the Christian hope of + mercy in the next. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0105" id="link2HCH0105"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + The streets swarmed with the populace troops as they passed to their + destination. Among those of the Mobiles who especially caught the eye were + two companies in which Enguerrand de Vandemar and Victor de Mauleon + commanded. In the first were many young men of good family, or in the + higher ranks of the bourgeoisie, known to numerous lookers-on; there was + something inspiriting in their gay aspects, and in the easy carelessness + of their march. Mixed with this company, however, and forming of course + the bulk of it, were those who belonged to the lower classes of the + population; and though they too might seem gay to an ordinary observer, + the gaiety was forced. Many of them were evidently not quite sober; and + there was a disorderly want of soldiership in their mien and armament + which inspired distrust among such vieux moustaches as, too old for other + service than that of the ramparts, mixed here and there among the crowd. + </p> + <p> + But when De Mauleon’s company passed, the vieux moustaches impulsively + touched each other. They recognised the march of well-drilled men; the + countenances grave and severe, the eyes not looking on this side and that + for admiration, the step regularly timed; and conspicuous among these men + the tall stature and calm front of the leader. + </p> + <p> + “These fellows will fight well,” growled a vieux moustache, “where did + they fish out their leader?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know?” said a bourgeois. “Victor de Mauleon. He won the cross + in Algeria for bravery. I recollect him when I was very young; the very + devil for women and fighting.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish there were more such devils for fighting and fewer for women,” + growled again le vieux moustache. + </p> + <p> + One incessant roar of cannon all the night of the 29th. The populace had + learned the names of the French cannons, and fancied they could + distinguish the several sounds of their thunder. “There spits + ‘Josephine’!” shouts an invalid sailor. “There howls our own ‘Populace’!” + cries a Red Republican from Belleville. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + [The “Populace” had been contributed to the artillery, + sou a sou, by the working class.] +</pre> + <p> + “There sings ‘Le Chatiment’!” laughed Gustave Rameau, who was now become + an enthusiastic admirer of the Victor Hugo he had before affected to + despise. And all the while, mingled with the roar of the cannon, came, far + and near from the streets, from the ramparts, the gusts of song—song + sometimes heroic, sometimes obscene, more often carelessly joyous. The + news of General Vinoy’s success during the early part of the day had been + damped by the evening report of Ducrot’s delay in crossing the swollen + Marne. But the spirits of the Parisians rallied from a momentary + depression on the excitement at night of that concert of martial music. + </p> + <p> + During that night, close under the guns of the double redoubt of Gravelle + and La Faisanderie, eight pontoon-bridges were thrown over the Marne; and + at daybreak the first column of the third army under Blanchard and Renoult + crossed with all their artillery, and, covered by the fire of the double + redoubts, of the forts of Vincennes, Nogent, Rossuey, and the batteries of + Mont Avron, had an hour before noon carried the village of Champingy, and + the first echelon of the important plateau of Villiers, and were already + commencing the work of intrenchment, when, rallying from the amaze of a + defeat, the German forces burst upon them, sustained by fresh batteries. + The Prussian pieces of artillery established at Chennevieres and at + Neuilly opened fire with deadly execution; while a numerous infantry, + descending from the intrenchments of Villiers, charged upon the troops + under Renoult. Among the French in that strife were Enguerrand and the + Mobiles of which he was in command. Dismayed by the unexpected fire, these + Mobiles gave way, as indeed did many of the line. Enguerrand rushed + forward to the front: “On, mes enfans, on! What will our mothers and wives + say of us if we fly? Vive la France!—On!” Among those of the better + class in that company there rose a shout of applause, but it found no + sympathy among the rest. They wavered, they turned. “Will you suffer me to + go on alone, countrymen?” cried Enguerrand; and alone he rushed on towards + the Prussian line—rushed, and fell, mortally wounded, by a + musket-ball. “Revenge, revenge!” shouted some of the foremost; “Revenge!” + shouted those in the rear; and, so shouting, turned on their heels and + fled. But ere they could disperse they encountered the march, steadfast + though rapid, of the troop led by Victor de Mauleon. “Poltroons!” he + thundered, with the sonorous depth of his strong voice, “halt and turn, or + my men shall fire on you as deserters.” + </p> + <p> + “Va, citoyen,” said one fugitive, an officer-popularly elected, because he + was the loudest brawler in the club of the Salle Favre,—we have seen + him before—Charles, the brother of Armand Monnier;—“men can’t + fight when they despise their generals. It is our generals who are + poltroons and fools both.” + </p> + <p> + “Carry my answer to the ghosts of cowards,” cried De Mauldon, and shot the + man dead. + </p> + <p> + His followers, startled and cowed by the deed, and the voice and the look + of the death-giver, halted. The officers, who had at first yielded to the + panic of their men, took fresh courage, and finally led the bulk of the + troop back to their post “enlevis a la baionette,” to use the phrase of a + candid historian of that day. + </p> + <p> + Day, on the whole, not inglorious to France. It was the first, if it was + the last, really important success of the besieged. They remained masters + of the ground, the Prussians leaving to them the wounded and the dead. + </p> + <p> + That night what crowds thronged from Paris to the top of the Montmartre + heights, from the observatory on which the celebrated inventor Bazin had + lighted up, with some magical electric machine, all the plain of + Gennevilliers from Mont Valerien to the Fort de la Briche! The splendour + of the blaze wrapped the great city;—distinctly above the roofs of + the houses soared the Dome des Invalides, the spires of Notre Dame, the + giant turrets of the Tuileries;—and died away on resting on the + infames scapulos Acroceraunia, the “thunder crags” of the heights occupied + by the invading army. + </p> + <p> + Lemercier, De Breze, and the elder Rameau—who, despite his peaceful + habits and grey hairs, insisted on joining in the aid of la patrie—were + among the National Guards attached to the Fort de la Briche and the + neighbouring eminence, and they met in conversation. + </p> + <p> + “What a victory we have had!” said the old Rameau. + </p> + <p> + “Rather mortifying to your son, M. Rameau,” said LeMercier. + </p> + <p> + “Mortifying to my son, sir!—the victory of his countrymen. What do + you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I had the honour to hear M. Gustave the other night at the club de la + Vengeance.” + </p> + <p> + “Bon Dieu! do you frequent those tragic reunions?” asked De Breze. + </p> + <p> + “They are not at all tragic: they are the only comedies left us, as one + must amuse one’s self somewhere, and the club de la Vengeance is the + prettiest thing of the sort going. I quite understand why it should + fascinate a poet like your son, M. Rameau. It is held in a salle de cafe + chantant—style Louis Quinze—decorated with a pastoral scene + from Watteau. I and my dog Fox drop in. We hear your son haranguing. In + what poetical sentences he despaired of the Republic! The Government (he + called them les charlatans de l’Hotel de Ville) were imbeciles. They + pretended to inaugurate a revolution, and did not employ the most obvious + of revolutionary means. There Fox and I pricked up our ears: what were + those means? Your son proceeded to explain: ‘All mankind were to be + appealed to against individual interests. The commerce of luxury was to be + abolished. Clearly luxury was not at the command of all mankind. Cafes and + theatres were to be closed for ever—all mankind could not go to + cafes and theatres. It was idle to expect the masses to combine for + anything in which the masses had not an interest in common. The masses had + no interest in any property that did not belong to the masses. Programmes + of the society to be founded, called the Ligue Cosmopolite Democratique, + should be sent at once into all the States of the civilised world—how? + by balloons. Money corrupts the world as now composed: but the money at + the command of the masses could buy all the monarchs and courtiers and + priests of the universe.’ At that sentiment, vehemently delivered, the + applauses were frantic, and Fox in his excitement began to bark. At the + sound of his bark one man cried out, ‘That’s a Prussian!’ another, ‘Down + with the spy!’ another, ‘There’s an aristo present—he keeps alive a + dog which would be a week’s meal for a family!’ I snatch up Fox at the + last cry, and clasp him to a bosom protected by the uniform of the + National Guard. + </p> + <p> + “When the hubbub had subsided, your son, M. Rameau, proceeded, quitting + mankind in general, and arriving at the question in particular most + interesting to his audience—the mobilisation of the National Guard; + that is, the call upon men who like talking and hate fighting to talk less + and fight more. ‘It was the sheerest tyranny to select a certain number of + free citizens to be butchered. If the fight was for the mass, there ought + to be la levee en masse. If one did not compel everybody to fight, why + should anybody fight?’ Here the applause again became vehement, and Fox + again became indiscreet. I subdued Fox’s bark into a squeak by pulling his + ears. ‘What!’ cries your poet-son, ‘la levee en masse gives us fifteen + millions of soldiers, with which we could crush, not Prussia alone, but + the whole of Europe. (Immense sensation.) Let us, then, resolve that the + charlatans of the Hotel de Ville are incapable of delivering us from the + Prussians; that they are deposed; that the Ligue of the Democratie + Cosmopolite is installed; that meanwhile the Commune shall be voted the + Provisional Government, and shall order the Prussians to retire within + three days from the soil of Paris.’ + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me this long description, my dear M. Rameau, but I trust I have + satisfactorily explained why victory obtained in the teeth of his eloquent + opinions, if gratifying to him as a Frenchman, must be mortifying to him + as a politician.” + </p> + <p> + The old Rameau sighed, hung his head, and crept away. While, amid this + holiday illumination, the Parisians enjoyed the panorama before them, the + Freres Chretiens and the attendants of the various ambulances were moving + along the battle-plains; the first in their large-brimmed hats and sable + garbs, the last in strange motley costume, many of them in glittering + uniform—all alike in their serene indifference to danger; often + pausing to pick up among the dead their own brethren who had been + slaughtered in the midst of their task. Now and then they came on sinister + forms apparently engaged in the same duty of tending the wounded and dead, + but in truth murderous plunderers, to whom the dead and the dying were + equal harvests. Did the wounded man attempt to resist the foul hands + searching for their spoil, they added another wound more immediately + mortal, grinning as they completed on the dead the robbery they had + commenced on the dying. + </p> + <p> + Raoul de Vandemar had been all the earlier part of the day with the + assistants of the ambulance over which he presided, attached to the + battalions of the National Guard in a quarter remote from that in which + his brother had fought and fallen. When those troops, later in the day, + were driven from the Montmedy plateau, which they had at first carried, + Raoul repassed towards the plateau at Villiers, on which the dead lay + thickest. On the way he heard a vague report of the panic which had + dispersed the Mobiles of whom Enguerrand was in command, and of + Enguerrand’s vain attempt to inspirit them. But his fate was not known. + There, at midnight, Raoul is still searching among the ghastly heaps and + pools of blood, lighted from afar by the blaze from the observatory of + Montmartre, and more near at hand by the bivouac fires extended along the + banks to the left of the Marne, while everywhere about the field flitted + the lanterns of the Frere Chretiens. Suddenly, in the dimness of a spot + cast into shadow by an incompleted earthwork, he observed a small sinister + figure perched on the breast of some wounded soldier, evidently not to + succour. He sprang forward and seized a hideous-looking urchin, scarcely + twelve years old, who held in one hand a small crystal locket, set in + filigree gold, torn from the soldier’s breast, and lifted high in the + other a long case-knife. At a glance Raoul recognised the holy relic he + had given to Enguerrand, and, flinging the precocious murderer to be + seized by his assistants, he cast himself beside his brother. Enguerrand + still breathed, and his languid eyes brightened as he knew the dear + familiar face. He tried to speak, but his voice failed, and he shook his + head sadly, but still with a faint smile on his lips. They lifted him + tenderly, and placed him on a litter. The movement, gentle as it was, + brought back pain, and with the pain strength to mutter, “My mother—-I + would see her once more.” + </p> + <p> + As at daybreak the loungers on Montmartre and the ramparts descended into + the streets—most windows in which were open, as they had been all + night, with anxious female faces peering palely down-they saw the + conveyances of the ambulances coming dismally along, and many an eye + turned wistfully towards the litter on which lay the idol of the + pleasure-loving Paris, with the dark, bareheaded figure walking beside it,—onwards, + onwards, till it reached the Hotel de Vandemar, and a woman’s cry was + heard at the entrance—the mother’s cry, “My son! my son!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0120" id="link2H_4_0120"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BOOK XII. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0106" id="link2HCH0106"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. + </h2> + <p> + The last book closed with the success of the Parisian sortie on the 30th + of November, to be followed by the terrible engagements no less honourable + to French valour, on the 2nd of December. There was the sanguine belief + that deliverance was at hand; that Trochu would break through the circle + of iron, and effect that junction with the army of Aurelles de Paladine + which would compel the Germans to raise the investment;—belief + rudely shaken by Ducrot’s proclamation of the 4th, to explain the + recrossing of the Marne, and the abandonment of the positions conquered, + but not altogether dispelled till von Moltke’s letter to Trochu on the 5th + announcing the defeat of the army of the Loire and the recapture of + Orleans. Even then the Parisians did not lose hope of succour; and even + after the desperate and fruitless sortie against Le Bourget on the 21st, + it was not without witticisms on defeat and predictions of triumph, that + Winter and Famine settled sullenly on the city. + </p> + <p> + Our narrative reopens with the last period of the siege. + </p> + <p> + It was during these dreadful days, that if the vilest and the most hideous + aspects of the Parisian population showed themselves at the worst, so all + its loveliest, its noblest, its holiest characteristics—unnoticed by + ordinary observers in the prosperous days of the capital—became + conspicuously prominent. The higher classes, including the remnant of the + old noblesse, had, during the whole siege, exhibited qualities in notable + contrast to those assigned them by the enemies of aristocracy. Their sons + had been foremost among those soldiers who never calumniated a leader, + never fled before a foe; their women had been among the most zealous and + the most tender nurses of the ambulances they had founded and served; + their houses had been freely opened, whether to the families exiled from + the suburbs, or in supplement to the hospitals. The amount of relief they + afforded unostentatiously, out of means that shared the general failure of + accustomed resource, when the famine commenced, would be scarcely credible + if stated. Admirable, too, were the fortitude and resignation of the + genuine Parisian bourgeoisie,—the thrifty tradesfolk and small + rentiers,—that class in which, to judge of its timidity when opposed + to a mob, courage is not the most conspicuous virtue. Courage became so + now—courage to bear hourly increasing privation, and to suppress + every murmur of suffering that would discredit their patriotism, and + invoke “peace at any price.” It was on this class that the calamities of + the siege now pressed the most heavily. The stagnation of trade, and the + stoppage of the rents, in which they had invested their savings, reduced + many of them to actual want. Those only of their number who obtained the + pay of one-and-a-half franc a day as National Guards, could be sure to + escape from starvation. But this pay had already begun to demoralise the + receivers. Scanty for supply of food, it was ample for supply of drink. + And drunkenness, hitherto rare in that rank of the Parisians, became a + prevalent vice, aggravated in the case of a National Guard, when it wholly + unfitted him for the duties he undertook, especially such National Guards + as were raised from the most turbulent democracy of the working class. + </p> + <p> + But of all that population; there were two sections in which the most + beautiful elements of our human nature were most touchingly manifest—the + women and the priesthood, including in the latter denomination all the + various brotherhoods and societies which religion formed and inspired. + </p> + <p> + It was on the 27th of December that Frederic Lemercier stood gazing + wistfully on a military report affixed to a blank wall, which stated that + “the enemy, worn out by a resistance of over one hundred days,” had + commenced the bombardment. Poor Frederic was sadly altered; he had escaped + the Prussian’s guns, but not the Parisian winter—the severest known + for twenty years. He was one of the many frozen at their posts—brought + back to the ambulance with Fox in his bosom trying to keep him warm. He + had only lately been sent forth as convalescent,—ambulances were too + crowded to retain a patient longer than absolutely needful,—and had + been hunger-pinched and frost-pinched ever since. The luxurious Frederic + had still, somewhere or other, a capital yielding above three thousand a + year, and of which he could not now realise a franc, the title-deeds to + various investments being in the hands of Duplessis, the most trustworthy + of friends, the most upright of men, but who was in Bretagne, and could + not be got at. And the time had come at Paris when you could not get trust + for a pound of horse-flesh, or a daily supply of fuel. And Frederic + Lemercier, who had long since spent the 2000 francs borrowed from Alain + (not ignobly, but somewhat ostentatiously, in feasting any acquaintance + who wanted a feast), and who had sold to any one who could afford to + speculate on such dainty luxuries,—clocks, bronzes, amber-mounted + pipes,—all that had made the envied garniture of his bachelor’s + apartment—Frederic Lemercier was, so far as the task of keeping body + and soul together, worse off than any English pauper who can apply to the + Union. Of course he might have claimed his half-pay of thirty sous as a + National Guard. But he little knows the true Parisian who imagines a + seigneur of the Chaussee d’Antin, the oracle of those with whom he lived, + and one who knew life so well that he had preached prudence to a seigneur + of the Faubourg like Alain de Rochebriant, stooping to apply for the wages + of thirty sons. Rations were only obtained by the wonderful patience of + women, who had children to whom they were both saints and martyrs. The + hours, the weary hours, one had to wait before one could get one’s place + on the line for the distribution of that atrocious black bread, defeated + men,—defeated most wives if only for husbands, were defied only by + mothers and daughters. Literally speaking, Lemercier was starving. Alain + had been badly wounded in the sortie of the 21st, and was laid up in an + ambulance. Even if he could have been got at, he had probably nothing left + to bestow upon Lemercier. + </p> + <p> + Lemercier gazed on the announcement of the bombardment, and the Parisian + gaiety, which some French historian of the siege calls douce philosophie, + lingering on him still, he said, audibly, turning round to any stranger + who heard: “Happiest of mortals that we are! Under the present Government + we are never warned of anything disagreeable that can happen; we are only + told of it when it has happened, and then as rather pleasant than + otherwise. I get up. I meet a civil gendarme. ‘What is that firing? which + of our provincial armies is taking Prussia in the rear? ‘Monsieur,’ says + the gendarme, ‘it is the Prussian Krupp guns.’ I look at the proclamation, + and my fears varnish,—my heart is relieved. I read that the + bombardment is a sure sign that the enemy is worn out.” + </p> + <p> + Some of the men grouped round Frederic ducked their heads in terror; + others, who knew that the thunderbolt launched from the plateau of Avron + would not fall on the pavements of Paris, laughed and joked. But in front, + with no sign of terror, no sound of laughter, stretched, moving inch by + inch, the female procession towards the bakery in which the morsel of + bread for their infants was doled out. + </p> + <p> + “Hist, mon ami,” said a deep voice beside Lemercier. “Look at those women, + and do not wound their ears by a jest.” + </p> + <p> + Lemercier, offended by that rebuke, though too susceptible to good + emotions not to recognise its justice, tried with feeble fingers to turn + up his moustache, and to turn a defiant crest upon the rebuker. He was + rather startled to see the tall martial form at his side, and to recognise + Victor de Mauleon. “Don’t you think, M. Lemercier,” resumed the Vicomte, + half sadly, “that these women are worthy of better husbands and sons than + are commonly found among the soldiers whose uniform we wear?” + </p> + <p> + “The National Guard! You ought not to sneer at them, Vicomte,—you + whose troop covered itself with glory on the great days of Villiers and + Champigny,—you in whose praise even the grumblers of Paris became + eloquent, and in whom a future Marshal of France is foretold.” + </p> + <p> + “But, alas! more than half of my poor troop was left on the battle-field, + or is now wrestling for mangled remains of life in the ambulances. And the + new recruits with which I took the field on the 21st are not likely to + cover themselves with glory, or to insure their commander the baton of a + marshal.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay, I heard when I was in the hospital that you had publicly shamed some + of these recruits, and declared that you would rather resign than lead + them again to battle.” + </p> + <p> + “True; and at this moment, for so doing, I am the man most hated by the + rabble who supplied those recruits.” The men, while thus conversing, had + moved slowly on, and were now in front of a large cafe, from the interior + of which came the sound of loud bravos and clappings of hands. Lemercier’s + curiosity was excited. “For what can be that applause?” he said; “let us + look in and see.” The room was thronged. In the distance, on a small + raised platform, stood a girl dressed in faded theatrical finery, making + her obeisance to the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “Heavens!” exclaimed Frederic—“can I trust my eyes? Surely that is + the once superb Julie: has she been dancing here?” + </p> + <p> + One of the loungers, evidently belonging to the same world as Lemercier, + overheard the question and answered politely: “No, Monsieur: she has been + reciting verses, and really declaims very well, considering it is not her + vocation. She has given us extracts from Victor Hugo and De Musset: and + crowned all with a patriotic hymn by Gustave Rameau,—her old lover, + if gossip be true.” Meanwhile De Mauleon, who at first had glanced over + the scene with his usual air of calm and cold indifference, became + suddenly struck by the girl’s beautiful face, and gazed on it with a look + of startled surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Who and what did you say that poor fair creature is, M. Lemercier?” + </p> + <p> + “She is a Mademoiselle Julie Caumartin, and was a very popular coryphee. + She has hereditary right to be a good dancer, as the daughter of a once + more famous ornament of the ballet, la belle Leonie—whom you must + have seen in your young days.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Leonie—she married a M. Surville, a silly bourgeois + gentilhomme, who earned the hatred of Paris by taking her off the stage. + So that is her daughter I see no likeness to her mother—much + handsomer. Why does she call herself Caumartin?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Frederic, “a melancholy but trite story.” + </p> + <p> + “Leonie was left a widow, and died in want. What could the poor young + daughter do? She found a rich protector, who had influence to get her an + appointment in the ballet: and there she did as most girls so + circumstanced do—appeared under an assumed name, which she has since + kept.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand,” said Victor, compassionately. “Poor thing! she has quitted + the platform, and is coming this way, evidently to speak to you. I saw her + eyes brighten as she caught sight of your face.” + </p> + <p> + Lemercier attempted a languid air of modest self-complacency as the girl + now approached him. “Bonjour, M. Frederic! Ah, mon Dieu! how thin you have + grown! You have been ill?” + </p> + <p> + “The hardships of a military life, Mademoiselle. Ah, for the beaux fours + and the peace we insisted on destroying under the Empire which we + destroyed for listening to us! But you thrive well, I trust. I have seen + you better dressed, but never in greater beauty.” + </p> + <p> + The girl blushed as she replied, “Do you really think as you speak?” + </p> + <p> + “I could not speak more sincerely if I lived in the legendary House of + Glass.” + </p> + <p> + The girl clutched his arm, and said in suppressed tones, “Where is + Gustave?” + </p> + <p> + “Gustave Rameau? I have no idea. Do you never see him now?” + </p> + <p> + “Never,—perhaps I never shall see him again; but when you do meet + him, say that Julie owes to him her livelihood. An honest livelihood, + Monsieur. He taught her to love verses—told her how to recite them. + I am engaged at this cafe—you will find me here the same hour every + day, in case—in case—You are good and kind, and will come and + tell me that Gustave is well and happy even if he forgets me. Au revoir! + Stop, you do look, my poor Frederic, as if—as if—pardon me, + Monsieur Lemercier, is there anything I can do? Will you condescend to + borrow from me? I am in funds.” + </p> + <p> + Lemercier at that offer was nearly moved to tears. Famished though he was, + he could not, however, have touched that girl’s earnings. + </p> + <p> + “You are an angel of goodness, Mademoiselle! Ah, how I envy Gustave + Rameau! No, I don’t want aid. I am always a—rentier.” + </p> + <p> + “Bien! and if you see Gustave, you will not forget.” + </p> + <p> + “Rely on me. Come away,” he said to De Mauleon; “I don’t want to hear that + girl repeat the sort of bombast the poets indite nowadays. It is fustian; + and that girl may have a brain of feather, but she has a heart of gold.” + </p> + <p> + “True,” said Victor, as they regained the street. “I overheard what she + said to you. What an incomprehensible thing is a woman! how more + incomprehensible still is a woman’s love! Ah, pardon me; I must leave you. + I see in the procession a poor woman known to me in better days.” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon walked towards the woman he spoke of—one of the long + procession to the bakery—a child clinging to her robe. A pale + grief-worn woman, still young, but with the weariness of age on her face, + and the shadow of death on her child’s. + </p> + <p> + “I think I see Madame Monnier,” said De Mauleon, softly. + </p> + <p> + She turned and looked at him drearily. A year ago, she would have blushed + if addressed by a stranger in a name not lawfully hers. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, in hollow accents broken by cough; “I don’t know you, + Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor woman!” he resumed, walking beside her as she moved slowly on, while + the eyes of other women in the procession stared at him hungrily. “And + your child looks ill too. It is your youngest?” + </p> + <p> + “My only one! The others are in Pere la Chaise. There are but few children + alive in my street now. God has been very merciful, and taken them to + Himself.” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon recalled the scene of a neat comfortable apartment, and the + healthful happy children at play on the floor. The mortality among the + little ones, especially in the quartier occupied by the working classes, + had of late been terrible. The want of food, of fuel, the intense severity + of the weather, had swept them off as by a pestilence. + </p> + <p> + “And Monnier—what of him? No doubt he is a National Guard, and has + his pay?” + </p> + <p> + The woman made no answer, but hung down her head. She was stifling a sob. + Till then her eyes seemed to have exhausted the last source of tears. + </p> + <p> + “He lives still?” continued Victor, pityingly: “he is not wounded?” + </p> + <p> + “No: he is well—in health; thank you kindly, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “But his pay is not enough to help you, and of course he can get no work. + Excuse me if I stopped you. It is because I owed Armand Monnier a little + debt for work, and I am ashamed to say that it quite escaped my memory in + these terrible events. Allow me, Madame, to pay it to you,” and he thrust + his purse into her hand. “I think this contains about the sum I owed; if + more or less, we will settle the difference later. Take care of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + He was turning away when the woman caught hold of him. + </p> + <p> + “Stay, Monsieur. May Heaven bless you!—but—but tell me what + name I am to give to Armand. I can’t think of any one who owed him money. + It must have been before that dreadful strike, the beginning of all our + woes. Ah, if it were allowed to curse any one, I fear my last breath would + not be a prayer.” + </p> + <p> + “You would curse the strike, or the master who did not forgive Armand’s + share in it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,—the cruel man who talked him into it—into all that + has changed the best workman, the kindest heart—the—the—” + again her voice died in sobs. + </p> + <p> + “And who was that man?” asked De Mauleon, falteringly. + </p> + <p> + “His name was Lebeau. If you were a poor man, I should say ‘Shun him.’” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard of the name you mention; but if we mean the same person, + Monnier cannot have met him lately. He has not been in Paris since the + siege.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not, the coward! He ruined us—us who were so happy + before; and then, as Armand says, cast us away as instruments he had done + with. But—but if you do know him, and do see him again, tell him—tell + him not to complete his wrong—not to bring murder on Armand’s soul. + For Armand isn’t what he was—and has become, oh, so violent! I dare + not take this money without saying who gave it. He would not take money as + alms from an aristocrat. Hush! he beat me for taking money from the good + Monsieur Raoul de Vandemar—my poor Armand beat me!” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon shuddered. “Say that it is from a customer whose rooms he + decorated in his spare hours on his own account before the strike,—Monsieur + ————;” here he uttered indistinctly some + unpronounceable name and hurried off, soon lost as the streets grew + darker. Amid groups of a higher order of men-military men, nobles, + ci-devant deputies—among such ones his name stood very high. Not + only his bravery in the recent sorties had been signal, but a strong + belief in his military talents had become prevalent; and conjoined with + the name he had before established as a political writer, and the + remembrance of the vigour and sagacity with which he had opposed the war, + he seemed certain, when peace and order became established, of a brilliant + position and career in a future administration: not less because he had + steadfastly kept aloof from the existing Government, which it was + rumoured, rightly or erroneously, that he had been solicited to join; and + from every combination of the various democratic or discontented factions. + </p> + <p> + Quitting these more distinguished associates, he took his way alone + towards the ramparts. The day was closing; the thunders of the cannon were + dying down. + </p> + <p> + He passed by a wine-shop round which were gathered many of the worse + specimens of the Moblots and National Guards, mostly drunk, and loudly + talking in vehement abuse of generals and officers and commissariat. By + one of the men, as he came under the glare of a petroleum lamp (there was + gas no longer in the dismal city), he was recognised as the commander who + had dared to insist on discipline, and disgrace honest patriots who + claimed to themselves the sole option between fight and flight. The man + was one of those patriots—one of the new recruits whom Victor had + shamed and dismissed for mutiny and cowardice. He made a drunken plunge at + his former chief, shouting, “A bas Pai-isto! Comrades, this is the coquin + De Mauleon who is paid by the Prussians for getting us killed: a la + lanterne!” “A la lanterne!” stammered and hiccupped others of the group; + but they did not stir to execute their threat. Dimly seen as the stern + face and sinewy form of the threatened man was by their drowsied eyes, the + name of De Mauleon, the man without fear of a foe, and without ruth for a + mutineer, sufficed to protect him from outrage; and with a slight movement + of his arm that sent his denouncer reeling against the lamp-post, De + Mauleon passed on:—when another man, in the uniform of a National + Guard, bounded from the door of the tavern, crying with a loud voice, “Who + said De Mauleon?—let me look on him:” and Victor, who had strode on + with slow lion-like steps, cleaving the crowd, turned, and saw before him + in the gleaming light a face, in which the bold frank, intelligent aspect + of former days was lost in a wild, reckless, savage expression—the + face of Armand Monnier. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! are you really Victor de Mauleon?” asked Monnier, not fiercely, but + under his breath,—in that sort of stage whisper which is the natural + utterance of excited men under the mingled influence of potent drink and + hoarded rage. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly; I am Victor de Mauleon.” + </p> + <p> + “And you were in command of the—company of the National Guard on the + 30th of November at Champigny and Villiers?” + </p> + <p> + “I was.” + </p> + <p> + “And you shot with your own hand an officer belonging to another company + who refused to join yours?” + </p> + <p> + “I shot a cowardly soldier who ran away from the enemy, and seemed a + ringleader of other runaways; and in so doing, I saved from dishonour the + best part of his comrades.” + </p> + <p> + “The man was no coward. He was an enlightened Frenchman, and worth fifty + of such aristos as you; and he knew better than his officers that he was + to be led to an idle slaughter. Idle—I say idle. What was France the + better, how was Paris the safer, for the senseless butchery of that day? + You mutinied against a wiser general than Saint Trochu when you murdered + that mutineer.” + </p> + <p> + “Armand Monnier, you are not quite sober to-night, or I would argue with + you that question. But you no doubt are brave: how and why do you take the + part of a runaway?” + </p> + <p> + “How and why? He was my brother, and you own you murdered him: my brother—the + sagest head in Paris. If I had listened to him, I should not be,—bah!—no + matter now what I am.” + </p> + <p> + “I could not know he was your brother; but if he had been mine I would + have done the same.” + </p> + <p> + Here Victor’s lip quivered, for Monnier griped him by the arm, and looked + him in the face with wild stony eyes. “I recollect that voice! Yet—yet—you + say you are a noble, a Vicomte—Victor de Mauleon, and you shot my + brother!” + </p> + <p> + Here he passed his left hand rapidly over his forehead. The fumes of wine + still clouded his mind, but rays of intelligence broke through the cloud. + Suddenly he said in a loud, and calm, and natural voice: + </p> + <p> + “Mons. le Vicomte, you accost me as Armand Monnier—pray how do you + know my name?” + </p> + <p> + “How should I not know it? I have looked into the meetings of the ‘Clubs + rouges.’ I have heard you speak, and naturally asked your name. Bon soir + M. Monnier! When you reflect in cooler moments, you will see that if + patriots excuse Brutus for first dishonouring and then executing his own + son, an officer charged to defend his country may be surely pardoned for + slaying a runaway to whom he was no relation, when in slaying he saved the + man’s name and kindred from dishonour—unless, indeed, you insist on + telling the world why he was slain.” + </p> + <p> + “I know your voice—I know it. Every sound becomes clearer to my ear. + And if—” + </p> + <p> + But while Monnier thus spoke, De Mauleon had hastened on. Monnier looked + round, saw him gone, but did not pursue. He was just intoxicated enough to + know that his footsteps were not steady, and he turned back to the + wine-shop and asked surlily for more wine. Could you have seen him then as + he leant swinging himself to and fro against the wall,—had you known + the man two years ago, you would have been a brute if you felt disgust. + You could only have felt that profound compassion with which we gaze on a + great royalty fallen. For the grandest of all royalties is that which + takes its crown from Nature, needing no accident of birth. And Nature made + the mind of Armand Monnier king-like; endowed it with lofty scorn of + meanness and falsehood and dishonour, with warmth and tenderness of heart + which had glow enough to spare from ties of kindred and hearth and home, + to extend to those distant circles of humanity over which royal natures + would fain extend the shadow of their sceptre. + </p> + <p> + How had the royalty of the man’s nature fallen thus? Royalty rarely falls + from its own constitutional faults. It falls when, ceasing to be royal, it + becomes subservient to bad advisers. And what bad advisers, always + appealing to his better qualities and so enlisting his worser, had + discrowned this mechanic? + </p> + <p> + “A little knowledge is a dangerous thing,” says the old-fashioned poet. + </p> + <p> + “Not so,” says the modern philosopher; “a little knowledge; is safer than + no knowledge.” Possibly, as all individuals and all communities must go + through the stage of a little knowledge before they can arrive at that of + much knowledge, the philosopher’s assertion may be right in the long-run, + and applied to humankind in general. But there is a period, as there is a + class, in which a little knowledge tends to terrible demoralisation. And + Armand Monnier lived in that period and was one of that class. The little + knowledge that his mind, impulsive and ardent, had picked up out of books + that warred with the great foundations of existing society, had originated + in ill advices. A man stored with much knowledge would never have let + Madame de Grantmesnil’s denunciations of marriage rites, or Louis Blane’s + vindication of Robespierre as the representative of the working against + the middle class, influence his practical life. He would have assessed + such opinions at their real worth; and whatever that worth might seem to + him, would not to such opinions have committed the conduct of his life. + Opinion is not fateful: conduct is. A little knowledge crazes an earnest, + warm-blooded, powerful creature like Armand Monnier into a fanatic. He + takes an opinion which pleases him as a revelation from the gods; that + opinion shapes his conduct; that conduct is his fate. Woe to the + philosopher who serenely flings before the little knowledge of the artisan + dogmas as harmless as the Atlantis of Plato if only to be discussed by + philosophers, and deadly as the torches of Ate if seized as articles of a + creed by fanatics! But thrice woe to the artisan who makes himself the + zealot of the Dogma! + </p> + <p> + Poor Armand acts on the opinions he adopts; proves his contempt for the + marriage state by living with the wife of another; resents, as natures so + inherently manly must do, the Society that visits on her his defiance of + its laws; throws himself, head foremost, against that society altogether; + necessarily joins all who have other reasons for hostility to Society; he + himself having every inducement not to join indiscriminate strikes—high + wages, a liberal employer, ample savings, the certainty of soon becoming + employer himself. No; that is not enough to the fanatic: he persists on + being dupe and victim. He, this great king of labour, crowned by Nature, + and cursed with that degree of little knowledge which does not comprehend + how much more is required before a schoolboy would admit it to be + knowledge at all,—he rushes into the maddest of all speculations—that + of the artisan with little knowledge and enormous faith—that which + intrusts the safety and repose and dignity of life to some ambitious + adventurer, who uses his warm heart for the adventurer’s frigid purpose, + much as the lawyer-government of September used the Communists,—much + as, in every revolution of France, a Bertrand has used a Raton—much + as, till the sound of the last trumpet, men very much worse than Victor de + Mauleon will use men very much better than Armand Monnier, if the Armand + Monniers disdain the modesty of an Isaac Newton on hearing that a theorem + to which he had given all the strength of his patient intellect was + disputed: “It may be so;” meaning, I suppose, that it requires a large + amount of experience ascertained before a man of much knowledge becomes + that which a man of little knowledge is at a jump-the fanatic of an + experiment untried. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0107" id="link2HCH0107"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. + </h2> + <p> + Scarcely had De Mauleon quitted Lemercier before the latter was joined by + two loungers scarcely less famished than himself—Savarin and De + Breze. Like himself, too, both had been sufferers from illness, though not + of a nature to be consigned to an hospital. All manner of diseases then + had combined to form the pestilence which filled the streets with + unregarded hearses—bronchitis, pneumonia, smallpox, a strange sort + of spurious dysentery much more speedily fatal than the genuine. The three + men, a year before so sleek, looked like ghosts under the withering sky; + yet all three retained embers of the native Parisian humour, which their + very breath on meeting sufficed to kindle up into jubilant sparks or rapid + flashes. + </p> + <p> + “There are two consolations,” said Savarin, as the friends strolled or + rather crawled towards the Boulevards—“two consolations for the + gourmet and for the proprietor in these days of trial for the gourmand, + because the price of truffles is come down.” + </p> + <p> + “Truffles!” gasped De Breze, with watering mouth; “impossible! They are + gone with the age of gold.” + </p> + <p> + “Not so. I speak on the best authority—my laundress; for she attends + the succursale in the Rue de Chateaudun; and if the poor woman, being, + luckily for me, a childless widow, gets a morsel she can spare, she sells + it to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Sells it!” feebly exclaimed Lemercier. “Croesus! you have money then, and + can buy?” + </p> + <p> + “Sells it—on credit! I am to pension her for life if I live to have + money again. Don’t interrupt me. This honest woman goes this morning to + the succursale. I promise myself a delicious bifteck of horse. She gains + the succursale, and the employee informs her that there is nothing left in + his store except—truffles. A glut of those in the market allows him + to offer her a bargain-seven francs la boite. Send me seven francs, De + Breze, and you shall share the banquet.” + </p> + <p> + De Breze shook his head expressively. + </p> + <p> + “But,” resumed Savarin, “though credit exists no more except with my + laundress, upon terms of which the usury is necessarily proportioned to + the risk, yet, as I had the honour before to observe, there is comfort for + the proprietor. The instinct of property is imperishable.” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the house where I lodge,” said Lemercier. “Two soldiers were + billeted there; and during my stay in the ambulance they enter my rooms, + and cart away all of the little furniture left there, except a bed and a + table. Brought before a court-martial, they defend themselves by saying, + ‘The rooms were abandoned.’ The excuse was held valid. They were let off + with a reprimand and a promise to restore what was not already disposed + of. They have restored me another table and four chairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless, they had the instinct of property, though erroneously + developed, otherwise they would not have deemed any excuse for their act + necessary. Now for my instance of the inherent tenacity of that instinct. + A worthy citizen in want of fuel sees a door in a garden wall, and + naturally carries off the door. He is apprehended by a gendarme who sees + the act. ‘Voleur,’ he cries to the gendarme, ‘do you want to rob me of my + property?’ ‘That door your property? I saw you take it away.’ ‘You + confess,’ cries the citizen, triumphantly—‘you confess that it is my + property; for you saw me appropriate it.’ Thus you see how imperishable is + the instinct of property. No sooner does it disappear as yours than it + reappears as mine.” + </p> + <p> + “I would laugh if I could,” said Lemercier, “but such a convulsion would + be fatal. Dieu des dieux, how empty I am!” He reeled as he spoke, and + clung to De Breze for support. De Breze had the reputation of being the + most selfish of men. But at that moment, when a generous man might be + excused for being selfish enough to desire to keep the little that he had + for his own reprieve from starvation, this egotist became superb. + “Friends,” he cried, with enthusiasm, “I have something yet in my pocket; + we will dine, all three of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Dine!” faltered Lemercier. “Dine! I have not dined since I left the + hospital. I breakfasted yesterday—on two mice upon toast. Dainty, + but not nutritious. And I shared them with Fox.” + </p> + <p> + “Fox! Fox lives still, then?” cried De Breze, startled. + </p> + <p> + “In a sort of way he does. But one mouse since yesterday morning is not + much; and he can’t expect that every day.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you take him out?” asked Savarin. “Give him a chance of picking + up a bone somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare not; he would be picked up himself. Dogs are getting very + valuable: they sell for 50 francs apiece. Come, De Breze, where are we to + dine?” + </p> + <p> + “I and Savarin can dine at the London Tavern upon rat pate or jugged cat. + But it would be impertinence to invite a satrap like yourself who has a + whole dog in his larder—a dish of 50 francs—a dish for a king. + Adieu, my dear Frederic. Allons, Savarin.” + </p> + <p> + “I feasted you on better meats than dog when I could afford it,” said + Frederic, plaintively; “and the first time you invite me you retract the + invitation. Be it so. Bon appetit.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” said De Breze, catching Frederic’s arm as he turned to depart. “Of + course I was but jesting. Only another day, when my pockets will be empty, + do think what an excellent thing a roasted dog is, and make up your mind + while Fox has still some little flesh on his bones.” + </p> + <p> + “Flesh!” said Savarin, detaining them. “Look! See how right Voltaire was + in saying, ‘Amusement is the first necessity of civilised man.’ Paris can + do without bread Paris still retains Polichinello.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to the puppet-show, round which a crowd, not of children alone, + but of men-middle-aged and old-were collected; while sous were dropped + into the tin handed round by a squalid boy. + </p> + <p> + “And, mon ami,” whispered De Breze to Lemercier, with the voice of a + tempting fiend, “observe how Punch is without his dog.” + </p> + <p> + It was true. The dog was gone,—its place supplied by a melancholy + emaciated cat. + </p> + <p> + Frederic crawled towards the squalid boy. “What has become of Punch’s + dog?” + </p> + <p> + “We ate him last Sunday. Next Sunday we shall have the cat in a pie,” said + the urchin, with a sensual smack of the lips. + </p> + <p> + “O Fox! Fox!” murmured Frederic, as the three men went slowly down through + the darkening streets—the roar of the Prussian guns heard afar, + while distinct and near rang the laugh of the idlers round the Punch + without a dog. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0108" id="link2HCH0108"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. + </h2> + <p> + While De Breze and his friends were feasting at the cafe Anglais, and + faring better than the host had promised—for the bill of fare + comprised such luxuries as ass, mule, peas, fried potatoes, and champagne + (champagne in some mysterious way was inexhaustible during the time of + famine)—a very different group had assembled in the rooms of Isaura + Cicogna. She and the Venosta had hitherto escaped the extreme destitution + to which many richer persons had been reduced. It is true that Isaura’s + fortune placed in the hands of the absent Louvier, and invested in the new + street that was to have been, brought no return. It was true that in that + street the Venosta, dreaming of cent. per cent., had invested all her + savings. But the Venosta, at the first announcement of war, had insisted + on retaining in hand a small sum from the amount Isaura had received from + her “roman,” that might suffice for current expenses, and with yet more + acute foresight had laid in stores of provisions and fuel immediately + after the probability of a siege became apparent. But even the provident + mind of the Venosta had never foreseen that the siege would endure so + long, or that the prices of all articles of necessity would rise so high. + And meanwhile all resources—money, fuel, provisions—had been + largely drawn upon by the charity and benevolence of Isaura, without much + remonstrance on the part of the Venosta, whose nature was very accessible + to pity. Unfortunately, too, of late money and provisions had failed to + Monsieur and Madame Rameau, their income consisting partly of rents no + longer paid, and the profits of a sleeping partnership in the old shop, + from which custom had departed; so that they came to share the fireside + and meals at the rooms of their son’s fiancee with little scruple, because + utterly unaware that the money retained and the provisions stored by the + Venosta were now nearly exhausted. + </p> + <p> + The patriotic ardour which had first induced the elder Rameau to volunteer + his services as a National Guard had been ere this cooled if not + suppressed, first by the hardships of the duty, and then by the disorderly + conduct of his associates, and their ribald talk and obscene songs. He was + much beyond the age at which he could be registered. His son was, however, + compelled to become his substitute, though from his sickly health and + delicate frame attached to that portion of the National Guard which took + no part in actual engagements, and was supposed to do work on the ramparts + and maintain order in the city. + </p> + <p> + In that duty, so opposed to his tastes and habits, Gustave signalised + himself as one of the loudest declaimers against the imbecility of the + Government, and in the demand for immediate and energetic action, no + matter at what loss of life, on the part of all—except the heroic + force to which he himself was attached. Still, despite his military + labours, Gustave found leisure to contribute to Red journals, and his + contributions paid him tolerably well. To do him justice, his parents + concealed from him the extent of their destitution; they, on their part, + not aware that he was so able to assist them, rather fearing that he + himself had nothing else for support but his scanty pay as a National + Guard. In fact, of late the parents and son had seen little of each other. + M. Rameau, though a Liberal politician, was Liberal as a tradesman, not as + a Red Republican or a Socialist. And, though little heeding his son’s + theories while the Empire secured him from the practical effect of them, + he was now as sincerely frightened at the chance of the Communists + becoming rampant as most of the Parisian tradesmen were. Madame Rameau, on + her side, though she had the dislike to aristocrats which was prevalent + with her class, was a stanch Roman Catholic; and seeing in the disasters + that had befallen her country the punishment justly incurred by its sins, + could not but be shocked by the opinions of Gustave, though she little + knew that he was the author of certain articles in certain journals, in + which these opinions were proclaimed with a vehemence far exceeding that + which they assumed in his conversation. She had spoken to him with warm + anger, mixed with passionate tears, on his irreligious principles; and + from that moment Gustave shunned to give her another opportunity of + insulting his pride and depreciating his wisdom. + </p> + <p> + Partly to avoid meeting his parents, partly because he recoiled almost as + much from the ennui of meeting the other visitors at her apartments—the + Paris ladies associated with her in the ambulance, Raoul de Vandeniar, + whom he especially hated, and the Abbe Vertpre, who had recently come into + intimate friendship with both the Italian ladies—his visits to + Isaura had become exceedingly rare. He made his incessant military duties + the pretext for absenting himself; and now, on this evening, there were + gathered round Isaura’s hearth—on which burned almost the last of + the hoarded fuel—the Venosta, the two Rameaus, the Abbe Vertpre, who + was attached as confessor to the society of which Isaura was so zealous a + member. The old priest and the young poetess had become dear friends. + There is in the nature of a woman (and especially of a woman at once so + gifted and so childlike as Isaura, combining an innate tendency towards + faith with a restless inquisitiveness of intellect, which is always + suggesting query or doubt) a craving for something afar from the sphere of + her sorrow, which can only be obtained through that “bridal of the earth + and sky” which we call religion. And hence, to natures like Isaura’s, that + link between the woman and the priest, which the philosophy of France has + never been able to dissever. + </p> + <p> + “It is growing late,” said Madame Rameau; “I am beginning to feel uneasy. + Our dear Isaura is not yet returned.” + </p> + <p> + “You need be under no apprehension,” said the Abby. “The ladies attached + to the ambulance of which she is so tender and zealous a sister incur no + risk. There are always brave men related to the sick and wounded who see + to the safe return of the women. My poor Raoul visits that ambulance + daily. His kinsman, M. de Rochebriant, is there among the wounded.” + </p> + <p> + “Not seriously hurt, I hope,” said the Venosta; “not disfigured? He was so + handsome; it is only the ugly warrior whom a scar on the face improves.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be alarmed, Signora; the Prussian guns spared his face. His wounds + in themselves were not dangerous, but he lost a good deal of blood. Raoul + and the Christian brothers found him insensible among a heap of the + slain.” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Vandemar seems to have very soon recovered the shock of his poor + brother’s death,” said Madame Rameau. “There is very little heart in an + aristocrat.” + </p> + <p> + The Abbe’s mild brow contracted. “Have more charity, my daughter. It is + because Raoul’s sorrow for his lost brother is so deep and so holy that he + devotes himself more than ever to the service of the Father which is in + heaven. He said, a day or two after the burial, when plans for a monument + to Enguerrand were submitted to him: ‘May my prayer be vouchsafed, and my + life be a memorial of him more acceptable to his gentle spirit than + monuments of bronze or marble. May I be divinely guided and sustained in + my desire to do such good acts as he would have done had he been spared + longer to earth. And whenever tempted to weary, may my conscience whisper, + Betray not the trust left to thee by thy brother, lest thou be not + reunited to him at last.”’ + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, pardon!” murmured Madame Rameau humbly, while the Venosta + burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + The Abbe, though a most sincere and earnest ecclesiastic, was a cheery and + genial man of the world; and, in order to relieve Madame Rameau from the + painful self-reproach he had before excited, he turned the conversation. + “I must beware, however,” he said, with his pleasant laugh, “as to the + company in which I interfere in family questions; and especially in which + I defend my poor Raoul from any charge brought against him. For some good + friend this day sent me a terrible organ of communistic philosophy, in + which we humble priests are very roughly handled, and I myself am + especially singled out by name as a pestilent intermeddler in the affairs + of private households. I am said to set the women against the brave men + who are friends of the people, and am cautioned by very truculent threats + to cease from such villainous practices.” And here, with a dry humour that + turned into ridicule what would otherwise have excited disgust and + indignation among his listeners, he read aloud passages replete with the + sort of false eloquence which was then the vogue among the Red journals. + In these passages, not only the Abbe was pointed out for popular + execration, but Raoul de Vandemar, though not expressly named, was clearly + indicated as a pupil of the Abbe’s, the type of a lay Jesuit. + </p> + <p> + The Venosta alone did not share in the contemptuous laughter with which + the inflated style of these diatribes inspired the Rameaus. Her simple + Italian mind was horror-stricken by language which the Abbe treated with + ridicule. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said M. Rameau, “I guess the author—that firebrand Felix + Pyat.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered the Abbe; “the writer signs himself by the name of a more + learned atheist—Diderot le jeune.” Here the door opened, and Raoul + entered, accompanying Isaura. A change had come over the face of the young + Vandemar since his brother’s death. The lines about the mouth had + deepened, the cheeks had lost their rounded contour and grown somewhat + hollow. But the expression was as serene as ever, perhaps even less + pensively melancholy. His whole aspect was that of a man who has sorrowed, + but been supported in sorrow; perhaps it was more sweet-certainly it was + more lofty. + </p> + <p> + And, as if there were in the atmosphere of his presence something that + communicated the likeness of his own soul to others, since Isaura had been + brought into his companionship, her own lovely face had caught the + expression that prevailed in his—that, too, had become more sweet—that, + too, had become more lofty. + </p> + <p> + The friendship that had grown up between these two young mourners was of a + very rare nature. It had in it no sentiment that could ever warm into the + passion of human love. Indeed, had Isaura’s heart been free to give away, + love for Raoul de Vandemar would have seemed to her a profanation. He was + never more priestly than when he was most tender. And the tenderness of + Raoul towards her was that of some saint-like nature towards the acolyte + whom it attracted upwards. He had once, just before Enguerrand’s death, + spoken to Isaura with a touching candour as to his own predilection for a + monastic life. “The worldly avocations that open useful and honourable + careers for others have no charm for me. I care not for riches nor power, + nor honours nor fame. The austerities of the conventual life have no + terror for me; on the contrary, they have a charm, for with them are + abstraction from earth and meditation on heaven. In earlier years I might, + like other men, have cherished dreams of human love, and felicity in + married life, but for the sort of veneration with which I regarded one to + whom I owe—humanly speaking—whatever of good there may be in + me. Just when first taking my place among the society of young men who + banish from their life all thought of another, I came under the influence + of a woman who taught me to see that holiness was beauty. She gradually + associated me with her acts of benevolence, and from her I learned to love + God too well not to be indulgent to his creatures. I know not whether the + attachment I felt to her could have been inspired in one who had not from + childhood conceived a romance, not perhaps justified by history, for the + ideal images of chivalry. My feeling for her at first was that of the pure + and poetic homage which a young knight was permitted, sans reproche, to + render to some fair queen or chatelaine, whose colours he wore in the + lists, whose spotless repute he would have perilled his life to defend. + But soon even that sentiment, pure as it was, became chastened from all + breath of earthly love, in proportion as the admiration refined itself + into reverence. She has often urged me to marry, but I have no bride on + this earth. I do but want to see Enguerrand happily married, and then I + quit the world for the cloister.” + </p> + <p> + But after Enguerrand’s death, Raoul resigned all idea of the convent. That + evening, as he attended to their homes Isaura and the other ladies at to + the ambulance, he said, in answer to inquiries about his mother, “She is + resigned and calm. I have promised her I will not, while she lives, bury + her other son: I renounce my dreams of the monastery.” + </p> + <p> + Raoul did not remain many minutes at Isaura’s. The Abbe accompanied him on + his way home. “I have a request to make to you,” said the former; “you + know, of course, your distant cousin the Vicomte de Mauleon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Not so well as I ought, for Enguerrand liked him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well enough, at all events, to call on him with a request which I am + commissioned to make, but it might come better from you as a kinsman. I am + a stranger to him, and I know not whether a man of that sort would not + regard as an officious intermeddling any communication made to him by a + priest. The matter, however, is a very simple one. At the convent of + ———- there is a poor nun who is, I fear, dying. She has + an intense desire to see M. de Mauleon, whom she declares to be her uncle, + and her only surviving relative. The laws of the convent are not too + austere to prevent the interview she seeks in such a case. I should add + that I am not acquainted with her previous history. I am not the confessor + of the sisterhood; he, poor man, was badly wounded by a chance ball a few + days ago when attached to an ambulance on the ramparts. As soon as the + surgeon would allow him to see any one, he sent for me, and bade me go to + the nun I speak of—Sister Ursula. It seems that he had informed her + that M. de Mauleon was at Paris, and had promised to ascertain his + address. His wound had prevented his doing so, but he trusted to me to + procure the information. I am well acquainted with the Superieure of the + convent, and I flatter myself that she holds me in esteem. I had therefore + no difficulty to obtain her permission to see this poor nun, which I did + this evening. She implored me for the peace of her soul to lose no time in + finding out M. de Mauleon’s address, and entreating him to visit her. Lest + he should demur, I was to give him the name by which he had known her in + the world—Louise Duval. Of course I obeyed. The address of a man who + has so distinguished himself in this unhappy siege I very easily obtained, + and repaired at once to M. de Mauleon’s apartment. I there learned that he + was from home, and it was uncertain whether he would not spend the night + on the ramparts.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not fail to see him early in the morning,” said Raoul, “and + execute your commission.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0109" id="link2HCH0109"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. + </h2> + <p> + M. Mauleon was somewhat surprised by Raoul’s visit the next morning. He + had no great liking for a kinsman whose politely distant reserve towards + him, in contrast to poor Euguerrand’s genial heartiness, had much wounded + his sensitive self-respect; nor could he comprehend the religious scruples + which forbade Raoul to take a soldier’s share in the battle-field, though + in seeking there to save the lives of others so fearlessly hazarding his + own life. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon,” said Raoul, with his sweet mournful smile, “the unseasonable + hour at which I disturb you. But your duties on the ramparts and mine in + the hospital begin early, and I have promised the Abbe Vertpre to + communicate a message of a nature which perhaps you may deem pressing.” He + proceeded at once to repeat what the Abbe had communicated to him the + night before relative to the illness and the request of the nun. + </p> + <p> + “Louise Duval!” exclaimed the Vicomte, “discovered at last, and a + religieuse! Ah! I now understand why she never sought me out when I + reappeared at Paris. Tidings of that sort do not penetrate the walls of a + convent. I am greatly obliged to you, M. de Vandemar, for the trouble you + have so kindly taken. This poor nun is related to me, and I will at once + obey the summons. But this convent des ———- I am ashamed + to say I know not where it is. A long way off, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to be your guide,” said Raoul; “I should take it as a favour to + be allowed to see a little more of a man whom my lost brother held in such + esteem.” + </p> + <p> + Victor was touched by this conciliatory speech, and in a few minutes more + the two men were on their way to the convent on the other side of the + Seine. + </p> + <p> + Victor commenced the conversation by a warm and heartfelt tribute to + Euguerrand’s character and memory. “I never,” he said, “knew a nature more + rich in the most endearing qualities of youth; so gentle, so + high-spirited, rendering every virtue more attractive, and redeeming such + few faults or foibles as youth so situated and so tempted cannot wholly + escape, with an urbanity not conventional, not artificial, but reflected + from the frankness of a genial temper and the tenderness of a generous + heart. Be comforted for his loss, my kinsman. A brave death was the proper + crown of that beautiful life.” + </p> + <p> + Raoul made no answer, but pressed gratefully the arm now linked within his + own. The companions walked on in silence; Victor’s mind settling on the + visit he was about to make to the niece so long mysteriously lost, and now + so unexpectedly found. Louise had inspired him with a certain interest + from her beauty and force of character, but never with any warm affection. + He felt relieved to find that her life had found its close in the + sanctuary of the convent. He had never divested himself of a certain fear, + inspired by Louvier’s statement that she might live to bring scandal and + disgrace on the name he had with so much difficulty, and after so + lengthened an anguish, partially cleared in his own person. + </p> + <p> + Raoul left De Mauleon at the gate of the convent, and took his way towards + the hospitals where he visited, and the poor whom he relieved. + </p> + <p> + Victor was conducted silently into the convent parloir; and, after waiting + there several minutes, the door opened, and the Superieure entered. As she + advanced towards him, with stately step and solemn visage, De Mauleon + recoiled, and uttered a half-suppressed exclamation that partook both of + amaze and awe. Could it be possible? Was this majestic woman, with the + grave impassible aspect, once the ardent girl whose tender letters he had + cherished through stormy years, and only burned on the night before the + most perilous of his battle-fields? This the one, the sole one, whom in + his younger dreams he had seen as his destined wife? It was so—it + was. Doubt vanished when he heard her voice; and yet how different every + tone, every accent, from those of the low, soft, thrilling music that had + breathed in the voice of old! + </p> + <p> + “M. de Mauleon,” said the Superieure, calmly, “I grieve to sadden you by + very mournful intelligence. Yesterday evening, when the Abbe undertook to + convey to you the request of our Sister Ursula, although she was beyond + mortal hope of recovery—as otherwise you will conceive that I could + not have relaxed the rules of this house so as to sanction your visit—there + was no apprehension of immediate danger. It was believed that her + sufferings would be prolonged for some days. I saw her late last night + before retiring to my cell, and she seemed even stronger than she had been + for the last week. A sister remained at watch in her cell. Towards morning + she fell into apparently quiet sleep, and in that sleep she passed away.” + The Superieure here crossed herself, and murmured pious words in Latin. + “Dead! my poor niece!” said Victor, feelingly, roused from his stun at the + first sight of the Superieure by her measured tones, and the melancholy + information she so composedly conveyed to him. “I cannot, then, even learn + why she so wished to see me once more,—or what she might have + requested at my hands!” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, M. le Vicomte. Such sorrowful consolation I have resolved to + afford you, not without scruples of conscience, but not without sanction + of the excellent Abbe Vertpre, whom I summoned early this morning to + decide my duties in the sacred office I hold. As soon as Sister Ursula + heard of your return to Paris, she obtained my permission to address to + you a letter, subjected, when finished, to my perusal and sanction. She + felt that she had much on her mind which her feeble state might forbid her + to make known to you in conversation with ‘sufficient fulness; and as she + could only have seen you in presence of one of the sisters she imagined + that there would also be less restraint in a written communication. In + fine, her request was that, when you called, I might first place this + letter in your hands, and allow you time to read it, before being admitted + to her presence; when a few words conveying your promise to attend to the + wishes with which you would then be acquainted, would suffice for an + interview in her exhausted condition. Do I make myself understood?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, Madame,—and the letter?” + </p> + <p> + “She had concluded last evening; and when I took leave of her later in the + night, she placed it in my hands for approval. M. le Vicomte, it pains me + to say that there is much in the tone of that letter which I grieve for + and condemn. And it was my intention to point this out to our sister at + morning, and tell her that passages must be altered before I could give to + you the letter. Her sudden decease deprived me of this opportunity. I + could not, of course, alter or erase a line—a word. My only option + was to suppress the letter altogether, or give it you intact. The Abbe + thinks that, on the whole, my duty does not forbid the dictate of my own + impulse—my own feelings; and I now place this letter in your hands.” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon took a packet, unsealed, from the thin white fingers of the + Superieure; and as he bent to receive it, lifted towards her eyes eloquent + with sorrowful, humble pathos, in which it was impossible for the heart of + a woman who had loved not to see a reference to the past which the lips + did not dare to utter. + </p> + <p> + A faint, scarce-perceptible blush stole over the marble cheek of the nun. + But, with an exquisite delicacy, in which survived the woman while reigned + the nun, she replied to the appeal. + </p> + <p> + “M. Victor de Mauleon, before, having thus met, we part for ever, permit a + poor religieuse to say with what joy—a joy rendered happier because + it was tearful—I have learned through the Abbe Vertpre that the + honour which, as between man and man, no one who had once known you could + ever doubt, you have lived to vindicate from calumny.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah; you have heard that—at last, at last!” + </p> + <p> + “I repeat—of the honour thus deferred, I never doubted.” The + Superieure hurried on. “Greater joy it has been to me to hear from the + same venerable source that, while found bravest among the defenders of + your country, you are clear from all alliance with the assailants of your + God. Continue so, continue so, Victor de Mauleon.” + </p> + <p> + She retreated to the door, and then turned towards him with a look in + which all the marble had melted away, adding, with words more formally + nunlike, yet unmistakably womanlike, than those which had gone before, + “That to the last you may be true to God, is a prayer never by me + omitted.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke, and vanished. + </p> + <p> + In a kind of dim and dreamlike bewilderment, Victor de Mauleon found + himself without the walls of the convent. Mechanically, as a man does when + the routine of his life is presented to him, from the first Minister of + State to the poor clown at a suburban theatre, doomed to appear at their + posts, to prose on a Beer Bill, or grin through a horse-collar, though + their hearts are bleeding at every pore with some household or secret + affliction,—mechanically De Mauldon went his way towards the + ramparts, at a section of which he daily drilled his raw recruits. + Proverbial for his severity towards those who offended, for the cordiality + of his praise of those who pleased his soldierly judgment, no change of + his demeanour was visible that morning, save that he might be somewhat + milder to the one, somewhat less hearty to the other. This routine duty + done, he passed slowly towards a more deserted because a more exposed part + of the defences, and seated himself on the frozen sward alone. The cannon + thundered around him. He heard unconsciously: from time to time an obus + hissed and splintered close at his feet;—he saw with abstracted eye. + His soul was with the past; and, brooding over all that in the past lay + buried there, came over him a conviction of the vanity of the human + earth-bounded objects for which we burn or freeze, far more absolute than + had grown out of the worldly cynicism connected with his worldly ambition. + The sight of that face, associated with the one pure romance of his + reckless youth, the face of one so estranged, so serenely aloft from all + memories of youth, of romance, of passion, smote him in the midst of the + new hopes of the new career, as the look on the skull of the woman he had + so loved and so mourned, when disburied from her grave, smote the + brilliant noble who became the stern reformer of La Trappe. And while thus + gloomily meditating, the letter of the poor Louise Duval was forgotten. + She whose existence had so troubled, and crossed, and partly marred the + lives of others,—she, scarcely dead, and already forgotten by her + nearest kin. Well—had she not forgotten, put wholly out of her mind, + all that was due to those much nearer to her than is an uncle to a niece? + </p> + <p> + The short, bitter, sunless day was advancing towards its decline before + Victor roused himself with a quick impatient start from his reverie, and + took forth the letter from the dead nun. + </p> + <p> + It began with expressions of gratitude, of joy at the thought that she + should see him again before she died, thank him for his past kindness, and + receive, she trusted, his assurance that he would attend to her last + remorseful injunctions. I pass over much that followed in the explanation + of events in her life sufficiently known to the reader. She stated, as the + strongest reason why she had refused the hand of Louvier, her knowledge + that she should in due time become a mother—a fact concealed from + Victor, secure that he would then urge her not to annul her informal + marriage, but rather insist on the ceremonies that would render it valid. + She touched briefly on her confidential intimacy with Madame Marigny, the + exchange of name and papers, her confinement in the neighbourhood of Aix, + the child left to the care of the nurse, the journey to Munich to find the + false Louise Duval was no more. The documents obtained through the agency + of her easy-tempered kinsman, the late Marquis de Rochebriant, and her + subsequent domestication in the house of the von Rudesheims,—all + this it is needless to do more here than briefly recapitulate. The letter + then went on: “While thus kindly treated by the family with whom nominally + a governess, I was on the terms of a friend with Signor Ludovico Cicogna, + an Italian of noble birth. He was the only man I ever cared for. I loved + him with frail human passion. I could not tell him, my true history. I + could not tell him that I had a child; such intelligence would have made + him renounce me at once. He had a daughter, still but an infant, by a + former marriage, then brought up in France. He wished to take her to his + house, and his second wife to supply the place of her mother. What was I + to do with the child I had left near Aix? While doubtful and distracted, I + read an advertisement in the journals to the effect that a French lady, + then staying in Coblentz, wished to adopt a female child not exceeding the + age of six: the child to be wholly resigned to her by the parents, she + undertaking to rear and provide for it as her own. I resolved to go to + Coblentz at once. I did so. I saw this lady. She seemed in affluent + circumstances, yet young, but a confirmed invalid, confined the greater + part of the day to her sofa by some malady of the spine. She told me very + frankly her story. She had been a professional dancer on the stage, had + married respectably, quitted the stage, become a widow, and shortly + afterwards been seized with the complaint that would probably for life + keep her a secluded prisoner in her room. Thus afflicted, and without tie, + interest, or object in the world, she conceived the idea of adopting a + child that she might bring up to tend and cherish her as a daughter. In + this, the imperative condition was that the child should never be sought + by the parents. She was pleased by my manner and appearance: she did not + wish her adopted daughter to be the child of peasants. She asked me for no + references,—made no inquiries. She said cordially that she wished + for no knowledge that, through any indiscretion of her own, communicated + to the child might lead her to seek the discovery of her real parents. In + fine, I left Coblentz on the understanding that I was to bring the infant, + and if it pleased Madame Surville, the agreement was concluded. + </p> + <p> + “I then repaired to Aix. I saw the child. Alas! unnatural mother that I + was, the sight only more vividly brought before me the sense of my own + perilous position. Yet the child was lovely! a likeness of myself, but + lovelier far, for it was a pure, innocent, gentle loveliness. And they + told her to call me ‘Maman.’ Oh, did I not relent when I heard that name? + No; it jarred on my ear as a word of reproach and shame. In walking with + the infant towards the railway station, imagine my dismay when suddenly I + met the man who had been taught to believe me dead. I soon discovered that + his dismay was equal to my own,—that I had nothing to fear from his + desire to claim me. It did occur to me for a moment to resign his child to + him. But when he shrank reluctantly from a half suggestion to that effect, + my pride was wounded, my conscience absolved. And, after all, it might be + unsafe to my future to leave with him any motive for tracing me. I left + him hastily. I have never seen nor heard of him more. I took the child to + Coblentz. Madame Surville was charmed with its prettiness and prattle,—charmed + still more when I rebuked the poor infant for calling me ‘Maman,’ and + said, ‘Thy real mother is here.’ Freed from my trouble, I returned to the + kind German roof I had quitted, and shortly after became the wife of + Ludovico Cicogna. + </p> + <p> + “My punishment soon began. His was a light, fickle, pleasure-hunting + nature. He soon grew weary of me. My very love made me unamiable to him. I + became irritable, jealous, exacting. His daughter, who now came to live + with us, was another subject of discord. I knew that he loved her better + than me. I became a harsh step-mother; and Ludovico’s reproaches, + vehemently made, nursed all my angriest passions. But a son of this new + marriage was born to myself. My pretty Luigi! how my heart became wrapt up + in him! Nursing him, I forgot resentment against his father. Well, poor + Cicogna fell ill and died. I mourned him sincerely; but my boy was left. + Poverty then fell on me,—poverty extreme. Cicogna’s sole income was + derived from a post in the Austrian dominion in Italy, and ceased with it. + He received a small pension in compensation; that died with him. + </p> + <p> + “At this time, an Englishman, with whom Ludovico had made acquaintance in + Venice, and who visited often at our house in Verona, offered me his hand. + He had taken an extraordinary liking to Isaura, Cicogna’s daughter by his + first marriage. But I think his proposal was dictated partly by compassion + for me, and more by affection for her. For the sake of my boy Luigi I + married him. He was a good man, of retired learned habits with which I had + no sympathy. His companionship overwhelmed me with ennui. But I bore it + patiently for Luigi’s sake. God saw that my heart was as much as ever + estranged from Him, and He took away my all on earth—my boy. Then in + my desolation I turned to our Holy Church for comfort. I found a friend in + the priest, my confessor. I was startled to learn from him how guilty I + had been—was still. Pushing to an extreme the doctrines of the + Church, he would not allow that my first marriage, though null by law, was + void in the eyes of Heaven. Was not the death of the child I so cherished + a penalty due to my sin towards the child I had abandoned? + </p> + <p> + “These thoughts pressed on me night and day. With the consent and approval + of the good priest, I determined to quit the roof of M. Selby, and to + devote myself to the discovery of my forsaken Julie. + </p> + <p> + “I had a painful interview with M. Selby. I announced my intention to + separate from him. I alleged as a reason my conscientious repugnance to + live with a professed heretic—an enemy to our Holy Church. When M. + Selby found that he could not shake my resolution, he lent himself to it + with the forbearance and generosity which he had always exhibited. On our + marriage he had settled on me five thousand pounds, to be absolutely mine + in the event of his death. He now proposed to concede to me the interest + on that capital during his life, and he undertook the charge of my + step-daughter Isaura, and secured to her all the rest he had to leave; + such landed property as he possessed in England passing to a distant + relative. + </p> + <p> + “So we parted, not with hostility—tears were shed on both sides. I + set out for Coblentz. Madame Surville had long since quitted that town, + devoting some years to the round of various mineral spas in vain hope of + cure. Not without some difficulty I traced her to her last residence in + the neighbourhood of Paris, but she was then no more—her death + accelerated by the shock occasioned by the loss of her whole fortune, + which she had been induced to place in one of the numerous fraudulent + companies by which so many have been ruined. Julie, who was with her at + the time of her death, had disappeared shortly after it—none could + tell me whither; but from such hints as I could gather, the poor child, + thus left destitute, had been betrayed into sinful courses. + </p> + <p> + “Probably I might yet by searching inquiry have found her out; you will + say it was my duty at least to institute such inquiry. No doubt; I now + remorsefully feel that it was. I did not think so at the time. The Italian + priest had given me a few letters of introduction to French ladies with + whom, when they had sojourned at Florence, he had made acquaintance. These + ladies were very strict devotees, formal observers of those decorums by + which devotion proclaims itself to the world. They had received me not + only with kindness but with marked respect. They chose to exalt into the + noblest self-sacrifice the act of my leaving M. Selby’s house. + Exaggerating the simple cause assigned to it in the priest’s letter, they + represented me as quitting a luxurious home and an idolising husband + rather than continue intimate intercourse with the enemy of my religion. + This new sort of flattery intoxicated me with its fumes. I recoiled from + the thought of shattering the pedestal to which I had found myself + elevated. What if I should discover my daughter in one from the touch of + whose robe these holy women would recoil as from the rags of a leper! No; + it would be impossible for me to own her—impossible for me to give + her the shelter of my roof. Nay, if discovered to hold any commune with + such an outcast, no explanation, no excuse short of the actual truth, + would avail with these austere judges of human error. And the actual truth + would be yet deeper disgrace. I reasoned away my conscience. If I looked + for example in the circles in which I had obtained reverential place, I + could find no instance in which a girl who had fallen from virtue was not + repudiated by her nearest relatives. Nay, when I thought of my own mother, + had not her father refused to see her, to acknowledge her child, from no + other offence than that of a misalliance which wounded the family pride? + That pride, alas! was in my blood—my sole inheritance from the + family I sprang from. + </p> + <p> + “Thus it went on, till I had grave symptoms of a disease which rendered + the duration of my life uncertain. My conscience awoke and tortured me. I + resolved to take the veil. Vanity and pride again! My resolution was + applauded by those whose opinion had so swayed my mind and my conduct. + Before I retired into the convent from which I write, I made legal + provision as to the bulk of the fortune which, by the death of M. Selby, + has become absolutely at my disposal. One thousand pounds amply sufficed + for dotation to the convent: the other four thousand pounds are given in + trust to the eminent notary, M. Nadaud, Rue ———-. On + applying to him, you will find that the sum, with the accumulated + interest, is bequeathed to you,—a tribute of gratitude for the + assistance you afforded me in the time of your own need, and the kindness + with which you acknowledged our relationship and commiserated my + misfortunes. + </p> + <p> + “But oh, my uncle, find out—a man can do so with a facility not + accorded to a woman—what has become of this poor Julie, and devote + what you may deem right and just of the sum thus bequeathed to place her + above want and temptation. In doing so, I know you will respect my name: I + would not have it dishonour you, indeed. + </p> + <p> + “I have been employed in writing this long letter since the day I heard + you were in Paris. It has exhausted the feeble remnants of my strength. It + will be given to you before the interview I at once dread and long for, + and in that interview you will not rebuke me. Will you, my kind uncle? No, + you will only soothe and pity! + </p> + <p> + “Would that I were worthy to pray for others, that I might add, ‘May the + Saints have you in their keeping and lead you to faith in the Holy Church, + which has power to absolve from sins those who repent as I do.’” + </p> + <p> + The letter dropped from Victor’s hand. He took it up, smoothed it + mechanically, and with a dim, abstracted, be wildered, pitiful wonder. + Well might the Superieure have hesitated to allow confessions, betraying a + mind so little regulated by genuine religious faith, to pass into other + hands. Evidently it was the paramount duty of rescuing from want or from + sin the writer’s forsaken child, that had overborne all other + considerations in the mind of the Woman and the Priest she consulted. + </p> + <p> + Throughout that letter, what a strange perversion of understanding! what a + half-unconscious confusion of wrong and right!—the duty marked out + so obvious and so neglected; even the religious sentiment awakened by the + conscience so dividing itself from the moral instinct! the dread of being + thought less religious by obscure comparative strangers stronger than the + moral obligation to discover and reclaim the child for whose errors, if + she had erred, the mother who so selfishly forsook her was alone + responsible! even at the last, at the approach of death, the love for a + name she had never made a self-sacrifice to preserve unstained; and that + concluding exhortation,—that reliance on a repentance in which there + was so qualified a reparation! + </p> + <p> + More would Victor de Mauldon have wondered had he known those points of + similarity in character, and in the nature of their final bequests, + between Louise Duval and the husband she had deserted. By one of those + singular coincidences which, if this work be judged by the ordinary rules + presented to the ordinary novel-reader, a critic would not unjustly impute + to defective invention in the author, the provision for this child, + deprived of its natural parents during their lives, is left to the + discretion and honour of trustees, accompanied on the part of the + consecrated Louise and “the blameless King,” with the injunction of + respect to their worldly reputations—two parents so opposite in + condition, in creed, in disposition, yet assimilating in that point of + individual character in which it touches the wide vague circle of human + opinion. For this, indeed, the excuses of Richard King are strong, + inasmuch as the secrecy he sought was for the sake, not of his own memory, + but that of her whom the world knew only as his honoured wife. The conduct + of Louise admits no such excuse; she dies as she had lived; an Egotist. + But, whatever the motives of the parents, what is the fate of the deserted + child? What revenge does the worldly opinion, which the parents would + escape for themselves, inflict on the innocent infant to whom the bulk of + their worldly possessions is to be clandestinely conveyed? Would all the + gold of Ophir be compensation enough for her? + </p> + <p> + Slowly De Mauleon roused himself, and turned from the solitary place where + he had been seated to a more crowded part of the ramparts. He passed a + group of young Moblots, with flowers wreathed round their gun-barrels. + “If,” said one of them gaily, “Paris wants bread, it never wants flowers.” + His companions laughed merrily, and burst out into a scurrile song in + ridicule of St. Trochu. Just then an obus fell a few yards before the + group. The sound only for a moment drowned the song, but the splinters + struck a man in a coarse, ragged dress, who had stopped to listen to the + singers. At his sharp cry, two men hastened to his side: one was Victor de + Mauleon; the other was a surgeon, who quitted another group of idlers—National + Guards—attracted by the shriek that summoned his professional aid. + The poor man was terribly wounded. The surgeon, glancing at De Mauleon, + shrugged his shoulders, and muttered, “Past help!” The sufferer turned his + haggard eyes on the Vicomte, and gasped out, “M. de Mauleon?” + </p> + <p> + “That is my name,” answered Victor, surprised, and not immediately + recognising the sufferer. + </p> + <p> + “Hist, Jean Lebeau!—look at me: you recollect me now,—Mart le + Roux, concierge to the Secret Council. Ay, I found out who you were long + ago—followed you home from the last meeting you broke up. But I did + not betray you, or you would have been murdered long since. Beware of the + old set—beware of—of—” Here his voice broke off into + shrill exclamations of pain. Curbing his last agonies with a powerful + effort, he faltered forth, “You owe me a service—see to the little + one at home—she is starving.” The death-rale came on; in a few + moments he was no more. + </p> + <p> + Victor gave orders for the removal of the corpse, and hurried away. The + surgeon, who had changed countenance when he overheard the name in which + the dying man had addressed De Mauleon, gazed silently after De Mauleon’s + retreating form, and then, also quitting the dead, rejoined the group he + had quitted. Some of those who composed it acquired evil renown later in + the war of the Communists, and came to disastrous ends: among that number + the Pole Loubinsky and other members of the Secret Council. The Italian + Raselli was there too, but, subtler than his French confreres, he divined + the fate of the Communists, and glided from it—safe now in his + native land, destined there, no doubt, to the funereal honours and lasting + renown which Italy bestows on the dust of her sons who have advocated + assassination out of love for the human race. + </p> + <p> + Amid this group, too, was a National Guard, strayed from his proper post, + and stretched on the frozen ground; and, early though the hour, in the + profound sleep of intoxication. + </p> + <p> + “So,” said Loubinsky, “you have found your errand in vain, Citizen le Noy; + another victim to the imbecility of our generals.” + </p> + <p> + “And partly one of us,” replied the Medecin des Pauvres. “You remember + poor le Roux, who kept the old baraque where the Council of Ten used to + meet? Yonder he lies.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk of the Council of Ten. What fools and dupes we were made by + that vieux gredin, Jean Lebeau! How I wish I could meet him again!” + </p> + <p> + Gaspard le Noy smiled sarcastically. “So much the worse for you, if you + did. A muscular and a ruthless fellow is that Jean Lebeau!” Therewith he + turned to the drunken sleeper and woke him up with a shake and a kick. + “Armand—Armand Monnier, I say, rise, rub your eyes. What if you are + called to your post? What if you are shamed as a deserter and a coward?” + </p> + <p> + Armand turned, rose with an effort from the recumbent to the sitting + posture, and stared dizzily in the face of the Medecin des Pauvres. + </p> + <p> + “I was dreaming that I had caught by the throat,” said Armand, wildly, + “the aristo who shot my brother; and lo, there were two men, Victor de + Mauleon and Jean Lebeau.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! there is something in dreams,” said the surgeon. “Once in a thousand + times a dream comes true.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0110" id="link2HCH0110"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. + </h2> + <p> + The time now came when all provision of food or of fuel failed the modest + household of Isaura; and there was not only herself and the Venosta to + feed and warm—there were the servants whom they had brought from + Italy, and had not the heart now to dismiss to the ‘certainty of famine. + True, one of the three, the man, had returned to his native land before + the commencement of the siege; but the two women had remained. They + supported themselves now as they could on the meagre rations accorded by + the Government. Still Isaura attended the ambulance to which she was + attached. From the ladies associated with her she could readily have + obtained ample supplies: but they had no conception of her real state of + destitution; and there was a false pride generally prevalent among the + respectable classes, which Isaura shared, that concealed distress lest + alms should be proffered. + </p> + <p> + The destitution of the household had been carefully concealed from the + parents of Gustave Rameau, until, one day, Madame Rameau, entering at the + hour at which she generally, and her husband sometimes, came for a place + by the fireside and a seat at the board, found on the one only ashes, on + the other a ration of the black nauseous compound which had become the + substitute for bread. + </p> + <p> + Isaura was absent on her duties at the ambulance hospital,—purposely + absent, for she shrank from the bitter task of making clear to the friends + of her betrothed the impossibility of continuing the aid to their support + which their son had neglected to contribute; and still more from the + comment which she knew they would make on his conduct, in absenting + himself so wholly of late, and in the time of such trial and pressure, + both from them and from herself. Truly, she rejoiced at that absence so + far as it affected herself. Every hour of the day she silently asked her + conscience whether she were not now absolved from a promise won from her + only by an assurance that she had power to influence for good the life + that now voluntarily separated itself from her own. As she had never loved + Gustave, so she felt no resentment at the indifference his conduct + manifested. On the contrary, she hailed it as a sign that the annulment of + their betrothal would be as welcome to him as to herself. And if so, she + could restore to him the sort of compassionate friendship she had learned + to cherish in the hour of his illness and repentance. She had resolved to + seize the first opportunity he afforded to her of speaking to him with + frank and truthful plainness. But, meanwhile, her gentle nature recoiled + from the confession of her resolve to appeal to Gustave himself for the + rupture of their engagement. + </p> + <p> + Thus the Venosta alone received Madame Rameau; and while that lady was + still gazing round her with an emotion too deep for immediate utterance, + her husband entered with an expression of face new to him—the look + of a man who has been stung to anger, and who has braced his mind to some + stern determination. This altered countenance of the good-tempered + bourgeois was not, however, noticed by the two women. The Venosta did not + even raise her eyes to it, as with humbled accents she said, “Pardon, dear + Monsieur, pardon, Madame, our want of hospitality; it is not our hearts + that fail. We kept our state from you as long as we could. Now it speaks + for itself; ‘la fame e una bretta festin.’” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Madame! and oh, my poor Isaura!” cried Madame Rameau, bursting into + tears. “So we have been all this time a burden on you,—aided to + bring such want on you! How can we ever be forgiven? And my son—to + leave us thus,—not even to tell us where to find him!” + </p> + <p> + “Do not degrade us, my wife,” said M. Rameau, with unexpected dignity, “by + a word to imply that we would stoop to sue for support to our ungrateful + child. No, we will not starve! I am strong enough still to find food for + you. I will apply for restoration to the National Guard. They have + augmented the pay to married men; it is now nearly two francs and a half + a-day to a pere de famille, and on that pay we all can at least live. + Courage, my wife! I will go at once for employment. Many men older than I + am are at watch on the ramparts, and will march to the battle on the next + sortie.” + </p> + <p> + “It shall not be so,” exclaimed Madame Rameau, vehemently, and winding her + arm round her husband’s neck. “I loved my son better than thee once—more + shame to me. Now, I would rather lose twenty such sons than peril thy + life, my Jacques! Madame,” she continued, turning to the Venosta, “thou + wert wiser than I. Thou wert ever opposed to the union between thy young + friend and my son. I felt sore with thee for it—a mother is so + selfish when she puts herself in the place of her child. I thought that + only through marriage with one so pure, so noble, so holy, Gustave could + be saved from sin and evil. I am deceived. A man so heartless to his + parents, so neglectful of his affianced, is not to be redeemed. I brought + about this betrothal: tell Isaura that I release her from it. I have + watched her closely since she was entrapped into it. I know how miserable + the thought of it has made her, though, in her sublime devotion to her + plighted word, she sought to conceal from me the real state of her heart. + If the betrothal bring such sorrow, what would the union do! Tell her this + from me. Come, Jacques, come away!” + </p> + <p> + “Stay, Madame!” exclaimed the Venosta, her excitable nature much affected + by this honest outburst of feeling. “It is true that I did oppose, so far + as I could, my poor Piccola’s engagement with M. Gustave. But I dare not + do your bidding. Isaura would not listen to me. And let us be just! M. + Gustave may be able satisfactorily to explain his seeming indifference and + neglect. His health is always very delicate; perhaps he may be again + dangerously ill. He serves in the National Guard; perhaps—” she + paused, but the mother conjectured the word left unsaid, and, clasping her + hands, cried out in anguish, “Perhaps dead!—and we have wronged him! + Oh, Jacques, Jacques! how shall we find out-how discover our boy? Who can + tell us where to search? at the hospital—or in the cemeteries?” At + the last word she dropped into a seat, and her whole frame shook with her + sobs. + </p> + <p> + Jacques approached her tenderly, and kneeling by her side, said: + </p> + <p> + “No, m’amie, comfort thyself, if it be indeed comfort to learn that thy + son is alive and well. For my part, I know not if I would not rather he + had died in his innocent childhood. I have seen him—spoken to him. I + know where he is to be found.” + </p> + <p> + “You do, and concealed it from me? Oh, Jacques!” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, wife, and you, too, Madame; for what I have to say should + be made known to Mademoiselle Cicogna. Some time since, on the night of + the famous sortie, when at my post on the ramparts, I was told that + Gustave had joined himself to the most violent of the Red Republicans, and + had uttered at the Club de la Vengeance sentiments, of which I will only + say that I, his father and a Frenchman, hung my head with shame when they + were repeated to me. I resolved to go to the club myself. I did. I heard + him speak—heard him denounce Christianity as the instrument of + tyrants.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” cried the two women, with a simultaneous shudder. + </p> + <p> + “When the assembly broke up, I waylaid him at the door. I spoke to him + seriously. I told him what anguish such announcement of blasphemous + opinions would inflict on his pious mother. I told him I should deem it my + duty to inform Mademoiselle Cicogna, and warn her against the union on + which he had told us his heart was bent. He appeared sincerely moved by + what I said; implored me to keep silence towards his mother and his + betrothed; and promised, on that condition, to relinquish at once what he + called ‘his career as an orator,’ and appear no more at such execrable + clubs. On this understanding I held my tongue. Why, with such other causes + of grief and suffering, should I tell thee, poor wife, of a sin that I + hoped thy son had repented and would not repeat? And Gustave kept his + word. He has never, so far as I know, attended, at least spoken, at the + Red clubs since that evening.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank heaven so far,” murmured Madame Rameau. + </p> + <p> + “So far, yes; but hear more. A little time after I thus met him he changed + his lodging, and did not confide to us his new address, giving as a reason + to us that he wished to avoid a clue to his discovery by that pertinacious + Mademoiselle Julie.” + </p> + <p> + Rameau had here sunk his voice into a whisper, intended only for his wife, + but the ear of the Venosta was fine enough to catch the sound, and she + repeated, “Mademoiselle Julie! Santa Maria! who is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said M. Rameau, with a shrug of his shoulders, and with true + Parisian sangfroid as to such matters of morality, “a trifle not worth + considering. Of course, a good-looking garcon like Gustave must have his + little affairs of the heart before he settles for life. Unluckily, amongst + those of Gustave was one with a violent-tempered girl who persecuted him + when he left her, and he naturally wished to avoid all chance of a silly + scandal, if only out of respect to the dignity of his fiancee. But I found + that was not the true motive, or at least the only one, for concealment. + Prepare yourself, my poor wife. Thou hast heard of these terrible journals + which the decheance has let loose upon us. Our unhappy boy is the + principal writer of one of the worst of them, under the name of ‘Diderot + le Jeune.”’ + </p> + <p> + “What!” cried the Venosta. “That monster! The good Abbe Vertpre was + telling us of the writings with that name attached to them. The Abbe + himself is denounced by name as one of those meddling priests who are to + be constrained to serve as soldiers or pointed out to the vengeance of the + canaille. Isaura’s fiancee a blasphemer!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, hush!” said Madame Rameau, rising, very pale but self-collected. + “How do you know this, Jacques?” + </p> + <p> + “From the lips of Gustave himself. I heard first of it yesterday from one + of the young reprobates with whom he used to be familiar, and who even + complimented me on the rising fame of my son, and praised the eloquence of + his article that day. But I would not believe him. I bought the journal—here + it is; saw the name and address of the printer—went this morning to + the office—was there told that ‘Diderot le Jeune’ was within + revising the press—stationed myself by the street door, and when + Gustave came out I seized his arm, and asked him to say Yes or No if he + was the author of this infamous article,—this, which I now hold in + my hand. He owned the authorship with pride; talked wildly of the great + man he was—of the great things he was to do; said that, in hitherto + concealing his true name, he had done all he could to defer to the bigoted + prejudices of his parents and his fiancee; and that if genius, like fire, + would find its way out, he could not help it; that a time was rapidly + coming when his opinions would be uppermost; that since October the + Communists were gaining ascendancy, and only waited the end of the siege + to put down the present Government, and with it all hypocrisies and shams, + religious or social. My wife, he was rude to me, insulting! but he had + been drinking—that made him incautious: and he continued to walk by + my side towards his own lodging, on reaching which he ironically invited + me to enter, saying, ‘I should meet there men who would soon argue me out + of my obsolete notions.’ You may go to him, wife, now, if you please. I + will not, nor will I take from him a crust of bread. I came hither, + determined to tell the young lady all this, if I found her at home. I + should be a dishonoured man if I suffered her to be cheated into misery. + </p> + <p> + “There, Madame Venosta, there! Take that journal, show it to Mademoiselle; + and report to her all I have said.” + </p> + <p> + M. Rameau, habitually the mildest of men, had, in talking, worked himself + up into positive fury. + </p> + <p> + His wife, calmer but more deeply affected, made a piteous sign to the + Venosta not to say more; and without other salutation or adieu took her + husband’s arm, and led him from the house. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0111" id="link2HCH0111"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. + </h2> + <p> + Obtaining from her husband Gustave’s address, Madame Rameau hastened to + her son’s apartment alone through the darkling streets. The house in which + he lodged was in a different quarter from that in which Isaura had visited + him. Then, the street selected was still in the centre of the beau monde—now, + it was within the precincts of that section of the many-faced capital in + which the beau monde was held in detestation or scorn; still the house had + certain pretensions, boasting a courtyard and a porter’s lodge. Madame + Rameau, instructed to mount au second, found the door ajar, and, entering, + perceived on the table of the little salon the remains of a feast which, + however untempting it might have been in happier times, contrasted + strongly with the meagre fare of which Gustave’s parents had deemed + themselves fortunate to partake at the board of his betrothed; remnants of + those viands which offered to the inquisitive epicure an experiment in + food much too costly for the popular stomach—dainty morsels of + elephant, hippopotamus, and wolf, interspersed with half-emptied bottles + of varied and high-priced wines. Passing these evidences of unseasonable + extravagance with a mute sentiment of anger and disgust, Madame Rameau + penetrated into a small cabinet, the door of which was also ajar, and saw + her son stretched on his bed half dressed, breathing heavily in the sleep + which follows intoxication. She did not attempt to disturb him. She placed + herself quietly by his side, gazing mournfully on the face which she had + once so proudly contemplated, now haggard and faded,—still strangely + beautiful, though it was the beauty of ruin. + </p> + <p> + From time to time he stirred uneasily, and muttered broken words, in which + fragments of his own delicately-worded verse were incoherently mixed up + with ribald slang, addressed to imaginary companions. In his dreams he was + evidently living over again his late revel, with episodical diversions + into the poet-world, of which he was rather a vagrant nomad than a settled + cultivator. Then she would silently bathe his feverish temples with the + perfumed water she found on his dressing-table. And so she watched till, + in the middle of the night, he woke up, and recovered the possession of + his reason with a quickness that surprised Madame Rameau. He was, indeed, + one of those men in whom excess of drink, when slept off, is succeeded by + extreme mildness, the effect of nervous exhaustion, and by a dejected + repentance, which, to his mother, seemed a propitious lucidity of the + moral sense. + </p> + <p> + Certainly on seeing her he threw himself on her breast, and began to shed + tears. Madame Rameau had not the heart to reproach him sternly. But by + gentle degrees she made him comprehend the pain he had given to his + father, and the destitution in which he had deserted his parents and his + affianced. In his present mood Gustave was deeply affected by these + representations. He excused himself feebly by dwelling on the excitement + of the times, the preoccupation of his mind, the example of his + companions; but with his excuses he mingled passionate expressions of + remorse, and before daybreak mother and son were completely reconciled. + Then he fell into a tranquil sleep; and Madame Rameau, quite worn out, + slept also in the chair beside him, her arm around his neck. He awoke + before she did at a late hour in the morning; and stealing from her arm, + went to his escritoire, and took forth what money he found there, half of + which he poured into her lap, kissing her till she awoke. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” he said, “henceforth I will work for thee and my father. Take + this trifle now; the rest I reserve for Isaura.” + </p> + <p> + “Joy! I have found my boy again. But Isaura, I fear that she will not take + thy money, and all thought of her must also be abandoned.” + </p> + <p> + Gustave had already turned to his looking-glass, and was arranging with + care his dark ringlets: his personal vanity—his remorse appeased by + this pecuniary oblation—had revived. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said gaily, “I don’t think I shall abandon her; and it is not + likely, when she sees and hears me, that she can wish to abandon me! Now + let us breakfast, and then I will go at once to her.” + </p> + <p> + In the mean while, Isaura, on her return to her apartment at the wintry + nightfall, found a cart stationed at the door, and the Venosta on the + threshold, superintending the removal of various articles of furniture—indeed, + all such articles as were not absolutely required. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Piccola!” she said, with an attempt at cheerfulness, “I did not + expect thee back so soon. Hush! I have made a famous bargain. I have found + a broker to buy these things which we don’t want just at present, and can + replace by new and prettier things when the siege is over and we get our + money. The broker pays down on the nail and thou wilt not go to bed + without supper. There are no ills which are not more supportable after + food.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura smiled faintly, kissed the Venosta’s cheek, and ascended with weary + steps to the sitting-room. There she seated herself quietly, looking with + abstracted eyes round the bare dismantled space by the light of the single + candle. + </p> + <p> + When the Venosta re-entered, she was followed by the servants, bringing in + a daintier meal than they had known for days—a genuine rabbit, + potatoes, marrons glaces, a bottle of wine, and a pannier of wood. The + fire was soon lighted, the Venosta plying the bellows. It was not till + this banquet, of which Isaura, faint as she was, scarcely partook, had + been remitted to the two Italian women-servants, and another log been + thrown on the hearth, that the Venosta opened the subject which was + pressing on her heart. She did this with a joyous smile, taking both + Isaura’s hands in her own, and stroking them fondly. + </p> + <p> + “My child, I have such good news for thee! Thou hast escaped—thou + art free!” and then she related all that M. Rameau had said, and finished + by producing the copy of Gustave’s unhallowed journal. + </p> + <p> + When she had read the latter, which she did with compressed lips and + varying colour, the girl fell on her knees—not to thank Heaven that + she would now escape a union from which her soul so recoiled—not + that she was indeed free, but to pray, with tears rolling down her cheeks, + that God would yet save to Himself, and to good ends, the soul that she + had failed to bring to Him. All previous irritation against Gustave was + gone: all had melted into an ineffable compassion. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0112" id="link2HCH0112"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. + </h2> + <p> + When, a little before noon, Gustave was admitted by the servant into + Isaura’s salon, its desolate condition, stripped of all its pretty + feminine elegancies, struck him with a sense of discomfort to himself + which superseded any more remorseful sentiment. The day was intensely + cold: the single log on the hearth did not burn; there were only two or + three chairs in the room; even the carpet, which had been of gaily + coloured Aubusson, was gone. His teeth chattered; and he only replied by a + dreary nod to the servant who informed him that Madame Venosta was gone + out, and Mademoiselle had not yet quitted her own room. + </p> + <p> + If there be a thing which a true Parisian of Rameau’s stamp associates + with love of woman, it is a certain sort of elegant surroundings, a pretty + boudoir, a cheery hearth, an easy fauteuil. In the absence of such + attributes, “fuyit retro Venus.” If the Englishman invented the word + comfort, it is the Parisian who most thoroughly comprehends the thing. And + he resents the loss of it in any house where he has been accustomed to + look for it, as a personal wrong to his feelings. + </p> + <p> + Left for some minutes alone, Gustave occupied himself with kindling the + log, and muttering, “Par tous les diables, quel chien de rhume je vais + attraper?” He turned as he heard the rustle of a robe and a light slow + step. Isaura stood before him. Her aspect startled him. He had come + prepared to expect grave displeasure and a frigid reception. But the + expression of Isaura’s face was more kindly, more gentle, more tender, + than he had seen it since the day she had accepted his suit. + </p> + <p> + Knowing from his mother what his father had said to his prejudice, he + thought within himself, “After all, the poor girl loves me better than I + thought. She is sensible and enlightened; she cannot pretend to dictate an + opinion to a man like me.” + </p> + <p> + He approached with a complacent self-assured mien, and took her hand, + which she yielded to him quietly, leading her to one of the few remaining + chairs, and seating himself beside her. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Isaura,” he said, talking rapidly all the while he performed this + ceremony, “I need not assure you of my utter ignorance of the state to + which the imbecility of our Government, and the cowardice, or rather the + treachery, of our generals, has reduced you. I only heard of it late last + night from my mother. I hasten to claim my right to share with you the + humble resources which I have saved by the intellectual labours that have + absorbed all such moments as my military drudgeries left to the talents + which, even at such a moment, paralysing minds less energetic, have + sustained me:”—and therewith he poured several pieces of gold and + silver on the table beside her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Gustave,” then said Isaura, “I am well pleased that you thus prove that I + was not mistaken when I thought and said that, despite all appearances, + all errors, your heart was good. Oh, do but follow its true impulses, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Its impulses lead me ever to thy feet,” interrupted Gustave, with a + fervour which sounded somewhat theatrical and hollow. + </p> + <p> + The girl smiled, not bitterly, not mockingly; but Gustave did not like the + smile. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Gustave,” she said, with a melancholy pathos in her soft voice, “do + you not understand that the time has come when such commonplace + compliments ill suit our altered positions to each other? Nay, listen to + me patiently; and let not my words in this last interview pain you to + recall. If either of us be to blame in the engagement hastily contracted, + it is I. Gustave, when you, exaggerating in your imagination the nature of + your sentiments for me, said with such earnestness that on my consent to + our union depended your health, your life, your career; that if I withheld + that consent you were lost, and in despair would seek distraction from + thought in all from which your friends, your mother, the duties imposed + upon Genius for the good of Man to the ends of God, should withhold and + save you—when you said all this, and I believed it, I felt as if + Heaven commanded me not to desert the soul which appealed to me in the + crisis of its struggle and peril. Gustave, I repent; I was to blame.” + </p> + <p> + “How to blame?” + </p> + <p> + “I overrated my power over your heart: I overrated still more, perhaps, my + power over my own.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, your own! I understand now. You did not love me?” + </p> + <p> + “I never said that I loved you in the sense in which you use the word. I + told you that the love which you have described in your verse, and which,” + she added, falteringly, with heightened colour and with hands tightly + clasped, “I have conceived possible in my dreams, it was not mine to give. + You declared you were satisfied with such affection as I could bestow. + Hush! let me go on. You said that affection would increase, would become + love, in proportion as I knew you more. It has not done so. Nay, it passed + away; even before this time of trial and of grief, I became aware how + different from the love you professed was the neglect which needs no + excuse, for it did not pain me.” + </p> + <p> + “You are cruel indeed, Mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, I am kind. I wish you to feel no pang at our parting. Truly I + had resolved, when the siege terminated, and the time to speak frankly of + our engagement came, to tell you that I shrank from the thought of a union + between us; and that it was for the happiness of both that our promises + should be mutually cancelled. The moment has come sooner than I thought. + Even had I loved you, Gustave, as deeply as—as well as the beings of + Romance love, I would not dare to wed one who calls upon mortals to deny + God, demolish His altars, treat His worship as a crime. No; I would sooner + die of a broken heart, that I might the sooner be one of those souls + privileged to pray the Divine Intercessor for merciful light on those + beloved and left dark on earth.” + </p> + <p> + “Isaura!” exclaimed Gustave, his mobile temperament impressed, not by the + words of Isaura, but by the passionate earnestness with which they were + uttered, and by the exquisite spiritual beauty which her face took from + the combined sweetness and fervour of its devout expression,—“Isaura, + I merit your censure, your sentence of condemnation; but do not ask me to + give back your plighted troth. I have not the strength to do so. More than + ever, more than when first pledged to me, I need the aid, the + companionship, of my guardian angel. You were that to me once; abandon me + not now. In these terrible times of revolution, excitable natures catch + madness from each other. A writer in the heat of his passion says much + that he does not mean to be literally taken, which in cooler moments he + repents and retracts. Consider, too, the pressure of want, of hunger. It + is the opinions that you so condemn which alone at this moment supply + bread to the writer. But say you will yet pardon me,—yet give me + trial if I offend no more—if I withdraw my aid to any attacks on + your views, your religion—if I say, ‘Thy God shall be my God, and + thy people shall be my people.’” + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” said Isaura, softly, “ask thyself if those be words which I can + believe again. Hush!” she continued, checking his answer with a more + kindling countenance and more impassioned voice. “Are they, after all, the + words that man should address to woman? Is it on the strength of Woman + that Man should rely? Is it to her that he should say, ‘Dictate my + opinions on all that belongs to the Mind of man; change the doctrines that + I have thoughtfully formed and honestly advocate; teach me how to act on + earth, clear all my doubts as to my hopes of heaven’? No, Gustave; in this + task man never should repose on woman. Thou are honest at this moment, my + poor friend; but could I believe thee to-day, thou wouldst laugh tomorrow + at what woman can be made to believe.” + </p> + <p> + Stung to the quick by the truth of Isaura’s accusation, Gustave exclaimed + with vehemence: “All that thou sayest is false, and thou knowest it. The + influence of woman on man for good or for evil defies reasoning. It does + mould his deeds on earth; it does either make or mar all that future which + lies between his life and his gravestone, and of whatsoever may lie beyond + the grave. Give me up now, and thou art responsible for me, for all I do, + it may be against all that thou deemest holy. Keep thy troth yet awhile, + and test me. If I come to thee showing how I could have injured, and how + for thy dear sake I have spared, nay, aided, all that thou dost believe + and reverence, then wilt thou dare to say, ‘Go thy ways alone—I + forsake thee!’” + </p> + <p> + Isaura turned aside her face, but she held out her hand—it was as + cold as death. He knew that she had so far yielded, and his vanity + exulted: he smiled in secret triumph as he pressed his kiss on that icy + hand and was gone. + </p> + <p> + “This is duty—it must be duty,” said Isaura to herself. “But where + is the buoyant delight that belongs to a duty achieved?—where? oh + where?” And then she stole with drooping head and heavy step into her own + room, fell on her knees, and prayed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0113" id="link2HCH0113"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. + </h2> + <p> + In vain persons, be they male or female, there is a complacent + self-satisfaction in any momentary personal success, however little that + success may conduce to—nay, however much it may militate against—the + objects to which their vanity itself devotes its more permanent desires. A + vain woman may be very anxious to win A———, the + magnificent, as a partner for life; and yet feel a certain triumph when a + glance of her eye has made an evening’s conquest of the pitiful B———-, + although by that achievement she incurs the imminent hazard of losing A——— + altogether. So, when Gustave Rameau quitted Isaura, his first feeling was + that of triumph. His eloquence had subdued her will; she had not finally + discarded him. But as he wandered abstractedly in the biting air, his + self-complacency was succeeded by mortification and discontent. He felt + that he had committed himself to promises which he was by no means + prepared to keep. True, the promises were vague in words; but in substance + they were perfectly clear—“to spare, nay, to aid all that Isaura + esteemed and reverenced.” How was this possible to him? How could he + suddenly change the whole character of his writings?—how become the + defender of marriage and property, of church and religion?—how + proclaim himself so utter an apostate? If he did, how become a leader of + the fresh revolution? how escape being its victim? Cease to write + altogether? + </p> + <p> + But then how live? His pen was his sole subsistence, save 30 sous a-day as + a National Guard—30 sous a day to him, who, in order to be Sybarite + in tastes, was Spartan in doctrine. Nothing better just at that moment + than Spartan doctrine, “Live on black broth and fight the enemy.” And the + journalists in vogue so thrived upon that patriotic sentiment, that they + were the last persons compelled to drink the black broth or to fight the + enemy. + </p> + <p> + “Those women are such idiots when they meddle in politics,” grumbled + between his teeth the enthusiastic advocate of Woman’s Rights on all + matters of love. “And,” he continued, soliloquising, “it is not as if the + girl had any large or decent dot; it is not as if she said, ‘In return for + the sacrifice of your popularity, your prospects, your opinions, I give + you not only a devoted heart, but an excellent table and a capital fire + and plenty of pocket-money.’ Sacre bleu! when I think of that frozen + salon, and possibly the leg of a mouse for dinner, and a virtuous homily + by way of grace, the prospect is not alluring; and the girl herself is not + so pretty as she was—grown very thin. Sur mon ame, I think she asks + too much—far more than she is worth. No, No; I had better have + accepted her dismissal. Elle n’est pas digne de moi.” + </p> + <p> + Just as he arrived at that conclusion, Gustave Rameau felt the touch of a + light, a soft, a warm, yet a firm hand, on his aria. He turned, and beheld + the face of the woman whom, through so many dreary weeks, he had sought to + shun—the face of Julie Caumartin. Julie was not, as Savarin had seen + her, looking pinched and wan, with faded robes, nor, as when met in the + cafe by Lemercier, in the faded robes of a theatre. Julie never looked + more beautiful, more radiant, than she did now; and there was a wonderful + heartfelt fondness in her voice when she cried, “Mon homme! mon homme! + seul homme au monde a mon coeur, Gustave, cheri adore! I have found + thee-at last—at last!” Gustave gazed upon her, stupefied. + Involuntarily his eye glanced from the freshness of bloom in her face + which the intense cold of the atmosphere only seemed to heighten into + purer health, to her dress, which was new and handsome—black—he + did not know that it was mourning—the cloak trimmed with costly + sables. Certainly it was no mendicant for alms who thus reminded the + shivering Adonis of the claims of a pristine Venus. He stammered out her + naive, “Julie!”—and then he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Oui, ta Julie! Petit ingrat! how I have sought for thee! how I have + hungered for the sight of thee! That monster Savarin! he would not give me + any news of thee. That is ages ago. But at least Frederic Lemercier, whom + I saw since, promised to remind thee that I lived still. He did not do so, + or I should have seen thee—n’est ce, pas?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly—only—chere amie—you know that—that—as + I before announced to thee, I—I—was engaged in marriage—and—and—” + </p> + <p> + “But are you married?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. Hark! Take care—is not that the hiss of an obus?” + </p> + <p> + “What then? Let it come! Would it might slay us both while my hand is in + thine!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” muttered Gustave, inwardly, “what a difference! This is love! No + preaching here! Elle est plus digne de moi que d’autre.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, aloud, “I am not married. Marriage is at best a pitiful + ceremony. But if you wished for news of me, surely you must have heard of + my effect as an orator not despised in the Salle Favre. Since, I have + withdrawn from that arena. But as a journalist I flatter myself that I + have had a beau succes.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubtless, doubtless, my Gustave, my Poet! Wherever thou art, thou must + be first among men. But, alas it is my fault—my misfortune. I have + not been in the midst of a world that perhaps rings of thy name.” + </p> + <p> + “Not my name. Prudence compelled me to conceal that. Still, Genius pierces + under any name. You might have discovered me under my nom de plume.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me—I was always bete. But, oh! for so many weeks I was so + poor—so destitute. I could go nowhere, except—don’t be ashamed + of me—except—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Except where I could get some money. At first to dance—you remember + my bolero. Then I got a better engagement. Do you not remember that you + taught me to recite verses? Had it been for myself alone, I might have + been contented to starve. Without thee, what was life? But thou wilt + recollect Madeleine, the old bonne who lived with me. Well, she had + attended and cherished me since I was so high-lived with my mother. + Mother! no; it seems that Madame Surville was not my mother after all. + But, of course, I could not let my old Madeleine starve; and therefore, + with a heart as heavy as lead, I danced and declaimed. My heart was not so + heavy when I recited thy songs.” + </p> + <p> + “My songs! Pauvre ange!” exclaimed the Poet. + </p> + <p> + “And then, too, I thought, ‘Ah, this dreadful siege! He, too, may be poor—he + may know want and hunger;’ and so all I could save from Madeleine I put + into a box for thee, in case thou shouldst come back to me some day. Mon + homme, how could I go to the Salle Favre? How could I read journals, + Gustave? But thou art not married, Gustave? Parole d’honneur?” + </p> + <p> + “Parole d’honneur! What does that matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything! Ah! I am not so mechante, so mauvaise tete as I was some + months ago. If thou went married, I should say, ‘Blessed and sacred be thy + wife! Forget me.’ But as it is, one word more. Dost thou love the young + lady, whoever she be? or does she love thee so well that it would be sin + in thee to talk trifles to Julie? Speak as honestly as if thou wert not a + poet.” + </p> + <p> + “Honestly, she never said she loved me. I never thought she did. But, you + see, I was very ill, and my parents and friends and my physician said that + it was right for me to arrange my life, and marry, and so forth. And the + girl had money, and was a good match. In short, the thing was settled. But + oh, Julie, she never learned my songs by heart! She did not love as thou + mayst, and still dost. And—ah! well—now that we meet again—now + that I look in thy face—now that I hear thy voice—No, I do not + love her as I loved, and might yet love thee. But—but—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, but? oh, I guess. Thou seest me well dressed, no longer dancing and + declaiming at cafes: and thou thinkest that Julie has disgraced herself? + she is unfaithful?” + </p> + <p> + Gustave had not anticipated that frankness, nor was the idea which it + expressed uppermost in his mind when he said, “but, but—” There were + many buts all very confused, struggling through his mind as he spoke. + However, he answered as a Parisian sceptic, not ill-bred, naturally would + answer: + </p> + <p> + “My dear friend, my dear child” (the Parisian is very fond of the word + child or enfant in addressing a woman), “I have never seen thee so + beautiful as thou art now; and when thou tellest me that thou are no + longer poor, and the proof of what thou sayest is visible in the furs, + which, alas’. I cannot give thee, what am I to think?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mon homme, mon homme! thou art very spirituel, and that is why I + loved thee. I am very bete, and that is excuse enough for thee if thou + couldst not love me. But canst thou look me in the face and not know that + my eyes could not meet thine as they do, if I had been faithless to thee + even in a thought, when I so boldly touched thine arm? Viens chez moi, + come and let me explain all. Only—only let me repeat, if another has + rights over thee which forbid thee to come, say so kindly, and I will + never trouble thee again.” + </p> + <p> + Gustave had been hitherto walking slowly by the side of Julie, amidst the + distant boom of the besiegers’ cannon, while the short day began to close; + and along the dreary boulevards sauntered idlers turning to look at the + young, beautiful, well-dressed woman who seemed in such contrast to the + capital whose former luxuries the “Ondine” of imperial Paris represented. + He now offered his arm to Julie; and, quickening his pace, said, “There is + no reason why I should refuse to attend thee home, and listen to the + explanations thou dost generously condescend to volunteer.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0114" id="link2HCH0114"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. + </h2> + <p> + “Ah, indeed! what a difference! what a difference!” said Gustave to + himself when he entered Julie’s apartment. In her palmier days, when he + had first made her acquaintance, the apartment no doubt had been + infinitely more splendid, more abundant in silks and fringes and flowers + and nicknacks; but never had it seemed so cheery and comfortable and + home-like as now. What a contrast to Isaura’s dismantled chilly salon! She + drew him towards the hearth, on which, blazing though it was, she piled + fresh billets, seated him in the easiest of easy-chairs, knelt beside him, + and chafed his numbed hands in hers; and as her bright eyes fixed tenderly + on his, she looked so young and so innocent! You would not then have + called her the “Ondine of Paris.” + </p> + <p> + But when, a little while after, revived by the genial warmth and moved by + the charm of her beauty, Gustave passed his arm round her neck and sought + to draw her on his lap, she slid from his embrace, shaking her head + gently, and seated herself, with a pretty air of ceremonious decorum, at a + little distance. + </p> + <p> + Gustave looked at her amazed. + </p> + <p> + “Causons,” said she, gravely, “thou wouldst know why I am so well dressed, + so comfortably lodged, and I am longing to explain to thee all. Some days + ago I had just finished my performance at the cafe—, and was putting + on my shawl, when a tall Monsieur, fort bel homme, with the air of a grand + seigneur, entered the cafe, and approaching me politely, said, ‘I think I + have the honour to address Mademoiselle Julie Caumartin?’ ‘That is my + name,’ I said, surprised; and, looking at him more intently, I recognised + his face. He had come into the cafe a few days before with thine old + acquaintance Frederic Lemercier, and stood by when I asked Frederic to + give me news of thee. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he continued, with a serious + melancholy smile, ‘I shall startle you when I say that I am appointed to + act as your guardian by the last request of your mother.’ ‘Of Madame + Surville?’ ‘Madame Surville adopted you, but was not your mother. We + cannot talk at ease here. Allow me to request that you will accompany me + to Monsieur ——-, the avoue. It is not very far from this—and + by the way—I will tell you some news that may sadden, and some news + that may rejoice.’ + </p> + <p> + “There was an earnestness in the voice and look of this Monsieur that + impressed me. He did not offer me his arm; but I walked by his side in the + direction he chose. As we walked he told me in very few words that my + mother had been separated from her husband, and for certain family reasons + had found it so difficult to rear and provide for me herself, that she had + accepted the offer of Madame Surville to adopt me as her own child. While + he spoke, there came dimly back to me the remembrance of a lady who had + taken me from my first home, when I had been, as I understood, at nurse, + and left me with poor dear Madame Surville, saying, ‘This is henceforth + your mamma.’ + </p> + <p> + “I never again saw that lady. It seems that many years afterwards my true + mother desired to regain me. Madame Surville was then dead. She failed to + trace me out, owing, alas! to my own faults and change of name. She then + entered a nunnery, but, before doing so, assigned a sum of 100,000 francs + to this gentleman, who was distantly connected with her, with full power + to him to take it to himself, or give it to my use should he discover me, + at his discretion. ‘I ask you,’ continued the Monsieur, ‘to go with me to + Mons. N———‘s, because the sum is still in his hands. He + will confirm my statement. All that I have now to say is this, If you + accept my guardianship, if you obey implicitly my advice, I shall consider + the interest of this sum which has accumulated since deposited with M. + ——- due to you; and the capital will be your dot on marriage, + if the marriage be with my consent.’” + </p> + <p> + Gustave had listened very attentively, and without interruption, until + now; when he looked up, and said with his customary sneer, “Did your + Monsieur, fort bel homme, you say, inform you of the value of the advice, + rather of the commands, you were implicitly to obey?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Julie, “not then, but later. Let me go on. We arrived at + M. N——-’s, an elderly grave man. He said that all he knew was + that he held the money in trust for the Monsieur with me, to be given to + him, with the accumulations of interest, on the death of the lady who had + deposited it. If that Monsieur had instructions how to dispose of the + money, they were not known to him. All he had to do was to transfer it + absolutely to him on the proper certificate of the lady’s death. So you + see, Gustave, that the Monsieur could have kept all from me if he had + liked.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Monsieur is very generous. Perhaps you will now tell me his name.” + </p> + <p> + “No; he forbids me to do it yet.” + </p> + <p> + “And he took this apartment for you, and gave you money to buy that smart + dress and these furs. Bah! mon enfant, why try to deceive me? Do I not + know my Paris? A fort bel homme does not make himself guardian to a fort + belle fine so young and fair as Mademoiselle Julie Caumartin without + certain considerations which shall be nameless, like himself.” + </p> + <p> + Julie’s eyes flashed. “Ah, Gustave! ah, Monsieur!” she said, half angrily, + half plaintively, “I see that my guardian knew you better than I did. + Never mind; I will not reproach. Thou halt the right to despise me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon! I did not mean to offend thee,” said Gustave, somewhat + disconcerted. “But own that thy story is strange; and this guardian, who + knows me better than thou—does he know me at all? Didst thou speak + to him of me?” + </p> + <p> + “How could I help it? He says that this terrible war, in which he takes an + active part, makes his life uncertain from day to day. He wished to + complete the trust bequeathed to him by seeing me safe in the love of some + worthy man who”—she paused for a moment with an expression of + compressed anguish, and then hurried on—“who would recognise what + was good in me,—would never reproach me for—for—the + past. I then said that my heart was thine: I could never marry any one but + thee.” + </p> + <p> + “Marry me,” faltered Gustave—“marry!” + </p> + <p> + “And,” continued the girl, not heeding his interruption, “he said thou + wert not the husband he would choose for me: that thou wert not—no, + I cannot wound thee by repeating what he said unkindly, unjustly. He bade + me think of thee no more. I said again, that is impossible.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” resumed Rameau, with an affected laugh, “why think of anything so + formidable as marriage? Thou lovest me, and—” He approached again, + seeking to embrace her. She recoiled. “No, Gustave, no. I have sworn + solemnly by the memory of my lost mother—O—that I will never + sin again. I will never be to thee other than thy friend—or thy + wife.” + </p> + <p> + Before Gustave could reply to these words, which took him wholly by + surprise, there was a ring at the outer door, and the old bonne ushered in + Victor de Mauleon. He halted at the threshold, and his brow contracted. + </p> + <p> + “So you have already broken faith with me, Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Monsieur, I have not broken faith,” cried Julie; passionately. “I + told you that I would not seek to find out Monsieur Rameau. I did not + seek, but I met him unexpectedly. I owed to him an explanation. I invited + him here to give that explanation. Without it, what would he have thought + of me? Now he may go, and I will never admit him again without your + sanction.” + </p> + <p> + The Vicomte turned his stern look upon Gustave, who though, as we know, + not wanting in personal courage, felt cowed by his false position; and his + eye fell, quailed before De Mauleon’s gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Leave us for a few minutes alone, Mademoiselle,” said the Vicomte. “Nay, + Julie,” he added, in softened tones, “fear nothing. I, too, owe + explanation—friendly explanation—to M. Rameau.” + </p> + <p> + With his habitual courtesy towards women, he extended his hand to Julie, + and led her from the room. Then, closing the door, he seated himself, and + made a sign to Gustave to do the same. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said De Mauleon, “excuse me if I detain you. A very few words + will suffice for our present interview. I take it for granted that + Mademoiselle has told you that she is no child of Madame Surville’s: that + her own mother bequeathed her to my protection and guardianship with a + modest fortune which is at my disposal to give or withhold. The little I + have seen already of Mademoiselle impresses me with sincere interest in + her fate. I look with compassion on what she may have been in the past; I + anticipate with hope what she may be in the future. I do not ask you to + see her in either with my eyes. I say frankly that it is my intention, and + I may add, my resolve, that the ward thus left to my charge shall be + henceforth safe from the temptations that have seduced her poverty, her + inexperience, her vanity, if you will, but have not yet corrupted her + heart. Bref, I must request you to give me your word of honour that you + will hold no further communication with her. I can allow no sinister + influence to stand between her fate and honour.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak well and nobly, M. le Vicomte,” said Rameau, “and I give the + promise you exact.” He added, feelingly: “It is true her heart has never + been corrupted that is good, affectionate, unselfish as a child’s. J’ai + l’honneur de vous saluer, M. le Vicomte.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed with a dignity unusual to him, and tears were in his eyes as he + passed by De Mauleon and gained the anteroom. There a side-door suddenly + opened, and Julie’s face, anxious, eager, looked forth. + </p> + <p> + Gustave paused: “Adieu, Mademoiselle! Adieu, though we may never meet + again,—though our fates divide us,—believe me that I shall + ever cherish your memory—and—” + </p> + <p> + The girl interrupted him, impulsively seizing his arm, and looking him in + the face with a wild fixed stare. “Hush! dost thou mean to say that we are + parted,—parted forever?” + </p> + <p> + “Alas!” said Gustave, “what option is before us? Your guardian rightly + forbids my visits; and even were I free to offer you my hand, you yourself + say that I am not a suitor he would approve.” + </p> + <p> + Julie turned her eyes towards De Mauleon, who, following Gustave into the + ante-room, stood silent and impassive, leaning against the wall. + </p> + <p> + He now understood and replied to the pathetic appeal in the girl’s eyes. + </p> + <p> + “My young ward,” he said, “M. Rameau expresses himself with propriety and + truth. Suffer him to depart. He belongs to the former life; reconcile + yourself to the new.” + </p> + <p> + He advanced to take her hand, making a sign to Gustave to depart. But as + he approached Julie, she uttered a weak piteous wail, and fell at his feet + senseless. De Mauleon raised and carried her into her room, where he left + her to the care of the old bonne. On re-entering the anteroom, he found + Gustave still lingering by the outer door. “You will pardon me, Monsieur,” + he said to the Vicomte, “but in fact I feel so uneasy, so unhappy. Has she—? + You see, you see that there is danger to her health, perhaps to her + reason, in so abrupt a separation, so cruel a rupture between us. Let me + call again, or I may not have strength to keep my promise.” + </p> + <p> + De Mauleon remained a few minutes musing. Then he said in a whisper, “Come + back into the salon. Let us talk frankly.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0115" id="link2HCH0115"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. + </h2> + <p> + “M. Rameau,” said De Mauleon, when the two men had reseated themselves in + the salon, “I will honestly say that my desire is to rid myself as soon as + I can of the trust of guardian to this young lady. Playing as I do with + fortune, my only stake against her favours is my life. I feel as if it + were my duty to see that Mademoiselle is not left alone and friendless in + the world at my decease. I have in my mind for her a husband that I think + in every way suitable: a handsome and brave young fellow in my battalion, + of respectable birth, without any living relations to consult as to his + choice. I have reason to believe that if Julie married him, she need never + fear as a reproach to her antecedents. Her dot would suffice to enable him + to realise his own wish of a country town in Normandy. And in that + station, Paris and its temptations would soon pass from the poor child’s + thoughts, as an evil dream. But I cannot dispose of her hand without her + own consent; and if she is to be reasoned out of her fancy for you, I have + no time to devote to the task. I come to the point, You are not the man I + would choose for her husband. But, evidently, you are the man she would + choose. Are you disposed to marry her? You hesitate, very naturally; I + have no right to demand an immediate answer to a question so serious. + Perhaps you will think over it, and let me know in a day or two? I take it + for granted that if you were, as I heard, engaged before the siege to + marry the Signora Cicogna, that engagement is annulled?” + </p> + <p> + “Why take it for granted?” asked Gustave, perplexed. “Simply because I + find you here. Nay, spare explanations and excuses. I quite understand + that you were invited to come. But a man solemnly betrothed to a + mademoiselle like the Signora Cicogna, in a time of such dire calamity and + peril, could scarcely allow himself to be tempted to accept the invitation + of one so beautiful, and so warmly attached to him, as is Mademoiselle + Julie; and on witnessing the passionate strength of that attachment, say + that he cannot keep a promise not to repeat his visits. But if I mistake, + and you are still betrothed to the Signorina, of course all discussion is + at an end.” + </p> + <p> + Gustave hung his head in some shame, and in much bewildered doubt. + </p> + <p> + The practised observer of men’s characters, and of shifting phases of + mind, glanced at the poor poet’s perturbed countenance with a half-smile + of disdain. + </p> + <p> + “It is for you to judge how far the very love to you so ingenuously + evinced by my ward—how far the reasons against marriage with one + whose antecedents expose her to reproach—should influence one of + your advanced opinions upon social ties. Such reasons do not appear to + have with artists the same weight they have with the bourgeoisie. I have + but to add that the husband of Julie will receive with her hand a dot of + nearly 120,000 francs; and I have reason to believe that that fortune will + be increased—how much, I cannot guess-when the cessation of the + siege will allow communication with England. One word more. I should wish + to rank the husband of my ward in the number of my friends. If he did not + oppose the political opinions with which I identify my own career, I + should be pleased to make any rise in the world achieved by me assist to + the raising of himself. But my opinions, as during the time we were + brought together you were made aware, are those of a practical man of the + world, and have nothing in common with Communists, Socialists, + Internationalists, or whatever sect would place the aged societies of + Europe in Medea’s caldron of youth. At a moment like the present, fanatics + and dreamers so abound that the number of such sinners will necessitate a + general amnesty when order is restored. What a poet so young as you may + have written or said at such a time will be readily forgotten and forgiven + a year or two hence, provided he does not put his notions into violent + action. But if you choose to persevere in the views you now advocate, so + be it. They will not make poor Julie less a believer in your wisdom and + genius. Only they will separate you from me, and a day may come when I + should have the painful duty of ordering you to be shot—Die meliora. + Think over all I have thus frankly said. Give me your answer within + forty-eight hours; and meanwhile hold no communication with my ward. I + have the honour to wish you good-day.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0116" id="link2HCH0116"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. + </h2> + <p> + The short grim day was closing when Gustave, quitting Julie’s apartment, + again found himself in the streets. His thoughts were troubled and + confused. He was the more affected by Julie’s impassioned love for him, by + the contrast with Isaura’s words and manner in their recent interview. His + own ancient fancy for the “Ondine of Paris” became revived by the + difficulties between their ancient intercourse which her unexpected + scruples and De Mauleon’s guardianship interposed. A witty writer thus + defines une passion, “une caprice inflamme par des obstacles.” In the + ordinary times of peace, Gustave, handsome, aspiring to reputable position + in the beau monde, would not have admitted any considerations to + compromise his station by marriage with a fagurante. But now the wild + political doctrines he had embraced separated his ambition from that beau + monde, and combined it with ascendancy over the revolutionists of the + populace—a direction which he must abandon if he continued his suit + to Isaura. Then, too, the immediate possession of Julie’s dot was not + without temptation to a man who was so fond of his personal comforts, and + who did not see where to turn for a dinner, if, obedient to Isaura’s + “prejudices,” he abandoned his profits as a writer in the revolutionary + press. The inducements for withdrawal from the cause he had espoused, held + out to him with so haughty a coldness by De Mauleon, were not wholly + without force, though they irritated his self-esteem. He was dimly aware + of the Vicomte’s masculine talents for public life; and the high + reputation he had already acquired among military authorities, and even + among experienced and thoughtful civilians, had weight upon Gustave’s + impressionable temperament. But though De Mauleon’s implied advice here + coincided in much with the tacit compact he had made with Isaura, it + alienated him more from Isaura herself, for Isaura did not bring to him + the fortune which would enable him to suspend his lucubrations, watch the + turn of events, and live at ease in the meanwhile; and the dot to be + received with De Mauleon’s ward had those advantages. + </p> + <p> + While thus meditating Gustave turned into one of the cantines still open, + to brighten his intellect with a petit verre, and there he found the two + colleagues in the extinct Council of Ten, Paul Grimm and Edgar Ferrier. + With the last of these revolutionists Gustave had become intimately lie. + They wrote in the same journal, and he willingly accepted a distraction + from his self-conflict which Edgar offered him in a dinner at the cafe + Riche, which still offered its hospitalities at no exorbitant price. At + this repast, as the drink circulated, Gustave waxed confidential. He + longed, poor youth, for an adviser. Could he marry a girl who had been a + ballet-dancer, and who had come into an unexpected heritage? “Es-tu fou + d’en douter?” cried Edgar. “What a sublime occasion to manifest thy scorn + of the miserable banalities of the bourgeoisie! It will but increase thy + moral power over the people. And then think of the money. What an aid to + the cause! What a capital for the launch!—journal all thine own! + Besides, when our principles triumph—as triumph they must—what + would be marriage but a brief and futile ceremony, to be broken the moment + thou hast cause to complain of thy wife or chafe at the bond? Only get the + dot into thine own hands. L’amour passe—reste la cassette.” + </p> + <p> + Though there was enough of good in the son of Madame Rameau to revolt at + the precise words in which the counsel was given, still, as the fumes of + the punch yet more addled his brains, the counsel itself was acceptable; + and in that sort of maddened fury which intoxication produces in some + excitable temperaments, as Gustave reeled home that night leaning on the + arm of stouter Edgar Ferrier, he insisted on going out of his way to pass + the house in which Isaura lived, and, pausing under her window, gasped out + some verses of a wild song, then much in vogue among the votaries of Felix + Pyat, in which everything that existent society deems sacred was reviled + in the grossest ribaldry. Happily Isaura’s ear heard it not. The girl was + kneeling by her bedside absorbed in prayer. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0117" id="link2HCH0117"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. + </h2> + <p> + Three days after the evening thus spent by Gustave Rameau, Isaura was + startled by a visit from M. de Mauleon. She had not seen him since the + commencement of the siege, and she did not recognise him at first glance + in his military uniform. + </p> + <p> + “I trust you will pardon my intrusion, Mademoiselle,” he said, in the low + sweet voice habitual to him in his gentler moods, “but I thought it became + me to announce to you the decease of one who, I fear, did not discharge + with much kindness the duties her connection with you imposed. Your + father’s second wife, afterwards Madame Selby, is no more. She died some + days since in a convent to which she had retired.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura had no cause to mourn the dead, but she felt a shock in the + suddenness of this information; and in that sweet spirit of womanly + compassion which entered so largely into her character, and made a part of + her genius itself, she murmured tearfully, “The poor Signora! Why could I + not have been with her in illness? She might then have learned to love me. + And she died in a convent, you say? Ah, her religion was then sincere! Her + end was peaceful?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us not doubt that, Mademoiselle. Certainly she lived to regret any + former errors, and her last thought was directed towards such atonement as + might be in her power. And it is that desire of atonement which now + strangely mixes me up, Mademoiselle, in your destinies. In that desire for + atonement, she left to my charge, as a kinsman distant indeed, but still, + perhaps, the nearest with whom she was personally acquainted—a young + ward. In accepting that trust, I find myself strangely compelled to hazard + the risk of offending you.” + </p> + <p> + “Offending me? How? Pray speak openly.” + </p> + <p> + “In so doing, I must utter the name of Gustave Rameau.” + </p> + <p> + Isaura turned pale and recoiled, but she did not speak. “Did he inform me + rightly that, in the last interview with him three days ago, you expressed + a strong desire that the engagement between him and yourself should cease; + and that you only, and with reluctance, suspended your rejection of the + suit he had pressed on you, in consequence of his entreaties, and of + certain assurances as to the changed direction of the talents of which we + will assume that he is possessed?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, Monsieur,” exclaimed Isaura, her whole face brightening; “and + you come on the part of Gustave Rameau to say that on reflection he does + not hold me to our engagement—that in honour and in conscience I am + free?” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” answered De Mauleon, smiling, “that I am pardoned already. It + would not pain you if such were my instructions in the embassy I + undertake?” + </p> + <p> + “Pain me? No. But—” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” + </p> + <p> + “Must he persist in a course which will break his mother’s heart, and make + his father deplore the hour that he was born? Have you influence over him, + M. de Mauleon? If so, will you not exert it for his good?” + </p> + <p> + “You interest yourself still in his fate, Mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I do otherwise? Did I not consent to share it when my heart + shrank from the thought of our union? And now when, if I understand you + rightly, I am free, I cannot but think of what was best in him.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! Mademoiselle, he is but one of many—a spoilt child of that + Circe, imperial Paris. Everywhere I look around, I see but corruption. It + was hidden by the halo which corruption itself engenders. The halo is + gone, the corruption is visible. Where is the old French manhood? Banished + from the heart, it comes out only at the tongue. Were our deeds like our + words, Prussia would beg on her knee to be a province of France. Gustave + is the fit poet for this generation. Vanity—desire to be known for + something, no matter what, no matter by whom—that is the Parisian’s + leading motive power;—orator, soldier, poet, all alike. Utterers of + fine phrases; despising knowledge, and toil, and discipline; railing + against the Germans as barbarians, against their generals as traitors; + against God for not taking their part. What can be done to weld this mass + of hollow bubbles into the solid form of a nation—the nation it + affects to be? What generation can be born out of the unmanly race, + inebriate with brag and absinthe? Forgive me this tirade; I have been + reviewing the battalion I command. As for Gustave Rameau,—if we + survive the siege, and see once more a Government that can enforce order, + and a public that will refuse renown for balderdash,—I should not be + surprised if Gustave Rameau were among the prettiest imitators of + Lamartine’s early Meditations. Had he been born under Louis XIV. how loyal + he would have been! What sacred tragedies in the style of Athalie he would + have written, in the hope of an audience at Versailles! But I detain you + from the letter I was charged to deliver you. I have done so purposely, + that I might convince myself that you welcome that release which your too + delicate sense of honour shrank too long from demanding.” + </p> + <p> + Here he took forth and placed a letter in Isaura’s hand; and, as if to + allow her to read it unobserved, retired to the window recess. + </p> + <p> + Isaura glanced over the letter. It ran thus: + </p> + <p> + “I feel that it was only to your compassion that I owed your consent to my + suit. Could I have doubted that before, your words when we last met + sufficed to convince me. In my selfish pain at the moment, I committed a + great wrong. I would have held you bound to a promise from which you + desired to be free. Grant me pardon for that; and for all the faults by + which I have offended you. In cancelling our engagement, let me hope that + I may rejoice in your friendship, your remembrance of me, some gentle and + kindly thought. My life may henceforth pass out of contact with yours; but + you will ever dwell in my heart, an image pure and holy as the saints in + whom you may well believe-they are of your own kindred.” + </p> + <p> + “May I convey to Gustave Rameau any verbal reply to his letter?” asked De + Mauleon, turning as she replaced the letter on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Only my wishes for his welfare. It might wound him if I added, my + gratitude for the generous manner in which he has interpreted my heart, + and acceded to its desires.” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, accept my congratulations. My condolences are for the poor + girl left to my guardianship. Unhappily she loves this man; and there are + reasons why I cannot withhold my consent to her union with him, should he + demand it, now that, in the letter remitted to you, he has accepted your + dismissal. If I can keep him out of all the follies and all the evils into + which he suffers his vanity to mislead his reason, I will do so;—would + I might say, only in compliance with your compassionate injunctions. But + henceforth the infatuation of my ward compels me to take some interest in + his career. Adieu, Mademoiselle! I have no fear for your happiness now.” + </p> + <p> + Left alone, Isaura stood as one transfigured. All the bloom of her youth + seemed suddenly restored. Round her red lips the dimples opened, countless + mirrors of one happy smile. “I am free, I am free,” she murmured—“joy, + joy!” and she passed from the room to seek the Venosta, singing clear, + singing loud, as a bird that escapes from the cage and warbles to the + heaven it regains the blissful tale of its release. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0118" id="link2HCH0118"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. + </h2> + <p> + In proportion to the nearer roar of the besiegers’ cannon, and the sharper + gripe of famine within the walls, the Parisians seemed to increase their + scorn for the skill of the enemy, and their faith in the sanctity of the + capital. All false news was believed as truth; all truthful news abhorred + as falsehood. Listen to the groups round the cafes. “The Prussian funds + have fallen three per cent. at Berlin,” says a threadbare ghost of the + Bourse (he had been a clerk of Louvier’s). “Ay,” cries a National Guard, + “read extracts from La Liberte. The barbarians are in despair. Nancy is + threatened, Belfort is freed. Bourbaki is invading Baden. Our fleets are + pointing their cannon upon Hamburg. Their country endangered, their + retreat cut off, the sole hope of Bismarck and his trembling legions is to + find a refuge in Paris. The increasing fury of the bombardment is a proof + of their despair.” + </p> + <p> + “In that case,” whispered Savarin to De Breze, “suppose we send a flag of + truce to Versailles with a message from Trochu that, on disgorging their + conquests, ceding the left bank of the Rhine, and paying the expenses of + the war, Paris, ever magnanimous to the vanquished; will allow the + Prussians to retire.” + </p> + <p> + “The Prussians! Retire!” cried Edgar Ferrier, catching the last word and + glancing fiercely at Savarin. “What Prussian spy have we among us? Not one + of the barbarians shall escape. We have but to dismiss the traitors who + have usurped the government, proclaim the Commune and the rights of + labour, and we give birth to a Hercules that even in its cradle can + strangle the vipers.” + </p> + <p> + Edgar Ferrier was the sole member of his political party among the group + which he thus addressed; but such was the terror which the Communists + already began to inspire among the bourgeoisie that no one volunteered a + reply. + </p> + <p> + Savarin linked his arm in De Breze’s, and prudently drew him off. + </p> + <p> + “I suspect,” said the former, “that we shall soon have worse calamities to + endure than the Prussian obus and the black loaf. The Communists will have + their day.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be in my grave before then,” said De Breze, in hollow accents. + “It is twenty-four hours since I spent my last fifty sous on the purchase + of a rat, and I burnt the legs of my bedstead for the fuel by which that + quadruped was roasted.” + </p> + <p> + “Entre nous, my poor friend, I am much in the same condition,” said + Savarin, with a ghastly attempt at his old pleasant laugh. “See how I am + shrunken! My wife would be unfaithful to the Savarin of her dreams if she + accepted a kiss from the slender gallant you behold in me. But I thought + you were in the National Guard, and therefore had not to vanish into air.” + </p> + <p> + “I was a National Guard, but I could not stand the hardships, and being + above the age, I obtained my exemption. As to pay, I was then too proud to + claim my wage of 1 franc 25 centimes. I should not be too proud now. Ah, + blessed be Heaven! here comes Lemercier; he owes me a dinner—he + shall pay it.” + </p> + <p> + “Bon jour, my dear Frederic! How handsome you look in your kepi! Your + uniform is brilliantly fresh from the soil of powder. What a contrast to + the tatterdemalions of the Line!” + </p> + <p> + “I fear,” said Lemercier, ruefully, “that my costume will not look so well + a day or two hence. I have just had news that will no doubt seem very + glorious—in the news papers. But then newspapers are not subjected + to cannonballs.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” answered De Breze. + </p> + <p> + “I met, as I emerged from my apartment a few minutes ago, that fire-eater, + Victor de Mauleon, who always contrives to know what passes at + headquarters. He told me that preparations are being made for a great + sortie. Most probably the announcement will appear in a proclamation + tomorrow, and our troops march forth to-morrow night. The National Guard + (fools and asses who have been yelling out for decisive action) are to + have their wish, and to be placed in the van of battle,—amongst the + foremost, the battalion in which I am enrolled. Should this be our last + meeting on earth, say that Frederic Lemercier has finished his part in + life with eclat.” + </p> + <p> + “Gallant friend,” said De Breze, feebly seizing him by the arm, “if it be + true that thy mortal career is menaced, die as thou hast lived. An honest + man leaves no debt unpaid. Thou owest me a dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Alas! ask of me what is possible. I will give thee three, however, if I + survive and regain my rentes. But today I have not even a mouse to share + with Fox.” + </p> + <p> + “Fox lives then?” cried De Breze, with sparkling hungry eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. At present he is making the experiment how long an animal can live + without food.” + </p> + <p> + “Have mercy upon him, poor beast! Terminate his pangs by a noble death. + Let him save thy friends and thyself from starving. For myself alone I do + not plead; I am but an amateur in polite literature. But Savarin, the + illustrious Savarin,—in criticism the French Longinus—in + poetry the Parisian Horace—in social life the genius of gaiety in + pantaloons,—contemplate his attenuated frame! Shall he perish for + want of food while thou hast such superfluity in thy larder? I appeal to + thy heart, thy conscience, thy patriotism. What, in the eyes of France, + are a thousand Foxes compared to a single Savarin?” + </p> + <p> + “At this moment,” sighed Savarin, “I could swallow anything, however + nauseous, even thy flattery, De Breze. But, my friend Frederic, thou goest + into battle—what will become of Fox if thou fall? Will he not be + devoured by strangers? Surely it were a sweeter thought to his faithful + heart to furnish a repast to thy friends?—his virtues acknowledged, + his memory blest!” + </p> + <p> + “Thou dost look very lean, my poor Savarin! And how hospitable thou wert + when yet plump!” said Frederic, pathetically. “And certainly, if I live, + Fox will starve; if I am slain, Fox will be eaten. Yet, poor Fox, dear + Fox, who lay on my breast when I was frostbitten. No; I have not the heart + to order him to the spit for you. Urge it not.” + </p> + <p> + “I will save thee that pang,” cried De Breze. “We are close by thy rooms. + Excuse me for a moment: I will run in and instruct thy bonne.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he sprang forward with an elasticity of step which no one could + have anticipated from his previous languor. Frederic would have followed, + but Savarin clung to him, whimpering: “Stay; I shall fall like an empty + sack, without the support of thine arm, young hero. Pooh! of course De + Breze is only joking—a pleasant joke. Hist! a secret: he has moneys, + and means to give us once more a dinner at his own cost, pretending that + we dine on thy dog. He was planning this when thou camest up. Let him have + his joke, and we shall have a festin de Balthazar.” + </p> + <p> + “Hein!” said Frederic, doubtfully; “thou art sure he has no designs upon + Fox?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not, except in regaling us. Donkey is not bad, but it is 14 + francs a pound. A pullet is excellent, but it is 30 francs. Trust to De + Breze; we shall have donkey and pullet, and Fox shall feast upon the + remains.” + </p> + <p> + Before Frederic could reply, the two men were jostled and swept on by a + sudden rush of a noisy crowd in their rear. They could but distinguish the + words—Glorious news—victory—Faidherbe—Chanzy. But + these words were sufficient to induce them to join willingly in the rush. + They forgot their hunger; they forget Fox. As they were hurried on, they + learned that there was a report of a complete defeat of the Prussians by + Faidherbe near Amiens, of a still more decided one on the Loire by Chanzy. + These generals, with armies flushed with triumph, were pressing on towards + Paris to accelerate the destruction of the hated Germans. How the report + arose no one exactly knew. + </p> + <p> + All believed it, and were making their way to the Hotel de Ville to hear + it formally confirmed. + </p> + <p> + Alas! before, they got there they were met by another crowd returning, + dejected but angry. No such news had reached the Government. Chanzy and + Faidherbe were no doubt fighting bravely,—with every probability of + success; but— + </p> + <p> + The Parisian imagination required no more. “We should always be defeating + the enemy,” said Savarin, “if there were not always a but;” and his + audience, who, had he so expressed himself ten minutes before, would have + torn him to pieces, now applauded the epigram; and with execrations on + Trochu, mingled with many a peal of painful sarcastic laughter, + vociferated and dispersed. + </p> + <p> + As the two friends sauntered back towards the part of the Boulevards on + which De Breze had parted company with them, Savarin quitted Lemercier + suddenly, and crossed the street to accost a small party of two ladies and + two men who were on their way to the Madeleine. While he was exchanging a + few words with them, a young couple, arm in arm, passed by Lemercier,—the + man in the uniform of the National Guard-uniform as unsullied as + Frederic’s, but with as little of a military air as can well be conceived. + His gait was slouching; his head bent downwards. He did not seem to listen + to his companion, who was talking with quickness and vivacity, her fair + face radiant with smiles. Lemercier looked at them as they passed by. “Sur + mon ame,” muttered Frederic to himself, “surely that is la belle Julie; + and she has got back her truant poet at last.” + </p> + <p> + While Lemercier thus soliloquised, Gustave, still looking down, was led + across the street by his fair companion, and into the midst of the little + group with whom Savarin had paused to speak. Accidentally brushing against + Savarin himself, he raised his eyes with a start, about to mutter some + conventional apology, when Julie felt the arm on which she leant tremble + nervously. Before him stood Isaura, the Countess de Vandemar by her side; + her two other companions, Raoul and the Abbe Vertpre, a step or two + behind. + </p> + <p> + Gustave uncovered, bowed low, and stood mute and still for a moment, + paralysed by surprise and the chill of a painful shame. + </p> + <p> + Julie’s watchful eyes, following his, fixed themselves on the same face. + On the instant she divined the truth. She beheld her to whom she had owed + months of jealous agony, and over whom, poor child, she thought she had + achieved a triumph. But the girl’s heart was so instinctively good that + the sense of triumph was merged in a sense of compassion. Her rival had + lost Gustave. To Julie the loss of Gustave was the loss of all that makes + life worth having. On her part, Isaura was moved not only by the beauty of + Julie’s countenance, but still more by the childlike ingenuousness of its + expression. + </p> + <p> + So, for the first time in their lives, met the child and the stepchild of + Louise Duval. Each so deserted, each so left alone and inexperienced amid + the perils of the world, with fates so different, typifying orders of + womanhood so opposed. Isaura was naturally the first to break the silence + that weighed like a sensible load on all present. + </p> + <p> + She advanced towards Rameau, with sincere kindness in her look and tone. + </p> + <p> + “Accept my congratulations,” she said, with a grave smile. “Your mother + informed me last evening of your nuptials. Without doubt I see Madame + Gustave Rameau;”—and she extended her hand towards Julie. The poor + Ondine shrank back for a moment, blushing up to her temples. It was the + first hand which a woman of spotless character had extended to her since + she had lost the protection of Madame Surville. She touched it timidly, + humbly, then drew her bridegroom on; and with head more downcast than + Gustave, passed through the group without a word. + </p> + <p> + She did not speak to Gustave till they were out of sight and hearing of + those they had left. Then, pressing his arm passionately, she said: “And + that is the demoiselle thou halt resigned for me! Do not deny it. I am so + glad to have seen her; it has done me so much good. How it has deepened, + purified, my love for thee! I have but one return to make; but that is my + whole life. Thou shalt never have cause to blame me—never—never!” + </p> + <p> + Savarin looked very grave and thoughtful when he rejoined Lemercier. + </p> + <p> + “Can I believe my eyes?” said Frederic. “Surely that was Julie Caumartin + leaning on Gustave Rameau’s arm! And had he the assurance, so accompanied, + to salute Madame de Vandemar, and Mademoiselle Cicogna, to whom I + understood he was affianced? Nay, did I not see Mademoiselle shake hands + with the Ondine? or am I under one of the illusions which famine is said + to engender in the brain?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not strength now to answer all these interrogatives. I have a + story to tell; but I keep it for dinner. Let us hasten to thy apartment. + De Breze is doubtless there waiting us.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0119" id="link2HCH0119"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. + </h2> + <p> + Unprescient of the perils that awaited him, absorbed in the sense of + existing discomfort, cold, and hunger, Fox lifted his mournful visage from + his master’s dressing-gown, in which he had encoiled his shivering frame, + on the entrance of De Breze and the concierge of the house in which + Lemercier had his apartment. Recognising the Vicomte as one of his + master’s acquaintances, he checked the first impulse that prompted him to + essay a feeble bark, and permitted himself, with a petulant whine, to be + extracted from his covering, and held in the arms of the murderous + visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Dieu des dieux!” ejaculated De Breze, “how light the poor beast has + become!” Here he pinched the sides and thighs of the victim. “Still,” he + said, “there is some flesh yet on these bones. You may grill the paws, + fricassee the shoulders, and roast the rest. The rognons and the head + accept for yourself as a perquisite.” Here he transferred Fox to the arms + of the concierge, adding, “Vite au besogne, mon ami.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Monsieur. I must be quick about it while my wife is absent. She has + a faiblesse for the brute. He must be on the spit before she returns.” + </p> + <p> + “Be it so; and on the table in an hour—five o’clock precisely—I + am famished.” + </p> + <p> + The concierge disappeared with Fox. De Breze then amused himself by + searching into Frederic’s cupboards and buffets, from which he produced a + cloth and utensils necessary for the repast. These he arranged with great + neatness, and awaited in patience the moment of participation in the + feast. + </p> + <p> + The hour of five had struck before Savarin and Frederio entered the salon; + and at their sight De Breze dashed to the staircase and called out to the + concierge to serve the dinner. + </p> + <p> + Frederic, though unconscious of the Thyestean nature of the banquet, still + looked round for the dog; and, not perceiving him, began to call out, + “Fox! Fox! where hast thou hidden thyself?” + </p> + <p> + “Tranquillise yourself,” said De Breze. “Do not suppose that I have + not....” + </p> + <p> + NOTE BY THE AUTHOR’S SON.—[See also Prefatory Note]—The hand + that wrote thus far has left unwritten the last scene of the tragedy of + poor Fox. In the deep where Prospero has dropped his wand are now + irrevocably buried the humour and the pathos of this cynophagous banquet. + One detail of it, however, which the author imparted to his son, may here + be faintly indicated. Let the sympathising reader recognise all that is + dramatic in the conflict between hunger and affection; let him recall to + mind the lachrymose loving-kindness of his own post-prandial emotions + after blissfully breaking some fast, less mercilessly prolonged, we will + hope, than that of these besieged banqueters, and then, though unaided by + the fancy which conceived so quaint a situation, he may perhaps imagine + what tearful tenderness would fill the eyes of the kind-hearted Frederic, + as they contemplate the well-picked bones of his sacrificed favourite on + the plate before him; which he pushes away, sighing, “Ah, poor Fox! how he + would have enjoyed those bones!” + </p> + <p> + The chapter immediately following this one also remains unfinished. It was + not intended to close the narrative thus left uncompleted; but of those + many and so various works which have not unworthily associated with almost + every department of literature the name of a single English writer, it is + CHAPTER THE LAST. Had the author lived to finish it, he would doubtless + have added to his Iliad of the Siege of Paris its most epic episode, by + here describing the mighty combat between those two princes of the + Parisian Bourse, the magnanimous Duplessis and the redoubtable Louvier. + Amongst the few other pages of the book which have been left unwritten, we + must also reckon with regret some pages descriptive of the reconciliation + between Graham Vane and Isaura Cicogna; but, fortunately for the + satisfaction of every reader who may have followed thus far the fortunes + of Die Parisians, all that our curiosity is chiefly interested to learn + has been recorded in the Envoi, which was written before the completion of + the novel. + </p> + <p> + We know not, indeed, what has become of these two Parisian types of a + Beauty not of Holiness, the poor vain Poet of the Pave, and the + good-hearted Ondine of the Gutter. It is obvious, from the absence of all + allusion to them in Lemercier’s letter to Vane, that they had passed out + of the narrative before that letter was written. We must suppose the + catastrophe of their fates to have been described, in some preceding + chapter, by the author himself; who would assuredly not have left 141. + Gustave Rameau in permanent pos session of his ill-merited and + ill-ministered fortune. That French representative of the appropriately + popular poetry of modern ideas, which prefers “the roses and raptures of + vice” to “the lilies and languors of virtue,” cannot have been + irredeemably reconciled by the sweet savours of the domestic pot-au jeu, + even when spiced with pungent whiffs of repudiated disreputability, to any + selfish betrayal of the cause of universal social emancipation from the + personal proprieties. If poor Julie Caumartin has perished in the siege of + Paris, with all the grace of a self-wrought redemption still upon her, we + shall doubtless deem her fate a happier one than any she could have found + in prolonged existence as Madame Rameau; and a certain modicum of this + world’s good things will, in that case, have been rescued for worthier + employment by Graham Vane. To that assurance nothing but Lemercier’s + description of the fate of Victor de Mauleon (which will be found in the + Envoi) need be added for the satisfaction of our sense of poetic justice + and if on the mimic stage, from which they now disappear, all these + puppets have rightly played their parts in the drama of an empire’s fall, + each will have helped to “point a moral” as well as to “adorn a tale.” + Valete et plaudite! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0120" id="link2HCH0120"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THE LAST. + </h2> + <p> + Among the refugees which the convoi from Versailles disgorged on the Paris + station were two men, who, in pushing through the crowd, came suddenly + face to face with each other. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! Bon jour, M. Duplessis,” said a burly voice. “Bon jour, M. Louvier,” + replied Duplessis. + </p> + <p> + “How long have you left Bretagne?” + </p> + <p> + “On the day that the news of the armistice reached it, in order to be able + to enter Paris the first day its gates were open. And you—where have + you been?” + </p> + <p> + “In London.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! in London!” said Duplessis, paling. “I knew I had an enemy there.” + </p> + <p> + “Enemy! I? Bah! my dear Monsieur. What makes you think me your enemy?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember your threats.” + </p> + <p> + “A propos of Rochebriant. By the way, when would it be convenient to you + and the dear Marquis to let me into prompt possession of that property? + You can no longer pretend to buy it as a dot for Mademoiselle Valerie.” + </p> + <p> + “I know not that yet. It is true that all the financial operations + attempted by my agent in London have failed. But I may recover myself yet, + now that I re-enter Paris. In the mean time, we have still six months + before us; for, as you will find—if you know it not already—the + interest due to you has been lodged with Messrs. —— of ———, + and you cannot foreclose, even if the law did not take into consideration + the national calamities as between debtor and creditor.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true. But if you cannot buy the property it must pass into my hands + in a very short time. And you and the Marquis had better come to an + amicable arrangement with me. Apropos, I read in the Times newspaper that + Alain was among the wounded in the sortie of December.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; we learnt that through a pigeon-post. We were afraid....” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0136" id="link2H_4_0136"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + L’ENVOI. + </h2> + <p> + The intelligent reader will perceive that the story I relate is virtually + closed with the preceding chapter; though I rejoice to think that what may + be called its plot does not find its denouement amidst the crimes and the + frenzy of the Guerre des Communeaux. Fit subjects these, indeed, for the + social annalist in times to come. When crimes that outrage humanity have + their motive or their excuse in principles that demand the demolition of + all upon which the civilisation of Europe has its basis-worship, property, + and marriage—in order to reconstruct a new civilisation adapted to a + new humanity, it is scarcely possible for the serenest contemporary to + keep his mind in that state of abstract reasoning with which Philosophy + deduces from some past evil some existent good. For my part, I believe + that throughout the whole known history of mankind, even in epochs when + reason is most misled and conscience most perverted, there runs visible, + though fine and threadlike, the chain of destiny, which has its roots in + the throne of an All-wise and an All-good; that in the wildest illusions + by which muititudes are frenzied, there may be detected gleams of + prophetic truths; that in the fiercest crimes which, like the disease of + an epidemic, characterise a peculiar epoch under abnormal circumstances, + there might be found instincts or aspirations towards some social virtues + to be realised ages afterwards by happier generations, all tending to save + man from despair of the future, were the whole society to unite for the + joyless hour of his race in the abjuration of soul and the denial of God, + because all irresistibly establishing that yearning towards an unseen + future which is the leading attribute of soul, evincing the government of + a divine Thought which evolves out of the discords of one age the + harmonies of another, and, in the world within us as in the world without, + enforces upon every unclouded reason the distinction between Providence + and chance. + </p> + <p> + The account subjoined may suffice to say all that rests to be said of + those individuals in whose fate, apart from the events or personages that + belong to graver history, the reader of this work may have conceived an + interest. It is translated from the letter of Frederic Lemercier to Graham + Vane, dated June ——, a month after the defeat of the + Communists. + </p> + <p> + “Dear and distinguished Englishman, whose name I honour but fail to + pronounce, accept my cordial thanks for your interests in such remains of + Frederic Lemercier as yet survive the ravages of Famine, Equality, + Brotherhood, Petroleum, and the Rights of Labour. I did not desert my + Paris when M. Thiers, ‘parmula non bene relicta,’ led his sagacious + friends and his valiant troops to the groves of Versailles, and confided + to us unarmed citizens the preservation of order and property from the + insurgents whom he left in possession of our forts and cannon. I felt + spellbound by the interest of the sinistoe melodrame, with its quick + succession of scenic effects and the metropolis of the world for its + stage. Taught by experience, I did not aspire to be an actor; and even as + a spectator, I took care neither to hiss nor applaud. Imitating your happy + England, I observed a strict neutrality; and, safe myself from danger, + left my best friends to the care of the gods. + </p> + <p> + “As to political questions, I dare not commit myself to a conjecture. At + this rouge et noir table, all I can say is, that whichever card turns up, + it is either a red or a black one. One gamester gains for the moment by + the loss of the other; the table eventually ruins both. + </p> + <p> + “No one believes that the present form of government can last; every one + differs as to that which can. Raoul de Vandemar is immovably convinced of + the restoration of the Bourbons. Savarin is meditating a new journal + devoted to the cause of the Count of Paris. De Brew and the old Count de + Passy, having in turn espoused and opposed every previous form of + government, naturally go in for a perfectly novel experiment, and are for + constitutional dictatorship under the Duc d’Aumale, which he is to hold at + his own pleasure, and ultimately resign to his nephew the Count, under the + mild title of a constitutional king;—that is, if it ever suits the + pleasure of a dictator to depose himself. To me this seems the wildest of + notions. If the Duc’s administration were successful, the French would + insist on keeping it; and if the uncle were unsuccessful, the nephew would + not have a chance. Duplessis retains his faith in the Imperial dynasty; + and that Imperialist party is much stronger than it appears on the + surface. So many of the bourgeoisie recall with a sigh eighteen years of + prosperous trade; so many of the military officers, so many of the civil + officials, identify their career with the Napoleonic favour; and so many + of the Priesthood, abhorring the Republic, always liable to pass into the + hands of those who assail religion,—unwilling to admit the claim of + the Orleanists, are at heart for the Empire. + </p> + <p> + “But I will tell you one secret. I and all the quiet folks like me (we are + more numerous than any one violent faction) are willing to accept any form + of government by which we have the best chance of keeping our coats on our + backs. Liberte, Egalite, Fraternity, are gone quite out of fashion; and + Mademoiselle—has abandoned her great chant of the Marseillaise, and + is drawing tears from enlightened audiences by her pathetic delivery of ‘O + Richard! O mon roi!’” + </p> + <p> + “Now about the other friends of whom you ask for news. + </p> + <p> + “Wonders will never cease. Louvier and Duplessis are no longer deadly + rivals. They have become sworn friends, and are meditating a great + speculation in common, to commence as soon as the Prussian debt is paid + off. Victor de Mauleon brought about this reconciliation in a single + interview during the brief interregnum between the Peace and the Guerre + des Communeaux. You know how sternly Louvier was bent upon seizing Alain + de Rochebriant’s estates. Can you conceive the true cause? Can you imagine + it possible that a hardened money-maker like Louvier should ever allow + himself to be actuated, one way or the other, by the romance of a + sentimental wrong? Yet so it was. It seems that many years ago he was + desperately in love with a girl who disappeared from his life, and whom he + believed to have been seduced by the late Marquis de Rochebriant. It was + in revenge for this supposed crime that he had made himself the principal + mortgagee of the late Marquis; and, visiting the sins of the father on the + son, had, under the infernal disguise of friendly interest, made himself + sole mortgagee to Alain, upon terms apparently the most generous. The + demon soon showed his griffe, and was about to foreclose, when Duplessis + came to Alain’s relief; and Rochebriant was to be Valerie’s dot on her + marriage with Alain. The Prussian war, of course, suspended all such + plans, pecuniary and matrimonial. Duplessis, whose resources were terribly + crippled by the war, attempted operations in London with a view of raising + the sum necessary to pay off the mortgage;—found himself strangely + frustrated and baffled. Louvier was in London, and defeated his rival’s + agent in every speculation. It became impossible for Duplessis to redeem + the mortgage. The two men came to Paris with the peace. Louvier determined + both to seize the Breton lands and to complete the ruin of Duplessis, when + he learned from De Mauleon that he had spent half his life in a baseless + illusion; that Alain’s father was innocent of the crime for which his son + was to suffer;—and Victor, with that strange power over men’s minds + which was so peculiar to him, talked Louvier into mercy if not into + repentance. In short, the mortgage is to be paid off by instalments at the + convenience of Duplessis. Alain’s marriage with Valerie is to take place + in a few weeks. The fournisseurs are already gone to fit up the old + chateau for the bride, and Louvier is invited to the wedding. + </p> + <p> + “I have all this story from Alain, and from Duplessis himself. I tell the + tale as ‘twas told to me, with all the gloss of sentiment upon its woof. + But between ourselves, I am too Parisian not to be sceptical as to the + unalloyed amiability of sudden conversions. And I suspect that Louvier was + no longer in a condition to indulge in the unprofitable whim of turning + rural seigneur. He had sunk large sums and incurred great liabilities in + the new street to be called after his name; and that street has been twice + ravaged, first by the Prussian siege, and next by the Guerre des + Communeaux; and I can detect many reasons why Louvier should deem it + prudent not only to withdraw from the Rochebriant seizure, and make sure + of peacefully recovering the capital lent on it, but establishing joint + interest and quasi partnership with a financier so brilliant and + successful as Armand Duplessis has hitherto been. + </p> + <p> + “Alain himself is not quite recovered from his wound, and is now at + Rochebriant, nursed by his aunt and Valerie. I have promised to visit him + next week. Raoul de Vandemar is still at Paris with his mother, saying, + there is no place where one Christian man can be of such service. The old + Count declines to come back, saying there is no place where a philosopher + can be in such danger. + </p> + <p> + “I reserve as my last communication, in reply to your questions, that + which is the gravest. You say that you saw in the public journals brief + notice of the assassination of Victor de Mauleon; and you ask for such + authentic particulars as I can give of that event, and of the motives of + the assassin. + </p> + <p> + “I need not, of course, tell you how bravely the poor Vicomte behaved + throughout the siege; but he made many enemies among the worst members of + the National Guard by the severity of his discipline; and had he been + caught by the mob the same day as Clement Thomas, who committed the same + offence, would have certainly shared the fate of that general. Though + elected a depute, he remained at Paris a few days after Thiers & Co. + left it, in the hope of persuading the party of Order, including then no + small portion of the National Guards, to take prompt and vigorous measures + to defend the city against the Communists. Indignant at their + pusillanimity, he then escaped to Versailles. There he more than confirmed + the high reputation he had acquired during the siege, and impressed the + ablest public men with the belief that he was destined to take a very + leading part in the strife of party. When the Versailles troops entered + Paris, he was, of course, among them in command of a battalion. + </p> + <p> + “He escaped safe through that horrible war of barricades, though no man + more courted danger. He inspired his men with his own courage. It was not + till the revolt was quenched on the evening of the 28th May that he met + his death. The Versailles soldiers, naturally exasperated, were very + prompt in seizing and shooting at once every passenger who looked like a + foe. Some men under De Mauleon had seized upon one of these victims, and + were hurrying him into the next street for execution, when, catching sight + of the Vicomte, he screamed out, ‘Lebeau, save me!’ + </p> + <p> + “At that cry De Mauleon rushed forward, arrested his soldiers, cried, + ‘This man is innocent—a harmless physician. I answer for him.’ As he + thus spoke, a wounded Communist, lying in the gutter amidst a heap of the + slain, dragged himself up, reeled towards De Mauleon, plunged a knife + between his shoulders, and dropped down dead. + </p> + <p> + “The Vicomte was carried into a neighbouring house, from all the windows + of which the tricolour was suspended; and the Medecin whom he had just + saved from summary execution examined and dressed his wound. The Vicomte + lingered for more than an hour, but expired in the effort to utter some + words, the sense of which those about him endeavoured in vain to seize. + </p> + <p> + “It was from the Medecin that the name of the assassin and the motive for + the crime were ascertained. The miscreant was a Red Republican and + Socialist named Armand Monnier. He had been a very skilful workman, and + earning, as such, high wages. But he thought fit to become an active + revolutionary politician, first led into schemes for upsetting the world + by the existing laws of marriage, which had inflicted on him one woman who + ran away from him, but being still legally his wife, forbade him to marry + another woman with whom he lived, and to whom he seems to have been + passionately attached. + </p> + <p> + “These schemes, however, he did not put into any positive practice till he + fell in with a certain Jean Lebeau, who exercised great influence over + him, and by whom he was admitted into one of the secret revolutionary + societies which had for their object the overthrow of the Empire. After + that time his head became turned. The fall of the Empire put an end to the + society he had joined: Lebeau dissolved it. During the siege Monnier was a + sort of leader among the ouvriers; but as it advanced and famine + commenced, he contracted the habit of intoxication. His children died of + cold and hunger. The woman he lived with followed them to the grave. Then + he seems to have become a ferocious madman, and to have been implicated in + the worst crimes of the Communists. He cherished a wild desire of revenge + against this Jean Lebeau, to whom he attributed all his calamities, and by + whom, he said, his brother had been shot in the sortie of December. + </p> + <p> + “Here comes the strange part of the story. This Jean Lebeau is alleged to + have been one and the same person with Victor de Mauleon. The Medecin I + have named, and who is well known in Belleville and Montmartre as the + Medecin des Pauvres, confesses that he belonged to the secret society + organised by Lebeau; that the disguise the Vicomte assumed was so + complete, that he should not have recognised his identity with the + conspirator but for an accident. During the latter time of the + bombardment, he, the <i>Medecin des Pauvres</i>, was on the eastern + ramparts, and his attention was suddenly called to a man mortally wounded + by the splinter of a shell. While examining the nature of the wound; De + Mauleon, who was also on the ramparts, came to the spot. The dying man + said, ‘M. le Vicomte, you owe me a service. My name is Marc le Roux. I was + on the police before the war. When M. de. Mauleon reassumed his station, + and was making himself obnoxious to the Emperor, I might have denounced + him as Jean Lebeau the conspirator. I did not. The siege has reduced me to + want. I have a child at home—a pet. Don’t let her starve.’ ‘I will + see to her,’ said the Vicomte. Before we could get the man into the + ambulance cart he expired. + </p> + <p> + “The Medecin who told this story I had the curiosity to see myself, and + cross-question. I own I believe his statement. Whether De Mauleon did or + did not conspire against a fallen dynasty, to which he owed no allegiance, + can little, if at all, injure the reputation he has left behind of a very + remarkable man—of great courage and great ability—who might + have had a splendid career if he had survived. But, as Savarin says truly, + the first bodies which the car of revolution crushes down are those which + first harness themselves to it. + </p> + <p> + “Among De Mauleon’s papers is the programme of a constitution fitted for + France. How it got into Savarin’s hands I know not. De Mauleon left no + will, and no relations came forward to claim his papers. I asked Savarin + to give me the heads of the plan, which he did. They are as follows: + </p> + <p> + “The American republic is the sole one worth studying, for it has lasted. + The causes of its duration are in the checks to democratic fickleness and + disorder. 1st. No law affecting the Constitution can be altered without + the consent of two-thirds of Congress. 2nd. To counteract the impulses + natural to a popular Assembly chosen by universal suffrage, the greater + legislative powers, especially in foreign affairs, are vested in the + Senate, which has even executive as well as legislative functions. 3rd. + The Chief of the State, having elected his government, can maintain it + independent of hostile majorities in either Assembly. + </p> + <p> + “‘These three principles of safety to form the basis of any new + constitution for France. + </p> + <p> + “‘For France it is essential that the chief magistrate, under whatever + title he assume, should be as irresponsible as an English sovereign. + Therefore he should not preside at his councils; he should not lead his + armies. The day for personal government is gone, even in Prussia. The + safety for order in a State is that, when things go wrong, the Ministry + changes, the State remains the same. In Europe, Republican institutions + are safer where the chief magistrate is hereditary than where elective.’ + </p> + <p> + “Savarin says these axioms are carried out at length, and argued with + great ability. + </p> + <p> + “I am very grateful for your proffered hospitalities in England. Some day + I shall accept them-viz., whenever I decide on domestic life, and the calm + of the conjugal foyer. I have a penchant for an English Mees, and am not + exacting as to the dot. Thirty thousand livres sterling would satisfy me—a + trifle, I believe, to you rich islanders. + </p> + <p> + “Meanwhile I am naturally compelled to make up for the miseries of that + horrible siege. Certain moralising journals tell us that, sobered by + misfortunes, the Parisians are going to turn over a new leaf, become + studious and reflective, despise pleasure and luxury, and live like German + professors. Don’t believe a word of it. My conviction is that, whatever + may be said as to our frivolity, extravagance, &c., under the Empire, + we shall be just the same under any form of government—the bravest, + the most timid, the most ferocious, the kindest-hearted, the most + irrational, the most intelligent, the most contradictory, the most + consistent people whom Jove, taking counsel of Venus and the Graces, Mars + and the Furies, ever created for the delight and terror of the world;—in + a word, the Parisians.—Votre tout divoue, ‘FREDERIC LEMERCIER.’” + </p> + <p> + It is a lovely noon on the bay of Sorrento, towards the close of the + autumn of 1871. Upon the part of the craggy shore, to the left of the + town, on which her first perusal of the loveliest poem in which the + romance of Christian heroism has ever combined elevation of thought with + silvery delicacies of speech, had charmed her childhood, reclined the + young bride of Graham Vane. They were in the first month of their + marriage. Isaura had not yet recovered from the effects of all that had + preyed upon her life, from the hour in which she had deemed that in her + pursuit of fame she had lost the love that had coloured her genius and + inspired her dreams, to that in which.... + </p> + <p> + The physicians consulted agreed in insisting on her passing the winter in + a southern climate; and after their wedding, which took place in Florence, + they thus came to Sorrento. + </p> + <p> + As Isaura is seated on the small smoothed rock, Graham reclines at her + feet, his face upturned to hers with an inexpressible wistful anxiety in + his impassioned tenderness. “You are sure you feel better and stronger + since we have been here?” + </p> + <p> + THE END. <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s The Parisians, Complete, by Edward Bulwer-Lytton + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PARISIANS, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 7749-h.htm or 7749-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/7/7/4/7749/ + +Produced by 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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