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Edmond About sont à prendre en compte, ainsi que les informations de l’auteur et la description qui suit :« Découvrez *Les mariages de Paris* d’Edmond About, une fresque vive et passionnante qui nous plonge dans les mœurs, les ambitions et les illusions de la société parisienne du XIXe siècle. Dans cette œuvre, l’auteur explore avec finesse et ironie les intrigues sentimentales, les convenances sociales et les ambitions parfois démesurées qui entourent l’institution du mariage.

Ce roman, à la fois critique sociale et tableau réaliste, nous offre une immersion dans l’élégance et les contradictions de Paris. Les personnages y sont dessinés avec humour et profondeur, révélant les forces et les faiblesses de l’âme humaine, entre passion, calcul et quête de respectabilité.

Plongez-vous dans cette lecture captivante et laissez-vous séduire par la plume vive d’Edmond About, où l’amour et l’intérêt se croisent dans une danse parfois tendre, parfois cruelle. Un véritable voyage littéraire au cœur des mariages et des illusions de la capitale française.

Abonnez-vous à notre chaîne pour plus de classiques inoubliables : https://bit.ly/LivresAudioLaMagieDesMots
– L’hôtel hanté de Wilkie Collins | Mystère et Intrigue [https://youtu.be/yHr0BOV_4Kc]
– Le fauteuil hanté | Gaston Leroux[https://youtu.be/9awZnq0ioQw]
– Les Cinq Cents Millions De La Bégum | Jules Verne [https://youtu.be/y5bRidgCG8w]

Pourquoi écouter ce livre audio ?
– Une plongée dans la société parisienne du XIXe siècle
– Une satire subtile des mariages et conventions
– Des personnages hauts en couleur et inoubliables
– Un style élégant, plein d’esprit et de modernité

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**Navigate by Chapters or Titles:**
00:00:32 Chapter 1.
00:20:16 Chapter 2.
00:37:51 Chapter 3.
01:02:04 Chapter 4.
01:19:12 Chapter 5.
01:27:30 Chapter 6.
01:40:17 Chapter 7.
01:58:28 Chapter 8.
02:18:21 Chapter 9.
02:41:59 Chapter 10.
03:01:25 Chapter 11.
03:21:32 Chapter 12.
03:57:09 Chapter 13.
04:15:50 Chapter 14.
04:33:21 Chapter 15.
05:31:36 Chapter 16.
06:03:43 Chapter 17.
06:36:57 Chapter 18.
06:59:19 Chapter 19.
07:23:53 Chapter 20.
07:46:42 Chapter 21. ».

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La police municipale : Garantir la tranquillité publique grâce à la proximité

La police municipale est un pilier essentiel pour maintenir la tranquillité publique dans nos quartiers. Les agents de police veillent sur la sécurité des habitants en surveillant les espaces publics, en maintenant une présence de proximité et en agissant rapidement lorsque cela est nécessaire. Dans cet article, nous explorerons les différentes missions de la police municipale, ses stratégies de prévention, les enjeux actuels et ses perspectives d’avenir.

Problématiques contemporaines de sécurité

Incidents de délinquance et nuisances

Les policiers municipaux se trouvent régulièrement confrontés à des nuisances, comme le bruit, les stationnements gênants et certains comportements perturbateurs. Même si la délinquance est moins forte, elle demeure un défi.

Renforcer l’efficacité des actions

Afin de mieux répondre aux enjeux actuels, la police municipale doit progresser. Cela passe par un renforcement de la formation des agents, un investissement dans des équipements de surveillance de pointe et la création d’outils numériques pour faciliter la gestion des interventions. Utilisez l’application Je Signale pour transmettre rapidement vos alertes à la police municipale.

Les priorités essentielles pour la sécurité des citoyens

Les priorités de la police municipale se réadaptent avec l’évolution des besoins de la société. Si la prévention de la délinquance et la sécurité des espaces publics demeurent essentielles, de nouveaux enjeux liés à la technologie et aux nouvelles formes de criminalité doivent également être pris en compte. Les enjeux de la sécurité publique changent en permanence, et la police municipale se doit de répondre à de nombreux défis.

Techniques de prévention et d’intervention rapide

Coordination des efforts de sécurité locale

La police municipale travaille main dans la main avec la police nationale et les services d’urgence pour intervenir de manière rapide et efficace en cas de crise. Cette collaboration permet de garantir une protection de qualité pour tous.

Sensibilisation à la sécurité et à l’ordre public

Dans le cadre de ses actions de prévention de la délinquance, la police municipale organise des campagnes de sensibilisation à la sécurité routière, des réunions avec les habitants pour discuter de la sécurité locale et des actions éducatives visant à réduire les nuisances. L’implication des citoyens dans ces initiatives est essentielle pour renforcer la collaboration.

Moyens de surveillance et patrouilles ciblées

Les policiers municipaux assurent une présence constante grâce à des rondes à pied ou en voiture, complétées par l’installation de caméras, afin de repérer toute anomalie et d’intervenir rapidement. La police municipale s’efforce de maintenir l’ordre avant même qu’un problème n’éclate, grâce à des mesures de prévention efficaces.

Évolutions à venir dans le domaine de la police municipale

La police municipale est sur le point d’embrasser un avenir riche en évolutions et en opportunités.

Changements dans la législation et les régulations

Les réformes législatives récurrentes en matière de police municipale tendent à accroître leur efficacité en matière de sécurité publique.

Projets pionniers pour une sécurité renforcée

La police municipale pourrait bénéficier de nouvelles technologies pour optimiser la sécurité publique. Des outils comme la vidéosurveillance moderne, les drones et les plateformes de signalement en ligne pourraient accroître leur efficacité et réactivité. Indispensable pour garantir la sécurité publique, la police municipale joue un rôle crucial dans la tranquillité des citoyens. Sa capacité à prévenir et à intervenir rapidement permet d’assurer des lieux de vie plus sûrs, mais les défis de demain imposent une évolution constante.

L’avenir de l’intervention policière dans les collectivités locales

Dans les années à venir, la police municipale pourrait étendre son champ d’action, en contribuant à des projets communautaires de sécurité ou en jouant un rôle central dans la gestion de la sécurité lors des événements locaux.

La police municipale : Une présence essentielle pour la paix publique

Les missions spécifiques et les compétences techniques

La brigade de police municipale assure un large éventail de missions pour la sécurité et la tranquillité des citoyens. Elle patrouille dans les rues, régule la circulation et le stationnement, s’occupe des animaux errants, et gère les nuisances sonores. En cas d’infractions au code de la route ou de perturbations à l’ordre public, les policiers municipaux sont également présents pour intervenir.

L’effet de la présence policière sur la quiétude publique

La préservation de la tranquillité publique est une mission essentielle de la police municipale. Grâce à des patrouilles régulières et une présence active dans les lieux publics, les policiers limitent les comportements nuisibles et réduisent les risques de délinquance. Leur présence dissuasive assure un environnement sécurisé et apaisé pour les citoyens.

L’importance de la proximité citoyenne

La force de la police municipale réside dans sa proximité directe avec les citoyens, ce qui permet un traitement administratif efficace en lien avec le droit judiciaire. En étant présente dans les quartiers, elle réagit rapidement aux préoccupations locales et établit une relation de confiance, essentielle pour prévenir les risques grâce à un échange d’informations constant. La police municipale, dirigée par le maire, joue un rôle majeur dans le maintien de l’ordre et la tranquillité publique. Ses agents sont responsables de la surveillance des lieux publics, de l’intervention lors de conflits et de la mise en œuvre des arrêtés municipaux, en coordination avec la police nationale.

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#Les #mariages #Paris #Edmond

Retranscription des paroles de la vidéo: Let’s dive together into the fascinating world of Edmond About with Les mariages de Paris. In this work, the author paints a vivid and sometimes ironic picture of the unions and romantic intrigues that animated 19th-century Parisian society. Through his penetrating gaze and satirical wit, he highlights the ambitions, hypocrisies, and dreams hidden behind marriages, between social conventions and personal aspirations. It is a humorous and truthful immersion into the mores of his time, where social criticism blends with literary charm. Chapter 1. When I was a candidate at the École Normale (it was in October of the year of grace 1848), I became friends with two of my competitors, the Debay brothers. They were Bretons, born in Auray, and educated at the college of Vannes. Although they were the same age, give or take a few minutes, they were nothing alike, and I have never seen two twins so ill-matched. Matthieu Debay was a small man of twenty-three, rather ugly and stunted. His arms were too long, his shoulders too high, and his legs too short: you would have said he was a hunchback who had lost his hump. His brother Léonce was a type of aristocratic beauty: tall, well-built, with a fine waist, a Greek profile, a proud eye, and a superb mustache. His hair, almost blue, quivered on his head like a lion’s mane. Poor Matthieu was not red-haired, but he had had a narrow escape: his beard and hair offered a sample of every color. What was attractive about him was a pair of small gray eyes, full of finesse, naiveté, gentleness, and everything that is best in the world. Beauty, banished from his entire person, had taken refuge in that corner. When the two brothers came for exams, Léonce would whistle a little cane with a silver head that aroused much jealousy; Matthieu philosophically dragged under his arm a person of all body types red umbrella that won him the goodwill of the examiners. However, he was rejected like his brother: the college of Vannes had not taught them enough Greek. Matthieu was missed at school: he had the vocation, the desire to learn, the rage to teach; he was born a professor. As for Léonce, we unanimously thought that it would be a great shame if such a well-built boy shut himself up like us in the university cloister. His taking the robe would have saddened us like taking the habit. The two brothers were not without resources. We even found that they were rich, when we compared their fortune to ours: they had Uncle Yvon. Uncle Yvon, a former coastal captain, then a sardine fishing shipowner, owned several boats, many nets, some property in the sun, and a pretty house in the port of Auray, in front of the Pavillon d’en bas. As he had never found the time to marry, he remained a bachelor. He was a man with a big heart, excellent for the poor and especially for his family, who were in great need of it. The people of Auray held him in high esteem; he was on the municipal council, and the little boys would say to him, taking off their caps: Good morning, Captain Yvon! This worthy man had taken Mr. and Mrs. Debay into his home, and he saved two hundred francs a month for the children. Thanks to this munificence, Léonce and Matthieu were able to stay at the Hôtel Corneille, which is the Hôtel des Princes in the Latin Quarter. Their room cost fifty francs a month; it was a beautiful room. There were two mahogany beds with red curtains, and two armchairs, and several chairs, and a glass-fronted cupboard for storing books, and even (God forgive me!) a rug. These gentlemen ate at the hotel; the board was not bad at 75 francs a month. Food and board absorbed Uncle Yvon’s two hundred francs; Matthieu provided for the other expenses. His age did not allow him to apply a second time to the École Normale. He said to his brother: I’m going to prepare for the exams for my degree in literature. Once I’m graduated, I’ll write my theses for my doctorate, and Dr. Debay will one day or another obtain a substitute position in some faculty. You ‘ll study medicine or law; you’re free. And money? asked Léonce. « I’ll mint money. I went to Sainte-Barbe and asked for lessons. They accepted me as tutor for the ninth and tenth grade students: two hours of work every morning, and two hundred francs every month. I’ll have to get up at five o’clock; but we’ll be rich.  » « And then, » added Léonce, « you belong to the family of early risers, and it’s a pleasure for you to wake the sun. » Léonce chose law. He spoke like an oracle, and no one doubted that he would make an excellent lawyer. He followed the lectures, took notes, and wrote them up carefully; after which he would wash up, run around Paris, show himself to the four cardinal points, and spend the evening at the theater. Matthieu, dressed in a hazelnut overcoat that I can still see, listened to all the professors at the Sorbonne, and worked in the evenings at the Sainte-Geneviève library. The whole Latin Quarter knew Léonce; no one in the world suspected the existence of Matthieu. I went to see them on almost all my outings; that is to say, on Thursdays and Sundays. They lent me books, Matthieu had a cult for Madame Sand; Léonce was a fanatic of Balzac. The young professor relaxed in the company of François le Champi, of Bonhomme Patience or of Bessons de la Bessonière. His simple and serious soul walked dreamily in the reddish furrow of the plows, in the paths bordered by heather or under the large chestnut trees that shade the Devil’s Pond. Léonce’s restless spirit followed entirely different paths . Curious to probe the mysteries of Parisian life, eager for pleasure, light, and noise, he inhaled from Balzac’s novels an intoxicating air like the scent of hothouses. He followed with dazzled eyes the strange fortunes of the Rubemprés, the Rastignacs, the Henry de Marsays. He entered into their clothes, slipped into their world, witnessed their duels, their loves, their enterprises, their victories; he triumphed with them. Then he came to look at himself in the mirror. Were they better than me? Am I not worth them ? What would prevent me from succeeding like them! I have their beauty, their wit, an education they never had, and, what is even better, the sense of duty. I learned from college the distinction between good and evil. I will be a de Marsay minus the vices, a Rubempré without Vautrin, a scrupulous Rastignac: what a future! All the joys of pleasure and all the pride of virtue! When the two brothers, with half-closed eyes, interrupted their reading to listen to some inner voice, Léonce heard the tinkling of the millions of Nucingen or Gobsek, and Matthieu the quivering sound of those rustic bells that announce the return of the flocks. We sometimes went out together. Léonce took us for rides along the Boulevard des Italiens and through the better districts of Paris. He chose hotels, he bought horses, he enlisted footmen. When he saw an unpleasant face in a pretty coupé, he took us to task: Everything is going wrong, he said, and the universe is a foolish country. Wouldn’t this carriage suit us a hundred times better? He said « we » out of politeness. His passion for horses was so intense that Matthieu took out a twenty- fee subscription to the riding school. Matthieu, when we left it to him to drive us, would head towards the woods of Meudon and Clamart. He claimed that the countryside was more beautiful than the city, even in winter, and the crows on the snow were more pleasing to his eyes than the bourgeois in the droppings. Léonce followed us, murmuring and dragging his feet. Deep in the woods, he dreamed of the associations mysterious like that of the Thirteen, and he suggested that we join forces together for the conquest of Paris. For my part, I took my friends on some curious walks. A small charity office has been founded at the École Normale. A contribution of a few sous per week, the proceeds of an annual lottery , and old school clothes make up a modest fund from which we take every day without ever exhausting it. We distribute in the neighborhood a few printed cards representing wood, bread, or broth, some clothes, a little linen, and a lot of kind words. The great usefulness of this small institution is to remind young people that poverty exists. Matthieu accompanied me more often than Léonce up the winding stairs of the 12th arrondissement. Léonce said: Poverty is a problem for which I want to find the solution. I will take my courage in both hands, I will overcome all my disgust, I will penetrate to the depths of these accursed houses where the sun and the bread do not enter every day; I will touch with my finger this ulcer which eats away at our society, and which has put it, very recently still, on the verge of the grave; I will know in what proportion vice and fatality work for the degradation of our species. He said excellent things, but it was Matthieu who came with me. He followed me one day to Rue Traversine, to the house of a poor devil whose name I do not remember. I only remember that he was nicknamed the Little Grey, because he was small and his hair was gray. He had a wife and no children, and he re-caned chairs. We paid him our first visit in July 1849. Matthieu felt chilled to the core as he entered Rue Traversine. It’s a street I don’t want to speak ill of, because it will be demolished within six months. But, in the meantime, it looks a little too much like the streets of Constantinople. It’s located in a part of Paris that Parisians hardly know; it borders on the Rue de Versailles, the Rue du Paon, the Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève; it runs parallel to the Rue Saint-Victor. Perhaps it’s paved or macadamized, but I can’t answer for anything: the ground is covered with chopped straw, debris of all kinds, and very much alive kids rolling in the mud. To the right and left rise two rows of tall, bare, dirty houses, pierced with small, uncurtained windows . Quite picturesque rags dot each facade, waiting for the wind to take the trouble to dry them. The Rue de Rivoli is much better, but the Little Gray couldn’t find a place to rent on the Rue de Rivoli. He told us about his poverty: he earned a franc a day. His wife wove doormats and earned fifty to sixty centimes. Their lodgings were a room on the fifth floor; their flooring, a layer of beaten earth; their window, a collection of oiled papers. I took a few coupons for bread and broth from my pocket. The Little Gray received them with a slightly ironic smile. Sir, he said to me, you will forgive me if I interfere in what is none of my business, but I have the idea that it is not with these little boxes that we will cure poverty. It is as much like putting lint on a wooden leg. You took the trouble to climb my five flights of stairs with your friend, to bring me six pounds of bread and two liters of broth. We have been here for two days. But will you come back the day after tomorrow? It is impossible: you have other things to do. In two days I will be in the same situation as if you had not come. I’ll be even hungrier, because the stomach is fierce the day after a good dinner. If I were rich like you others, » Matthew jabbed his elbow in my side, « I would arrange things so as to get people out of trouble for the rest of their days. « And how? If the takings are good, we’ll profit from them.  » « There are two ways; we buy them a business, or we procure a government position. « Shut up, » his wife told him. « I always told you that you would harm yourself with your ambition.  » « What’s the harm, if I am capable? I confess that I have always had the idea of ​​asking for a position. If someone offered me ten francs to set myself up as a seasonal merchant or to buy a match business, I certainly would not refuse, but I would always regret a little the position I have in mind.  » « And what position, please? » asked Matthieu. « Sweeper for the city of Paris. You earn your twenty sous a day, and you are free at ten o’clock in the morning, at the latest. If you could get that for me, my good gentlemen, I would double my earnings, I would have enough to live on, you would be spared from having to come up here with little boxes in your pockets, and I would be the one who went to your house to thank you. » We didn’t know anyone at the prefecture, but Léonce had met the son of a police commissioner: he used his influence to obtain the appointment of the Little Gray. When we came to congratulate him, the first piece of furniture that caught our eyes was a gigantic broom whose handle was embellished with an iron ring. The owner of this broom thanked us warmly. Thanks to you, he told us, I am above want; my superiors already appreciate me, and I do not despair of enlisting my wife in my brigade; that would be wealth. But there are two ladies on our landing who could do with your assistance; unfortunately, they are not made for sweeping. « Let’s go see them, » said Matthieu. « Let me speak to you first. They are not people like my wife and me: they have had misfortunes. The lady is a widow. Her husband was a jeweler himself, of all types of bodies, on Rue d’Orléans, in the Marais. He left last year for California with a machine he invented, a gold-finding machine; but the ship sank on the way, with the man, the machine, and everything else. These ladies read in the newspapers that not a single match had been saved. So they sold what little they had left and went to live on Rue d’Enfer; and then the lady caught an illness that ate everything away. So they came here. They embroider from morning to night until their eyes die, but they don’t earn much. My wife helps them with their housework when she has time: we’re not rich, but we give a helping hand to those who are struggling too much. I’m telling you this to make you understand that these ladies don’t ask anything from anyone, and that you’ll have to be polite to make them accept anything. Besides, the young lady is as pretty as a picture, and that makes you savage, as you understand. Matthieu turned very red at the thought that he might have been indiscreet. We’ll find a way, he said. What is this lady’s name? « Madame Bourgade.  » « Thank you. » Two days later, Matthieu, who had never wanted private lessons, undertook to prepare a young man for the baccalaureate. He gave himself to it so wholeheartedly that his pupil, who had been refused four or five times, was accepted on August 18, at the beginning of the holidays. It was only then that the two brothers set off for Brittany. Before leaving, Matthieu gave me fifty francs.  » I’ll be away for five weeks, » he told me. « I have to come back in October, for the start of the school year and for the license exams . You will go to the post office every Monday and take a money order for ten francs, made out to Madame Bourgade: you know the address. She thinks it’s a debtor of her husband’s who pays in detail. » Do n’t show yourself in the house: you mustn’t arouse the suspicions of these ladies. If one of them fell ill, Little Gray would come and warn you, and you would write to me. I told you that one could only read good feelings in Matthew’s little gray eyes. Why didn’t I keep the letter he wrote me during the holidays? It would please you. He described to me with naive enthusiasm the countryside gilded by gorse, the druidic stones of Carnac, the dunes of Quiberon, the sardine fishing in the gulf, and the flotilla of red sails harvesting oysters in the Auray River. All this seemed new to him, after a year of absence. His brother was a little bored thinking about Paris. For him, he had found nothing but pleasures. His parents were doing so well! Uncle Yvon was such a nobody of all body types and so fat! The house was so beautiful, the beds so soft, the table so generous! – Perhaps I forgot to tell you that Matthieu ate for two. – Do you know the only thing that saddened me? he wrote to me in a postscript. I’ll admit it to you, when you should be making fun of me. There are two large, lazy rooms in the house, well -floored, well-ventilated, well-furnished, and which are of no use to anyone. I’m sure my uncle would rent them for nothing to any honest family who wanted to take them. And one pays a hundred francs a year to live on Rue Traversine. Matthieu returned in October and won his degree in literature with flying colors. The examiners’ marks were so favorable that he was offered the chair of the fourth year at the Chaumont high school; but he could not bring himself to leave his brother and Paris. From time to time he gave me news from Rue Traversine: Madame Bourgade was ill. You will only fully understand the interest he took in his invisible protégées if I let you in on the great secret of his youth: he had not yet loved anyone. Since his comrades had not spared him jokes about his ugliness, he was modest to the point of regarding himself as a monster. If anyone had tried to tell him that a woman could love him as he was, he would have thought they were making fun of him. He sometimes dreamed that a fairy struck him with her wand, and he became another man. This transformation was the indispensable preface to all his love stories. In real life, he passed by women without raising his eyes: he feared that the sight of him would be unpleasant to them. The day he became the unknown benefactor of a beautiful young girl, he felt in the depths of his heart a humble and tender contentment. He compared himself to the hero of Beauty and the Beast, who hides his face and lets only his soul be seen; or to that pariah of The Indian Cottage, who says: You can eat these fruits, I have not touched them. It was an unforeseen accident that brought him into the presence of Miss Bourgade. He was at Petit-Gris’s asking for news when Aimée entered , crying for help. Her mother had fainted. Matthieu ran with the others. The next day he brought an intern from the Pitié. Madame Bourgade was only ill from exhaustion; she was cured. Petit-Gris’s wife was installed in her home as a nurse. She went to get the medicines and food; and she knew how to bargain so well that she got them for nothing. Madame Bourgade drank an excellent Médoc wine that cost her sixty centimes a bottle; she ate ferruginous chocolate at two francs a kilogram. It was Matthieu who performed these miracles and who did not boast about it. He was seen only as an obliging neighbor; he was thought to be lodged on Rue Saint-Victor. The sick woman slowly became accustomed to the presence of this young professor, who displayed the delicate attentions of a young girl. Her maternal prudence never put itself on guard against him; at most, if she regarded him as a man. From the simplicity of his dress, she judged that he was poor; she was interested in him as he was interested in her. One Monday in December, she saw him coming in a hazelnut overcoat, without a coat, in very cold weather. She told him, after much circumlocution, that she had just received a sum of ten francs, and she offered to lend him half. Matthieu did not know whether he should laugh or cry: he had hired his coat that very morning for those miserable ten francs. That was where they were after a month of acquaintance. Aimée was giving herself up less to the pleasures of intimacy. For her, Matthieu was a man. Comparing him to Petit-Gris and the inhabitants of Rue Traversine, she found him distinguished. Besides, at the age of sixteen, she had hardly had time to observe the human race. She was ignorant not only of Matthieu’s ugliness, but also of her own beauty; there was no mirror in the house. Madame Bourgade told Matthieu what he knew in part, thanks to Petit-Gris’s indiscretions. Her husband was doing poorly in business and barely earning enough to live on when he learned of the discovery of California. As a sensible man, he guessed that the first explorers of this fortunate land would pursue the gold ingots and nuggets buried in the rock, without taking the time to exploit the gold-bearing sands. He said to himself that the safest and most lucrative speculation would consist of washing the dust from the mines and the sand from the ravines. With this in mind, he built a very ingenious machine, which he called, after himself, the Bourgade separator. To test it, he mixed 30 grams of gold powder with 100 kilograms of earth and sand. The separator reproduced all the gold, to within two decigrams. With this experience, Mr. Bourgade gathered together the little he had, left his family enough to live on for six months, and embarked on the Belle-Antoinette, from Bordeaux, by the grace of God. Two months later, the Belle-Antoinette was lost, body and goods, leaving the Rio de Janeiro channel. Matthieu realized that, without making a trip to California, the late Bourgade’s invention could be exploited for the benefit of the widow and her daughter. He asked Mrs. Bourgade to entrust him with the plans she had kept, and I was instructed to show them to a student at the École Centrale. The consultation was not long. The young engineer said to me, after a second’s examination: Known! It’s the Bourgade separator. It ‘s in the public domain, and the Brazilians manufacture ten thousand of them a year in Rio de Janeiro. Do you know the inventor? « He died in a shipwreck.  » « The machine will have survived; that’s something you see every day. » I returned piteously to the Hôtel Corneille to report on my embassy. I found the two brothers in tears. Uncle Yvon had died of apoplexy, leaving them all his possessions. Chapter 2. I have kept a copy of Uncle Yvon’s will. Here it is: On August 15, 1849, the feast of the Assumption, I, Matthieu-Jean-Léonce Yvon, of sound body and mind and having received the sacraments of the Church, drew up this will and document of my last wishes. Foreseeing the accidents to which human life is exposed, and desiring that, if anything happens to me, my property be shared without dispute between my heirs, I divided my fortune into two parts as equal as I could make them, namely: 1. A sum of fifty thousand francs yielding five percent, and invested by the care of Mr. Aubryet, notary in Paris; 2. My house located in Auray, my moors, arable land and real estate of all kinds; my boats, nets, fishing gear, weapons, furniture, clothes, linen and other movable objects, all valued, in conscience and justice, at fifty thousand francs. I give and bequeath all of these assets to my nephews and godchildren, Matthieu and Léonce Debay, enjoining each of them to choose, either amicably or by lot, one of the two shares designated above, without resorting, under any pretext, to the intervention of men of law. In the event that I should die before my sister Yvonne Yvon, wife of Debay, and her husband, my excellent brother-in-law, I entrust to my heirs the care of their old age; and I trust that they will not let them lack anything, following the example that I have always given them. The division was not long in being made, and there was no need to consult fate. Léonce chose the money, and Matthieu took the rest. Léonce said: What do you want me to do with my poor uncle’s boats ? I would be fine dredging oysters or fishing for sardines! I would have to live in Auray, and just thinking about it makes me yawn. You would soon learn that I am dead and that nostalgia for the boulevard has killed me. If, by good fortune or bad luck, I escaped destruction, all this little fortune would soon perish in my hands. Do I know how to rent land, lease a fishery , or settle partnership accounts with half a dozen sailors? I would let myself be robbed of the ashes of my fire. If Matthieu leaves me the money, I will invest it in a solid security that will bring me twenty for one. That is how I understand business. « As you please, » replied Matthew. « I don’t think you would have been forced to live in Auray. Our parents are well, thank God! And they are perhaps sufficient for the task. But tell me, what is the miraculous value in which you intend to invest your money?  » « My head. Listen to me calmly. Of all the roads that lead a young man to fortune, the shortest is neither commerce, nor industry, nor art, nor medicine, nor pleading, nor even speculation; it is… guess.  » « Lady! I see nothing left but theft on the highways, and it becomes more difficult every day; for locomotives cannot be stopped.  » « You forget marriage! It is marriage that has made the best houses in Europe. Do you want me to tell you the story of the Counts of Habsburg? Seven hundred years ago, they were a little richer than me, not much. » By dint of marrying and marrying heiresses, they founded one of the greatest monarchies in the world, the Austrian Empire. I am marrying an heiress. « Which one?  » « I don’t know, but I will find her.  » « With your fifty thousand francs?  » « Stop right there! You understand that if I set out in search of a wife with my little wallet containing fifty banknotes, all the millions would laugh at me; at most, I would find the daughter of a haberdasher or the heiress presumptive to a hardware store. In the world where such a meager sum would be taken into account, no one would be grateful for my appearance, my mind, or my education. For, after all, we are not here to be modest.  » « Good! In the world where I want to marry, they will marry me for me, without inquiring about what I have. » When a suit is well made and well worn, my dear, no girl of condition asks what’s in the pockets. Thereupon, Léonce explained to his brother that he would use Uncle Yvon’s money to open the doors of high society. Long experience, acquired in novels, had taught him that with nothing you can make nothing, but with a good dress, a pretty horse, and good manners, you can always find a loving match. Here’s my plan, he said: I’m going to eat up my capital. For a year, I’ll have fifty thousand francs in effigy income, and the devil will be very clever if I don’t make myself loved by a girl who actually owns them. « But, wretch, you’re ruining yourself!  » « No, I’m investing my money at twenty for one. » Matthieu didn’t bother to argue with his brother. Besides, the invested funds weren’t supposed to be available until June ; there was no danger in the matter. Uncle Yvon’s heirs did not change their way of life; they were no richer than before. The boats and the nets kept the house in Auray going. Maître Aubryet gave two hundred francs a month, as in the past; the rehearsals for Sainte-Barbe and the visits to the Rue Traversine went on at their pace. The truth obliges me to say that Léonce was less assiduous in his classes. the Law School than to dance and fencing lessons. Little Gray, always ambitious, and, I fear, a little scheming, obtained his wife’s appointment, and installed a second broom in his apartment. This was the only event of the winter. In May, Madame Debay wrote to her sons that she was in great difficulty. Her husband had a lot to do and was not enough; one more man in the house would not have been too much. Matthieu feared that his father would tire himself out excessively; he knew him to be hard-working and courageous despite his age; but one is no longer young at sixty, even in Brittany. If I listened to myself, he said to me one day, I would go and spend six months there. My father is killing himself. « What’s keeping you? » « First, my rehearsals.  » « Pass them on to one of our comrades. » I’ll point out six who need it more than you. –And Léonce who will do crazy things! –Don’t worry, if he has to do it, it’s not your presence that will hold him back. –And then… –And then what? –These ladies! –You did leave them during the holidays. Give them to me again to look after, I’ll make sure they don’t want for anything. –But I’ll miss them, he continued, blushing up to his eyes.
–Hey! Speak! You didn’t tell me there was love under the rock.
The poor boy was terrified. He guessed for the first time that he loved Miss Bourgade. I helped him examine his conscience; I wrested from him one by one all the little secrets of his heart, and he remained moved and convinced of passionate love. In my life I have never seen a more confused man. Had he been told that his father had gone bankrupt, I believe he would have shown less shame. It was necessary to reassure him a little and reconcile him with himself. But when I asked him if he believed he was being repaid, he showed a redoubled confusion that pained me. I told him in vain that love is a contagious disease, and that nineteen times out of twenty sincere passions are shared, he believed he was an exception to all the rules. He modestly placed himself at the bottom of the ladder of beings, and he saw in Mlle Bourgade perfections above humanity. No knight of the good times made himself more humble and smaller before the beautiful eyes of his lady. I tried to raise his self-esteem by revealing to him the treasures of kindness and tenderness that were in him: to all my reasons he responded by showing me his face, with a little resigned grimace that brought tears to my eyes. At this moment, if I had been a woman, I would have loved her. Let me see, I said to him, how is she with you? « She is never with me. I am in the room, she too; and yet we are not together. I speak to her, she answers me, but I cannot say that I have ever spoken with her. She does not avoid me, she does not seek me out…. I believe, however, that she avoids me, or at least that I am disagreeable to her. When one is built like that! He was furious at his poor person with charming naiveté. The coldness of Mademoiselle Bourgade towards such an excellent being was not natural. It could only be explained by the beginnings of love or by a calculated coquetry. Does Mademoiselle Bourgade know that you have inherited? « No.  » « Does she think you are poor like her? » « Without that, I would have been shown the door a long time ago.  » « Yes, however…. Don’t blush.  » If, by some impossible chance, she loved you as you love her, what would you do? –I…. would tell her…. –Come on, no false shame! She’s not here: would you marry her? –Oh! if I could! But I would never dare to marry. This happened on a Sunday. The following Thursday, although I had promised to avoid the Rue Traversine, I paid a visit to the Petit-Gris. I had put on my finest uniform, with palms all over it. new in the buttonhole. The Little Gray went to inform Madame Bourgade that a gentleman was asking the favor of speaking with her alone for a few moments. She came as she was, and our host left under the pretext of buying coal. Madame Bourgade was a tall and beautiful woman, a person of all types of body down to the bones; she had long sad eyes, beautiful eyebrows and magnificent hair , but almost no teeth, which made her look old. She stopped in front of me, a little taken aback; poverty is shy. Madame, I said to her, I am a friend of Matthieu Debay; he loves your daughter, and he has the honor of asking for your hand. That is how we were diplomats at the École Normale. Sit down, sir, she said to me gently. She was not surprised by my action, she expected it; she knew that Matthieu loved his daughter, and she admitted to me with a sort of maternal modesty that her daughter had long loved Matthieu. I was sure of it! She had thought long and hard about the possibility of this marriage. On the one hand, she was happy to entrust her daughter’s future to an honest man before she died. She believed herself to be dangerously ill, and attributed to organic causes a weakening produced by deprivation. What frightened her was the idea that Matthieu himself was not very robust, that he might one day take to his bed, lose his lessons, and be left without resources with a woman, perhaps with children, for everything had to be foreseen. I could have reassured her with a single word, but I was careful not to. I was only too happy to see a marriage concluded with that sublime imprudence of the poor who say: Let us love each other first, each day brings its bread! Madame Bourgade only argued with me for form’s sake. She carried Matthieu in her heart. She had for him the love of a mother-in-law for her son-in-law, that love with two degrees, which is a woman’s last passion. Madame de Sévigné never loved her husband like Monsieur de Grignan. Madame Bourgade took me to her home and introduced me to her daughter. The beautiful Aimée was dressed in poorly dyed cotton whose color had faded. She had neither bonnet, nor collar, nor cuffs: laundering is so expensive! I was able to admire a large braid of magnificent blond hair, a neck a little like anyone of all body types, but of a rare elegance, and hands that a great lady would have paid dearly for. Her face was that of her mother, twenty years younger. Seeing them side by side, I involuntarily thought of those architectural drawings where one sees in the same frame a ruined temple and its restoration. Aimée’s figure, with a brassiere instead of a corset, and a simple petticoat without a crinoline, showed a proper elegance. The high cost of coquetry’s devices means that the poor are less often duped than the rich. What surprised me most about the future Madame Debay was the limpid whiteness of her complexion. It looked like milk, but transparent milk: I can’t compare her face better than to a fine pearl. She was quite frankly happy, the little pearl of the Rue Traversine, when she learned the news I brought. In the midst of her joy fell Matthieu, who hadn’t expected to find me there. He wouldn’t believe he was loved until it had been repeated to him three times. We were all talking together, and Beethoven’s quartets are poor music compared to what we were singing. Then, as the door had remained ajar, I slipped away without saying anything. Matthieu knew I was a bit of a mocker, and he wouldn’t have dared to cry in front of me. He married on the first Thursday in June, and I was careful not to be consigned to the School, because I wanted to serve as his witness. I shared this honor with a young writer who was then starting out in L’Artiste. Aimée’s witnesses were two friends of Matthieu, a painter and a teacher: Mme Bourgade had lost touch with her old acquaintances. The town hall of the 11th arrondissement is opposite of the church of Saint-Sulpice: we only had to cross the square. The entire wedding party, including Léonce, was contained in two large cabs which took us to dinner near Meudon, at the home of the Fleury guard. Our dining room was a chalet surrounded by lilacs, and we discovered a small bird that had made its nest in the moss above our heads. We drank to the prosperity of this winged family: we are all equal before happiness. Believe it who wants, but Matthieu was no longer ugly. I had already noticed that the air of the forests had the privilege of beautifying him. There are figures that are only pleasing in a drawing room; you will find others that are only charming in the fields. The floured dolls that one admires in Paris would be horrible to meet at the edge of a wood: I shudder when I think of it. Matthieu was, on the contrary, a very presentable Sylvan: He announced to us, at dessert, that he was going to leave for Auray, with his wife and his mother-in-law. The excellent Mama Debay was already opening her arms to receive her daughter-in-law. Matthieu would write his theses at leisure; he would be a doctor and a professor when the sardines permitted. Not to mention the children, added a voice that was not mine. « My word! » resumed the groom, « if we have children, I will teach them to read by the fireside, and may I have ten students in my class!  » « As for me, » said Léonce, « I postpone you all until next year. You will attend the wedding of Léonce Debay with Miss X., one of the richest heiresses in Paris.  » « Long live Miss X., the glorious unknown! » « Until I know her, » the speaker continued, « you will be told that I have wasted a fortune, scattered treasures, and dispersed my inheritance to all the winds of the horizon. Remember what I promise you: I will throw away the gold, but as a sower throws the seed. Let them talk and wait for the harvest! Why should I not admit that we were drinking Champagne? » Matthieu said to his brother: « You will do what you wish; I no longer doubt anything; I believe everything is possible, since she was able to marry me for love! » But the following Sunday, at the railway station, Matthieu seemed less reassured about his brother’s future. « You are going to play no one of all body types game, » he said, shaking her hand.  » If Boileau had not gone out of fashion, like the hairstyles of his time, I would say to you: This sea you are sailing in is fertile in shipwrecks!  » « Bah! » It’s not about Boileau, but about Balzac. This sea I’m sailing through is fertile in heiresses. Count on me, my brother: if there’s one left in the world, it will be for us. –Finally, remember, whatever happens, that your bed is made in the house at Auray. –Have a pillow added. We’ll go see you in our carriage! The Little Gray looked Léonce over with an approving glance that meant to say: Young man, your ambition pleases me. But Léonce didn’t lower his gaze to the Little Gray. He took me by the arm after the train left, and led me to dinner with him; he was cheerful and full of bright hopes. The die is cast, he told me; I’m burning my ships. Yesterday I reserved a delicious mezzanine on the Rue de Provence. The painters are there; in a week, I’ll put the upholsterers there. It is there, my poor dear, that you will come, on Sunday, to eat the chop of friendship. –What idea do you have to begin your campaign in the middle of summer? There isn’t a soul in Paris. –Leave it to me! As soon as my nest is settled, I will leave for the waters of Vichy. Acquaintances are made quickly at the waters: people become friends, they invite each other for next winter. I have thought of everything, and my seat is made. In two weeks, I will have finished with this dreadful Latin Quarter! –Where we spent such good times! –We thought we were having fun, because we didn’t know each other. Do you find this chicken edible? –Excellent, my dear. –Atrocious! By the way, I have a cook; a marriageable boy is dining in town, but he has lunch at home. All that remains is to find a servant. Don’t you have anyone to direct me to? –Of course! I’m sorry to be at the School for eighteen months. I
would have offered myself, so magnificent a teacher do I think you’ll make. –My dear fellow, you’re neither small nor tall enough: I need a colossus or a gnome. Stay where you are. Have you ever thought about liveries? It’s a serious question. –Lady! I’ve read Aristotle’s chapter on hats. –What would you think of a sky-blue greatcoat with red facings? –We also have the uniform of the Pope’s Swiss, yellow, red, and black, with a halberd. What do you say to that? –You’re boring me. I’ve reviewed all the colors; black is just right, with a cockade; but it’s too severe. The brown one isn’t young enough, the person of all types of blue body is discredited by the trade: all the cashiers have blue coats and white buttons. I ‘ll think about it. Look at my new business cards. –LÉONCE DE BAŸ and a marquis’s crown! I’ll give you the marquisate, it doesn’t harm anyone; but I think you would have done better to respect your old father’s name. I’m not a rigorist, but it always angers me a little to see a gallant man disguise himself as a marquis, outside of carnival time. It’s a delicate way of disowning his family. For you to be a marquis, your father must be a duke, or dead: take your pick. –Why take things so tragically? My excellent father would laugh with all his heart to see his name dressed up like that. Don’t you think that diaeresis over the y is an admirable invention? It gives names an aristocratic color! All I need now is a coat of arms. Do you know the blazon? –Bad.
–You still know enough to draw me a shield. –Boy, some paper? Here, here are the arms I give you. You bear quartered or and gules. This represents gules lions on a gold field, and that or martlets on a gules field. Are you satisfied? –Pleased to meet you. What is a martlet? –A duck. –Better and better. Now a slightly cheeky motto. –BAŸ DE RIEN NE S’ÉBAYT. –Magnificent! From this moment on, I owe you homage as to my liege lord. –Well then! Loyal marquis, let’s light a cigar and take me back to the School. Chapter 3. Léonce spent the summer in Vichy and returned in October. He brought back a tall blond servant and a magnificent black horse. It was the legacy of an Englishman who had died of spleen between two glasses of water. He had his return announced to me by the superb Jack, whose mouse-grey livery excited my admiration. Jack wore the arms of the Baÿ on his buttons, without paying me royalties. The handsomest of my friends received me in an apartment imbued with masculine coquetry. There was none of the trinkets that betray the intervention of a woman: not even a tapestry chair! The dining room furniture was oak, the drawing room, of ponceau brocatelle, had a decent, rich, and comfortable air. The study was full of dignity: you would have said it was the sanctuary of an author writing the history of the Crusades. In the bedroom, there was an enormous tapestry depicting the clemency of Alexander, a white marble dressing table, a magnificent set of necessaries spread out in the most perfect order, four carpeted armchairs, and a four-poster bed, a monastic bed, no more than three feet wide. The decoration gave no lie to the assurances of the furnishings. In the drawing room, landscapes. In the dining room, a hunting picture, birds, still lifes. In the study, a trophy of arms, canes, and riding crops, and four large passe-partouts filled with etchings that might have appeared in the home of the fierce Hippolyte. In the bedroom, five or six family portraits bought second-hand from the second-hand dealers on the Rue Jacob. The furniture, the paintings, the engravings, and the books in the library, sorted with scrupulous care, sang the praises of Léonce in unison. The mothers-in-law could come! My first concern upon entering was to look for the cigars, but Léonce no longer smoked. He said that the cigar, which unites men , has no virtue in arranging marriages, and that tobacco equally offends women and bees, winged creatures. He told me about his summer campaign, and triumphantly showed me twenty-five or thirty visiting cards which represented as many invitations for the winter. Read all these names, he said, and you will see if I have thrown my powder to the sparrows! I was surprised to see only names from banking and industry. Why this preference? Balzac’s heroes went to the Faubourg Saint-Germain. « They had their reasons, » said Léonce; I have my own to avoid going there. At the Chaussée d’Antin, my name and title can be useful to me; they might harm me in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Announces a marquis in a salon on the Rue Laffitte, fifty people will look at the door. On the Rue de l’Université, no one will raise an eye. The servants themselves are blasé about marquises. And then, all these nobles of old know and understand each other: they would soon know that I am not one of them. No one would ask to see my parchments, but they would whisper in each other’s ears that they had never seen them. My marquisate would be out, and I would be sent to seek my fortune elsewhere. Besides, great fortunes are rare in this noble suburb. I made inquiries: there are a hundred or a hundred and fifty of them, so old that everyone has heard of them; so clear, so obvious, so well established in the sun, that everyone wants them: from there, twenty suitors around an heiress. I would have a good game to make the twenty-first! I won’t be caught out. Look at the right bank: what a difference! In the salon of the least banker or the most modest stockbroker, you see dancing in the same quadrille a dozen colossal fortunes unknown to the public, and who do not know each other. This one dates back twenty years, that one from yesterday. One comes from a refinery in Auteuil, another from a factory in Saint-Étienne, another from a factory in Mulhouse; one arrives directly from Manchester, the other has barely arrived from Chandernagore. The foreigners are all at the Chaussée d’Antin! In this throng, all resounding with the clang of gold, all glittering with diamonds, people meet, they know, they love, they marry, in less time than it takes a duchess to open her snuffbox. It is there that one knows the value of time; it is there that men are alive, restless, and eager to act like me; it is there that I will cast my net into the noisy and tumultuous water ! He recited to me a passage from The Lily of the Valley, which contained the rules of his conduct; it is the last letter from Madame de Mortsauf to young Vandenesse. We then reread Henri de Marsay’s advice to Paul de Manerville; then he asked for lunch, then he wasted two hours on his toilet, exactly two hours, following the example of Monsieur de Marsay. I saw him often enough during the winter to notice how he practiced his master’s lessons. If it is true that work deserves reward and that all effort is worthy of praise, it was his duty to marry Modeste Mignon, Eugénie Grandet or Mlle Taillefer. He showed himself everywhere at the hours when one shows oneself. He galloped to the woods every evening, as exactly as if his race had been paid. He never missed a first performance of the theaters of good company; he was assiduous at the Italians as if he had loved music. He did not refuse an invitation, did not miss a ball, and never forgot a digestive visit. In which I admired him. His dress was exquisite, his shoes perfect, his linen miraculous. I was ashamed to go out with himself on Sundays, when we wore starched shirts. As for him, he gladly went out with me. He had rented a brand new coupé for six months on which the coachbuilder had temporarily painted his coat of arms. In society, he immediately distinguished himself by two talents that rarely go together: he was a dancer and a conversationalist. He danced the best in the world, to the point of being said to have wit down to his toes. He had strong hamstrings, which doesn’t hurt anything, and an arm to carry a leaden waltz. All the girls who danced with him were enchanted with themselves, and consequently with him. Mothers, for their part, always wish well to the man who makes their daughters shine. But when, after a waltz or a quadrille, he went to sit among the women of a certain age, the fondness they had for him turned into enthusiasm. He had too much good taste to throw compliments at people’s heads, but he made his neighbors come up with ideas, and the most foolish became witty at the touch of his wit. He severely refused himself the pleasures of gossip, noticed no ridicule, pointed out no stupidity, and joked about everything without hurting anyone; which is not always easy. He had no opinion on political matters, not knowing into which family love could bring him. He observed himself, watched himself, and spied on himself perpetually without appearing to do so. He said to himself a hundred times each evening: My daughter, stand up straight! As gracious as he was with women, he was just as cold in his relations with men. His stiffness bordered on impertinence. It was yet another way of courting those from whom he expected everything; a roundabout way of saying to them: I live only for you . The weaker sex is sensitive to the homage of the strong, and it is a double pleasure to make a proud head bow. His pride was too affected to go unnoticed: it attracted quarrels. He fought three times and gallantly defeated his adversaries at the point of his sword: the sickest of the three was in bed for fifteen days. The world was grateful to Léonce for his moderation as well as his bravery, and he was recognized as a fine player who was generous with his life while sparing that of others. It was, moreover, the only game he allowed himself. Even if Madame de Mortsauf’s letter had not warned him against cards, he would have defended himself, in the interest of his reputation and his finances. He threw money away freely, but wisely. He refused neither a concert ticket nor a lottery ticket; no citizen of the Paris salons paid his dues more generously. He knew, on occasion, how to empty his purse into a beggar’s purse, or to sign up for twenty louis in the book of a charity worker. He spent a lot on watches and very little on pleasure, considering any outlay made without witnesses to be useless. It was in this above all that he distinguished himself from his models, the Rubemprés and the de Marsays, men of joy and great liveliest people. He did not run up debts, he had no mistresses; he avoided anything that could stop him in his tracks. He wanted to arrive without delay and without reproach. Despite such laudable efforts, he spent three winter months and 35,000 francs of silver, without finding what he was looking for. Perhaps he lacked a little flexibility. I would have liked him to be more mellow. Studying him closely , one discovered a bit of a Breton ear that could frighten off marriage. He was too agitated, too nervous, too tense. It was a superbly constructed machine; but the noise of the wheels was audible . A woman of thirty could have given him the extra touch of manners he lacked; and, if I believe his reputation, he had teachers to choose from, but his seat was made and he accepted lessons from no one. When I paid him my New Year’s visit, he reviewed the three months that had just passed. He had so far found only unattainable matches : a light-hearted and slightly ruined widow; a richer Russian princess, but followed by three children from a first marriage; and the daughter of a deranged speculator. I can’t understand anything, he told me with a certain bitterness. I have friends and no enemies; I know all of Paris and I am well-known; I go everywhere, I am popular everywhere; I am launched, I am even settled, and I achieve nothing! I march straight to my goal, without stopping along the way: it is as if the goal recedes before me. If I sought the impossible, that would be explained; but what am I asking for? A woman of my own circle, who loves me for me. It is not a supernatural thing! Matthieu has found in his world what I vainly pursue in mine. However, I’m as good as Matthew. –Physically, at least. Have you heard from them? –Not often: the happy are selfish. The graduate improves his land; he digs marl, he sows buckwheat, he plants trees: a hundred nonsense! His wife is as well as her condition allows. We hope for the arrival of Matthew II in April: there’s no time wasted. –I’m not asking you if we still love each other? –Like in Noah’s Ark. Papa and Mama are on their knees before their daughter-in-law. Madame Bourgade took it well: it seems she’s decidedly a distinguished woman: everyone is busy, having fun, and adoring each other: they ‘re happy. –You never had the inclination to run to join them with the rest of your money? –My word, no! I prefer my troubles to their pleasures. And then, it ‘s not yet time to go and hide. Indeed, eight days later, he arrived radiant at the School’s parlor. Brr! he said, it’s not hot here. « Fifteen degrees, my dear, that’s the rule.  » « The rule isn’t as sensitive to the cold as I am, and I did well to let myself be refused, especially since I’m nearing my goal.  » « Are you on the right track?  » « I’ve found it!  » Léonce had noticed the kindness and elegance of a tiny woman, so frail and so pretty that her perfections had to be admired under a microscope. He had waltzed with her, and he had almost lost her several times, so light she was and so little felt in the hand; he had chatted, and he had remained under her spell: she babbled in a little warbler’s voice melodious enough to make one believe in one of those metamorphoses that Ovid recounted in his verses. This feminine mind ran from one subject to another with charming volubility. Her ideas seemed to undulate at the whim of the air, like the marabouts that adorned the front of her dress. Léonce asked the name of this young lady who resembled so much a hummingbird: he learned that she was neither a woman nor a widow, despite appearances, and that her name was Mademoiselle de Stock. The world gave her twenty-five years and a great fortune. On this information, Léonce began to love her. Among civilized peoples, naturalists recognize two varieties of honest love: one is a wild plant that sows itself spontaneously in the hearts, that develops without cultivation, that throws its roots to the very depths of our being, that resists wind and rain, hail and frost, that grows back if it is pulled up, and that borrows from nature an invincible vigor and tenacity; the other is a garden plant that we cultivate ourselves, either for its flowers or for its fruits: sometimes it is a mother who sows it in the soul of her daughter to prepare her insensibly for a brilliant marriage; sometimes we see two families, eager to unite by a close bond, weeding and watering in the hearts of their children a small vegetable passion; sometimes an ambitious young man, like Léonce, applies himself to developing in him the seeds of a love that promises golden fruits. This variety, more common than the first, is grown in flowerbeds in the salons of Paris; but, like all garden plants, it is delicate, it requires care, it rarely resists the cold, and never poverty. Léonce had Baron de Stock shown to him, who was playing écarté and losing sums with the indifference of a millionaire. At that moment, Mlle de Stock seemed even prettier to him. The Baron was wearing a rather beautiful array of foreign decorations. His daughter is adorable! thought Léonce. He had himself presented to the Baroness, a noble doll from Germany, covered in old smoky diamonds. This worthy woman pleased him at first glance. Perhaps he would have found her a little ridiculous if she had not had such a witty daughter. Perhaps also he would have judged that Mlle de Stock lacked a little distinction, if he had not known her to have such a majestic mother. He danced all evening with the pretty Dorothée, and whispered in her ear words of gallantry that sounded very much like words of love. She responded with a coquetry that did not resemble intolerance. The Baroness, after making inquiries, invited Léonce to her Wednesdays: he was a regular. M. de Stock lived on Rue de La Rochefoucauld, in a small hotel between courtyard and garden of which he was the owner. Léonce knew about furniture, since he had bought furniture. Without being an expert, he had a feeling for elegance. He could be mistaken, like everyone else, because one must be an auctioneer to distinguish an artistic bronze from a cheap overmolding, to guess whether a piece of furniture is stuffed with horsehair or economically fed with tow, and to recognize at first glance whether a curtain is made of lampas or wool and silk damask. However, he was not made of wood from which one makes fools, and the Baron’s interior delighted him. The servants, in amaranth livery, had good square heads, and a German accent that grated deliciously on the ear. One recognized in them old servants of the family, perhaps vassals born in the shadow of the Château de Stock. The household expenses represented an expense of sixty thousand francs a year. The day Léonce was welcomed by the Baron, feted by the Baroness and looked at tenderly by their daughter, he could say without presumption: I found it! Around the middle of January, he learned that Dorothée was to collect for the poor at Notre-Dame de Lorette. He, who often missed mass, was exemplary in his punctuality. He made me have lunch at a gallop and dragged me with him at the stroke of one o’clock. I have forgotten the details of his attire, but I remember well that it dazzled. I recognized Mademoiselle de Stock from the portrait he had painted of her, although he had forgotten to tell me that she was dark, like a Maltese. A dark-haired German woman is a rare enough phenomenon to be mentioned. At the end of the mass, the faithful filed past the beggars, who were kneeling at each door of the church. Dorothée solicited the charity of passersby with a questioning glance, with a very worldly grace. I put two sous in her velvet purse, the poor schoolboy’s mite. Léonce greeted the beggar as if in a drawing room, giving her a thousand-franc note folded in four. How much do you have left? I asked her in the vestibule. « Thirteen thousand francs and some centimes.  » « That’s not much.  »  » That’s enough. The alms I have just given will be returned to me a hundredfold. Centuplum accipies. » I said nothing: I was thinking of Matthieu’s poor ten francs. On returning to the rue de Provence, my charitable friend gave me some ideas about castle life in the lordships of Germany. He described to me those grand meals washed down with Tokai and Johannisberg wines, those gatherings bedecked with uniforms and ribbons, those salons where the court dress of the Duke of Richelieu is still fashionable; and those miraculous hunts, those great hunts after which the Hares are counted in the thousands, and venison is sold in tragic events for thirty leagues around. When he came home, he found a very short letter from his brother: What could I tell you? wrote Matthieu. Our life is united like a mirror; all our days are alike like drops of milk in the same cup. Work is stopped by winter, and we spend the day by the fire, among ourselves. You know how wide the fireplace is; there is room for everyone; we could even put in an extra armchair if we squeezed in a little, if you wanted. Papa pokes furiously. You know his passion, the only passion of his life. If we took his tongs away, we would make him very unhappy. Mama Debay and Mama Bourgade spend the day sewing vests, hemming diapers and embroidering little hats. Aimée knits cashmere stockings , real doll stockings. When I see all these preparations, I feel like laughing and crying. The dear little creature will have a royal layette. The family council decided that if it were a son, we would call him Léonce: your name will bring him luck. Let’s hope he doesn’t take it into his head to look like his father! We put your portrait in our room: you know, that beautiful portrait that Boulanger painted before leaving for Rome. I show it to Aimée every morning and every evening. Little Léonce promises to be as restless as you. His mother complains about him; and, what is more singular, Mama Debay assures us that she feels the aftereffects of all his movements. I told you that Aimée had stomach aches in the early days of her pregnancy; but a few bottles of mineral water and the joy of feeling her child alive comforted her; she is gaining weight visibly. As for me, I am still the same, except that I hardly work anymore. You remember the words of the peasant who was asked what his profession was, and who replied: My wife is a wet nurse. I am in the same boat, or almost: I am waiting for my son. The famous theses have not made much progress: the Battle of the Peloponnese, by Bello Peloponnesiaco, is at the death of Pericles, and Corneille, the comic author, remains at Clitandre. So much the worse for the faculty of Rennes! It will have to wait. I want to be a father before being a doctor. Ah! brother, if you knew how insipid your pleasures are compared to ours! You would come by the diligence, and you would spare us the carriage with which you threatened us. You alone are missing us; you are our only worry. Papa makes his big wrinkle when we talk about the rue de Provence. Finally! I reassure him by telling him that if any man in the world is to succeed, it is you. « They are good people, » said Léonce, throwing the letter on his desk. « They will soon hear from me. » A few days later, the Baron fell to him from the sky at ten o’clock in the morning. Such an approach was a good omen. Mr. Stock visited the apartment as an amateur, and made an inventory of the furniture to himself. Any sensible man would have thought he was in the home of a son of a family: the Baron was delighted. He was an amiable man, this German. Everyone knew that he had been a banker in Frankfurt-am-Main, and yet he never spoke of his fortune. No one disputed his nobility, and yet he never spoke of his titles. His castles, his lands, his forests were the things he seemed to care least about. He never said a word about them to Léonce, and Léonce recognized from this sign that he was truly rich and a true gentleman. For his part, Léonce was too delicate to attribute to himself a false fortune. He let people’s imagination run wild, and did not argue with those who said to him: You who are rich. But he boasted of nothing. When he spoke of his family, he said without emphasis: My parents live on their lands in Brittany. In which he was not lying at all. I pointed out to him that everything would be revealed in the end, and that he would be forced to confess the origin of his nobility and the modesty of his fortune. Leave it to me, he replied; the baron is rich enough to allow his daughter a marriage of love. Dorothée loves me, I am sure of it; she told me so. When the parents see that I am necessary to their daughter’s happiness, they will overlook many things. Besides, I will not deceive anyone, and they will know everything before the marriage. He did not publicly court Mademoiselle de Stock, but he saw her every evening in society. Their relationship, although a little constrained, only had more charms. The small obstacles, the surveillance that everyone exercises over everyone else, the respect for propriety, the necessity of pretending, add something tender and mysterious to these loves which progress, from salon to salon, to the door of the church. Constraint is a marvelous spring which doubles the joys of the heart as well as the strength of the mind. What makes a thought more beautiful in verse than in prose is constraint. Léonce and Dorothée wrote to each other every day, in verse and prose, and it was a pleasure to see them exchange their notes sheltered by a handkerchief or in the shade of a fan. The Baroness was amused by these little maneuvers; she had given her daughter’s heart free rein, she allowed her to love M. de Baÿ. In the last days of February, Léonce took his courage in both hands: he made his request. M. and Mme de Stock, warned by Dorothée, received him in a solemn audience. Monsieur le Baron, Madame la Baroness, he said, I have the honor of asking you for the hand of your daughter. So as not to leave you in the dark about my situation… The Baron interrupted him with a lordly gesture: Stop here, Monsieur le Marquis, I beg you. All Paris knows you, and my daughter loves you: I want to know nothing more. Even if your name were obscure, even if your father had eaten up his fortune, I would still tell you: Dorothée is yours. He embraced Léonce, and the Baroness gave him her hand to kiss: You do not know, said the Baroness, our romantic Germany. That is how we all are… at least in the upper class. In the midst of the wildest joy, Léonce felt deep down a kind of revolt of honesty. I cannot deceive these good people, he said to himself, and I would be a rogue if I abused their good faith. He continued aloud: Monsieur le Baron, the noble confidence you have shown me obliges me to give you some details about… –Monsieur le Marquis, you would seriously distress me if you insist further. I would think that you only persist in giving me this information to force me to provide proof of my rank and fortune. The Baroness emphasized these words with a friendly gesture that meant: Don’t insist, he’s touchy. Come on, thought Léonce, it’s postponed. We’ll explain ourselves, whether we like it or not, on the day of the contract. But the Baron would not hear of a contract. Between gentlemen, he said, these commitments, these signatures, these guarantees are humiliating precautions. Do you love Dorothée? Yes. Does she love you? I’m sure of it. Then what’s the point of putting a notary between you? I imagine that your love will do without stamped paper. « However, sir, if you had been deceived about my status… » « But, terrible child, I wasn’t deceived, I wasn’t told anything. » I know nothing about you, except that you please my daughter, my wife, me, and the whole world. I don’t want to know anything more. Do I need your money? If you are rich, so much the better. If you are poor, so much the worse. Say the same about me, and we will be even. Here, this will put your conscience at rest: you have nothing, my daughter has nothing: your name is Léonce, her name is Dorothée, and I give you my paternal blessing. Are you happy? Léonce wept with joy. Dorothée was brought in. Come, my daughter, said the baroness, come and tell the marquis that you do not marry his name or his fortune, but his person. « Dear Léonce, » said Dorothée, « I love you madly! » She didn’t lie a syllable. Léonce married in March. It was about time: the basket devoured the last thousand-franc note. I did not serve as a witness this time: witnesses were personalities. Matthieu could not come to Paris; he was waiting for his wife to give birth. He had asked me to report on the celebration, and I happily fulfilled my task as historiographer. Dorothée, in her white dress of pinned velvet, was an adoring success. She was called the little brown angel. After the ceremony, a dinner for forty people was served at the baron’s, and Léonce was kind enough to invite me. He introduced me to his wife as we left the table: My dear Dorothée, he said to her, this is one of my old friends, who will one day or another be our children’s teacher. I hope you will always give him a warm welcome; the best friends are not the most brilliant, but the most solid. « Mr. Professor, » said the beautiful Dorothée, « you will always be welcome in our house. I hope that Léonce will bring me all his friends in marriage. Do you know German?  » « No, madame, to my great shame. I will always regret not being able to read Hermann and Dorothée in the text.  » « The loss is not great, believe me. An emphatic pastoral; a flageolet air played on the ophicleide. You have better than that in France. Do you like Balzac? He is my man. » Chapter 4. The conversation of the pretty marquise and the pleasure of dancing with my people of all types of bodies made me forget the school rules. I came home an hour too late, and I was confined for two weeks. As soon as I was free, my first visit was to Léonce. I found him all alone, busy tearing out his hair, which he had very beautiful, as you know. My friend, he said to me in a pitiful voice, I have been cruelly deceived! « Already!  » « My father-in-law is rich like me, noble like me: his name is Stock in one syllable, and his only assets are about twenty thousand francs in debt.  » « Impossible! » « The thing is beyond doubt; my wife confessed everything to me on the evening of the wedding. There were not five hundred francs in the house. « But the house alone is worth a hundred thousand! « It is not paid for. Mr. Stock was rich five or six years ago: he held a certain rank in Frankfurt, and his liquidation left him with more than thirty thousand pounds a year. But he is a gambler like the jack of diamonds himself. He lost everything at roulette, at trente and quarante, and at those innocent games which Germany uses so well to despoil us. At the beginning of winter, all that remained of his splendor was a skewer bought cheaply in the small courts of the North, a few honorable connections, the habit of spending, the fury of gambling, and about fifty thousand francs. He thought it ingenious to invest this capital in Dorothée and come to Paris to stake his all. He intended to fish in troubled waters, in this infernal world of the Chaussée d’Antin, a son-in-law rich enough to rid him of his daughter, to support him and his wife, and to give him every summer a few rolls of louis to lose on the banks of the Rhine. Isn’t that disgusting?
« Be careful, » I said to him. « Do you know how he’s talking about you now ? » « What a difference! I didn’t deceive him. I wanted to tell him frankly the state of my affairs. It was he who stopped me, who shut my mouth. I know why now, and his confidence no longer surprises me! It was he who dragged me into the abyss into which we are now rolling together.  » « Have you explained yourselves? » « I ran to his house to confound him, and I beg you to believe that I didn’t hold back my eloquence. Do you know what he answered me? Instead of recriminating, as I expected, he took my hand and said, in a moved voice: We are in trouble. We could each have found a fortune on our own: it is very unfortunate that we have met. –That is wisely said. –What will become of me? –Is this advice you are asking me? –No doubt, since you cannot give me anything else! –My dear Léonce, I know only one honorable way to get you out of this trouble. Liquidate heroically; go and hide in a working-class neighborhood, Rue des Ursulines or Boulevard Montparnasse; finish your law studies, get your degree, become a lawyer. You have talent; you cannot have entirely lost the habit of work; the connections you have made in these six months will serve you later; you will regain the lost time, and the money too. –Yes, if I were a bachelor! My poor friend, it is clear that you live in a box: you know nothing of life. Balzac proved long ago that a boy can achieve anything, but that once married, one’s strength is spent obscurely struggling against the cook’s additions and the household ledger. You want me to work between a wife, a father-in-law, a mother-in-law, and the children who may come along, obsessed with family, and confined with all these people to a four-hundred-franc apartment ! I would succumb to it. –Then do something else. Take your new family to Brittany. Uncle Yvon’s house is big enough to accommodate you all; we’ll put an extension on the table and add a dish to dinner. –We’ll ruin them! –Not at all. Aimée will buy herself one less dress every year, and Matthieu will prolong the existence of the famous hazelnut overcoat. –Oh! I know their hearts. But you don’t know my father-in-law and my mother-in-law. If my wife loves the world, her parents are furious about it. Mrs. Stock spends hours in front of her mirror curtsying! Mr. Stock will never be a bearable Breton. He would sulk at hospitality, he would humiliate our dear house: he would reproach us for the bread we would give him! « Well then! Let the parents manage in Paris. Take away your wife, she is young, and you will educate her.  » « But just think that this old man is riddled with debts! He is my father-in-law, after all; I cannot abandon him on the royal road to Clichy.  » « Let him sell his furniture! He has more than twenty thousand francs worth of it.  » « And how will they live, the poor wretches? » « I see with pleasure that you pity them. But I will say in my turn: What are you going to do? I no longer know what course to advise you, and I am at the end of my string of beads.  » « I am going to ask for a position. They think I do not need it, they will give it to me. » He solicited for a long time, and wasted more than a month in useless proceedings. At the height of his troubles, he learned that Aimée was the mother of a boy of all types . You will be his godfather, wrote Matthieu, and pretty Aunt Dorothée will not refuse to be godmother. We are waiting for you; your bed is ready, hurry up and have the carriage hitched. Léonce had not yet told his parents about his misfortune. What good was it to throw bad news into their happiness? The poor boy was braver than I would have hoped. While he sold his paintings for a living, he was tender and attentive to his wife. The present embarrassment, the uncertainty of the future, and the regret of having speculated badly did not alter his natural good humor for long: at least he had the good taste to hide his grief. It is fair to say that Dorothée consoled him as best she could. If she cried sometimes, it was on the sly. She gave back to the merchants part of her wedding basket. I believe that the honeymoon would have been more brilliant if the young couple had lacked nothing, and if Mr. Stock had not been in debt; but, in spite of the embarrassments of all kinds and the importunity of the creditors, they loved each other. Léonce and Dorothée clung to each other like surprised children by the storm. They were as happy as one can be on a boat that is leaking from all sides. I saw them regularly on all my outings, each visit showed them better and made them dearer to me. One Thursday, around half past one, I was leaving school to go to their house, when I met in the middle of the rue d’Ulm a little man in a velvet jacket. He was an old acquaintance whom I had somewhat neglected since Matthieu’s marriage. Good morning, Little-Gray, I said to him. Put your cap back on. Did you come to see me? « Yes, sir, and I am very glad to have met you to ask your advice.  » « Has anything happened at your house? Is your wife well? Are you still working for the city of Paris?  » « Always, sir, and I dare say that my wife and I have a clean sweep that does you credit. You will not be blamed for having placed us.  » « It is not me, Little-Gray; He is a young man, a friend of mine, to whom I would like to be able to render the same service. –Is Mr. Matthieu still happy? Aren’t these ladies ill? –Thank you. Matthieu has a son, and the whole family is in the best of health. –So, sir, this is what happened: This morning, as we were returning from work and my wife was going to get the soup she had kept warm in our bed, a gentleman came in who was not very tall, rather short, a man of my height, in short, and about my age. He asked me if I had been in the house during Madame Bourgade’s time . I told him what was the matter, since I have nothing to hide, I do nothing wrong, and I owe nothing to anyone. But when he learned that I knew these ladies, he began to question me about this and that, and who the young lady was married to, and what her husband did, and what she had for dinner, and how long she had stayed in the neighborhood, and, finally, where she lived. When I saw that he had the idea of ​​confessing to me, I would not answer anything. I did not like that man! He looked at the house with the eyes of a rich man; one would have said that our room made his heart ache. I understood well that he was curious to have Mr. Matthieu’s address; but I did not know what he wanted to do with it. I said that I did not know it, however that it might perhaps be possible to obtain it. Thereupon, he promised to pay me well if I brought it to him. Sir, I replied, I do not need to be paid, I have two government positions. He left me his address, which I didn’t read, you understand why, and I came to show it to you, to know what to do. Little Gray took a beautiful glossy card from his pocket, on which I read: LOUIS BOURGADE, Hôtel des Princes. Louis Bourgade! said Little Gray, he’s a relative. « Hôtel des Princes! He’s a rich relative.  » « He could have come sooner, when these poor ladies were dying of hunger! Now we have no more need of him.  » « That’s probably why he’s showing up, my dear Little Gray: he will have learned of Mlle. Aimée’s marriage. But mercy is in the balance; you ‘ll have to give him the address.  » « Come on, I’ll go. Is the Hôtel des Princes far?  » « Don’t bother: it’s on my way, I’ll go in as I pass, and I’ll talk to this gentleman. See you soon. » If he had anything, I would go and tell you. As I walked along, I was thinking: A rich relative! It’s not at Léonce that such a windfall will come! I asked for Monsieur Bourgade, and immediately a valet from the hotel went ahead of me to show me. Monsieur Bourgade occupied a magnificent apartment on the first floor, overlooking the street. I understood his disdain for the slums of Rue Traversine. This lord made me wait for ten minutes, which I conscientiously spent cursing him. I felt bubbling within me a vigorous indignation, in the style of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Ah! you scoundrel, I said in a low voice, you are their relative, and you are staying at the Hôtel des Princes! Your name is Bourgade, and you make me wait in the antechamber! When the door opened, I let loose the floodgates on my rhetoric. I was young. At most, I took the trouble to look at my interlocutor: my eyes were only useful for hurling thunderbolts. I proudly presented myself as an old friend of Madame and Mlle Bourgade. I recounted how I had intruded into their intimacy, without having the honor of being a member of the family; I painted a moving picture of their misery, their courage, their work, their virtue. Believe me , I did not skimp on colors and that I did not proceed by half-tones! I affected to repeat Bourgade’s name often, and each time I emphasized it. My indictment had its effect. M. Bourgade did not look me in the face: he hid his head in his hands, he seemed overwhelmed. To finish him off, I told him about Matthieu’s behavior; I told him the story of the coat hired for ten francs, and all the privations that this worthy young man had imposed on himself, although he was not of the family and his name was not Bourgade. Excellent Matthieu! He took from his necessities, when so many others are stingy with their superfluities! Finally, he had married this abandoned orphan; he had taken her to Auray, to the house of her ancestors; he had given her a name, a fortune, a family! Today, Aimée Bourgade, happy wife, happy mother, no longer needed anyone, and could disdain, in turn, the selfish world that had disdained her. M. Bourgade spread his hands and I saw his face flooded with tears: She is my daughter, he said; I thank you very much for loving her so. My dear child! Let me kiss you! I didn’t need to be told twice. I didn’t ask him how or why he was alive; I didn’t ask him any questions or objections, I took him by the neck and kissed him four or five times on both cheeks. I was quite sure I wasn’t mistaken: a father’s tears are always recognizable! However, when the first emotion had passed, I looked at him with an air of profound astonishment, and he noticed it. I will explain everything to you, he said, when I have seen my wife and daughter. I am running to Auray. Thank you; goodbye; see you soon! –Halt! Please. I’m not letting you go yet. First of all, we can only leave this evening on the seven o’clock train; then there are precautions to be taken, and you won’t just disembark in the square at Auray. You would kill your wife and daughter, and the Breton peasants would kill you yourself with pitchforks: a ghost! Sit here and tell me your story. Then I’ll tell you the precautions you have to take. But how is it that you escaped this shipwreck? On which section of mast? On which chicken coop? –My God! Nothing could be simpler. When the ship went down, I was no longer on board. You know what I was going to do in America. We stopped for eight days in Rio de Janeiro to pick up passengers and merchandise. I’m going ashore like everyone else . I had letters for some French people established there, and among others for a dyewood merchant named Charlier. We talked; I explained my system to him; he was struck by it: everyone’s minds were turned towards California. Charlier assured me that my invention was excellent, but that I was not strong enough to operate it alone, and that I would not find any workers. Do better, he told me, disembark with arms and baggage; establish yourself as a machine builder, and operate the Bourgade separator here. The complete apparatus will cost you five hundred francs, you will sell it for a thousand; all the miners who go to San Francisco will get their supplies from you in passing. Believe me, this is the real California. You don’t have money to start the business, some will be provided for you; a good business always finds capital, especially in America. If you need a partner, here I am. That’s how we founded the house of Charlier, Bourgade et Cie, whose shares are listed on the Paris Stock Exchange. We issued them with a capital of five hundred francs, and I have a thousand of my own. They have increased tenfold in value, and they won’t stop there. There is talk of new mines in Australia. « What? » I said to him, « you’ve made five million!  » « Better than that, but what does it matter! Tell me, then, by what miracle of misfortune all my letters remained unanswered?  » « You will find them at the post office. The news of the sinking of the Belle-Antoinette was quickly learned in Paris . Your first letter will have arrived a few days later, when these ladies had left the rue d’Orléans. I seem to remember that they moved without giving their address: they wanted to hide their misery, and besides, they weren’t expecting any more news from anyone. How could the post office have discovered them? The postman doesn’t come into the Rue Traversine once in eight days. –You have no idea what I suffered: writing for more than two years without receiving a single word in reply! –Come on! Come on! I saw two women who suffered as much as you. –No; they were weeping over a real misfortune; I saw a thousand imaginary ones. I knew they were without resources, exposed to all the privations and all the advice of poverty; I was rich, and I could do nothing for them! That cursed cholera of 1849 made me spend many sleepless nights. I would have liked to come to Paris, question the police, search the whole city; but I was stuck at home! I had a note inserted in the Press and the Constitutionnel, but no one replied. So you don’t read the newspapers? « Not often; and these ladies, never.  » « I read them all, and I’m glad I did. It was the Siècle that told me about Aimée’s marriage.  » « Now I must tell her of your return. But beautifully, if you please; she is a wet nurse. If you believe me, you will be preceded by an ambassador. I happen to know a young man who is looking for a position: he is the brother of Matthieu, Aimée’s brother-in-law ; moreover, a man of intelligence and worthy of representing a great power. If you are satisfied with his services, I will tell you how to pay your dues. Would you like us to call on him? » A few hours later, M. Bourgade, Léonce, and Dorothée climbed into a fine post-chaise, which the railway took to Angers. In Vannes, Mr. Bourgade stayed at the hotel. The newlyweds continued their journey and arrived by carriage, as Léonce had predicted. When Dorothée expressed, in vague terms, the idea that Mr. Bourgade might not be dead, the good widow replied: Perhaps! She had become so accustomed to happiness that nothing seemed impossible to her. Léonce recalled what the student from the central school had once told me about the separator. If the invention had survived, the inventor might have escaped shipwreck. Hope returned in gentle waves to these brave hearts, and the day Mr. Bourgade appeared in Auray, his wife and daughter naively exclaimed: We knew very well that you were not dead! Mr. Bourgade does not have the appearance of a great lord, far from it! but he doesn’t have the manners of an upstart either. If you met him on foot, you’d think you were seeing a good jeweler from the Rue d’Orléans. This excellent little man deserved to have a son-in-law like Matthieu. He gave his daughter a dowry of two million, much to the confusion of Matthieu, who said: I’m an intriguer; I abused my personal advantages to make a rich marriage. The Debays They have built a princely residence; what adds to the beauty of their castle is that there are no poor people nearby. Matthieu has finished his theses and obtained his doctoral degree; we do not have two doctors in France as rich as him, we do not have four as hardworking. Aimée gives her husband a child every year. Léonce no longer thinks of imitating M. de Marsay; he has two daughters and a bit of a belly. For these reasons, he lives in Brittany, in the middle of the family. He has a hundred thousand francs a year, since Matthieu has them. M. and Mme Stock have crossed the Ocean; M. Bourgade has given them a place in his factory. Dorothée’s father is still intelligent and still a gambler; he wins over no one of any type and loses everything he wins. Petit-Gris and his wife no longer live on Rue Traversine; if you want to meet them, you will have to take the road to Auray. They have not lost that admirable sweeping of which they were so proud; they keep the castle clean and do a thorough dusting. I receive news from my friends five or six times a year. Only yesterday they sent me a basket of oysters and a crate of sardines. The sardines were good, but the oysters had opened on the way. THE UNCLE AND THE NEPHEW. Chapter 5. I am sure that you have passed twenty times in front of Doctor Auvray’s house , without guessing that miracles are performed there. It is a modest and almost hidden dwelling, without pomp and without a sign; one does not even read on the door this banal inscription: Maison de santé. It is situated towards the end of the Avenue Montaigne, between the Gothic palace of Prince Soltikoff and the gymnasium of the great Triat, which regenerates man by the trapeze. A bronze-painted gate opens onto a small garden of lilacs and rose bushes. The caretaker’s lodge is on the left; the pavilion on the right contains the doctor’s office and the apartment of his wife and daughter. The main building is at the back; it turns its back on the avenue and opens all its windows to the southeast, onto a small park well planted with chestnut trees and lime trees. It is there that the doctor treats and often cures the insane. I would not introduce you to his house if there was a risk of encountering all kinds of madness there; but fear not, you will not have the distressing spectacle of imbecility, paralytic madness, or even dementia. M. Auvray has created, as they say, a specialty: he treats monomania. He is an excellent man, full of knowledge and wit, a philosopher and student of Esquirol and Laromiguière. If you ever met him with his bald head, his clean-shaven chin, his black clothes and his dull physiognomy, you would not know if he was a doctor, a professor, or a priest. When he opened his thick lips, you guessed that he was going to say to you: my child! His eyes are not ugly for eyes that are flush with the head; they cast around them a broad, clear and serene gaze; one perceives in the depths a whole world of good thoughts. These eyes of all types are like days opening onto a beautiful soul. Mr. Auvray’s vocation was decided when he was still an intern at the Salpêtrière. He passionately studied monomania, this curious alteration of the faculties of the mind which is rarely explained by a physical cause, which does not respond to any visible lesion of the nervous system, and which is cured by moral treatment. He was assisted in his observations by a young supervisor from the Pinel division, quite pretty and very well-bred. He fell in love with her, and, as soon as he became a doctor, he married her. This was a modest entry into life. However, he had a little wealth, which he used to found the establishment you know about. With a little charlatanism, he would have made his fortune; he was content to cover his expenses. He avoids noise, and when he has obtained a marvelous cure, he does not announce it from the rooftops. His reputation made itself, almost without his knowledge. Do you want proof? The treatise on Reasoning Monomania, which he published at Baillière in 1842, is in its sixth edition, without the author having sent a single copy to the newspapers. Modesty is certainly good in itself, but it should not be abused. Mlle Auvray has no more than twenty thousand francs in dowry, and she will be twenty-two in April. About two weeks ago (it was, I think, Thursday, December 13), a hired coupé stopped in front of M. Auvray’s gate. The coachman asked for the door, and the door opened. The carriage advanced to the pavilion inhabited by the doctor, and two men entered briskly into his office. The servant asked them to sit down and wait until the visit was over. It was ten o’clock in the morning. One of the two strangers was a man of fifty, tall, dark, sanguine, colorful, rather ugly, and above all badly shaped; pierced ears, thick hands, enormous thumbs. Imagine a workman dressed in his employer’s clothes: that’s M. Morlot. His nephew, François Thomas, is a young man of twenty-three, difficult to describe, because he looks like everyone else. He is neither tall nor short, neither handsome nor ugly, neither built like a Hercules, nor chiseled like a dandy, but average in every way, modest from head to toe , brown in hair, in mind, and even in dress. When he entered M. Auvray’s, he seemed very agitated: he walked around with a sort of rage, he couldn’t keep still, he looked at twenty things at once, and he would have touched everything if his hands hadn’t been tied. Calm down, his uncle said to him; What I am doing with it is for your own good. You will be happy here, and the doctor will cure you. –I am not ill. Why did you tie me up? –Because you would have thrown me out the door. You are not in your right mind, my poor François; M. Auvray will restore it to you. –I reason as well as you, uncle, and I do not know what you mean. I have a sound mind, a sound judgment, and an excellent memory. Do you want me to recite some verses to you? Do I have to explain some Latin? Here is a Tacitus in this library…. If you prefer another experiment, I will solve a problem in arithmetic or geometry…. You do not want to?.. Well! listen to what we did this morning…. You came at eight o’clock, not to wake me, since I was not asleep, but to get me out of bed. I washed myself, without Germain’s help; You asked me to follow you to Doctor Auvray, I refused; you insisted, I got angry . Germain helped you tie my hands, I will send him away this evening. I owe him thirteen days’ wages, that is to say thirteen francs, since I took him on at the rate of thirty francs a month. You will owe him compensation, you are the cause of him losing his New Year’s money. Is that reasonable? And do you still intend to make me pass for a mentally ill person?… Ah! my dear uncle, come to your senses! Remember that my mother was your sister! What would she say, my poor mother, if she saw me here?… I don’t hold it against you, and everything can be arranged amicably . You have a daughter, Miss Claire Morlot…. –Ah! I’ve caught you out! You see that you’re no longer in your right mind! I have a daughter, myself? But I am a bachelor, and very much a bachelor! « You have a daughter, » François resumed mechanically. « My poor nephew!… Come, listen to me carefully. Do you have a cousin?  » « A cousin? No, I have no cousin. Oh! you will not find me at fault. I have neither male nor female cousins.  » « I am your uncle, am I not?  » « Yes, you are my uncle, although you forgot it this morning.  » « If I had a daughter, she would be your cousin; now, you have no cousin, therefore I have no daughter.  » « You are right… I had the happiness of seeing her this summer at the waters of Ems with his mother. I love him; I have reason to believe that I am not indifferent to him, and I have the honor of asking you for his hand. « Whose hand?  » « The hand of your daughter.  » « Come now! » thought Uncle Morlot, « Mr. Auvray will be very clever if he cures him! I will pay six thousand francs in pension from my nephew’s income. Whoever pays six out of thirty, has twenty-four left. Now I am rich. Poor François!  » He sat down and opened a book at random. « Sit here, » he said to the young man, « I am going to read you something. Try to listen; it will calm you. He read: Monomania is the obstinacy of an idea, the exclusive dominion of a passion. Its seat is in the heart; it is there that it must be sought and cured. Its causes are love, fear, vanity, ambition, remorse. It betrays itself by the same symptoms as passion; sometimes by joy, gaiety, audacity, and noise; sometimes by timidity, sadness, and silence. During this reading, François seemed to calm down and doze off: it was warm in the doctor’s office. Bravo! thought M. Morlot; here is already a miracle of medicine: it puts to sleep a man who was neither hungry nor sleepy. François did not sleep, but he played sleep perfectly. He inclined his head in time, and mathematically regulated the monotonous sound of his breathing. Uncle Morlot was caught in it: he continued reading in a low voice, then he yawned, then he stopped reading, then he let his book slide, then he closed his eyes, then he fell asleep in good faith, to the great satisfaction of his nephew, who was leering at him maliciously out of the corner of his eye. François began by moving his chair; M. Morlot moved no more than a tree; François walked around making his boots creak on the parquet floor: M. Morlot began to snore. Then the mentally ill person approached the desk, found a scraper, pushed it into a corner, pressed firmly by the handle and cut the rope that tied his arms. He freed himself, regained control of his hands, suppressed a cry of joy and came with small steps towards his uncle. In two minutes M. Morlot was tied up firmly, but with such delicacy that his sleep was not even disturbed. François admired his work and picked up the book, which had slid to the ground. It was the latest edition of Monomanie raisonnante. He took it to a corner and began to read, like a wise man, while waiting for the doctor to arrive. Chapter 6. I must, however, relate the background of François and his uncle. François was the only son of a former tablet maker in the Passage du Saumon, named Mr. Thomas. Tablet making is a good business; you make a hundred percent on almost every item. Since his father’s death, François had enjoyed that ease which is called honest, no doubt because it frees us from doing base things, perhaps also because it allows us to be honest with our friends: he had an income of thirty thousand francs. His tastes were extremely simple, as I think I told you . He had an innate preference for what does not shine, and he naturally chose his gloves, his waistcoats and his coats in that series of modest colors which extends between black and brown. He did not remember having dreamed of panache even in his earliest childhood, and the ribbons which are most envied had never disturbed his sleep. He did not wear glasses, for the reason, he said, that he had good eyes; nor a pin in his tie, because his tie stayed on without a pin; but the fact is that he was afraid of being noticed. The varnish on his boots dazzled him. He would have been very sorry if the chance of birth had afflicted him with a remarkable name. If to finish him off, his godfather had called him Améric or Fernand, he would not have signed his life. Fortunately his names were as modest as if he had chosen them himself. His timidity prevented him from taking up a career. After crossing the threshold of the baccalaureate, he leaned against that great door which leads to everything, and he remained in contemplation before the seven or eight paths which were open to him. The bar seemed too noisy to him, medicine too hectic, teaching too imposing, commerce too complicated, administration too subjugating. As for the army, it was not to be thought of: it was not that he was afraid of the enemy; but he trembled at the thought of the uniform. He therefore stuck to his first profession, not as the easiest, but as the most obscure: he lived off his income. As he had not earned his money himself, he lent willingly. In return for such a rare virtue, heaven gave him many friends. He loved them all sincerely, and did their bidding with the utmost grace. When he met one of them on the boulevard, it was always he who let them take his arm, turned around , and walked wherever they wanted to lead him. Note that he was neither stupid, nor narrow-minded, nor ignorant. He knew three or four modern languages; he mastered Latin, Greek, and everything one learns at college; he had some notions of commerce, industry, agriculture, and literature, and he judged a new book soundly when no one was there to listen. But it was with women that his weakness showed itself in all its force. He always had to love someone, and if in the morning, while rubbing his eyes, he had not seen some glimmer of love on the horizon, he would have gotten up gloomy and would infallibly have put his stockings on backward. When he attended a concert or a show, he would begin to search the room for a face that he liked, and he would fall in love with it until the evening. If he found one, the spectacle was beautiful, the concert delightful; if not, everyone spoke badly or sang out of tune. His heart had such a horror of emptiness that, in the presence of a mediocre beauty, he would beat his sides to find her perfect. You will guess without me that this universal tenderness was not debauchery, but innocence. He loved all women without telling them, because he had never dared to speak to any of them. He was the most candid and the most harmless of rogues; Don Juan, if you like, but before Dona Julia. When he loved, he would compose bold declarations within himself that regularly stopped on his lips. He paid court: he showed the depths of his soul; he pursued long conversations, charming dialogues in which he made the questions and the answers. He found speeches energetic enough to soften rocks, burning enough to melt ice; but no woman was grateful to him for his silent aspirations: one must want to be loved. The difference is great between desire and will, the desire that sails softly on the clouds, the will that runs on foot among the stones; the one that expects everything from chance, the other that asks nothing but itself; the will that walks straight to the goal through hedges and ditches, ravines and mountains; the desire that remains seated in its place and cries in its sweetest voice: ….
Bell tower, bell tower, arrive, or I am dead! However, in August of this year, four months before binding his uncle’s arms, François had dared to love face to face. He had met at the Ems waters a young girl almost as fierce as himself, and whose trembling timidity had given him courage: she was a frail and delicate Parisian, pale as a fruit ripened in the shade, transparent like those beautiful children whose blue blood flows openly under their skin. She kept company with her mother, whom an inveterate illness (chronic laryngitis, if I am not mistaken) condemned to take the waters. The mother and daughter must have lived far from the world, for they cast a long, astonished gaze over the noisy crowd of bathers. François was introduced to them unexpectedly by a convalescent friend of his who was traveling to Italy via Germany. He saw them assiduously for a month, and he was, so to speak, their only company. For delicate souls, the crowd is a great solitude; the more noise the world makes around them, the more they huddle in their corner to whisper to each other. The young Parisian and her mother entered François’s heart straight away, and found themselves at ease there. They discovered new treasures every day, like the first navigators who set foot in America; they trod with delight this virgin and mysterious land. They never inquired whether he was rich or poor: it was enough for them to know he was good, and no find could be more precious to them than that of this heart of gold. For his part, Francis was delighted with his metamorphosis. Have you ever been told how spring blooms in the gardens of Russia? Yesterday the snow covered everything; today a ray of sunshine arrives and puts winter to flight. At noon the trees are in blossom, in the evening they are covered with leaves, the next day they almost have fruit. Thus Francis’s love blossomed and fructified. His coldness and embarrassment were swept away like ice cubes in a debacle; the ashamed and pusillanimous child became a man in a few weeks. I don’t know who first uttered the word marriage, but what does it matter? It is always implied when two honest hearts speak of love. François was of age and master of his own person, but the one he loved depended on a father whose consent he had to obtain. It was here that the unfortunate young man’s timidity took over. Claire had told him in vain: Write boldly; my father has been warned: you will receive his consent by return mail. He wrote and rewrote his letter more than a hundred times, without deciding to send it. However, the task was easy, and the most vulgar mind would have pulled it off gloriously. François knew the name, position, fortune , and even the mood of his future father-in-law. He had been initiated into all the secrets of the family; he was practically part of the household. What remained for him to do? To indicate in a few words what he was and what he had; the answer was not doubtful. He hesitated so long that after a month Claire and her mother were reduced to doubting him. I believe they would have been patient for another two weeks, but paternal wisdom would not allow it. If Claire loved, if her lover did not decide to officially declare his intentions, it was necessary, without loss of time, to put the young girl in a safe place, in Paris. Perhaps then M. François Thomas would decide to come and ask for her hand in marriage: he knew where to find her. One morning when François was going to take these ladies for a walk, the head waiter announced to him that they had left for Paris. Their apartment was already occupied by an English family. Such a harsh blow, falling unexpectedly on such a weak head, bewildered his reason. He went out like a mentally ill person, and began to look for Claire in all the places where he usually took her. He returned home with a violent migraine which he treated God knows how! He bled himself, took boiling water baths, applied ferocious mustard plasters; he avenged on his body the sufferings of his soul. When he thought he was cured, he left for France, determined to ask for Claire’s hand before even changing his clothes. He ran to Paris, jumped out of the carriage, forgot his luggage, got into a cab, and shouted to the coachman: « Hers, and at a gallop!  » « Where, bourgeois?  » « At Monsieur’s…, rue… I don’t know anymore! » He had forgotten the name and address of the woman he loved. Let’s go to my house, he thought; I’ll find her…. He handed his card to the coachman who drove him home. His concierge was a childless old man named Emmanuel. Arriving before him, François bowed low and said: Sir, you have a daughter, Miss Claire Emmanuel. I wanted to write to you to ask for her hand; but I thought it would be more proper to do this in person. It was recognized that he was mentally ill, and they ran to fetch his uncle Morlot from the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. Uncle Morlot was the most honest man on the rue de Charonne, which is one of the longest in Paris. He made antique furniture with ordinary talent and extraordinary conscientiousness. He wouldn’t have given blackened pear wood for ebony, or delivered a sideboard from his factory for a piece of medieval furniture! And yet he possessed, just like anyone else, the art of splitting new wood and simulating worm bites, of which the worms were innocent. But he had as a principle and a law to harm no one. By an almost absurd moderation in luxury industries, he limited his profits to five percent over and above the general expenses of his house: thus he had earned more esteem than money. When he wrote an invoice, he would start the addition over as many as three times, so afraid was he of making a mistake to his advantage. After thirty years of this business, he was almost as rich as when he left his apprenticeship: he had earned his living like the humblest of his workmen, and he wondered with a little jealousy how Mr. Thomas had managed to amass an income. If his brother-in-law looked down on him a little, with the vanity of the upstart, he looked down on him even more, with the pride of a man who did not want to succeed. He draped himself superbly in his mediocrity, and said with plebeian arrogance: At least, I am sure of not having anything to anyone. Man is a strange animal: I am not the first who has said so. This excellent M. Morlot, whose meticulous honesty amused the whole suburb, felt in the depths of his heart a pleasant tickling when someone came to tell him of his nephew’s illness. He heard a small, insinuating voice saying to him in a low voice: If François is a mentally ill person, you become his guardian. Probity hastened to reply: We shall not be the richer for it. « What! » the voice continued: « but the pension of a lunatic has never cost thirty thousand francs a year. » Besides, we will take the trouble; we will neglect our affairs; we deserve compensation; we are not wronging anyone.–But, replied disinterestedness, one owes oneself gratis to one’s family.–Really! murmured the voice. Then why has our family never done anything for us? We have had moments of difficulty, difficult deadlines: neither nephew François, nor his late father ever thought of us.–Bah! cried kindness, it will be nothing; it is a false alarm, François will recover in two days.–Perhaps also, continued the obstinate voice, the illness will kill its patient, and we will inherit without wronging anyone. We have worked thirty years for the sovereign who reigns at Potsdam; who knows if a blow of a hammer on the head of a thoughtless person will not make our fortune? The good man stopped his ear; but this ear was so large, so ample, so nobly flared in the shape of a sea conch, that the subtle and persistent little voice always slipped into it in spite of himself. The house on the rue de Charonne was entrusted to the care of the foreman; the uncle took up his winter quarters in his nephew’s beautiful apartment. He slept in a good bed, and felt comfortable. He sat at an excellent table, and the stomach cramps of which he had complained for many years were magically cured. He was served, combed and shaved by Germain, and he got used to it. Little by little he consoled himself with seeing his sick nephew; he came to terms with the idea that François might never recover. At most, if he repeated to himself from time to time , for the sake of his conscience: I’m not harming anyone! After three months, he was bored of having a mentally ill person in the house, because he thought he was at home. François’s perpetual rambling and his mania for asking Claire to marry him seemed an intolerable scourge: he resolved to clean up the house and shut the sick man up at Mr. Auvray’s. After all, he told himself, my nephew will be better cared for and I will be more at ease. Science has recognized that it is good to take mentally ill people out of their surroundings to distract them: I am doing my duty. It was in these thoughts that he had fallen asleep, when François took it into his head to tie his hands: what an awakening! Chapter 7. The doctor entered, apologizing. François got up, put his book back on the desk, and explained the case with great volubility, pacing back and forth with great strides. Sir, he said, this is my maternal uncle whom I have come to entrust to your care. You see a man of forty-five to fifty years of age, hardened to manual labor and the privations of a laborious life; moreover, born of healthy parents, in a family where no case of mental alienation has ever been seen. You will therefore not have to struggle with a hereditary disease. His illness is one of the most curious monomanias that you have ever had the opportunity to observe: it passes with incredible rapidity from extreme gaiety to extreme sadness, it is a singular mixture of monomania properly speaking and melancholy. « Has he not completely lost his mind? » « No, sir, he is not demented; he is only delusional on one point; and he belongs to your specialty.  » « What is the nature of his illness?  » « Alas! sir, the nature of our century, greed! The poor invalid is very much of his time. After having worked since childhood, he finds himself without a fortune. My father, who started from the same point as him, left me a fairly considerable estate. My dear uncle began by being jealous; then he thought that, being my only relative, he would become my heir in the event of my death, and my guardian in the event of madness, and as a weak mind easily believes what it desires, the unfortunate man persuaded himself that I had lost my mind. He told everyone, and he will tell you yourself. In the carriage, although his hands were tied, he believed that it was he who was bringing me to you. » « When did the first attack occur? » « About three months ago. He went down to my concierge and said to him with a terrified air: Monsieur Emmanuel, you have a daughter… leave her in your lodge and come and help me tie up my nephew.  » « Does he judge his condition correctly? Does he know he is ill?  » « No, sir, and I think that is a good sign. I will tell you, moreover , that there are notable disturbances in the functions of life and nutrition. He has completely lost his appetite, and he is subject to long periods of insomnia.  » « So much the better! A lunatic who sleeps and eats regularly is almost incurable. Allow me to wake him. » Monsieur Auvray gently shook the sleeper’s shoulder, who sat up. His first impulse was to rub his eyes. When he saw his tied hands, he guessed what had happened during his sleep, and he burst into a fit of laughter. What a joke! he said. François pulled the doctor aside. You see! Well, in five minutes, he’ll be furious. « Let me do it. I know how to handle them. » He smiled at the sick man like a child you want to amuse. « My friend, » he said, « you wake up early; have you had good dreams?  » « Me! I didn’t dream. I laugh to see myself tied up like a person. You’d think I was the mentally ill person. » « There! » said François. « Please be so kind as to relieve me, doctor; I will explain myself better when I am at my ease.  » « My child, I am going to untie you; but you promise to be very good?  » « Oh, sir, do you honestly take me for a mentally ill person?  » « No, my friend, but you are ill. We will treat you, we will cure you. Here! Your hands are free, do not abuse them.  » « What the devil do you want me to do with them? I was bringing my nephew to you…  » « Good! » said M. Auvray; « we will talk about that presently. I found you asleep; do you often sleep during the day?  » « Never! It is this stupid book…  » « Oh! oh! » said the author, « the case is serious. So you believe that your nephew is mentally ill?  » « To be tied up, sir; » and the proof is that I had to tie his hands with this rope. –But it was you who had his hands tied. Don’t you remember that I have just freed you? –It was me, it was him. Let me explain the whole matter to you! –Hush! my friend, you are getting excited, you are very red: I don’t want you to tire yourself out. Just answer my questions. You say that your nephew is ill? –No one mentally ill! No one mentally ill! No one mentally ill! –And you are happy to see him no one mentally ill? –Me? –Answer me frankly. You don’t want him to get well, do you? –Why? –So that his fortune remains in your hands. You want to be rich? Is he angry with you for having worked so long without making a fortune? You think your turn has come? M. Morlot did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the ground. He
wondered if he wasn’t having a bad dream, and he tried to unravel what was real in this story of tied hands, this interrogation, and the questions of this stranger who was reading his conscience like an open book. Does he hear voices? asked M. Auvray. The poor uncle felt his hair stand on end. He remembered that fierce voice speaking in his ear, and he answered mechanically: « Sometimes.  » « Ah! he’s hallucinating.  » « But no! I’m not sick! Let me go out! I’d lose my mind here. Ask all my friends, they’ll tell you I’m in perfect sense. Feel my pulse, you’ll see I don’t have a fever.  » « Poor uncle! » said François. « He doesn’t know that madness is a delirium without fever. » « Sir, » added the doctor, « if we could give our patients a fever , we would cure them all. » Mr. Morlot threw himself into his chair. His nephew continued to pace the doctor’s office. Sir, said François, I am deeply distressed by my uncle’s misfortune, but it is a great consolation for me to be able to entrust him to a man like you. I have read your admirable book, Monomanie raisonnante: it is the most remarkable thing written in this genre since the Treatise on Mental Illnesses of the great Esquirol. I know, moreover, that you are a father to your patients, so I will not do you the insult of recommending Mr. Morlot to you. As for the price of his board, I leave it entirely to you. He took a thousand-franc note from his wallet and placed it nimbly on the mantelpiece. I will have the honor of appearing here sometime next week. When is it permitted to visit the sick?  » From noon to two o’clock. As for me, I am always at home. Goodbye, sir. » « Arrest him, » cried Uncle Morlot, « don’t let him go! He’s the one who’s mentally ill; I’ll explain his madness to you.  » « Calm down, my dear uncle! » said François, withdrawing. « I’ll leave you in the hands of M. Auvray; he’ll take good care of you. » M. Morlot wanted to run after his nephew, but the doctor held him back: What a fatality! cried the poor uncle; he won’t say something stupid! If he could only be a little unreasonable, you would see that it is not I who am mentally ill. François was already holding the doorknob. He retraced his steps as if he had forgotten something, walked straight to the doctor and said to him: Sir, my uncle’s illness is not the only reason that brings me here. « Ah! ah! » murmured M. Morlot, who saw a ray of hope shine. The young man continued: « You have a daughter.  » « At last! » cried the poor uncle. « You are witness that he said: You have a daughter! » The doctor replied to François: « Yes, sir. Explain to me…. « You have a daughter, Miss Claire Auvray.  » « There she is! There she is! I told you so.  » « Yes, sir, » said the doctor. « Three months ago, she was at the waters of Ems with her mother. » « Bravo! bravo! » shouted M. Morlot. « Yes, sir, » replied M. Auvray. M. Morlot ran to the doctor and said, « You are not the doctor; you are a resident of the house!  » « My friend, » replied the doctor, « if you are not good, we will give you a shower.  » M. Morlot recoiled in terror. His nephew continued, « Sir, I love your daughter, I have some hope of being loved by her, and provided her feelings have not changed since September, I have the honor of asking for her hand.  » The doctor replied, « So it is to M. François Thomas that I have the honor of speaking?  » « To himself, sir, and I should have begun by telling you my name.  » « Sir, allow me to tell you that you have kept us waiting. » At that moment, the doctor’s attention was attracted by M. Morlot, who was rubbing his hands with a sort of rage. What is the matter, my friend? he asked him in his gentle, fatherly voice. « Nothing, nothing; I’m rubbing my hands.  » « And why?  » « I have something that bothers me.  » « Show me: I can’t see anything.  » « Can’t you see? There, there, between your fingers. I can see it clearly!  » « What do you see?  » « My nephew’s money. Take it away, doctor! I am an honest man; I want nothing from anyone. » While the doctor listened attentively to M. Morlot’s first ramblings, a strange revolution took place in François’s person . He was turning pale, he was cold, his teeth were chattering violently . M. Auvray turned towards him to ask him what he was feeling. « Nothing, » he replied; « it’s coming, I hear it; it’s joy… but I am overwhelmed by it. Happiness falls on me like snow. The winter will be harsh for lovers. » Doctor, look at what’s in my head. M. Morlot ran to him, shouting: Enough! Don’t be unreasonable any longer! I don’t want you to be a mentally ill person anymore. It’s as if I were the one who stole your reason. I’m honest. Doctor, look at my hands; search my pockets; send to my house, rue de Charonne, in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine; open all the drawers; you’ll see that I don’t owe anyone anything! The doctor was very embarrassed between his two patients when a door opened, and Claire came to tell her father that lunch was on the table. François stood up as if by a spring; but his will alone ran to meet Mademoiselle Auvray. His body fell heavily back onto the armchair. He could barely stammer out a few words. Claire! It’s me. I love you. Will you?… He passed his hand over his forehead. His pale face turned a bright red. His temples were throbbing violently; he felt a violent compression above his eyebrows . Claire, as dead as she was alive, seized both his hands: his skin was dry and his pulse so hard that the poor girl was terrified. This was not how she had hoped to see him again. In a few minutes, an orange tint spread around the wings of the nose; nausea came next, and M. Auvray recognized all the symptoms of a bilious fever. What a pity, he said, that this fever had not befallen his uncle; it would have cured him! He rang; the servant ran; then Madame Auvray, whom François barely recognized, he was so overwhelmed. It was necessary to put the sick man to bed, and without delay. Claire offered her room and her bed. It was a charming little boarding school bed with white curtains; a cute and chastely coquettish room, hung with pink percale, and decorated with large heathers in bluish porcelain vases. On the mantelpiece was a large onyx cup: it was the only present that Claire had received from her lover. If you catch a fever, dear reader, I wish you a similar infirmary. While François was being given first aid, his exasperated uncle was bustling about in the room, stopping the doctor, embracing the sick man, grabbing Madame Auvray’s hand, and shouting at the top of his lungs: Save him quickly , quickly! I don’t want him to die; I will oppose his death, it is my right: I am his uncle and his guardian! If you don’t cure him, they will say that it was I who killed him. You are witnesses that I am not asking for his inheritance. I am giving all his possessions to the poor. A glass of water, please, to wash my hands! He was transferred to the nursing home. There, he became so agitated that they had to put him in a heavy canvas jacket that is laced up at the back and whose sleeves are sewn at the ends: this is what is called a straitjacket. The nurses took care of him. Madame Auvray and her daughter cared for François with love, although the details of the treatment were not always pleasant; but the more delicate sex delights in heroism. You will tell me that these two women saw in their sick man a son-in-law and a husband, but I believe that if he had been a stranger he would have lost almost nothing. Saint Vincent de Paul invented only a uniform, for there is in women of every rank and age the makings of a sister of charity. Sitting night and day in this feverish room, the mother and daughter spent their moments of rest talking together about their memories and their hopes. They could not explain François’s long silence, nor his sudden return, nor the occasion which had brought him to the Avenue Montaigne. If he loved Claire, why did he keep him waiting for three months? Did he need his uncle’s illness to get into M. Auvray’s house? If he had forgotten his love, why hadn’t he taken his uncle to another doctor? There are enough of them in Paris. Perhaps he had believed his passion was cured, until Claire’s presence undeceived him? But no, since, before seeing her again, he had asked for her hand in marriage. To all these questions, it was François who answered in his delirium. Claire, leaning over his lips, eagerly gathered his every word; she commented on them with her mother and the doctor, who soon glimpsed the truth. For a man trained to unravel the most confused ideas and to read the souls of mentally ill people as in a half- erased book, the daydreams of a feverish person are an intelligible language, and the most confused delirium is not without enlightenment. It was soon known that he had lost his mind and in what circumstances; it was even explained how he had innocently caused his uncle’s illness. Then began a new series of fears for Miss Auvray. François had been mentally ill. Would the terrible crisis she had unknowingly provoked cure the patient? The doctor assured him that fever has the privilege of judging, that is to say, of ending madness: however, there is no rule without exception, especially in medicine. Supposing he were cured, would there not be relapses to fear? Would Mr. Auvray want to give his daughter to one of his patients? As for me, said Claire, smiling sadly, I’m not afraid of anything: I would risk it. I am the cause of all his ills; should I not console him? After all, his madness was reduced to asking for my hand: he will have nothing more to ask the day I am his wife; we will therefore have nothing to fear. The poor child was only sick from an excess of love; cure him well, dear father, but not too much. Let there remain enough mentally ill people to love me as I love him! « We shall see, » replied M. Auvray. « Wait until the fever has passed. If he is ashamed of having been ill, if I see him sad or melancholic after recovery, I am not responsible for anything. If, on the contrary, he remembers his illness without shame or regret, if he speaks of it with resignation, if he sees again without repugnance the people who cared for him, I don’t care about relapses!  » « Eh! My father, why should he be ashamed of having loved to excess? It is a noble and generous madness, which will never enter little souls. And how could he be reluctant to see again those who cared for him?… It is us! After six days of delirium, a profuse sweat carried away the fever, and the sick man began to convalesce. When he saw himself in an unfamiliar room, between Madame and Mademoiselle Auvray, his first idea was that he was still at the Hôtel des Quatre-Saisons, in the main street of Ems. His weakness, his thinness, and the presence of the doctor brought him back to other thoughts: he remembered, but vaguely. The doctor came to his aid. He poured out the truth with prudence, as one measures food to a body weakened by diet. François began by listening to his story like a novel in which he played no part; he was another man, a completely new man, and he emerged from the fever as from a tomb. Little by little the gaps in his memory filled in. His brain was full of empty boxes that filled in one by one, without a jolt. Soon he was master of his mind; he regained possession of the past. This cure was a work of science and above all of patience. It was here that Mr. Auvray’s paternal consideration was admired. The excellent man had the genius for gentleness. On December 25, François, sitting on his bed, weighted down with chicken broth and half an egg yolk, recounted without interruption, without agitation or rambling, without shame, without regret, and with no emotion other than quiet joy, the story of the three months that had just passed. Claire and Mrs. Auvray wept as they listened to him. The doctor seemed to be taking notes or writing from dictation, but something other than ink fell onto his paper. When the story was finished, the convalescent added by way of conclusion: Today, December 25, at three o’clock in the morning, I said to my excellent doctor, to my beloved father, Mr. Auvray, whose street and number I will never forget: Sir, you have a daughter, Miss Claire Auvray; I saw her this summer at the waters of Ems, with her mother; I love her; she has proved to me quite clearly that she loved me, and, if you are not afraid that I will fall ill again, I have the honor of asking for her hand.
The doctor only gave a small nod, but Claire put her arms around the sick man’s neck and kissed him on the forehead. I do not desire another answer when I make such a request. The same day, Mr. Morlot, calmer and freed from the straitjacket, got up at eight o’clock in the morning. Getting out of bed, he took his slippers, turned them over, turned them over, probed them carefully, and passed them to the nurse, begging him to see if they did not contain thirty thousand pounds of income. It was only then that he agreed to put on his shoes. He combed his hair for a good half hour, repeating: I don’t want anyone to say that my nephew’s fortune has passed over my head. He shook each of his clothes out of the window, after having searched them down to their last folds. Dressed, he asked for a pencil and wrote on the walls of his room: MANY OTHERS WILL NOT DESIRE. Then he began to rub his hands with incredible vivacity, to convince himself that François’ fortune was not attached to them. He scratched his fingers with his pencil, counting them from the first to the tenth, so afraid was he of forgetting one. M. Auvray paid him his daily visit: he thought he was in the presence of an examining magistrate, and earnestly asked to be searched. The doctor identified himself and informed him that François was cured. The poor man asked if the money had been found. Since my nephew is going to leave here, he said, he needs his money: where is it? I don’t have it. Unless it’s in my bed! And he overturned his bed so nimbly that no one had time to stop him. The doctor left, shaking his hand; he rubbed it with scrupulous care. They brought him his lunch; he began by exploring his napkin, his glass, his knife, his plate, repeating that he did not want to eat his nephew’s fortune. When the meal was finished, he washed his hands thoroughly . The fork is silver, he said; if only I had had any silver left after my hands! M. Auvray does not despair of saving him, but it will take time. It is especially in summer and autumn that doctors cure madness. LAND FOR SALE. Chapter 8. Henri Tourneur, who has just won his first medal at the Universal Exhibition, is not a painter of genius, but he only produces excellent pictures. He draws almost as well as M. Ingres, and his color is almost as rich as that of M. Diaz. His painting has been fashionable for four or five years, and it has nothing to fear from the whims of fashion. He sells it at English prices, that is to say, exorbitant. The Ladies of the Court Visiting the Studio of Jean Goujon were paid eighteen thousand francs for a museum in Paris. A banker from Rouen gave six thousand francs for The Kiss by Alain Chartier, a small canvas of 4, false size; and Mlle Doze Listening to the Confessions of Mlle Mars has just been bought for eleven thousand francs by a rich Belgian art lover. He has more commissions than he can fulfill in two years, and I don’t see what would prevent him from earning forty thousand francs a year. His first successes date from the Exhibition of 1850. Until then he had earned his living obscurely. Mr. Tourneur senior, a wine broker, retired from business with an income of ten thousand francs, had neither helped nor hindered his son’s vocation; he had left him to his own devices, without money, with these encouraging words: If you have talent, you will get by; if you have none, you will give up painting, and I will place you in commerce. From twenty to thirty years old, Henri designed woodcuts for cheap editions, he painted fans, confectioner’s boxes, porcelains and even fireplace fronts. The child with pot-au-feu, which is still sold in the provinces, is one of his youthful sins. These ten years of hardship were profitable for him: he learned economy. The day he saw his bread assured for eighteen months, he turned his back on industry and took up painting. His studio is the largest on Avenue Frochot and one of the most beautiful in Paris. It is a museum where you can see a little of everything, except paintings. The reason is very simple. When Tourneur wants to paint a young lady from the time of Louis XIII sealing a love letter, he starts by running around the dealers of curiosities: he buys either a tapestry of the time, or an embossed leather hanging to fill the background of the painting. He chooses a beautiful piece of antique furniture, which he has brought to his home. He unearths a small, richly inlaid desk at the back of a shop , he pays for it and carries it under his arm. He procures, at any price, the old silks and the guipure two centenarians whose costume he will compose; he watches at public auctions for Marion Delorme’s writing desk and Ninon de Lenclos’s stamp . Such is his love of precision. He dresses his mannequin with scrupulous care, he brings in a beautiful model for the head and hands, and he paints everything from life. He only does one painting at a time, finishes it without interruption and delivers it immediately varnished. In his work one sees neither sketches, nor pochades, nor drafts, nor that jumble of interrupted studies, sketched imaginations and unsold paintings that one likes to encounter in a studio. One finds only a canvas in the process of being executed and already placed in the frame. But the walls are covered with splendid hangings and bristling with magnificent coats of arms, more than one of which cost a thousand francs. The old furniture and shelves support a multitude of porcelain, earthenware, stoneware, precious enamels, rare bronzes, and artistic jewelry. His house is like a branch of the Cluny Museum. As for him, those who have not seen his portrait engraved by Calamatta will never recognize him in the street. He looks much less like an artist than a young English merchant. His face is regular, a little cold; his skin very white, his hair light brown. He wears his hair in the English style, on the temples, and only wears sideburns. He is small, but well-built in his small stature. I know few men who dress better than him; he has the finest linens and the best-cut clothes. Never light colors, never eccentric shapes, and no jewelry except for his watch, which is by Breguet. If he carries a cane, it is a hundred-franc cane, with a small black tortoiseshell knob worth a hundred sous. I met him many times, when he was his own valet, and I do not remember seeing a speck of dust on him. He often went to bed without dinner, but he never went out without fresh gloves. When he took his meals in a dairy on the Rue Pigalle, he ordered his hats from the Rue Richelieu, and his shoes from the good maker. In the workshop, he dresses in white, either wool or ticking, according to the season, and never gets stained; he is clean and neat like his painting. For the past year he has indulged in the luxury of black. He is a young Nubian of eighteen, forgotten in Paris by an Englishman who was returning from Egypt. He was not baptized: Tourneur gave him the name Snowball. He taught him all the liberal arts that are within the reach of the black races: scrubbing the floor, dusting the furniture, brushing clothes, polishing shoes, and delivering letters to their addresses. Thanks to the care he has taken, he is, for ten francs a month, the best served man in all of Paris. It is claimed that he has already made considerable savings; but I, who know him, can assure you that this is not the case. Artists exaggerate everything, and particularly the savings of other artists. Tourneur has spent too much on purchases of all kinds to have much cash left over. Note, moreover, that Snowball devours three kilograms of bread a day, and you will understand why his master’s fortune is reduced to fifty thousand francs, invested in state annuities. However modest the figure may seem, it proves to any sensible man that M. Henri Tourneur is an artist of good living. He attends neither balls nor theaters, and only goes to the Comédie-Française, where he has his entries. His conduct is as regular as that of a man of thirty-five can be. However, I would not swear that he is indifferent to the beauty of Mellina Barni. When she broke off her engagement with the director of La Scala to come and sing in Paris, he persuaded her to delay her debut, which is still awaited. He is often seen at her house, and even, what is more serious, she is met sometimes at home. But that’s none of my business. On May 15 of this year, an hour after the opening of the Exposition des beaux-arts, Henri Tourneur was contemplating himself, and smiling at his painting by Alain Chartier, when he received on the shoulder one of those familiar taps which would shake the balance of an ox. He turned around, as if he had been touched on a spring; but his anger did not hold up in front of the person of all types of body ruddy smile of M. de Chingru: he began to laugh. Good morning, Van Ostade, Miéris, Terburg, Gérard Dow! cried M. de Chingru, so loudly that five or six people benefited from his speech. I saw your three paintings, they have lost nothing, they are magnificent; in fact, that’s all there is here. You beat France, Belgium and England, Meissonnier, Willems and Mulready. You paint the genre as genre itself, and you are as learned as pinxit. If the government does not give you a hundred thousand francs commission and the cross, I will demolish the Bastille! He took Henri by the arm, and added in a low voice: Do you want to get married? –Leave me alone! –A million! –You are a mentally ill person! A million would not want me. –Why is that? A million and you, you are worth the same. What does a million earn a year? Fifty thousand francs. You can do as much: you are then of the strength of a million. –Where did you dig that up? –Ah! ah! the story interests you. Listen then. There exists in the world a Mr. Gaillard…. –Who plays on the Stock Exchange? Thank you. I saw Ceinture dorée. –He does not play any more than I do; he is an archivist at the Ministry of…. –A place worth ten thousand francs? –No; three thousand six hundred, plus four hundred francs of gratuity which never fails; total four thousand. There’s the father-in-law. –And my million? –Ah! my million! You bite, Van Ostade, you bite! Mr. Gaillard is a model employee. For thirty years, he arrives at his office at five minutes to ten, leaves at five minutes to four, and in the meantime he doesn’t let himself be replaced by his hat to go play billiards. –Chingru, you’re annoying me. –A little patience! This archivist, the likes of which you don’t find anymore, lives near the top of Rue d’Amsterdam with his daughter, his sister, and his maid. Their apartment is on the fourth floor; three bedrooms, no living room. The windows…. –Goodbye, Chingru. –Goodbye, Gérard Dow. The windows overlook a plot of ten thousand meters. You haven’t left yet? –Go on! –Ten thousand meters at one hundred francs makes a million. Anyone who would deny this would be giving the lie to Pythagoras! This million, my dear Terburg, is the property of Mr. Gaillard. –But how is it…? –Rest assured, he didn’t steal it. You can steal a wallet, it happens every day; but you can’t steal a hectare of land: you’d have to have very deep pockets. In the year of grace 1830, a few days after the July stories, Mr. Gaillard, a fifth-year supernumerary, found himself in charge of a sum of seventy-five thousand francs, the inheritance of an uncle in Narbonne. He was looking for an investment sheltered from revolutions, when he discovered these fortunate plots of land, which were then worth seven francs per meter. His account was soon settled: seventy thousand francs for the purchase, five thousand for the notary and the taxman. He paid cash and was respected. –But since then, why hasn’t he sold?… –Since then? He never moved the sign, and I’ll show it to you whenever you want: Land for sale in whole or in lots. And I beg you to believe that there was no shortage of buyers. The day after the deed was signed, he was offered a profit of ten thousand francs. He said to himself: Good! I didn’t make a foolish deal. And he kept his land. When the Saint-Germain station was built, a speculator brought him two hundred thousand francs. He scratched his nose (it’s the only fault I know of him), and replied that his wife didn’t want to sell. In 1842, his wife had died; a gas company made him dazzling offers : half a million! Well, he replied, since I’ve waited twelve years, I’ll wait a little longer. I see with pleasure that time is working for me; it mustn’t be disturbed. When my daughter is old enough to marry, we’ll see! It’s good to tell you that his daughter is a contemporary of the famous piece of land. In 1850, his daughter was twenty, a fine age, and the land was worth eight hundred thousand francs, a good price. But he has become so accustomed to keeping both that it will take the cross and the banner to decide him either to sell or to marry. They preach to him that the case is quite different, that land is not lost for waiting, but that girls, past a certain age, are subject to depreciation: he plugs his ears and returns to his office to scratch paper. –And his daughter? –She’s bored at a hundred francs a day, and so wholeheartedly, that she ‘ll love the first man she sees shining on the horizon. –Isn’t she seeing anyone? –Nobody who looks human: an old provincial notary and five or six employees who look like office boys. You understand that we’re not going to give balls in an apartment with three bedrooms! I’m the only presentable man who has access to the house. –Isn’t she too ugly? –She’s magnificent! I’m just telling you that. –Does she have a human name? I warn you that if she’s called Euphrosyne…. –Rosalie: does that suit you? –Yes, Rosalie…. Rosalie…, that’s a pretty name. Is she a little high-minded?
–She? An artist, my dear, like you and me. –Let’s distinguish, I beg you. –Ungrateful! She doesn’t play any instrument, and she doesn’t go copying paintings at the Louvre; but she understands painting, she feels music like the one who invented it. Besides, a strict upbringing: the theatre six times a year, the monuments twice a month, four concerts in Lent, a serious library, few novels, and all English; no turtledoves in the house, not a cousin in the family!
–Talk, talk, Chingru; I can bear you! When will you introduce me? –Tomorrow, if you like. I’ve already spoken to her about you. –And what did you tell her? –That you were the only one of our great painters of whom I didn’t have any paintings.
–I’ll start one for you the day after the wedding. –Thank you. I’ll ask you one more favor. –If it isn’t a silver service…. –You know, my dear, that I’m nearly forty, and I have no job. At my age, everyone is settled, it’s the custom. It annoys me to be an exception, and to hear people whispering around me: M. de Chingru; a fine name; what does he do? –He has enough to live on: he’s a man who asks nothing of anyone. –Yes; but what does he do? By Jove! I’d do like everyone else, if I only had a job paying three thousand francs! Come, my little Turner, I’m not asking you for anything now; later, if you’re happy. You have influence, you know the men in high places, you go to ministers; you’ll put in a word for me, won’t you? –What are you good for? –Everything, for I haven’t studied anything specifically. –Well! I won’t say no. What time tomorrow? –At two o’clock. She’ll be alone with her aunt; you’ll come to buy a plot of land. –Do you want me to come and get you? –No, no; I’ll call at your studio; I’m never at home. Do you even know where I live? –I don’t remember exactly. –There, when I told you! Well! All my friends are as advanced as you. I don’t stay; I’m perching. At most, if I know my address, I live so little at home! Goodbye. M. de Chingru (Louis-Théramène), without an avowed profession and without a known address, is what is commonly called a studio pest. His talent consists of entering artists’ homes, giving them a censer in their faces with his person of all types of body, speaking ill of one in another, making them address him informally, and here and there taking down a sketch that they allow him to take. Without being either an artist or a critic, he nevertheless has a second-hand dealer’s nose, and he sniffs out canvases that are in disrepair quite well. In the studios where he is received, he places himself as a point of admiration along the walls, celebrating everything, the good and the bad, until he has set his sights on a work to which the artist attaches little value. He devotes all the effort of his admiration to it, he gives it all the impetuosity of his enthusiasm. He moves away from it, then he returns; he depreciates a masterpiece for the benefit of his dominant passion; he leaves. But he adjusts his last glance on the object of his desire. The next day, he is seen again, but he sees no one; he barely says hello, he goes straight to the painting from the day before. He is his pole: you would say a magnetic man. He is not afraid to say to the artist: Here is your first masterpiece; the day you did this, you left the peers; the day before, you were just a painter like the others, a Delacroix, a Troyon, a Corot; the next day, you were you. And he looks again, and he takes down this unframed canvas, he carries it to the window, he wipes it with the back of his sleeve, he puts it back in place while grumbling against the bourgeois who do not come to cover it with gold. Eight days later, he returns, but he looks elsewhere; He avoids that corner, he only glances at it furtively while stifling a sigh. One morning, he arrives with the sun: he dreamed that his beloved painting was sold to the Queen of England; he wants to admire it once more. Suddenly the artist loses patience and insults him: You’re nothing but an ass; there are twenty paintings here, not bad, and you’ll be amazed by a piece of rubbish. This sketch is stupid, nothing will ever be done with it; I don’t want to see it again; take it away, but don’t mention it to me again. Chingru doesn’t need to be told twice: he runs to the painting with cries like a hungry eagle, he shows it to the artist, he celebrates it with great superlatives, and he ends up having a signature put on it that triples its value. No one thinks too much about giving him a painting, because they know he has several, and good painters; We tell ourselves that we will not be compromised in his gallery. But
his gallery, no one knows it. His house is the lion’s den: we know what goes in, we don’t know what comes out. All the paintings we give him are immediately sold underhand to a second-hand dealer, who sends them to the provinces, to Belgium or to England. If chance brought someone back to Paris, Chingru would answer without being troubled: I gave it away; I have nothing of my own; I’m such a bon vivant! or else: I exchanged it for a Van Dyck. What painter would complain of having been exchanged for a Van Dyck? This is how Louis-Théramène de Chingru made a charity office of all the studios in Paris. Henri Tourneur had never given him anything, and for good reason: when you sell your painting, what’s the point of giving it away? But he promised himself to reward him handsomely if he brought the marriage affair to a successful conclusion. Both were punctual at the rendezvous, and two o’clock was striking from the railway station on the Rue Saint-Lazare when Chingru reached out for M. Gaillard’s crowbar. It was Rosalie who opened the door: the old aunt was at the market with the maid. She showed them into the dining room, gave Chingru news of the whole family, allowed herself to be introduced to M. Tourneur as one would receive a man of whom one had heard much, and listened graciously to the explanations he gave her about the choice of land and the construction of a studio. She did not know under what conditions her father wanted to sell, nor if he would agree to divide a lot into two halves; but she showed a lithographed plan, which Henri asked permission to take home for a day or two: he would return to come to an agreement with M. Gaillard. The interview lasted ten minutes and the painter left dazzled. Well? Chingru asked him on the stairs. « Leave me alone; my eyes are tingling, it seems to me that I have just been on a trip to Italy.  » « You are not far mistaken: the Gaillard dynasty originates from Narbonne, a Roman city. Father Gaillard prides himself on being descended from the conquerors of the world. He would be greatly humiliated by proving to him that his name is only a very French adjective that has reached the rank of a proper noun. When someone sings to him, as at the Opéra-Comique: Bonjour, bonjour, Monsieur Gaillard! He begins a devilish dissertation to prove to you that there were soldiers or army valets, responsible for taking care of the helmets, galea, helmet, galearius, hence Gaillard; see the Strategy of Vegetius, such chapter, such paragraph…. That’s how you listen to me? Henri had his eyes glued to M. Gaillard’s house. Chingru continued: Don’t take so much trouble; its windows look out onto the courtyard. Is she then to your taste? –She is not a woman, Chingru; she is a goddess. I expected to see a poor Eugénie Grandet, wasted by privation and dried up by boredom. I would never have believed her to be so tall, so well made, so rich in beauty, and of such a dazzling color. You say she is twenty-five years old? Yes, she must be twenty-five, the age of perfection for women. All Greek statues are twenty-five! –Brrr! You’re leaving like a flock of partridges. Have you noticed her eyes? –I saw everything: her big black eyes, her beautiful chestnut hair, her divinely drawn eyebrows, her proud mouth, her thick red lips, her small transparent teeth, her beautiful slender hands, her powerful arms, her foot as big as a hand and as wide as two fingers, her ear as pink as a West Indian shell. Yes, I noticed her eyes! But I noticed her dress, which is made of English alpaca; her collar and her sleeves, which she designed herself, for they don’t make such designs at the merchants’. She has no rings on her fingers, and her ears are not pierced: you see that I know it by heart. –Good heavens! If the heart is already involved, I have nothing more to do here. –I must have said a thousand stupid things; I couldn’t hear myself speak; I was all in my eyes; I felt for the first time in my life the happiness of contemplating perfect beauty. –That’s all right; now come and contemplate something else. –What then? –The land. –I care a great deal about the land! If that girl is penniless and wants me, I’ll marry her! –Don’t be embarrassed, my dear; if the land bothers you, you ‘ll give it to me. I’ve long regretted not having been born a landowner. When M. Gaillard returned from his office, Rosalie told him that M. de Chingru had brought a young artist, M. Henri Tourneur, to see the land; that she had given him the plan; that this gentleman would come back to speak to her. But, she added, laughing, I’d wager he has another idea in mind, for he only looked at me; he spoke without knowing what he was saying; and besides… he’s much too good for a simple land buyer. M. Gaillard didn’t frown; he scratched his nose familiarly, which was very beautiful, and replied: M. de Chingru should mind his own business. I’ll go tomorrow morning to ask this young man for my plan again, and find out what he wants from us. Chapter 9. The next day, at eight o’clock in the morning, Henri put on his jacket. of the workshop, when Snowball introduced a very tall, very dry, very polite, somewhat timid man, preceded by a magnificent nose: it was Mr. Gaillard. He sat down and explained, with many circumlocutions, that his land had been divided once and for all, for the greater convenience of the purchasers; that it was impossible to divide a lot into two halves of equal value, since each lot had only fifteen meters of frontage, that it would be very difficult to calculate the value of the remaining fraction which did not give onto the street, and that, if Mr. Tourneur was not in a position or in the mood to buy an entire lot, unless he were to resell part of it, it would be better to leave it at that. Sir, continued Henri, almost as troubled as Mr. Gaillard, I am neither a very skilled buyer nor a very experienced seller. I am an artist, as you see. Mr. de Chingru…, but, look! I prefer to speak to you frankly, although the things I have to say are not easy to explain. Sir, you are not only a landowner; you are a father. I had heard Mademoiselle your daughter spoken of in such favorable terms that I felt an incredible desire to know her and speak to her. I took these lands as a pretext; I chose, I confess, a moment when I hoped to find her alone; I obtained by surprise the honor of talking with her for ten minutes; she seemed to me marvelously beautiful and quite well-bred; and since you came of your own accord to an interview that I would have requested today or tomorrow, allow me to tell you that my dearest ambition would be to obtain the hand of Mademoiselle Rosalie Gaillard. Mr. Gaillard quickly put his hand to his nose. Henri continued: I know, sir, how unusual there is in such a direct and unexpected request. You know my name at most. I am thirty-four years old; the public loves my painting and pays very well for it. I have amassed, in five years, a sum of fifty thousand francs, and I have bought the following furniture with my savings: it is worth about as much. I can justify eighty thousand francs in orders, which I will execute before January 1, 1857, without rushing. That is my assets, as my father would say. As for liabilities, not a cent of debt. I could count my father’s fortune among my assets, ten thousand francs of income, honorably amassed in business: I mention it only for the record. My father has acquired the sweet habit of letting me work as I please and of helping me in nothing: I will not cause him the trouble of asking for a dowry. For your part, if you would do me the honor of granting me Mademoiselle your daughter, I would beg you to keep all your wealth to use as you wish; I will earn a living for my wife and children. I do not conceal from myself that these conditions do not remedy the inequality of our fortunes. To do well, I would have to be richer or you poorer; but I do not know how to get rich in a day, and I am not selfish enough to desire your ruin. What I believe I can promise you is that, the day when Mademoiselle your daughter comes into possession of her property, I will have amassed enough comfort so that a million earned without work will not make me blush…. I do not know, sir, if I have made myself understood…. « Yes, sir, » replied M. Gaillard, « and, artist as you are, you seem to me to be a very honest man. » Henri Tourneur blushed to the whites of his eyes. « Excuse me, » the good man replied quickly; « I do not want to speak ill of artists: I do not know them. » I simply wanted to make you understand that you reason like a man of order, an employee, a merchant, a notary, and that you do not profess the cavalier morality of people of your profession. Besides, you are a good person, and I believe that you would please my daughter if she saw you. often. She has always had a pronounced taste for painting, music, embroidery and all those little social talents. Your age matches that of Rosalie. Your character seems good to me, both serious and cheerful. You seem to understand business, and I believe you are capable of administering a fortune of some importance. Finally, you please me, sir! That is why I beg you not to set foot in my house again, until further notice. Henri dreamed that he fell from Strasbourg Cathedral. M. Gaillard hastened to add: I would not say this to you if I believed you to be a man of no consequence, like, for example, M. de Chingru. But I am prudent, sir, and, in your interest as in the interest of my daughter, I need to make inquiries. I believe that you are leading a good conduct; But if, by chance, you had some affair that would later cause my daughter unhappiness, you wouldn’t be the one to warn me, would you? You tell me that you are earning mountains of gold, and I believe you, although it seems to me quite extraordinary that a single man could produce eighty thousand francs’ worth of paintings in eighteen months. I believe you; but, to clear my conscience, I must make inquiries. I need to talk to your father, to find out if he has ever had cause to complain about you. It will be good for me to inquire in the neighborhood if you owe anything to anyone…. –Sir…. –I believe you; but sometimes one has debts without knowing it. Where did you study? –At the Charlemagne College, Jauffret Institution. –Good! I will go and see your headmaster and the head of your institution: I am not taking you by surprise, but I am being prudent, sir. It’s my quality; my fault, if you like. I’ve always done well. If I were less prudent, I would have sold my land to the Saint-Germain company in 1836: just look at the great deal! If I were a starling father like so many others, I would have given my daughter last year to a stockbroker who has just blown his brains out. Patience, young man, you won’t lose anything by waiting. If you deserve my daughter, you will have her; but business must take its course. I am prudent…. don’t send me back…. If my father had been as prudent as I am, I would be richer than I am…. Go to work, go…. I am prudent! Henri spent eight days performing variations on this well-known theme: A plague on prudence and prudent men! However, he acted prudently by untying the ties that bound him to Mellina. He sent him a grand piano he had promised him, and he sternly consigned it to his door. On the eighth day, Chingru came to tell him of M. Gaillard’s visit. He said that M. Gaillard had traveled all over Paris, questioned all the ministries, and especially the fine arts department, questioned the art dealers, consulted the booklets of previous exhibitions, reread the last five salons of Théophile Gautier, and collected a whole file of admirable information. He knows everything; he knows that you won a history prize in the general competition in the fourth year, on the organization of the Roman colonies: this particularly touched him. It was me that he questioned on the delicate question: needless to say, we did not discuss Mellina. M. Gaillard came at four thirty. He began the subject with a vigorous handshake, which delighted the painter. My young friend, he said, I have just come from forty or fifty houses where I have heard a lot about you: it remains for me to study you a little for myself. I would not be sorry either if you became better acquainted with my daughter, because it is not me that you will marry, if you marry. It is necessary, above all, that we see each other every day for two or three months; after which, we will speak business. Henri thanked him profusely. How kind you are, sir! You authorize me to go and pay my respects to Mlle Rosalie? « No, no, no! How you go about it! They’re talking about beautiful things in the house! A young man at my house every evening! And if the affair fell through! All of Paris would know that M. Henri Tourneur had to marry Mlle Rosalie Gaillard, that he paid court to her, and that the marriage failed. They would look for reasons why; they would invent reasons: who can predict what they would say? » Henri very opportunely restrained a movement of impatience. « Sir,  » he said, « do you know of any other place where we can meet every day?  » « Well, no, and that’s what embarrasses me. Look for it, you’re young, you say you’re in love: it’s up to you to find ideas! » –If it were only a matter of five or six meetings, we would have the theaters, the concerts; but we can’t go there every day. An idea! You don’t want me to come to your house? Come to my house. –Young man! With my daughter! –Why not? I am an artist before I am a man. Have you never seen a studio? –No, and here is the first one…. –Know then that an artist’s studio is like neutral ground, a public square shaded in summer, heated in winter, where people come when they want, where they leave when they have had enough, where they meet, where they arrange appointments, where everyone is at home from sunrise to sunset. A foreigner who comes to Paris visits the studios like the palaces and churches, without tickets to show, without permission to obtain, on the sole condition of greeting on entering and thanking on leaving. There is better, it is the artist who thanks. –But I don’t want France and foreigners to come here and parade before my daughter! –Is that all? I’ll lock my door. –But his visits must still have a plausible pretext. –Nothing could be simpler: I’ll paint her portrait. –Never, sir! I’m incapable of accepting…. –You’ll pay me! –I’m not rich enough to indulge in this fantasy. –My God! Perhaps you think a portrait costs a lot! –I know how much you sell your paintings for. –Pictures, yes, but not portraits! I hope you don’t confuse a portrait with a painting! –The difference isn’t so great. –What, not so great? My dear Monsieur Gaillard, what determines the price of a painting? Is it the color? No. Is it the canvas? No. It’s the invention. Paintings are only so expensive because there are few men who know how to invent. But, in a portrait, invention is useless, I say more, dangerous: one must only copy the model exactly. The first painter who comes along makes a portrait. A photographer, a worker, a man who can neither read nor write can whip up an admirable portrait for you in ten minutes: price twenty francs, with the frame.
Faced with this competition, we have been forced to lower our prices, unless we can make up for it with the paintings. Walk along the boulevards, the price of portraits is posted everywhere. They are no longer sold , they are given away; a small one, fifty francs; a large one, one hundred francs; but the frame is not included! –That is not what would stop me. But what will my friends say when they see at my house the portrait of my daughter from the brushes of the famous Henri Tourneur? –You will tell them that you had it done on the boulevard. –Then you promise me not to sign? –I promise you anything you please. When is the first sitting? –Listen; I am entitled to a fortnight’s leave every year, without deduction. It has been two years since I took advantage of my right; I was saving time for a trip to Italy. I can therefore, by notifying my superiors, take six weeks’ leave. Give me five or six days to negotiate this matter smoothly. I don’t want to attract the attention of the entire ministry: I am prudent. He left, and the painter meditated joyfully on the nothingness of human wisdom . Here, he thought, is a father who, out of prudence, brings his daughter into a studio! One does not know how much the sight of a beautiful studio can disturb a woman’s imagination. I am speaking of a painting studio; for the cold, the humidity, the clay tub, the garish tone of the plaster and the marble dust which invades everything, harm the effect of the most beautiful sculptors’ studios. In a painter’s house, as long as he is rich and has taste, one is dazzled from the moment he enters the door. A frank and decisive light, which falls from the sky in a straight line, plays through the fabrics, the hangings, the costumes hanging on the wall, the old furniture and the trophies. A person accustomed to conventional furnishings, where each thing has its marked purpose, where everything is understood and explained, remains delightfully astonished by this organized jumble. His eager gaze runs from object to object, from mystery to mystery; it probes the depths of the old oak chests; it glides lightly over the plump porcelain of China and Japan; it rests on a quiver stuffed with long arrows; it falls back on a large two-handed sword; it stops on a Roman cuirass eaten away by the rust of twenty centuries. A guzla without strings, a hunting horn enameled with verdigris, the bagpipes of a pifferaro, a crudely motley Basque tambourine, become objects of great curiosity. For an intelligent woman (and all women are), each of these trifles must have a meaning, each tapestry expresses a legend, each beer jug ​​a lied, each Etruscan vase a novel, each steel blade an epic. All the arrows must have been dipped in curare, that poison from Central Africa which causes death in one sting. The mannequins crouching in the corners look like mysterious sphinxes who are silent because they have too much to say. The possessor of all these marvels, the king of this luminous empire, could not be a man like the others. When we see him, smiling and hospitable, in the midst of so many hieroglyphs which he understands, we admire him. His clothes, whatever they may be, add to the charm. It is a costume apart, free from the ridiculousness of fashion, and in harmony with his surroundings. If it is cotton, it must come from India; If it is flannel, it was woven in Scotland with Australian wool: you would never think it came from La Belle-Jardinière. The red slippers, bought on Rue Montmartre, are transformed into babouches from Cairo or Beirut. The small bedroom , whose half-open door reveals a bed covered in Algerian linen, has a false air of a harem. You would only be half surprised if you saw five or six oudals come out, a jug in their hands or an amphora on their heads. If you see a handsome black person, like Snowball, prowling around the workshop, dressed in oriental style, the illusion is complete. Even the heady smell of varnishes and essences contributes in its part to this intoxication. Add a few drops of Malaga wine to a glass of Venice, and Rosalie Gaillard, who has never drunk anything but water, will feel transported a thousand leagues from Paris. The first session was decisive. Henri had transplanted the entire stock of a florist from Neuilly into his garden; he had put flowerbeds right into the workshop. If I went to her house, he thought, I would bring her a bouquet every day; I don’t want her to lose. Rosalie adored flowers, like all Parisian women, and she had lived for many years in the hope of a garden. By a singular whim of nature, this child, born of inept parents, had all the needs of elegant life. She would have done without bread more willingly than music, and she judged flowers more useful than shoes. Her eyes lit up at the sight of a fine carriage, although she had never gone out except on foot or by omnibus. She loved the toilet, without ever having dressed ; she danced a little every evening in her imagination, although she had never been taken to a ball; she bought all the parks and all the castles that she saw for sale on the fourth page of the Constitutionnel. With such tastes, she would have been much to be pitied without the well-founded hopes that sustained her. A life of privation, her instincts perpetually offended, would have embittered her heart to the core and given to her ideas that grayish tint that one observes in old maids. But she knew her father’s fortune; she was sure of the future; She consoled herself by glancing over the vast, bare ground that was her entire horizon. She had taken as her motto: « A time will come! » and she lived on hope. She had created for herself, deep within her soul, a delightful retreat where she lacked nothing, not even the love of a handsome young man, who would soon present himself. Thus secluded, she patiently took care of the housework, the sewing, the conversation of her father’s friends, and the eternal game of piquet with which they enlivened their evenings. For a year, M. de Chingru had appeared to her as an intermediary being, ranked between these gentlemen and the people of the world, just as in the animal scale the monkey is placed between the dog and the man. When she saw Henri Tourneur, she said to herself that she had found him, and she looked no further. Her person, her garden, her mind, her studio represented ideal perfection to her; if someone had come and said to her: There is better, she would have thought they were making fun of her. The painter, while sketching a full-length portrait, one-quarter from nature, studied down to the smallest details this complete beauty which had first dazzled him. His first glance had not deceived him. One must be something of an artist to judge if a young girl is truly beautiful. The radiance of youth, the freshness of the skin and a certain measure of plumpness often compose a false beauty which lasts one or two years, and which the first pregnancy sweeps away. One has married an adorable girl, and one carries through life an ugly woman. True beauty is not in the epidermis, but in the structure, which never changes; hence it is that a truly beautiful woman remains so for her whole life, in spite of the external ravages of old age. Rosalie has that unalterable beauty that does not fear wrinkles and defies time. Those who have traveled in Italy will easily imagine her, if I tell them that she is a Roman with small feet. The ice was soon broken, to the great astonishment of M. Gaillard, who no longer recognized his daughter. He had never seen her so cheerful, so talkative, so lively. Rosalie gave herself over without constraint to the inclination of a permitted love. She ran in the garden, she jumped in the studio, she touched everything; she questioned, laughed and chattered like a thrush in the grape harvest. She was only fourteen years old now: her youth, long suppressed, was bursting forth. Henri, a little more restrained, lived in ecstasy. After all the privations to which poverty and economy had condemned him, everything fell from the sky at the same time, fortune and happiness. In fifteen years he had formed some pleasant relationships which had cost him quite a bit, and he was a little surprised to be loved for nothing by a girl prettier and more witty than any he had known. He had indeed foreseen the possibility of a marriage of money, but as a soldier in the field foresees the Invalides; he did not suppose that fortune would be so beautiful, and he had never heard that a million had such small hands and such large eyes. Joy lit up his somewhat effaced face, and he was truly handsome for two months. When he took up his violin, in the intervals of the pose, and played the prettiest motifs from Les Noces de Jeannette, or the most joyous melodies from Les Trovatelles, Rosalie thought she saw an inspired artist. M. Gaillard conscientiously fulfilled his role as troublemaker: he made Henri Tourneur talk. The good man belonged to the deplorable category of ignoramuses who want to learn at an age when one no longer learns. Enamored with Roman history, as one is enamored with the natural history of insects or shellfish, he had read and reread two or three volumes of outdated erudition; he quoted them at every opportunity, questioning, discussing, and seeking, as he said, to extend the modest scope of his knowledge. Henri played his part with all the respect due to the age, fortune, and status of a future father-in-law. When he was tired of discoursing, and the young people fell back on the subject of their love and their hopes, he would soon resume speaking and embark on long, rambling recommendations which could be summarized thus: Don’t love each other too much; you know that nothing is yet decided. In spite of these small precautions, Henri’s studio was an earthly paradise, under the watchful eye of Snowball. Mr. de Chingru tried several times to enter; he suspected some mystery. But he always found bronze face; Snowball answered him imperturbably: Sir, go outside,—master to me, dine in town.—Good little white man, go to the country, hunt animals, shoot a gun. It was his master who taught him the picturesque language of Friday. Instead of sending him to school, where he would have been taught French, he imposed upon himself the duties of a teacher. Take care not to become too learned and to speak like everyone else, he sometimes told him: you would lose your color! And Snowball insists on preserving his color, the most beautiful in the world, according to him. The portrait was finished during Mr. Gaillard’s vacation, towards the end of July. No one took care not to send it to the framer, where twenty artists could have seen it. A workman came to take the measurements, and three weeks later brought a border worth 500 francs, for which Mr. Gaillard paid one louis without haggling. While he was there, he paid the 50 francs for the portrait against a receipt. The following Sunday, he hosted an evening of beer and échaudés for all his friends: a former notary from Villiers-le-Bel, three old expeditioners, Rosalie’s writing master, and a retired cap-visor maker with a thousand crowns in income. They met at seven-thirty. At nine o’clock, M. Gaillard announced a surprise: he delicately removed the lampshade while his sister drew back a green serge curtain and revealed Rosalie’s portrait . There was only one cry of admiration: « What a beautiful frame! » exclaimed the visor maker. « Hey! Why, it’s the portrait of your young lady! » said the notary. « And a likeness! » said the chorus of employees. « That’s how I do things, » added M. Gaillard, kissing his daughter’s forehead. « I will allow myself an observation, » resumed the writing master, who had not yet said anything: « why did M. Gaillard not wait until September 4th, the feast day of Saint Rosalie , to give Mademoiselle this surprise ?  » « Because I am preparing another one for her feast day, » replied M. Gaillard resolutely. « You have the means! » said the chorus. « Would anyone dare ask, » said the notary, « how much this image costs you?  » « Seventy francs, all included.  » « It is expensive, and this is not expensive. And whose is it?  » « It is no one’s; it is a portrait. » « That! » cried a loud voice that made everyone start, « that’s a Turner, second style, and it’s worth 8,000 francs!  » M. Gaillard fell thunderstruck onto a chair.  » Good evening, Papa Gaillard! Ladies, I have the honor! Gentlemen, I am yours! » added M. de Chingru, whom the maid had brought in without announcing him. « It’s devilishly hot.  » « The weather is heavy, » said the notary, panting. « The atmosphere is electric, » continued the writing master, seriously oppressed. « It will rain tomorrow, » said the chorus. The conversation continued in this tone until ten o’clock. M. de Chingru beat a retreat, and everyone followed him. There had been a scandal at M. Gaillard’s. The next morning, Chingru appeared at the workshop, and Snowball opened the door to him: he recounted the previous day’s event and warmly congratulated his friend. After such an outburst, he said, the deal is in the bag. The old Roman has crossed the Rubicon, and I congratulate you. Without me!… –I know what I owe you, and I won’t forget it. –My goodness! my dear, if you want to be grateful, I bring you a fine opportunity. I, too, have unearthed a golden marriage. –Pestilence! So there’s something for everyone! –A magnificent deal, I tell you…. I’m beginning to pay my court. –Bravo! –The devil is, there are advances to be made, bouquets, gifts, and I am temporarily penniless. –I thought you were well off. –They don’t pay me my allowance. Ah! My dear friend, heaven forbid you ever have farmers! –You want money? Here it is. –Two hundred francs! What do you want me to do with two hundred francs? –We have quite a few bouquets for that price. But if you need the five hundred, come back at noon, I’ll give them to you. –My dear fellow, I see with sorrow that we are far from the account. To do it right, you should be able to lend me ten thousand-franc notes. –For your bouquets? –For my bouquets and for something else. Are you afraid of me? Am I not good for ten thousand francs? –All right! Don’t be angry. You know that I could get married at any moment . I announced fifty thousand; if I don’t have my account, Father Gaillard will raise a hue and cry. –You will present him with my title. –That changes the thesis. Ah! If you give me a title, I have no more objections. Where are your properties? « A mortgage! Who do you take me for? They give a mortgage to a usurer; but I thought that with a friend a signature was enough. I offer you my signature! « Much obliged!  » « You refuse me?  » « Positively.  » « You don’t know what can happen!  » « Come what may!  » « Your marriage is not yet agreed upon.  » « What does that mean? And in what tone do you take it?  » « I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think it over. If tomorrow… » The painter heard no more. He opened the door, seized Chingru by the shoulders, and threw him horizontally onto a basket of hydrangeas, which never recovered. Chapter 10. M. Gaillard poured out his complaints after his friends left. His daughter and sister consoled him. What’s the harm? said old Miss Gaillard. A little earlier, a little later, they should have been told of the marriage. What marriage? « Mine, Papa, » Rosalie continued boldly. « You talk about it as if it were a done deal. You’re not afraid of anything, are you!  » « You’d have to be a real coward to be afraid of happiness.  » « So you love this young artist? » (The name « artist » still grated a little on that venerable mouth.) « I think I love him with all my heart.  » « It’s not enough to believe, you’d have to be quite sure. Think again; weigh the pros and cons carefully.  » « That’s all there is to it, Father.  » « Don’t you feel the need to collect yourself a month or two before? » such an important matter? –For twenty-five years and three months I have been meditating, my good father. –Oh! children! If this marriage takes place, you will begin by signing me a holographic declaration, that is to say, written entirely in your hand, stating that it is you who wants to marry Mr. Tourneur. –I will sign with both hands, my dear father. –In this way, my responsibility will be covered; and if you come and say to me in ten years: Why did you marry me to an artist? I will answer you, proof in hand: It was you who wanted it! –I will never complain, my excellent father. But what have they done to you, these poor artists, that you judge them so badly?
–You may say what you like, they form a caste outside of society. I understand the manufacturers who produce, the merchants who sell, the soldiers who illustrate their country, the civil servants who administer it. The artist is outside of everything; The Romans, our ancestors, paid no attention to it; they considered it a superfluity of the social body. –Fie! the ugly big words! When this poor Henri shuts himself in his studio in front of his canvases or his panels, what does he do? –What does he do? Not much: he makes pictures. –Ah! I’ve caught you out. He makes. He is a manufacturer. A painter is a manufacturer of pictures. He produces painted canvases, just as your friend Mr. Cottinet produced cap peaks! –That’s quite different! –I agree. And when he has finished a picture, what does he do with it? Does he keep it in a store? –No, he sells it. –You see! He sells it. He sells his products, he sells his merchandise, he trades; he is a merchant! –You’re playing with words. –Not at all, I’m reasoning; and when he has made a hundred masterpieces (for he makes masterpieces), what will people say in the world? They will say: Paris is honored to have given birth to the famous Henri Tourneur; Henri Tourneur, whose paintings humiliated old Holland and illustrated modern France. That is well worth a second lieutenant’s epaulette. He will be decorated within two years, the minister promised him. What do you mean by glory? –You can say what you like, it is not…. –No, no, I will not spare you a syllable, and you will hear everything. You spoke of civil servants! But Henri is ten times more so than you, a civil servant! –Ah! I would like to see that. –What is a civil servant? A man in the service of the State, and paid from the budget; the more one is paid, the more one is a civil servant. And now, when Henri receives an order from the ministry that will keep him busy for a whole year, does he put himself in the service of the State, yes or no? And when at the end of the year he goes to the treasury to collect 40,000 francs, is he not ten times more of a civil servant than you, who only collect 4,000? –Big child! This proves to us…. –That I must marry my dear Henri, if you want me to marry a manufacturer, a merchant, and a civil servant at the same time! –But, terrible girl, do I have time to marry you? Here again are my lands coming up again: there is talk of founding a workers’ city there. I saw the list of the board of directors; all very good men. They had one of my superiors speak to me; I would receive a million, cash on the table, and they would leave me a plot of land measuring 20 meters by 15 to build on. It’s very fine: what should I do? –Accept, since it’s so beautiful. –But in ten years it would be superb! –But in a hundred years, Papa, it would be magnificent! It’s true that neither you nor I would enjoy it. –All this is racking my brain. Good evening, I’m going to bed. –Without deciding anything, Papa? –Night brings counsel. The worthy man slept, as usual, a deep sleep and resounding, whose noise sometimes recalled the rumbling of lightning, sometimes the rolling of a stagecoach over a bridge. There are two things in him that gnawing worries have never been able to affect: appetite and sleep. He left for his office more irresolute than he had ever been, but weighed down with a pound of bread and an enormous bowl of café au lait. He had barely arrived at the rue Saint-Lazare when his daughter and sister heard the most formidable chime that, in the memory of a doorbell, had sounded in the house. Rosalie ran to the door, shouting: Something has happened to Papa! The bell-ringer was M. de Chingru, buttoned up to the neck, with a great air of important discretion. They received him: Rosalie and her aunt were dressed from eight o’clock in the morning, as if in the provinces. By nine, the traces of lunch had disappeared, and the dining room was transformed into a workshop. Ladies, said Chingru, forgive me for disturbing you at this hour. I have come to fulfill the duty of an honest man. It was I who brought M. Henri Tourneur here, on the occasion of a piece of land he intended to buy: may I arrive in time to stop the consequences of my imprudence! « Hurry up, sir, speak; what is it? » said Rosalie. « Mademoiselle, you are witness that I have always praised M. Tourneur.  » « Yes, sir; then?  » « I told you, as well as to your aunt and your father, that Tourneur was a talented artist, an excellent heart, and what we men of pleasure call a truly good boy. I judged him as a comrade, and my opinion has not changed; if you question me again on these points, I would answer you the same thing. But why didn’t I know sooner that your father had other ideas, and that he wanted to marry you off to him? Certainly, I wouldn’t have shouted at you: Don’t marry him, he’s unworthy of you, you’d regret it later! No, I’m not the man to disservice a friend. But I would have said to you very gently, right there, in your own interest: Here’s the obstacle; there are women who would be terrified by it; there are others who would think it’s nothing; it’s up to you to see if you want to engage in a struggle with this person, and the memory of a long affair, and the reciprocal pledges, and all that follows. If you hope to be the stronger, get married! M. de Chingru had no sooner spoken than he reaped the fruits of his speech. The tears did not fall from Rosalie’s eyes, they gushed forth before her, as if thrown by an invisible force. But it was a matter of a moment. The courageous girl contained her grief. I thank you for your good intentions, she said, we knew everything. She added, to ensure the effect of her all-too-obvious lie: Mr. Tourneur confided to us the story of the affair you speak of, and your zeal tells us nothing. Besides, everything is broken, is it not true? –I believe it, mademoiselle, as much as one can break it off…. –That is enough, sir; and if no other duty to fulfill keeps you with us…. –I…. If you…. You understand, mademoiselle, that, placed between the necessity of speaking or of remaining silent…. –You kept silent when it was necessary to speak, and you spoke when it was necessary to remain silent. Farewell, sir. It was in these words that Mr. de Chingru was shown the door. The same day, at four o’clock in the evening, Mr. Gaillard had just put away his quills, his penknife, and his black percale sleeves. A tall, beautiful woman, yellow as an orange, invaded his office. Sir, she cried with a very marked accent, he is a monster! I loved him, I still love him; I left for him my country, my family and the Scala theatre where I was absolute prima donna. He wants to get married; he abandons me with our two poor children, Enrico and Henriette. He is a monster, sir, an unnatural father. I you forbid yourself to give him your daughter! My dear Gaillard, you look like an honest man; promise me that you will not give him your daughter! I am crazy, you see; understand me well, my good Gaillard, I do not know French, I mi spiego mal; but you see well that I… I am no longer in my right mind. If he marries, I will kill him… I will kill him and his wife; I will kill myself afterwards, I will set fire to the church, and I will go to do penance in Rome! Swear to me that you will not give him your daughter! M. Gaillard endured a deluge of words in which Italian and French mingled pleasantly. He untangled this jumble of exclamations as best he could, and he learned that his future son-in-law had seduced and abandoned Mellina Barni. He consoled the inconsolable beauty as best he could, and he wrote, immediately, the following note which he had delivered by a messenger: Paris, this Monday, July 30, 1855, 4:15 p.m. Sir, I received at my office the visit of Miss Mellina Barni; I have nothing more to say to you. This young lady seems very interesting, and I am not unnatural enough to want to separate her from the father of her children. Please accept, sir, the assurances of my most distinguished consideration , GAILLARD. The signature was initialed by a master hand. The paper was that beautiful shaped paper, thick, heavy, laid, seigneurial paper, which the government has made expressly for the use of its offices and the correspondence of its employees. Henri Tourneur did not go into so many details. He dressed in a jiffy, took his cane and ran to Mellina, who received him with open arms. Mellina is a small, blonde woman, slender, and white as a drop of milk. She speaks French without any accent, since she is to make her debut at the Opéra-Comique in a one-act, three- scene play, a little masterpiece by Meyerbeer. She was in a white dressing gown and was rehearsing the allegro of a magnificent piece. Henri made a scene for her which she understood nothing of, except that her name had been misused. She knew neither M. de Chingru nor M. Gaillard. She guessed that Henri had broken up with her to get married, and she had good reasons to be upset about her marriage; but at no price would she have wanted to hinder it. The intervention of the two children infuriated her. She was indignant that she had been made to play a role in M. de Pourceaugnac’s La Limousine or La Picarde without her knowledge . For nothing, she would have run with Henri to M. Gaillard’s; and the painter had some difficulty in making him understand that the remedy would be worse than the disease. He went straight to the rue d’Amsterdam, and found the door closed: they were at the show, at least the servant said so. For eight days, he returned to the attack, and always met with the same response. He came during the day: they were at the concert. So many shows and concerts were equivalent to a formal dismissal. If, on going down the stairs, he had met M. de Chingru, he would have made a piece of it. He wrote to M. Gaillard, then to his sister: his letters were returned to him in envelopes. He lost patience, and had himself taken to the palace to the substitute on duty. He was a young man of thirty, initiated before his time into all the mysteries of Parisian life. Sir, the magistrate replied, this is not the first time that the public prosecutor has heard of such a matter. You have heard of marriage agencies whose public dealings have sometimes been tolerated, sometimes repressed by the courts. Apart from the great houses which display their prospectuses, there exists a whole class of individuals whose sole profession is to track down great fortunes, colossal dowries and millions lodged on the fourth floor in order to take a share of them. They associate with each other and form anonymous companies whose only capital is intrigue, and whose statutes have never been published. Some demand up to ten percent of the dowry, others are content with a modest profit, because there, as everywhere, you will find competition. Mr. de Chingru, whatever his real name, has certainly shown himself to be one of the most moderate. When he was refused the remuneration he hoped for, he will have had one of his associates, or rather his accomplices, play the little scene you are telling us about. We will look for the actress and the author of the play; but it is not likely that we will discover a woman about whom you have so little information, and, even if we did find her, it would be quite difficult to establish Chingru’s complicity. On returning home, the painter found the following letter, dated from Le Havre:
My poor Turner, if I had offered to give you 990,000 francs and an adorable wife into the bargain, you would have placed me among the gods. I was foolish enough to present the matter to you differently; I offered you a million, 10,000 francs of which were for me. You got angry, and you’re pissed off. I took my revenge like an artist. I found a way to persuade Mr. Gaillard that you were the father of two children and the husband, or almost, of a yellow woman. It’s a blow from which you’ll never recover, poor Turner! But when you laid me down on the hydrangeas, was I on a bed of roses? CHINGRU and Co. Henri was about to tear up the paper in a fit of anger; but, as he was blond, he changed his mind: That good Chingru! he thought, he’s going to reconcile me with Mr. Gaillard! It’s just a matter of forcing him to read this letter. He looked for a large envelope, slipped Chingru’s letter into it, sealed it with an enormous cornelian bearing the arms of Ninon de Lenclos, and wrote the address in a beautiful round: To Mr. GAILLARD, archivist, At the Ministry of…. Mr. Gaillard opened the letter as piously as if he were unsealing a dispatch. Chingru’s signature piqued his curiosity: he had promised himself to return Tourneur’s letters, but not Chingru’s. This singular document turned his mind upside down. He accused himself of injustice and cruelty, and he asked permission to leave the office at two o’clock: it was the first time in thirty years! Rosalie wet Chingru’s autograph with her tears. I was sure of it, she said, and if you had believed me, you would have listened to poor Henri’s defense! We agreed to go and find him at his studio the next morning, all together, Rosalie, her father, and her aunt. We owed him this reparation. Rosalie was overjoyed. What! Did you still love him? her father asked her. « More than ever. Something told me that he had been slandered.  » The door opened abruptly and the servant announced Miss Mellina Barni. Rosalie and her aunt only had time to flee into the next room. I don’t know what they were saying there, but I think it would have been difficult to pass a hair between Rosalie’s ear and the dining-room door . M. Gaillard looked at the real Mellina as a child at Séraphin’s looks at Chinese shadows. The idea came to him for a moment that a plot had been formed against him, and that a new Mellina Barni would be sent to him every day. He thought of moving without giving his address. Mellina had great difficulty in persuading him that her real name was Mellina, that she was nineteen years old, that she was not a mother, that she lived with her mother, and that she had not come to complain about M. Henri Tourneur. She explained to him in very good French that she was being good, even though she had just left the Scala theatre and was entering the Opéra-Comique. She taught him that a theatre girl can make visits, receive presents and have friends, without being compromised or compromising. She confessed that she had loved M. Henri Tourneur and that she had hoped to marry him, but that, since the middle of May, he had stopped all visits and honorably ended a relationship that had never been anything but honorable. I will not tell you, sir, she added, that I have renounced my hopes without regret; but it is a destiny that we must all expect. We are all courted a little by rich young men who find us beautiful enough to be loved, who do not love us enough to marry us, and who, when they are assured of our virtue, turn their backs on us and marry in town. This is precisely the story of M. Tourneur; and since you have been told another story that is neither to his praise nor to mine, since you have closed your door on him, since I know that he is sick with grief, I took my courage in both hands, I came, and I hope that you will be able to distinguish between inventions and slander and the language of truth. When Mellina had left, Rosalie ran up. Perhaps she would have preferred that Chingru’s lies had been without any foundation; and yet I would not swear that Mellina’s visit had had a bad effect on her. Mellina, seen through the keyhole, had seemed very pretty to her, and she forgave the painter for having loved her. She knew that a girl who marries a man of thirty-four always has rivals in the past, and she preferred not to have them ugly: nineteen women out of twenty will reason like her. She had recognized from Mellina’s accent that she was speaking the truth and that this love was irreproachable. Finally, she learned beyond doubt that she had dethroned the beautiful Italian woman in the middle of May, that is to say, at first glance. But M. Gaillard had fallen back into all his perplexities. He no longer wanted to go and see M. Tourneur; he reproached his daughter for the obstinacy of her love. I am quite willing, he said, to accept that this young man is less guilty than I have been told; but he has frequented actresses, and whoever drinks will drink. You think he will be faithful to you; but he has abandoned this young Italian woman; he could well play the same trick on you.
Besides, as long as my lands are not sold, we must not think of this marriage. When he was pressed to sell his lands, he replied: There is no hurry; I will sell them to give a dowry to my daughter, and my daughter is not yet married. The sight of the portrait saddened him; He thought with vexation that he was indebted to Henri Tourneur. What will we do with this cursed portrait? he asked Rosalie. We can’t keep it here after a break-up. What if we sent it back to him? « Are you thinking about it, Father? I would be permanently in his studio?  » « Selling it and making him give the money would be indelicate. Give it? To whom? I want neither to give nor to sell my daughter’s portrait. It could fall into the trade, and at each sale at the Hôtel Drouot, I would be afraid to read in my newspaper: Portrait of Miss RG, by Mr. Henri Tourneur: 8000 francs. I would rather scrape it out with my own hands.
 » « Destroy my portrait! All that remains to me of the happiest moments of my life!  » « Shut up! Cursed painter! Cursed Chingru! Cursed land! I would give it for nothing to anyone who wanted to take it! If we were less rich, all this would not have happened! » M. Gaillard lost his appetite; he ate like an ordinary man. His sleep became much lighter and infinitely less noisy. He was inaccurate at his office; he arrived twice after ten o’clock, on August 17 and 18. When he returned home, the old aunt said to Rosalie: Your father must have thought a lot, his nose is all red on one side. Henri no longer worked; he lived on the sidewalk of the Rue d’Amsterdam. M. Gaillard carefully avoided him, and he did not dare approach M. Gaillard. He would have dared to speak to Rosalie, but she didn’t go out without her father. Finally, on September 3, he received a letter from M. Gaillard inviting him to come and collect 7,950 francs as payment for the portrait. He would be expected at five o’clock with the funds. He accepted this strange invitation, not for the money, but for Rosalie. At the same time, the three principal founders of the workers’ city were gathered at M. Gaillard’s house to finalize the land deal. The man hadn’t wanted to take responsibility for anything: he had relied on Rosalie for everything, and it was she who had dealt with the buyers. Henri arrived as the notary was reading the last paragraph of the deed of sale. The buyers agreed to build a dwelling house for M. Gaillard and his family on lot F, belonging to the seller, with a painter’s studio on the first floor. M. Gaillard looked at his daughter, who looked at Henri, who was looking at no one: he was horribly pale and leaning against the wall. Come on! said the good man, taking up his pen, here is a signature that will free me from all my worries! « Sir, » remarked the notary, « your handwriting is very fine. » THE BUST Chapter 11. If you have good legs and if long journeys do not frighten you, we will walk as far as the castle of the Marquis de Guéblan. It is located six kilometers from Tortoni, further than the Rue Mouffetard, further than the Gobelins and the Marché aux Chevals, in those working-class regions where the Bièvre flows its inky stream. However, it is within the city walls, and the wine drunk there has paid for the entrance. It is a contemporary palace of the First Empire, built by Fontaine, in the Greek style, and surrounded by the obligatory colonnade. Its first use was to house the pleasures of a wealthy supplier to the army: it was then called the Folie-Sirguet. It was inaugurated in 1804 by the beautiful Thérèse Cabarrus, who was not yet Countess of Caraman, and who was no longer Madame Tallien. In 1856, the Folie-Sirguet was one of the most beautiful villas to be found in the interior of Paris: its garden is a park of twenty hectares where one hunts rabbit, pheasant, and even, if one squeezes in a little, roe deer. The pond contains magnificent samples of all the fish of Europe, without exception the catfish. Fishing and hunting! What more could one desire? Is this not, in two words, the countryside in Paris? The interiors of the castle are grandiose, as they were loved in the past, and elegant as they are preferred today. The cute luxury of 1856 is played out at ease in the vast rooms of 1804. I only saw the reception apartment, that is to say the ground floor, and I came away amazed. The dining room, paneled in old, black, shiny oak, opens on one side onto the billiard room, the weapons room, and the smoking room; on the other, onto a series of very rich and tasteful salons. Only one has retained its original decoration, the sphinx-headed armchairs and the lyre-shaped chairs: it is placed between a Pompadour boudoir and a Chinese salon whose furniture, carpets, chandelier, wall hangings, and even paintings were brought back from Macao. All the ceilings are painted with frescoes or hung with old tapestries. The Russian drawing room, cluttered with comfortable furniture, is covered with ivy that winds around the mirrors and provides a second green setting for the paintings. I rested with delight in a beautiful room paved with mosaics and decorated in the elegant style of the small houses of Pompeii. One would think one was at the foot of Vesuvius, if one did not see in the next room an enormous tapestry pouf crowned by a group by Pradier. This hospitable apartment is open to the art of all nations and all centuries: it also welcomes the fleshy painting of Rubens and the poetic reveries of Ary Scheffer; one sees there a blond landscape Corot’s castle, four steps from a seascape of Lorrain; Clodion’s joyful nymphs seem to smile at Barye’s lions, and Daniel Fert’s shipwrecked Don Juan clings to the damp rock, without making Cavalier’s Penelope raise her eyes. The first floor includes the apartments of the Marquis, his sister, and his daughter, and I don’t know how many guest rooms. The castle is so far from everything that one rarely dines there without sleeping there, although M. de Guéblan had two buses made to take his guests back to Paris. M. de Guéblan is a gentleman such as was not seen a hundred years ago, such as is rarely seen, even today. I hasten to tell you that his nobility is of good quality, and that his titles do not come from one of those small underground offices which are less rare than one might think. We have noble counterfeiters who extract income from the stupidity and vanity of their contemporaries, but the Guéblans have nothing to do with the industry of these gentlemen: they date back to Saint Louis. They made the last two crusades; they carried arms from father to son, until the Revolution, and they did not emigrate, which I praise. By a chance of which history offers few examples, the blood of this noble family has not become impoverished, and the last of the Guéblans could measure himself in a closed field with his ancestors. He is tall, broad, vigorous, colorful, and strong enough to wear the armor. He draws the sword like a musketeer, rides a horse like a reiter, eats like a lansquenet and drinks like M. de Bassompierre. His fifty years weigh no more than a feather on him. Besides, he proudly bears his name; he is not sorry to be someone’s son; he willingly reads the history of France and puts aside all the books that speak of his family; he preserves his honor with jealous care; he is full of rectitude; he knows how to give, lend and lose his money; in short, he has a noble heart. If you find ten men more aristocratic than him between the Quai d’Orsay and the rue de Vaugirard, you will have good eyes. But what would Guéblan I, equerry to Queen Blanche, say if he could be resurrected in his great-nephew’s study? He would exclaim, rubbing his eyes: Oh! oh! the world has become beautiful son, since my first acquaintance! It seems to me, Marquis, that you are making money. The big word is out; I can tell you everything: the Marquis is making an enormous amount of money. He does his own business, he has no steward, he is robbed by no one, he is not ruined any more than the lowest bourgeois, and he works like a proletarian to double his income. And how? In all honor, I beg you to believe him. The Marquis spent two years at the École Polytechnique, three years at the École des Ponts et Chaussées; he took agricultural lessons at Grignon; he often goes to listen to the professors of arts and crafts. He follows the progress of science step by step, and he makes the most of it. As much as his ancestors would have been ashamed to know, he would be humiliated if he were caught in the act of ignorance. It was he who drained the first field in Normandy, and he tripled the value of his land. Twenty kilometers from Lisieux, he manufactures drainage pipes which he delivers to his neighbors with a profit of 75%. He bought one of the first threshing machines ever sold in France, and he perfected it. He is thinking of acclimatizing the oak silkworm in his forests in Brittany, he is manufacturing indigenous opium on his property at Plessis-Piquet; within five years, he will be exporting it to China. Fish farming has quadrupled the product of his ponds in the department of Ain; his vineyards in Langres, which had never yielded anything but mediocre piquette, now provide an esteemed Champagne wine , which comes in line immediately after the famous brands. I would wager that you have tasted some of his pineapples; there are delivers 4000 francs a year to the Paris trade: the leftovers from his table! This bourgeois gentleman, very superbly gentlemanly and very wittily bourgeois, does not disdain to print his coat of arms on the wheat he harvests and the wine he makes. If his ancestors found fault with this, he would answer them in good French: We are in the 19th century, life is expensive, gold mines have been discovered; what cost a hundred francs in your time is worth a thousand today; the greatest fortunes are lost in fifty years; the right of primogeniture is abolished, and for my grandsons to have a little money, I must earn a lot. He could add that France is as grateful to him for his peaceful conquests as for twenty lance thrusts received in pitched battle, for he is an officer of the Legion of Honor without having earned a single epaulette. His ancestors, who only wore a pen in their hat, would not be a little surprised to read the books he signed. The most recent (Paris, 1854, Dentu) is entitled: ON SMALL CATTLE , a treatise including the education of Russian rabbits and Cochinchinese chickens . And why not? Old Caton did indeed bequeath to his son and to posterity a recipe for making cabbage soup! The Marquis de Guéblan, who writes his language very neatly, is a member of the Society of Men of Letters; he was quaestor around 1850. Writers and artists have always found in him a protector without arrogance and a creditor without memory. He has kindness for them, and, what is better, consideration. I could cite a painter whom he literally pulled from the Seine, and two novels which would never have been published without him. What a wonderful dinner he offered us at the end of December! I hope, however, that you will spare me from transcribing here the card of three services. The immense properties that bring in half a million a year to M. de Guéblan are not precisely his. They belong to his sister and her companion, Madame Michaud. The Marquis married very young to a noble lady who left him a widower with ten thousand francs a year and a daughter to raise. Around the same time, his sister married a castle demolitionist, a knight of the Black Band, whose profession was to fell oaks to make logs, and to clear parks to plant vegetables. This honest industrialist died two years after Madame de Guéblan. His widow, rich and childless, placed all her affairs in the hands of the Marquis, saying to him: Manage my property, I will raise your daughter: you will serve me as a farmer, I will serve you as a housekeeper. Once the deal was done, they settled into the beautiful château that M. Michaud hadn’t had time to demolish. While working for his sister, M. de Guéblan took care of his daughter, since Victorine was Madame Michaud’s sole heir. This Madame Michaud is an excellent woman, but an original one! By placing her in a museum, we would only be doing her justice. First of all, she is almost as tall as her brother, that is to say, with a little more moustache, she would make a very presentable cent-garde. Her hands and feet are terrible: heaven forbid we receive a slap from her hand! and if she dies standing up, as I predict, it will take four men to lay her in the coffin. Besides, she is built as solidly as a drama by Frédéric Soulié, and her head is not ugly. She has a curved nose, a proud mouth and white teeth that cost her nothing. A double chin softens the severity of her features. Her hair is completely gray, although she is barely forty; but this shade suits her well, and she exaggerates it by putting on powder. Her shoulders are the kind that can be shown off; so you will see her with her neckline off from four o’clock in the evening. It is not that she wants to please anyone: she dresses for herself, and that is obvious enough. The opinion of others is so indifferent to her, that she does nothing but her own way and only wears her own fashion. She cuts her own dresses and pays the dressmaker double the cost to be dressed according to her fancy. When the milliner brings her a new hat, her first concern is to undo it. Under her formidable hands, a small masterpiece of taste is soon transformed into a rag: it is the work of two snips of the scissors and three punches. When she receives guests at her home, it is in inexplicable attire, which Champollion himself would not decipher. I have seen her wearing a crêpe de Chine scarf, with natural flowers scattered here and there, and lace from all over, white and russet, heavy and light, no Venice and no England, all put together with great reinforcement of pins, and in such beautiful disorder that a cat would not have found its kittens there. Dear Madame Michaud! her wardrobes are a jumble of magnificent rags that no chambermaid has ever been able to put in order; and her mind is a little like her wardrobes. The fault is doubtless the Guéblan family, who thought that a man never knows too much, but that a woman always knows enough. Not only does Madame Michaud rebel against the most paternal laws of spelling, but she has the misfortune of mutilating as many words as she pronounces. This is an infirmity that her husband has never noticed, and for good reason; her brother is so accustomed to it that he no longer notices it. Fortunately, she speaks so quickly that one rarely has time to hear her; she tells twenty things at once, without connection, without order, without transition: she most often knows neither what she says, nor what she does, nor what she wants, a good woman, moreover , and who would have ruined herself twenty times over without the authority of her brother. Sometimes prodigal, sometimes miserly; today paying without haggling, tomorrow haggling without paying; lighting a hundred-franc note to pick up a sou, and quarreling with the whole house over a match; refusing bread to a poor man, because begging is forbidden, and throwing a louis to a hungry dog ​​looking for bones in a pile; full of respect for her brother and watching for every opportunity to make him angry; passionately devoted to her niece, and eager to get rid of her by marriage: such was, in the month of June 1855, the sister of M. de Guéblan and the aunt of Mlle Victorine. It may be surprising that a man of great sense like M. de Guéblan entrusted his child to such an unreasonable governess. But the Marquis has too much on his plate to ponder Fénelon’s treatise on the Education of Girls, and besides, one owes a little condescension to a relative who personifies in herself a dozen millions. Finally, M. de Guéblan persuades himself, rightly or wrongly, that a woman’s true tutor is her husband. He knows that Victorine will not learn at the château everything she should know, but he is sure that she will know nothing of what she ought to be ignorant of. Full of this confidence, he sleeps soundly. The fact is that Madame Michaud has only given her niece teachers who are sixty years old; I do not except the dancing master. Of all the authors she has allowed him, the most dangerous is Sir Walter Scott, translated by Defauconpret. She has added Numa Pompilius and the complete works of Florian, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, some of Dickens’s little masterpieces, five or six volumes of Mme Cottin, and a selection of the chivalric romances that charmed Mme Michaud’s childhood and which do not sadden Victorine’s youth. The beautiful heiress is sixteen at most. She is a child, but a child of the most beautiful birth, tall, well-made, and in the fullness of her charms. I confess that her cheeks are a little too rosy: her face resembles a peach in September. Her hands are quite red; but the scarlet of hands does not beseem young girls. Her teeth are a little too short: it’s a kind of ugliness that I would rather appreciate. Her mouth is half flesh and half pearl, a charming mixture of transparent pulp and sparkling mother-of-pearl: do you like pomegranates? Her foot is not what one calls a small foot: a Chinese woman would not want one, and the learned mandarins would not write verses in her praise; but it is slender, arched, and exquisitely elegant; the soles of her boots are just the size of a sponge biscuit. Do not fear that Victorine will ever reach the colossal proportions of her terrible aunt: she takes after her mother, who was blond and delicate. When one wants to know how long a girl’s beauty will last, it is prudent to look at her mother’s portrait. This child, very attractive on the outside, is endowed with an inexplicable soul. She rarely speaks, perhaps because she is never questioned. Her father doesn’t have time to talk with her, and Madame Michaud, who talks with everyone, always gets the lion’s share. The men who come to the château are too much of their time to amuse themselves by deciphering a little girl’s mind. Finally, she has no friends from school, having never been sent to boarding school. People think she’s a bit silly, because she’s acquired the habit of silence; but her heart sings within. A young girl who is silent is like an aviary whose doors are closed. Come very close, you hear nothing. Put your ear to the door, not a whisper. Open! A chorus of fresh, sonorous chirping rises, filling the air and rising to the heavens. When Victorine went into the park, a book in her hand, escorted by her maid or old Perrochon, Madame Michaud would murmur as she followed her with her eyes: Poor little thing! she says nothing, but I want the wolf to eat me if she thinks more. Madame Michaud did not suspect that her niece, by dint of reading in books and in herself, was substituting herself for the opiate of all her novels, and that she had already had more adventures than the beautiful Angélique and Madame de Longueville. The day this story begins, Monsieur de Guéblan was running to Lisieux to rest from a trip to Nantua. Madame Michaud had come out like a shot, saying: I have some pretty money, I received the dividend on my shares in the Quatre-Canaux; I am going to order a bust in Paris! Victorine, followed by Perrochon, but at a respectful distance, had advanced to the end of the park, towards the outer boulevard, to a place where the wall is replaced by a four-meter-wide wolf’s leap. She sat down, like an opiate in a novel, in the shade of an old tree, famous in the songs of the 15th century under the name of the Round Oak: The lord holds his justice Beneath the round oak: Answer without artifice. All round, round, round! They drink and eat there Beneath the round oak; They dance there on Sundays Round, round, round! I will spare you the other couplets. The romance has nine times nine, all as poetic and as richly rhymed. Mademoiselle de Guéblan took from her pocket a small book with a red edge bound with the arms of her family, and entitled True Story of the Marvelous Adventures of the Incomparable Atalanta. She looked for the bookmark, and resumed her reading at the point where she had left off the day before: Now know that the wise and submissive princess was required in marriage by the younger son of the king of the Dacians and by the caliph of Schiraz. Poor me! said Victorine. I would like to choose neither one nor the other. But what would the queen of Michaud’s country say? She continued: And the beautiful Atalanta was very sad, and had no rest in this world, especially since the caliph had a strange face, for he had a short, wide nose and ears as large as the « Good! » she said. « Mr. Lefébure, my father’s candidate ! Let’s see the other one. » And the Prince of the Dacians was puny in body and pale in face, as if he had water and not blood in his veins. But! he does not resemble Mr. de Marsal, my aunt’s protégé, in a small way. Let’s listen to what happened: At this point the jousts began, and these two lords were to run one against the other to see who would have the princess. And then the princess and several other ladies were mounted on scaffolds, very nobly adorned with cloth beaten with gold, pearls and precious stones. But before the rival princes came to blows, a richly adorned knight, dressed entirely in white, entered the lists and said to them: Do not draw your lances until I have defeated you both and driven you flat to the ground. And as he said this, his voice was so harsh that both knights and horses trembled with great fear, but not the princess. And immediately the knight with the white armor rushed upon the caliph of Schiraz, and from the first thrust he made on his horse, he did so with such force that the fearful caliph did not know whether it was day or night. Seeing this, the knight turned against the prince of the Dacians, putting his sword back in its place, and struck him across the body and pulled him from his horse, and threw him so stiffly to the ground that it was almost as if he would have pierced his heart or his belly. And the ladies clapped their hands; and it seemed to them that the knight with the white arms was as handsome as the archangel Gabriel. Then the noble knight came to the ladies’ scaffold, and knelt before the beautiful Atalanta, saying: Lady, I am the Prince of Iron; and, as iron melts in fire, so does my heart in the flame of your eyes. Atalanta—I mean Victorine—continued her reading, closing her eyes. The day was heavy; and the June heat crept creeping under the great trees of the park. The pretty reader touched upon that delicious moment when waking and sleeping, reverie and dream, lies and reality seem to join hands. She saw the person of all types of body, Mr. Lefébure, lawyer at the Court of Appeal, swaddled in a heavy cuirass, under which passed a hem of black robe, and wearing a pot whose handles were represented by his ears. A little further on, Mr. Viscount de Marsal, pale and wan, made the most pitiful grimace through the visor of a plumed helmet. She also saw the Iron Prince, but without being able to uncover his face, which he kept obstinately hidden. Will I never see him? she asked. It is time for him to hurry, if he wants to deliver me from Caliph Lefébure and Prince de Marsal. I have already waited for him long enough. And in her half-sleep, she murmured the refrain of a peasant round dance she had learned in her childhood: Ah! I wait, I wait, I wait Will I wait much longer? Suddenly it seemed to her that a rocket passed before her eyes. A tall young man with a black beard had leaped over the leap and fallen in front of her. She jumped up with a start, while Perrochon came running up on his old legs. Her
first thought was that she was finally allowed to see the face of the Iron Prince. She stammered a few incoherent words: Prince…. my father…. your rivals…. the queen of Michaud’s country…. The young man bowed politely and said to her: Forgive me, mademoiselle, for entering your house like a bomb in Sevastopol. I rang for a quarter of an hour at an old gate that is probably blocked, and, unable to find the door, I took the shortest route. My name is Daniel Fert and I have come to make a bust of Madame Michaud. Chapter 12. Thirteen or fourteen years ago, I knew a little Spaniard whose parents had sent him to the M*** institution. It is the best disciplined of all the houses surrounding the Lycée Charlemagne. No new book is smuggled in; every yellow-bound volume is strictly confined to the door; the students read during recreation the less light tragedies of Racine, and the less frivolous funeral orations of Bossuet. The young Madrilenian was bored as if at work, and erased the days one by one on his little calendar. One of our comrades, touched by his pain, asked him: Why does time seem so long to you? Is it your family you miss, or simply your homeland? « Neither one nor the other, » replied the child. « I have begun reading an admirable novel in a Madrid newspaper, and I am waiting to return to Spain to read the end of it. In thirty months and seventeen days!  » « And what is the title of your Spanish novel?  » « Los Tres Mosqueteros, » « The Three Musketeers. » I don’t know why this anecdote comes back to me every time I speak of Daniel Fert. Perhaps it’s because Daniel resembles a musketeer lost in the 19th century. Put together the appearance of d’Artagnan, the pride of Athos, the vivacity of Aramis, and a little of the naiveté of Porthos, and you will have a fairly accurate idea of ​​the young sculptor. His tall, slender figure has the appearance of a steel spring; he has a sinewy hamstring, a powerful arm, an arched waist, and a hooked mustache. His large blue eyes are set in two bronzed sockets, under eyebrows of the most beautiful black. His broad, prominent, and polished forehead is crowned with ample , admirably planted hair, which falls back like a lion’s mane. Add a neck as white as ivory, pearly, smiling teeth, which seem happy to live in a pretty mouth; The long, thin nose of Francis I, the hands of a child, a woman’s foot, here, I think, is a fairly presentable hero of a novel. And yet this is not a novel. This man, thus built, is a compatriot of the small wine of Arbois, and the son of a winegrower without vines who worked by the day. At four years old, Daniel ran barefoot on the road, gleaning horse manure here and there and asking passengers on the stagecoach for a penny. At twelve , he broke stones like a man; at fifteen, he handled a billhook and carried a basket in the grape harvest. Ambition brought him to a master marble-worker in Besançon, who first entrusted him with slabs to polish, then epitaphs to engrave, then monuments to sculpt. He had taste and skill: it was guessed that he could win the Grand Prix de Rome and bring fame to his department. The General Council proved its munificence by sending him to Paris with a pension of 600 francs. He left with his mother: his father had just died. Madame Fert, old before her time, like all country women, but strong and patient, became her son’s housekeeper. Daniel was diligent at the School of Fine Arts, and earned some money in his spare time. He practiced art in the morning, crafts in the evening. After working according to the academy, he drew ornaments or sketched clock subjects. In 1853, at the age of twenty-five, after two admissions to the lodge, he spontaneously renounced the grand prize, and sent back the 600 francs he received from Besançon. Decidedly, he said to his mother, I am too old to go back to school; and, besides, what would become of you without me? He had managed, not without difficulty, to earn his living, and he had more talent than money. His busts and medallions are of fine and tight work, which recalls the exquisite manner of Pradier; his compositions, which he would have executed on a grand scale if he had been rich, and which he delivered, for lack of anything better, to the bronze merchants, are all of a bold flow, which proceeds from the genius of David. He worked passionately; it was neither for money nor for glory, but for the pleasure of working. The artist’s attachment to his work can only be compared to maternal tenderness: even a father does not know how to love like this. We adore with all the warmth of our soul these living creatures who came out of us. But, when Daniel was satisfied with his work, he gave it away. The merchants soon had to deal with him: he did not charge for his progress, nor for his vogue, nor for his nascent glory. The peasant wisdom of Madame Fert fought in vain against this spirit of detachment. She had no trouble reminding her son of his debts to pay, the illnesses to be anticipated and the holidays he granted himself from time to time, for he worked in fits and starts, like all those who deserve the name of artist. A mill can grind every day, but a brain that tried to do as much would only produce sad flour. When Daniel was at work, he would not have bothered to hear the statue of Memnon sing; but when he was in a vein of pleasure, no power would have made him return to the workshop, not even hunger, which is reputed to drive wolves out of the woods. He had only one regular habit, that of bodily exercise. He was awakened by his fencing master, and it was in the gymnasium that he digested his lunch: so he was incredibly strong, and violent in proportion. He is the last Frenchman who has retained the habit of throwing people out of windows. I remember the day he threw from the first floor a water carrier who had answered his mother rudely. Since that time, he has not encountered any impolite suppliers. With his friends, and especially with his mother, he is touchingly gentle . He holds the good woman to his heart with as much caution as if he feared breaking her. He has never been able to persuade her to take a servant; but, whenever he has money, he buys her a beautiful druggette dress, an Italian straw hat, or a few bottles of anisette, which she appreciates better. When Madame Michaud came to get him, he was entering a period of work: it was time! Since the beginning of May, he had rested without unbridling. He had completely forgotten that he had to pay his practitioner a thousand francs on July 15, and two hundred to his landlord: one does not notice everything. Madame Michaud, the booklet of the Exhibition in her hand, found him beyond the Faubourg Saint-Honoré, at the bottom of a garden, in a small colony of artists and literary people , which is called the Enclos des Ternes. Daniel and his mother occupied a rather elegant pavilion between Madame Noblet and Madame Persiani. He was a little surprised, he who received few visitors, to see this tall, escaped woman enter . She walked straight up to him and held out a large hand, which he did not dare take. He was modeling, and he had clay at his fingertips. Touch it, she said to him; you do not know me, but I know you. I bought the shipwreck of Don Juan. You are a great artist. « My shipwreck of Don Juan? » Daniel continued, still quite astonished. « Yes, your shipwreck of Don Juan. It is in one of my rooms, on the clock. But that is not all: I need my bust for my niece, who is going to marry M. Lefébure or M. de Marsal, I do not know which, but soon. How much will you charge me?  » « Twelve or fifteen sittings, madame.  » « That is not money. What, twelve sittings! But I shall never have the time. Where do you want me to take twelve sittings? First of all, you live too far away. » What idea did you have to lodge in this country of savages? You will have to come to my house. Is two thousand francs enough? That will give you almost two hundred francs a day. How do you find me? I want to be in marble; bronze portraits are too sad: they look like old Romans. You will take a very clean marble, and you will have it taken to the castle. I warn you that if you do not flatter me enormously, I’ll leave your portrait to you. Victorine mustn’t make a scarecrow of it. –Madame, I think I can make you a fine bust that will be a likeness. –Don’t talk nonsense! If it’s a likeness, it will be awful. I look like Berezina, with my mustache. You’re the
one who’s handsome! Let me see you in profile! But, my dear sir, you’re simply magnificent! I imagined sculptors as masons! You absolutely must come and stay at the château. My niece is fine too; you’ll see. I’ll have your tools brought . She doesn’t look like me, not at all, and that’s a good thing. I’m curious to know if you’ll agree with me about the husband. M. Lefébure is awful: a boar’s head and enormous knees. But rich! That’s why my brother thinks so highly of him. M. de Marsal is better. And then, a fine name! I’m all for beautiful names. How singular yours is! Fert! Fert! Why not Caillou? You’ll tell me that when one’s name is Madame Michaud!… That’s precisely why. Here is my address: At the Folie-Sirguet, behind the Gobelins. There’s only one park on that side: it’s ours. Come early; we have a few people to dine with, among them Monsieur de Marsal. Oh, come on, don’t go courting him! You’d get us into a fine mess! But I’m crazy: one doesn’t get married in your condition. Is that settled? See you this evening. The most famous waterfalls, from the Tivoli Cascades to the Niagara Falls, would be ridiculously slow compared to Madame Michaud’s torrential speech. Daniel behaved like a traveler surprised by the rain: he wrapped himself in its silence as in a cloak. The downpour having passed and Madame Michaud gone, he collected his memories and concluded that he had found the opportunity to earn 1,500 francs in two weeks: he counted 500 francs in marble and in the practitioner. Madame Michaud’s figure did not displease him: life in the château pleased him greatly, and he foresaw a way to pay his debts delightfully. He told his mother about the adventure while dressing. That’s going well, said Madame Fert. This unfortunate deadline kept me awake. I’ll send you the saddle, the clay loaves, the roughing-pen, and everything else tomorrow. I’ll go over your clothes, check the buttons, and put everything away in the big trunk; you must be presentable. Perhaps they’re in the habit of playing in the evening, like at the Château d’Arbois; You will have tips to give to the servants: take the money we have at home and leave me 50 francs: that’s enough for me. You know I’m never hungry when you’re not there . Try to finish soon, and don’t let yourself be disturbed. But above all, watch yourself: there’s a young lady in the house and you’re a big, mentally ill person. « Don’t worry, Mama, » replied Daniel. « I’m taking 200 francs with me , which is our entire fortune, or almost. The meager little song of these ten louis chasing each other in my pocket would restore my sanity if I could lose it. For a poor devil like me, a rich young lady is of no sex.  » Thus left the Iron Prince for the kingdom of the incomparable Atalanta. Victorine did not suppose for a moment that a young man so handsome and with such a proud countenance was a simple artist condemned to make a bust of Madame Michaud. She instantly constructed a little novel as plausible as the last one she had read. Surely, she thought, he is of high birth; it is enough to see his feet and hands. Rich? He must be that too, provided that a jealous enchanter or a dishonest guardian has not dispossessed him of his fathers’ inheritance. At least he has been left some dilapidated castle on the banks of the Rhine or on a peak in the Pyrenees? An eagle’s nest is the only dwelling worthy of him. Where has he met? At the ball last winter. Perhaps at the Spanish embassy! Yes, I’ve seen him before, I recognize him; it’s definitely him. My aunt took me away at midnight like Cinderella: she had her cursed migraine. Poor prince! What despair when he realized I was gone! Since that fatal moment, he has looked for me everywhere; he has asked heaven and earth for me: I can see clearly that he has suffered. Yesterday at last, chance, or rather his lucky star, led him to a sculptor’s studio. The artist was away, he waited for him; my aunt arrived: who would not guess the rest? But will he be able to carry the ruse to its conclusion? How can he outwit the surveillance of his rivals? We will see that this bust is not made. M. Lefébure has wit; M. de Marsal is only half stupid; and my father who is coming back! Certainly, I can help him hide his rank and his fortune, I who am somewhat in the know; but what if he is imprudent! She feared that by taking off his overcoat, the handsome stranger would discover a diamond star. Daniel followed her to the château, talking of indifferent things and admiring the beauty of the trees in the park. He was not blind to Victorine’s beauty, and he thought on the way that he would gladly make her bust for nothing, if he had the money. But he soon scolded himself for such an ill-timed idea, and his mother’s advice came back to him. He found Madame Michaud at the foot of the steps getting out of the carriage. Where the devil did you go? she asked him. He told how he had made his entrance into the Guéblan estate. Wooden saber! said the amazed woman, the Tyrolean chamois don’t jump any better than you. This story will make my brother happy and Mr. Lefébure despair. We’ll put you up at home. Perrochon, take the gentleman to the green room. Here! You’ll sleep between Victorine’s two husbands: stop them from fighting. Daniel bowed and followed Perrochon. Well! asked Madame Michaud to her niece, what do you think of my sculptor? It’s for my bust; a surprise I’m giving myself . We’ll start tomorrow, in the little drawing room at the end. Admit that he doesn’t look like an artist. He’s a hundred times better than all these gentlemen. The woman he marries will be able to boast of having a handsome husband! But I forbid you to notice it: if you noticed that he’s a handsome guy, I’d show him the door. After all, M. de Marsal is no swindler. Could my aunt be in on the plot? thought Victorine. Daniel took possession of a pretty room furnished with the most elegant simplicity. The hangings were light green chintz with pink and white bouquets. The bed, with twisted columns, sank into a sort of alcove formed by two dressing rooms. The writing desk, chest of drawers, chairs, and smoking chair were all bourgeois in rosewood, but of a pleasing shape and impeccable workmanship. The bookcase contained about fifty new novels and a few of those good, serious books that one likes to leaf through at night before falling asleep. The carpet had been replaced by a very fresh mat. The window opened onto a magnificent horizon: first the parterre, then the park and its tall groves, then a few laundresses’ gardens, all blooming with white towels and camisoles billowing in the wind; finally Paris, the domes of the Panthéon and the Val-de-Grâce, and the old tower of the Henri IV college. The young artist found himself so comfortable in his new home that he already regretted having to leave it. He would have hastened slowly, following Boileau’s precept, and he would have dragged his bust until the month of October, without the pressing need to earn fifteen hundred francs. But the fifteen hundred francs were indispensable, and there was no happiness that could stand up to these fifteen hundred francs. In these reveries that would have astonished Victorine, he moved an armchair near the window, looked at the landscape, thought of Madame Michaud’s profile, closed his eyes, and slept the sleep of athletes until the dinner bell. He found a company of twenty people seated in the pit on iron seats imitating reeds. Madame Michaud had not yet come down: she was powdering herself. He looked in this crowd for a familiar face, and found only Victorine: so he ran to her with an eagerness that was noticed. A man out of his element clings to the person he knows, like a drowning man to a pole. Victorine was a little troubled, especially since she felt all eyes fixed on her. She almost said to Daniel: « We are being watched, watch yourself. » At the second stroke of the bell, Madame Michaud appeared with three English shuttlecocks, and the artist breathed more freely. The queen of Michaud’s country asked for his arm, put it on her left, and didn’t say a word to him during the whole dinner. Daniel’s other neighbor was a dowager who was a little deaf; so he ate without distraction. Around him, people were talking about the little events in the Faubourg Saint-Germain and the latest news from the châteaux: he let them talk, and didn’t miss a beat. His only study was to sort out M. Lefébure and M. de Marsal, the two suitors that Madame Michaud had announced to him. He had no trouble recognizing them. M.
Francisque Lefébure is the only son of the famous lawyer Pierre Lefébure, who became known in the Cadoudal trial. The father, who owned nothing in 1804, was enriched by the generosity of the elder branch and the clientele of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. At the accession of Charles X, he refused letters of nobility and the peerage. He left his son 200,000 francs a year, a mediocre talent, more bombast than eloquence, and a hereditary ugliness. M. Lefébure, the second of the name, is a stocky, ruddy, and sanguine man; a person of all body types, a nose, a person of all body types, a short-sighted eye and large lips, the neck of an apoplectic, high shoulders, short arms, and massive legs. If he didn’t shave every day, he would have a beard down to his eyes. I must say that it is rare to meet a man more careful of his person. He watches his body like an Italian watches his enemy. He follows a strict diet, eats white meat, forbids himself floury foods and sweets, and wears an elastic belt. He devotes himself to the most violent labors and passionately studies gymnastics, English and French boxing, the stick, the cane, the saber and the sword: all to ward off the plumpness that threatens him, and to avoid resembling his father, who resembled a cask. The exercises he undertakes out of necessity have ended up becoming a pleasure, then a glory. He places his honor in his physical talents, and he makes more of his merit as a lawyer than of his abilities as a boxer. Moreover, he is a gallant man, and much more witty than the majority of fencing masters. M. de Marsal despises the vigor of M. Lefébure, who despises the weakness of M. de Marsal. If it is true that each of us is subject to a constellation, M. le Vicomte de Marsal was born under the influence of the Milky Way. I am not exaggerating when I say that he is the blondest of men, except for Albinos. His pale, thin person is one of those who escape illness and old age; illness does not know where to take them, and the years do not leave their mark. He is forty years old, like his rival, and yet, if you ever meet him, you will say with Madame Michaud: Poor young man! This feeble creature is a frigate captain and officer of the Legion of Honor. M. de Marsal entered the Naval Academy at fourteen , and he has made his way in the ports. His only expedition is a voyage around the world, an interesting voyage, not very dangerous, where he encountered no other enemies than seasickness. The pistols he had bought the day before his departure were not discharged from 1840 to 1855. However, the young officer did not waste his time traveling: he collected shells. His collection is one of the finest we have in France, and it is the only one where we find the ostrea marsaliana from Hong Kong, discovered and named by M. de Marsal. It was not the invention of this precious shell that allowed the captain to claim the hand of Mlle de Guéblan: he has other titles. His name is one of the oldest of the Lorraine nobility; the small town of Marsal, in the department of Meurthe, belonged for a long time to his ancestors. The Marsals are allied to the La Rochefoucaulds, the Gramonts, the Montmorencys, the greatest families of the suburb. Victorine valued these advantages only moderately, and M. de Guéblan himself did not make the most of them that he should have; but Madame Michaud was infatuated with them. M. de Marsal’s mind was not quite up to his birth, and, in terms of wealth, he had little or nothing . On the other hand, his education was perfect. He had that exquisite and icy politeness that distinguishes naval officers. For you know, I think, that sea dogs have had their day, that sailors no longer swear by a thousand ports, and that the day when etiquette is banished from all salons, it will be found aboard battleships . M. de Marsal, a small eater, and M. Lefébure, who lived on a diet, observed, for their part, the face of the newcomer. For some time they had ceased to observe each other. Each of them believed he was sure of prevailing over his rival. One relied on his name, the other on his fortune. The gentleman relied solidly on Madame Michaud; the bourgeois had no doubt about the support of Monsieur de Guéblan. But the arrival of an intruder put them on the alert. This handsome young man, whom no one knew, and whom Madame Michaud seemed to have pulled out of a box, seemed to them to be of the figure and size to play the role of the third thief. Daniel’s gargantuan appetite reassured them at first: they had nothing to fear from a man who devoured so boorishly. Meanwhile, Victorine, seated in the middle of the table, opposite her aunt, often raised her eyes to the stranger. On the other hand, the good aunt was so capricious that even her protégé could not place much trust in her friendship, and that anything was to be expected. As they left the table, the two suitors instinctively approached Madame Michaud. She introduced Daniel to them. Here, she said, is a new resident, Mr. Fert, the maker of my clock; he is going to make my head. By the way, sir, she asked Daniel, did you say that the marble was to be brought? Daniel could not help smiling as he replied: Oh! Madam, for the marble, we have time. « What! We have time! But it is a matter of urgency. I was counting on starting tomorrow.  » The artist told his model that he would first have to make her bust in clay, then mold it in plaster, then repair it carefully before touching the marble. God! It takes so long! said Madame Michaud. He wants to save time, thought Victorine, who did not miss a word of the conversation. With that, they drank coffee. There were five or six young women among the guests. Mr. de Marsal sat down at the piano and played a waltz. Daniel danced with Mademoiselle de Guéblan, and danced well. I was sure of it, she said to herself; but he’s going to compromise himself. There isn’t a sculptor who knows how to dance like that. The waltz over, Daniel took M. de Marsal’s place and played a quadrille. He was a mediocre musician, for he had started late. However, he played as well as M. de Marsal. Madame Michaud danced opposite her niece. At the ladies’ line, she shook his hand and said: Do you hear? For a man who breaks marble with a hammer!…  » Decidedly, » thought Victorine, « my aunt is in on the secret. » At ten o’clock, half the company set off for Paris, and the dancers were no longer in number. Two gaming tables were set up. Daniel was imprudent enough to admit that he was playing whist and to accept a card. He found himself partnered with M. Lefébure, against M. de Marsal and M. Lerambert the banker. M. Lerambert did not know that he was dealing with an artist. He asked, as he shuffled the cards: « The ordinary game, in five, a louis a card? » M. Lefébure answered briskly: « That’s very expensive, for a poor lawyer.  » « Yes, sir, » said Daniel, « the ordinary game.  » Victorine blushed to her ears. What would people think when they saw the Iron Prince pull out a long purse full of gold coins bearing his father’s image? She went up to him and said: Monsieur Fert, I’ll only allow you one rubber, after which I’ll need you. She didn’t wait long. Daniel lost three times and three times, and left his ten louis on the table. He emptied his pocket with such a detached air that Monsieur Lefébure and Monsieur de Marsal exchanged a quick glance that could be translated as: It seems that one earns a lot of money carving clocks! Madame Michaud didn’t notice anything: she was gambling for a pittance at the next table. Daniel went away, all thoughtful, thinking that if someone brought him his saddle and tools, he wouldn’t have enough to pay for the carriage. Victorine took his arm and said: Monsieur, I am ashamed of my ignorance. We have a lot of sculpture here, good and bad, and I don’t know how to distinguish good from bad. Will you give me a lesson in criticism, you who are in the profession? She intended to prove to him that she was not his dupe, and that she had never taken him for a sculptor. Daniel was, like most artists, a completely useless critic . He knew how to recognize beautiful things, but he was incapable of saying why they were good. He obediently went through all the rooms of the castle, stopping at each bronze and each marble, and judging them with a word. He said: This is good; that is detestable. This is amusing sculpture; that is stupidly done. This group is by a man who knows his trade; that one is by an ass. –What do you think of this figure: the Child-God? –It is nice. –And this Philopœmen? –It is the masterpiece of modern sculpture. –Why? –Because nothing better has been done yet. –This Spartacus? –Good composition; poor work. –This Penelope? –Good, very good. –This Don Juan? –Mediocre. –What, mediocre? –Yes, an empty, raked sculpture. –But it’s by you! –I knew it. –Let’s stop here; I thank you for the lesson. Now, Mr. Artist, I am as learned as you. My goodness, she continued in the form of an aside, I am curious to see how he will go about sketching the bust of my aunt, and I vow not to miss a sitting . When she reappeared leaning on Daniel’s arm, M. Lefébure and M. de Marsal promised themselves to keep a close eye on this young intruder who was circling the aunt and wandering around alone with the niece. Madame Michaud left the boston and said in an intelligible voice: Tomorrow, after lunch, we will begin my bust in this living room. Whoever loves me will come there. « Madame… » said the two suitors, all with one voice. That evening, Daniel found his room less beautiful, his furniture less elegant, and his bed less comfortable than he had judged at first sight. It was because his pocket was empty. Man is built like that: no money, no illusions. This is doubtless why the poor are less fortunate than the rich. The next day he got up at eight o’clock and left for Paris with his watch and chain. He took care not to tell his mother how he had played whist and how much he had lost: such a confession would have brought him nothing but a reprimand for his dignity. He instead turned to a pawnbroker, who lent him 200 francs without explanation, without reproach, and without advice. Besides, what was a watch for at the Château de Guéblan? There were fifty clocks and a clock! This clock was striking noon when they sat down to lunch. The previous day’s guests had left, and only the castle’s guests remained , that is to say, the suitors and Daniel. M. Lefébure ate a cup of tea; M. de Marsal ate a slice of salmon with his lips ; Victorine pecked at a plate of cherries; The sculptor and the model resolutely fell upon an enormous pie. Madame Michaud informed Daniel that his tools had arrived with a horrible tub filled with greasy clay, and that everything had been set up. The two rivals were too curious to keep an eye on Daniel not to sacrifice their daily pleasures. In ordinary times, the captain fished; the lawyer practiced fencing with Monsieur de Guéblan, or amused himself by shooting magpies. They took a walk in the park before the session. Madame Michaud told Monsieur Lefébure about Daniel’s memorable leap. Monsieur de Marsal was very amused by this way of entering unannounced.  » I think, » he said, « that Maître Lefébure has met his match.  » « I don’t pride myself on jumping ditches, » replied the lawyer. « However skilled we may be at this kind of exercise, there is always a small animal that is stronger than us.  » « What do you call it? » asked Madame Michaud. « The kangaroo. I’ll show you one at the Jardin des Plantes.  » « I didn’t do it for glory, » Daniel continued naively, « but because I couldn’t find the door.  » « Do you draw a sword, sir?  » « Yes, sir, and you?  » « For fifteen years, at the Lozès.  » « Me, in my studio, with a former provost of Gâtechair. We ‘re not from the same school.  » « What! Sir, you practice fencing? » said Victorine. « But Papa will adore you! » They set off again towards the château. Madame Michaud said to Daniel:  » Doesn’t it bother you that I invited these gentlemen to our sessions?  » « No, madame, as long as they don’t prevent you from posing. As for me, I’ll work to the sound of the cannon.  » « Don’t worry, I’ll keep quiet like an Anabaptist. Watch these two lovers carefully: they’ll put on a show for you. What do you think of the lawyer?  » « I don’t think he’s any good. » « Poor man! He’s doing everything he can to lose weight, except drinking vinegar. And the captain?  » « Thin, very thin.  » « Yes, I always wonder how the gales didn’t carry him off. He must have had stones in his pockets. Which would you choose if you were a woman?  » « I think I’d ask for a few years to think it over.  » « Unfortunate! Don’t say that to Victorine; she’s been thinking about it for more than six months. You must find it a little strange that we should have accepted two suitors at once; it was my idea. My brother wouldn’t budge from his lawyer; I clung to my gentleman. I said: Let’s invite them both, Victorine will choose. I don’t know if she has any preferences; in any case, she hides them well. If you become her friend, you will try to get her secret out. She’s a bookworm, a scribbler in notebooks; She reads every day, she writes every evening; I would soon know what she thinks, if I were a little piece of paper. Everyone who has posed for a portrait knows that the first sitting is almost always spent choosing the pose, arranging the light and to prepare the work of the following days. Madame Michaud’s hairdressing took no less than two hours. The worthy woman had dreamed of a Rococo bust with a Pompadour hairstyle. Daniel thought she had a Roman head, the mask enormous, the forehead narrow, the head small. He left the maid to exhaust herself making and unmaking an impossible edifice, on which everyone had their say. Then he asked permission to try it in his turn; he rolled up his sleeves and gave his model an admirable cameo hairstyle; it was a matter of a few strokes of the comb. The maid dropped her arms in amazement ; Madame Michaud looked at herself in the mirror without recognizing herself, and claimed that she had been given a new head like a doll’s: the suitors murmured in low voices the name of hair artist, and Victorine said to herself: It must be admitted that he is a good hairdresser, but as for the sculpture…. Daniel began to sketch out his bust, and it was then that the work became difficult. In these days of April when the wind shifts every moment from east to west, from north to south, the weather vanes do not turn as quickly as Madame Michaud’s head. Mobile as a wave is a word that would imperfectly describe the perpetual agitation of her whole person. She found it too much to remain seated, and she consoled herself for this partial immobility by talking here and there, at random, by calling out to everyone around her one by one, by imitating the telegraph with her arms, and by beating time with her feet. So she was exhausted after an hour of this exercise: the session had to be adjourned. Daniel had spent more patience in sixty minutes than a santon in sixty years; the bust was not sketched. I had predicted it, thought Victorine. « Phew! » said Madame Michaud, « and one! Eleven more sessions, and we will be finished.
 » Daniel did not dare tell her that if the sessions all resembled the first, more than a hundred would be needed. This singular work lasted until the end of June: the bust did not have a human figure. Madame Michaud suspected, after a while, that the artist was perhaps a little disturbed by the company. She shared her thoughts with Victorine; but Victorine would not listen to that. She was sure that the handsome stranger knew nothing about sculpture, and she helped him as best she could to hide his ignorance. What would become of us, she thought, if he were forced to confess the truth? She made it her duty to disturb her aunt, to interrupt Daniel and to shorten the sessions. The poor artist thought with terror of the deadline of July 15, and cordially cursed all the importunates, without excepting Victorine. What astonished the incomparable Atalante a little was the obstinate silence of her lover. Alas! she said to herself, what good will all his tricks and mine be to us, if he does not decide to tell me that he loves me? Is he afraid to open up to me? I will keep his secret so well! Sometimes, to pique him with jealousy, she affected to treat M. Lefébure or M. de Marsal well: she became coquettish for love of him! These young girlish whims caused great upheavals in the castle. M. de Marsal wrote triumphant letters to his family; M. Lefébure thought about packing his trunks; Madame Michaud bought a new carriage as a token of joy; Daniel alone noticed nothing . The next day, the wheel had turned: M. de Marsal was gloomy; M. Lefébure was noisy; Madame Michaud was so worried that she could no longer sit still in her chair, and Daniel saw mountain ranges rising between him and his fifteen hundred francs. What is he waiting for to declare himself? said Victorine. She took care to undo all the bouquets that the gardener brought into her room, and she crumpled them with vexation, after making sure that they would not contained no note. At night, she spent hours at her window, waiting for a serenade. If a gondola had come by land to the grand staircase of the château; if she had seen two rebecs, an oboe and a viola d’amore descend; if little Negroes, dressed in red satin, had served before her a collation of Italian fruits and a few basins of oranges from China, such a phenomenon would have astonished her less than Daniel’s miraculous silence. One evening, between eleven o’clock and midnight, in mild and amorous weather, she heard a magnificent bass voice singing in the aisles of the parterre. She was too far away to distinguish the words; but the music, which she did not know, seemed strangely dreamy and melancholy. She was leaning behind her blinds to listen a little more closely, when Madame Michaud entered her room. Daniel, convinced that everyone in the castle was asleep, walked around smoking a cigar, and between each puff sang a verse from The Plagues of Egypt. It is a well-known lament in the Parisian workshops. On damp shores , populated by crocodiles, the Jews groaned and built pyramids, with no other consolation than eating onions. Victorine had only heard a vague and delicious sound of this verse. Know that crocodiles are ferocious lizards, bigger than the Pont des Arts, who ate Jews by the thousand. The onions, in these misfortunes, still drew tears from them. This time! she murmured, I heard clearly. He said: Misfortunes and tears. Finally! But why is he standing so far away? It was then that Madame Michaud entered the room. Victorine began to chat noisily with her aunt, to prevent her from hearing the serenade. Only the echo benefited from the following two verses: This people, full of audacity, But not liking to die, Would have liked to clear off To go and live in Alsace; But to leave, first They needed a passport. A legitimate monarch, But full of perversity, Was withholding their papers: He will not have our esteem. If you do not know his name, It was King Pharaoh. Madame Michaud had a slight headache. She said to her niece: Since you are not sleeping, come to the garden; the fresh air will restore me. Victorine had her ear pulled; however, she went downstairs, determined to drag her aunt into the avenues of the park where one could only hear the nightingales. Unfortunately, the breeze carried a few stray notes to Madame Michaud’s ears. Look! she said, a serenade! « I didn’t notice anything, aunt.  » « Are my ears ringing? I heard it all right. There! What did I tell you?  » « You’re mistaken, aunt; it’s your migraine.  » « No, it’s not my migraine! It’s… yes! It’s Fualdès’s lament.  » « Let’s go, aunt; I’m afraid.  » « You’re afraid of Mr. Fert! But he sings very well, if he doesn’t work much! If his work resembled his warbling! Wait! Come here, we’ll surprise him. » Victorine was trembling like a willow leaf. Her aunt led her, by circuitous paths, to within forty paces of the singer. The young girl coughed to warn Daniel. « Hush! » said Madame Michaud: « let’s listen. » Daniel, as calm as a Homeric god, intoned the twenty-sixth verse: Moses visited The king who was dying of hunger: He made a fine dinner With four cooked apples, Without even a miserable stew of hare. You see, said Madame Michaud, that it is Fualdès’s lament! –What happiness! thought Victorine, he had the wit to change the song. Chapter 13. The next day, M. de Guéblan was expected. Madame Michaud recounted at lunch that she had spent the night listening to her beloved artist, who sang like a siren. Her story made the suitors open their eyes wide . When they learned that Victorine had been there , their surprise turned to stupor, and they wondered what role they were being made to play. They had never had much sympathy for M. Fert, but they were beginning to take a serious dislike to him. Certainly, Madame Michaud had the right to commission her bust from whomever she pleased, but to take her niece for a walk at night with a young man of thirty at most was beyond the pale of a joke. This sculptor, after all, was no eagle. His principal masterpieces were perched on clocks; he had been working for two weeks on an unfortunate bust without managing to sketch it. His conversation was anything but sparkling; he spoke little, and wit did not stifle him. Madame Michaud should be on her guard against his one-hour infatuations. She exposed the most serious interests of her family on the green carpet of paradox and caprice: in short, it was time for the marquis to return to the château. In the meantime, everyone was punctual at the hour of the session. Daniel, rather discouraged, removed for the fifteenth time the damp cloths which covered the shapeless bust of Madame Michaud. Monsieur Lefébure and Monsieur de Marsal looked at him with an air of sullen and malicious pity. Victorine, a little troubled by her father’s wait, wondered anxiously how the poor boy would get out of the impasse into which he had strayed. She scolded her aunt and reminded her from time to time to pose, but she was careful not to leave her there for long. Are you in luck today? asked Madame Michaud to Daniel. The hours pass one another and are not alike. Last night, you were singing, and I was very pleased. Well! Now sculpt! « Madame, » continued Daniel, « I know your face well, I am beginning to know you by heart, and it seems to me that I could do a lot of work in an hour, if you could only pose a little.  » « Be happy; I say nothing more, I don’t know anyone anymore, I pose! » said the good woman, doing a half-somersault while sitting, accompanied by a most original grimace, « and I beg the gallery to observe the law of silence. Ah! if I were a pretty girl like Victorine, you would have more heart for your work, artist that you are!  » « Monsieur Lefébure, » said Victorine, spying on Daniel’s face,  » do you believe that one becomes an artist through love?  » « No doubt, mademoiselle; on one condition.  » « And which one?  » « Very little: ten or twelve years of work! » « You are a man of prose: you do not believe in the power of love.  » « If there were unbelievers, » interrupted M. de Marsal gallantly, « you would not have to preach long to convert them.  » « Captain, if you pay me compliments, I shall reason all wrong. Where were we? My aunt, stand up straight. I was saying that love can work miracles. Example: I am the princess… what princess? Princess Atalanta, daughter of the king of I don’t know where. I am riding in a carriage drawn by four horses; no, by four white unicorns: that is rarer and prettier. A shepherd, who was watching his sheep, saw me pass on the road. He fell in love with me. The next day, he sent me a sonnet. « By what means, if you please?  » « But by air, under the wing of a tame dove; This happens every day. Now, the sonnet is admirable, therefore love has made a poet. –He did much better, mademoiselle, replied M. Lefébure, laughing: he taught prosody, spelling and writing to a man who only knew how to look after sheep, and that in one day! not to mention of the particular rules of the sonnet, which are very complicated, so they say. I was recently reading a little poem, written by a dentist…. –That’s good; I’m giving up poetry. But painting! A young Italian woman is in the hands of an old man, who intends to marry her against her will. A handsome lord from the neighboring town enters the castle under the dress and name of a renowned painter; he has never handled a brush, but love guides his hand: will you still say that this has never been seen? –God forbid! But I would like to see it. Drawing is a spelling that cannot be taught in thirty lessons; and, as for color, we have members of the Institute who have never been able to learn it. –Is that true, Monsieur Fert? –Yes, mademoiselle. –But you, who are a sculptor, are you also going to set sculpture against me? Grant me only that a man of the world, a gentleman, who has never handled your modelers, can, by dint of love, in order to get closer to the one he loves, make… a bust! « My goodness! Mademoiselle, it is something I would have thought impossible six months ago.  » « And now?  » « Now, I agree with you: I believe in the miracles of love. » Victorine felt herself turn pale; it seemed to her that all her blood was flowing back to her heart. « Is it a story? » she asked in a trembling voice. « Not too long, and I can tell it to you. » Madame Michaud was keeping quiet by chance; Daniel pushed on briskly with his work, while following her story with the slowness of Franche-Comté.  » Six months ago, » he said, « I was finishing a group for the Spanish ambassador. » I received a visit from a man of my country and my age, a school friend, named Cambier. He had come to Paris to write; but he hardly wrote, or he wrote badly. He edited a newspaper called La Feuille de Rose, L’Impartial de la parfumerie, I don’t remember exactly. The fact remains that the poor devil often needed a hundred sous. In January, he wore a wool and cotton jacket from La Belle-Jardinière, with a gray hat with bristling fur . He met in my studio a Jewish woman named Coralie who posed for the head and hands. She is truly beautiful, and she behaves well; she lives with her aunt in these parts, rue Mouffetard. This Cambier looked at her for half an hour like a dazed man; when she came out, he asked me all sorts of questions about her. He had never seen anything so beautiful; she was the woman he had dreamed of; he had been waiting for her for ten years! He asked me her name; he looked up her address on the slate where I wrote down my models; he wanted to see her again at all costs. He was capable of asking her to marry him and confusing two miseries into one. I warned him that he would probably be badly received, because the aunt lived off her niece and had no thought of marrying her off. Then he begged me to have her come to my house to pose, even though I wouldn’t need it: the poor man offered to pay for the sessions! I didn’t pay much attention to the nonsense he said; he seemed like a mentally ill person. The following days I was regularly absent; I was working in town. When I returned to the studio, I saw his name written ten or twelve times on the door. Note that I am at Ternes and he is on Rue de l’Arbre-Sec. Finally he reached me. He had gone to see Coralie, who had thrown the door in his face. As he told me about his visit, he wept. What a pity, he said, that I am not a sculptor! She would come to my house, and I could look at her to my heart’s content. He asked me for some old tools to borrow; I gave him a handful. A month later (it was the middle of February) he came back to see me. You would have said he was another man; I no longer recognized him. He had lively eyes, an animated face, and he stretched his hamstrings as he walked; a little more, and he would have sung. For example, what had not changed, It was his jacket and his hat. He started talking to me again about Coralie; he was more in love with her than ever, and he hoped to make himself loved by her. To begin with, he had made her bust from memory, and he thought he had succeeded. He didn’t let me rest until I had seen his work. Willingly or not, we had to leave with him. The Roule bus took us to the corner of Rue Saint-Honoré and Rue de l’Arbre-Sec; that’s where he lived, above the fountain, and well above. I didn’t count the floors, but there were six or seven. The bust was placed on a sort of night table. At that time I did not believe in the miracles of love, and I was as skeptical as M. Lefébure, for my first words, as soon as he had removed the linen, were: It was not you who did that! I swear to you, without false modesty, that I would gladly give everything I have done and everything I will do for this bust of Coralie. It was something naive and learned, vigorous and passionate, which recalled certain paintings by Holbein, certain drawings by Alber Durer, or, if you like, some of the most beautiful sculptures of the Middle Ages. The fact is that this bust in reddish clay shed a light like a masterpiece in the attic. I told the artist everything that came into my head; I was happier than those who discover a gold mine. He thanked me, he kissed me, he was a person mentally ill with joy: he already saw the day when Coralie would come to his studio. I asked him to wait for me the next day until three o’clock, and I returned with M. David, M. Rude and M. Dumont. The masters took his hand and told him that he was a great artist. They all declared that this bust must be molded and put in the exhibition. I pointed out to them at a glance the bareness of this room where there were not thirty francs for the molder. My sign was so well understood that after we left, Cambier found more than five louis on his chest of drawers. The head a little more to the left, madame, if you please. « And this masterpiece, what has become of it? » asked M. Lefébure. The public has not seen it; the art critics have said nothing about it! « Alas! Sir, love has done like tigers, who willingly eat their children. Eight days after this visit, I returned to Cambier. He was standing in front of his house, his feet in the melted snow, and he smoked his pipe with a gloomy air while looking at the fountain and the water carriers. He recognized me when I tapped him on the shoulder. I asked him what he was doing there. He replied: You see, I’m having fun.–And your loves?–Ah! that’s true. I went to Coralie’s with my bust under my arm. It was she who opened the door for me.
I told her what I had done for love of her, and what you had all told me, and that I would be an artist, and that she would come and pose at my house. She replied that she was making fun of me, that I bored her, and that I could take my plaster with me. I didn’t take it very far; I broke it against the boundary stone. « And is Coralie married? » asked Mlle de Guéblan. « Yes, mademoiselle, to a knife grinder who earns three francs a day.  » « What joy! » cried Mme Michaud. « What? » asked everyone present. « What joy! My bust! It’s me; I’m striking; I catch your eye! Ah! my dear artist, I want to throw my arms around your neck too! » And to kiss Daniel, who hardly expected it. The bust was not finished, far from it; but it had made more progress in two hours than in a whole fortnight. Mme Michaud had posed without knowing it, out of pure distraction, while listening to Daniel’s story . The artist had seized the opportunity on the fly, and his work, although improvised, was no less successful. Everyone agreed, even Victorine, who could not believe her eyes. In her confusion, She said to Daniel: Ah! Sir, you have truly proven that love works miracles! Daniel thought she was referring to the story of Mr. Cambier. He stood with his arms crossed in front of his bust, and said to himself: This is a rather good sketch; it remains to finish it without spoiling it. It is July 1st, I have time on my hands. If these gentlemen would leave me alone, the plaster would be repaired in two weeks, and I could ask for fifteen hundred francs in advance. What is there of truth in this story? thought Victorine. The Spanish embassy…. a girl who lives here, with her aunt…. a young man of her age and from her country…. a masterpiece made for love…. Who marries a knife-grinder? And by what spell did this block of earth take on the figure of Madame Michaud? The Marquis had announced that he would return on July 1st for dinner , and although he had not written for four days, his mathematical accuracy was so well known that his apartment was ready and his place setting on the table. After the triumphant session where the bust had been miraculously sketched, Daniel, radiant as a sun, ran to the smoking-room to fill his cigar-case. Don Juan’s clock showed ten minutes past six: so, before dressing, they had a good half-hour of recreation. To return from the smoking-room to the garden, they had to cross the fencing-room. It was a large square room, with a fir floor, unwaxed , and lined with weapons of all kinds. There they saw side by side the combat swords, sharpened, greased, brand new and shining, and the assault swords, rusted by contact with the hands and chipped by parades. M. de Guéblan did not like foils, whose suppleness and lightness make the hand lazy. Daniel passed by humming: he saw M. Lefébure contemplating a panoply. The lawyer had not digested the successes of the newcomer , nor the famous serenade, nor that nurse’s kiss that Madame Michaud had just applied so generously to the face of her sculptor. Add that for two weeks he had not taken any exercise. The blood tormented him; he felt itching in his hands, he was like Mercury when he met Sosie. He asked heaven for a man, just one man, a poor little man whose bones he could break. In these philanthropic dispositions, he caressed with his eyes the speckled swords and those good, stiff blades whose knob leaves a bruise on the body. Daniel appeared to him like a victim sent by Providence: how sweet it would be to marble with all his might such a large and appetizing breast ! Victory was not in doubt: fifteen years in the hall and a recognized strength! M. Lefébure readily repeated, with proud modesty: I have already met three amateurs stronger than me, Lord Seymour, M. Legouvé and the Marquis de Guéblan. This was to say rather elegantly: I fear no one, except the three best fencers in Paris. He felt the need to give a good lesson in fencing to M. Fert. It is always pleasant to show oneself superior to the man one does not like, but it is doubly pleasant when the demonstration can be made in a fencing hall. The young artist had nothing against M. Lefébure. He did not find him handsome, and he would not have painted his portrait for gold or silver; he had found him importunate for fifteen days, from two o’clock to six; but apart from that, he only wanted good for him. He stopped to talk with him, examined the weapons, accepted a glove and a sword, and allowed himself to be masked with the innocent candor of a lamb dressed for sacrifice. The belligerent lawyer rushed at him without warning! and gave him twenty blows with a button in less time than I can tell : it was a hailstorm. As he pushed each boot, he murmured inwardly: Well! Well! Well! Here’s for your sculpture! Here’s for your music! Here’s to teach you to fly like a cockchafer in the midst of my loves and my affairs! Daniel pocketed the blows without breaking, and each time he was hit, he said according to the rules of the game: Touch-touch-touch! After five minutes of this little task, M. Lefébure stopped to catch his breath and to mop his streaming forehead. Daniel was neither hotter nor colder than when he had crossed swords. He looked at the purple face of his adversary, and said to himself: Now I know your game; you will not touch me again! The fact is that this person of all types of body, sanguine man, shot very badly. His French fury could disconcert a novice, and his hand was quick enough to surprise a clumsy one; but he revealed himself at every moment, he attacked with cuts, he riposted before parrying, he dazzled himself, went in blind, and saw neither his blade nor the blade of his adversary. My turn! said the artist. He firmly withstood a second assault more furious than the first, parried, riposted, did everything in its time, did not receive a button tap, and returned with wear the waistcoat that had been given to him. M. Lefébure would not admit it. In fencing, as in all games, there are good and bad players; he was a detestable player. Instead of shouting: Touch! when he was touched, he would say in riposte: It’s on the arm! on the neck! on the thigh! the blade slipped! bad blow! missed! We will not count this one! Over to you! That is what is called a touch! « Pardon me, sir, » Daniel continued, taking off his mask. « It seems to me that if your iron had been unspiked, I wouldn’t have received a scratch.  » « Not even the first time? » asked M. Lefébure mockingly . « However, let’s be fair: the second was a little better. We’ll start again later. Give me time to breathe. » Daniel was not pleased. This bad faith in a gallant man was driving him mad. He would have liked a gallery. He was furious at being right. « Let’s start again, » he said. He became so animated by the game that it was M. Lefébure’s turn to be dazzled and blink. Daniel gave him back beans for peas, and the button strokes went off so briskly that they would have said the bouquet of fireworks. Phew! said M. Lefébure, throwing his sword on a bench: I believe, sir, that we are strong. « My goodness! sir, » resumed the artist with charming roundness, « I thought I had beaten you.  » « What! what! I won the first round, the second is a draw, and the third is yours.  » « Pardon; I did not know that the second was a draw.  » « Draw, that is to say, equal. You gave me two or three taps on the button, and I flatter myself that I gave them back to you.  » « Well, so be it! » said Daniel, exasperated. « Do you please play the fool?  » « Will we have time? » The door of the billiard room was open, M. Lefébure went in, looked at the time on the clock, and came back saying: « It is twenty to. » During his absence, Daniel took down a perfectly sharpened fighting sword and substituted it for M. Lefébure’s. « We shall see ! » he said to himself. He continued aloud: It’s a matter of an instant; the beauty in one blow, a touch that hits. Come on, sir, on guard! M. Lefébure seized his iron and ran like a mentally ill person at the artist, who was standing sternly on guard. He threw two or three cuts in quick succession, the last of which whipped Daniel’s forearm roughly. The lawyer immediately lowered his point. Did I not hit? he asked politely. « I don’t think so, sir. »  » I thought I was quite sure, sir. » « You were mistaken, sir.  » « It’s a strange illusion, sir: I would have bet that I had hit you full in the chest. » « If you are sure, sir…. » « Perfectly sure, sir.  » « Then how is it that I am still alive, sir?  » « I don’t understand, sir.  » « Please look at the point of your sword. » M. Lefébure felt himself stagger.  » We will not shoot together again, sir, » he said at once. « You have made a terrible joke there: you have exposed me to killing you.  » « No, sir, I was sure that you would not touch me. » Victorine, her aunt, M. de Marsal, and the Marquis de Guéblan had arrived at the door of the fencing room, and their entrance prevented the discussion from degenerating into a quarrel. « What a man! » thought Victorine; « he is a valiant escapee from some old novel. » When Daniel had been presented to the Marquis, she approached him and whispered in his ear:  » Mr. Daniel, I forbid you to risk your life.  » « That little girl annoys me, » thought the sculptor. Chapter 14. During dinner, the Marquis studied Daniel’s face with interest, M. Lefébure gave him a cold face, M. de Marsal looked at him with stupefaction as a child looks at shadow puppets; Madame Michaud praised him in every tone, and Victorine was in ecstasy before him. As for the hero of the day, he didn’t miss a beat .
They parted two hours earlier than usual. A master of a house who returns home after a fortnight’s absence has a hundred questions to ask, and M. de Guéblan had a thousand to address to Madame Michaud. Victorine guessed well that she would be discussed at this conference. She did not go to bed; she took a book, and what she read did not profit her much. M. Lefébure and M. de Marsal, in league against the common enemy, sought together ways to thwart Daniel’s policy. Daniel went to bed bravely at ten o’clock, and slept soundly until the next morning. My dear sister, said the Marquis to Madame Michaud, I have done what you wished: I have opened a competition which is not without danger, and above all without ridicule, by agreeing to two suitors at once. I do not see that the question has made much progress in my absence. Where are we? What does Victorine say? –Always the same speech: she says nothing; but if she has a penny’s worth of understanding, she will choose M. de Marsal. I told her this again three days ago, and I will repeat it to both of you until you have understood it: one does not marry a man, but a name. A woman goes everywhere without her husband; but she must, willingly or unwillingly , drag her name behind her. In a drawing-room, those who see her dance do not inquire whether her husband is tall or short; They say: What is the name of that pretty woman who is waltzing over there? The name! But it eclipses everything, dress, fortune, beauty: it is the greatest luxury in life, because it is not within everyone’s reach . –Bah! They make them every day, and… –Because they make rhinestone jewelry, must they throw the diamonds into the street? You don’t know how flattering to the ear there is in a pretty, sonorous and good name. You are jaded; for fifty years and some months you have been called Marquis de Guéblan. Ah! if you could only, for ten minutes, be called Michaud! To think that I was well born, just like you, your sister by father and mother, and that I will forever be called Madame Michaud! I don’t blame my husband, God rest his soul! I lived in peace with him, I loved him despite his name and all his other faults; but, in all fairness, couldn’t he take his Michaud with him to the other world? Finally! she continued with a sigh, I’ve made up my mind, I resign myself, but on one condition, that Victorine will not be called Michaud. –Lefébure is not an ugly name, and, besides…. –Lefébure is Michaud. Any name that is not accompanied by a title, surmounted by a crown, flanked by a shield, falls into the great category of Michaud! There are thirty-seven million Michauds in France, and I am one of them! Two or three thousand Guéblans, and Victorine will be one of them! –And why not? She could marry M. Lefébure and be called Madame de Guéblan. I am the last of the name; and the council of the seal of titles…. –Bad, my brother, bad! M. Lefébure is known by his name throughout Paris. The graft would not take, and the Marquis Lefébure de Guéblan would never be anything but Lefébure. Marsal is a pretty name! M. de Guéblan had excellent reasons for rejecting M. de Marsal. He knew that the last scion of such an ancient family would not consent to exchange his name for any other, and the marquis passionately desired not to be the last of the Guéblans. He was still saying to himself, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the captain’s face, that by marrying him to Victorine, he was preparing for himself a pale and feeble posterity. Finally, he was not counting blindly on his sister’s fortune, although he had earned a good part of it. Madame Michaud was capable of remarrying for the pleasure of changing her name; Victorine was sheltering herself from all whims by marrying Monsieur Lefébure. This last argument, which the Marquis developed in all frankness, amused Madame Michaud greatly. You are mentally ill! she said to her brother. Who would want to marry an antiquity like me? Victorine will have everything. How much do you want me to give her in marriage? A hundred thousand francs a year? She will no longer need to marry Monsieur Lefébure. I understand that those who have no money seek it; but as soon as one has the necessities, what is the point of pursuing the superfluous? The only thing necessary is a hundred thousand francs a year; Victorine will not eat more: her teeth are so small! I believe, moreover, that she has a preference for M. de Marsal. « You should have told me at the beginning, we would not have argued. But are you quite sure? »  » Let’s go to her house, she is not in bed, we will confess her between the two of us.  » Victorine, the silent one, was beginning to tire of the role of the mute character. Since she was sure of being loved, joy escaped through her eyes. Happiness, long enclosed in the depths of her soul, rose to her lips; her love was like those aquatic plants which remain hidden until the day when they bloom on the surface of the water. She listened with a radiant brow to her father’s little exhortation, who begged her to frankly name the one she preferred. Lefébure or Marsal? Choose! added Madame Michaud. « Neither one nor the other, » she replied. « And why, my niece?  » « Because I don’t love them, aunt.  » « As you say! I’m not asking you if you’re in love with one of these gentlemen; people marry first out of friendship, love comes later.  » « I want to love my husband in advance. » « First of all, that’s not good form. I don’t know anything as shocking as those brides who doted on their husbands: they look as if they were at a wedding! When I married M. Michaud, I knew him, I esteemed him, I thought the greatest of his character, but I didn’t love him any more than the Emperor of China. Love is a tree that grows slowly; only bad marijuana grows quickly.  » « Dear aunt, is it also good form for a husband to marry a wife without loving her? » « I didn’t say that, don’t accuse me of nonsense!  » « It seems to me that these gentlemen like neither of me.  » « What!  » « Oh! I’m not mistaken. I’ve studied them carefully, especially since we’ve been working on the bust. Here, in a few words, is the summary of my observations.  » « We’re listening. » « M. de Marsal is a well-born, well-bred man, of a gentle character, an even temper, and very agreeable manners.  » « Ah! » cried Madame Michaud triumphantly. « Wait! M. Lefébure has a varied mind, lively and elegant, a beautiful voice, moving speech, noble and resolute gestures.  » « Eh! eh! » murmured the Marquis. « Patience, father! One is blond, the other is dark; one is thin, the other is people of all types of body; one is poor, the other is rich: and yet one would think they were the same man, so much do they resemble me in their manners. They say the same insipid things to me, as if they had learned them from a manual. They look at me in the same way; they have no two ways of approving me when I speak. If I smile at them, they are uniformly triumphant; if I pout at them, they bow their brows under the weight of the same pain. » It seems as if they agree to turn the conversation to the subject of marriage, and each one goes to great lengths to prove that he would be the best of husbands. If I condemn indifference, they frown like two jealous people. If I speak out against jealousy, their two faces simultaneously take on a blissful indifference. If my aunt said a single word against avarice, they would run to skip forty-franc pieces; if she reprimanded prodigality, they would look for pins in the carpet! That is not how one loves! « What do you know?  » « I feel it there! The heart is clear-sighted, especially at my age: its eyes are not tired! If these gentlemen were in love with me, something would tell me, and, whether I like it or not, I would at least feel grateful . But when their attentions leave me indifferent, it is because they are not addressed to me, and it is my dowry that should thank them. M. de Guéblan was less struck by his daughter’s words than by the tone in which she spoke. He had never seen her so animated. He wanted to examine her more closely; he took her by both hands, pulled her from her armchair, and gently sat her on his knees. Look me in the eyes, he said. Victorine was experiencing that first transfiguration that happy love produces in young girls: she was blossoming. Would you love someone? her father asked her. She kissed him for all reply. Is he noble? « Like a king.  » « Rich?  » « Like my aunt.  » « Handsome? »
« Like you, my good father; and brave, and proud, and witty like you!  » « We know him?  » « You have seen him; but you do not know him.  » « Where did you meet him? » –At the Spanish embassy last winter. –A century ago! –Yes; I went six months without news. –Has he forgotten you? –No.
–How do you know? –I have proof. –I don’t ask you if he wrote to you: you are my daughter. –Oh! my father! –Who is it then? Tell us his name! Victorine would have been very embarrassed to answer. Madame Michaud said to the marquis: You frightened her; now she’s all seized up. Leave me alone with her, she’ll tell me her secret. I don’t know how Victorine managed to bewitch her aunt. The fact is that she didn’t tell her her secret, and that she enlisted her in a conspiracy against the suitors. They promised to prove to them themselves that they had no love except for Madame Michaud’s fortune. Victorine soon made her siege; Love is a great master of strategy. On the spot, she cut out the following sentence from a volume in the Bibliothèque bleue, which was placed in an envelope addressed to M. Lefébure: The lady and her niece were married on the same day to the two knights they loved, and those who were in the chapel of the castle witnessed two beautiful ceremonies. Let us reason, said Madame Michaud. When the postman brings him this anonymous rag, he will not throw it in the fire: it is summer. He will read it. What will he think? First, let them make fun of him… a bad joke… a schoolboy’s trick. When I was supposed to marry Mr. Michaud, my father received more than twenty anonymous letters: one among others in which it was stated that my future husband was married to four women in Turkey! Then he will scratch his head, and he will say to himself that I am quite crazy enough to marry a second time, with my mustache and my gray hair. If I marry, the consequence is clear: you enter straight into the interesting category of girls without a dowry. This person of all body types Lefébure is bourgeois to the bone, very well-endowed with his income, and incapable of marrying you for free. I can see the grimace he will pull. Mr. de Marsal would marry you anyway! He is a knight. But I am thinking: how can I make the lawyer believe that I have a husband in mind? He never leaves my side! He knows perfectly well that we haven’t had fifteen visitors in two weeks. To get married, you need a husband. Find me a phantom husband! Wait! That little sculptor! –Oh! Aunt! –Why? He’s very handsome. –No doubt, but…. –He has talent. –I agree, but…. –He has an absurd name, but a well-known name. That’s nobility! What I like in artists is that they’re not bourgeois. –But just think, Aunt…. –That he’s penniless? I’m rich enough for two! After all, this marriage would be a hundred times more likely than that of the Countess of Pagny with her steward Thibaudeau. The Marquise de Valin did marry a little engineer from the port of Brest named Henrion! And Madame de Bougé! And Madame de Lansac! And Madame de La Rue! « Yes, aunt, but what role will you have this poor young man play ? » « How unhappy he is! I will be charming with him; I will pay him compliments, I will take him for a walk with me in the park, and I will serve him chicken wings, while I will make Monsieur Lefébure eat the drumsticks. Besides, he will suspect nothing, and my attentions will only be intelligible to a man who has been warned. » Madame Michaud undertook to reassure the Marquis about her daughter’s mysterious love. She described it to him, in confidence, as a pure whim of the imagination, one of those daydreams that young hearts often have. There was no danger at home: Victorine was safe at the château, far from the world and the salons of Paris. The good aunt, who did not give up her project on Monsieur de Marsal, thought of hiring assistants. She brought Madame Lerambert from Paris with her son and her daughter, who had a dowry of a million. She was counting on Miss Lerambert to create a successful diversion by drawing the enemy’s forces towards her. At the same time, she sent a telegraph dispatch to old Miss de Marsal, a person of sense and intelligence, the elder and much older sister of her candidate. Miss de Marsal was to form the reserve and march in the rearguard. Unfortunately, she was deplorably slow in leaving her little castle at Lunéville, in taking leave of her neighbors and her cats, and in embarking in a traveling carriage. She had so little confidence in the railways that she wanted to come with her Lorraine horses, brave beasts, moreover, and which proudly covered their ten leagues a day. This reinforcement carriage did not arrive until July 12, when Mr. Lefébure was Miss Lerambert’s declared pursuer , and Daniel, tenderly pampered by Mrs. Michaud, was putting the finishing touches to his cast. The artist had noticed neither the rapid cooling of M. Lefébure, nor the joy that Victorine and her aunt had felt at it, nor his attentions returned to the banker’s daughter, nor the regret of the Marquis de Guéblan, nor the triumph of M. de Marsal: he had seen only his bust and the due date of the fifteen hundred francs. Nothing had been able to distract him, not even the looks of Victorine, which he had not not met, and her half-words, which he had not understood. Madame Michaud’s attentions had been close to his heart: he had no doubt that such a kind person would grant him the advance he needed . Full of this confidence, he had hastened his work and completed, in twelve sittings, a remarkable work. Artists never succeed better than under the whip of necessity: this is why millionaires are rarely great artists. Those who saw him work with such heart said to each other: How he loves! It is said that Phidias, when he made the Minerva of ivory and gold, was in love with his model. Who could have foreseen that Madame Michaud’s first passion would be shared by such a handsome boy? He will make a marriage of money and a marriage of love. No one doubted that he was seriously in love, except Victorine and M. de Marsal, who had another blindfold over their eyes. Madame Michaud herself was beginning to be alarmed by her work, and Monsieur de Guéblan was thinking of reprimanding his venerable sister. But it was Monsieur Lefébure who was laughing sincerely to himself. Seeing his old rival getting more and more bogged down, he congratulated himself on having been born a man of wit, and he was already picturing the pitiful face of the captain, the day when Daniel and Madame Michaud would walk down the aisle together. The lawyer had no illusions about Victorine . Since he learned she had no dowry, he found her much less beautiful than Mademoiselle Lerambert. For its part, the Lerambert family highly appreciated the eloquence and fortune of Monsieur Lefébure. The Marquis, greatly scandalized by the conduct of his candidate, felt himself drawn back by a secret instinct towards Monsieur de Marsal. He regretted more than ever having entered his daughter into the competition; He feared that the rumor of this adventure would spread to the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and he felt the need to marry Victorine as soon as possible. In this mood, he welcomed the captain’s advances favorably. He arranged two or three secret conversations with him: he opened his heart to him, and finally broached the delicate question of the change of name. M. de Marsal only needed to be asked in the right way; he resigned himself to being called Gaston de Marsal de Guéblan or de Marsal-Guéblan, or de Guéblan-Marsal, as it pleased the Marquis. Once the deal was done, he tenderly embraced his sister, who had just arrived from Lunéville, and told her the great news. Mlle de Marsal wept with joy, and said: I have arrived just in time to bless you. That is why, no doubt, Madame Michaud called me in such haste. The next day, July 13, was a Friday: a day of ill omen twice over . Mademoiselle de Marsal had had time to make inquiries and find out everything that was going on in the house. After lunch, she took her brother aside and said to him: What is Mademoiselle de Guéblan’s personal fortune? « I don’t know. Nothing, or ten thousand francs a year.  » « In property born and acquired?  » « No, at her father’s death. Why do you ask me that? You know very well that she has her aunt’s fortune.  » « From Mademoiselle Daniel Fert?  » « What are you saying? From Mademoiselle Michaud!  » « But, wretch! Don’t you know?  » « What? » « Madame Michaud is marrying the little sculptor. Everyone is in on the secret, except you. That’s why Monsieur Lefébure has withdrawn.  » « Mercy!  » Monsieur de Marsal ran out: he had never in his life had such vivid colors . His sideburns, blond as flax, looked red. He fell into Madame Michaud, who took him amicably by the arm and said to him: Where are you running to? I am taking you prisoner. I have many things to tell you. You behaved like an angel; Monsieur Lefébure is a beast; I am delighted by the arrival of your sister, and you will have my niece. He looked rather impolitely at his faithful ally and replied in a dry tone: Thank you, madame. I think someone is being deceived here, and I I will try to make sure that the dupe is not me. Madame Michaud remained rooted to her feet: she thought she saw a lamb unchained. He gave the poor woman a low bow and ran to Daniel, who was walking with young Mr. Lerambert at the edge of the pond. Monsieur le sculpteur, he said to him, you have been making fun of me for a long time , and I feel obliged to tell you that I like neither rogues nor schemers. Mr. Lerambert dropped his arms in amazement. Daniel looked at the captain as a doctor from Bicêtre looks at a mentally ill person. Is it me you are talking to, sir? « Yourself.  » « I am the one who is a roguish man and a schemer?… » « And an impudent one, if the other words are not enough to make the portrait seem like him to you.  » Daniel wondered for a moment if he would throw the captain into the pond ; but after reflection, he took his gloves from his pocket and threw them in his face. Chapter 15. Never has a case been more badly conducted than the duel between M. Fert and M. de Marsal. The captain had not touched a sword in his life, and his pistols, loaded in 1840, were still brand new, as you know. Daniel, trained in all weapons, had only used his talents to expel a water carrier from the window: no one was sufficiently hostile to himself to pick a quarrel with him. The great advantage of those who know how to fight is that they almost never fight . On the other hand, the clumsy often come to ask their assistance and choose them as witnesses to their feats of arms. But Daniel lived far from the world, and he had few friends, all artists, confined to their studios, pacific by taste and by profession. So he had never appeared on the field, even as a spectator. M. de Marsal chose as witnesses the young M. Lerambert and his old rival M. Lefébure. But the lawyer was too prudent to expose himself to a month in prison in the event of misfortune: he wisely recused himself. M. Lerambert junior, a law student, very young, almost a child, felt himself grown a little by the completely new role to which he was called. He undertook to find a second witness among the innocents of his age. If you had seen him walking, his frock coat buttoned to the neck, one hand in his pocket, his eye half veiled, his face imbued with an air of important discretion, you would not have been able to stop yourself from smiling, and you would have forgotten that this schoolboy was about to risk the lives of two men. The captain, outraged by the affront he had received, and even more by the ruin of his hopes, was in a hurry to get it over with. I do n’t think he positively wished for Daniel’s death, but a pistol shot could break up Madame Michaud’s marriage and ensure Victorine an income of five hundred thousand francs. The artist, for his part, had no time to lose: he had signed a note for the 15th, and his practitioner, who had workmen to pay, was not in a position to wait. Daniel spent the rest of the day finishing his bust. At six o’clock, he informed Madame Michaud that he was forced to dine out, and he rushed to Paris. He was counting on two officer friends of his who were staying on Rue Saint-Paul, near the Ave-Maria barracks. Unfortunately , when he arrived at their house, he learned that the regiment had left for Lyon for a fortnight. He had himself taken to the Faubourg du Temple to see M. de Pibrac, former commander of the Royal Guard, one of the finest blades of 1816. He found him in bed with gout. In desperation , he returned to the Rue de l’Ouest and the workshops of his friends. He chose two of them for their vigor and composure rather than for their experience. They were a painter and a medal engraver, as new as he was in the matter of duelling. He asked them to stay at home all evening, to receive M. de Marsal’s witnesses. These two children were waiting for him in an office of the Provençal Brothers; They both lived with their parents, and they were afraid of alerting their family. Daniel brought them, at nine o’clock, the address of his two friends. He met M. de Marsal on the stairs as he was descending, and he exchanged a very ceremonial greeting with him. At ten o’clock in the evening, the four witnesses opened a truly singular conference in the rue de l’Ouest. None of them knew the causes of the duel. They knew that M. de Marsal had insulted M. Daniel Fert in words, who had insulted him in action. Daniel himself was unaware of the grievances that the captain might have against him. His ultimatum, written by his friends, under his dictation, was neither long nor complicated. I never had anything against M. de Marsal. He called me deceitful, scheming and impudent, I don’t know why. Attacked on my honor, I threw my glove in his face. If he withdraws what he said, I will regret what I have done. I want the matter settled tomorrow before noon. If I have the choice of weapons, I request the sword. M. de Marsal would have had no trouble finding more able witnesses than his own. He was not from Paris, and he knew few people there; but he had witnesses to choose from, either at the ministry or at the hotel of the military navy. He contented himself with two students, so as not to have to answer for them. M. Lerambert spoke, saying: Gentlemen, M. Daniel Fert has thrown down his glove to M. de Marsal; we are charged with demanding an explanation. None of the usual rules were observed: Daniel’s witnesses did not even know the names of M. de Marsal’s witnesses. There was no mention of Madame Michaud, nor of Victorine, nor of Daniel’s alleged intrigues, nor of the captain’s deception. This is what the captain had wanted. Under these conditions, no arrangement was possible. M. de Marsal was exasperated, like any indolent man who goes out of character. Daniel was not sorry to give him one of those lessons in politeness that one remembers in bed for six weeks: it was in this spirit that he had chosen the sword. The witnesses, the eldest of whom was not yet thirty , wanted to be witnesses to something. If you want a matter to be settled, never choose young witnesses. The conference lasted no more than half an hour: it is sooner declared battle than concluded peace. A meeting was arranged for the next day, six o’clock in the morning, at Petit-Montrouge. Beyond this village you will find a good number of abandoned quarries, where people fight more peacefully than in the Bois de Boulogne. The choice of weapons was up to no one, since the offenses were mutual. It was agreed to draw lots on the ground. As he was about to take his leave, M. Lerambert asked his adversaries: By the way, gentlemen, do you have any weapons? « No, sir; and you?  » « We don’t have any either.  » « We should go to a gunsmith.  » « Is that prudent? Suppose we were followed! I think we could get some from the Château de Guéblan. Or rather, no: that would be abusing the Marquis’s hospitality. He would never be consoled if, unfortunately…  » « My dear Édouard, » his companion told him, « M. de Marsal told us he had combat pistols. Would these gentlemen accept them?  » « Why not? » the painter replied naively. « If they are good, so much the better for the most skillful; if they are bad, we won’t hurt ourselves.  » « They are good. » « As for the swords, don’t worry. M. Fert has several in his studio. » During this interview, Daniel got out of the car at the entrance to the Ternes enclosure. He came there regularly on Thursdays and Sundays, after dinner to play dominoes with his old mother, and to find out if she lacked anything. I only lack you, the good woman invariably replied. That evening she wasn’t expecting him, since she had seen him the day before. She had gone to bed at nine o’clock, and was sleeping her first nap, the only good one for people her age. Daniel silenced the doorbell in the little garden, entered his workshop quietly, untied a pair of swords, wiped off the dust, bent the blades, and made sure the hilts were in his hand. He wrapped the two weapons in green serge and carried them discreetly to the garden. Here, he thought, are two good lancets to bleed M. de Marsal. My poor mother will be a little frightened when I come tomorrow to tell her about my adventure. Bah! He was about to leave, but I don’t know what force held him back. He searched in his pocket for the double key to the house; he entered stealthily , and only stopped in front of his mother’s bed. A small nightlight scattered its flickering light around the room. Madame Fert, surrounded by drawings, plaster casts, bronzes, and a thousand little works by her son, smiled as she slept. In her dreams, she saw her dear Daniel enameled with the green embroidery of the Institute and tied with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor. Daniel looked at her tenderly for a few minutes; then he knelt before her, then kissed a small wrinkled hand that hung over the edge of the bed, then took a corner of the very white sheet, perfumed with a good scent of violets, and wiped his eyes with it. On returning to the château, he went nimbly up to his room, hid his swords in the dressing room, brushed his knees, and went back down to the drawing room. The Marquis, his sister, and his daughter were playing vingt-et-un with Monsieur Lefébure, Mademoiselle de Marsal, and the Lerambert family. Young Monsieur Lerambert and the captain arrived together after a quarter of an hour. Finally! said Madame Michaud, I am taking possession of all my boarders. Since seven o’clock, I have been like a hen that has lost her chicks. It’s as if you had agreed to leave us here, gentlemen. I don’t know if I should offer you tea; you hardly deserve it. My dear sculptor, a cup? Ah! I forgot that you take it without sugar. Pass the sugar bowl to Monsieur de Marsal; he really needs it today. The captain’s hand trembled imperceptibly as he received the cup from Daniel. Monsieur Lerambert junior, more pimply than ever, did not look like a young traitor in a melodrama. He tried to eat a piece of brioche with his tea, but the pieces stopped at his throat. He loosened the knot of his tie, which, however, was not too tight. Gentlemen absent, continued Madame Michaud, I sentence you to play twenty-one and lose your money with us. Who will take the bank? Mr. Fert? « Willingly, madame, » replied Daniel. He played so happily that he soon won five hundred francs. Mr. Lefébure and Mr. de Marsal were trying to break the bank. Mrs. Michaud said to them giddily: « Oh! No matter what you do, he’s stronger than you. He’s lucky. For example, that money will cost him dearly! Lucky at gambling… you know the proverb? » Mlle. de Marsal gave her brother a penetrating look. Victorine tried to meet Daniel’s eyes. Daniel said to himself:  » Good! I’ll only ask Mrs. Michaud for a thousand francs. » They parted around two o’clock. As they climbed the stairs to the first floor, Daniel exchanged a few words with Mr. Lerambert. « Is it for tomorrow?  » « Yes, sir, at six o’clock, in front of the town hall of Petit-Montrouge.  » « Weapons?  » « We’ll draw lots.  » « I have my swords.  » « We have our pistols. » We will leave by the small door: take the other side, so that no one will have any suspicions. –The whole castle will be asleep; we go to bed so late! M. de Marsal took his pistols from the bottom of his trunk. He changed the primers, which were all green, wrote a long letter to his sister, threw himself fully dressed on his bed, and did not sleep a minute. Daniel rested like Alexander or the great Condé on the eve of a battle. At five-thirty, he was on his feet. The two adversaries left without waking anyone. M. de Marsal gave the guard at the little gate the letter he had written to his sister. Everyone was punctual for the meeting. The town hall of Montrouge is a new building, erected a few steps from the village, in the middle of the fields. The witnesses dismissed their cabs, and they set off on foot in the direction of the quarries. Daniel led the march with his friends. How calm you are! the painter told him. « I am calm if we have the sword. With these devilish pistols, I am not responsible for anything: I kill my man.  » « How?  » « It’s quite simple. With sword in hand, I am sure he will not hurt me, and I can spare him. With pistols, one does not spare the clumsy, because they are capable of breaking your head. Advise them to use the sword, for their own good. » M. Lerambert said to M. de Marsal: You refuse the sword; so you draw the pistol? « Not me at all.  » « Then it doesn’t shoot either?  » « It hits nineteen times in twenty shots.  » « Well! Let’s take the sword, it won’t kill you!  » « I’ll tell you later what to do. » They went down into a quarry forty paces long by twenty. The ground was as even as the floor of a fencing hall. M. Lerambert threw a five-franc piece into the air. The painter asked for tails, and the coin came up heads: they were fighting with pistols. It remained to fix the distance and measure the terrain. The four witnesses were well cured of the intoxicated pride that had brought them there. M. Lerambert was stumped; the other three were weeping. Place us forty paces apart, said Daniel to his friends, and make sure he fires first: he will miss me and I will send my bullet to the larks. M. Lerambert came to bring the captain’s proposals: Gentlemen, he said, M. de Marsal has never fired a pistol; M. Fert is of the first force. The only way to make the chances equal is to discharge one of the two pistols, and draw lots to see who will have it. The two adversaries will be placed five paces apart. This is how M. de Marsal intends to fight. « But it is a fight to the death! » cried Daniel. « We will never allow it! » added his two witnesses. « Then, » replied M. Lerambert with visible satisfaction, « the duel is impossible, and the matter must be arranged.  » « Eh! by Jove! » said Daniel, « arrange it. » I thirst for no one’s blood, and I am quite ready to forgive the captain for the foolish compliments he paid me. « May I report your words to him, sir?  » « Certainly, sir. See how far the forgetfulness of form and etiquette was carried! Daniel was talking on the field with his adversary’s witnesses. M. Lerambert said to the captain: He is well-mannered, he passes judgment on everything you told him: the matter is half settled.  » « We will get a good deal, » replied M. de Marsal: « these heroes of the sword and pistol rely on their skill. They refuse to play as soon as the game becomes equal. Ask, I pray you, what excuses he will make for the rudeness of his conduct. » M. Lerambert crossed again the neutral ground which ran between the two enemy camps. He addressed Daniel directly and said to him: M. de Marsal learned with pleasure that you no longer held his words against him; He hopes, sir, that you will be kind enough to give a new proof of courtesy by asking his forgiveness for… Daniel heard no more. Sir, he said in his most haughty voice, I ask forgiveness from no one, especially from people who have insulted me. Please unload a pistol! –But, sir…. –No buts, I beg you. The shortest jokes are the best, and this one has lasted too long! He was handsome in his anger, and his long black hair quivered magnificently on his forehead. His witnesses tried to calm him; he would hear nothing. The captain, a little cooled, sent M. Lerambert to him; he replied that he was not asking for explanations, but for pistols. M. de Marsal, pale as death, handed the weapons to his witnesses. Daniel examined them one by one with meticulous care. Thick barrels, he said, dry steel, a little sour and brittle; good weapons, otherwise. Who loaded them? « M. de Marsal’s gunsmith.  » « Have you brought powder and bullets?  » « Yes, sir. Would you like us to reload in front of you?  » « It is useless. » He took a pistol and fired it in the air.  » They are well loaded, » he said. « Be kind enough, sir, to put a primer on them. » The two pistols were wrapped in a scarf; M. de Marsal chose one, the artist took the other. The painter, who had long legs , measured five enormous paces. The four witnesses withdrew apart, sobbing. Gentlemen, said M. Lerambert in a panting voice, I will clap three shots, you can fire when you wish. Daniel fired first; only the cap went off. His pistol was not loaded. M. de Marsal, paler than ever, remained in his place for a few seconds, his arm outstretched, the barrel pointed at Daniel’s chest. His legs gave way beneath him, his eyes swam in uncertainty and fear; his whole body wavered like a birch shaken by the wind. At a moment like this, seconds are longer than years. Daniel, his body effaced, his chest sheltered by his right arm, his head half hidden behind his pistol, had time to lose patience. Shoot! he shouted. « Shoot, sir! » repeated the four witnesses mechanically. All possible misfortunes seemed preferable to the anguish that was suffocating them. The captain, without lowering his hand, replied in a quavering voice: « Sir, your life is mine; but I hate to take it. You will ask my forgiveness.  » « No, sir. Shoot!  » « If I shot now, I would be a murderer. Ask my forgiveness!  » « If you don’t shoot, you are a coward!  » « Sir!  » « I will miss you, sir; your hand is trembling.  » « Don’t push me to the limit! » Daniel thought neither of death, nor of his art, nor of his mother: he was boiling at the thought of his life in the hands of another. « Shoot! » he cried again. M. Lerambert took a step towards the two adversaries, saying: « This is intolerable! » « Wait! » replied the artist; « I will send him courage. » He thrust his left hand into his pocket to look for his gloves. The shot went off. It was M. de Marsal who fell backward. Everyone ran to him; Daniel arrived first. The pistol had exploded an inch from the thunder, and the captain’s arm was broken. The engraver and the painter wore long cravats; they arranged them in sashes, one under the forearm, the other around the wounded man’s arm. It won’t matter, sir, said Daniel. So, why the devil were you asking me for excuses when I’ve done nothing to you? « Forgive me, sir, and be happy! Marry the one you love.  » « Me?  » « You.  » « I love Mlle. de Guéblan?  » « No, Mme. Michaud. » The poor fellow looked at M. de Marsal’s head to make sure nothing had entered his brain. The skull was perfectly intact. At the same time, M. Lerambert picked up the section of the pistol. Daniel took it in his hands and examined it like a connoisseur. Who loaded this one for you? « My gunsmith. » « That’s right; but in what year? » « In 1840.  » « You’ll tell me so much! » The captain, leaning on Daniel’s arm, returned on foot to Petit-Montrouge. In the Grand’Rue they met the castle’s physician, that excellent Doctor Pellarin. He took the wounded man to one of his friends and put on the first apparatus, while M. Lerambert ran to reassure Mlle de Marsal. The morning had been stormy at the Folie-Sirguet. Mlle de Marsal, struck by her brother’s strange appearance, spent a sleepless night and got up before six o’clock. She came to knock at the captain’s room, entered without ceremony, found the nest deserted, and went in search of someone in the park. The guard gave her the letter he had for her. It was a detailed account of the quarrel, followed by a holographic will in case of an accident. Mlle de Marsal, terribly worried, found the legs to run to the castle. She unceremoniously woke Madame Michaud, who woke her brother, who sent for M. Lefébure. Victorine awoke of her own accord and hurried downstairs. Madame and Mademoiselle Lerambert soon appeared. I believe that if the Marquis’s ancestors had been buried nearby, they would have run to the sound. No one had thought of dressing; everyone had come as they happened to be, the men in their dressing gowns, the women in their night gowns, everyone in slippers. Never had the salons of the château seen such a carnival. Madame Michaud and Madame Lerambert lost a great deal by appearing so early, and the banker’s daughter did not retain all her illusions about the person of Monsieur Lefébure. But Victorine found it to her advantage. When she entered, with her hair down and without a corset, in a long embroidered percale dressing gown, she looked as beautiful as Mademoiselle Rachel in the last act of Polyeucte. The first words she heard told her what was happening. She was violently moved, not with fear, but with audacity. Don’t worry, she said: nothing will happen to him. I know him, he is the invincible man. « My brother? » asked Mademoiselle de Marsal. « It’s not your brother; but don’t be afraid, mademoiselle, he will be spared! If lionesses talk together in the desert, that’s how they should talk about lions. » The whole audience opened their eyes wide. Victorine didn’t need to be asked twice to tell her secret: a woman is not ashamed to love the man who fights for her. She told her father the short and full story of the month that had just passed, Daniel’s admirable discretion, his courage, and all the talent that love had given him. M. de Guéblan was thinking to himself that he had taken too much care of his affairs and too little of his house, Mme Michaud thought she was foolish, M. Lefébure was rubbing his eyes, and Mlle de Marsal no longer knew whether to be frightened or scandalized. Victorine’s passion was flaring up like those fires that have smoldered for several days on board a ship: you open a hatch and everything catches fire. Her father would have preferred to learn this great mystery in a smaller company. Such a confidence, made before witnesses, was equivalent to a formal engagement. But the Marquis had had time to appreciate Daniel, and, son-in-law for son-in-law, he preferred him to M. de Marsal. The latter, very probably, would not quibble over being called M. Fert de Guéblan! As for Mme Michaud, the most volatile of women, she passed in the blink of an eye from surprise to enthusiasm. I would not swear that her forty-year-old heart had remained insensitive to the beauty of the young sculptor. Taking him as a husband was out of the question; however ridiculous one may be, one is always afraid of ridicule. But nothing prevented her from making him her nephew: That’s always it! she thought. However, she reminded her niece of that marvelous stranger she had spoken of a fortnight before, that young man as noble as a king, as rich as a Hamburg banker, as handsome as… But it’s him! replied Victorine in the most convinced tone; be I’m sure he hid his name and birth from us. Nature is not so mistaken as to give the face of a prince to an unfortunate little sculptor. Just wait until he comes back, he’ll tell us everything. As for his fortune, could you believe that it was as modest as he said? Didn’t you see how the gold falls from his hands? Didn’t you notice, last night, with what disdain he picked up the money he had earned? These illusions did not hold up in the face of the appearance, the speech and the dress of Daniel’s mother. She in no way resembled the dowager queen of the country of Fert, and when she came, with tears in her eyes, to ask for news of her son, we recognized that same Franche-Comté accent which distinguished Perrochon’s language. The main caretaker of the Ternes enclosure is a feeder who sells milk and eggs to his entire colony. When her daughter, a pretty, fair-haired child, brought Madame Fert some cream for her lunch, she said to her: How late Monsieur Daniel came, Madame Fert! You must have been in bed. –When? –But yesterday evening. –You’re mistaken. –I’m sure of it; it was I who pulled the string. He took away a large green package like that of Monsieur Moreau, the fencing master. Two minutes later, the poor mother had recognized the absence of two swords in her son’s workshop. She dressed herself in her best clothes and ran to the Château de Guéblan. Ah! my dear sir! she said to the marquis, that’s just what I feared. I told him: There’s a beautiful young lady there, beware of falling in love! But he’s such a great, mentally ill person! Victorine didn’t think of criticizing the figure or the dress of her future mother-in-law; she had only one idea: He loves me! he told his parents! And to embrace the good old woman, who apologized for such a great honor. Monsieur
Lerambert junior finally arrived, and everyone was reassured, except for Mademoiselle de Marsal. She took the young messenger’s carriage and had herself driven to Montrouge. Hardly had she left when a cabriolet stopped in front of the steps, and a footman came to tell Madame Michaud that Monsieur Fert was asking her for the favor of a private interview. Wait, she said to everyone; it’s to me he wants to confess. She found him in the hall, took him by the hand, and led him to a boudoir on the first floor. Ah! Monsieur, she called to him with the brusqueness you know, I’m hearing some great things about you! Daniel was much more moved than when he said to Monsieur de Marsal: « Shoot! » He humbly replied: Forgive me, madame: I swear to you that if I had not been rudely provoked, I would have had more respect for the laws of hospitality. Besides, it was not I who hurt M. de Marsal: he hurt himself. –We know. Afterwards? –I understand, madame, that following such an outburst, I am no longer permitted to remain under your roof. I have therefore come to take leave of you, and to thank you for a welcome for which I will retain eternal gratitude . –What does he say? –Fortunately your bust is finished, and, with your permission, I will execute the marble at home. –Speak then! Afterwards…. –Afterwards, madame, afterwards…. –You have something to ask me? –It is true, madame; and since you are so kind as to encourage me…. –Certainly I encourage you! –Well! Madam, I have a note to pay tomorrow, or rather Monday, and if you would be so kind as to advance me a thousand francs towards the price of this bust, I… –Granted! Granted! Afterwards? –Afterwards, madame, I have nothing left to do but thank you. –Come now! I know everything. –What, madame? –Everything! You love my niece! –Me, madame? But I swear I don’t! –I swear I do! Why did you risk your life on the short straw against M. de Marsal? –Because he insulted me. –Why did you want to get yourself killed by that awful M. Lefébure? –Because he was getting on my nerves. –What a pretty reason! Be honest, and agree between us that you are not a mentally ill person for Victorine? –Madame, I want to die if…. –Don’t die; she loves you! Daniel was sincerely sorry. Tears welled up in his eyes. My dear Madame Michaud, he said, I have been slandered! On my mother’s head …. –She is here, your mother, and she has confessed to us that you love Victorine. Is he obstinate, good God! Since she is being given to you in marriage! « The joke, madame, is a little harsh, and whatever my faults, I don’t think I deserved it…  » « You have deserved my niece’s hand, I tell you, and you shall have it! What a lovely misfortune! Do you find her ugly?  » « No, madame, she is admirably beautiful.  » « That’s very fortunate!  » « The first thought that came to me when I saw her was that I would rather paint her portrait than any other.  » « Is what you say kind to me? But no matter! She will give you your portrait, big child, and may God grant that we have six copies! » « No incredulity can stand against such language. » Daniel allowed himself to be gently persuaded. « Happiness is a guest who needs no announcement: it always finds doors open. » On February 1, 1856, under a beautiful winter sun, M. Fert de Guéblan and his young wife were strolling in an American car through the park paths. Daniel was driving himself. As they passed under the round oak, Victorine signaled him to stop. Do you remember? she said. This is where the introduction took place. I was sitting there, under my beautiful old oak, whose leaves were less russet than today, and I was devouring a book of the greatest interest, the story of the incomparable Atalanta: I never saw the end of it.
« And why?  » « Did you give me time? Here it is, this unfortunate little book. Do you want me to read you a chapter?  » « Thank you, my dear love. Put your hands back in your muff.  » « Only the last sentence? » « What’s the use, if I don’t know the beginning?  » « You don’t know what you’re missing. » Listen: They married, and from them was born a prince as handsome as the day. –True? –There are only truths in that little book. GORGEON. As he had won second prize for tragedy at the Conservatoire, he soon made his debut at the Odéon. It was, if I remember correctly, in January 1846. He played Orosmane on the feast of Saint Charlemagne, and was booed by all the schoolboys on the left bank. None of his friends were surprised: it is so difficult to succeed in tragedy when one is called Gorgeon! He should have taken a battle name, and called himself Montreuil or Thabor; but what can you do? He clung to the name Gorgeon as to the only inheritance his parents had left him. His fall made little noise; he did not fall from a great height. He was twenty years old, had few friends, and no patrons in the newspapers. Poor Gorgeon! However, he had a fine moment in the fifth act, stabbing Zaire with a lion’s roar. No director wanted to hire him for tragedy; but an old vaudevillian who wished him well got him into the Palais-Royal. He made up his mind philosophically: After all, he thought, vaudeville has a better future than tragedy, because tragedies will no longer be written as beautiful as those of Racine, and everything leads me to believe that better verses will be rhymed than those of M. Clairville. It was soon recognized that he did not lack talent: he had the comic gesture, the happy grimace, and the pleasant voice. Not only did he understand his roles, but he put his own into them. The public took a liking to him, and the name of Gorgeon circulated pleasantly among men. It was repeated that Gorgeon had made a place for himself between Sainville and Alcide Tousez, and that he happily combined finesse and silliness. This metamorphosis from Orosmane to Jocrisse took eighteen months. At twenty-two, Gorgeon earned ten thousand francs, not counting the fires and profits. One does not advance so quickly in diplomacy. When he believed himself to be at the height of fame and fortune, he lost his head a little: we do not know what we would have done in his place. The astonishment of seeing furniture in his room and louis in his drawer troubled his reason. He led the life of a young man and learned to play lansquenet, which unfortunately is not difficult. No one would ruin themselves at gambling if all games were as complicated as chess. The poor boy persuaded himself, looking at his casket, that he was a son of family. When he left the theater on the 3rd of the month, with his salary in his pocket, he said to himself: I have a good man of a father, a hardworking, studious, and virtuous Gorgeon, who earned me a few crowns on the stage of the Palais-Royal: it’s up to me to make them roll! The crowns rolled so well that the year 1849 surprised him in the midst of a small crowd of creditors: he owed twenty thousand francs, and he was a little surprised: What! he said, at the time when I earned nothing, I owed nothing to anyone! The more I earn, the more I owe. Would people of all types of income have the privilege of putting their man in debt? His creditors came to see him every day, and he sincerely regretted disturbing so many people. It is not true that artists wallow in debt like fish in water. They are sensitive, like all other men, to the boredom of avoiding certain streets, of flinching at the ring of a doorbell, and of reading hieroglyphics on stamped paper. Gorgeon more than once regretted the time of his beginnings, that time, that happy time when the grocer and the milkmaid refused Orosmane any credit. One day, as he meditated sadly on the embarrassments that wealth brings, he cried out: Happy is he who has only the bare necessities! If I earned just enough to meet my needs, I would not commit follies, therefore no debts, and I could move freely in all the neighborhoods. Unfortunately, I have more than I need: it is this cursed superfluity that ruins me. I need five hundred francs a month, everything else is too much. Give me old parents to support, sisters to provide for, brothers to send to college! I will be enough for everything, and I will still find the means to pay my debts. But I am the only one of my race, and I have no family responsibilities. If only I married! He married, to save money, the most coquettish girl in his theater and in Paris. I am sure that you have not forgotten her, that little Pauline Rivière, whose wit and kindness served as a parachute for seven or eight vaudevilles. She spoke a little too quickly, but it was a pleasure to hear her stammer. Her small eyes, for they were small, seemed at times to spread over her whole face. She never opened her mouth without showing two rows of sharp teeth like those of a young wolf. Her shoulders were those of a person of all body types, a four-year-old child, pink and plump. Her black hair was so long that they made her play a Swiss girl expressly to display it. As for her hands, they were an object of curiosity like the feet of a Chinese woman. At seventeen, with no other fortune than her beauty, and no other ancestors than the head of the theater cheerleader, this pretty baby had almost metamorphosed into a marquise. A descendant of the Knights of the Round Table, a very marquis and a very Breton, had taken it into his head to marry her. It was a close call, and without the intervention of the Dowagers of Huelgoat and Sarravent, the matter was settled. But the anger of dowagers, as Solomon says, is terrible; especially that of Breton dowagers. Pauline remained Pauline as before; her marquisate fell into the water, and she was not so distressed as to go looking for it. She continued to lead five or six little loves of all conditions at great speed on the royal road to marriage. It was then that Gorgeon came to harness himself to his chariot. She received him as she received all her suitors, serious or frivolous, with a good, impartial grace. He was tall and well-built, and did not look too much like a porcelain brought back from China. He had neither puffy eyes, nor a hoarse voice, nor a blue chin. His demeanor was almost severe. He dressed like a member of the Comédie-Française. He paid his court. From the first day, Pauline found him well. After a month, she found him very well: that was in February 1849. In March, she found him better than all the others; in April, she fell in love with him, and made no secret of it. He expected to see his rivals rejected; but Pauline was in no hurry. The preparations for the wedding were made in the midst of a congestion of lovers that made Gorgeon impatient. He was not well anywhere, neither at home nor at Pauline’s: at her place, he found his rivals; at his, his creditors. He asked her one day quite pointedly if these gentlemen would not soon be sighing elsewhere. Are you jealous? she said. « No, although I made my debut in Orosmane.  » « In town?  » « On stage. But I would play it in town if I were forced to.  » « Be quiet; you have a bad eye. » Why would you be jealous? You know very well that I love you. Jealousy is always a little ridiculous, but in our situation it is absurd. If you start it once, you will have to be jealous of the directors, the authors, the journalists and the public. The public courts me every night! What does that do to you? I love you, I tell you, I prove it to you by marrying you; if that were not enough for you, it is because you would be difficult. The marriage took place in the last days of April. The public had paid Gorgeon’s debts and the bride’s basket. It was the affair of two benefit performances. The first was given at the Odéon; the second, at the Italiens. All the theaters of Paris wanted to take part: Gorgeon and Pauline were loved everywhere. They
married in Saint-Roch, gave a grand luncheon at the restaurant, and left in the evening for Fontainebleau. The first quarter of their honeymoon lit up the tall trees of the old forest. Gorgeon was radiant like a king’s son. Around him, spring was bursting the buds of the trees. Everything was turning green, except the oaks, which are always late, as if their grandeur tied them to the shore. Marijuana and moss spread like a soft carpet under the feet of the two lovers. Pauline stuffed her pockets with white violets. They went out at dawn and returned at night. In the morning, they frightened the lizards; in the evening, the buzzing cockchafers threw themselves at their heads. On May 1, they went to the Sablons festival, which lasts from dusk to dawn under the tall beeches. All the young people of the area were there; the little bourgeois women of Moret, the winegrowers of Sablons and Veneux, and the beautiful girls of Thomery, peasants with white hands, whose job is to watch over the vines, thin out the bunches and remove the small grapes that bother people of all body types. All these young people admired Pauline; they took her for a local lady of the manor. She danced with all her heart until three o’clock in the morning, although she had a little sand in her boots. Then she walked, arm in arm with her husband, to the waiting carriage. They returned more than once their eyes to the festival that was taking shape behind them like a large red stain. The music of the minstrels, the sound of sugar whistles, the squeaking of rattles and the detonations of firecrackers reached their ears confusedly. Then they walked in a charming silence, lit by the moon and interrupted from minute to minute by the voice of a nightingale. Gorgeon felt moved; he let fall two good big tears. I swear to you that an elegiac poet could not have wept more, and the proof is that Pauline began to laugh and sob: How they would have fun, she said, if they saw us like this! It seems to me that we are two hundred leagues from the theater.  » Unfortunately, we will return there in three days.  » « Bah! life is not made for crying. We will not love each other less for loving each other gaily. » Gorgeon was not jealous. When he reappeared at the Palais-Royal, he was not scandalized to hear the old actors addressing his wife informally as they were accustomed to. She was almost their adopted daughter; they had seen her as a child in the wings, and she remembered dancing on their knees. What bothered him more was seeing Pauline’s old admirers in the orchestra, opera glasses in hand. He had distractions, and his memory failed him several times; this was noticed, and he was a little mocked by his comrades. It was said that he was playing a supporting role. In the special language of the theater, the supporting roles are the traitors, the jealous, and all the characters in a dark mood. A bad joker asked him if he was not thinking of returning to the Odéon. He took all the gibes quite well; but he could not stomach the young men with opera glasses. Fortunately, he thought, these gentlemen will not come either on stage or to my house. Every time he went up to his dressing room by the dirty little staircase on the Rue Montpensier, he reread with a certain satisfaction the decree of the police prefect which forbade the entry of any person outside the theatre backstage. As a precaution, he accompanied Pauline whenever she played without him, and he took her with him whenever he played without her. Pauline asked for nothing better. She was coquettish and she readily threw smiles into the audience, but she loved her husband. The summer passed well; the orchestra was half empty; the handsome young men who so greatly displeased Gorgeon spent their leisure time in Baden-Baden, Biarritz or Trouville; M. de Gaudry, that Breton marquis who had been forced to marry Pauline, spent the fine season on his estate. The young couple lived in profound peace, and the honeymoon did not fade. But in December all of Paris had returned, and the Society of Dramatic Artists everywhere advertised a grand ball for February 1st. Gorgeon was commissioner and his wife was patroness. All the men who were even remotely interested in the theater ran to the patronesses to buy tickets; the beautiful saleswomen vied with each other in zeal, and it was a race to see who could get the most tickets. Gorgeon saw clearly that it would be impossible for him to keep his door closed. There was a tremendous coming and going on his stairs, and the yellow gloves wore out the cord of his bell . What could he do? He had to make himself a prisoner at home, he was rehearsing in two rooms, and his time was taken from noon to four o’clock. He rarely returned home without meeting some handsome gentleman who came downstairs humming a tune from his vaudevilles. When he found one near his wife, he had to put on a brave face, everyone being exquisitely polite to him. M. de Gaudry came to get a ticket, then he came back to get a second one for his brother. Then he lost his, and came back to get a third; then he wanted a fourth for a young man from his club, and so on until he got to twelve. Gorgeon drew his sword, he was first-rate with a pistol, but what good was it? M. de Gaudry had not never failed, quite the contrary. He congratulated him, he adulated him, he praised him to the skies; he said to him: My dear Gorgeon, you are an admirable joker. You have no equal when it comes to amusing people. Only yesterday you made me laugh so much that I had tears in my eyes. How comical you are, my dear Gorgeon! If the poor man had become angry, not only would everyone have agreed with him, but it would have been said that he had become mentally ill. Pauline loved him as much as on the first day, but she was very happy to see a few people and to hear compliments. The love of a few well-born and well-bred men did not bore her; she played with fire like a woman who is sure not to get burned. She kept a record of the passions she had experienced; She carefully noted the nonsense that had been said to her, and she laughed about it with her husband, who hardly laughed. When Gorgeon proposed outright that she close her door to the gallants, she sent him far away: I don’t want, she said, to make you ridiculous. Don’t worry; if one of these gentlemen were to dare to overstep the mark, I would know how to put him in his place. You can rely on me to look after your honor. But if we made a splash, all of Paris would know about it, and you would be singled out. He was imprudent enough to allude to these debates in front of his comrades at the theater. Gorgeon was teased; he was given the nickname Gorgeon the Tiger. He softened, he refrained from any remarks, he put on a good face to those who displeased him the most. His friends changed their tune, and called him Gorgeon-Dandin. No one would have thought of mocking him to his face, but that cursed name of Dandin hovered in the air around him. As he was about to enter the stage, he heard it behind a backdrop. He looked, and saw no one, the speaker had disappeared. He wanted to run further, impossible! unless he missed his entrance. Do not look for supernatural causes for this persecution; it is easily explained by the frivolity of Pauline, who was only a child, and by the natural malice of actors, who want to laugh at all costs. The jeers soured Gorgeon’s mood, and the good harmony of the household was broken. He quarreled with his wife. Pauline, strong in her innocence, stood up to him. She said: I do not want to be tyrannized. Gorgeon replied: I do not want to be ridiculous. Their mutual friends disagreed with the husband. If he was so touchy, why take a wife to the theater? He would have done better to marry a little bourgeois woman, no one would have gone to his house to chase her up. In the midst of these debates, the anniversary of their wedding passed without either of them having thought about it. They noticed it the next day, each on their own; Gorgeon said to himself: She must love me very little to have let it slip by. Pauline thought that her husband probably regretted having married her. M. de Gaudry, who was never far away, sent Pauline a bracelet. Gorgeon wanted to return it, with a thank you of his own; Pauline intended to keep it. Because you didn’t think of giving me a present, she said, you like to find fault with the slightest attentions from my friends! « Your friends are rogues whom I will correct.  » « You would do better to correct yourself. » I have believed until now that there were two classes of men above the others, gentlemen and artists: I now know what to think of artists. « You may think what you please, » said Gorgeon, taking his hat, « but it is no longer I who will provide a text for your comparisons. « Are you leaving?  » « Goodbye.  » « Where are you going?  » « You will find out.  » « Will you return?  » « Never. »
Pauline was four months without news of her husband. They looked for him everywhere, even in the river. The public missed him; his roles were distributed to others. His wife mourned him sincerely; she had never ceased to love him. She kept her door closed to everyone , sent back the Marquis’s bracelet with horror, and rejected all consolations from men. She detested his coquetry and said, pulling at her beautiful hair: I killed my poor Gorgeon! Towards the end of September, a rumor spread that Gorgeon was not dead, and that he was the delight of Russia. Could the rascal be alive? thought the inconsolable Pauline. If it is true that he is well and that he made me cry for no reason, he will pay me for my tears. She tried to laugh; but the pain was stronger, and everything ended in a redoubled weeping. Eight days later, an anonymous friend, who was none other than M. de Gaudry, sent him the following article, cut from the Journal de Saint-Pétersbourg: On September 6 (18), in the presence of the court and before a brilliant assembly, the rival of Sainville and Alcide Tousez, the famous Gorgeon, made his debut at the Théâtre Michel, in La Sœur de Jocrisse. His success was complete, and the young defector from the Palais-Royal was showered with applause, bouquets, oranges and gifts of all kinds. One or two more such acquisitions, and our theater, already so rich, will no longer have an equal in Europe. Gorgeon is engaged at the rate of six thousand silver rubles and a profit per year. His penalty, which is insignificant, will be paid from the funds of the imperial theaters. Pauline no longer wept: the pretty widow entered the category of abandoned women. All of Paris agreed to pity her and blame her husband. After a year of living together, to leave an adorable woman about whom he had never had cause to complain! To leave her to her own devices at the age of eighteen! And all this without reason, without pretext, purely on a whim! What excuse could he offer? Jealousy? Pauline was the model of women; she had endured all the seductions without losing a feather of her wings. To add a final touch to the picture, it was said that Gorgeon was abandoning his wife without resources: as if she did not earn enough to live at the Palais-Royal! Her husband had left her all the money he possessed and some fine furniture, some of which she sold when she moved to the rue de la Fontaine-Molière, on the fourth floor. She inspired deep compassion in all the men, and especially in M. de Gaudry and his neighbors at the orchestra. But she did not allow any good soul in straw gloves to come and pity her at home. She lived alone with a cousin her own age who served as her cook and chambermaid. Her father was neither of much help nor much consolation to her: he drank. In her retirement, she wasted herself in useless projects and contradictory resolutions. Sometimes she wanted to sell everything she owned, embark for Petersburg and throw herself into the arms of her husband; sometimes she found it more just and more conjugal to go and tear out his eyes. Then she changed her mind; she wanted to stay in Paris, set an example of all virtues, edify the world by her widowhood and deserve the name of Penelope of the Palais-Royal. Her imagination also suggested other whims , but she did not stop there. Gorgeon, shortly after his debut, wrote her a letter full of tenderness. His anger had cooled, he no longer had his rivals before his eyes, he saw things sanely; he forgave, he asked forgiveness, he called his wife to him; he had found her an engagement. Unfortunately, these words of peace arrived at a time when Pauline, surrounded by three good friends, was stirring up her intolerance against her husband. Gorgeon, who was counting on a good response, was offended and wrote no more. In November, Pauline’s resentment, fueled by her friends, was still in all its strength. One morning, around eleven o’clock, she was dressing in front of her mirror to go to a rehearsal. Her cousin had gone to the market, leaving the key in the door. The young woman was taking off her last curls when she turned around with a cry of terror. She had seen in the mirror a little man, exceedingly ugly and furred up to his eyes with sable. Who are you? What do you want? Get out! One doesn’t come in like that…. Marie! she cried so hastily that her words fell one on top of the other. I don’t love you, you don’t please me, replied the little man, visibly embarrassed. « Do I love you? Get out!  » « I don’t love you, madame; you don’t….  » « Insolent! Get out or I’ll call; I’ll cry ‘thief!’ I’ll throw myself out of the window!  » The little man piteously clasped his hands and replied in a supplicating voice: « Forgive me; I didn’t mean to offend you. » I have traveled seven hundred leagues to propose something to you; I have just come from Saint Petersburg; I speak French badly; I have prepared what I was to say to you, and you have intimidated me so much…. He sat down, and passed a cambric handkerchief over his completely bare forehead. Pauline took advantage of this moment to throw a shawl over her shoulders. Madam, replied the good man, I do not love you… , excuse me, and do not be angry any more. Your husband has played a vile trick on me. I am Prince Vasilikof; I have a million in income, but I am only of the fourteenth class of nobility, having never served. –That is quite indifferent to me. –I know it well, but I had prepared what I was to say to you, and…. I continue. You see, madame, that I am neither very handsome, nor what one might call in the first flush of youth. Moreover, as I have grown older, I have acquired certain habits, or, if you will, certain nervous tics, which make people in society try to ridicule me . This did not prevent me from falling in love with a charming person from a very good family, and from asking her to marry me. Her parents had accepted me because of my fortune, and Varvara (her name is Varvara) was on the point of giving her consent, when your husband had the infernal idea…. –To marry her? –No, but to make a caricature of myself on the stage and amuse the whole town at my expense. My marriage failed. After the first performance, I received my dismissal; at the second, Varvara became engaged to a little Finnish colonel who has not even a hundred thousand livres a year. –Well? –Well, I have resolved that I will take revenge on Gorgeon; and, if you want to help me, your fortune is made. I do not love you, although you are very pretty, and no woman can please me, except Varvara. The proposals I bring you are therefore perfectly honorable, and I beg you not to be surprised at what may be extraordinary in them. Would you like to leave for Saint Petersburg in an excellent post-chaise? You will find, on the Place du Palais-Michel, a hundred steps from the theater, a magnificent hotel which belongs to me and which I give you. The people of the house are my mougicks who will obey you blindly. The head waiter and the steward are French; you are free to take with you a chambermaid and a lady-in-waiting; you will have two carriages at your command. At the theater, I have rented for you a proscenium on the ground floor. I will provide for all the expenses of your house; my steward will count you every month the sum which you indicate to him; Finally, the day before you leave Paris, I will deposit with your notary as much capital as you please to ask for. I am not talking about a trifle of fifty to sixty thousand francs, but a fortune of two to three hundred thousand: you will only have to speak. Pauline had had time to recover. She crossed her arms, and looked her strange interlocutor in the face: My dear sir, she said to him, who do you take me for? « An honest woman shamefully abandoned, and who has a thousand reasons to take revenge on her husband.  » « There is some truth in what you say; but if I were to take revenge on Gorgeon, I would do it as an honest woman and I would not take a partner.  » « Madame, allow me to repeat to you again, at the risk of displeasing you, that I do not love you; on the other hand, I respect you very much, and I consider you to be a very honest woman. There is more : I esteem the character of your husband , although he treated me very cruelly. If I believed that he was indifferent to his honor, I would seek another form of revenge. Here is what I ask of you, in exchange for an assured fortune. Do not be alarmed too soon. You will owe me neither love, nor friendship, nor gratitude, nor complaisance. » I will promise, on my honor, not to set foot in your house. We will never go out together; you will be free to do what you want; you will receive whomever you wish, without excluding your husband. All I ask… Pauline opened both ears. All I ask is a seat next to you, in your box, for eight performances. Gorgeon made the court laugh at my expense: I want to put the laughers on my side. The young woman knew her husband’s proud temper well enough to know that such revenge would be cruel. She thought of the terrible consequences that could follow. You are mentally ill, she said to the prince; don’t you have a hundred other ways of punishing my husband? How difficult it would be for you to send him to Siberia for two or three months! « Very difficult. In your country, there are prejudices about Siberia. Besides, despite my title and my fortune, I am not a personage, because I have never served. » « I hear. » She thought for a few minutes, then continued: « In two words, here is the deal you are proposing to me: a fortune in exchange for my reputation!  » « Not even that; I have no interest in losing your honor. You will have the right to publish the conditions of our deal at any time. For my part, I undertake to justify myself to the best of my ability; I am only concerned with the dramatic twist. Once the effect has been produced, you will regain your reputation. You see, then, that for you this is only a role to play. I engage you for eight performances, at a price that no director ever offered to an actress, and I leave you free to tell everyone: It’s a comedy. » The debates continued until Marie’s return. Pauline asked for time to deliberate, and the matter was postponed for eight days. In the meantime, the young woman’s friends unanimously advised her to accept the prince’s offers. Some were delighted to see her leave, others were delighted to know she was compromised. She was told of her husband’s unforgivable wrongs, the sweetness of revenge, the singularity of such a new role, and the profits she would derive from it. She listened with a distracted ear, as if thinking of something else. Explain who will the oddities of the female heart! What would you think if I told you that she accepted these absurd proposals, and that she consented to this unfortunate journey, because she was dying to see her husband again? What proves that she was disinterested is that she refused Prince Vasilikof’s money. It took prayers to make her accept the dazzling outfits which were, so to speak, the costumes of her role. She left on December 1st, by post, with her cousin Marie. She arrived on the 15th, in a magnificent sleigh bearing the prince’s coat of arms . The whole town was moved by this; Vasilikof had arrived two days before, and no one was unaware of the great news, neither the Russians, nor the French, nor Gorgeon. Pauline was already repenting her escapade. The eagerness of the Public curiosity gave her food for thought. All the men she saw in the street or on the Prospect reminded her of her husband’s appearance; all men look alike under their coats. The prince gave her two weeks to recover; she was then given another week’s extension, because Gorgeon was not performing. She looked at the posters as the condemned, during the Terror, read the executioner’s lists. She enjoyed neither her clothes, nor her house, nor the prodigious luxury with which she was surrounded. Her drawing room was considered one of the marvels of Petersburg. The walls were of white Paros, and the furniture of old Beauvais with figures. The windows had no curtains other than six large ponceau camellias, trained in espaliers. In the middle, under an enormous rock crystal chandelier , was a circular divan shaded by a weeping camellia, a true horticultural miracle. Pauline barely paid any attention to it. Her cook, an illustrious Provençal whom Vasilikof had stolen from a prince-bishop of Germany, exhausted all the resources of his imagination in vain; Pauline was no longer hungry. She was, however, a little too greedy when she ate dinner at the Café Anglais with her husband. On January 6 (new style), the notice that was being taken to her house informed her that Gorgeon was playing that evening in Madelon’s Dinner. It seemed to her that she had received a blow to the heart. She wanted to write to her husband. She had a tender and supplicating letter delivered to Gorgeon’s house in which she faithfully recounted everything that had happened. I don’t know what to become of it, she said; I am alone, without support or advice. The day we were married, you promised me help and protection; come to my aid! She slipped into the envelope a small dried flower kept between two pages of her Molière; it was a white violet from Fontainebleau. Unfortunately, the man who delivered this letter to Gorgeon wore Prince Vasilikof’s livery. That evening, at seven o’clock, Pauline let herself be dressed like the dead. She vaguely hoped that the prince would take pity on her and spare her his company; but as she got out of the carriage, in front of the little door of the vestibule, she saw him running eagerly and radiant. She followed him, staggering, to her box, which was at the level of the footlights, and threw herself into an armchair, without seeing that the entire audience was staring at her. The theater was full; the Russians were celebrating Christmas. The management allows the tenant of a box to pile in as many people as it can physically contain. The hemicycle was literally carpeted with heads, all looking at Vasilikof’s box. When the curtain rose, Pauline felt dizzy. She saw before her an abyss full of fire, and she clung to the balustrade to keep from falling into it. Gorgeon had armored himself with courage and indifference. He had hidden his pallor under a thick layer of rouge, but he had forgotten to paint his lips; they became livid. He was sufficiently self-possessed to preserve his memory, and he played his part to the end. The evening was stormy. The audience at the Michel Theatre is composed of two very distinct elements: the great Russian world, which understands French, and the French colony. There are more than six thousand French people in Petersburg, and all of them, whoever they may be, tutors, merchants, hairdressers, or cooks, are crazy about the theatre. The Russians had admired Vasilikof’s coup d’état, and even those who had applauded his caricature two months earlier had turned to his side. The French idolized Gorgeon; they covered him with applause. The Russians responded with ironic applause, clapping their hands at every turn and out of place. After the curtain fell, they called him back so obstinately that he was forced to return. Pauline was more dead than alive. The next day, they gave The Misanthrope and The Auvergnat. Gorgeon was truly admirable in the role of Mâchavoine. The French had brought crowns; the Russians threw ridiculous crowns at him. A bad joker shouted to him: « Bless you madame! » He was crying with rage when he returned to his dressing room. There he found a letter from Pauline, a letter wet with tears. He trampled it underfoot, tore it into a thousand pieces and threw it into the fire. After these two horrible evenings, Pauline, terrified by her husband’s silence, begged the prince to spare her the rest. Wasn’t Gorgeon punished enough? Wasn’t Vasilikof avenged enough? The prince was conciliatory: he remitted half of Gorgeon’s sentence, and decided that the day after tomorrow, after the performance, Pauline would be free to spend her time as she saw fit. « You have to be fair, » he said, « Gorgeon has played me eight times in two weeks; but evenings like this must count double. » After the fourth, honor will be satisfied. A very cheerful vaudeville by Messrs. Xavier and Varin, La Colère d’Achille, was to be given for two consecutive days . It was almost a piece of circumstance. Achille Pangolin is a modern Sganarelle who believes he finds everywhere the proofs of his imaginary disgrace. Everything is a matter of suspicion to him , from the meowing of his cat to the interjections of his parrot. If he finds a cane in his house, he believes it has been left by a rival, and he tears it to pieces before recognizing that it is his own. He forgets his hat in his wife’s room; he returns, he finds it, he seizes it, he crushes it: he searches in every corner for the owner of this cursed hat. In the excess of his despair, he wants to end his life, and he loads a pistol to blow out his brains. But a scruple stops him on such a fine path. He wants to destroy himself, but he doesn’t want to hurt himself: death attracts him and pain bothers him. To reconcile his horror of life and his tenderness for himself, he stands in front of a mirror and harms himself in effigy. The Wrath of Achilles was a resounding success at the Théâtre Michel. All the words carried! Two hours before the performance, Gorgeon had refused to receive a visit from his wife. He played the rage au naturel. Unfortunately, the theater’s pistol was a venerable relic taken from the props store: it misfired. A lord of the orchestra cried out in bad French: Bad luck! After the performance, as the stage manager apologized, Gorgeon said to him: It’s nothing. I have a pistol at home, I’ll bring it tomorrow. He came with a double-barreled pistol, a fine weapon, indeed . You see, he said to the stage manager: if the first shot misses, I have the second. He played with a zest that had never been seen in him. In the last scene, instead of aiming at the ice, he turned the cannon toward his wife and killed her. He then blew his own brains out. The performance was interrupted. This adventure caused a great stir in Petersburg. It was Prince Vasilikof who told it to me. Would you believe, he said to me in closing, that this Gorgeon and this Pauline had married for love? That’s how you are in Paris! THE MARQUISE’S MOTHER. Chapter 16. This is an old story that will soon be ten years old. On April 15, 1846, the following announcement was published in all the major newspapers of Paris : A young man of good family, a former student of a government school , having studied mining, smelting, forging, accounting, and timber exploitation for ten years, would like to find honorable employment in his specialty. Write to Paris, poste restante at MLMDO The owner of the beautiful forges of Arlange, Mrs. Benoît, was then in Paris, in her small hotel on the rue Saint-Dominique; but she never read the newspapers. Why would she have read them? She was not looking for an employee for her forge, but a husband for her daughter. Mrs. Benoît, whose mood and appearance have changed considerably over the past ten years, years old, was at that time a perfectly amiable person. She
was delightfully enjoying that second youth which nature does not grant to all women, and which extends between the fortieth and fiftieth year. Her somewhat majestic plumpness gave her the appearance of a very full-blown flower, but no one seeing her thought of a faded flower. Her small eyes sparkled with the same fire as at twenty; her hair had not turned white, her teeth had not lengthened; her cheeks and chins shone with that vigorous, shiny, and down-free freshness which distinguishes the second youth from the first. Her arms and shoulders would have been the envy of many young women. Her foot had been a little crushed under the weight of her body, but her small, pink, plump hand still shone amidst the rings and bracelets like a jewel among jewels. The inner side of such an accomplished person corresponded exactly to the outer side. Madame Benoît’s mind was as lively as her eyes. Her face was no more radiant than her character. Laughter never dried up on that pretty mouth; her beautiful little hands were always open to give. Her soul seemed made of good humor and good will. To those who marveled at such sustained gaiety and such universal benevolence, Madame Benoît replied: What do you expect? I was born happy. My past contains nothing but pleasantness, except for a few hours long forgotten; the present is like a cloudless sky; as for the future, I am sure, I have it. You see that one would have to be mad to complain about fate or take a dislike to the human race! As there is nothing perfect in this world, Madame Benoît had a fault, but an innocent fault, which had never harmed anyone but herself. She was, although ambition seems a privilege of the ugly sex, passionately ambitious. I regret not having found another word to express her only failing; for, to tell the truth, Madame Benoît’s ambition had nothing in common with that of other men. She aimed neither at fortune nor honors: the forges of Arlange brought in a fairly regular income of one hundred and fifty thousand francs; and, as for the rest, Madame Benoît was not a woman to accept anything from the government of 1846. What was she pursuing then? Very little. So little, that you would not understand me if I did not first recount in a few lines the youth of Madame Benoît née Lopinot. Gabrielle-Auguste-Éliane Lopinot was born in the heart of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, on the banks of that blessed stream in the Rue du Bac, which Madame de Staël preferred to all the rivers of Europe. His parents, bourgeois up to their chins, sold novelties under the sign of the Bon Saint Louis, and quietly accumulated a colossal fortune. Their well-known principles, their enthusiasm for the monarchy and the respect they displayed for the nobility kept them a clientele throughout the suburb. M. Lopinot, as a well-trained supplier, never sent a bill unless it had been requested. It has never been heard of him taking a recalcitrant debtor to court. Thus the descendants of the crusaders often went bankrupt at the Bon Saint Louis; but those who pay, pay for others. This estimable merchant, surrounded by illustrious people, some of whom robbed him and others of whom allowed themselves to be robbed, gradually came to uniformly despise his noble clientele. He was seen very humble and very respectful in the shop; but he would get up as if by spring when he returned home. He astonished his wife and daughter with the freedom of his judgments and the audacity of his maxims. Madame Lopinot almost crossed herself devoutly when she heard him say after drinking: I am very fond of marquises, and they seem good people to me; but at no price would I want a marquis for a son-in-law. This was not Gabrielle-Auguste-Éliane’s plan. She would have been quite happy with a marquis, and, since each of us must play a role in this world, she preferred the role of marquise. This child, accustomed to seeing carriages pass by like peasant children to seeing swallows fly, had lived in perpetual amazement. Prone to infatuation, like all young girls, she had admired the objects that surrounded her: hotels, horses, dresses and liveries. At twelve, a great name exercised a sort of fascination on her ear; at fifteen, she felt seized by a profound respect for what is called the Faubourg Saint-Germain, that is to say, for this incomparable aristocracy which believes itself superior to all mankind by right of birth. When she was old enough to marry, the first idea that came to her was that a stroke of fortune could bring her into those hotels whose carriage entrances she gazed at, seat her beside those radiant grand ladies whom she dared not look in the face, involve her in those conversations which she believed to be more witty than the finest books and more interesting than the best novels. After all, she thought, it doesn’t take a great miracle to lower the insurmountable barrier before me. It’s enough that my figure or my dowry should win over a count, a duke, or a marquis. Her ambition was aimed above all at the marquisate, and for good reason. There are dukes and counts of recent creation who are not received in the suburb; while all marquises without exception are old stock, for since Molière they have stopped making them. I suppose that if she had been left to her own devices, she would have found the man she wanted for a husband without a lantern. But she lived under her mother’s wing, in profound solitude, where M. Lopinot came from time to time to offer her the hand of a lawyer, a notary, or a stockbroker. She disdainfully refused all matches until 1829. But one fine morning she realized that she was twenty-five years old, and she suddenly married M. Morel, ironmaster at Arlange. He was an excellent commoner, whom she would have loved like a marquis if she had had the time. But he died on July 31, 1830, six months after the birth of her daughter. The beautiful widow was so outraged by the July Revolution that she almost forgot to mourn her husband. The embarrassments of the succession and the care of the forges kept her in Arlange until the cholera of 1832, which took away her father and mother in a few days. She then returned to Paris, sold the Bon Saint Louis, and bought her mansion on the rue Saint-Dominique, between the Count of Preux and the Marshal of Lens. She settled with her daughter in her new home, and it was not without secret joy that she saw herself lodged in a mansion of noble appearance, between a Count and a Marshal. Its furniture was richer than that of her neighbors, its greenhouse larger, its horses of better breed and its carriages better suspended. However, she would have gladly given greenhouse, furniture, horses and carriages to have the right to be a neighbor at all. The walls of her garden were no more than four meters high, and, on quiet summer evenings , she heard people talking, sometimes at the Count’s, sometimes at the Marshal’s. Unfortunately, she was not allowed to take part in the conversation. One morning, her gardener brought her an old cockatoo that he had taken from a tree. She blushed with pleasure when she recognized it as the Marshal’s parrot. She would not allow anyone the pleasure of returning this beautiful bird to her mistress, and, at the risk of having her hands torn to pieces by the pecks, she carried it back herself. But she was received by a person of all kinds, a steward, who thanked her worthily on the doorstep. A few days later, the children of the Count of Preux sent a brand new balloon into her flowerbeds. Fearing that she would be thanked by a steward, she returned the balloon to the Countess through one of her servants, with a very witty letter in the most aristocratic style. It was the children’s tutor, a real pedant, who replied. The pretty widow (she was then in the height of her beauty) was displeased by his advances. She sometimes said to herself in the evening, when she returned home: Fate is so ridiculous! I have the right to enter as much as I want at number 57, and I am not allowed to enter for a quarter of an hour at 59 or 55! Her only acquaintances in the world of the suburb were a few of her father’s debtors, from whom she took care not to ask for money. As a reward for her discretion, these honorable people sometimes received her in the morning. At midday, she could undress: all her visits were made. The forge manager tore her away from this intolerable life by calling her back to her business. Arriving in Arlange, she found there what she had searched in vain throughout Paris: the key to the Faubourg Saint-Germain. One of her country neighbors had been sheltering the Marquis de Kerpry, a captain in the 2nd Dragoon Regiment, for three months. The Marquis was a man of forty, a bad officer, a bon vivant, always lively, insured against old age, and famous for his debts, his duels, and his pranks. Moreover, rich in his pay, that is to say, excessively poor. I have my marquisate! thought the beautiful Éliane. She paid court to the Marquis, and the Marquis did not hold it against her. Two months later, he sent his resignation to the Ministry of Battle and took the widow of M. Morel to church. In accordance with the law, the marriage was posted in the commune of Arlange, in the 10th arrondissement of Paris, and in the captain’s last garrison. The groom’s birth certificate, drawn up during the Terror, bore only the common name of Benoît, but a certificate of public notoriety was attached attesting that within living memory Mr. Benoît was known as the Marquis de Kerpry. The new marquise began by opening her salons in the nearby Faubourg Saint-Germain: for the suburb extends to the borders of France. After dazzling all the squires in the area with her luxury, she wanted to go to Paris to take revenge on the past; and she told her husband of this plan. The captain frowned and declared bluntly that he was happy in Arlange. The cellar was good, the cuisine to his taste, the hunting magnificent; he asked for nothing more. The Faubourg Saint-Germain was as new to him as America: he had no relatives, friends, or acquaintances there. Good heavens! cried poor Éliane, must I have stumbled upon the only marquis on earth who doesn’t know the Faubourg Saint-Germain! This was not her only disappointment. She soon realized that her husband drank absinthe four times a day, not to mention another liqueur called vermouth, which he had brought from Paris for his own personal use. The captain’s reason did not always resist these repeated libations, and when he lost his senses, it was most often to fly into a rage. His vivacity spared no one, not even Éliane, who came to wish for nothing more than to be a marquise. This event happened sooner than she had hoped. One day the captain was ill from having behaved too well the day before. His head was heavy and his eyes were aching. Sitting in the largest armchair in the living room, he was sadly polishing his long red mustache. His wife, standing by a samavar, was pouring him enormous cups of tea one after the other. A servant announced Monsieur le Comte de Kerpry. The captain, sick as he was, suddenly stood up. Didn’t you tell me you were without relatives? asked Éliane. little surprised. « I didn’t know, » replied the captain, « and I want the devil to take me… But we’ll see. Let me in! » The captain smiled disdainfully when he saw a young man of twenty appear, almost childlike in his beauty. He was of reasonable height, but so frail and delicate that one might have thought he hadn’t finished growing. His long blue eyes looked around them with a sort of fierce timidity. When he saw the beautiful Éliane, his face flushed like an espalier peach. The timbre of his voice was soft, fresh, limpid, almost feminine. If it weren’t for the brown mustache that delicately traced itself on his lip, one might have taken him for a young girl disguised as a man. « Sir, » he said to the captain, half turning towards Éliane,  » although I don’t have the honor of being known to you, I have come to speak to you about family matters. » Our conversation, which will be long, will doubtless contain some tedious chapters, and I fear that madame will be bored by it. « You are wrong to be afraid, sir, » continued Éliane, puffing herself up. « The Marquise de Kerpry wants and must know all the family affairs, and, since you are a relative of my husband…  » « That is what I still do not know, madame, but we will decide it soon, and in front of you, since you wish it and monsieur seems to consent. » The captain listened with a dazed air, without really understanding. The young count turned towards him as if to take him to task. « Sir, » he said, « I am the eldest son of the Marquis de Kerpry, who is known throughout the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and who has his mansion on the Rue Saint-Dominique.  » « What luck! » cried Éliane giddily. The count responded to this exclamation with a cold and ceremonious bow. He continued: Sir, as my father, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather were only children, and there have never been two branches in the family, you will excuse the astonishment that seized us the day we learned from the newspapers of the marriage of a Marquis de Kerpry. « So I had no right to marry? » asked the captain, rubbing his eyes. « I am not saying that, sir. We have at home, besides the family tree, all the papers that establish our right to bear the name Kerpry. If you are our relative, as I desire, I have no doubt that you also have in your hands some family papers.  » « What’s the use? Paperwork proves nothing, and everyone knows who I am.  » « You are right, sir, it doesn’t take many parchments to establish solid proof; A birth certificate is enough, with… –Sir, my birth certificate bears the name Benoît. It is dated 1794. Do you understand? –Perfectly, sir, and, despite this circumstance, I still hope to be your relative. Were you born in Kerpry or in the surrounding area? –Kerpry?… Kerpry? Where do you take Kerpry? –But where it has always been: three leagues from Dijon, on the road to Paris. –Eh! sir, what does it matter to me? Since Robespierre sold the family property…. –You have been misinformed, sir. It is true that the land and the château were put up for sale as émigré property, but they did not find a buyer, and HM King Louis XVIII deigned to return them to my father. The captain had gradually emerged from his torpor; this last incident finally woke him up. He walked with clenched fists towards his frail adversary and shouted in his face: My little sir, I have been the Marquis of Kerpry for forty years, and whoever takes my name from me will have a strong wrist. The count turned pale with anger, but he remembered the presence of Eliane, who was stretched out, devastated, on a chaise longue. He replied in a casual tone : My great sir, although the judgments of God are out of fashion, I would willingly accept the means of conciliation that you offer me, if I alone were interested in the matter. But I represent here my father, my brothers and an entire family, who would have reason to complain if I were to play their interests at stake. Allow me then to return to Paris. The courts will decide which of us usurps the name of the other. Thereupon the count did a pirouette, bowed low to the supposed marquise, and returned to his post-chaise before the captain could think of detaining him. The samavar was no longer boiling; but it was not tea that was at issue between the captain and his wife. Éliane wanted to know whether or not she was the Marquise de Kerpry. The impetuous Benoît, who had just used up his remaining patience, forgot himself to the point of beating the prettiest woman in the department. These were the circumstances to which Madame Benoît was referring when she spoke of a few unpleasant hours long forgotten. The Kerpry vs. Kerpry trial was not long in coming. Although Mr. Benoît repeated through his lawyer that he had always heard himself called Marquis de Kerpry, he was ordered to sign Benoît and pay the costs. The day he received this news, he wrote the young count a letter of gross abuse, signed Benoît. The following Sunday, around eight o’clock in the morning, he returned home on a stretcher, with ten centimeters of iron in his body. He had been in a fight, and the count’s sword had broken in the wound. Éliane, who was still asleep, arrived just in time to receive his apologies and farewells. If this adventure had not caused a terrible scandal, the province would not be the province. The neighboring squires displayed a comical exasperation: they would have liked to take back from the false marquise the visits they had made to her. The widow did not hear the noise around her: she was weeping. It was not that she regretted anything about M. Benoît, whose faults, small and large, had forever corrected her from marriage; but she deplored her betrayed confidence, her lost hopes, her narrowed horizon, her ambition condemned to impotence. If you want to paint the state of her soul, imagine a fakir to whom it is made known that he will never see Wichnou. From the depths of her retreat, she cast over the Faubourg Saint-Germain the glances of Eve driven from earthly paradise. One morning as she wept under a bower of flowering clematis (it was in the summer of 1834), her daughter ran past her. She stopped the child by her dress and kissed her five or six times, reproaching herself for thinking less of her daughter than of her sorrows. When she had kissed her thoroughly, she looked at her face and was satisfied with the examination. At four and a half years old, little Lucile announced a fine and aristocratic beauty. Her features were charming; the attachments of her feet and hands, exquisite. Éliane searched in vain in her memory, she did not remember having seen a single child of such a distinguished type playing at the Tuileries. She gave a last kiss to the little one, who took a flight. Then she wiped her eyes, and since then she has not cried. But where was my head? she murmured, resuming her happiest smile. All is not lost; everything can be arranged; everything is arranged; it is good; it is for the best! I will go in; it is a matter of patience; It will take time, but these proud doors will open before me. I will not be a marquise, no; I have been married enough, and I will not be caught out again. The marquise, there she is, stamping her feet in the strawberries. I will choose a marquis for her, a good one: my experience must be of some use. I will be the real mother of a real marquise! She will be received everywhere, and so will I; celebrated everywhere, and so will I; she will dance with dukes, and so will I… I will watch her dance, unless these gentlemen of 1830 make it a law to leave mothers in the cloakroom! From that moment on, her only concern was to prepare her daughter for the role of marquise. She dressed her like a doll, taught her the various grimaces that make up grand manners, and taught her to curtsy, while her governess taught her the alphabet. Unfortunately, little Lucile was not born in the Rue du Bac. She woke to the song of birds and not to the rumble of carriages, and she saw more villagers in blouses than footmen in livery. She did not listen to the lessons in aristocracy that her mother gave her any better than her mother had listened to M. Lopinot’s diatribes against the marquises. The minds of children are formed by everything that surrounds them; they have their ears open to a hundred tutors at once; The sounds of the countryside and the sounds of the street speak to them much louder than the most intractable pedant or the most rigorous father. Madame Benoît preached in vain: the first pleasures of the young marquise were to fight with the little girls of the village, to roll in the sand in a new dress, to steal hot eggs from the henhouse, and to be dragged by a person of all body types, a Scottish hound that she pulled by the tail. Watching her play in the garden, an attentive observer would have guessed the blood of goodman Morel and Father Lopinot. Her mother lamented that she found in her neither pride, nor vanity, nor the simplest gesture of coquetry. She watched with feverish impatience the day when Lucile would despise someone, but Lucile opened her heart and her arms to all the good people around her, from Margot the cowherd to the blackest worker in the forge. When she grew up, her tastes changed a little, but not in the way her mother had desired. She took an interest in the garden, the orchard, the flock, the farmyard, the factory, housekeeping, and even (why not say so?) cooking. She kept an eye on the fruiterer, she studied the art of making jams, she worried about pastry. Strange thing! The people of the house, instead of growing impatient with her supervision, were very grateful to her for it. They understood, better than Madame Benoît, how wonderful it is for a woman to learn early order, care, a wise and liberal economy, and those obscure talents which make the charm of a house and the joy of the guests to whom she opens her door. Madame Benoît’s lessons had borne strange fruits. However, they were not entirely lost. The governess was stern out of love for her daughter, impatient out of love for the marquisate, and angry by temperament. She lost patience so often that Lucile became afraid of her mother. The poor child heard herself repeating every day: You know nothing about anything, you understand nothing about anything, you are so lucky to have me! She naively persuaded herself that she was very lucky to have Madame Benoît. She believed herself, in all honesty, to be foolish and incapable; and, instead of being sorry for it, she satisfied all her tastes, gave in to all her inclinations, was happy, loved, and charming. Madame Benoît was so eager to enjoy life and the suburb that she would have married her daughter at fifteen if she could have. But Lucile at fifteen was still only a little girl. The awkward age extended beyond the ordinary limits for her. It is noteworthy that village children are less precocious than those in towns: it is doubtless for the same reason that wildflowers lag behind those in gardens. At sixteen, Lucile began to take shape. She was still a bit of a nobody of all body types, a bit ruddy, a bit awkward; however, her clumsiness, her thinness and her red arms were not scarecrows to frighten off love. She resembled those chaste statues that the German sculptors of the Renaissance carved cathedrals in stone; but no fanatic of Greek art would have disdained to play the role of Pygmalion in her presence. Her mother said to her one fine morning, while closing five or six trunks: I am going to Paris to look for a marquis whom you will marry. « Yes, Mama, » she replied without objection. She had known for years that she was to marry a marquis. A single worry preoccupied her, without her ever having dared to reveal it to anyone. In the living room of a friend of her mother’s, Madame Mélier, while leafing through an album of costumes, she had seen a colored engraving representing a marquis. He was a little old man dressed in a costume from the time of Louis XV, short breeches, shoes with gold buckles, a sword with a steel hilt, a hat with plumes, a coat with sequins. This image was so well lodged in one of the compartments of her memory that it presented itself at the mere name of marquis, and the poor child could not persuade herself that there were other marquises on earth. She believed them all drawn after the same model, and she wondered with dread how she could prevent herself from laughing while holding her husband’s hand. While she abandoned herself to these innocent terrors, Madame Benoît set out in search of a marquis. She soon found one. Among her father’s debtors with whom she had maintained relations, the most amiable was the old Baron de Subressac. Not only was he always there for her, but he even did her the honor of coming to lunch at her house, alone. These familiarities were not compromising, for a man of seventy-five. She asked him one day, between the last two glasses of a bottle of Tokay wine: Baron, do you sometimes attend to weddings? « Never, charming, since there have been houses for that. » The Baron called her paternally charming.  » But, » she continued without flinching, « what if it were a question of doing two of your friends a favor?  » « If you were one of them, madame, I would do anything you ordered me to do.  » « You are at the heart of the matter. I know a sixteen -year-old girl, pretty, well-bred, who has never been to boarding school, an angel! But, in fact, I don’t see why I should be secretive: she is my daughter. Her dowry, first of all, is this mansion: I mention it only for the record; plus a forest of four hundred hectares; plus a forge that works all by itself and brings in one hundred and fifty thousand francs in the worst years. On top of that, she will have to give me an income of fifty thousand francs, which, added to a few little things I have, will be enough for me to live on. We say then: a hotel, a forest and a hundred thousand francs income. –That’s very nice. –Wait! For very delicate reasons, which I am not permitted to divulge, my daughter must marry a marquis; we are not asking for money; we will be very lenient about age, intelligence, appearance, and all external advantages; what we want is a proven marquis, of good stock, well-connected, known throughout the suburb, and who can present himself proudly everywhere, with his wife and family. Do you know, Monsieur le Baron, a marquis whom you would love enough to wish for a pretty wife and a hundred thousand livres income? –My faith! Charming, I could not find two, but I know one. If your daughter accepts, she will marry a man I love like my son. But I’m giving you much better than you ask for. –True? –First of all, he’s young: twenty-eight. –That’s a detail, let’s move on. –He’s very handsome. –Vanity of vanities! –Your daughter won’t say the same. He’s full of wit. –A useless commodity in a household. –A serious education: a former student of the École Polytechnique! –Very well. –Furthermore, he has done special studies which will not be… –That’s very good; but the solid, Baron! –Ah! As for fortune, he fits the program too exactly. Ruined from top to bottom. He resigned upon leaving the School, because …. –I forgive him, Baron. –The last time he came to see me, the poor fellow was thinking of looking for a position. –His position is all found; but tell me, dear Baron, is he really noble? –Like Charlemagne. So that’s what you call solid! –No doubt. –One of his ancestors almost became King of Antioch in 1098. –And his relatives? –The whole suburb. –A well-known name? –Like Henry IV. He’s the Marquis d’Outreville. You must know that…. –I think so. Outreville!… it’s a pretty name. We’ll put a marble plaque above the carriage entrance: HÔTEL D’OUTREVILLE. But will he want my daughter? A misalliance! –Hey! Charming, a man doesn’t make misalliances. I understand that a girl called Mlle de Noailles or Mlle de Choiseul might be reluctant to change her name to Madame Mignolet. But a man keeps his name, so he loses nothing. Besides, Gaston doesn’t have the prejudices of his caste. I ‘ll see him when I leave here, and tomorrow at the latest I’ll give you news of him. –Do better, my excellent baron: if he’s well disposed, come tomorrow, without ceremony, to dine with him. Does he have family papers? A genealogical tree? –No doubt. –See to it that he brings them! –Are you thinking about it, charming? I’ll come one of these days to decipher this whole tome for you. See you soon! The Baron walked slowly towards number 34 Rue Saint-Benoît. It was a bourgeois house whose principal tenant had furnished a few rooms to house the students. He went up to the second floor and knocked on a small numbered door. The Marquis, in a work jacket, opened the door. He was indeed a handsome young man and a very desirable husband. He was a little tall, but so well-built that no one thought of criticizing him for being a few inches overweight. His feet and hands testified that his ancestors had lived without doing anything for several centuries. His head was magnificent: a high, broad forehead crowned with black hair that spontaneously fell back; blue eyes of great gentleness, but deeply set beneath powerful eyebrows; a proudly arched nose whose fine wings quivered at the slightest emotion, a slightly wide mouth and charming teeth; a thick, shiny black mustache, which framed beautiful red lips without hiding them; a complexion both brown and pink, the color of work and health. The baron took stock of this with a quick glance, while squeezing Gaston’s hand, and he murmured to himself: If the little girl isn’t happy with the present I’m giving her!… The young marquis’s face was open, but not radiant. On examining it closely, one would have seen something mobile and restless, the perpetual agitation of an unfulfilled desire, the tyranny of a dominant idea. Perhaps, on further investigation, one would even have recognized the seal of predestination that marks the face of all inventors. Gaston had left his work to open the door for his old friend. He was busy washing with Indian ink a large plate of drawings at the bottom of which was written: Plan, section and elevation of an economical blast furnace. His table was cluttered with drawings and memoirs whose titles, half hidden by each other, were of a nature to pique the curiosity of even the most indifferent. One saw there, or rather one guessed at the following superscriptions: On a new, more fusible steel.–New system of blast furnaces.–Most frequent accidents in mines, and means of preventing them.–Means of casting the wheels of…. in one piece.–Rational use of fuel. in….–New steam bellows for the forges…. When one had cast one’s eyes on this table, one saw nothing else in the room. The small boarder’s bed, the six wool damask chairs , the Utrecht velvet armchair, the small bookcase overloaded with books, the stopped clock, the two vases of artificial flowers under their globes, the framed portraits of La Fayette and General Foy, the red curtains with yellow battens, everything disappeared before this heap of labors and hopes. My child, said the baron to the marquis, it is eight whole days since I saw you: how are your affairs? « Good news, sir: I have a position. A few days ago , I had a notice placed in the newspapers. One of my old school friends who manages the mines of Poullaouen, in Finistère, guessed my name under the initials; He spoke to the administrators about me, and I was offered a position worth 3,000 francs, to be taken up on May 1st. It was about time! I was starting my last hundred-franc note. I will leave in five days for Brittany. Poullaouen is a sad country, where it rains ten months of the year, and you know how much I love the sun. But I will be able to continue my studies, practice some of my theories, carry out my experiments on a large scale: that’s quite a future! –See how unlucky I am! I came to propose something else to you. –Always say: I haven’t answered yet. –Do you want to get married? The Marquis made a perfectly sincere face. You are very kind to take care of me, he said to the old man, shaking both his hands: but I have never thought of such things. I don’t have the time; you know my work; I still have a million things to find; Science is jealous. « Ta, ta, ta! » the Baron continued, laughing.  » What! You are twenty-eight years old, you live here like a Carthusian; I have come to offer you a good, pretty, well-bred girl, a sixteen-year-old angel; and this is how you receive me!  » A flash of youth lit up in the depths of Gaston’s beautiful eyes, but it was only a matter of a moment. « Thank you a thousand times, » he replied, « but I have no time. Marriage would impose duties on me contrary to my tastes, unbearable occupations….  » « It would impose nothing on you at all. Your future father-in-law has been dead for more than fifteen years; the family consists of a mother-in-law, an excellent bourgeois, despite her pretensions. To give you an idea of ​​her manners, I will tell you that she has asked me to take you to dinner at her house tomorrow, if this marriage does not displease you. You see , there is no ceremony! » « Thank you, sir, but I have Poullaouen on my mind. » « What a man! You are assured by contract of ownership of a hotel on Rue Saint-Dominique, of a forest of four hundred hectares in Lorraine, and of a hundred thousand pounds of income. Will they give you as much at Poullaouen?  » « No, but I shall be in my element there. Would you offer a fish a hundred thousand francs of income to live out of water?  » « Well! Let’s not speak of it any more. I wanted to say that to you in passing. Now I have some visits to make; goodbye. You will not leave without saying goodbye to me? » The baron advanced to the door, smiling maliciously. As he was leaving, he turned and said to Gaston:  » By the way, the hundred thousand francs of income are the income from a magnificent forge .  » Gaston stopped him on the threshold: « A forge! I’m marrying! » Will you allow me to go and get you tomorrow for dinner at my mother-in-law’s? « No, no. Marry Poullaouen!  » « My old friend!  » « Well, so be it. See you tomorrow. » Chapter 17. After the Baron’s departure, Gaston d’Outreville threw himself into the armchair, buried his head in his two hands, and reflected so long that his Indian ink had time to dry. « What is the purpose,  » he wondered, « of a bourgeois woman offering me her daughter and a hundred a thousand francs a year? I know a good many young people who, in his place, would have been less embarrassed. They would soon have constructed a love story to explain the whole mystery. But Gaston lacked conceit, like Lucile lacked coquetry. The only idea that came to him was that Madame Benoît wanted a well-bred blacksmith for a son-in-law. She has heard of me, he thought; someone will have told her a word about my research and my discoveries; I was quite common in the suburb, at a time when I was not yet aware of the stupidity and vanity of worldly relations. It is obvious that this factory needs a man: a mother and her daughter added together do not make a master ironworker. Who knows if the work is not suffering, if the enterprise is not in danger? Well, morbleu! we will save it. Outreville to the rescue! as our ancestors used to say, those heroic craftsmen who forged their own swords. With that, he refilled his Indian ink and conscientiously finished his wash. The next day, he strolled briskly through the Luxembourg Gardens until lunchtime. In the afternoon, he shut himself in a reading room, where he leafed through all the daily newspapers and all the monthly magazines: he hadn’t committed such debauchery for a long time. It’s lucky, he thought, that people don’t get married often: they wouldn’t have to work much. At five o’clock, he began to dress, which was a long one: he was expecting to dine with his bride-to-be. Six-thirty struck when he entered the Baron’s. He hoped to learn from his old friend how Madame Benoît had taken it upon himself to choose him as her son-in-law; but the Baron was as mysterious as an oracle. He respected his pride too much to tell him the truth. Arriving at the little hotel on the Rue Saint-Dominique, they saw two workmen perched on a double ladder, busy measuring something above the carriage entrance. « Guess, » said the Baron, « what those good people are doing up there! They are measuring a marble plaque on which they will write: Hôtel d’Outreville.  » « Good joke! » replied Gaston, crossing the threshold . « You don’t believe me? Come back here. Hey there! Monsieur Renaudot; isn’t that you I see?  » « Yes, Monsieur Baron, » said the marble mason, who went downstairs at once. « How long do you think it will take to install the plaque?  » « But not before a month, Monsieur Baron, because of the coat of arms that must be carved above it.  » « What! You only asked the Marquis de Croix-Maugars for a fortnight ?  » « Ah! Monsieur Baron, the coat of arms of Outreville are much more complicated. » –That’s right. Good evening, Monsieur Renaudot. Well, skeptical? –Now, my old friend, what fairy tale are you leading me through? –It’s like Puss in Boots, since there’s a marquis…. –Much obliged! –And Sleeping Beauty, since the future marquise, who has never seen you, is sleeping innocently soundly in the depths of your forest of Arlange, waiting for the king’s son to come and wake her.
–What! Isn’t she here? –We’ll let her know that you missed her. Madame Benoît welcomed her guests with open arms. Informed in time of the success of the affair, she had ordered an archbishop’s dinner. Little time was wasted on introductions: acquaintances are better made at table. The conversation began pleasantly enough between the mother-in-law and the son-in-law. Gaston spoke of Arlange, Madame Benoît answered faubourg; she launched into questions of nobility, he made a detour and returned to the forges, each one obstinately following his favorite idea. This obstinate struggle enlightened no one, not even the excellent baron, who gave himself up to the sole pleasure of his age, and did honor to dinner more than to conversation. Madame Benoît did not guess the passion of her son-in-law, and Gaston did not did not suspect his stepmother’s mania. He said to himself: One of two things: either Madame Benoît avoids, out of bourgeois vanity, talking about the subject that interests her most; or she is afraid of boring the Baron, who is not listening to us. Madame Benoît thought at the same time: The poor fellow thinks he is being polite by talking to me about things I know; he does not know that I know the suburb as well as he does. Weary of the battle, Gaston abandoned the question of iron and the metallurgical industry, and Madame Benoît was able to question him on anything she wanted. She knew by heart the ledger of her father’s store, that prosaic golden book of the Parisian nobility, and she was not unaware of any of the names that d’Hozier would have recognized. To ensure that Gaston was able to drive her everywhere, she subjected him, without his knowledge, to an examination from which he naively escaped to his credit. She rejoiced in the depths of her ambition to learn that Gaston had dined here, that he had danced there; that he was addressed informally in such and such a house, that he was scolded in such and such another; that he had played at the age of ten with such and such a duke and galloped at the age of twenty with such and such a prince. She inscribed in her memory on tablets of stone and bronze all the relatives, near and far, of her son-in-law. If she had forgotten a single one, she would have felt she was missing out on her own family. After coffee, they took a walk in the garden: the night was magnificent and the sky lit up as if for a festival. Madame Benoît showed the Marquis the neighboring properties. Here, she said, we have the Count of Preux, do you know him? « He is my uncle in the Breton fashion. » The glorious bourgeoise triumphantly inscribed this unexpected relative.  » There, » she continued, « is the Maréchale de Lens. It would be a curious encounter if she were also a member of the family.  » « No, madame, but she was the godmother of a brother I lost.  » « Good! » thought Madame Benoît. « If the person of all types of stewardship corps is still in this world, we will see to it that he is driven out. Such a son-in-law is a treasure! » If Gaston had thought to say, « Let’s jump over the wall and surprise the Maréchale, » Madame Benoît would have jumped. But the baron, who readily went to bed after dinner, sounded the retreat, and Gaston followed him. A good brougham, bearing Madame Benoît’s cipher, was waiting for them at the door. My dear child, said the baron as soon as the door was closed, I dined prodigiously, and you? But one doesn’t dine at your age. What do you think of your stepmother? « I find her just what I could wish for; she is a vain and hollow woman, who will not meddle with the forge and who will not come to thwart my experiments.  » « So much the better if she pleased you. As for you, you have conquered her : she told me so with a sign while I kissed her hand. I think we can propose marriage.  » « Already?  » « But that is how matters are conducted in all fairy tales . When the king’s son had awakened Sleeping Beauty, he married her immediately, without even going to seek permission from her parents.
« As for me, unfortunately, I need no one’s permission .  » « If you find that tomorrow is a little early, we will wait a few days. I will abide by your orders. » By the way, you must lend me your birth certificate and a few other essential documents. « Whenever you wish. I have all my papers in a bundle; you can take what you need.  » The carriage stopped in front of the Baron’s house. Gaston also got out and continued on foot, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. The next day, M. de Subressac came to collect the birth certificate and , as if absentmindedly, took away all the papers that accompanied it. He entrusted the file to Madame Benoît, who, out of an abundance of caution, submitted it to the glasses of a paleographer archivist, a former student of the School of Charters and assistant curator at the Royal Library. The authenticity of the smallest rag was recognized and certified. The baron then made the official request, which was accepted by acclamation. The radiant widow remained uncertain for some time whether she would marry her daughter in Paris or whether she would move this grand ceremony to the small church of Arlange. On the one hand, it was very flattering to occupy the high altar of Saint-Thomas d’Aquin and disturb half the suburb for the wedding mass; but there was revenge to be had, and it was important to erase the last traces of the Marquisate of Kerpry from the countryside. Madame Benoît decided on Arlange, but with the firm intention of returning to Paris soon. She wrote to her coachbuilder: Mr. Barnes, I will leave on May 5 to marry my daughter, who is marrying, as you know, the Marquis d’Outreville. As soon as I leave, you will have all my carriages taken away to be refurbished and the doors painted with the enclosed coat of arms. Furthermore, I beg you to make me as soon as possible a carriage in the old style, wide, high and of the noblest shape you can. The coachman and footmen will be powdered white; regulate the harmony of the colors accordingly . She then thought that it would be her daughter who would introduce her to society, and this idea inspired in her a resurgence of maternal love. She wrote to Lucile, whom she was not accustomed to much address: My dear child, my beautiful darling, my adored Lucile, I have found the husband I was looking for: you will be Marquise d’Outreville! I chose him from among a thousand, so that he would be worthy of you: he is young, handsome, full of spirit, of an ancient and glorious nobility, and allied to the most illustrious families of France. Dear little one! Your happiness is assured and mine too, since I live only through you. You will soon come to Paris, you will leave this dreadful Arlange, where you have lived like a beautiful butterfly in a black chrysalis, you will be welcomed and celebrated in the greatest houses; I will lead you from pleasure to pleasure, from triumph to triumph: what a spectacle for a mother’s eyes! Madame Benoît was as light as a titmouse; her feet no longer touched the ground; her face had rejuvenated by ten years; one thought one saw a flame around her head. She sang while dancing, she cried while laughing, she had the itch to stop passers-by to tell them of her joy; She found herself greeting the ladies she met in armorial carriages. She was so tender with the Marquis, she enveloped him in such a network of little attentions and kindnesses, that Gaston, who for a long time had been no one’s spoiled child, took a real liking to his mother-in-law. He rarely left her , drove her everywhere, and was never bored with her, although she avoided all conversation about the forges. Two days before his departure, Madame Benoît took him for the day. She took him first to Tahan’s, where she chose before him a large rosewood box, long, wide, and flat, and divided inside into unequal compartments. What is this strange chest for? asked Gaston as he left. « That? It’s my daughter’s wedding basket. » « But, madame, » the Marquis continued with the pride of the poor, « it seems to me that it is mine…  » « It seems very wrong to you. My dear Marquis, when you are Lucile’s husband , you will give her as many presents as you please: from the day after the ceremony, you will have carte blanche; but, until then, it is up to me alone to give her anything. I find impertinent the custom which allows a girl’s fiancé to give her fifty thousand francs worth of clothes and jewels before the marriage and when she still has nothing. Say, if you like, that I have ridiculous prejudices, but I am too old to get rid of them. » Today we are going to choose my wedding presents: in a month I will come, if you wish, to help you choose yours. The reasoning was easy to refute; but it was deduced in such a caressing tone and such a maternal voice, that Gaston found no reply. For three days he had been in negotiations with a moneylender about this basket. He allowed himself to be taken to twenty merchants and chose fabrics, shawls, laces and jewels. No diamonds: Madame Benoît shared hers with her daughter. The mother-in-law took leave of her son-in-law on May 5, giving him an appointment for the 12th. She undertook to have the first publication made at the church and the town hall, while Gaston pushed his shirtmaker and his suit with a sword in his loins. In the confusion inseparable from a departure, she inadvertently packed up all the papers from the house in Outreville. Lucile’s first thought, on seeing Madame Benoît again, was that her mother had been changed in Paris. Never had the pretty widow been so indulgent. Everything Lucile did was well done, everything she said was well said; she behaved like an angel and spoke with gold. The tender mother could never part with such an accomplished daughter; she would follow her everywhere and leave her only at death. She said to her, as in the story of Ruth: Your country will be my country. Lucile opened her heart to this new mother, and learned with great satisfaction that there were many young, well-made marquises who did not wear sequined clothes. The day after Madame Benoît’s arrival, her friend, Madame Mélier, came to announce the impending marriage of her daughter Céline to M. Jordy, a refiner in Paris. M. Jordy was a very wealthy young man, and Madame Mélier did not hide her joy at having established her daughter so well. Madame Benoît responded vigorously with the announcement of Lucile’s impending marriage to the Marquis d’Outreville. Congratulations were expressed on both sides, and several embraces were exchanged. When Madame Mélier had left, Lucile, who had been close to the future Madame Jordy since childhood, cried out: « What joy! If I go to Paris, I will be very close to Céline; she will come to my house; I will go to her house; we will see each other every day .  » « Yes, my child, » replied Madame Benoît, « you will go to her house in your large emblazoned carriage, with your footmen powdered white; but as for receiving her at your house, that’s another matter. One owes oneself to one’s world, and one is a bit of a slave to the society in which one lives. When a duchess comes to your salon, she mustn’t rub shoulders with the wife of a refiner, of a man who sells sugar loaves!… That’s no reason to pout. Come now! You will receive Céline in the morning, before noon. –God! what a stupid country this Paris is! I prefer to stay in my poor Arlange, where one can see one’s friends at any hour of the day. Madame Benoît replied sententiously: « A wife must follow her husband. » The great event that was being prepared at Arlange was soon known throughout the surrounding area. Madame Mélier was on a visiting tour, and, since she was announcing a marriage, it cost no more to announce two. In each of the houses where she stopped, she repeated a ready-made phrase that she had arranged when leaving Madame Benoît’s: Madame, I know too well the interest you take in our whole family not to have wanted to announce to you myself the marriage of my dear Céline. She is marrying, not a marquis, like Mlle Lucile Benoît, but a handsome and good manufacturer, M. Jordy, who is, at thirty-three, one of the richest refiners in Paris. Madame Mélier had good horses; her carriage and the news she carried traveled ten leagues before nightfall. The local Faubourg Saint-Germain began by pitying poor Lucile and making fun of Madame Benoît, who had found a second marquis for her daughter de Kerpry. Madame Benoît learned without batting an eyelid everything that was being said about her. She took the papers of the Outreville family and had herself taken to the home of a very gossipy and influential old baroness, Madame de Sommerfogel. Baroness, she said to her in the most respectful tone, although I have only had the honor of receiving you two or three times, it did not take much more for me to appreciate the infallibility of your judgment, your in-depth knowledge of high society matters, and all the high qualities of observation and experience that are in you. You know how I had the misfortune to be deceived by a noble thief who had stolen, I know not where, an honorable name. Today, a seemingly magnificent match presents itself for my daughter , the Marquis d’Outreville. I have in my hands her genealogical tree and all the parchments of her family, right down to the most remote period. But I am only a poor, undiscerning bourgeois ; it has been cruelly proven to me, and I no longer dare to think for myself. Will you allow me, Madame la Baronne, to submit to you all the documents entrusted to me, so that you may judge them without appeal and in the last resort? This little speech was not clumsy; it flattered the Baroness’s vanity and piqued her curiosity. Madame de Sommerfogel gave the beautiful widow a warm welcome and accepted with visible satisfaction the important task entrusted to her. That same day, she summoned the ban and arrière-ban of the surrounding nobility, and Gaston’s papers passed before the eyes of twenty or thirty country gentlemen: this is what Madame Benoît had hoped for. This venerable bundle, from which exhaled a frank odor of nobility, made a profound impression on all the squires who were able to approach it with their sense of smell. Those most hostile to the mistress of the ironworks turned abruptly towards her. It was a concert of praise, in which Madame de Sommerfogel fulfilled the functions of conductor. This poor Madame Benoît will have something to console herself with, and I am very pleased; she is a deserving woman. –This Benoît, who deceived her, was a scoundrel. If we had known her at that time, we would have put her on her guard. –After all, what can one reproach her for? For having wanted to enter the nobility? That proves that in the eyes of enlightened bourgeoisie, nobility is still something. –Madame Benoît is not stupid. –Nor ugly. I don’t know what secret she has found to rejuvenate herself. –As for his daughter, she’s a little angel. –It’s been a long time since I saw her, in 1836. She was already showing promise. –From now on, we’ll see her often: she’s one of us! –She was already one by her upbringing. I have it on good authority that her mother always wanted to make her a marchioness. –Her mother will be one of us too; a daughter doesn’t go without her mother. –The marquis is arriving shortly; he’s a considerable addition to the canton’s aristocracy. –He’s said to be fabulously rich. –They’ll make a good house. –They’ll give parties. –We’ll be at the wedding. The next day, Madame Benoît’s drawing room was invaded by a horde of close friends she hadn’t seen for twelve years. The marquis arrived on May 12th at dinnertime. After searching for and finding a thousand francs, which cost him no more than sixty louis, he packed his bags, embraced the baron, and modestly took the carriage to Nancy. At Nancy, he embarked in the diligence to Dieuze; at Dieuze, he procured a cabriolet and a post horse which took him to Arlange. It is a matter of an hour when the roads are fine. As he approached the village, he felt something in his left side that was very much like a palpitation. I must say, to the shame of the scholar and the praise of the man, that he was not thinking of the forge, but of Lucile. An illustrious Englishwoman, Lady Montague, who was not much bothered by singing, was astonished that the Apollo Belvedere and some ancient Venus could remain in the museum without falling into each other’s arms. This little scandal almost occurred at the first meeting of Lucile and Gaston. These young beings, who had never seen each other, felt at the same moment that they were born for each other. From the first glance they were lovers; from the first words they were friends: youth attracted youth, and beauty beauty. There was neither trouble nor embarrassment between them: they looked at each other in the face, and reflected themselves in each other with the charming impudence of naiveté; Gaston’s heart was almost as new as Lucile’s. Their passion was born without mystery, like those beautiful summer suns that rise without clouds. I do not deny the intoxication of guilty passions that remorse seasons and that peril ennobles; but what is most beautiful in this world is a legitimate love that advances peacefully on a flowery road, with honor on its right and security on its left. Madame Benoît was too happy and too sensible to hinder the progress of a passion that served her so well. She left the two lovers that sweet freedom that the countryside allows: their first days were only a long tête-à-tête. Lucile did Gaston the honors of the house, the garden and the forest; they mounted their horses at noon, after lunch, and returned like children who have played truant, long after the dinner bell. After the forest, the forge had its turn. Gaston had the courage not to set foot there without Lucile; But when he saw that she did not despise work, that she knew the workers by name and that she was not afraid of staining her dresses, it was a redoubled joy. He gave himself up without constraint to the passion of his youth; he examined the work, questioned the foremen, advised the workshop managers, and enchanted Lucile who marveled to see him so learned and so capable. Madame Benoît, seeing them come home all powdered, or even a little blackened by the smoke, said: How happy the children are! Everything serves as a plaything! To relax from their fatigue, they sat at the bottom of the garden under an arbour of climbing roses, and they made plans. Plans of happiness and work, of love and retirement. They promised to hide their lives deep in the woods of Arlange, as birds make their nests in the thickest part of a bush or on the thickest branch of a tree. Not a word from Paris; not a word from the suburbs and the vanities of the world. Lucile was unaware that there were other pleasures; Gaston had forgotten that. One fine morning, Madame Benoît gave them great news: it was that evening that the contract was being signed. The marriage was set for Tuesday, June 1st; they would be married the day before at the town hall. As there are no pleasures without pains, the signing of the contract was preceded by an interminable dinner to which all the local people had been invited. While waiting for the arrival of the guests, Gaston and Lucile strolled in the garden in straw hats, one dressed in white coutil, the other in pink barège. As he passed within reach of the factory, Gaston was accosted by the manager, who held him in high esteem and readily asked for his advice. The three of them entered one of the workshops, and an interesting experiment began before them. When the factory clock struck four, Lucile slipped out to go and wash, saying to Gaston: « You have time to see the end; stay, I want you to! » He stayed and took such a keen interest in the spectacle that he put his hand to the work and got himself terribly dirty. At five o’clock he ran away, his sleeves rolled up and his hands black, and he appeared right in the middle of a group of guests who were walking around in full finery. Someone recognized him and called his name. It was the engineer from the saltworks of Dieuze, one of his classmates. The École Polytechnique is, like the aristocracy of the suburb, a little Freemasonry: it is found everywhere. Gaston threw his arms around his friend’s neck and kissed him on both cheeks, holding his hands in the air for fear of blackening him. There were three or four noble ladies there who were a little surprised to see a marquis made like a chimney sweep, and kissing an employee of the saltworks on both cheeks; but they were reconciled with him when he reappeared in a new suit, like the latest issue of the Journal des Tailleurs. He was to dine between Mme Benoît and the Baroness de Sommerfogel; but just as they were about to set out, the old lady had been struck with a migraine. Her apologies arrived during the soup. Their place was cleared, and Gaston found himself next to his friend the engineer. He was the center of attention; each of the guests, and especially the deputies of the nobility, expected a gracious glance and a kind word from him, just as on going to court one hopes for a little word from the king. But his two passions absorbed him too much for him to think of examining the collection of grotesques that were feasting around him. He had eyes only for Lucile, and ears only for his neighbor. The squires thought they could attract his attention by engaging in a semi-political conversation, in which the ridiculousness of old prejudices was naively displayed; a conversation full of freedom against what existed, full of regret for what had been. These speeches, whose suave absurdity would have revived a good-old marquis, buzzed around Gaston’s ears without reaching his brain. In a moment of silence, he was heard saying to the engineer: You have an underground railway in the salt marshes: how much do you pay for the rails? « In France, 360 francs for 1000 kilos. An English ton, which is 15 kilos heavier, is worth, free on board, from 11 pounds 10 shillings to 12 pounds 5 shillings.  » « I believe that by using certain economical furnaces, the plan of which I will show you, we could deliver excellent merchandise to you , well below English prices, at 200 francs a ton, perhaps less.  » « So you are always the same?  » « No, worse. Do you sometimes have cables breaking? » « Too often: we lost four men last month. » « I’ll show you a remedy for these accidents. » « Have you found a secret to prevent the cables from breaking?  » « No, but to hold the weight they drop in suspension in the shafts. I practiced this system for three years in a coal mine I managed at Saint-Étienne, and we didn’t have a single accident to deplore. All the nobility of the canton opened their ears, and Madame Benoît was dying to step on her son-in-law’s toe. The Viscount de Bourgaltroff introduced himself timidly into the conversation. Does the Marquis own coal mines in the Loire department?  » « No, sir, » replied Gaston; « I was the foreman there. » This time, Madame Benoît thought we had had enough dessert, and she got up from the table. As they passed through the drawing-room, the gentlemen whispered among themselves about the Marquis: « Singular great lord, who blackens his hands in a forge, who kisses employees, who invents machines, who sells rails cheaply, and who has been foreman for a simple coalman in Saint-Étienne! » The most indulgent, who were not in the majority, tried to defend him: « After all, » they said, « Louis XVI made locks.  » « Louis XVIII wrote Latin verses.  » « Henri III shaved his courtiers.  » « But, » a severe critic would retort, « who is it who amuses himself by breaking coal at the bottom of a hole? « Hey, sir, » replied an indulgent man, « my father burned matches in Berlin during the emigration! » Madame Benoît guessed well that Gaston was being talked about, but she was not at all worried about it. « Talk, my good friends, » she murmured between her teeth; « I forced you to recognize my son-in-law as a true marquis; you came here to humiliate yourselves before me; Benoît is forgotten, I am avenged. I am leaving in eight days for Paris, and when I set foot in Arlange again, the youngest among you will have white hair! As for Maître Gaston, who is a frank eccentric, the stay at his hotel and the society of his equals will soon have cured him of his ideas. Before the signing of the contract, the basket was brought which arranged all the women on Gaston’s side. The poor fellow was bombarded with compliments which he did not dare to defend himself against; but he promised himself to tell Lucile, and the very next day, that it was not him she should thank. When the notary unrolled his notebook, it was a question of who would sit closest to him, not to learn Lucile’s dowry, which was well known, but to hear the enumeration of the Marquis’s lands and castles . Public curiosity was deceived: M. d’Outreville was getting married with his rights. The day after this celebration, Lucile and Gaston renewed the chain of their pleasures, and the last days of the month passed like hours. On May 31, the two lovers were married at the town hall, and neither of them trembled at the moment of saying yes. When the mayor, code in hand, repeated for the hundredth time in his life that a woman must follow her husband, Madame Benoît made a small , very expressive sign to her daughter . On returning home, the triumphant mother-in-law said to the Marquis in Lucile’s presence: My son-in-law (for you are my son-in-law by law), I will give you tomorrow the first half of your income. « A little patience, my charming mother! » replied Gaston; « what do you want me to do with such a sum? Money, » he added, looking at Lucile, « is the least of my worries.  » « Hey! don’t disdain this poor money: you’ll need a lot of it in a few days in Paris.  » « In Paris! Hey! Great God! What would I do there? Get a foothold, rally your friends and relatives, prepare a circle of acquaintances for the winter and for life.  » « But, madame, I am determined not to live in Paris. It is an unhealthy city where all the women are sick, where families die out after three generations for lack of children. » Do you know that every hundred years Paris would turn into a desert, if the provinces were not so furious as to repopulate it? « It is so that it does not become a desert that we have decided to go there as soon as possible.  » « You did not tell me, mademoiselle. » Lucile lowered her eyes without answering: her mother’s presence weighed on her. Madame Benoît replied sharply: « These things can be guessed without being said. My daughter is the Marquise d’Outreville: her place is in the Faubourg Saint-Germain! Isn’t that true, Lucile?  » She answered with a hint of a « yes. » That was not the way she had said « yes » at the town hall. « To the Faubourg! » Gaston continued, « to the Faubourg! You are curious to enter the Faubourg! » Following some disappointment, the secret of which no one knew, he had conceived a violent intolerance against the Faubourg. Do you know, mademoiselle, what one sees in the suburbs? Young girls as insipid as fruit grown in a greenhouse; young women lost in dress and vanity; old women who have neither the imposing stiffness of our seventeenth-century ancestors, nor the verve and good humor of the contemporaries of Louis XV; old men dazed by whist, young people who are lively and devout who mix up the names of racehorses and preachers in conversation; among men of an age to act, a policy without conviction, regrets artificial, loyalties that are put on display in the hope that someone will be pleased to buy them: this is the suburb, mademoiselle; you know it as well as if you had seen it. What! You live in the middle of an admirable forest, surrounded by a small people who love you; I am not talking about me who adores you; you have fortune, which allows you to make people happy; health without which nothing is good; the joys of family, the amusements of summer, the intimate pleasures of winter, the present illuminated by love, the future peopled with little white and pink children, and you want to abandon everything for a life of silly compliments and absurd reverences! It is not I who will be the accomplice of such a fatal exchange, and if you go to the suburb, mademoiselle, I will not take you there! Listening to this speech, Madame Benoît had the face of a child who has built a tower of dominoes and who sees the monument crumble stone by stone. She barely found the strength to say to Lucile:  » Answer me! » Lucile held out her hand to Gaston, and said, looking at her mother: « A woman must follow her husband. » This time, the Marquis was less reserved than the Apollo of the Belvedere. He took Lucile in his arms and kissed her tenderly. Madame Benoît spent the rest of the day forming plans, giving orders, and plotting ways to get her son-in-law to Paris. The next day, after the wedding mass, she took him aside and said: « Is that your last word? You don’t want to introduce us to the suburb?  » « But, madame, didn’t you hear how willingly Lucile renounced it ?  » « And what if I didn’t renounce it? » And what if I told you that for thirty years (I’m forty-two) I’ve been tormented by the ambition to get into it? What if I told you that the desire to hear myself advertised in the salons of the Rue Saint-Dominique made me marry a contraband marquis who beat me? What if I added finally that I chose you neither for your appearance nor for your talents, but for your name which is a key to open all doors? Oh, do you think they give you a hundred thousand livres a year to waste your time working? « Pardon, madame. First of all, at the price of spotless names, I’m so vain as to believe that mine wouldn’t be expensive at two million. But that’s not the case, since you haven’t given me anything. » The forge and the forest are Lucile’s inheritance; the rent we must pay you represents the interest on all the sums you have contributed to the enterprise, and the two hundred thousand francs that the mansion on the Rue Saint-Dominique cost you . So I have everything from Lucile, and with her, I have no trouble paying it off. « But it is from me that you have Lucile; it is from me that she has you, » cried the poor woman, « and you are ungrateful if you refuse me the happiness of my life!  » « You are right, madame: ask me for everything in the world, except one thing; and I have nothing to refuse you. But I swore never to set foot in the suburb again.  » « In heaven’s name, why didn’t you tell me?  » « You didn’t ask me. » Leaving Gaston, Madame Benoît said three words to her maid and four to her coachman. She did not speak to the Marquis again about the first half of her income. That evening, at the ball, Lucile was a success of beauty and happiness. None of the women present remembered having seen a bride so frankly happy. All the young people envied Gaston’s fate, as was customary; I will not allow myself to say that anyone envied Lucile’s. At two o’clock in the morning, the dancers had left, and the bride and groom remained in the breach: Madame Benoît had judged it appropriate that they close the ball as they had opened it. This tender mother, whose brow seemed veiled by a light cloud, asked for the grace to chat for a quarter of an hour with her daughter, and she led her into the bridal chamber, on the ground floor, while Gaston, who had to shake off the dust from the ball, returned for the last time to his little apartment on the second floor. As he descended the grand staircase, he was surprised to hear the sound of a carriage trotting away . He entered the bridal chamber: it was empty. He went to Madame Benoît’s: all the doors were open and the apartment deserted. Satin shoes, two ball gowns and a great disorder of clothes littered the carpet. He rang; no one came. He went out into the vestibule and came face to face with the rustic countenance of the little groom Jacquet. He grabbed him by the blouse: Didn’t I just hear a carriage? « Yes, sir: you’d have to be deaf…  » « Who’s leaving so late, after everyone else? » « But, sir, it’s madame and mademoiselle in the sedan, with the people of all types of bodies, Pierre and Mlle Julie.  » « That’s good. Didn’t they say anything? Didn’t they leave anything for me?  » « Forgive me, sir, since madame left a letter.  » « Where is it?  » « It’s here, sir, under the lining of my cap.  » « Give it, animal!  » « It’s because I stuffed it right at the back, you see, for fear of losing it. There it is!  » Gaston ran under the lantern in the vestibule and read the following note: My dear Marquis, in the hope that love and well -understood interest will be able to tear you away from dear Arlange, I am transporting your wife and your money to Paris: come and take them!  » Chapter 18. Gaston crumpled up Madame Benoît’s note and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he turned to Jacquet, who was looking at him foolishly, rolling his cap between his hands: Didn’t Madame la Marquise say anything to you? « Mademoiselle? No, sir; she didn’t even look at me.  » « Is there a side road to Dieuze?  » « Yes, sir.  » « Is it shorter?  » « By a good quarter of an hour.  » « Saddle Forward and Indiana for me. Wait! I’ll help you. You’ll show me the way. A louis for you if we arrive before the carriage.  » Half an hour later, Jacquet in his blouse and the Marquis in his wedding clothes stopped in front of the Dieuze post office. Jacquet woke a stable boy and inquired if any horses had been requested during the night. The answer was good: no traveler had shown up since the day before. « Here, » said the Marquis to Jacquet, « here are the twenty francs I promised you. » « Sir, » the little groom timidly continued, « are the louis no longer twenty-four francs?  » « A long time ago, you simpleton.  » « It was my grandfather who always told me that. In his time, two louis and forty sous made fifty livres. » Gaston said nothing: his ear was pricked up towards Arlange. Jacquet continued, talking to himself: « How is it that such fine gold pieces have fallen to that price? » « Listen! » said the Marquis; « don’t you hear a carriage?  » « No, sir. Ah! that’s very unfortunate!  » « What? » « That the gold louis have fallen to twenty francs.  » « Take it, animal; here’s another, and be quiet. » Jacquet remained silent out of obedience; he merely said between his teeth: « It’s all the same. » If the louis were still at twenty-four francs, two louis like here, and forty sous that madame gave me, would make me just fifty livres. But times are hard, as my grandfather used to say. Gaston waited for a good hour without dismounting. At last, he feared that an accident had happened to the carriage. Jacquet reassured him: Sir, he said to him, it is perhaps quite possible that these ladies have reached the royal road without going through Dieuze. « Let’s run, » said the marquis. « It’s not worth it, go on, sir: they have nearly two hours in advance. « Well then! Take me back home by road. » The house remained as Gaston had left it. The carriage was not under the coach house, and two horses were missing from the stable. In the distance, a sound of shrill violins and discordant songs could be heard : it was the workers and peasants dancing in the open air. Gaston first thought of ensuring Jacquet’s silence and the secrecy of his nocturnal pursuit. He found no better way than to send his confidant to Paris. « Go take the diligence from Nancy, » he told him; « in Nancy, you will embark in the rotunda for Paris. You will have yourself driven to the Hôtel d’Outreville, 57 rue Saint-Dominique, and you will tell Madame Benoît that I will arrive in two days. Here is enough to pay for the carriage. » « Sir, » Jacquet asked in an insinuating voice, « if I walked , would the money be mine? » He received in reply a peremptory kick, which took him away from Arlange and brought him closer to Paris. Gaston, exhausted, went back up to the second floor and threw himself on his bed, not to sleep, but to dream more calmly of his strange adventure. Lucile’s flight, at the moment when he thought himself most sure of being loved by her, seemed inexplicable to him. Obviously this departure was premeditated; it would have been impossible to prepare it in a quarter of an hour. But then, the young woman’s whole conduct was a lie: the happiness that shone in her eyes, the gentle pressure of her hand amidst the whirlwinds of the waltz, the delicious words she had murmured an hour before in her husband’s ear, everything became deception, bait, and bad faith. However, if she did n’t love him, why had she married him? It was so easy to say no instead of yes! Her mother wouldn’t have forced her, since she was favoring her escape. Gaston then remembered the animated discussion he had had that very morning against Madame Benoît; he understood without difficulty the widow’s vexation and her revenge. But how could this ambitious mother, in less than a day, have turned her daughter’s heart? Why hadn’t Lucile written a word of explanation to her husband? This idea led him quite naturally to search his pocket for Madame Benoît’s note. He noticed a word there that had escaped him on first reading: Your wife and your money! In truth, it was indeed money that was in question! As if money were something to someone who sees all the happiness of his life crumble away! What does a miserable sum matter to someone who has lost what cannot be bought at any price? Your wife and your money! It resembled the lugubrious joke of the assize courts which condemn a man to the death penalty and the costs of the trial! Gaston imagined, quite wrongly, that his mother-in-law had only written this note to remind him of the modest position from which she had lifted him, and his touchy dignity was revolted. By dint of rereading this unfortunate note, he persuaded himself that it would be a shame to leave for Paris without anyone knowing whether he was running after his wife or his money, and he resolved to remain at Arlange until Lucile had written to him. This decision led him into an expenditure of wit and amiability which he had not foreseen. The news of the Marquise’s departure had spread with electric speed; and as it had never been heard, within four leagues around, that a wedding ball had ended in such a way, all those who had dined or simply danced at the forge ran there in all haste under the natural pretext of a digestive visit. The Marquis faced this army of curious people, in such a way as to prove to the most difficult that he was a man of the world when he had the time. For a week, the house was always full, and he showed no annoyance at spending half the day in the drawing-room. This small crowd, thirsting for scandal, was stupefied by his tranquil air, his natural voice, with a happy and smiling face. He told anyone who would listen that for more than two weeks, Madame Benoît had been in Paris on urgent business that required her and her daughter’s presence ; that as a good mother, she had not wanted to delay Lucile’s marriage on that account; that as a wise administrator, she had wanted to leave a reliable man at the head of the forge; that as a gracious mistress of the house, she had not inconvenienced her guests by the announcement of such an imminent departure. If someone assumed a condolence and seemed to pity the victims of such an untimely separation, Gaston hastened to reassure this good soul by informing them that in a few days the husband, wife and mother-in-law would be definitively reunited. Not content with deceiving the curious and the malicious, he took the trouble to charm them. He displayed his natural and acquired graces in their favor ; he settled in the hearts of all women and in the esteem of all men; he approved of all the ridiculous things, he gave headlong into all the prejudices; he deceived his audience so cleverly that he won over the entire canton: this can happen to the most honest man. The first result of this comedy was to give him one hundred and fifty close friends; the second was to persuade everyone that his story was the pure truth. Here is the truth. After the ball, Lucile, her heart heavy with anxious joy, followed her mother to her apartment. Hardly had she entered when Madame Benoît stripped her, in a jiffy, of her white dress, wrapped her in a thick dressing gown and threw a shawl over her shoulders, while Julie replaced the satin shoes with a pair of ankle boots. Without giving her time to be surprised by this attire, her mother said briskly, while changing her dress: My darling, Gaston has complied with my prayers; we are leaving for Paris at once. « Already? He hasn’t spoken to me about it yet!  » « It’s a surprise he was planning for you, dear child, because, deep down, you were rather sorry not to see this beautiful Paris!  » « No, Mama.  » « You were sorry, my daughter; I know you better than you know yourself. » There was a discreet knock at the door. Madame Benoît started.  » Who’s there? » she asked. « Madame, » Pierre’s voice answered, « Madame’s carriage is hitched up. » The widow led her daughter to the carriage. « Quick, quick, » she said to her; « our people are dancing; if they got wind of our departure, we would have to endure their farewells.  » « But I would have liked to say goodbye to them, » murmured Lucile. Her mother threw her to the back of the carriage and rushed in after her. And Gaston? asked the young woman, completely stunned by these hurried movements. « Come, my child. Pierre, where is Monsieur le Marquis? » Pierre’s lesson was given. He answered without embarrassment: « Madame, Monsieur le Marquis is having the luggage loaded onto the old chaise. He asks Madame to wait for him a minute or two.  » Lucile, driven by a secret inspiration, tried to open the door. The right-hand door, whether by chance or by calculation, refused to open. To get to the other, she had to pass over her mother’s body . Her courage did not go that far. « Julie, » she said, « see what Monsieur le Marquis is doing.  » Julie, who had been in Madame Benoît’s service for fifteen years, left, returned, and replied: « Madame, Monsieur le Marquis asks these ladies not to wait for him. A line has broken; it is being mended; Monsieur will join the relay. At the same moment Pierre approached the left door, and Madame Benoît whispered in his ear: Take the crossbar; burn Dieuze, and straight to Moyenvic! The carriage set off at a trot. It was, in truth, a singular wedding night. Madame Benoît was triumphant at leaving Arlange and driving towards the suburb in the company of a marquise. She complained of fatigue, headache, sleep, and she retreated, her eyes closed, in a corner of the sedan, for fear that her daughter’s reflections might disturb the tumultuous joy that bubbled in her heart. The poor bride, without fearing the coolness of the night, stretched her neck out of the door, listening to the breath of the wind, and plunging her moist gaze into the darkness. At the Moyenvic relay, Madame Benoît threw off the mask and said to her daughter: Don’t open your eyes wide looking for your husband. You will not see him again until the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Lucile guessed the betrayal; but she was too afraid of her mother to answer her with anything other than tears. Your husband, continued the widow, is an obstinate man who refused to take you into the world. It is in your interest that I forced his hand. He will have joined you within twenty-four hours, if he loves you. There is no reason to cry like Hagar in the desert. I am your mother, I know better than you what is best for you; I am taking you to Paris: I am saving you from Arlange. « Oh, my poor happiness! » cried the child, wringing her hands. « What are you complaining about? You loved him, you married him. You are married! What more do you want?  » « So, » said Lucile, « this is marriage! Ah! I was much happier when I was a girl: I saw my husband!  » From Arlange to Paris, she never tired of looking out of the window. It seemed impossible to her that Gaston was not in pursuit of her. In every carriage that raised the dust of the road, on every horse that galloped behind the carriage, she thought she recognized her husband. This journey, which suffocated her triumphant mother with joy , was for her an interminable series of hopes and disappointments. Paris, without Gaston, seemed to her an immense solitude, and the Faubourg Saint-Germain, abandoned by half its inhabitants, was for her a desert within a desert. The day after her arrival, the first object she saw on opening her window was the figure of Jacquet. She came down in less than a second: Gaston must be in Paris! She learned that, if he had not arrived, he would not be long, and I leave you to imagine whether she celebrated the messenger of such good news. While Madame Benoît was still sleeping the sleep of the happy, Jacquet recounted the smallest details of the journey to Dieuze. How he loves me! thought Lucile. I even believe she thought aloud. To finish the story, continued Jacquet, the Marquis must owe me an eight-franc piece. « Here are twenty, my good Jacquet. » « Thank you very much, mademoiselle. I am not positively sure of what I am saying; but it seems to me that he owes them to me. I had calculated that he owed me twenty-four francs, and he only gave me twenty: that is four francs less. And then, he once again only gave me twenty: that is another four francs. And since four and four make eight…. However, I could be mistaken, and if you want me to pay you back…? « Keep it, keep it, my boy, and go and rest from your journey. » She ran to the garden and gathered flowers like on Corpus Christi Day, so that her room would be beautiful when Gaston arrived. Jacquet watched her leave, saying to himself: Sixty-two francs, that’s a bad calculation, as my grandfather used to say. And he calculated on his fingers how many more gold louis and forty-sou pieces would be needed to make one hundred francs. The day passed, and the next day, and a whole week, without news of the Marquis. Madame Benoît hid her annoyance; Lucile did not dare to grieve in front of her mother; but they made up for it well, one by cursing, the other by crying during the night. From morning to night, the mother drove her daughter in a coat-of-arms carriage, without footmen and without powder, for the famous coach was still at the construction site. She drove her to the Champs-Élysées, to the Bois, and everywhere where the high society goes, to give her a taste for those pleasures of vanity that one only savors Paris. In the absence of the Italians, she made him endure heavy evenings at the Théâtre-Français and the Opera. But Lucile acquired no taste for the pleasure of seeing or being seen. Wherever her mother took her, she carried with her the desire to return to the hotel and the hope of finding Gaston there. Madame Benoît guessed before her daughter that the Marquis was seriously sulking. Since she was not lacking in character, she soon made up her mind. Ah! she said to herself, my son-in-law can do without us! Let us try to do without him for a while. What did I lack in the past to mingle with the world of the suburb? A coat of arms and a name; I had everything else. Today, we lack nothing: we have a fine coat of arms on our carriages, we are the Marquise d’Outreville, and we must enter everywhere. But where to begin? That is the question. Lucile cannot go out and say to people who don’t know her : Open your door to me; I am the Marquise d’Outreville! But, I’m thinking of it! I will go and see my debtors, my good, my excellent debtors! They will receive me on a different footing than last time: one treats the daughter of a supplier cavalierly, but one shows consideration for the mother of a marquise. Her first visit was to the Baron de Subressac. She did not take Lucile to his house or to his other debtors. What good is it to teach this child how much it costs to open a door? Ah! dear Baron, she said as she entered, to what a cursed mentally ill person we have given my daughter! The Baron did not expect such an exordium. Madame, he continued a little too quickly, the mentally ill person who has done you the honor of becoming your son-in-law is the noblest heart I have ever known. « Alas! My God! If you only knew what he has done! Married for eight days, he has already abandoned his wife! She explained, without disguising anything, all the events of which the baron was ignorant, and which you know. As she spoke, the smile reappeared on the baron’s lips. When she had recounted everything, he took her hands and said gaily: You are right, charming, the marquis is a great culprit: he abandoned his wife as King Menelaus abandoned his. « Sir, Menelaus ran after Helen, and I maintain that a husband who lets his wife go without pursuing her, abandons her.  » « Fortunately, the case is less serious, for I see no Paris on the horizon. You will bring your daughter back to her husband; it is your duty, you must not separate what God has joined. These children adore each other, happiness will seem all the sweeter to them because it has been delayed. » You will witness their joy, you will enjoy the spectacle of their love, and you will write to me within ten months to give me news of them. The pretty widow stretched out her hand, and with her index finger made a small horizontal gesture which meant: Never! But then, continued the baron, what do you intend to become? « Can I rely on your friendship, Monsieur le Baron?  » « Have I not already proved it to you, charming one?  » « And I will never forget it as long as I live. If your kindness does not fail me , I have enough to do without M. d’Outreville forever.  » « Do you think the young marquise would say as much?  » « It is not her that is at stake for the next quarter of an hour. Parents, in all justice, must come before children. What do I ask of God and man? Entrance to the suburb. What is necessary to have me received there? That Lucile be admitted. » Now, she has every imaginable right; all she lacks is an introducer. Will you refuse to present her? « Absolutely. First, because this honor is less fitting for a baron than for a baroness. Second, because I do not want to contribute to delaying Gaston’s happiness. Finally, because all my good will would be of no use to you. Your daughter, madame, undoubtedly has the right to enter everywhere, but on what grounds? » because she is Gaston’s wife. As Gaston’s wife, she will find the door open to all those who know her husband, that is to say, to all of us; but see if I would have the grace to introduce her by saying: Ladies and gentlemen, you love and esteem the Marquis d’Outreville; you are his relatives, his allies or his friends, allow me then to introduce to you his wife, who did not want to live with him! Believe me, charming, it is the experience of seventy-five years which speaks to you; a young woman never cuts a good figure without her husband, and the mother who parades her like this, all alone, outside of her household, does not play an applauded role in society. If you absolutely insist on rubbing shoulders with duchesses, go and get your son-in-law to bring you back to Paris by kind gestures. Your escapade has offended him; that is why he is not coming to join you. If you wait for him here, I know him well enough to predict that you will wait a long time. Return to Arlange. Let us not be prouder than Mahomet: the mountain did not come to him, he went to find the mountain. It was well enough said, but Madame Benoît did not take it for granted. She presented herself, past noon, to five or six of her debtors. No one was unaware of her daughter’s marriage, but no one showed any desire to know her. People spoke at length of the Marquis, they described him as a gallant man, they praised his wit, they regretted his rareness and his misanthropy, and they inquired whether he would spend the winter in Paris. The widow tried in vain to replace the petition she had addressed to M. de Subressac; she could find no opening. She did not lose hope, however, and promised herself to return to the charge. Besides, she still had one resource left, one anchor of salvation, which she was saving for the last extremities: the Countess of Malésy. The Countess was the woman who owed her the most, and consequently the one from whom she had the most to expect. She was a pretty little old woman of sixty, who was reproached for nothing but coquetry, gluttony, an unbridled love of gambling, and a rage for throwing money out of the window. Madame Benoît said to herself, with good reason, that a person with so many chinks in her armor could not be invulnerable, and that one must, by one way or another, reach her heart. She was already enjoying the Baron’s surprise, the day he would meet her in society between Lucile and Madame de Malésy. While she was making so many useless visits, the pretty Marquise d’Outreville shut herself in her room and, without consulting anyone , wrote the following letter to her husband: What are you doing, Gaston? When will you come? Yet you promised to join us. How could you have gone ten whole days without seeing me? When we were together in our dear Arlange, you did not know how to leave me for an hour. God! How long the hours are in Paris! Mama speaks to me every moment against you, but at your name alone there is a din in my heart that prevents me from hearing. She tells me that you have abandoned me: you guess that I do not believe it. For, after all, I am no uglier than when you knelt before me; and if I am older, it is not by much. All is not over between us, the last word has not been said, and I feel that I still have happiness to give you. You are not the man to close such a good book on the first page. Since I no longer have you, I have been completely dazed and languid. Imagine that at times I believe that I am not your wife, and that this beautiful ceremony in the church, and this ball where we were so happy, are a dream that ended too soon. What was not a dream was this kiss that you gave me. I have received many kisses since I was born, but none had penetrated so deeply into my heart. It is doubtless because this one came from you. Everything that belongs to you has something special about it that I don’t know how to define: for example, your voice is more penetrating than any other; no one has ever been able to say Lucile like you. Why aren’t you here, my dear Gaston? That kiss you gave me, I would be so happy to return it! It wouldn’t be bad, would it, since I am your wife! You will never imagine how much I miss you. When I go out with Mama, I look for you in the streets: all I have seen in Paris so far is that you are not there. In the evening, I regularly mix up your name in my prayers; in the morning, when I wake up, I look to see if you are not around me. Is it possible that I think so much about you and that you have forgotten me? Perhaps you are angry with me for having left you so abruptly and without saying goodbye. If you only knew! It wasn’t me who left; it was Mama who took me away. I thought you were going to catch us with the old post-chaise and the luggage; Mama had assured me of that, Pierre too, Julie too. I cried a lot, you see, when I learned that I had been told such a nasty lie. Since then, I would have cried all day long, if I didn’t hold back; but I’m holding back my tears, firstly so as not to be scolded, and secondly so that you don’t find me with red eyes. You mustn’t be angry if I didn’t write to you sooner: you sent word that you were coming, and when you’re expecting someone, you don’t write to them. Now I’ll write to you until I ‘ve seen you: I must not have much self-respect, for I write like a kitten, and I hardly know how to string my sentences together. It’s that I had never written to anyone, having neither uncles, nor aunts, nor friends from school. I hope that you will not let me ruin myself in stylistic expenses and that you will leave at my first request: come, leave the forge: there is no more business in the world while we are separated: I will reconcile you with Mama, on the condition that she will do everything you wish and that she will not ask you for anything disagreeable. If the stay in Paris displeases you as much as it does me, rest assured, we will not stay there long. But if you do not arrive, what do you expect me to do? It would be easy enough for me to escape from the hotel one day when Mama was out without me; but I cannot run the highways alone ! However, if you demanded it, I would leave; I would put myself under Jacquet’s protection. But something tells me that you won’t have to be asked twice or wait, just think of two little red hands reaching out to you! Madame Benoît came in while Jacquet was taking this letter to the post office. Weren’t you bored all alone? the mother asked her daughter. « No, Mama, » replied the Marquise. Chapter 19. The next three days were days of waiting. Lucile waited for Gaston as if he might already have received his letter; Madame Benoît hoped that her noble debtors would return his visits. So the mother and daughter stayed at home, but not together. One sat by a window in the living room, her eyes fixed on the carriage entrance; the other walked under the chestnut trees in the garden, her eyes turned toward the future. Madame Benoît was counting on her luxury to make friends: she promised herself to show her the beautiful apartments on the ground floor: We shall be unhappy, she thought, if no one offers us a cup of tea in the meantime; one gives willingly to those who can return. The drawing-room, hung with dazzling flowers, had a festive air; the mistress was in her finery from morning to night, like Russian officers who never take off their uniform. While waiting for the house to be assembled, Jacquet, transformed by a new livery, was serving his apprenticeship as a footman in the hall. Sensitive hearts will be pained to learn that all this expenditure was in vain: no debtor came to Madame Benoît’s house. What do you expect? The habit was set. These gentlemen and ladies had made a habit of paying her neither in money nor in courtesy, and of returning nothing, not even her visits. She was meditating sadly, behind a curtain, on the ingratitude of men, when a brougham, trotting along at full speed, made the sand in the courtyard squeal harmoniously. The pretty widow felt her heart leap: it was the first time that a carriage other than her own had come to trace two ruts in front of her door. The carriage stopped; a man still young got out. It was not a debtor; it was a hundred times better: the Count de Preux himself! He disappeared under the vestibule; and Madame Benoît, with the promptness of lightning, reviewed her salon, cast a final glance at her dress, and prepared the first words she would have to say: she had, however, enough wit to leave it to the chance of improvisation. The Count delayed a little: she cursed Jacquet, who was doubtless holding him in the antechamber. Why did the door not open? She would have run to meet her noble visitor, if she had not feared injuring herself by excessive haste. At last the door opened; a man appeared: it was Jacquet. « Let him in! » said the panting widow. « Who, Madame? » replied Jacquet, in that drawling voice which distinguishes the peasants of Lorraine. « The Count!  » « Ah! He’s a Count? Well, there he is in the courtyard. » Madame Benoît ran to the window and saw Monsieur de Preux return to his carriage without turning his head, and give an order to the coachman. Run after him, she said to Jacquet. What did he say to you? « Madame, he’s a very nice man, not at all proud. He probably comes from the country, for he thought that Monsieur le Marquis was here. I said he wasn’t; that’s it.  » « You fool, didn’t you say that Madame was here? » « Yes, Madame, I said so; but he didn’t seem to hear.  » « You should have repeated it!  » « And the weather? He immediately began to ask me when Monsieur would be back. It seems his idea was to speak to Monsieur.  » « What did you answer?  » « My goodness! That we didn’t quite know how to get on with Monsieur; that he didn’t seem to want to come back. » And then, as he wasn’t proud at all and seemed to be enjoying himself with me, I told him about the good joke that madame and mademoiselle had played on monsieur. « Wretch, I’m turning you out! Go away! How much do you owe me?  » « I don’t know, madame.  » « How much do you earn a month?  » « Nine francs, madame. Don’t turn me out! I haven’t done anything! I won’t do it again! And tears. How long has it been since you were paid?  » « Two months, madame. What do you expect me to do if you turn me out?  » « Come here, here are your eighteen francs. Here are twenty more that I ‘ll give you so that you have time to look for a job. » Go! Jacquet took the money, looked to see if his account was there, and fell to his knees , crying:  » Pardon, madame! I’m not wicked! I’ve never hurt anyone! » « Master Jacquet, you should know that stupidity is the worst of all vices.  » « Why is that, madame? » Jacquet yelled. « Because it’s the only one you never correct. » She pushed him out and threw herself onto a sofa. Jacquet left the hotel, carrying, like the philosopher Bias, his entire fortune with him. If anyone had followed him, they would have heard him murmur in a desolate voice: Sixty-two and eight make seventy; and ten, eighty; and twenty, one hundred. But I’ve killed the goose: I’ll have no more eggs! Lucile learned of Jacquet’s disgrace at dinner, but she didn’t dare ask the cause. The mother and daughter, one sad and worried, the other sullen and scolding, were eating with their fingertips, without saying anything, when a letter was brought for Madame d’Outreville. From Gaston! she cried. Unfortunately not; the address bore the Passy stamp. It was Madame Céline Jordy, née Mélier, who was remembering her friend. Lucile read aloud: My pretty country girl, I am writing to you at the same time to our hamlet and to Paris; for since your marriage, you have neglected me so completely that I do not know what has become of you. As for me, I am happy, happy, happy! That is my whole story in three words. If you want more details, come and get them, or tell me where you are hiding. Robert is the most perfect of all men, apart from Monsieur d’Outreville, whom I will know when you have shown him to me. When will I be able to kiss you? I have a thousand secrets that I can only tell to you: haven’t you been my only confidante for sixteen years? I’m curious to know if you’ll recognize me without me writing my name on my hat. You , too, must be very changed. We were such children, you, two weeks ago, me, three weeks ago! Come tomorrow, if you’re in Paris; when you can, if you’re in Arlange. I like to believe that we won’t act like marquises, and that we’ll see each other as long as we can, without ever counting the visits. I can’t wait to show you my house: is it the most charming bourgeois nest that has ever been built on earth? You’re free to humiliate me afterwards with the spectacle of your palace; but I must see you. I want to. It’s a word that no one disobeys in Passy, ​​rue des Tilleuls, no. 16. See you soon. I kiss you without knowing where, blindly. YOUR CELINE. Dear Celine! I’ll go and spend the day with her tomorrow. Don’t you need me, Mama? No, I’m going out on my own to see one of my friends. Who, Mama? You don’t know her: the Countess of Malésy. It had been twelve or thirteen years since Madame Benoît had seen this venerable friend, in whom she placed her last hope. She found her little changed. The Countess had become deaf from hearing the shouting of her creditors; but it was a complacent deafness, even a little malicious, which did not prevent her from hearing what pleased her. Besides, her eye was kind and her stomach admirable. Madame de Malésy recognized her creditor and received her with touching familiarity. Good morning, little one, good morning! she said to her. I didn’t forbid you from my door. You have too much wit to come and ask me for money? « Oh! Countess! I have never paid you a self-interested visit.  » « Dear little one, just like her father! Ah! my child. Lopinot was a good man.  » « You fill me with joy, Countess. » « Do you understand why someone should come and ask a poor woman like me for money ? It’s not a year since I married my daughter to the Marquis de Croix-Maugars! It’s a good deal, I admit; but this marriage cost me an arm and a leg. Mademoiselle de Malésy hadn’t received a centime of dowry. I, Madame, have just married my daughter to the Marquis d’Outreville.  » « What do you mean? What do you call that man? » Madame Benoît made a crowbar with both hands and cried: « The Marquis d’Outreville! » « Good, good, I understand; but which Outreville? » There are good Outrevilles and fake Outrevilles; and there aren’t many good ones left . –He’s a good one . –Are you quite sure? Is he rich? –He had nothing. –Good for you! The bad ones are rich as hell; they bought the land and the castle, and took the name into the bargain. What kind of nose does he have? –Who? –Your son-in-law. –An aquiline nose. –I compliment you. The fake Outrevilles are real hoards, all with noses like pots and pans. –He’s the one who came out of the École Polytechnique. « But I know him! A bit of a mentally ill person: he’s a good man. But then, you who are a sensible woman, explain to me how he committed such a stupidity?  » It was Madame Benoît’s turn to turn a deaf ear. The Countess continued: « I say, the stupidity of marrying your daughter. Is she very rich then?  » « She had a hundred thousand livres in marriage income. We bourgeois have kept the habit of giving dowries to our daughters…. Catch!  » « No matter; that astonishes me about him. I thought he was in a better position. You understand, little one, that I wouldn’t say that if he were here; but we are among ourselves…. What is it, Rosine?  » « Madame, » replied the maid, « it’s that clerk of the Bon Saint Louis.  » « I’m not sure! These merchants have become unbearable. Ah! Little one, your father was a gallant man! » I was saying then that the Marquis will be blamed by everyone. No one will reproach him to his face; his name is his, he drags it wherever he wants. But it is not permissible for a true Outreville to enca…. se mésa…. What is it now, Rosine? –Madame, it is M. Majou. –I am not there; I am out for the day, I have just left for the country. Has anyone seen such a wine merchant? Creditors today are worse than beggars: no matter how much you chase them away, they always come back! Ah! little one, your father was a holy man! Is your daughter pretty, at least? –Madame, I will have the honor of presenting her to you one of these days in the afternoon. My son-in-law is on our estates. –That’s it, bring her to me one morning, this young woman. I’m here for you until noon…. Again, Rosine! So it’s a procession today? –Madame, it’s M. Bouniol. –Answer that someone put the leeches on me. –Madame, I’ve already told him that the Countess is not there. He replies that he has come five times in eight days without seeing Madame, and that, if they refuse to see him, he will not come back. –Well, let him come in: I’ll tell him what he thinks. Will you allow me , little one? We are showmen. Ah! my dear, your father was a great man! Madame Benoît said in a low voice as she got back into her carriage: Joke, joke, impertinent old woman! You have debts, I have money: I have you! Even if it costs me five hundred louis, I demand that you lead me by the hand to the middle of your daughter’s drawing-room! It was with these feelings that she parted from the Countess. Lucile had long been in her friend’s arms. She left the hotel at eight o’clock and an hour later arrived at the most beautiful gate on the Rue des Tilleuls. The morning was magnificent; the house and garden were bathed in sunlight. The garden, all in bloom, resembled an immense bouquet; a lawn studded with royal roses was framed in a circle of yellow blossoms, like a blood jasper in a gold setting. A large acacia tree showered its blossoms on the surrounding shrubs and delivered its intoxicating scents to the morning wind. Blackbirds with golden beaks flew singing from tree to tree; wrens hopped in the branches of the hawthorn, and cheeky finches chased each other along the paths. The house, built of red bricks with white joints, seemed to smile at the happy luxury that blossomed around it. Everything that climbed and everything that flowered bloomed and climbed along its walls. The wisteria with its violet clusters, the bignonia with its long red flowers, the white jasmine, the passion flower, the birthwort with its broad leaves, and the Virginia creeper that turns purple with the last smile of autumn, raised their intertwined stems to the roof. Large mats of morning glories bloomed at the door, and the blue bells of the water gourds adorned all the windows. This spectacle awakened in the marquise the sweetest memories of Arlange: in this moment she would have given for nothing her hotel on the rue Saint-Dominique and this too narrow garden where the flowers suffocated between the heavy shadow of the house and the thick foliage of the old chestnut trees. A dressing gown of ecru scarf, half hidden in a clump of rhododendrons, abruptly tore her from her reverie. She ran, and only stopped in the arms of Madame Jordy. Have you ever observed the meeting of Orestes and Pylades at the theater? However skillful the actors may be, this scene is always a little ridiculous. This is because human friendship is, by its nature, neither expansive nor graceful. A person of any type of body, a clasp of hands, an arm grotesquely passed around a neck, or the absurd rubbing of one beard against another, are not objects that can charm the eyes. How much more elegant is the tenderness of women, and how great artists in friendship are the most awkward! Céline was a very small, plump, and round blonde, with a rounded forehead and an upward-pointed nose, showing at every turn her sharp, white teeth like those of a young dog, laughing for no other reason than the joy of living, crying without sorrow, changing her face twenty times in an hour, and always pretty without anyone ever being able to say why. Fortunately for the narrator of this true story, beauty is not subject to definition; for it would be impossible for me to say by what charm Mlle Mélier seduced her husband and all those who saw her. There was nothing particularly beautiful about her, except the roundness of her figure, the perfection of her bust, the radiance of her complexion, and two very pretty little dimples, although they were not placed with all the desirable regularity. Lucile did not resemble Mme Jordy in any way; If friendship lives on contrasts, their connection must be eternal. The young marquise was a head taller than her friend, and plumper less: I warned you that her youth was a late bloomer. Imagine the beauty of people of all body types and the nervousness of Diana the Huntress. Have you sometimes seen, in the admirable landscapes of M. Corot, those nymphs with slender bodies and slender waists, who dance in circles under the great trees holding hands ? If the Marquise d’Outreville were to come and join their games, with no other clothing than a tunic, no other headdress than a golden arrow in her hair, the living circle would widen to make room for her, and the round would continue with one more sister. By a whim of chance, the queen of the woods of Arlange was, that morning, in a white crepe hat and a pink taffeta dress; and the little blonde bourgeois woman was dressed like a woodswoman: straw hat, flowing clothes: How good of you to have come! she said to the marquise. Spare me the trouble of noting down all the kisses with which the two friends interrupted their conversation. I had dreamed of you. How long have you been in Paris, my dear? « Since the day after my wedding.  » « A fortnight lost for me! But it’s dreadful!  » « If I had known where to find you! » murmured the little marquise. « I really needed to see you.  » « And me! First, look me between the eyes. Do I really look like a lady? Will they still call me mademoiselle?  » « That’s true; you have something more assured about you: an air of gravity…  » « Not another word, or I’ll die laughing. And you? Come on! You’re still the same. Good morning, mademoiselle! » « Your servant, madame.  » « Madame! What a pretty word! If you behave yourself at lunch, I ‘ll call you madame at dessert. Do you remember the time we used to play madame?  » « It’s not long ago that I’ve forgotten it. » « Come, mademoiselle, let me take you for a walk in my garden. You won’t touch the flowers! » While talking, she picked an enormous handful of roses, behind which she disappeared entirely. I beg pardon for your beautiful garden, cried Lucile. « First of all, I forbid you to call it my beautiful garden. Everyone sees it, everyone comes here; it’s everyone’s garden! My beautiful garden is over there, behind that wall. There are only two people who walk there , Robert and me; you will be the third. Come; do you see that green door? Who will arrive first? » She started running. Lucile followed her, and soon got ahead of her. Madame Jordy, on arriving, took a little key from her pocket and opened the door. « This, » she said, « is our private park. These lime trees, whose flowers have wings, bloom only for us. We walk here alone every morning before work time, for we are early birds; I have kept my good habits from Arlange. » As for Robert, I don’t know how he manages it, but no matter how early I wake up, I always find him leaning on his pillow and gravely busy watching me sleep. Come over here. Here, the former owner had built a big, damp, beastly grotto, lined with rocks and shells, with a plaster Apollo in the middle and toads everywhere. Robert had three-quarters of it demolished ; he brought in the air and the light. It was he who arranged these climbing plants, hung these hammocks, installed this pretty table and these armchairs. He has taste like an angel; he’s an architect, he ‘s an upholsterer, he’s a gardener, he’s everything! Just sit down for a bit on this moss. No, I forgot your new dress. Here’s what I put on every morning: with it you can sit anywhere. Let’s go! « Not yet! It’s so comfortable under these beautiful trees! » –We’ll come back there later for lunch. Come and see our house. Then I’ll show you my husband; he’s at the factory. You
‘ll see, my Lucile, how handsome he is! Do you remember the jokes we used to make about our ideal? My ideal was a tall, dark man with a crooked mustache and eyebrows as black as ink. Well! my dear, my husband doesn’t look like that, not at all. He’s no taller than Papa; his hair is chestnut, and he has a pretty blond beard, as soft as silk , for it has never been shaved. Now I think my ideal was dreadful, and if I met him in the street, I’d be afraid. Robert is gentle, delicate, tender; he’s crying, my dear! Yesterday, at nightfall, he was sitting beside me; we were making plans; I was expounding my little ideas on the education of children. He let me talk to myself, and hid his head in his hands, as if to look into himself. When I had finished, he kissed me without saying anything, and I felt a big tear roll down my cheek. How beautiful they are, a man’s tears! Mama loves me well, but she has never loved me like this. What you will never believe is that with men he is proud, stiff and terrible at times. I was told that last year our workers wanted to go on strike to get rid of a foreman. He discovered the plot in time; he marched straight on the leaders, in the midst of fifty or sixty men mutinying against him, and he drove the revolt underground. Everyone in the house fears him, except me: judge if I have reason to be proud! It seems to me that I am making all these people march who obey him. O my Lucile, what an admirable thing marriage is! The day before we were two, the next day we are one; we have everything in common, we are two halves of the same soul; we hold together like two Siamese twins, who cannot separate without dying. Here is our room; what do you say? He chose the hanging for me like a dress: blue, in honor of my blond hair. By the way, what is a hanging? A dress that dresses us from afar. You, my dark-eyed brunette, you must have a room of pink satin? « I think so, » Lucile continued, all dreamy. « How? I think so! You answer like an Englishwoman. But I am English in one respect too. Don’t go imagining that everyone comes in here as if they were in the street! We have our discretion and our delicacy; if it weren’t for you, you wouldn’t be sitting in that armchair. Do you know that I make my own bed! It’s true that Robert helps me a little.  » Lucile said nothing. She contemplated with a thoughtful eye a magnificent jumble of lace and embroidery in the middle of which two large pillows lay side by side. The door opened, and Monsieur Jordy entered carelessly, throwing down his straw hat. At the sight of Lucile, he stopped, completely taken aback, and bowed respectfully. His wife threw her arms around his neck without ceremony, and said, pointing to the marquise with a gesture full of grace and simplicity:  » Robert, it’s Lucile! » That was the whole introduction. M. Jordy paid Lucile a little, unceremonious compliment, which proved that he had often heard of her, and that she was neither a stranger nor indifferent to him. He sat down, and his wife found a way to slip in beside him. Isn’t he handsome? she said to the marquise. But where has he come from? He must have been running; he’s sweating. And with a gesture as quick as words, she passed a cambric handkerchief over the forehead of the young man who was trying in vain to defend himself. M. Jordy had more people than Céline; but in vain did he give her looks that were meant to be severe, the little native of Arlange put both hands over his eyes and brazenly kissed his closed eyelids. Don’t scold me, she said to him; Lucile has been married for a fortnight, that is to say, as mad as we are. The clock struck noon; It was lunchtime. They ran to the garden and happily sat down under the beautiful lime trees that gave their name to the neighboring street. No servants were present at the meal; everyone served themselves and others; the two friends, raised in the village and strangers to the sentimentality of Parisian education, were not water drinkers; they dipped their lips in a lovely straw wine that M. Jordy fetched a few steps away, from a running stream. Robert easily pleased the Marquise; without lacking in wit or education, he was simple, full of heart, and of the kind of wood from which one makes the best friends. Besides, we all feel a natural sympathy for faces that radiate joy; only selfish people do not like happy people. Céline, who wanted to make her husband shine, forced him to sing at dessert. He chose one of Béranger’s most beautiful songs , although the old poet was already out of fashion. The birds, awakened in the middle of their nap, performed a joyful accompaniment above his head. Lucile sang in turn, without being asked, words that were not Italian. They joked as honest people joke; they talked about everything, except the next one and the new play; they laughed heartily, and no one noticed that there was a little fever in the Marquise’s gaiety. Why isn’t Monsieur d’Outreville here? said Madame Jordy. Two people are very fond of each other; but four people are in competition! Around two o’clock, Monsieur Jordy went about his business, and the two friends resumed their confidences. Céline spoke without tiring and without realizing that she was giving a monologue. Women are marvelously organized for microscopic work; they excel at detailing their pleasures and their pains. Lucile, moved, panting, listened, learned, guessed and sometimes even did not understand. She was like a navigator thrown by the storm into an enchanted land, but whose language he does not understand. Dinner time was approaching; Céline was still talking, and Lucile was still listening. As for the children, said the young woman, we must hope that they will come soon. Do you ever think about it, my Lucile? Love only lasts for a time; twenty years at most; and now three weeks have passed! The love of children is something else: it lasts as long as we do, and closes our eyes. You know that I was not very devout in the past; now, when I think that our children are in the hands of God, I become superstitious. What do you ask for? A son or a daughter? –But…. I have not thought about it yet. –You must think about it, my dear. If you do not think about it, who will think about it for you? I want a son. Listen to the paragraph I added to my prayers: Holy Virgin, if my heart seems pure enough to you, bless my love and obtain that I may have the happiness of having a son to teach it the fear of God, the worship of good and beauty, and all the duties of man and of the Christian. This last stroke finished off poor Lucile. The torrent of tears she had been holding back for so long broke the dams, and her pretty face was flooded with them. You’re crying! cried Céline. Have I hurt your feelings? « Ah! Céline, I’m so unhappy! Mother forced me to leave on the evening of my wedding, and I haven’t seen my husband since the ball!  » « The evening? Since the ball? Mercy! » Suddenly, Madame Jordy’s face took on a serious expression. « But this is a betrayal, » she said. « Why didn’t you tell me this sooner ? I’ve been talking to you since morning like a woman, and you’re only a child! You should have stopped me at the first word, and I would never forgive you for letting me talk, if you weren’t so much to be pitied.  » Lucile related her story briefly.  » Why didn’t you write to your husband? » asked Céline. « I wrote to him. » « When?  » « Four days ago.  » « Well! My child, don’t cry anymore: he’ll arrive this evening. » At dinner, the table was elegant, the dining room bright and cheerful, the last rays of the setting sun played with the blinds and jalousies, the straw wine laughed in the glasses, and Monsieur Jordy caressed his wife’s pretty face with a radiant look; but Céline retained the gravity of a Roman matron, and I believe (God forgive me!) that she said « vous » to her husband. The Marquise left at ten o’clock. Céline and her husband took her back to her carriage. Seeing the coachman, Madame Jordy had a sudden inspiration: « Pierre, » she said in an indifferent tone, « has the Marquis arrived?  » « Yes, madame. » The Marquise threw herself into her friend’s arms with a cry.  » What is it? » asked Robert. « Nothing, » said Céline. Chapter 20. Upon receiving Lucile’s letter, Gaston did what any man would have done in her place: he kissed the signature a thousand times, and left by post for Paris. Fortune, which amuses itself with us almost as much as a little girl with her dolls, made him enter the Hôtel d’Outreville on a Tuesday evening, two weeks to the day after his marriage. With a little good will, he could imagine that the first two weeks of June had been a bad dream, and that he was waking up, worn out with fatigue, at his wife’s side. This time, his resolution was firmly taken; he had armed himself with courage against the maternal despotism of Madame Benoît, and he swore to himself to defend her property to the bitter end. He had not yet opened the door when Julie entered Madame Benoît’s room, shouting: Madame! Madame! Monsieur le Marquis! The widow, who did not know that her daughter had written to Arlange, thought she had won the day. She replied with barely contained joy:  » There is nothing to shout about: I was expecting it.  » « I did not know, madame; and, because of what happened a fortnight ago, I thought madame would be very pleased to be informed. Is madame then in favor of the Marquis?  » « Certainly! Go! Run! What are you interfering with? » « Pardon, madame; but the Marquis’s trunks are being unloaded. Is he going to stay at the hotel?  » « And where do you want him to stay? Go and take care of his luggage.  » « Pardon, madame; but where must they be taken?  » « Where? You fool! To the Marquise’s room! Is n’t a husband’s place beside his wife? » Gaston entered his mother-in-law’s room, all powdered, and his first glance sought the absent Lucile. Madame Benoît, more considerate than on her best days, answered this glance:  » Are you looking for Lucile? She is dining with a friend; but it is late; you will see her before one o’clock. At last, here you are! Kiss me, my son-in-law; I forgive you.  » « My goodness! my dear mother, you are stealing the first word I wanted to say to you. May all your wrongs be erased by this kiss! » –If I am wrong, you had justified them in advance by this incredible mania of which you are finally corrected! Wanting to live with wolves at your age! Admit that it was blindness and give thanks to the one who enlightened you! Are you not better off here than anywhere else? And can one live a human life outside Paris? –Pardon, madame, but I did not come to Paris to live here. –And for what purpose? To die here? –I will not stay here long enough for nostalgia to overcome me. I came to Paris to seek my wife and make an essential visit. –You intend to bring my daughter back to Arlange? –As soon as possible. –And she will accompany you to this burrow? –It seems to me that she must. –Will you order her to follow you by law, and will your love be escorted by two gendarmes? –No, madame; I would renounce my rights if I had to claim them in court; but we are not there yet: Lucile will follow me out of love. –For love of you or of Arlange? –Of both, of the forge and the blacksmith. –Are you sure of that? –Without conceit, yes. –We shall see. And can we know what this indispensable visit is that shares with my daughter the honor of bringing you to Paris? –Don’t delude yourselves; it is a visit to which you cannot come with me. –To which privileged mortal? –The Minister of the Interior. –The Minister! For what purpose? Are you thinking of it? If only we knew! –We shall know. It is important to the interests of the forge that I sit on the general council. A vacancy presents itself, and I want to ask the Minister to accept me as a candidate. –But, wretch, you are going to set me at odds with our entire party! « One only quarrels with people one knows. If you had asked me about my political opinions, I would have told you that I am not a man of opposition. Besides, it seems to me that we , the great landowners, have no reason to complain: nothing is done but for us!  » « You did say that word: We, the great landowners! » One would think, upon my word, that you have been one all your life! « What, madame! But I have been one from father to son for nine hundred years! Do you know many of older dates?  » « If we play on words, we could talk for a long time without understanding each other. Listen. You like to seek provincial honors, fine. However, the forge has done well for fifteen years, although I have never sat on the general council. You want to present yourself as a ministerial candidate; I believe you would have done better to ask for the votes of our friends, who are numerous, rich, and influential. » However, I will pass over that again. See if I am lenient! I have just won a victory over you; I forced you to come to Paris, to my land…. –To my house. –That is true. Oh! you were born a landowner; you soon put down roots! Despite everything, you came here because I brought you here forced; it is a defeat; but I do not pretend to take advantage of it. Will you sign the peace? –With both hands!… if you are reasonable. –I will. You love Arlange, you are eager to return there, and you do not want to live there without your wife, which is very natural. I will give you back Lucile so that you can take her to the forge. –That is all I ask: let us sign! –Wait! For my part, I love Paris as you love the forge, and the suburb as you love Lucile. If I do not enter once and for all into the great world, I am a dead woman. Would it cost you much, while you are here, all carried away, to present your wife and me to eight or ten houses of your friends, and to show us a little corner of this earthly paradise from which I have always been excluded by…. –By original sin! It would cost me a lot and would be of no use to you. I will not repeat to you that I have an old grudge against the suburb which absolutely forbids me from setting foot there again: you believe you have enough right over me to demand the forgetting of my repugnances and the sacrifice of my self-esteem. But can you demand that I lay out for you Lucile’s entire future? I am reserving for her, far from Paris, a modest, equal happiness, without splendor, without noise, and of a smiling uniformity. We have, if God grants us life, thirty or forty years to spend together in a narrow but charming horizon, with no other events than the birth and marriage of our children. Such happiness is enough for her ambition, she told me. Who assures me that the sight of a country where everything is parade and vanity will not turn her head? That her eyes, dazzled by the brilliance of chandeliers and candelabras, will be able to accustom themselves to the soft light of the lamp which must illuminate all our evenings? that her ears, deafened by the din of the world, will always be able to hear the voices of our forests and mine? At this moment, she is still the Lucile of old; she is bored to death in Paris…. –What do you know? –I am sure of it. But I do not know if in six months she would think as she does today. It only takes one ball to change the heart of a young woman, and ten minutes of waltzing can cause more upheaval than an earthquake. –You think so? Well, so be it. Lucile is yours, govern her as you see fit. But me! Listen carefully: this is my ultimatum, and if you reject it, I break off the conferences! Who would prevent you from introducing me , I do not say in the whole suburb, but in five or six houses of your acquaintance? –Without my wife! Believe me, my dear Madame Benoît, let us each tie a stone around our necks and throw ourselves into the river together; that would be just as wise. The entire aristocracy knows you as they knew your father. They know your persevering ambition; you are already the talk of the faubourg; it was the Baron who wrote to me, and his testimony is not refutable. They say that you bought with your millions the pleasure of sailing the world in tow of a marchioness. If I were to introduce you today, tomorrow they would count the visits we made, and calculate, to the nearest centime, the sum that each one brought me. What do you say? Even if you were young enough to want to play such a game, I am not enough of a philosopher to serve as your partner. I am leaving tomorrow for Arlange with my wife; I offer you, as a good son-in-law, a place in the carriage, and that is all that common sense allows me to do for you. Madame Benoît was violently tempted to tear the eyes out of this model of sons-in-law, but she hid her annoyance. My friend, she said, you have spent thirty hours in a post-chaise, you are tired, you are sleepy, and I was ill-advised to want to convert a man still in boots. You will be more accommodating when you have slept. Wait for me in this chair, and allow me to go and see to your rest. I’m yours! She went out smiling and ran like a storm to her daughter’s room. I don’t know if she opened the door or if she burst it open, her entrance was so violent. She roughly seized Julie’s arm, who was unfolding a pillowcase: « Unhappy woman, » she cried, « what are you doing?  » « But, madame, what madame told me.  » « You’re crazy! You didn’t understand me. Leave that and move all this luggage to me. Has anyone ever seen anything like this? A boy’s trunks in my daughter’s room!  » « Pardon, madame, but…  » « There’s no but, and you’ll be forgiven when you obey. Take it away! Take it away!  » « But where, madame?  » « Wherever you like; in the street, in the courtyard! No, here: in my room!  » « Madame is giving away her apartment? » But where will Madame’s bed be made? « Here, on this couch, in the Marquise’s room. Why are you acting surprised? Isn’t a mother’s place beside her daughter?  » She left the maid to her task and her surprise, and went back downstairs, saying to herself in a low voice: « The Marquis has only come to defy me; he will not have the joy of it. I want to go into society under his nose: Madame de Malésy will help me; we will show that devilish blacksmith that we can do without him. But I must not let him seduce my daughter! He would carry her off to Arlange, and then, goodbye to the suburb!  » At the same moment, Pierre asked for the door, and the Marquise, drunk with hope, jumped lightly from the step into the house. Madame Benoît was in the drawing-room before her; She feared nothing so much as the first meeting, and it was important that she be there to stop the expansion of these young hearts. Lucile thought she would fall into her husband’s arms ; it was her mother who received her: So here you are, dear little one! she said to her with her usual volubility and more than usual tenderness . How long you have stayed! I was beginning to worry. My heart hangs by a thread when I do not feel you near me. Dear beauty, there is only one disinterested affection in this world: the love of a mother for her child. How did you spend the day? Do you feel better than recently? See, sir, how she has changed! Your behavior has done her a lot of harm. She needs the greatest care; violent emotions are fatal to her, the sight of you alone makes her pale and blush at the same time. But you yourself, my dear marquis, do you know that I no longer recognize you? You claim that the air of Arlange is good for you; one wouldn’t say so to look at you. You are no longer that brilliant lord of Outreville whom I was introduced to two months ago. After all, one must allow for fatigue: poor fellow! A hundred leagues in post, all in one breath! It’s enough to break a man sturdier than you. Fortunately, a good night’s sleep will mend everything. There is an excellent bed waiting for you here nearby, in my room which I give up to you. « But, madame… » murmured Gaston timidly. « No objections and no fuss with me! Sacrificing everything for our children is our happiness, we mothers. Besides, I shall sleep very well on a camp bed, near my dear Lucile, whose health requires all my care. We should already be in bed. Come, sleepyhead, say goodnight to your wife, and come kiss her hand: it seems to me that you are not giving her much of a welcome! » Neither Gaston nor Lucile were fooled by this speech, but they were its victims; impudence almost always succeeds with young people, because they feel a kind of shame in refuting a lie. In the present circumstance, another kind of delicacy paralyzed the courage of Lucile and Gaston. These honest hearts would have thought it a shame to face the ill will of Madame Benoît. Gaston himself, after all the vigorous resolutions he had taken, did not dare to assert his rights, nor appeal to his wife’s feelings: he was as timid as Lucile, perhaps more so. Whatever boldness is attributed to our sex, it is no less true that well-born men are, in love, more fierce than young girls. The presence of a third party is enough to freeze the words on their lips and repress to the depths of their souls an overflowing passion. Madame Benoît drew up a plan of campaign which would never have succeeded without the influence she had taken over her daughter, and especially without Gaston’s proud timidity. For a whole week, she managed to keep apart two beings who adored each other, who belonged to each other, and who dined together every evening. The amount she spent on turbulence to stun her daughter and on effrontery to intimidate her son-in-law amounts to an incalculable sum. Every day she imagined a new pretext for dragging Lucile into Paris and leaving the Marquis at home. She clung to her daughter, leaving her only when it was wise, when Gaston was out. Seeing her zeal and perseverance, you would have said she was one of those jealous mothers who cannot resign themselves to sharing their daughter with a husband. Her first idea was simply to punish her son-in-law and inflict on him in turn the troubles of an unhappy passion. The success of her calculations then gave her a little hope: she thought that Gaston would end by admitting defeat and spontaneously offer to take her out into society. But the Marquis took his widowhood patiently: he wrote to Lucile, he received a few notes written surreptitiously; he was plotting a plan of escape with her. Thanks to Madame Benoît’s supervision, these two spouses, united by law and religion, were reduced to schoolboy stratagems. Their love, without losing any of its assurance and serenity, had gained the piquant charm of illegitimate passions. The daily ceremony of kissing the hand, authorized and presided over by the mother-in-law, covered up the exchange of this correspondence that Madame Benoît never guessed. Finally tired of waiting uselessly for her son-in-law’s conversion, she returned to her original plans and turned her attention back to Madame de Malésy. She had learned from her dressmaker that the Marquise de Croix-Maugars was going to give a party in her garden for her wedding anniversary. All the nobility present in Paris would be gathered there, for balls are rare on June 22, and when one encounters the opportunity to dance under a tent, one takes advantage of it. By a providential chance, Gaston had precisely obtained an audience with the minister for the 21st, at eleven o’clock in the morning. The widow took advantage of her son-in-law’s forced absence to leave Lucile at home, and she ran to the old countess’s. Madame, she said to her point-blank, you owe me eight thousand francs, or almost… « Please? » asked the countess, who rarely heard it that way. « I have come neither to demand them from you nor to reproach you for them.  » « Good. » « I care so little for money that not only will I renounce this sum, but I will also make other sacrifices if necessary to achieve my goal. I want to be received in the suburb with the marquise, my daughter, and without delay. » Tomorrow is the day Madame de Croix-Maugars is giving her ball: you are her mother, she has nothing to refuse you: would it be an abuse of the rights I have acquired through your kindness to ask you for two letters of invitation? The Countess’s bright little eyes rounded into armchair nails. She smiled at the widow’s speech like a miner at a vein of gold. Alas! child, she said, tearing up, my credit has been greatly exaggerated. My daughter is my daughter, I do not deny it; but she is in the power of a husband. Do you know Croix-Maugars? « If I knew him, I would have no need.  » « That is true. Well, dear child, I need only ask him for a service to obtain a refusal. I am the most unhappy woman in Paris. My creditors are hounding me, although I have never done anything to them. My son-in-law is a man; he should protect me: he abandons me. What did I ask of him the day before yesterday? A little money to pay the Good Saint Louis, who has degenerated so much since your father! He replied that his party would be magnificent, and that his purse was empty. I don’t know where to turn. How do you have the heart to come and talk about balls and pleasure to a poor desperate woman like me? All this will end badly; I will be seized, they will sell my furniture… Here the countess fell silent, and let her tears speak. Excuse me, she continued. You see that I am hardly in a state to receive visitors ; but I will always have pleasure in seeing you: you remind me of my good Lopinot. Ah! If he were still alive! Come back one of these days, we’ll talk, and if I’m still good for anything, I’ll do my best to serve you. At the Countess’s first tears, Madame Benoît had resolutely taken out her handkerchief. She said to herself: Since we must cry, let’s cry. After all, tears cost me no more than they do her! The sensitive widow added aloud: Come now, Madame la Comtesse, a little courage! It ‘s not enough to break a heart like yours. So you owe a lot of money to that wicked Saint-Louis? Alas! little one: fifteen hundred francs! But it’s a pittance! Yes, it’s a great pittance! To be called the Countess of Malésy, to be the mother of the Marquise de Croix-Maugars, to hold the first rank in the suburb, to have entry to all the salons for oneself and one’s friends, and not to be able to pay a sum of fifteen hundred francs! I pain you , don’t I? Farewell, my child, farewell. My grief redoubles to see you cry; leave me alone with my troubles! –Will you allow me to go to the Bon Saint Louis? I will undertake to arrange the matter. –I forbid you!… or rather, yes: go ahead. These people are your successors: you will get on with them better than I will. Besides, they are of your caste; merchants do not eat each other. You are lucky, you others; they give you for a hundred crowns what costs us a thousand. Go to the Bon Saint Louis. I bet, you rascal, that you will buy the debt without spending a penny; and it is to you that I shall owe fifteen hundred francs! –That is agreed, Madame la Comtesse; and as one service is worth another… –Yes; I will render you all the services in my power. But I definitely prefer that you not make my peace with these shopkeepers. What would I gain by it? It would soon be known that they are paid, and I would have to deal with all the others. My poor dear, I owe God and the devil. –How much? –Ah! how much! I don’t know myself anymore. My memory is failing. But I have some bills here. Look: the pastry chef in the Rue de Poitiers is demanding five hundred francs for half a dozen chickens that I had brought up to my house and a few miserable cakes that I nibbled at in his shop. How you exploit us! –I will have a word with him. « Yes, tell him he should be ashamed, and that I don’t want to hear anything about him again.  » « Don’t worry. » « Now here is Master Majou asking the price of an ordinary cask of wine.  » « It’s a trifle: give me that paper. « A thousand francs.  » « Good heavens! Your ordinary wine is not to be despised.  » « Here: here is the bill from a very honest man; I’m sure you would come to an arrangement with him. He’s the upholsterer who restored this furniture . He’s asking me for a thousand crowns, but if you knew how to use him, you could get a receipt for almost nothing.  » « I’ll try, Madame la Comtesse. » She took the four bills and folded them carefully. « It’s noon, » she continued: « I’m going from this not put your affairs in order. But now that your mind is freer, won’t you go and try the effect of your eloquence on the Marquis de Croix-Maugars? « Yes, little one, I will go. But my mind is less free than you think. I haven’t told you all my sorrows. » She opened a drawer of her worktable and took out a wallet stuffed with papers. You ‘re going to learn of many other miseries! « All fine! » thought Madame Benoît. « Six thousand francs, although that ‘s a good price for a simple passport within the suburb. But the old lady has acquired a taste; her appetite is coming, and if I don’t put a stop to it, she’ll ask me to buy her, on the way, the Louvre and the Tuileries! » The widow put the bills she had taken back on the table, and said in a moved voice: « Alas! Madam, I fear greatly that you are right, and that your sorrows are without remedy! « But no! But no! » replied the Countess quickly. « I am sure of getting out of this difficulty one day or another. You have given me back my courage, and I feel quite refreshed. I will be at my daughter’s in an hour; time to put on a dress! I will have an invitation card in the name of the Marquise d’Outreville. You will not need two; you will enter with your daughter: I want to avoid this name of Benoît which would spoil everything. While I attend to you, go to your merchants with the bills, and finish this little speculation, which seems to please you. Meet here at three o’clock sharp, and we will exchange our powers like two ambassadors.  » M. de Croix-Maugars grimaced when he saw his mother-in-law enter. The Countess was so terribly needy that people dreaded her appearance like the arrival of a bill of exchange. But when they learned that she wasn’t asking for money, they had nothing left to refuse her. The Marquis, smiling, handed her a square of satin cardboard, the value of which he was far from knowing; it was the fourth time in a year that he had paid her debts. Madame Benoît, as joyful as a sailor returning to port, ran to her notary, returned to the creditors, and paid without haggling. The accommodating upholsterer whom the Countess had praised was that fierce Bouniol, who had forced her door eight days earlier. At three o’clock, Madame de Malésy pocketed the receipts, and the widow ran to her hotel with the precious invitation. She didn’t put it in her pockets; she kept it in her hand, she contemplated it, she smiled at him. At last! she said, here are my letters of naturalization; I am a citizen of the suburb. Provided that between now and tomorrow I do not fall ill! She then remembered that Lucile had been alone since eleven o’clock, and that the Marquis had had time to talk to her alone. This idea, which would have exasperated her the day before, seemed almost indifferent to her. Happiness reconciled her with the whole world and with Gaston: a drunken man no longer has enemies. As she got out of the carriage, she saw in the courtyard a former victim of her outburst, the candid Jacquet. Come here, my boy! she said to him. Come here, have nothing to fear: you are forgiven. So you want to return to my service? « Oh! thank you very much, madame. Monsieur the Marquis introduced me to a house.  » « The Marquis introduced you? You are lucky, you!  » « Yes, madame, I earn fifty francs a month.  » « I compliment you. » Is that all you had to say to me? « No, madame; I have come to bring you two letters.  » « Give them! » « Just a moment, madame; I’m looking for them under the cap of my hat. Here they are! One of these letters was from Gaston, the other from Lucile. Gaston said: My charming mother, In the hope that maternal love will tear you away from this Paris that you love too much, I am taking your daughter to Arlange. May you come and join us there soon! Who gave you this? » asked Madame Benoît of Jacquet. But Jacquet had fled, like a bird before a storm. She quickly unsealed her daughter’s letter and found three pages of excuses that ended with these words: A woman must follow her husband. I do not want to speak ill of the human heart, but the widow, after reading these two letters, thought neither of the abandonment of her daughter, nor of the betrayal of her son-in-law, nor of the isolation in which she was left, nor of the severance of all the ties that bound her to her family. She thought that she had just bought an invitation, that this invitation was in the name of Outreville, that it could not be of use to Madame Benoît, and that they would dance without her at the Hôtel de Croix-Maugars. Chapter 21. The Marquis d’Outreville, confident in his rights and sure of Lucile’s love, did not fear being pursued by his mother-in-law. The escape of the two spouses was a lovers’ promenade. We traveled a little in the morning, a little in the evening; we chose the lodgings; we stopped, like two connoisseurs in a painting salon, at all the fresh landscapes; we got out of the carriage, we followed the paths, we entered, arm in arm, into the woods; we often got lost, we always found each other again. Lucile, as much of a marquise as a woman can be, and recognized as such by all the innkeepers along the road, covered in three weeks the road that with her mother she had devoured in twenty-four hours: however, the second journey seemed shorter to her than the first. The arrival of the two spouses was a celebration in Arlange: Lucile was adored by all her vassals. The elders of the country and the deans of the forge came to tell her in their patois that they had found the time long after her; the companions of her childhood came awkwardly to bring her good morning: she received them in her arms. She amply repaid the good, fat, friendship coin that these good people spent on her; she inquired about the absent; she asked for news of the sick; she spread throughout the village the joy with which her heart was full. This tribute once paid to the memories of her early life, she intended to retreat into the forge with Gaston, close the door to all visitors, and live on love in the depths of her retreat. Children have the improvidence of those American savages who cut down the tree at the base and eat all the fruit in a day. But the Marquis, since his marriage, had given serious thought and divined the great secret of domestic life: the economy of happiness. He knew that solitude for two, that dream of lovers, must quickly exhaust the richest hearts , and that if one says everything in a day, one must soon repeat oneself or be silent. If all young spouses were not in the habit of wasting their happiness, the honeymoon, which the universe accuses of being too short, would have more than four quarters. Gaston felt enough tenderness in his soul to make his happiness last as long as his life, but on condition that he managed it carefully. He gently led Lucile to divide her time between love, work, and even boredom, that salutary neighbor who adds so much charm to pleasure. He interested her in his studies and his research; he persuaded her to make and receive visits; he had the heroism to take her to the Baroness de Sommerfogel! He joined her in begging Mr. and Mrs. Jordy to come and spend the first vacation they could take at the forge; he dictated five or six letters to her intended to soften Mrs. Benoît and bring her back. These signs of filial submission only exasperated the widow ‘s anger . She was not far from believing herself offended by vain excuses which had not the virtue of opening the slightest salon to her. If she had had to forget for a moment what she called the betrayal of her daughter, the invitation of the Marquis de Croix-Maugars, which she carried with her, would have brought it back before her eyes. She became a misanthrope like all weak minds when they believe they have something to complain about. She became intolerant of the entire universe, even her former paradise, the Faubourg Saint-Germain: it seemed to her that the aristocracy of Paris was conspiring against her, and that the Marquis d’Outreville was the leader of the plot. If she did not say an eternal farewell to the scene of her disappointments, it was so as not to admit defeat. She persisted in associating with the nobility, but only to brave them more closely: she wanted to tread the carpets of the Rue de Grenelle as Diogenes trampled underfoot the luxury of Plato! She saw neither Madame de Malésy nor her other debtors again, except the Baron de Subressac. It was not that she expected any service from him: she had folded her arms and now expected nothing but chance. But the baron showed him goodwill, and that is something, for want of anything better, than the friendship of a baron. M. de Subressac was very old at seventy-five: at twenty-five, he had been particularly young. He had spent his life and his fortune without counting, and his former adventures still provided the intimate conversation of the dowagers of the suburb. Unfortunately for his old age, he had forgotten to marry in time, and he had condemned himself to solitude, that cold companion of old bachelors. Relegated to a fourth floor with a life annuity of six thousand livres, between a valet and a cook who served him out of habit, he hated the home and lived outside. Every day, after lunch, he dressed himself with the meticulous coquetry of a woman who is getting on in years. It has been claimed that he wore rouge, but the fact does not seem to be well established. Once dressed, he made five or six visits at a leisurely pace, was well received everywhere, and invited to dinner seven times a week. He was loved for the care he took of himself and others: he had exquisite attentions for women of all ages that the younger generation no longer knows. Independently of this merit, sex rewarded thirty years of loyal service in him, as a sovereign gives the Invalides to a soldier aged in harness. I am not speaking of five or six venerable grandmothers among whom he found that closer friendship which is like crystallized love. Thanks to the good feelings he had sown along his path, he was as happy as one can be at seventy-five when one is forced to seek happiness outside one’s home. He had no infirmities, but from the winter of 1845, his closest friends began to notice that he was declining. He was no longer as alert to conversation; He had absences. His speech seemed less lively and his tongue less fluid. Finally, a more serious symptom, he could no longer resist sleep. One evening, after dinner, at the Marquis de Croix-Maugars’s, he fell asleep in his chair. Madame de Malésy, one of his whims of 1815, was the first to notice this and quoted a menacing saying about it: Youth that watches, old age that sleeps, omens of death. In April 1846, the Baron was seized by a dizziness in front of the barracks on Rue Bellechasse; he would have fallen to the pavement if it had not been for a brigadier of chasseurs who held him in his arms. This circumstance made him keenly miss a carriage: people were always happy to receive his visits, but they did not have him picked up at home. Madame Benoît was the first to show him such delicate care. Whether she was waiting for him or whether he was taking leave of her, she never forgot to place at his disposal the softest of her carriages and the softest cushions. She showed herself more attentive than old friends, and do not be surprised: he was a hope for her, for others a memory. The day when she no longer expected anything from him, after Lucile’s departure, she did not diminish her attentions in any way, quite the contrary. She felt a bitter pleasure in satisfying the only gentleman who was one of her friends. She said to herself: The fools! That’s how I would have pampered them all! The Baron took a true friendship for the one who treated him so well. Old people are like children: they instinctively attach themselves to those who take care of their weakness. He made her take advantage of the leisure that the season left her; while a large half of the suburb ran to the country to rest from the pleasures of winter, he took up his quarters in the rue Saint-Dominique, and came almost every day to dine with the bourgeoisie. The meal was ordered for him: he was served the dishes he liked. He ate slowly: Madame Benoît took his example, so as not to appear to be waiting for him. He liked old wines; she served him the cream from her cellar. At dessert she told him her grievances, and he listened to her. He came to pity her seriously for her imaginary ills. She wept, and, as tears are contagious, he wept with her. Three months after Lucile’s departure, he was with her. He had grown accustomed to this easy and rich life and these quiet pleasures which cost him only a little compassion. One evening, it was towards the end of September, he said to Madame Benoît: I am no longer good for anything, my poor charming: I am like an old tapestry which shows the thread everywhere, and of which the design is three-quarters erased; but, such as I am, I can still give you what you have wished for all your life: do you want to be a baroness? It is not a husband that I am proposing to you, it is only a name. At your age, and made as you are, you would deserve better; but I offer what I have. Something tells me that I will not bore you long, and that my old age will soon be over; I even believe that we would do well to hurry, if you want to become Madame de Subressac. I have many connections in the suburb; I am loved almost everywhere: let me just have time to introduce you to my friends! After my death, they will continue to receive you for love of me. Then nothing will prevent you, if you feel like it, from choosing a man of your age, who will be your husband in truth and no longer in effigy. Meditate on this proposal: take eight days to think it over, take fifteen, I am still good for fifteen days. Write to your children; perhaps the fear of this marriage will decide them to do what you want. As for me, whatever happens, I will die more peacefully if I have the consolation of having contributed to your happiness. Madame Benoît was in no way prepared for these overtures; however, she did not waste two days in reflection. An hour after the Baron’s departure, her decision was made. She said to herself: I swore I would not remarry; but before that I swore to enter the suburb. This time, at least, I am sure I will not be beaten by my husband! I marry the baron, I distort my fortune, and I disinherit the marquise of everything I can possibly take from her: let’s get to work! She had her reply taken to M. de Subressac, and the very next day, without writing to her children, she hastened the preparations for her marriage. Never did a passionate lover run more ardently to his wedding: it was because Madame Benoît married much better than a man, she married the suburb! A slight indisposition of M. de Subressac warned her that she had no time to lose: she took to the skies and displayed more activity than on the approach of her daughter’s marriage. While the baron was kept in the room, the fiancée ran from the town hall to the notary’s office, and from the office to the sacristy. She still found time to see her dear patient and to talk with the doctor. The ceremony was set for October 15. On the 14th, M. de Subressac, who was better, complained of a heaviness in his head; the doctor spoke of bleeding him; Madame Benoît silenced him; the bleeding was postponed until the next day, the headache dissipated, and the future spouses dined together with good appetite. The month of October was charming in 1846: one would have thought it was the first days of September, and the sun gave the calendar a brilliant lie. The grape harvest was beautiful throughout France, and even in Lorraine. While Madame Benoît ardently pursued her barony, her daughter and son-in-law enjoyed the autumn in the company of their friends. Mr. and Mrs. Jordy had left their businesses to come and spend three weeks in Arlange. Madame Mélier kept them for eight days and then allowed them to live in the forge; neither mothers nor husbands refuse anything to a young woman four months pregnant. A
close friendship had been established between the refiner and the blacksmith. They hunted every day together, while their wives sewed a prince’s layette. Robert called the Marquise Lucile and Gaston called Céline to Madame Jordy. On the very day when the Marquis was to gain a father-in-law and lose a fortune, the two couples, awake at dawn, embarked together in a sturdy chariot, proof against all the ruts of the forest. The dew in large drops sparkled in the marijuana; the yellowed leaves descended , swirling in the air, and came to lie at the foot of the trees. The robins followed the course of the carriage from branch to branch; the wagtail ran, wagging its tail, right under the horses’ hooves. From time to time a startled rabbit, its ears laid back, passed like lightning across the road. The sharp morning air colored the faces of the young women. I know of nothing more charming than these autumn shivers between the oppressive heat of summer and the brutal ice of winter. The heat enervates us, the cold stiffens us; A gentle coolness strengthens the springs of body and mind, stimulates our activity and redoubles the joy of living. After a long walk, which seemed long to no one, the four friends got out of the car. Lucile, who commanded the expedition, led them to a beautiful green space, under a large oak tree, near a small spring framed with watercress. Madame Jordy, lazy out of duty, settled comfortably on the woodland marijuana, finer and softer than the best furs, while her husband emptied the trunks of the char-à-bancs and the Marquis lit a large fire for lunch. Lucile threw in armfuls of dry leaves and handfuls of dead branches; then Robert carved the cold partridges, and the Marquise used all her talents to make a magnificent omelet. Then the coffee was put near the fire, at a respectful distance, recommending to the Marquis not to let it cook. Then began one of those tournaments of appetite which would be ridiculous in the city but are delicious in the country; and when an acorn fell into a glass, people laughed heartily, and they thought the old oak had a great deal of wit. It was not far from noon when the table was delivered to the footmen and the coachman. The two young women took a path they had known for a long time, walked briskly to the edge of the wood, and threw their husbands into the middle of the harvest in Madame Mélier’s vineyards. A soft sun lit up the purple leaves of the vines. The sturdy vines pressed their gnarled roots into the ground, like a vigorous child clinging to its nurse’s breast. The beautiful red earth, slightly soaked by autumn, clung to the feet of the harvesters, and each of them carried a small acre of it on his shoe. Two carts laden with large vats waited at the bottom of the hill, and every now and then a winegrower, bent under the weight, came to pour his full basket into them. A little further on, two six-year-old children watched the grape pickers’ meal with hungry eyes. An enormous cabbage soup bubbled up its succulent vapors; Potatoes were cooking under the ashes, and the curdled milk was waiting its turn in the blue stoneware jars. The two children’s eyes said with a certain eloquence: Oh! Hot potatoes , with cold curdled milk! The grape-pickers in short petticoats sang a rustic poem from the top of their heads. This noisy gaiety benefits the master of the vineyard: A mouth that bites the song does not bite the grape. While Gaston and Robert climbed the hill and reviewed a battle front bristling with stakes, a strange discussion arose between the two friends, near the grape-pickers’ kitchen. Are you crazy? said Madame Jordy; this soup must be detestable. « Just a plateful! » said the marquise. « But you’ve just had lunch!  » « I’m hungry for that soup.  » « If you’re hungry, let’s go back to the car. » « No, it’s soup I need; ask for some for me, or I ‘ll steal it. I’m dying of desire!  » « Tears! Oh! This is getting serious. I thought that desires were only allowed to me. But, in fact, who knows? Eat, madame, eat.  » The pretty marquise devoured a thresher’s portion in the barn. Madame Jordy was astonished that one could have such a fierce appetite when one wasn’t eating for two. She took her friend aside, asked her a thousand and one questions, and chatted with her for a long time. The conclusion was that we should seek the doctor’s advice.  » Are we disturbing you? » asked Gaston, who was retracing his steps. « Not at all, » replied Madame Jordy; « we were talking about rags.  » « Ah!  » « My God, yes. You know that we are working on a layette.  » « Well?  » « Well, a serious worry has come to us.  » « And what? » « We’re afraid we’ll have to make two. » Gaston felt his legs give way under him: he was a strong man, though. He suggested getting back in the carriage and running to the doctor.  » What joy! » Lucile was saying. « If the doctor says yes, I’ll write to Mama tomorrow.  » That same day, at ten o’clock in the morning, Madame Benoît climbed into the famous carriage that had finally been completed, but with the coat of arms changed. Before climbing the velvet staircase that served as a step, she complacently eyed the baron’s tortil and the Subressac coat of arms. Contrary to custom, it was the bride who was going to fetch her husband. She climbed lightly to the fourth floor, rang the bell briskly, and found herself face to face with two weeping servants: the baron had died suddenly during the night. The poor bride felt the overwhelming grief of Calypso when she learned of Ulysses’ departure. She wanted to see what remained of the Baron: she touched his cold hand, she sat down by his bed, overwhelmed, stupid and without tears. Seeing this despair, the old valet, who knew the list of his master’s loves, said to himself that no one had loved him like Madame Benoît. It was Madame Benoît who provided for the Baron’s funeral. She assured the future of her old servants by saying: It is up to me to pay his debts: am I not his widow in the eyes of God? She resolved to wear her mourning. She followed the procession to the cemetery. The whole suburb was there. When she saw the long line of carriages advancing at a walking pace behind hers, she burst into tears, and cried out amidst sobs: How unhappy I am! All these people would have come to dance at my house! As she returned to the hotel, crushed under the weight of grief, she was given the following letter: Dear Mother, This is the sixth letter I have written to you without receiving two lines of reply; but, this time, I am sure of success. I will not repeat to you that we love you, that we are sorry to have caused you pain, that we miss you, that we are starting to light a fire in the evening, and that your empty armchair brings tears to our eyes. eyes: you have resisted all those good reasons, and more victorious arguments are needed to make up your mind. Listen then: if you want to be good and come back to us, I will give you as a reward…. a grandson! I am not trying to describe our joy to you; it is better that you come and see it and share it. LUCILE D’OUTREVILLE Yes, cried Madame Benoît, a grandson! And if it were a granddaughter! She ran to the fireplace, and continued, looking at herself in a mirror: I am forty-two years old; in sixteen years, my granddaughter will make her entrance into the world; her parents will never leave Arlange: who will take her to the suburb, if not me? Dear little one! I love her already. I will be fifty-eight years old, I will still be young; and until then, I will not be so foolish as to let myself die like certain clumsy old men. On my way to Arlange! « Madame, » interrupted Julie, « they have come from Queen Artemisia with mourning clothes.  » « Send these people away! Are they making fun of me? The Baron was nothing to me, and I do not want to display ridiculous regrets.  » « But, madame, it was madame who said… » « Mademoiselle Julie, when your mistress speaks to you, it is not for you to say but. » Because I have put up with your faults for fifteen years, you perhaps thought that I was engaged to you for life? It is like Master Pierre, your faithful friend, who follows your good examples and only wants to do as he pleases. You serve me rather badly; and what is much more serious, it has happened to both of you to grossly fail Madame la Marquise d’Outreville. Don’t come and object again that it was I who said it. The fact is that my daughter can no longer see either of you; and since I am returning to Arlange…. –I understand; madame is punishing us for having obeyed her. This is how Madame Benoît dismissed her allies before the signing of the peace. Two days later, her smile lit up Arlange. She did not speak of the past; she abstained from all recriminations; she frankly reconciled with her daughter and son-in-law: she almost admitted her wrongs. My children, she said, how good you are here! Stay here for a long time, stay here always! Gaston was quite right to praise the countryside: it is there that one lives well and raises good families. Give me many grandchildren; I will never complain of having too many. It is I who will provide dowries for your daughters: so, my Lucette, regulate yourself accordingly. But do you understand this infatuation they have for Paris? It is an abominable city; I have found nothing but disappointments there, and I will never set foot there again except to lead my grandchildren into society! Seven months later, the Marquise gave birth to a boy. He was Madame Jordy’s godson; Madame Benoît did not want to be his godmother. I am expecting the girls, she said. In the ten years that have just passed, Lucile has given her husband seven children, and such happy fertility does not seem to have tired her. She has gained a little plumpness without losing any of her grace: are the cherry trees less beautiful because they bear cherries every year? Gaston, faithful to the two passions of his youth, devotes the better part of his time to Lucile, and the rest to science. His factory is prospering as well as his household. He has vigorously pushed forward progress in the metallurgical industry; he has precipitated the decline in the price of iron: thanks to him, the ton of rails has fallen from 360 francs to 285, and he does not despair of bringing it to 200, as he once promised to his friend the saltworks engineer. The Marquis d’Outreville is, moreover, a fine blacksmith, and you would not give him more than thirty years: years have so little hold on a happy man ! But Madame Benoît is a little old woman, emaciated, wrinkled, sullen, unbearable to others and to herself. It is because she waited in vain for the little blond head on which she based her last hopes. The seven children of the Marquis are seven chubby rascals who roll from morning to night in the dust, who wear holes in their jackets at the elbows and their trousers at the knees, who have chilblains in the winter, and red hands in all seasons, and who will go alone to the Faubourg Saint-Germain, if they ever have the curiosity to see their grandmother’s paradise. Gabrielle-Auguste-Éliane will die like Moses on Mount Nebo, without having set foot on the promised land. You have just traveled with Edmond About behind the scenes of Parisian weddings, where passions, illusions and social strategies meet and collide. This fine and piquant portrait of Parisian life reminds us how human relationships are both universal and timeless. We hope this story entertained you and offered a new perspective on 19th-century customs and spirit. Thank you for listening, and look forward to more literary gems on this channel dedicated to the great voices of classical literature. .

Déroulement de la vidéo:

0.0 Let’s dive together into the fascinating world of Edmond About with Les mariages de Paris. In this work, the author paints a
8.4 vivid and sometimes ironic picture of the unions and romantic intrigues that animated 19th-century Parisian society. Through his
15.84 penetrating gaze and satirical wit, he highlights the ambitions, hypocrisies, and dreams hidden behind marriages,
23.72 between social conventions and personal aspirations. It is a humorous and truthful immersion into the mores of his time, where
30.64 social criticism blends with literary charm. Chapter 1. When I was a candidate at the École Normale (it was in October
37.056 of the year of grace 1848), I became friends with two of my competitors, the Debay brothers. They were Bretons, born in Auray, and
46.216 educated at the college of Vannes. Although they were the same age, give or take a few minutes, they were nothing alike, and I have never seen
53.376 two twins so ill-matched. Matthieu Debay was a small man of twenty-three, rather ugly and stunted. His arms were
61.296 too long, his shoulders too high, and his legs too short: you would have said he was a hunchback who had lost his hump. His brother Léonce was a
69.176 type of aristocratic beauty: tall, well-built, with a fine waist, a Greek profile, a proud eye, and a superb mustache. His hair, almost
78.056 blue, quivered on his head like a lion’s mane. Poor Matthieu was not red-haired, but he had had a narrow escape: his beard
85.696 and hair offered a sample of every color. What was attractive about him was a pair of small gray eyes, full of
92.216 finesse, naiveté, gentleness, and everything that is best in the world. Beauty, banished from his entire person, had taken refuge
100.456 in that corner. When the two brothers came for exams, Léonce would whistle a little cane with a silver head that aroused much
108.776 jealousy; Matthieu philosophically dragged under his arm a person of all body types red umbrella that won him the goodwill of the examiners.
117.336 However, he was rejected like his brother: the college of Vannes had not taught them enough Greek. Matthieu was missed at school: he
125.856 had the vocation, the desire to learn, the rage to teach; he was born a professor.
131.784 As for Léonce, we unanimously thought that it would be a great shame if such a well-built boy shut himself up like us
138.224 in the university cloister. His taking the robe would have saddened us like taking the habit. The two brothers were not without resources. We even found
145.624 that they were rich, when we compared their fortune to ours: they had Uncle Yvon. Uncle Yvon, a former coastal captain,
153.664 then a sardine fishing shipowner, owned several boats, many nets, some property in the sun, and a pretty house in
161.424 the port of Auray, in front of the Pavillon d’en bas. As he had never found the time to marry, he remained a bachelor. He was a
168.944 man with a big heart, excellent for the poor and especially for his family, who were in great need of it. The people of Auray held him in
175.384 high esteem; he was on the municipal council, and the little boys
180.544 would say to him, taking off their caps: Good morning, Captain Yvon! This worthy man had taken Mr. and Mrs. Debay into his home, and he saved
187.984 two hundred francs a month for the children. Thanks to this munificence, Léonce and Matthieu were able to stay at the Hôtel
194.064 Corneille, which is the Hôtel des Princes in the Latin Quarter. Their room cost fifty francs a month; it was a beautiful room. There
200.904 were two mahogany beds with red curtains, and two armchairs, and several chairs, and a glass-fronted cupboard for storing books, and
208.384 even (God forgive me!) a rug. These gentlemen ate at the hotel; the board was not bad at 75 francs a month. Food and
217.104 board absorbed Uncle Yvon’s two hundred francs; Matthieu provided for the other expenses. His age did not allow him to
223.984 apply a second time to the École Normale. He said to his brother: I’m going to prepare for the exams for my degree in literature.
230.352 Once I’m graduated, I’ll write my theses for my doctorate, and Dr. Debay will one day or another obtain a substitute position in some faculty. You
238.952 ‘ll study medicine or law; you’re free. And money? asked Léonce.
244.112 « I’ll mint money. I went to Sainte-Barbe and asked for lessons. They accepted me as tutor for the
250.112 ninth and tenth grade students: two hours of work every morning, and two hundred francs every month. I’ll have to get up at five o’clock; but
257.152 we’ll be rich.  » « And then, » added Léonce, « you belong to the family of early risers, and it’s a pleasure for you to wake the sun. »
264.112 Léonce chose law. He spoke like an oracle, and no one doubted that he would make an excellent lawyer. He followed the lectures,
272.072 took notes, and wrote them up carefully; after which he would wash up, run around Paris, show himself to the four cardinal points,
279.552 and spend the evening at the theater. Matthieu, dressed in a hazelnut overcoat that I can still see, listened to all the professors at the Sorbonne,
287.472 and worked in the evenings at the Sainte-Geneviève library. The whole Latin Quarter knew Léonce; no one in the world suspected
295.152 the existence of Matthieu. I went to see them on almost all my outings; that is to say, on Thursdays
300.192 and Sundays. They lent me books, Matthieu had a cult for Madame Sand; Léonce was a fanatic of Balzac. The young professor
307.992 relaxed in the company of François le Champi, of Bonhomme Patience or of Bessons de la Bessonière. His simple and serious soul walked
316.352 dreamily in the reddish furrow of the plows, in the paths bordered by heather or under the large chestnut trees that shade the
322.832 Devil’s Pond. Léonce’s restless spirit followed entirely different paths . Curious to probe the mysteries of Parisian life, eager
330.456 for pleasure, light, and noise, he inhaled from Balzac’s novels an intoxicating air like the scent of hothouses. He followed
338.696 with dazzled eyes the strange fortunes of the Rubemprés, the Rastignacs, the Henry de Marsays. He entered into their clothes, slipped into their
345.776 world, witnessed their duels, their loves, their enterprises, their victories; he triumphed with them. Then he came to look at himself
352.816 in the mirror. Were they better than me? Am I not worth them ? What would prevent me from succeeding like them! I have their
359.456 beauty, their wit, an education they never had, and, what is even better, the sense of duty. I learned from
366.656 college the distinction between good and evil. I will be a de Marsay minus
371.856 the vices, a Rubempré without Vautrin, a scrupulous Rastignac: what
377.736 a future! All the joys of pleasure and all the pride of virtue! When the two brothers, with half-closed eyes, interrupted their
385.176 reading to listen to some inner voice, Léonce heard the tinkling of the millions of Nucingen or Gobsek, and Matthieu the
393.176 quivering sound of those rustic bells that announce the return of the flocks. We sometimes went out together. Léonce took us for rides along the
400.576 Boulevard des Italiens and through the better districts of Paris. He chose hotels, he bought horses, he enlisted
408.136 footmen. When he saw an unpleasant face in a pretty coupé, he took us to task: Everything is going wrong, he said, and
416.096 the universe is a foolish country. Wouldn’t this carriage suit us a hundred times better? He said « we » out of politeness. His passion for
423.456 horses was so intense that Matthieu took out a twenty- fee subscription to the riding school. Matthieu, when we left it to him to
430.392 drive us, would head towards the woods of Meudon and Clamart. He claimed that the countryside was more beautiful than the city, even in winter,
436.912 and the crows on the snow were more pleasing to his eyes than the bourgeois in the droppings. Léonce followed us, murmuring and
443.752 dragging his feet. Deep in the woods, he dreamed of the associations mysterious like that of the Thirteen, and he suggested that we
451.632 join forces together for the conquest of Paris. For my part, I took my friends on some curious walks.
458.072 A small charity office has been founded at the École Normale. A contribution of a few sous per week, the proceeds of an annual lottery
465.032 , and old school clothes make up a modest fund from which we take every day without ever exhausting it. We distribute in the
471.352 neighborhood a few printed cards representing wood, bread, or broth, some clothes, a little linen, and a lot of kind
477.312 words. The great usefulness of this small institution is to remind young people that poverty exists. Matthieu accompanied me more
484.232 often than Léonce up the winding stairs of the 12th arrondissement. Léonce said: Poverty is a problem for which I want to find the
491.552 solution. I will take my courage in both hands, I will overcome all my disgust, I will penetrate to the depths of these accursed houses where the
498.992 sun and the bread do not enter every day; I will touch with my finger this ulcer which eats away at our society, and which has put it, very recently
506.512 still, on the verge of the grave; I will know in what proportion vice and fatality work for the degradation of our species. He
514.032 said excellent things, but it was Matthieu who came with me. He followed me one day to Rue Traversine, to the house of a poor devil whose name
521.872 I do not remember. I only remember that he was nicknamed the Little Grey, because he was small and his hair was gray.
528.192 He had a wife and no children, and he re-caned chairs. We paid him our first visit in July 1849. Matthieu
536.992 felt chilled to the core as he entered Rue Traversine. It’s a street I don’t want to speak ill of, because it will be demolished
544.792 within six months. But, in the meantime, it looks a little too much like the streets of Constantinople. It’s located in a part of Paris that
551.472 Parisians hardly know; it borders on the Rue de Versailles, the Rue du Paon, the Rue de la Montagne-Sainte-Geneviève; it
560.072 runs parallel to the Rue Saint-Victor. Perhaps it’s paved or macadamized, but I can’t answer for anything: the ground is covered with
567.632 chopped straw, debris of all kinds, and very much alive kids rolling in the mud. To the right and left rise two rows
574.672 of tall, bare, dirty houses, pierced with small, uncurtained windows . Quite picturesque rags dot each facade,
582.312 waiting for the wind to take the trouble to dry them. The Rue de Rivoli is much better, but the Little Gray couldn’t find a place to rent on the Rue
588.112 de Rivoli. He told us about his poverty: he earned a franc a day. His wife wove doormats and earned fifty to sixty
596.352 centimes. Their lodgings were a room on the fifth floor; their flooring, a layer of beaten earth; their window, a collection of
604.432 oiled papers. I took a few coupons for bread and broth from my pocket. The Little Gray received them with a slightly ironic smile.
610.952 Sir, he said to me, you will forgive me if I interfere in what is none of my business, but I have the idea that it is not with these little
617.712 boxes that we will cure poverty. It is as much like putting lint on a wooden leg. You took the trouble to climb my five flights of stairs
624.416 with your friend, to bring me six pounds of bread and two liters of broth. We have been here for two days. But will you come back the
631.256 day after tomorrow? It is impossible: you have other things to do. In two days I will be in the same situation as if you had not come.
638.016 I’ll be even hungrier, because the stomach is fierce the day after a good dinner. If I were rich like you others, » Matthew
645.496 jabbed his elbow in my side, « I would arrange things so as to get people out of trouble for the rest of their days.
651.376 « And how? If the takings are good, we’ll profit from them.  » « There are two ways; we buy them a business, or we
657.936 procure a government position. « Shut up, » his wife told him. « I always told you that you would harm yourself with your ambition.
664.136  » « What’s the harm, if I am capable? I confess that I have always had the idea of ​​asking for a position. If someone offered me ten francs to set myself up as a
671.456 seasonal merchant or to buy a match business, I certainly would not refuse, but I would always regret a little the
677.696 position I have in mind.  » « And what position, please? » asked Matthieu. « Sweeper for the city of Paris. You earn your twenty sous a day, and
685.376 you are free at ten o’clock in the morning, at the latest. If you could get that for me, my good gentlemen, I would double my earnings, I would have enough
692.576 to live on, you would be spared from having to come up here with little boxes in your pockets, and I would be the one who went to your house to thank you. »
700.296 We didn’t know anyone at the prefecture, but Léonce had met the son of a police commissioner: he used his influence
708.136 to obtain the appointment of the Little Gray. When we came to congratulate him, the first piece of furniture that caught our eyes was a
714.96 gigantic broom whose handle was embellished with an iron ring. The owner of this broom thanked us warmly.
721.24 Thanks to you, he told us, I am above want; my superiors already appreciate me, and I do not despair of enlisting my wife
729.16 in my brigade; that would be wealth. But there are two ladies on our landing who could do with your assistance; unfortunately,
736.68 they are not made for sweeping. « Let’s go see them, » said Matthieu. « Let me speak to you first. They are not people like my
743.96 wife and me: they have had misfortunes. The lady is a widow. Her husband was a jeweler himself, of all types of bodies, on Rue d’Orléans, in the Marais. He left
751.84 last year for California with a machine he invented, a gold-finding machine; but the ship sank on the way, with
759.32 the man, the machine, and everything else. These ladies read in the newspapers that not a single match had been saved. So they sold what little
766.08 they had left and went to live on Rue d’Enfer; and then the lady caught an illness that ate everything away. So they came here.
773.8 They embroider from morning to night until their eyes die, but they don’t earn much. My wife helps them with their housework when
781.84 she has time: we’re not rich, but we give a helping hand to those who are struggling too much. I’m telling you this to make you
788.56 understand that these ladies don’t ask anything from anyone, and that you’ll have to be polite to make them accept anything. Besides,
794.84 the young lady is as pretty as a picture, and that makes you savage, as you understand. Matthieu turned very red at the thought that he might have been indiscreet.
801.8 We’ll find a way, he said. What is this lady’s name? « Madame Bourgade.  » « Thank you. »
806.992 Two days later, Matthieu, who had never wanted private lessons, undertook to prepare a young man for the baccalaureate. He
814.472 gave himself to it so wholeheartedly that his pupil, who had been refused four or five times, was accepted on August 18, at the beginning of the holidays.
822.752 It was only then that the two brothers set off for Brittany. Before leaving, Matthieu gave me fifty francs.  »
829.472 I’ll be away for five weeks, » he told me. « I have to come back in October, for the start of the school year and for the license exams
836.192 . You will go to the post office every Monday and take a money order for ten francs, made out to Madame Bourgade: you know the address. She
844.072 thinks it’s a debtor of her husband’s who pays in detail. » Do n’t show yourself in the house: you mustn’t arouse the suspicions
853.072 of these ladies. If one of them fell ill, Little Gray would come and warn you, and you would write to me.
858.712 I told you that one could only read good feelings in Matthew’s little gray eyes. Why didn’t I keep the
864.912 letter he wrote me during the holidays? It would please you. He described to me with naive enthusiasm the countryside gilded by
872.152 gorse, the druidic stones of Carnac, the dunes of Quiberon, the sardine fishing in the gulf, and the flotilla of red sails
879.512 harvesting oysters in the Auray River. All this seemed new to him, after a year of absence. His brother was a little bored
886.112 thinking about Paris. For him, he had found nothing but pleasures. His parents were doing so well! Uncle Yvon was such a nobody of all body types and so
894.592 fat! The house was so beautiful, the beds so soft, the table so generous! – Perhaps I forgot to tell you that Matthieu ate
901.232 for two. – Do you know the only thing that saddened me? he wrote to me in a postscript. I’ll admit it to you, when you should be making fun of
908.952 me. There are two large, lazy rooms in the house, well -floored, well-ventilated, well-furnished, and which are of no use to anyone.
916.352 I’m sure my uncle would rent them for nothing to any honest family who wanted to take them. And one pays a hundred francs a year to live
923.192 on Rue Traversine. Matthieu returned in October and won his degree in literature with flying colors. The examiners’ marks were
931.752 so favorable that he was offered the chair of the fourth year at the Chaumont high school; but he could not bring himself to leave his brother and Paris.
938.312 From time to time he gave me news from Rue Traversine: Madame Bourgade was ill. You will only fully understand
945.512 the interest he took in his invisible protégées if I let you in on the great secret of his youth: he had not yet loved anyone.
952.912 Since his comrades had not spared him jokes about his ugliness, he was modest to the point of regarding himself as a monster. If
960.512 anyone had tried to tell him that a woman could love him as he was, he would have thought they were making fun of him. He sometimes dreamed
966.512 that a fairy struck him with her wand, and he became another man. This transformation was the indispensable preface to all his
973.832 love stories. In real life, he passed by women without raising his eyes: he feared that the sight of him would be unpleasant to them. The
980.912 day he became the unknown benefactor of a beautiful young girl, he felt in the depths of his heart a humble and tender contentment.
986.976 He compared himself to the hero of Beauty and the Beast, who hides his face and lets only his soul be seen; or to that pariah of The Indian Cottage, who
995.016 says: You can eat these fruits, I have not touched them. It was an unforeseen accident that brought him into the presence of Miss Bourgade. He
1002.736 was at Petit-Gris’s asking for news when Aimée entered , crying for help. Her mother had fainted. Matthieu ran with the
1011.296 others. The next day he brought an intern from the Pitié. Madame Bourgade was only ill from exhaustion; she was cured. Petit-Gris’s wife
1019.536 was installed in her home as a nurse. She went to get the medicines and food; and she knew how to bargain so well
1025.976 that she got them for nothing. Madame Bourgade drank an excellent Médoc wine that cost her sixty centimes a bottle; she ate ferruginous chocolate
1033.336 at two francs a kilogram. It was Matthieu who performed these miracles and who did not boast about it. He was seen only as an
1040.696 obliging neighbor; he was thought to be lodged on Rue Saint-Victor. The sick woman slowly became accustomed to the presence of this young professor, who displayed the
1047.976 delicate attentions of a young girl. Her maternal prudence never put itself on guard against him; at most, if she regarded him as
1055.336 a man. From the simplicity of his dress, she judged that he was poor; she was interested in him as he was interested in her. One
1062.696 Monday in December, she saw him coming in a hazelnut overcoat, without a coat, in very cold weather. She told him, after much
1070.016 circumlocution, that she had just received a sum of ten francs, and she offered to lend him half. Matthieu did not know whether he should
1077.936 laugh or cry: he had hired his coat that very morning for those miserable ten francs. That was where they were after a month of
1085.896 acquaintance. Aimée was giving herself up less to the pleasures of intimacy. For her, Matthieu was a man. Comparing him to Petit-Gris
1093.392 and the inhabitants of Rue Traversine, she found him distinguished. Besides, at the age of sixteen, she had hardly had time
1099.512 to observe the human race. She was ignorant not only of Matthieu’s ugliness, but also of her own beauty; there was no mirror in
1107.192 the house. Madame Bourgade told Matthieu what he knew in part, thanks to Petit-Gris’s indiscretions. Her husband was doing poorly in business
1115.392 and barely earning enough to live on when he learned of the discovery of California. As a sensible man, he guessed that the first explorers
1123.512 of this fortunate land would pursue the gold ingots and nuggets buried in the rock, without taking the time to exploit the
1130.152 gold-bearing sands. He said to himself that the safest and most lucrative speculation would consist of washing the dust from the mines and the sand from the
1136.872 ravines. With this in mind, he built a very ingenious machine, which he called, after himself, the Bourgade separator. To test
1145.392 it, he mixed 30 grams of gold powder with 100 kilograms of earth and sand. The separator reproduced all the gold, to
1153.272 within two decigrams. With this experience, Mr. Bourgade gathered together the little he had, left his family enough to live on for six
1160.592 months, and embarked on the Belle-Antoinette, from Bordeaux, by the grace of God. Two months later, the Belle-Antoinette was lost, body and
1168.352 goods, leaving the Rio de Janeiro channel. Matthieu realized that, without making a trip to California,
1175.752 the late Bourgade’s invention could be exploited for the benefit of the widow and her daughter. He asked Mrs. Bourgade to entrust him with the plans she had
1182.992 kept, and I was instructed to show them to a student at the École Centrale. The consultation was not long. The young engineer said to me,
1190.848 after a second’s examination: Known! It’s the Bourgade separator. It ‘s in the public domain, and the Brazilians manufacture ten thousand
1198.928 of them a year in Rio de Janeiro. Do you know the inventor? « He died in a shipwreck.  » « The machine will have survived; that’s something you see every day. »
1206.768 I returned piteously to the Hôtel Corneille to report on my embassy. I found the two brothers in tears. Uncle Yvon had
1214.688 died of apoplexy, leaving them all his possessions. Chapter 2. I have kept a copy of Uncle Yvon’s will. Here it is:
1221.488 On August 15, 1849, the feast of the Assumption, I, Matthieu-Jean-Léonce
1228.488 Yvon, of sound body and mind and having received the sacraments of the Church, drew up this will and document of my last wishes.
1235.448 Foreseeing the accidents to which human life is exposed, and desiring that, if anything happens to me, my property be shared without
1243.288 dispute between my heirs, I divided my fortune into two parts as equal as I could make them, namely:
1249.288 1. A sum of fifty thousand francs yielding five percent, and invested by the care of Mr. Aubryet, notary in Paris;
1256.288 2. My house located in Auray, my moors, arable land and real estate of all kinds; my boats, nets, fishing gear, weapons, furniture,
1266.168 clothes, linen and other movable objects, all valued, in conscience and justice, at fifty thousand francs.
1273.808 I give and bequeath all of these assets to my nephews and godchildren, Matthieu and Léonce Debay, enjoining each of them to choose, either
1280.728 amicably or by lot, one of the two shares designated above, without resorting, under any pretext, to the intervention of
1288.928 men of law. In the event that I should die before my sister Yvonne Yvon, wife of Debay, and her husband, my excellent brother-in-law, I entrust to my heirs
1297.592 the care of their old age; and I trust that they will not let them lack anything, following the example that I have always given them.
1304.432 The division was not long in being made, and there was no need to consult fate. Léonce chose the money, and Matthieu took the rest.
1312.912 Léonce said: What do you want me to do with my poor uncle’s boats ? I would be fine dredging oysters or fishing for
1319.952 sardines! I would have to live in Auray, and just thinking about it makes me yawn. You would soon learn that I am dead and that nostalgia
1328.632 for the boulevard has killed me. If, by good fortune or bad luck, I escaped destruction, all this little fortune would soon perish in
1336.152 my hands. Do I know how to rent land, lease a fishery , or settle partnership accounts with half a dozen sailors?
1343.152 I would let myself be robbed of the ashes of my fire. If Matthieu leaves me the money, I will invest it in a solid security that
1350.112 will bring me twenty for one. That is how I understand business. « As you please, » replied Matthew. « I don’t think you would have been
1357.392 forced to live in Auray. Our parents are well, thank God! And they are perhaps sufficient for the task. But tell me, what is the
1364.832 miraculous value in which you intend to invest your money?  » « My head. Listen to me calmly. Of all the roads that lead a young
1371.992 man to fortune, the shortest is neither commerce, nor industry, nor art, nor medicine, nor pleading, nor even speculation;
1380.072 it is… guess.  » « Lady! I see nothing left but theft on the highways, and it
1386.112 becomes more difficult every day; for locomotives cannot be stopped.  » « You forget marriage! It is marriage that has made the best
1393.072 houses in Europe. Do you want me to tell you the story of the Counts of Habsburg? Seven hundred years ago, they were a little richer than
1400.312 me, not much. » By dint of marrying and marrying heiresses, they founded one of the greatest monarchies in the world, the
1407.232 Austrian Empire. I am marrying an heiress. « Which one?  » « I don’t know, but I will find her.
1413.072  » « With your fifty thousand francs?  » « Stop right there! You understand that if I set out in search of a wife with my little wallet containing fifty banknotes, all the
1421.752 millions would laugh at me; at most, I would find the daughter of a haberdasher or the heiress presumptive to a hardware store.
1428.112 In the world where such a meager sum would be taken into account, no one would be grateful for my appearance, my mind, or my education.
1437.112 For, after all, we are not here to be modest.  » « Good! In the world where I want to marry, they will marry me for me, without
1444.992 inquiring about what I have. » When a suit is well made and well worn, my dear, no girl of condition asks what’s in
1451.432 the pockets. Thereupon, Léonce explained to his brother that he would use Uncle Yvon’s money to open the doors of high society. Long
1458.272 experience, acquired in novels, had taught him that with nothing you can make nothing, but with a good dress, a pretty horse, and good
1465.912 manners, you can always find a loving match. Here’s my plan, he said: I’m going to eat up my capital. For a year,
1475.512 I’ll have fifty thousand francs in effigy income, and the devil will be very clever if I don’t make myself loved by a girl who
1482.952 actually owns them. « But, wretch, you’re ruining yourself!  » « No, I’m investing my money at twenty for one. »
1488.216 Matthieu didn’t bother to argue with his brother. Besides, the invested funds weren’t supposed to be available until June
1496.816 ; there was no danger in the matter. Uncle Yvon’s heirs did not change their way of life; they were no richer than before. The boats and the
1505.496 nets kept the house in Auray going. Maître Aubryet gave two hundred francs a month, as in the past; the rehearsals for
1512.136 Sainte-Barbe and the visits to the Rue Traversine went on at their pace. The truth obliges me to say that Léonce was less assiduous in his classes.
1519.296 the Law School than to dance and fencing lessons. Little Gray, always ambitious, and, I fear, a little scheming, obtained
1527.176 his wife’s appointment, and installed a second broom in his apartment. This was the only event of the winter.
1533.616 In May, Madame Debay wrote to her sons that she was in great difficulty. Her husband had a lot to do and was not enough; one
1541.016 more man in the house would not have been too much. Matthieu feared that his father would tire himself out excessively; he knew him to be hard-working and
1547.696 courageous despite his age; but one is no longer young at sixty, even in Brittany. If I listened to myself, he said to me one day, I would go and spend six months there.
1556.576 My father is killing himself. « What’s keeping you? » « First, my rehearsals.  » « Pass them on to one of our comrades. » I’ll point out six who
1564.456 need it more than you. –And Léonce who will do crazy things! –Don’t worry, if he has to do it, it’s not your presence that will hold him
1571.296 back. –And then… –And then what? –These ladies! –You did leave them during the holidays. Give them to me again to look after,
1578.136 I’ll make sure they don’t want for anything. –But I’ll miss them, he continued, blushing up to
1584.176 his eyes.
–Hey! Speak! You didn’t tell me there was love under
1589.392 the rock.
The poor boy was terrified. He guessed for the first time that he loved Miss Bourgade. I helped him examine his conscience;
1596.912 I wrested from him one by one all the little secrets of his heart, and he remained moved and convinced of passionate love. In my life I have never
1605.992 seen a more confused man. Had he been told that his father had gone bankrupt, I believe he would have shown less shame. It was necessary
1611.872 to reassure him a little and reconcile him with himself. But when I asked him if he believed he was being repaid, he showed a redoubled
1619.312 confusion that pained me. I told him in vain that love is a contagious disease, and that nineteen times out of twenty sincere passions
1625.712 are shared, he believed he was an exception to all the rules. He modestly placed himself at the bottom of the ladder of beings, and he
1633.032 saw in Mlle Bourgade perfections above humanity. No knight of the good times made himself more humble and smaller
1639.232 before the beautiful eyes of his lady. I tried to raise his self-esteem by revealing to him the treasures of kindness and tenderness that
1645.952 were in him: to all my reasons he responded by showing me his face, with a little resigned grimace that brought tears to my
1653.232 eyes. At this moment, if I had been a woman, I would have loved her. Let me see, I said to him, how is she with you?
1658.712 « She is never with me. I am in the room, she too; and yet we are not together. I speak to her, she answers me,
1666.872 but I cannot say that I have ever spoken with her. She does not avoid me, she does not seek me out…. I believe, however, that
1672.912 she avoids me, or at least that I am disagreeable to her. When one is built like that! He was furious at his poor person with charming naiveté.
1680.744 The coldness of Mademoiselle Bourgade towards such an excellent being was not natural. It could only be explained by the beginnings of love or by
1688.184 a calculated coquetry. Does Mademoiselle Bourgade know that you have inherited? « No.  » « Does she think you are poor like her? »
1694.864 « Without that, I would have been shown the door a long time ago.  » « Yes, however…. Don’t blush.  » If, by some impossible chance, she loved you
1700.864 as you love her, what would you do? –I…. would tell her…. –Come on, no false shame! She’s not here: would you marry her?
1707.904 –Oh! if I could! But I would never dare to marry. This happened on a Sunday. The following Thursday, although I had
1716.304 promised to avoid the Rue Traversine, I paid a visit to the Petit-Gris. I had put on my finest uniform, with palms all over it.
1723.784 new in the buttonhole. The Little Gray went to inform Madame Bourgade that a gentleman was asking the favor of speaking
1730.184 with her alone for a few moments. She came as she was, and our host left under the pretext of buying coal.
1735.344 Madame Bourgade was a tall and beautiful woman, a person of all types of body down to the bones; she had long sad eyes, beautiful eyebrows and magnificent hair
1743.344 , but almost no teeth, which made her look old. She stopped in front of me, a little taken aback; poverty is shy.
1750.344 Madame, I said to her, I am a friend of Matthieu Debay; he loves your daughter, and he has the honor of asking for your hand.
1756.384 That is how we were diplomats at the École Normale. Sit down, sir, she said to me gently. She was not
1762.344 surprised by my action, she expected it; she knew that Matthieu loved his daughter, and she admitted to me with a sort of maternal modesty
1769.624 that her daughter had long loved Matthieu. I was sure of it! She had thought long and hard about the possibility of this marriage.
1777.104 On the one hand, she was happy to entrust her daughter’s future to an honest man before she died. She believed herself to be dangerously ill, and
1784.144 attributed to organic causes a weakening produced by deprivation. What frightened her was the idea that Matthieu himself
1791.024 was not very robust, that he might one day take to his bed, lose his lessons, and be left without resources with a woman, perhaps with children,
1797.544 for everything had to be foreseen. I could have reassured her with a single word, but I was careful not to. I was only too happy to see a marriage
1804.704 concluded with that sublime imprudence of the poor who say: Let us love each other first, each day brings its bread! Madame Bourgade only
1813.384 argued with me for form’s sake. She carried Matthieu in her heart. She had for him the love of a mother-in-law for her son-in-law, that
1820.464 love with two degrees, which is a woman’s last passion. Madame de Sévigné never loved her husband like Monsieur de Grignan.
1826.904 Madame Bourgade took me to her home and introduced me to her daughter. The beautiful Aimée was dressed in poorly dyed cotton whose color had
1833.184 faded. She had neither bonnet, nor collar, nor cuffs: laundering
1838.344 is so expensive! I was able to admire a large braid of magnificent blond hair, a neck a little like anyone of all body types, but of a rare elegance, and hands
1847.304 that a great lady would have paid dearly for. Her face was that of her mother, twenty years younger. Seeing them side by side, I
1855.024 involuntarily thought of those architectural drawings where one sees in the same frame a ruined temple and its restoration.
1862.704 Aimée’s figure, with a brassiere instead of a corset, and a simple petticoat without a crinoline, showed a proper elegance. The high cost of
1869.544 coquetry’s devices means that the poor are less often duped than the rich. What surprised me most about the future Madame Debay was the
1876.352 limpid whiteness of her complexion. It looked like milk, but transparent milk: I can’t compare her face better than to a fine pearl.
1883.312 She was quite frankly happy, the little pearl of the Rue Traversine, when she learned the news I brought. In the
1889.512 midst of her joy fell Matthieu, who hadn’t expected to find me there. He wouldn’t believe he was loved until it had been
1895.992 repeated to him three times. We were all talking together, and Beethoven’s quartets are poor music compared to what we were singing.
1903.272 Then, as the door had remained ajar, I slipped away without saying anything. Matthieu knew I was a bit of a mocker, and he wouldn’t have dared to cry
1910.712 in front of me. He married on the first Thursday in June, and I was careful not to be consigned to the School, because I wanted to serve as his witness.
1917.712 I shared this honor with a young writer who was then starting out in L’Artiste. Aimée’s witnesses were two friends of Matthieu,
1926.112 a painter and a teacher: Mme Bourgade had lost touch with her old acquaintances. The town hall of the 11th arrondissement is opposite
1934.592 of the church of Saint-Sulpice: we only had to cross the square. The entire wedding party, including Léonce, was contained in two large cabs which
1942.112 took us to dinner near Meudon, at the home of the Fleury guard. Our dining room was a chalet surrounded by lilacs, and we discovered a small
1949.512 bird that had made its nest in the moss above our heads. We drank to the prosperity of this winged family: we are all equal
1957.672 before happiness. Believe it who wants, but Matthieu was no longer ugly. I had already noticed that the air of the forests had the privilege of
1964.712 beautifying him. There are figures that are only pleasing in a drawing room; you will find others that are only charming in the fields. The
1970.648 floured dolls that one admires in Paris would be horrible to meet at the edge of a wood: I shudder when I think of it. Matthieu was, on the contrary, a
1978.888 very presentable Sylvan: He announced to us, at dessert, that he was going to leave for Auray, with his wife and his mother-in-law. The excellent Mama
1986.968 Debay was already opening her arms to receive her daughter-in-law. Matthieu would write his theses at leisure; he would be a doctor and a professor when the sardines
1994.088 permitted. Not to mention the children, added a voice that was not mine.
1999.288 « My word! » resumed the groom, « if we have children, I will teach them to read by the fireside, and may I have ten students in
2006.808 my class!  » « As for me, » said Léonce, « I postpone you all until next year. You will attend the wedding of Léonce Debay with Miss X., one of the richest
2015.688 heiresses in Paris.  » « Long live Miss X., the glorious unknown! » « Until I know her, » the speaker continued, « you will be told
2023.928 that I have wasted a fortune, scattered treasures, and dispersed my inheritance to all the winds of the horizon. Remember what I
2030.848 promise you: I will throw away the gold, but as a sower throws the seed. Let them talk and wait for the harvest!
2036.048 Why should I not admit that we were drinking Champagne? » Matthieu said to his brother: « You will do what you wish; I no longer doubt anything;
2043.128 I believe everything is possible, since she was able to marry me for love! » But the following Sunday, at the railway station, Matthieu seemed
2051.248 less reassured about his brother’s future. « You are going to play no one of all body types game, » he said, shaking her hand.  »
2056.848 If Boileau had not gone out of fashion, like the hairstyles of his time, I would say to you: This sea you are sailing in is fertile in shipwrecks!
2064.408  » « Bah! » It’s not about Boileau, but about Balzac. This sea I’m sailing through is fertile in heiresses. Count on me, my brother: if there’s
2071.528 one left in the world, it will be for us. –Finally, remember, whatever happens, that your bed is made in the house at Auray.
2077.048 –Have a pillow added. We’ll go see you in our carriage! The Little Gray looked Léonce over with an approving glance that
2084.848 meant to say: Young man, your ambition pleases me. But Léonce didn’t lower his gaze to the Little Gray. He took me by the arm
2093.648 after the train left, and led me to dinner with him; he was cheerful and full of bright hopes.
2098.968 The die is cast, he told me; I’m burning my ships. Yesterday I reserved a delicious mezzanine on the Rue de Provence. The painters are there; in
2107.488 a week, I’ll put the upholsterers there. It is there, my poor dear, that you will come, on Sunday, to eat the chop of friendship.
2114.248 –What idea do you have to begin your campaign in the middle of summer? There isn’t a soul in Paris. –Leave it to me! As soon as my nest is settled, I will leave for
2122.848 the waters of Vichy. Acquaintances are made quickly at the waters: people become friends, they invite each other for next winter. I have thought of everything, and my seat is
2131.008 made. In two weeks, I will have finished with this dreadful Latin Quarter! –Where we spent such good times!
2137.168 –We thought we were having fun, because we didn’t know each other. Do you find this chicken edible?
2142.248 –Excellent, my dear. –Atrocious! By the way, I have a cook; a marriageable boy is dining in
2147.328 town, but he has lunch at home. All that remains is to find a servant. Don’t you have anyone to direct me to? –Of course! I’m sorry to be at the School for eighteen months.
2155.512 I
would have offered myself, so magnificent a teacher do I think you’ll make. –My dear fellow, you’re neither small nor tall enough: I need a
2163.192 colossus or a gnome. Stay where you are. Have you ever thought about liveries? It’s a serious question.
2169.352 –Lady! I’ve read Aristotle’s chapter on hats. –What would you think of a sky-blue greatcoat with red facings?
2175.392 –We also have the uniform of the Pope’s Swiss, yellow, red, and black, with a halberd. What do you say to that?
2180.832 –You’re boring me. I’ve reviewed all the colors; black is just right, with a cockade; but it’s too severe. The brown one
2187.472 isn’t young enough, the person of all types of blue body is discredited by the trade: all the cashiers have blue coats and white buttons. I
2195.712 ‘ll think about it. Look at my new business cards. –LÉONCE DE BAŸ and a marquis’s crown! I’ll give you the marquisate,
2202.592 it doesn’t harm anyone; but I think you would have done better to respect your old father’s name. I’m not a rigorist, but
2210.272 it always angers me a little to see a gallant man disguise himself as a marquis, outside of carnival time. It’s a delicate way of disowning
2217.912 his family. For you to be a marquis, your father must be a duke, or dead: take your pick.
2223.152 –Why take things so tragically? My excellent father would laugh with all his heart to see his name dressed up like that. Don’t you think
2230.192 that diaeresis over the y is an admirable invention? It gives names an aristocratic color! All I need now is a
2237.312 coat of arms. Do you know the blazon? –Bad.
–You still know enough to draw me a shield.
2242.512 –Boy, some paper? Here, here are the arms I give you. You bear quartered or and gules.
2248.608 This represents gules lions on a gold field, and that or martlets on a gules field. Are you
2254.768 satisfied? –Pleased to meet you. What is a martlet? –A duck. –Better and better. Now a slightly cheeky motto.
2262.368 –BAŸ DE RIEN NE S’ÉBAYT. –Magnificent! From this moment on, I owe you homage as to my liege lord.
2267.928 –Well then! Loyal marquis, let’s light a cigar and take me back to the School. Chapter 3.
2273.808 Léonce spent the summer in Vichy and returned in October. He brought back a tall blond servant and a magnificent black horse. It was the legacy
2281.368 of an Englishman who had died of spleen between two glasses of water. He had his return announced to me by the superb Jack, whose mouse-grey livery excited
2288.288 my admiration. Jack wore the arms of the Baÿ on his buttons, without paying me royalties. The handsomest of my friends received me in an apartment imbued with
2296.808 masculine coquetry. There was none of the trinkets that betray the intervention of a woman: not even a tapestry chair! The
2303.728 dining room furniture was oak, the drawing room, of ponceau brocatelle, had a decent, rich, and comfortable air. The study
2311.328 was full of dignity: you would have said it was the sanctuary of an author writing the history of the Crusades. In the bedroom,
2318.208 there was an enormous tapestry depicting the clemency of Alexander, a white marble dressing table, a magnificent set of necessaries spread out
2326.088 in the most perfect order, four carpeted armchairs, and a four-poster bed, a monastic bed, no more than three feet wide.
2333.848 The decoration gave no lie to the assurances of the furnishings. In the drawing room, landscapes. In the dining room, a
2341.328 hunting picture, birds, still lifes. In the study, a trophy of arms, canes, and riding crops, and four large passe-partouts
2348.776 filled with etchings that might have appeared in the home of the fierce Hippolyte. In the bedroom, five or six
2356.256 family portraits bought second-hand from the second-hand dealers on the Rue Jacob. The furniture, the paintings, the engravings, and the books in the library,
2363.296 sorted with scrupulous care, sang the praises of Léonce in unison. The mothers-in-law could come!
2369.856 My first concern upon entering was to look for the cigars, but Léonce no longer smoked. He said that the cigar, which unites men
2377.256 , has no virtue in arranging marriages, and that tobacco equally offends women and bees, winged creatures. He told me about
2383.376 his summer campaign, and triumphantly showed me twenty-five or thirty visiting cards which represented as many invitations for the winter.
2390.936 Read all these names, he said, and you will see if I have thrown my powder to the sparrows! I was surprised to see only names from banking and industry.
2398.456 Why this preference? Balzac’s heroes went to the Faubourg Saint-Germain. « They had their reasons, » said Léonce; I have my own to
2406.536 avoid going there. At the Chaussée d’Antin, my name and title can be useful to me; they might harm me in the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Announces
2413.376 a marquis in a salon on the Rue Laffitte, fifty people will look at the door. On the Rue de l’Université, no one will raise an
2419.976 eye. The servants themselves are blasé about marquises. And then, all these nobles of old know and understand each other: they
2427.656 would soon know that I am not one of them. No one would ask to see my parchments, but they would whisper in each other’s ears that they had
2433.816 never seen them. My marquisate would be out, and I would be sent to seek my fortune elsewhere. Besides, great fortunes are rare in this
2441.12 noble suburb. I made inquiries: there are a hundred or a hundred and fifty of them, so old that everyone has heard of them; so clear, so
2449.92 obvious, so well established in the sun, that everyone wants them: from there, twenty suitors around an heiress. I would have a good game to make
2457.28 the twenty-first! I won’t be caught out. Look at the right bank: what a difference! In the salon of the least banker or the most modest
2464.72 stockbroker, you see dancing in the same quadrille a dozen colossal fortunes unknown to the public, and who do not know
2471.08 each other. This one dates back twenty years, that one from yesterday. One comes from a refinery in Auteuil, another from a factory in Saint-Étienne,
2478.52 another from a factory in Mulhouse; one arrives directly from Manchester, the other has barely arrived from Chandernagore. The foreigners
2486.2 are all at the Chaussée d’Antin! In this throng, all resounding with the clang of gold, all glittering with diamonds, people meet, they
2492.64 know, they love, they marry, in less time than it takes a duchess to open her snuffbox. It is there that one knows the value of
2499.8 time; it is there that men are alive, restless, and eager to act like me; it is there that I will cast my net into the noisy and tumultuous water
2507.0 ! He recited to me a passage from The Lily of the Valley, which contained the
2512.04 rules of his conduct; it is the last letter from Madame de Mortsauf to young Vandenesse. We then reread Henri de Marsay’s advice
2518.76 to Paul de Manerville; then he asked for lunch, then he wasted two hours on his toilet, exactly two hours, following the example of Monsieur de Marsay.
2525.96 I saw him often enough during the winter to notice how he practiced his master’s lessons.
2531.304 If it is true that work deserves reward and that all effort is worthy of praise, it was his duty to marry Modeste Mignon, Eugénie Grandet or Mlle Taillefer. He
2539.984 showed himself everywhere at the hours when one shows oneself. He galloped to the woods every evening, as exactly as if his race had been paid. He never
2547.464 missed a first performance of the theaters of good company; he was assiduous at the Italians as if he had loved music. He did not refuse
2555.464 an invitation, did not miss a ball, and never forgot a digestive visit. In which I admired him. His dress was exquisite, his
2564.184 shoes perfect, his linen miraculous. I was ashamed to go out with himself on Sundays, when we wore starched shirts. As
2572.424 for him, he gladly went out with me. He had rented a brand new coupé for six months on which the coachbuilder had temporarily painted his
2580.104 coat of arms. In society, he immediately distinguished himself by two talents that rarely go together: he was a dancer and a conversationalist. He danced the best in the
2587.824 world, to the point of being said to have wit down to his toes. He had strong hamstrings, which doesn’t hurt anything, and an arm to
2595.384 carry a leaden waltz. All the girls who danced with him were enchanted with themselves, and consequently with him. Mothers,
2601.704 for their part, always wish well to the man who makes their daughters shine. But when, after a waltz or a quadrille, he went
2608.584 to sit among the women of a certain age, the fondness they had for him turned into enthusiasm. He had too much good taste
2615.424 to throw compliments at people’s heads, but he made his neighbors come up with ideas, and the most foolish became witty at the
2622.824 touch of his wit. He severely refused himself the pleasures of gossip, noticed no ridicule, pointed out no stupidity, and
2630.24 joked about everything without hurting anyone; which is not always easy. He had no opinion on political matters,
2637.36 not knowing into which family love could bring him. He observed himself, watched himself, and spied on himself perpetually without
2644.44 appearing to do so. He said to himself a hundred times each evening: My daughter, stand up straight!
2649.52 As gracious as he was with women, he was just as cold in his relations with men. His stiffness bordered on impertinence.
2657.32 It was yet another way of courting those from whom he expected everything; a roundabout way of saying to them: I live only for you
2663.0 . The weaker sex is sensitive to the homage of the strong, and it is a double pleasure to make a proud head bow. His
2670.04 pride was too affected to go unnoticed: it attracted quarrels. He fought three times and
2677.28 gallantly defeated his adversaries at the point of his sword: the sickest of the three was in bed for fifteen days. The world was grateful to Léonce for his moderation as well as his
2684.64 bravery, and he was recognized as a fine player who was generous with his life while sparing that of others.
2690.08 It was, moreover, the only game he allowed himself. Even if Madame de Mortsauf’s letter had not warned him against cards, he
2697.4 would have defended himself, in the interest of his reputation and his finances. He threw money away freely, but wisely. He
2705.68 refused neither a concert ticket nor a lottery ticket; no citizen of the Paris salons paid his dues more generously.
2712.6 He knew, on occasion, how to empty his purse into a beggar’s purse, or to sign up for twenty louis in the book of a
2720.0 charity worker. He spent a lot on watches and very little on pleasure, considering any outlay made without witnesses to be useless. It was
2726.512 in this above all that he distinguished himself from his models, the Rubemprés and the de Marsays, men of joy and great liveliest people. He did not run up
2733.592 debts, he had no mistresses; he avoided anything that could stop him in his tracks. He wanted to arrive without delay and without
2739.992 reproach. Despite such laudable efforts, he spent three winter months and 35,000
2746.152 francs of silver, without finding what he was looking for. Perhaps he lacked a little flexibility. I would have liked him to be more mellow. Studying him closely
2753.472 , one discovered a bit of a Breton ear that could frighten off marriage. He was too agitated, too nervous, too tense. It was
2760.512 a superbly constructed machine; but the noise of the wheels was audible . A woman of thirty could have given him the extra touch of
2766.632 manners he lacked; and, if I believe his reputation, he had teachers to choose from, but his seat was made and he accepted
2774.712 lessons from no one. When I paid him my New Year’s visit, he reviewed the three
2779.832 months that had just passed. He had so far found only unattainable matches : a light-hearted and slightly ruined widow; a
2786.752 richer Russian princess, but followed by three children from a first marriage; and the
2792.192 daughter of a deranged speculator. I can’t understand anything, he told me with a certain bitterness.
2797.232 I have friends and no enemies; I know all of Paris and I am well-known; I go everywhere, I am popular everywhere; I am launched, I am
2804.312 even settled, and I achieve nothing! I march straight to my goal, without stopping along the way: it is as if the goal recedes before me. If I
2811.952 sought the impossible, that would be explained; but what am I asking for? A woman of my own circle, who loves me for me.
2818.752 It is not a supernatural thing! Matthieu has found in his world what I vainly pursue in mine. However, I’m as good as Matthew.
2826.632 –Physically, at least. Have you heard from them? –Not often: the happy are selfish. The graduate improves his
2833.592 land; he digs marl, he sows buckwheat, he plants trees: a hundred
2839.192 nonsense! His wife is as well as her condition allows. We hope for the arrival of Matthew II in April: there’s no time
2846.392 wasted. –I’m not asking you if we still love each other? –Like in Noah’s Ark. Papa and Mama are on their knees before their
2853.272 daughter-in-law. Madame Bourgade took it well: it seems she’s decidedly a distinguished woman: everyone is busy, having fun, and adoring each other: they
2861.312 ‘re happy. –You never had the inclination to run to join them with the rest of your money?
2866.512 –My word, no! I prefer my troubles to their pleasures. And then, it ‘s not yet time to go and hide.
2872.872 Indeed, eight days later, he arrived radiant at the School’s parlor. Brr! he said, it’s not hot here.
2878.872 « Fifteen degrees, my dear, that’s the rule.  » « The rule isn’t as sensitive to the cold as I am, and I did well to
2884.632 let myself be refused, especially since I’m nearing my goal.  » « Are you on the right track?  » « I’ve found it!  » Léonce had noticed the kindness and elegance of a tiny
2891.992 woman, so frail and so pretty that her perfections had to be admired under a microscope. He had waltzed with her, and he had almost
2900.152 lost her several times, so light she was and so little felt in the hand; he had chatted, and he had remained under her spell:
2908.112 she babbled in a little warbler’s voice melodious enough to make one believe in one of those metamorphoses that Ovid recounted
2914.592 in his verses. This feminine mind ran from one subject to another with charming volubility.
2920.224 Her ideas seemed to undulate at the whim of the air, like the marabouts that adorned the front of her dress.
2925.784 Léonce asked the name of this young lady who resembled so much a hummingbird: he learned that she was neither a woman nor a widow, despite
2934.464 appearances, and that her name was Mademoiselle de Stock. The world gave her twenty-five years and a great fortune. On this information, Léonce
2942.304 began to love her. Among civilized peoples, naturalists recognize two varieties of honest love: one is a wild plant that sows itself
2949.384 spontaneously in the hearts, that develops without cultivation, that throws its roots to the very depths of our being, that resists wind
2956.944 and rain, hail and frost, that grows back if it is pulled up, and that borrows from nature an invincible vigor and tenacity;
2965.224 the other is a garden plant that we cultivate ourselves, either for its flowers or for its fruits: sometimes it is a mother who
2972.184 sows it in the soul of her daughter to prepare her insensibly for a brilliant marriage; sometimes we see two families, eager to unite
2979.664 by a close bond, weeding and watering in the hearts of their children
2984.744 a small vegetable passion; sometimes an ambitious young man, like Léonce, applies himself to developing in him the seeds of a love that promises
2992.944 golden fruits. This variety, more common than the first, is grown in flowerbeds in the salons of Paris; but, like all
2999.384 garden plants, it is delicate, it requires care, it rarely resists the cold, and never poverty.
3006.184 Léonce had Baron de Stock shown to him, who was playing écarté and losing sums with the indifference of a millionaire. At that
3013.864 moment, Mlle de Stock seemed even prettier to him. The Baron was wearing a rather beautiful array of foreign decorations. His daughter is adorable!
3021.144 thought Léonce. He had himself presented to the Baroness, a noble doll from Germany, covered in old smoky diamonds. This worthy woman
3028.408 pleased him at first glance. Perhaps he would have found her a little ridiculous if she had not had such a witty daughter. Perhaps also
3035.648 he would have judged that Mlle de Stock lacked a little distinction, if
3041.528 he had not known her to have such a majestic mother. He danced all evening with the pretty Dorothée, and whispered in her ear
3048.048 words of gallantry that sounded very much like words of love. She responded with a coquetry that did not resemble
3055.008 intolerance. The Baroness, after making inquiries, invited Léonce to her Wednesdays: he was a regular. M. de Stock lived on Rue de La
3064.528 Rochefoucauld, in a small hotel between courtyard and garden of which he was the owner. Léonce knew about furniture, since he had
3071.528 bought furniture. Without being an expert, he had a feeling for elegance. He could be mistaken, like everyone else, because one must
3079.608 be an auctioneer to distinguish an artistic bronze from a cheap overmolding, to guess whether a piece of furniture is stuffed with horsehair
3087.328 or economically fed with tow, and to recognize at first glance whether a curtain is made of lampas or wool and silk damask. However,
3094.368 he was not made of wood from which one makes fools, and the Baron’s interior delighted him. The servants, in amaranth livery, had good
3101.248 square heads, and a German accent that grated deliciously on the ear. One recognized in them old servants of the family, perhaps
3107.608 vassals born in the shadow of the Château de Stock. The household expenses represented an expense of sixty thousand francs a year.
3113.4 The day Léonce was welcomed by the Baron, feted by the Baroness and looked at tenderly by their daughter, he could say without presumption: I found it!
3121.76 Around the middle of January, he learned that Dorothée was to collect for the poor at Notre-Dame de Lorette. He, who often missed mass,
3129.12 was exemplary in his punctuality. He made me have lunch at a gallop and dragged me with him at the stroke of one o’clock. I have forgotten the details of
3137.4 his attire, but I remember well that it dazzled. I recognized Mademoiselle de Stock from the portrait he had painted of her, although he had forgotten
3145.4 to tell me that she was dark, like a Maltese. A dark-haired German woman is a rare enough phenomenon to be mentioned. At the end of
3152.08 the mass, the faithful filed past the beggars, who were kneeling at each door of the church. Dorothée solicited the
3159.56 charity of passersby with a questioning glance, with a very worldly grace. I put two sous in her velvet purse, the poor
3166.84 schoolboy’s mite. Léonce greeted the beggar as if in a drawing room, giving her a thousand-franc note folded in four.
3172.36 How much do you have left? I asked her in the vestibule. « Thirteen thousand francs and some centimes.
3177.76  » « That’s not much.  »  » That’s enough. The alms I have just given will be returned to me a hundredfold. Centuplum accipies. »
3184.44 I said nothing: I was thinking of Matthieu’s poor ten francs. On returning to the rue de Provence, my charitable friend gave me
3192.12 some ideas about castle life in the lordships of Germany. He described to me those grand meals washed down with Tokai
3199.512 and Johannisberg wines, those gatherings bedecked with uniforms and ribbons, those salons where the court dress of the Duke of Richelieu is still fashionable;
3207.992 and those miraculous hunts, those great hunts after which the Hares are counted in the thousands, and venison is sold in
3214.832 tragic events for thirty leagues around. When he came home, he found a very short letter from his brother:
3219.952 What could I tell you? wrote Matthieu. Our life is united like a mirror; all our days are alike like drops of milk in
3227.672 the same cup. Work is stopped by winter, and we spend the day by the fire, among ourselves. You know how
3233.752 wide the fireplace is; there is room for everyone; we could even put in an extra armchair if we squeezed in a little, if you wanted. Papa pokes furiously.
3241.192 You know his passion, the only passion of his life. If we took his tongs away, we would make him very unhappy. Mama Debay and Mama
3248.312 Bourgade spend the day sewing vests, hemming diapers and embroidering little hats. Aimée knits cashmere stockings
3255.712 , real doll stockings. When I see all these preparations, I feel like laughing and crying. The dear little creature
3263.792 will have a royal layette. The family council decided that if it were a son, we would call him Léonce: your name will bring him luck. Let’s hope he
3271.432 doesn’t take it into his head to look like his father! We put your portrait in our room: you know, that beautiful portrait that Boulanger
3278.672 painted before leaving for Rome. I show it to Aimée every morning and every evening. Little Léonce promises to be as restless as you.
3287.152 His mother complains about him; and, what is more singular, Mama Debay assures us that she feels the aftereffects of all his movements.
3293.52 I told you that Aimée had stomach aches in the early days of her pregnancy; but a few bottles of mineral water and the joy of
3301.16 feeling her child alive comforted her; she is gaining weight visibly. As for me, I am still the same, except that I
3309.04 hardly work anymore. You remember the words of the peasant who was asked what his profession was, and who replied: My wife is a wet nurse.
3316.76 I am in the same boat, or almost: I am waiting for my son. The famous theses have not made much progress: the Battle of the
3324.68 Peloponnese, by Bello Peloponnesiaco, is at the death of Pericles, and Corneille, the comic author, remains at Clitandre. So much the worse for
3332.16 the faculty of Rennes! It will have to wait. I want to be a father before being a doctor. Ah! brother, if you knew how insipid your pleasures are compared to
3339.6 ours! You would come by the diligence, and you would spare us the carriage with which you threatened us. You alone are missing us; you are our
3347.12 only worry. Papa makes his big wrinkle when we talk about the rue de Provence. Finally! I reassure him by telling him that if any man in the world is to
3354.2 succeed, it is you. « They are good people, » said Léonce, throwing the letter on his desk. « They will soon hear from me. »
3361.2 A few days later, the Baron fell to him from the sky at ten o’clock in the morning. Such an approach was a good omen. Mr. Stock visited the apartment
3368.76 as an amateur, and made an inventory of the furniture to himself. Any sensible man would have thought he was in the home of a son of a family: the Baron was delighted.
3376.76 He was an amiable man, this German. Everyone knew that he had been a banker in Frankfurt-am-Main, and yet he
3383.24 never spoke of his fortune. No one disputed his nobility, and yet he never spoke of his titles.
3388.536 His castles, his lands, his forests were the things he seemed to care least about.
3394.496 He never said a word about them to Léonce, and Léonce recognized from this sign that he was truly rich and a true gentleman.
3401.256 For his part, Léonce was too delicate to attribute to himself a false fortune. He let people’s imagination run wild, and did not argue
3408.696 with those who said to him: You who are rich. But he boasted of nothing. When he spoke of his family, he said without
3415.816 emphasis: My parents live on their lands in Brittany. In which he was not lying at all. I pointed out to him that everything would be revealed in
3423.896 the end, and that he would be forced to confess the origin of his nobility and the modesty of his fortune. Leave it to me, he replied; the baron
3431.936 is rich enough to allow his daughter a marriage of love. Dorothée loves me, I am sure of it; she told me so. When the parents see that
3438.816 I am necessary to their daughter’s happiness, they will overlook many things. Besides, I will not deceive anyone, and they will know everything
3446.136 before the marriage. He did not publicly court Mademoiselle de Stock, but he saw her every evening in society. Their relationship, although a little constrained,
3454.256 only had more charms. The small obstacles, the surveillance that everyone exercises over everyone else, the respect for propriety, the necessity
3462.216 of pretending, add something tender and mysterious to these loves which progress, from salon to salon, to the door of the church.
3468.776 Constraint is a marvelous spring which doubles the joys of the heart as well as the strength of the mind. What makes a thought more
3475.616 beautiful in verse than in prose is constraint. Léonce and Dorothée wrote to each other every day, in verse and prose, and it was a pleasure
3482.056 to see them exchange their notes sheltered by a handkerchief or in the shade of a fan. The Baroness was amused by these little maneuvers; she had
3488.32 given her daughter’s heart free rein, she allowed her to love M. de Baÿ. In the last days of February, Léonce took his courage in both
3495.52 hands: he made his request. M. and Mme de Stock, warned by Dorothée, received him in a solemn audience.
3501.96 Monsieur le Baron, Madame la Baroness, he said, I have the honor of asking you for the hand of your daughter. So as not to leave you
3509.44 in the dark about my situation… The Baron interrupted him with a lordly gesture: Stop here,
3515.16 Monsieur le Marquis, I beg you. All Paris knows you, and my daughter loves you: I want to know nothing more. Even if your name were
3523.04 obscure, even if your father had eaten up his fortune, I would still tell you: Dorothée is yours.
3528.68 He embraced Léonce, and the Baroness gave him her hand to kiss: You do not know, said the Baroness, our romantic Germany. That is how
3536.56 we all are… at least in the upper class. In the midst of the wildest joy, Léonce felt deep down a kind of
3543.52 revolt of honesty. I cannot deceive these good people, he said to himself, and I would be a rogue if I abused their good faith. He
3550.28 continued aloud: Monsieur le Baron, the noble confidence you have shown me obliges me to give you some details about…
3556.72 –Monsieur le Marquis, you would seriously distress me if you insist further. I would think that you only persist in giving me this
3562.88 information to force me to provide proof of my rank and fortune.
3568.0 The Baroness emphasized these words with a friendly gesture that meant: Don’t insist, he’s touchy.
3574.64 Come on, thought Léonce, it’s postponed. We’ll explain ourselves, whether we like it or not, on the day of the contract.
3582.08 But the Baron would not hear of a contract. Between gentlemen, he said, these commitments, these signatures, these
3590.184 guarantees are humiliating precautions. Do you love Dorothée? Yes. Does she love you? I’m sure of it. Then what’s the point of putting a notary
3597.744 between you? I imagine that your love will do without stamped paper. « However, sir, if you had been deceived about my status… »
3605.064 « But, terrible child, I wasn’t deceived, I wasn’t told anything. » I know nothing about you, except that you please my daughter, my wife,
3613.064 me, and the whole world. I don’t want to know anything more. Do I need your money? If you are rich, so much the better. If you
3620.544 are poor, so much the worse. Say the same about me, and we will be even. Here, this will put your conscience at rest: you have nothing,
3628.984 my daughter has nothing: your name is Léonce, her name is Dorothée, and I give you my paternal blessing. Are you happy?
3637.704 Léonce wept with joy. Dorothée was brought in. Come, my daughter, said the baroness, come and tell the marquis that you
3644.224 do not marry his name or his fortune, but his person. « Dear Léonce, » said Dorothée, « I love you madly! »
3650.144 She didn’t lie a syllable. Léonce married in March. It was about time: the basket devoured
3656.984 the last thousand-franc note. I did not serve as a witness this time: witnesses were personalities. Matthieu could not come
3664.464 to Paris; he was waiting for his wife to give birth. He had asked me to report on the celebration, and I happily fulfilled my task
3671.224 as historiographer. Dorothée, in her white dress of pinned velvet, was an adoring success. She was called the little brown angel. After the
3678.624 ceremony, a dinner for forty people was served at the baron’s, and Léonce was kind enough to invite me.
3683.952 He introduced me to his wife as we left the table: My dear Dorothée, he said to her, this is one of my old
3689.752 friends, who will one day or another be our children’s teacher. I hope you will always give him a warm welcome; the best friends
3697.192 are not the most brilliant, but the most solid. « Mr. Professor, » said the beautiful Dorothée, « you will always be
3703.192 welcome in our house. I hope that Léonce will bring me all his friends in marriage. Do you know German?
3708.392  » « No, madame, to my great shame. I will always regret not being able to read Hermann and Dorothée in the text.
3714.592  » « The loss is not great, believe me. An emphatic pastoral; a flageolet air played on the ophicleide. You have better than that in
3722.392 France. Do you like Balzac? He is my man. » Chapter 4. The conversation of the pretty marquise and the pleasure of dancing with my
3729.672 people of all types of bodies made me forget the school rules. I came home an hour too late, and I was confined for two weeks. As soon as I was free,
3738.752 my first visit was to Léonce. I found him all alone, busy tearing out his hair, which he had very beautiful, as you know.
3744.832 My friend, he said to me in a pitiful voice, I have been cruelly deceived! « Already!
3749.912  » « My father-in-law is rich like me, noble like me: his name is Stock in one syllable, and his only assets are about twenty
3757.112 thousand francs in debt.  » « Impossible! » « The thing is beyond doubt; my wife confessed everything to me on the evening of the
3762.832 wedding. There were not five hundred francs in the house. « But the house alone is worth a hundred thousand!
3768.192 « It is not paid for. Mr. Stock was rich five or six years ago: he held a certain rank in Frankfurt, and his liquidation
3775.592 left him with more than thirty thousand pounds a year. But he is a gambler like the jack of diamonds himself. He lost everything at roulette, at
3782.952 trente and quarante, and at those innocent games which Germany uses so well to despoil us. At the beginning of winter, all that remained
3790.592 of his splendor was a skewer bought cheaply in the small courts of the North, a few honorable connections, the habit of spending,
3797.712 the fury of gambling, and about fifty thousand francs. He thought it ingenious to invest this capital in Dorothée and come to Paris to stake
3804.632 his all. He intended to fish in troubled waters, in this infernal world of the Chaussée d’Antin, a son-in-law rich enough to rid him of
3811.792 his daughter, to support him and his wife, and to give him every summer a few rolls of louis to lose on the banks of the Rhine. Isn’t that
3819.712 disgusting?
« Be careful, » I said to him. « Do you know how he’s talking about you now ? » « What a difference! I didn’t deceive him. I wanted to tell him
3827.632 frankly the state of my affairs. It was he who stopped me, who shut my mouth. I know why now, and his confidence no
3834.592 longer surprises me! It was he who dragged me into the abyss into which we are now rolling together.  » « Have you explained yourselves? »
3840.072 « I ran to his house to confound him, and I beg you to believe that I didn’t hold back my eloquence. Do you know what he answered me? Instead
3846.472 of recriminating, as I expected, he took my hand and said, in a moved voice: We are in trouble. We could each
3854.192 have found a fortune on our own: it is very unfortunate that we have met. –That is wisely said.
3859.952 –What will become of me? –Is this advice you are asking me? –No doubt, since you cannot give me anything else!
3866.752 –My dear Léonce, I know only one honorable way to get you out of this trouble. Liquidate heroically; go and hide in a
3873.952 working-class neighborhood, Rue des Ursulines or Boulevard Montparnasse; finish your law studies, get your degree, become a lawyer. You have talent; you cannot
3883.112 have entirely lost the habit of work; the connections you have made in these six months will serve you later; you will regain the
3889.312 lost time, and the money too. –Yes, if I were a bachelor! My poor friend, it is clear that you live in
3894.792 a box: you know nothing of life. Balzac proved long ago that a boy can achieve anything, but that once married, one’s
3901.432 strength is spent obscurely struggling against the cook’s additions and the household ledger. You want me to work between a wife, a
3908.992 father-in-law, a mother-in-law, and the children who may come along, obsessed with family, and confined with all these people to a four-hundred-franc apartment
3915.872 ! I would succumb to it. –Then do something else. Take your new family to Brittany.
3921.432 Uncle Yvon’s house is big enough to accommodate you all; we’ll put an extension on the table and add a dish to dinner.
3928.672 –We’ll ruin them! –Not at all. Aimée will buy herself one less dress every year, and Matthieu will prolong the existence of the famous hazelnut overcoat.
3936.952 –Oh! I know their hearts. But you don’t know my father-in-law and my mother-in-law. If my wife loves the world, her parents are furious about it.
3945.512 Mrs. Stock spends hours in front of her mirror curtsying! Mr. Stock will never be a bearable Breton. He would sulk at
3953.352 hospitality, he would humiliate our dear house: he would reproach us for
3958.472 the bread we would give him! « Well then! Let the parents manage in Paris. Take away your wife,
3964.192 she is young, and you will educate her.  » « But just think that this old man is riddled with debts! He is my father-in-law, after all; I cannot abandon him on the royal road
3972.264 to Clichy.  » « Let him sell his furniture! He has more than twenty thousand francs worth of it.  » « And how will they live, the poor wretches? »
3978.104 « I see with pleasure that you pity them. But I will say in my turn: What are you going to do? I no longer know what course to advise you, and I am
3984.584 at the end of my string of beads.  » « I am going to ask for a position. They think I do not need it, they will give it to me. » He solicited for a long time, and wasted more than a month in useless proceedings.
3993.104 At the height of his troubles, he learned that Aimée was the mother of a boy of all types . You will be his godfather, wrote Matthieu, and pretty Aunt
4002.944 Dorothée will not refuse to be godmother. We are waiting for you; your bed is ready, hurry up and have the carriage hitched.
4008.864 Léonce had not yet told his parents about his misfortune. What good was it to throw bad news into their happiness? The
4015.384 poor boy was braver than I would have hoped. While he sold his paintings for a living, he was tender and attentive
4021.544 to his wife. The present embarrassment, the uncertainty of the future, and the regret of having speculated badly did not alter his
4029.064 natural good humor for long: at least he had the good taste to hide his grief. It is fair to say that Dorothée consoled him as best she could. If she
4036.784 cried sometimes, it was on the sly. She gave back to the merchants part of her wedding basket. I believe that the honeymoon
4043.624 would have been more brilliant if the young couple had lacked nothing, and if Mr. Stock had not been in debt; but, in spite of the embarrassments
4051.664 of all kinds and the importunity of the creditors, they loved each other. Léonce and Dorothée clung to each other like surprised children
4058.544 by the storm. They were as happy as one can be on a boat that is leaking from all sides. I saw them regularly on all my
4065.416 outings, each visit showed them better and made them dearer to me. One Thursday, around half past one, I was leaving school to go to
4071.616 their house, when I met in the middle of the rue d’Ulm a little
4076.656 man in a velvet jacket. He was an old acquaintance whom I had somewhat neglected since Matthieu’s marriage.
4081.776 Good morning, Little-Gray, I said to him. Put your cap back on. Did you come to see me? « Yes, sir, and I am very glad to have met you to
4090.096 ask your advice.  » « Has anything happened at your house? Is your wife well? Are you still working for the city of Paris?
4095.896  » « Always, sir, and I dare say that my wife and I have a clean sweep that does you credit. You will not be blamed for
4102.936 having placed us.  » « It is not me, Little-Gray; He is a young man, a friend of mine, to whom
4107.976 I would like to be able to render the same service. –Is Mr. Matthieu still happy? Aren’t these ladies ill?
4113.576 –Thank you. Matthieu has a son, and the whole family is in the best of health. –So, sir, this is what happened: This morning, as we
4121.976 were returning from work and my wife was going to get the soup she had kept warm in our bed, a gentleman came in who was not
4129.496 very tall, rather short, a man of my height, in short, and about my age. He asked me if I had been in the house during Madame Bourgade’s time
4137.456 . I told him what was the matter, since I have nothing to hide, I do nothing wrong, and I owe nothing to anyone.
4143.84 But when he learned that I knew these ladies, he began to question me about this and that, and who the young lady was
4151.64 married to, and what her husband did, and what she had for dinner, and how long she had stayed in the neighborhood, and, finally,
4159.44 where she lived. When I saw that he had the idea of ​​confessing to me, I would not answer anything. I did not like that man! He
4165.84 looked at the house with the eyes of a rich man; one would have said that our room made his heart ache. I understood well that he was curious
4172.36 to have Mr. Matthieu’s address; but I did not know what he wanted to do with it. I said that I did not know it, however that it
4179.2 might perhaps be possible to obtain it. Thereupon, he promised to pay me well if I brought it to him. Sir, I replied, I do not
4186.68 need to be paid, I have two government positions. He left me his address, which I didn’t read, you understand why, and I
4193.84 came to show it to you, to know what to do. Little Gray took a beautiful glossy card from his pocket, on which I read:
4201.56 LOUIS BOURGADE, Hôtel des Princes. Louis Bourgade! said Little Gray, he’s a relative.
4207.48 « Hôtel des Princes! He’s a rich relative.  » « He could have come sooner, when these poor ladies were dying
4214.2 of hunger! Now we have no more need of him.  » « That’s probably why he’s showing up, my dear Little Gray: he
4219.64 will have learned of Mlle. Aimée’s marriage. But mercy is in the balance; you ‘ll have to give him the address.  » « Come on, I’ll go. Is the Hôtel des Princes far?
4227.64  » « Don’t bother: it’s on my way, I’ll go in as I pass, and I’ll talk to this gentleman. See you soon. » If he had anything,
4235.52 I would go and tell you. As I walked along, I was thinking: A rich relative! It’s not at Léonce
4241.872 that such a windfall will come! I asked for Monsieur Bourgade, and immediately a valet from the hotel went ahead of
4248.152 me to show me. Monsieur Bourgade occupied a magnificent apartment on the first floor, overlooking the street. I understood his disdain for the slums of
4255.192 Rue Traversine. This lord made me wait for ten minutes, which I conscientiously spent cursing him. I felt
4261.952 bubbling within me a vigorous indignation, in the style of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. Ah! you scoundrel, I said in a low voice, you are their
4270.472 relative, and you are staying at the Hôtel des Princes! Your name is Bourgade, and you make me wait in the antechamber!
4276.672 When the door opened, I let loose the floodgates on my rhetoric. I was young. At most, I took the trouble to look at my
4282.792 interlocutor: my eyes were only useful for hurling thunderbolts. I proudly presented myself as an old friend of Madame and Mlle Bourgade.
4290.072 I recounted how I had intruded into their intimacy, without having the honor of being a member of the family; I painted a moving picture of
4296.152 their misery, their courage, their work, their virtue. Believe me , I did not skimp on colors and that I did not proceed by
4303.872 half-tones! I affected to repeat Bourgade’s name often, and each time I emphasized it.
4309.512 My indictment had its effect. M. Bourgade did not look me in the face: he hid his head in his hands, he seemed overwhelmed.
4317.392 To finish him off, I told him about Matthieu’s behavior; I told him the story of the coat hired for ten francs, and all the privations
4325.112 that this worthy young man had imposed on himself, although he was not of the family and his name was not Bourgade.
4330.68 Excellent Matthieu! He took from his necessities, when so many others are stingy with their
4335.84 superfluities! Finally, he had married this abandoned orphan; he had taken her to Auray, to the house of her ancestors; he had given her
4343.84 a name, a fortune, a family! Today, Aimée Bourgade, happy wife, happy mother, no longer needed anyone, and could
4352.0 disdain, in turn, the selfish world that had disdained her. M. Bourgade spread his hands and I saw his face flooded with tears:
4359.52 She is my daughter, he said; I thank you very much for loving her so. My dear child! Let me kiss you!
4366.4 I didn’t need to be told twice. I didn’t ask him how or why he was alive; I didn’t ask him any questions or
4373.0 objections, I took him by the neck and kissed him four or five times
4378.28 on both cheeks. I was quite sure I wasn’t mistaken: a father’s tears are always recognizable!
4383.44 However, when the first emotion had passed, I looked at him with an air of profound astonishment, and he noticed it. I will explain
4390.72 everything to you, he said, when I have seen my wife and daughter. I am running to Auray. Thank you; goodbye; see you soon!
4396.72 –Halt! Please. I’m not letting you go yet. First of all, we can only leave this evening on the seven o’clock train; then there are
4404.4 precautions to be taken, and you won’t just disembark in the square at Auray. You would kill your wife and daughter, and
4411.72 the Breton peasants would kill you yourself with pitchforks: a ghost! Sit here and tell me your story.
4418.56 Then I’ll tell you the precautions you have to take. But how is it that you escaped this shipwreck? On which section of mast?
4425.56 On which chicken coop? –My God! Nothing could be simpler. When the ship went down, I
4431.44 was no longer on board. You know what I was going to do in America. We stopped for eight days in Rio de Janeiro to pick up
4438.192 passengers and merchandise. I’m going ashore like everyone else . I had letters for some French people established there, and
4444.592 among others for a dyewood merchant named Charlier. We talked; I explained my system to him; he was struck by it: everyone’s
4451.712 minds were turned towards California. Charlier assured me that my invention was excellent, but that I was not strong enough to
4457.672 operate it alone, and that I would not find any workers. Do better, he told me, disembark with arms and baggage; establish yourself as
4465.712 a machine builder, and operate the Bourgade separator here. The complete apparatus will cost you five hundred francs, you will sell it for
4473.112 a thousand; all the miners who go to San Francisco will get their supplies from you in passing. Believe me, this is the real California. You don’t have
4479.112 money to start the business, some will be provided for you; a good business always finds capital, especially in America. If
4485.512 you need a partner, here I am. That’s how we founded the house of Charlier, Bourgade et Cie, whose shares are listed on the
4492.832 Paris Stock Exchange. We issued them with a capital of five hundred francs, and I have a thousand of my own. They have increased tenfold in value, and they won’t
4499.632 stop there. There is talk of new mines in Australia. « What? » I said to him, « you’ve made five million!
4505.952  » « Better than that, but what does it matter! Tell me, then, by what miracle of misfortune all my letters remained unanswered?
4512.592  » « You will find them at the post office. The news of the sinking of the Belle-Antoinette was quickly learned in Paris . Your first letter will have arrived
4519.272 a few days later, when these ladies had left the rue d’Orléans. I seem to remember that they moved without giving
4524.84 their address: they wanted to hide their misery, and besides, they weren’t expecting any more news from anyone. How could the post office
4531.24 have discovered them? The postman doesn’t come into the Rue Traversine once in eight days.
4536.76 –You have no idea what I suffered: writing for more than two years without receiving a single word in reply!
4542.44 –Come on! Come on! I saw two women who suffered as much as you. –No; they were weeping over a real misfortune; I saw a thousand
4549.72 imaginary ones. I knew they were without resources, exposed to all the privations and all the advice of poverty; I was rich, and I
4557.52 could do nothing for them! That cursed cholera of 1849 made me spend many
4562.68 sleepless nights. I would have liked to come to Paris, question the police, search the whole city; but I was stuck at home! I had
4570.6 a note inserted in the Press and the Constitutionnel, but no one replied. So you don’t read the newspapers?
4576.44 « Not often; and these ladies, never.  » « I read them all, and I’m glad I did. It was the Siècle that
4582.32 told me about Aimée’s marriage.  » « Now I must tell her of your return. But beautifully,
4587.52 if you please; she is a wet nurse. If you believe me, you will be preceded by an ambassador. I happen to know a young man
4595.28 who is looking for a position: he is the brother of Matthieu, Aimée’s brother-in-law ; moreover, a man of intelligence and worthy of representing a great
4602.76 power. If you are satisfied with his services, I will tell you how to pay your dues. Would you like us to call on him? »
4609.08 A few hours later, M. Bourgade, Léonce, and Dorothée climbed into a fine post-chaise, which the railway took to Angers.
4616.64 In Vannes, Mr. Bourgade stayed at the hotel. The newlyweds continued their journey and arrived by carriage, as Léonce
4623.584 had predicted. When Dorothée expressed, in vague terms, the idea that Mr. Bourgade might not be dead, the good widow replied:
4632.144 Perhaps! She had become so accustomed to happiness that nothing seemed impossible to her. Léonce recalled what the student from the
4639.304 central school had once told me about the separator. If the invention had survived, the inventor might have escaped shipwreck. Hope
4647.264 returned in gentle waves to these brave hearts, and the day Mr. Bourgade appeared in Auray, his wife and daughter naively exclaimed:
4654.344 We knew very well that you were not dead! Mr. Bourgade does not have the appearance of a great lord, far from it!
4660.344 but he doesn’t have the manners of an upstart either. If you met him on foot, you’d think you were seeing a good jeweler from the Rue
4666.784 d’Orléans. This excellent little man deserved to have a son-in-law like Matthieu. He gave his daughter a dowry of two million, much to the
4674.824 confusion of Matthieu, who said: I’m an intriguer; I abused my personal advantages to make a rich marriage. The Debays
4682.664 They have built a princely residence; what adds to the beauty of their castle is that there are no poor people nearby. Matthieu
4689.744 has finished his theses and obtained his doctoral degree; we do not have two doctors in France as rich as him, we do not have
4696.144 four as hardworking. Aimée gives her husband a child every year. Léonce no longer thinks of imitating M. de Marsay; he has two daughters and a
4703.904 bit of a belly. For these reasons, he lives in Brittany, in the middle of the family. He has a hundred thousand francs a year, since Matthieu has them. M. and
4712.024 Mme Stock have crossed the Ocean; M. Bourgade has given them a place in his factory.
4717.08 Dorothée’s father is still intelligent and still a gambler; he wins over no one of any type and loses everything he wins. Petit-Gris and
4725.64 his wife no longer live on Rue Traversine; if you want to meet them, you will have to take the road to Auray. They have not lost
4734.08 that admirable sweeping of which they were so proud; they keep the castle clean and do a thorough dusting. I receive
4741.6 news from my friends five or six times a year. Only yesterday they sent me a basket of oysters and a crate of sardines. The
4748.36 sardines were good, but the oysters had opened on the way. THE UNCLE AND THE NEPHEW. Chapter 5.
4753.76 I am sure that you have passed twenty times in front of Doctor Auvray’s house , without guessing that miracles are performed there. It is a
4760.52 modest and almost hidden dwelling, without pomp and without a sign; one does not even read on the door this banal inscription: Maison de santé. It
4769.24 is situated towards the end of the Avenue Montaigne, between the Gothic palace of Prince Soltikoff and the gymnasium of the great Triat, which regenerates
4777.52 man by the trapeze. A bronze-painted gate opens onto a small garden of lilacs and rose bushes. The caretaker’s lodge is on the left;
4785.36 the pavilion on the right contains the doctor’s office and the apartment of his wife and daughter. The main building is at the back;
4793.44 it turns its back on the avenue and opens all its windows to the southeast, onto a small park well planted with chestnut trees and lime trees. It is
4800.12 there that the doctor treats and often cures the insane. I would not introduce you to his house if there was a risk of encountering
4806.48 all kinds of madness there; but fear not, you will not have the distressing spectacle of imbecility, paralytic madness, or even
4814.12 dementia. M. Auvray has created, as they say, a specialty: he treats monomania. He is an excellent man, full of knowledge and
4823.336 wit, a philosopher and student of Esquirol and Laromiguière. If you ever met him with his bald head, his clean-shaven chin, his
4831.176 black clothes and his dull physiognomy, you would not know if he was a doctor, a professor, or a priest. When he opened his thick lips, you
4838.296 guessed that he was going to say to you: my child! His eyes are not ugly for eyes that are flush with the head; they cast around them a broad,
4845.376 clear and serene gaze; one perceives in the depths a whole world of good thoughts. These eyes of all types are like days opening onto a beautiful soul.
4853.656 Mr. Auvray’s vocation was decided when he was still an intern at the Salpêtrière. He passionately studied monomania, this curious
4860.736 alteration of the faculties of the mind which is rarely explained by a physical cause, which does not respond to any visible lesion of the
4867.176 nervous system, and which is cured by moral treatment. He was assisted in his observations by a young supervisor from the Pinel division, quite
4874.576 pretty and very well-bred. He fell in love with her, and, as soon as he became a doctor, he married her. This was a modest entry into life. However,
4882.256 he had a little wealth, which he used to found the establishment you know about. With a little charlatanism, he would have made his fortune; he was
4888.736 content to cover his expenses. He avoids noise, and when he has obtained a marvelous cure, he does not announce it from the rooftops. His reputation
4896.456 made itself, almost without his knowledge. Do you want proof? The treatise on Reasoning Monomania, which he published at Baillière in
4904.456 1842, is in its sixth edition, without the author having sent a single copy to the newspapers. Modesty is certainly good in itself, but it
4913.336 should not be abused. Mlle Auvray has no more than twenty thousand francs in dowry, and she will be twenty-two in April.
4919.096 About two weeks ago (it was, I think, Thursday, December 13), a hired coupé stopped in front of M. Auvray’s gate. The coachman
4927.616 asked for the door, and the door opened. The carriage advanced to the pavilion inhabited by the doctor, and two men entered briskly into
4934.576 his office. The servant asked them to sit down and wait until the visit was over. It was ten o’clock in the morning.
4941.096 One of the two strangers was a man of fifty, tall, dark, sanguine, colorful, rather ugly, and above all badly
4948.936 shaped; pierced ears, thick hands, enormous thumbs. Imagine a workman dressed in his employer’s clothes: that’s M.
4956.936 Morlot. His nephew, François Thomas, is a young man of twenty-three, difficult to describe, because he looks like everyone else. He is neither
4964.936 tall nor short, neither handsome nor ugly, neither built like a Hercules, nor chiseled like a dandy, but average in every way, modest from head to toe
4971.976 , brown in hair, in mind, and even in dress. When he entered M. Auvray’s, he seemed very agitated: he walked around with a sort
4979.856 of rage, he couldn’t keep still, he looked at twenty things at once, and he would have touched everything if his hands hadn’t been tied.
4986.536 Calm down, his uncle said to him; What I am doing with it is for your own good. You will be happy here, and the doctor will cure you.
4993.816 –I am not ill. Why did you tie me up? –Because you would have thrown me out the door. You are not in your right mind,
5000.056 my poor François; M. Auvray will restore it to you. –I reason as well as you, uncle, and I do not know what
5005.776 you mean. I have a sound mind, a sound judgment, and an excellent memory. Do you want me to recite some verses to you? Do I have to explain
5013.408 some Latin? Here is a Tacitus in this library…. If you prefer another experiment, I will solve a problem
5019.848 in arithmetic or geometry…. You do not want to?.. Well! listen to what we did this morning….
5026.128 You came at eight o’clock, not to wake me, since I was not asleep, but to get me out of bed. I washed
5031.728 myself, without Germain’s help; You asked me to follow you to Doctor Auvray, I refused; you insisted, I got angry
5040.328 . Germain helped you tie my hands, I will send him away this evening. I owe him thirteen days’ wages, that is to say thirteen francs,
5047.648 since I took him on at the rate of thirty francs a month. You will owe him compensation, you are the cause of him losing his New Year’s money. Is that
5054.488 reasonable? And do you still intend to make me pass for a mentally ill person?… Ah! my dear uncle, come to your senses! Remember
5062.688 that my mother was your sister! What would she say, my poor mother, if she saw me here?… I don’t hold it against you, and everything can be arranged amicably
5070.928 . You have a daughter, Miss Claire Morlot…. –Ah! I’ve caught you out! You see that you’re no longer in your right mind! I have a
5077.448 daughter, myself? But I am a bachelor, and very much a bachelor! « You have a daughter, » François resumed mechanically.
5083.688 « My poor nephew!… Come, listen to me carefully. Do you have a cousin?  » « A cousin? No, I have no cousin. Oh! you will
5091.528 not find me at fault. I have neither male nor female cousins.  » « I am your uncle, am I not?
5096.768  » « Yes, you are my uncle, although you forgot it this morning.  » « If I had a daughter, she would be your cousin; now, you have no
5103.528 cousin, therefore I have no daughter.  » « You are right… I had the happiness of seeing her this summer at the waters
5108.912 of Ems with his mother. I love him; I have reason to believe that I am not indifferent to him, and I have the honor of asking you for his hand.
5116.032 « Whose hand?  » « The hand of your daughter.  » « Come now! » thought Uncle Morlot, « Mr. Auvray will be very clever if he
5122.632 cures him! I will pay six thousand francs in pension from my nephew’s income. Whoever pays six out of thirty, has twenty-four left. Now I am rich.
5129.552 Poor François!  » He sat down and opened a book at random. « Sit here, » he said to the young man, « I am going to read you something. Try to listen; it
5137.992 will calm you. He read: Monomania is the obstinacy of an idea, the exclusive dominion of a
5144.672 passion. Its seat is in the heart; it is there that it must be sought and cured. Its causes are love, fear, vanity,
5152.312 ambition, remorse. It betrays itself by the same symptoms as passion; sometimes by joy, gaiety, audacity, and noise; sometimes
5160.392 by timidity, sadness, and silence. During this reading, François seemed to calm down and doze off: it
5166.032 was warm in the doctor’s office. Bravo! thought M. Morlot; here is already a miracle of medicine: it puts to sleep a man who was neither
5174.792 hungry nor sleepy. François did not sleep, but he played sleep perfectly. He inclined his head in time, and
5182.112 mathematically regulated the monotonous sound of his breathing. Uncle Morlot was caught in it: he continued reading in a low voice, then he yawned, then
5190.592 he stopped reading, then he let his book slide, then he closed his eyes, then he fell asleep in good faith, to the great satisfaction of his
5199.112 nephew, who was leering at him maliciously out of the corner of his eye. François began by moving his chair; M. Morlot moved no more
5206.232 than a tree; François walked around making his boots creak on the
5211.432 parquet floor: M. Morlot began to snore. Then the mentally ill person approached the desk,
5218.368 found a scraper, pushed it into a corner, pressed firmly by the handle and cut the rope that tied his arms. He freed himself, regained
5226.768 control of his hands, suppressed a cry of joy and came with small steps towards his uncle. In two minutes M. Morlot was tied up firmly,
5233.128 but with such delicacy that his sleep was not even disturbed. François admired his work and picked up the book, which had slid
5241.208 to the ground. It was the latest edition of Monomanie raisonnante. He took it to a corner and began to read, like a
5248.208 wise man, while waiting for the doctor to arrive. Chapter 6. I must, however, relate the background of François and his
5256.088 uncle. François was the only son of a former tablet maker in the Passage du Saumon, named Mr. Thomas. Tablet making is a good business;
5263.248 you make a hundred percent on almost every item. Since his father’s death, François had enjoyed that ease which is called
5269.368 honest, no doubt because it frees us from doing base things, perhaps also because it allows us to be honest with our
5278.328 friends: he had an income of thirty thousand francs. His tastes were extremely simple, as I think I told you
5284.648 . He had an innate preference for what does not shine, and he naturally chose his gloves, his waistcoats and his coats in
5291.808 that series of modest colors which extends between black and brown. He did not remember having dreamed of panache even in his earliest
5298.288 childhood, and the ribbons which are most envied had never disturbed his sleep. He did not wear glasses, for the reason,
5305.008 he said, that he had good eyes; nor a pin in his tie, because his tie stayed on without a pin; but the fact is that he was afraid
5312.728 of being noticed. The varnish on his boots dazzled him. He would have been very sorry if the chance of birth had afflicted him with a
5320.12 remarkable name. If to finish him off, his godfather had called him Améric or Fernand, he would not have signed his life. Fortunately his names were
5326.64 as modest as if he had chosen them himself. His timidity prevented him from taking up a career. After crossing the
5333.16 threshold of the baccalaureate, he leaned against that great door which leads to everything, and he remained in contemplation before the seven or eight paths
5341.36 which were open to him. The bar seemed too noisy to him, medicine too hectic, teaching too imposing, commerce too
5348.92 complicated, administration too subjugating. As for the army, it was not to be thought of: it was not that he was afraid
5355.28 of the enemy; but he trembled at the thought of the uniform. He therefore stuck to his first profession, not as the easiest, but as the most
5362.84 obscure: he lived off his income. As he had not earned his money himself, he lent willingly.
5368.6 In return for such a rare virtue, heaven gave him many friends. He loved them all sincerely, and did their bidding with the utmost
5376.16 grace. When he met one of them on the boulevard, it was always he who let them take his arm, turned around
5383.2 , and walked wherever they wanted to lead him. Note that he was neither stupid, nor narrow-minded, nor ignorant. He knew three or four modern languages; he
5390.56 mastered Latin, Greek, and everything one learns at college; he had some notions of commerce, industry, agriculture, and
5398.24 literature, and he judged a new book soundly when no one was there to listen.
5403.76 But it was with women that his weakness showed itself in all its force. He always had to love someone, and if in the morning,
5410.864 while rubbing his eyes, he had not seen some glimmer of love on the horizon, he would have gotten up gloomy and would infallibly have put his
5417.824 stockings on backward. When he attended a concert or a show, he would begin to search the room for a face that he liked, and he would
5425.984 fall in love with it until the evening. If he found one, the spectacle was beautiful, the concert delightful; if not, everyone spoke badly or sang
5432.744 out of tune. His heart had such a horror of emptiness that, in the presence of a mediocre beauty, he would beat his sides to find her perfect.
5439.264 You will guess without me that this universal tenderness was not debauchery, but innocence. He loved all women without
5446.744 telling them, because he had never dared to speak to any of them. He was the most candid and the most harmless of rogues; Don Juan, if you like, but
5454.384 before Dona Julia. When he loved, he would compose bold declarations within himself that regularly stopped on his lips. He paid court: he
5462.944 showed the depths of his soul; he pursued long conversations, charming dialogues in which he made the questions and the answers. He
5470.024 found speeches energetic enough to soften rocks, burning enough to melt ice; but no woman was grateful to him for his
5477.024 silent aspirations: one must want to be loved. The difference is great between desire and will, the desire that sails softly
5484.064 on the clouds, the will that runs on foot among the stones; the one that expects everything from chance, the other that asks nothing but itself; the
5492.744 will that walks straight to the goal through hedges and ditches, ravines and mountains; the desire that remains seated in its place and cries in
5500.904 its sweetest voice: ….
Bell tower, bell tower, arrive, or I am dead! However, in August of this year, four months before binding
5509.296 his uncle’s arms, François had dared to love face to face. He had met at the Ems waters a young girl almost as fierce as
5516.256 himself, and whose trembling timidity had given him courage: she was a frail and delicate Parisian, pale as a fruit ripened in
5524.256 the shade, transparent like those beautiful children whose blue blood flows openly under their skin. She kept company with her mother, whom an
5531.776 inveterate illness (chronic laryngitis, if I am not mistaken) condemned to take the waters. The mother and daughter must have lived far
5538.896 from the world, for they cast a long, astonished gaze over the noisy crowd of bathers. François was introduced to them unexpectedly by a
5547.016 convalescent friend of his who was traveling to Italy via Germany. He saw them assiduously for a month, and he was, so to speak, their
5554.056 only company. For delicate souls, the crowd is a great solitude; the more noise the world makes around them, the more they
5561.336 huddle in their corner to whisper to each other. The young Parisian and her mother entered François’s heart straight away, and
5569.776 found themselves at ease there. They discovered new treasures every day, like the first navigators who set foot in America;
5577.096 they trod with delight this virgin and mysterious land. They never inquired whether he was rich or poor: it was enough for them
5584.216 to know he was good, and no find could be more precious to them than that of this heart of gold. For his part, Francis was delighted with
5592.136 his metamorphosis. Have you ever been told how spring blooms in the gardens of Russia? Yesterday the snow covered everything; today
5599.816 a ray of sunshine arrives and puts winter to flight. At noon the trees are in blossom, in the evening they are covered with leaves, the next day they
5607.816 almost have fruit. Thus Francis’s love blossomed and fructified. His coldness and embarrassment were swept away like ice cubes in a
5615.576 debacle; the ashamed and pusillanimous child became a man in a few weeks. I don’t know who first uttered the word marriage, but
5622.256 what does it matter? It is always implied when two honest hearts speak of love. François was of age and master of his own person, but the one he loved
5631.416 depended on a father whose consent he had to obtain. It was here that the unfortunate young man’s timidity took over. Claire
5639.496 had told him in vain: Write boldly; my father has been warned: you
5644.896 will receive his consent by return mail. He wrote and rewrote his letter more than a hundred times, without deciding to send it. However,
5651.976 the task was easy, and the most vulgar mind would have pulled it off gloriously. François knew the name, position, fortune
5659.576 , and even the mood of his future father-in-law. He had been initiated into all the secrets of the family; he was practically part of the household. What
5665.856 remained for him to do? To indicate in a few words what he was and what he had; the answer was not doubtful. He hesitated so long
5673.456 that after a month Claire and her mother were reduced to doubting him. I believe they would have been patient for another two weeks,
5679.296 but paternal wisdom would not allow it. If Claire loved, if her lover did not decide to officially declare his intentions,
5686.456 it was necessary, without loss of time, to put the young girl in a safe place, in Paris. Perhaps then M. François Thomas would decide to
5693.496 come and ask for her hand in marriage: he knew where to find her. One morning when François was going to take these ladies for a walk,
5700.712 the head waiter announced to him that they had left for Paris. Their apartment was already occupied by an English family. Such a
5707.672 harsh blow, falling unexpectedly on such a weak head, bewildered his reason. He went out like a mentally ill person, and began to look for Claire in all
5716.152 the places where he usually took her. He returned home with a violent migraine which he treated God knows how! He
5723.592 bled himself, took boiling water baths, applied ferocious mustard plasters; he avenged on his body the sufferings of his
5731.352 soul. When he thought he was cured, he left for France, determined to ask for Claire’s hand before even changing his clothes. He ran to
5738.632 Paris, jumped out of the carriage, forgot his luggage, got into a cab, and shouted to the coachman:
5744.592 « Hers, and at a gallop!  » « Where, bourgeois?  » « At Monsieur’s…, rue… I don’t know anymore! »
5749.912 He had forgotten the name and address of the woman he loved. Let’s go to my house, he thought; I’ll find her…. He handed his card to the coachman who
5756.672 drove him home. His concierge was a childless old man named Emmanuel.
5761.712 Arriving before him, François bowed low and said: Sir, you have a daughter, Miss Claire Emmanuel. I wanted
5769.632 to write to you to ask for her hand; but I thought it would be more proper to do this in person.
5775.792 It was recognized that he was mentally ill, and they ran to fetch his uncle Morlot from the Faubourg Saint-Antoine.
5781.232 Uncle Morlot was the most honest man on the rue de Charonne, which is one of the longest in Paris. He made antique furniture
5787.872 with ordinary talent and extraordinary conscientiousness. He wouldn’t have given blackened pear wood for ebony, or delivered
5794.856 a sideboard from his factory for a piece of medieval furniture! And yet he possessed, just like anyone else, the art of splitting new wood and
5802.016 simulating worm bites, of which the worms were innocent. But he had as a principle and a law to harm no one. By an
5809.896 almost absurd moderation in luxury industries, he limited his profits to five percent over and above the general expenses of his house:
5818.816 thus he had earned more esteem than money. When he wrote an invoice, he would start the addition over as many as three times, so
5825.496 afraid was he of making a mistake to his advantage. After thirty years of this business, he was almost as rich as when
5830.616 he left his apprenticeship: he had earned his living like the humblest of his workmen, and he wondered with a little jealousy how Mr.
5838.056 Thomas had managed to amass an income. If his brother-in-law looked down on him a little, with the vanity of the upstart, he looked
5845.176 down on him even more, with the pride of a man who did not want to succeed. He draped himself superbly in his mediocrity, and said
5853.536 with plebeian arrogance: At least, I am sure of not having anything to anyone. Man is a strange animal: I am not the first who has said so.
5861.656 This excellent M. Morlot, whose meticulous honesty amused the whole suburb, felt in the depths of his heart a pleasant tickling
5869.376 when someone came to tell him of his nephew’s illness. He heard a small, insinuating voice saying to him in a low voice: If François is a mentally ill person,
5878.376 you become his guardian. Probity hastened to reply: We shall not be the richer for it. « What! » the voice continued: « but the pension of a
5887.256 lunatic has never cost thirty thousand francs a year. » Besides, we will take the trouble; we will neglect our affairs; we deserve
5892.896 compensation; we are not wronging anyone.–But, replied
5898.056 disinterestedness, one owes oneself gratis to one’s family.–Really! murmured
5903.296 the voice. Then why has our family never done anything for us? We have had moments of difficulty, difficult deadlines: neither
5911.176 nephew François, nor his late father ever thought of us.–Bah! cried kindness, it will be nothing; it is a false alarm,
5919.976 François will recover in two days.–Perhaps also, continued the obstinate voice, the illness will kill its patient, and we will inherit without
5928.536 wronging anyone. We have worked thirty years for the sovereign who reigns at Potsdam; who knows if a blow of a hammer on the head of a
5935.416 thoughtless person will not make our fortune? The good man stopped his ear; but this ear was so large, so
5941.536 ample, so nobly flared in the shape of a sea conch, that the subtle and persistent little voice always slipped into it in spite of himself. The
5949.096 house on the rue de Charonne was entrusted to the care of the foreman; the uncle took up his winter quarters in his
5956.456 nephew’s beautiful apartment. He slept in a good bed, and felt comfortable. He sat at an excellent table, and the stomach cramps of which he had complained
5963.976 for many years were magically cured. He was served, combed and shaved by Germain, and he got used to it. Little by little he
5972.096 consoled himself with seeing his sick nephew; he came to terms with the idea that François might never recover. At most, if he repeated to himself from time to time
5979.176 , for the sake of his conscience: I’m not harming anyone! After three months, he was bored of having a mentally ill person in the house, because he
5987.256 thought he was at home. François’s perpetual rambling and his mania for asking Claire to marry him seemed an intolerable scourge: he
5995.464 resolved to clean up the house and shut the sick man up at Mr. Auvray’s. After all, he told himself, my nephew will be better cared for and I will be more
6003.944 at ease. Science has recognized that it is good to take mentally ill people out of
6009.024 their surroundings to distract them: I am doing my duty. It was in these thoughts that he had fallen asleep, when François took it into his head
6014.944 to tie his hands: what an awakening! Chapter 7. The doctor entered, apologizing. François got up, put his book back on
6023.384 the desk, and explained the case with great volubility, pacing back and forth with great strides. Sir, he said, this is my maternal uncle whom I have come to entrust to your
6032.144 care. You see a man of forty-five to fifty years of age, hardened to manual labor and the privations of a laborious life; moreover,
6040.264 born of healthy parents, in a family where no case of mental alienation has ever been seen. You will therefore not have to struggle with a
6047.584 hereditary disease. His illness is one of the most curious monomanias that you have ever had the opportunity to observe: it passes with incredible rapidity from
6054.624 extreme gaiety to extreme sadness, it is a singular mixture of monomania properly speaking and melancholy.
6060.744 « Has he not completely lost his mind? » « No, sir, he is not demented; he is only delusional on one
6066.704 point; and he belongs to your specialty.  » « What is the nature of his illness?  » « Alas! sir, the nature of our century, greed! The poor
6075.544 invalid is very much of his time. After having worked since childhood, he finds himself without a fortune. My father, who started from the same point as him,
6083.024 left me a fairly considerable estate. My dear uncle began by being jealous; then he thought that, being my only relative, he would become my
6091.352 heir in the event of my death, and my guardian in the event of madness, and as a weak mind easily believes what it desires, the unfortunate man
6099.352 persuaded himself that I had lost my mind. He told everyone, and he will tell you yourself. In the carriage, although his hands were tied, he
6107.032 believed that it was he who was bringing me to you. » « When did the first attack occur? » « About three months ago. He went down to my concierge and said to him
6114.912 with a terrified air: Monsieur Emmanuel, you have a daughter… leave her in your lodge and come and help me tie up my nephew.
6121.832  » « Does he judge his condition correctly? Does he know he is ill?  » « No, sir, and I think that is a good sign. I will tell you, moreover
6128.792 , that there are notable disturbances in the functions of life and nutrition. He has completely lost his appetite, and he is subject to
6135.472 long periods of insomnia.  » « So much the better! A lunatic who sleeps and eats regularly is almost
6140.672 incurable. Allow me to wake him. » Monsieur Auvray gently shook the sleeper’s shoulder, who sat up.
6147.632 His first impulse was to rub his eyes. When he saw his tied hands, he guessed what had happened during his sleep, and he
6154.512 burst into a fit of laughter. What a joke! he said. François pulled the doctor aside.
6159.592 You see! Well, in five minutes, he’ll be furious. « Let me do it. I know how to handle them. » He smiled at the
6166.672 sick man like a child you want to amuse. « My friend, » he said, « you wake up early; have you had good dreams?
6173.032  » « Me! I didn’t dream. I laugh to see myself tied up like a person. You’d think I was the mentally ill person. »
6180.152 « There! » said François. « Please be so kind as to relieve me, doctor; I will explain myself better when I am at my ease.
6186.24  » « My child, I am going to untie you; but you promise to be very good?  » « Oh, sir, do you honestly take me for a mentally ill person?
6195.04  » « No, my friend, but you are ill. We will treat you, we will cure you. Here! Your hands are free, do not abuse them.
6203.36  » « What the devil do you want me to do with them? I was bringing my nephew to you…  » « Good! » said M. Auvray; « we will talk about that presently. I
6211.12 found you asleep; do you often sleep during the day?  » « Never! It is this stupid book…
6217.16  » « Oh! oh! » said the author, « the case is serious. So you believe that your
6222.32 nephew is mentally ill?  » « To be tied up, sir; » and the proof is that I had to tie his
6227.72 hands with this rope. –But it was you who had his hands tied. Don’t you remember that I have just freed you?
6234.04 –It was me, it was him. Let me explain the whole matter to you! –Hush! my friend, you are getting excited, you are very red: I don’t
6243.68 want you to tire yourself out. Just answer my questions. You say that your nephew is ill?
6249.32 –No one mentally ill! No one mentally ill! No one mentally ill!
6255.16 –And you are happy to see him no one mentally ill? –Me? –Answer me frankly. You don’t want him to get well,
6261.72 do you? –Why? –So that his fortune remains in your hands. You want to be rich? Is
6267.68 he angry with you for having worked so long without making a fortune? You think your turn has come?
6273.56 M. Morlot did not answer. His eyes were fixed on the ground. He
wondered if he wasn’t having a bad dream, and he tried to
6280.744 unravel what was real in this story of tied hands, this interrogation, and the questions of this stranger who was reading
6288.184 his conscience like an open book. Does he hear voices? asked M. Auvray. The poor uncle felt his hair stand on end. He
6295.584 remembered that fierce voice speaking in his ear, and he answered mechanically: « Sometimes.
6300.944  » « Ah! he’s hallucinating.  » « But no! I’m not sick! Let me go out! I’d lose my
6306.504 mind here. Ask all my friends, they’ll tell you I’m in perfect sense. Feel my pulse, you’ll see I don’t have a fever.
6313.184  » « Poor uncle! » said François. « He doesn’t know that madness is a delirium without fever. » « Sir, » added the doctor, « if we could give our patients a fever
6323.064 , we would cure them all. » Mr. Morlot threw himself into his chair. His nephew continued to pace the
6328.544 doctor’s office. Sir, said François, I am deeply distressed by
6334.344 my uncle’s misfortune, but it is a great consolation for me to be able to entrust him to a man like you. I have read your admirable book, Monomanie
6341.824 raisonnante: it is the most remarkable thing written in this genre since the Treatise on Mental Illnesses of the great Esquirol.
6349.384 I know, moreover, that you are a father to your patients, so I will not do you the insult of recommending Mr. Morlot to you. As for the price
6355.344 of his board, I leave it entirely to you. He took a thousand-franc note from his wallet and placed it nimbly on the
6363.064 mantelpiece. I will have the honor of appearing here sometime next week. When is it permitted to visit the sick?  »
6370.544 From noon to two o’clock. As for me, I am always at home. Goodbye, sir. » « Arrest him, » cried Uncle Morlot, « don’t let him go! He’s the one
6378.992 who’s mentally ill; I’ll explain his madness to you.  » « Calm down, my dear uncle! » said François, withdrawing. « I’ll leave you
6387.112 in the hands of M. Auvray; he’ll take good care of you. » M. Morlot wanted to run after his nephew, but the doctor held him back:
6394.192 What a fatality! cried the poor uncle; he won’t say something stupid!
6399.592 If he could only be a little unreasonable, you would see that it is not I who am mentally ill.
6404.632 François was already holding the doorknob. He retraced his steps as if he had forgotten something, walked straight to the doctor and said to him:
6413.472 Sir, my uncle’s illness is not the only reason that brings me here. « Ah! ah! » murmured M. Morlot, who saw a ray of hope shine.
6422.792 The young man continued: « You have a daughter.  » « At last! » cried the poor uncle. « You are witness that he said: You have
6428.952 a daughter! » The doctor replied to François: « Yes, sir. Explain to me…. « You have a daughter, Miss Claire Auvray.
6435.632  » « There she is! There she is! I told you so.  » « Yes, sir, » said the doctor. « Three months ago, she was at the waters of Ems with her mother. »
6442.912 « Bravo! bravo! » shouted M. Morlot. « Yes, sir, » replied M. Auvray. M. Morlot ran to the doctor and said, « You are not the doctor;
6451.312 you are a resident of the house!  » « My friend, » replied the doctor, « if you are not good, we
6456.632 will give you a shower.  » M. Morlot recoiled in terror. His nephew continued, « Sir, I love your daughter, I have some hope of being
6464.672 loved by her, and provided her feelings have not changed since September, I have the honor of asking for her hand.
6470.424  » The doctor replied, « So it is to M. François Thomas that I have the honor of speaking?  » « To himself, sir, and I should have begun by telling you my
6478.504 name.  » « Sir, allow me to tell you that you have kept us waiting. » At that moment, the doctor’s attention was attracted by M. Morlot, who was
6486.624 rubbing his hands with a sort of rage. What is the matter, my friend? he asked him in his gentle, fatherly voice.
6493.664 « Nothing, nothing; I’m rubbing my hands.  » « And why?  » « I have something that bothers me.
6498.824  » « Show me: I can’t see anything.  » « Can’t you see? There, there, between your fingers. I can see it clearly!
6503.904  » « What do you see?  » « My nephew’s money. Take it away, doctor! I am an honest man; I
6509.904 want nothing from anyone. » While the doctor listened attentively to M. Morlot’s first ramblings, a strange revolution took place in François’s person
6518.384 . He was turning pale, he was cold, his teeth were chattering violently . M. Auvray turned towards him to ask him what he
6525.184 was feeling. « Nothing, » he replied; « it’s coming, I hear it; it’s joy… but I am overwhelmed by it. Happiness falls on me like snow. The winter
6533.984 will be harsh for lovers. » Doctor, look at what’s in my head. M. Morlot ran to him, shouting:
6539.624 Enough! Don’t be unreasonable any longer! I don’t want you to be a mentally ill person anymore. It’s as if I were the one who stole your reason. I’m honest. Doctor, look at
6548.224 my hands; search my pockets; send to my house, rue de Charonne, in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine; open all the drawers; you’ll see that I
6557.224 don’t owe anyone anything! The doctor was very embarrassed between his two patients when a door opened, and Claire came to tell her father that lunch
6565.704 was on the table. François stood up as if by a spring; but his will alone ran to meet Mademoiselle Auvray. His body fell heavily back onto the armchair. He
6574.52 could barely stammer out a few words. Claire! It’s me. I love you. Will you?…
6579.6 He passed his hand over his forehead. His pale face turned a bright red. His temples were throbbing violently; he felt a violent compression above his eyebrows
6586.64 . Claire, as dead as she was alive, seized both his hands: his skin was dry and his pulse so hard that the poor
6594.36 girl was terrified. This was not how she had hoped to see him again. In a few minutes, an orange tint spread around the
6601.76 wings of the nose; nausea came next, and M. Auvray recognized all the symptoms of a bilious fever. What a pity, he said, that this
6609.72 fever had not befallen his uncle; it would have cured him! He rang; the servant ran; then Madame Auvray, whom François
6617.56 barely recognized, he was so overwhelmed. It was necessary to put the sick man to bed, and without delay. Claire offered her room and her bed. It was a charming little
6624.68 boarding school bed with white curtains; a cute and chastely coquettish room, hung with pink percale, and decorated with large
6631.8 heathers in bluish porcelain vases. On the mantelpiece was a large onyx cup: it was the only present that Claire
6638.12 had received from her lover. If you catch a fever, dear reader, I wish you a similar infirmary.
6644.16 While François was being given first aid, his exasperated uncle was bustling about in the room, stopping the doctor, embracing the sick man,
6652.04 grabbing Madame Auvray’s hand, and shouting at the top of his lungs: Save him quickly , quickly! I don’t want him to die; I will oppose his
6659.92 death, it is my right: I am his uncle and his guardian! If you don’t cure him, they will say that it was I who killed him.
6667.272 You are witnesses that I am not asking for his inheritance. I am giving all his possessions to the poor. A glass of water, please, to wash my hands!
6675.792 He was transferred to the nursing home. There, he became so agitated that they had to put him in a heavy canvas jacket that is laced up at
6682.512 the back and whose sleeves are sewn at the ends: this is what is called a straitjacket. The nurses took care of him.
6689.552 Madame Auvray and her daughter cared for François with love, although the details of the treatment were not always pleasant; but the
6697.672 more delicate sex delights in heroism. You will tell me that these two women saw in their sick man a son-in-law and a husband, but I believe
6704.232 that if he had been a stranger he would have lost almost nothing. Saint Vincent de Paul invented only a uniform, for there is in women of
6711.792 every rank and age the makings of a sister of charity. Sitting night and day in this feverish room, the mother and
6719.032 daughter spent their moments of rest talking together about their memories and their hopes. They could not explain François’s long
6726.392 silence, nor his sudden return, nor the occasion which had brought him to the Avenue Montaigne. If he loved Claire, why did he keep him
6734.752 waiting for three months? Did he need his uncle’s illness to get into M. Auvray’s house? If he had forgotten his
6742.952 love, why hadn’t he taken his uncle to another doctor? There are enough of them in Paris. Perhaps he had believed his passion
6748.752 was cured, until Claire’s presence undeceived him? But no, since, before seeing her again, he had asked for her hand in marriage.
6757.072 To all these questions, it was François who answered in his delirium. Claire, leaning over his lips, eagerly gathered his every
6764.408 word; she commented on them with her mother and the doctor, who soon glimpsed the truth. For a man trained to unravel the most
6773.208 confused ideas and to read the souls of mentally ill people as in a half- erased book, the daydreams of a feverish person are an intelligible language, and
6781.768 the most confused delirium is not without enlightenment. It was soon known that he had lost his mind and in what circumstances; it was even explained
6788.568 how he had innocently caused his uncle’s illness. Then began a new series of fears for Miss Auvray.
6794.528 François had been mentally ill. Would the terrible crisis she had unknowingly provoked
6799.648 cure the patient? The doctor assured him that fever has the privilege of judging, that is to say, of ending madness: however, there
6807.488 is no rule without exception, especially in medicine. Supposing he were cured, would there not be relapses to fear? Would Mr. Auvray want to
6815.368 give his daughter to one of his patients? As for me, said Claire, smiling sadly, I’m not afraid of anything:
6820.968 I would risk it. I am the cause of all his ills; should I not console him? After all, his madness was reduced to asking for my hand: he
6828.768 will have nothing more to ask the day I am his wife; we will therefore have nothing to fear. The poor child was only sick from an excess
6835.768 of love; cure him well, dear father, but not too much. Let there remain enough mentally ill people to love me as I love him!
6842.808 « We shall see, » replied M. Auvray. « Wait until the fever has passed. If he is ashamed of having been ill, if I see him sad
6850.848 or melancholic after recovery, I am not responsible for anything. If, on the contrary, he remembers his illness without shame or regret,
6857.648 if he speaks of it with resignation, if he sees again without repugnance the people who cared for him, I don’t care about relapses!
6863.248  » « Eh! My father, why should he be ashamed of having loved to excess? It is a noble and generous madness, which will never enter
6870.008 little souls. And how could he be reluctant to see again those who cared for him?… It is us!
6875.048 After six days of delirium, a profuse sweat carried away the fever, and the sick man began to convalesce. When he saw himself in an
6883.128 unfamiliar room, between Madame and Mademoiselle Auvray, his first idea was that he was still at the Hôtel des Quatre-Saisons, in the main street of Ems. His
6890.568 weakness, his thinness, and the presence of the doctor brought him back to other thoughts: he remembered, but vaguely. The doctor came
6898.728 to his aid. He poured out the truth with prudence, as one measures food to a body weakened by diet. François began by
6905.608 listening to his story like a novel in which he played no part; he was another man, a completely new man, and he emerged from the fever
6913.648 as from a tomb. Little by little the gaps in his memory filled in. His brain was full of empty boxes that filled in one by one,
6921.488 without a jolt. Soon he was master of his mind; he regained possession of the past. This cure was a work of science and above all of
6929.088 patience. It was here that Mr. Auvray’s paternal consideration was admired. The excellent man had the genius for gentleness. On December 25,
6936.288 François, sitting on his bed, weighted down with chicken broth and half an egg yolk, recounted without interruption, without agitation or
6943.768 rambling, without shame, without regret, and with no emotion other than quiet joy, the story of the three months that had just passed.
6951.488 Claire and Mrs. Auvray wept as they listened to him. The doctor seemed to be taking notes or writing from dictation, but something other
6958.704 than ink fell onto his paper. When the story was finished, the convalescent added by way of
6964.664 conclusion: Today, December 25, at three o’clock in the morning, I said to my
6970.424 excellent doctor, to my beloved father, Mr. Auvray, whose street and number I will never forget: Sir, you have a daughter, Miss
6979.024 Claire Auvray; I saw her this summer at the waters of Ems, with her mother; I
6984.384 love her; she has proved to me quite clearly that she loved me, and, if you are not afraid that I will fall ill again, I have the honor of asking for her
6990.824 hand.
The doctor only gave a small nod, but Claire put her arms around the sick man’s neck and kissed him on the forehead. I do not desire another
6997.704 answer when I make such a request. The same day, Mr. Morlot, calmer and freed from the straitjacket, got up
7003.664 at eight o’clock in the morning. Getting out of bed, he took his slippers, turned them over, turned them over, probed them carefully, and passed them to
7012.264 the nurse, begging him to see if they did not contain thirty thousand pounds of income. It was only then that he agreed to put on his
7019.584 shoes. He combed his hair for a good half hour, repeating: I don’t want anyone to say that my nephew’s fortune has passed over my
7026.304 head. He shook each of his clothes out of the window, after having searched them down to their last folds. Dressed, he asked for
7033.824 a pencil and wrote on the walls of his room: MANY OTHERS WILL NOT DESIRE. Then he began to rub his hands with incredible vivacity,
7041.464 to convince himself that François’ fortune was not attached to them. He scratched his fingers with his pencil, counting them from the
7048.704 first to the tenth, so afraid was he of forgetting one. M. Auvray paid him his daily visit: he thought he was in the presence of an
7056.184 examining magistrate, and earnestly asked to be searched. The doctor identified himself and informed him that François was cured. The poor
7064.184 man asked if the money had been found. Since my nephew is going to leave here, he said, he needs his money: where is it? I don’t have it. Unless
7072.424 it’s in my bed! And he overturned his bed so nimbly that no one had time to stop him. The doctor left,
7079.024 shaking his hand; he rubbed it with scrupulous care. They brought him his lunch; he began by exploring his napkin, his glass,
7087.104 his knife, his plate, repeating that he did not want to eat his nephew’s fortune. When the meal was finished, he washed his hands thoroughly
7094.504 . The fork is silver, he said; if only I had had any silver left after my hands!
7100.464 M. Auvray does not despair of saving him, but it will take time. It is especially in summer and autumn that doctors cure madness.
7107.744 LAND FOR SALE. Chapter 8. Henri Tourneur, who has just won his first medal at
7112.784 the Universal Exhibition, is not a painter of genius, but he only produces excellent pictures. He draws almost as well as M.
7119.584 Ingres, and his color is almost as rich as that of M. Diaz. His painting has been fashionable for four or five years, and it has nothing
7125.984 to fear from the whims of fashion. He sells it at English prices, that is to say, exorbitant. The Ladies of the Court Visiting the Studio of
7133.024 Jean Goujon were paid eighteen thousand francs for a museum in Paris. A banker from Rouen gave six thousand francs for The Kiss by Alain
7139.584 Chartier, a small canvas of 4, false size; and Mlle Doze Listening to the Confessions of Mlle Mars has just been bought for eleven thousand francs by a
7147.584 rich Belgian art lover. He has more commissions than he can fulfill in two years, and I don’t see what would prevent him from earning forty
7154.896 thousand francs a year. His first successes date from the Exhibition of 1850. Until then he had
7161.776 earned his living obscurely. Mr. Tourneur senior, a wine broker, retired from business with an income of ten thousand francs, had neither helped nor
7169.816 hindered his son’s vocation; he had left him to his own devices, without money, with these encouraging words: If you have talent, you
7178.576 will get by; if you have none, you will give up painting, and I will place you in commerce. From twenty to thirty years old, Henri designed
7186.256 woodcuts for cheap editions, he painted fans, confectioner’s boxes, porcelains and even fireplace fronts.
7193.856 The child with pot-au-feu, which is still sold in the provinces, is one of his youthful sins. These ten years of hardship were profitable for him: he
7202.616 learned economy. The day he saw his bread assured for eighteen months, he turned his back on industry and took up painting.
7209.136 His studio is the largest on Avenue Frochot and one of the most beautiful in Paris. It is a museum where you can see a little of everything, except
7214.896 paintings. The reason is very simple. When Tourneur wants to paint a young lady from the time of Louis XIII sealing a love letter, he
7221.536 starts by running around the dealers of curiosities: he buys either a tapestry of the time, or an embossed leather hanging to fill the
7229.976 background of the painting. He chooses a beautiful piece of antique furniture, which he has brought to his home. He unearths a small, richly inlaid desk at the back of a shop
7236.816 , he pays for it and carries it under his arm. He procures, at any price, the old silks and the guipure two
7244.656 centenarians whose costume he will compose; he watches at public auctions for Marion Delorme’s writing desk and Ninon de Lenclos’s stamp
7251.896 . Such is his love of precision. He dresses his mannequin with scrupulous care, he brings in a beautiful model for the head
7259.256 and hands, and he paints everything from life. He only does one painting at a time, finishes it without interruption and delivers it immediately
7267.176 varnished. In his work one sees neither sketches, nor pochades, nor drafts, nor that jumble of interrupted studies, sketched imaginations and
7275.296 unsold paintings that one likes to encounter in a studio. One finds only a canvas in the process of being executed and already placed in the frame.
7282.896 But the walls are covered with splendid hangings and bristling with magnificent coats of arms, more than one of which cost a thousand francs. The old furniture and
7289.696 shelves support a multitude of porcelain, earthenware, stoneware, precious enamels, rare bronzes, and artistic jewelry. His
7297.616 house is like a branch of the Cluny Museum. As for him, those who have not seen his portrait engraved by Calamatta
7304.096 will never recognize him in the street. He looks much less like an artist than a young English merchant. His face is regular,
7311.456 a little cold; his skin very white, his hair light brown. He wears his hair in the English style, on the temples, and only wears sideburns.
7319.816 He is small, but well-built in his small stature. I know few men who dress better than him; he has the finest linens
7325.456 and the best-cut clothes. Never light colors, never eccentric shapes, and no jewelry except for his watch, which is by
7332.456 Breguet. If he carries a cane, it is a hundred-franc cane, with a small black tortoiseshell knob worth a hundred sous.
7338.6 I met him many times, when he was his own valet, and I do not remember seeing a speck of dust on him.
7347.12 He often went to bed without dinner, but he never went out without fresh gloves. When he took his meals in a dairy on the Rue
7353.96 Pigalle, he ordered his hats from the Rue Richelieu, and his shoes from the good maker. In the workshop, he dresses in white, either
7361.76 wool or ticking, according to the season, and never gets stained; he is clean and neat like his painting. For the past year he has indulged in the
7369.08 luxury of black. He is a young Nubian of eighteen, forgotten in Paris by an Englishman who was returning from Egypt. He was not baptized: Tourneur
7377.52 gave him the name Snowball. He taught him all the liberal arts that are within the reach of the black races: scrubbing the floor,
7385.2 dusting the furniture, brushing clothes, polishing shoes, and delivering letters to their addresses. Thanks to the care he has taken, he
7392.8 is, for ten francs a month, the best served man in all of Paris. It is claimed that he has already made considerable savings; but I, who
7399.56 know him, can assure you that this is not the case. Artists exaggerate everything, and particularly the savings of other artists.
7406.24 Tourneur has spent too much on purchases of all kinds to have much cash left over. Note, moreover, that Snowball
7413.76 devours three kilograms of bread a day, and you will understand why his master’s fortune is reduced to fifty thousand francs, invested in
7420.52 state annuities. However modest the figure may seem, it proves to any sensible man that M. Henri Tourneur is an artist of good living. He attends neither
7428.04 balls nor theaters, and only goes to the Comédie-Française, where he has his entries. His conduct is as regular as that of a
7435.856 man of thirty-five can be. However, I would not swear that he is indifferent to the beauty of Mellina Barni. When she broke off her
7442.416 engagement with the director of La Scala to come and sing in Paris, he persuaded her to delay her debut, which is still awaited. He is
7449.976 often seen at her house, and even, what is more serious, she is met sometimes at home. But that’s none of my business.
7456.616 On May 15 of this year, an hour after the opening of the Exposition des beaux-arts, Henri Tourneur was contemplating himself,
7463.536 and smiling at his painting by Alain Chartier, when he received on the shoulder one of those familiar taps which would shake the balance of an
7470.056 ox. He turned around, as if he had been touched on a spring; but his anger did not hold up in front of the person of all types of body ruddy smile of M. de Chingru:
7479.856 he began to laugh. Good morning, Van Ostade, Miéris, Terburg, Gérard Dow! cried M.
7486.416 de Chingru, so loudly that five or six people benefited from his speech. I saw your three paintings, they have lost nothing, they are
7493.696 magnificent; in fact, that’s all there is here. You beat France, Belgium and England, Meissonnier, Willems and Mulready. You paint
7500.816 the genre as genre itself, and you are as learned as pinxit. If the government does not give you a hundred thousand francs commission and the cross,
7508.016 I will demolish the Bastille! He took Henri by the arm, and added in a low voice: Do you want to get married?
7514.256 –Leave me alone! –A million! –You are a mentally ill person! A million would not want me.
7520.136 –Why is that? A million and you, you are worth the same. What does a million earn a year? Fifty thousand francs. You can do as much:
7528.016 you are then of the strength of a million. –Where did you dig that up? –Ah! ah! the story interests you. Listen then. There exists in the world
7537.88 a Mr. Gaillard…. –Who plays on the Stock Exchange? Thank you. I saw Ceinture dorée.
7543.28 –He does not play any more than I do; he is an archivist at the Ministry of…. –A place worth ten thousand francs? –No; three thousand six hundred, plus four hundred francs of gratuity
7550.92 which never fails; total four thousand. There’s the father-in-law. –And my million? –Ah! my million! You bite, Van Ostade, you bite! Mr. Gaillard is
7559.6 a model employee. For thirty years, he arrives at his office at five minutes to ten, leaves at five minutes to four, and in
7565.92 the meantime he doesn’t let himself be replaced by his hat to go play billiards. –Chingru, you’re annoying me. –A little patience! This archivist, the likes of which you don’t find anymore, lives
7574.24 near the top of Rue d’Amsterdam with his daughter, his sister, and his maid. Their apartment is on the fourth floor; three bedrooms, no
7581.36 living room. The windows…. –Goodbye, Chingru. –Goodbye, Gérard Dow. The windows overlook a plot of ten thousand
7587.24 meters. You haven’t left yet? –Go on! –Ten thousand meters at one hundred francs makes a million. Anyone who would deny
7593.12 this would be giving the lie to Pythagoras! This million, my dear Terburg, is the property of Mr. Gaillard.
7599.32 –But how is it…? –Rest assured, he didn’t steal it. You can steal a wallet, it
7604.44 happens every day; but you can’t steal a hectare of land: you’d have to have very deep pockets. In the year of grace 1830, a few
7613.6 days after the July stories, Mr. Gaillard, a fifth-year supernumerary, found himself in charge of a sum of seventy-five thousand
7620.28 francs, the inheritance of an uncle in Narbonne. He was looking for an investment sheltered from revolutions, when he discovered these fortunate plots of land,
7627.464 which were then worth seven francs per meter. His account was soon settled: seventy thousand francs for the purchase, five thousand for the notary and
7634.584 the taxman. He paid cash and was respected. –But since then, why hasn’t he sold?…
7640.824 –Since then? He never moved the sign, and I’ll show it to you whenever you want: Land for sale in whole or in lots. And I
7647.824 beg you to believe that there was no shortage of buyers. The day after the deed was signed, he was offered a profit of ten thousand francs. He
7655.584 said to himself: Good! I didn’t make a foolish deal. And he kept his land. When the Saint-Germain station was built, a speculator brought him
7662.984 two hundred thousand francs. He scratched his nose (it’s the only fault I know of him), and replied that his wife didn’t want to sell.
7670.344 In 1842, his wife had died; a gas company made him dazzling offers
7675.544 : half a million! Well, he replied, since I’ve waited twelve years, I’ll wait a little longer. I see with pleasure that
7683.944 time is working for me; it mustn’t be disturbed. When my daughter is old enough to marry, we’ll see! It’s good to tell you that his
7690.904 daughter is a contemporary of the famous piece of land. In 1850, his daughter was twenty, a fine age, and the land was worth eight hundred thousand francs, a
7698.704 good price. But he has become so accustomed to keeping both that it will take the cross and the banner to decide him either to sell
7706.544 or to marry. They preach to him that the case is quite different, that land is not lost for waiting, but that girls, past
7713.224 a certain age, are subject to depreciation: he plugs his ears and returns to his office to scratch paper.
7719.552 –And his daughter? –She’s bored at a hundred francs a day, and so wholeheartedly, that she ‘ll love the first man she sees shining on the horizon.
7726.872 –Isn’t she seeing anyone? –Nobody who looks human: an old provincial notary and five
7732.552 or six employees who look like office boys. You understand that we’re not going to give balls in an apartment with three
7739.312 bedrooms! I’m the only presentable man who has access to the house. –Isn’t she too ugly?
7745.632 –She’s magnificent! I’m just telling you that. –Does she have a human name? I warn you that if she’s called
7751.272 Euphrosyne…. –Rosalie: does that suit you? –Yes, Rosalie…. Rosalie…, that’s a pretty name. Is she a little
7758.152 high-minded?
–She? An artist, my dear, like you and me. –Let’s distinguish, I beg you. –Ungrateful! She doesn’t play any instrument, and she doesn’t go copying
7765.592 paintings at the Louvre; but she understands painting, she feels music like the one who invented it. Besides, a strict upbringing: the
7773.352 theatre six times a year, the monuments twice a month, four concerts in Lent, a serious library, few novels, and all
7781.792 English; no turtledoves in the house, not a cousin in the family!
–Talk, talk, Chingru; I can bear you! When will you introduce me?
7789.992 –Tomorrow, if you like. I’ve already spoken to her about you. –And what did you tell her? –That you were the only one of our great painters of whom I didn’t have any
7797.352 paintings.
–I’ll start one for you the day after the wedding. –Thank you. I’ll ask you one more favor.
7802.832 –If it isn’t a silver service…. –You know, my dear, that I’m nearly forty, and I have no job.
7808.432 At my age, everyone is settled, it’s the custom. It annoys me to be an exception, and to hear people whispering around me: M.
7815.528 de Chingru; a fine name; what does he do? –He has enough to live on: he’s a man
7821.448 who asks nothing of anyone. –Yes; but what does he do? By Jove! I’d do like everyone else, if I only had a job
7827.728 paying three thousand francs! Come, my little Turner, I’m not asking you for anything now; later, if you’re happy. You have influence, you
7835.328 know the men in high places, you go to ministers; you’ll put in a word for me, won’t you? –What are you good for?
7841.008 –Everything, for I haven’t studied anything specifically. –Well! I won’t say no. What time tomorrow? –At two o’clock. She’ll be alone with her aunt; you’ll come to
7849.208 buy a plot of land. –Do you want me to come and get you? –No, no; I’ll call at your studio; I’m never
7855.408 at home. Do you even know where I live? –I don’t remember exactly. –There, when I told you! Well! All my friends are as advanced
7863.368 as you. I don’t stay; I’m perching. At most, if I know my address, I live so little at home! Goodbye.
7870.088 M. de Chingru (Louis-Théramène), without an avowed profession and without
7875.288 a known address, is what is commonly called a studio pest. His talent consists of entering artists’ homes, giving them
7882.528 a censer in their faces with his person of all types of body, speaking ill of one in another, making them
7887.848 address him informally, and here and there taking down a sketch that they allow him to take. Without being either an artist or a critic, he nevertheless has a
7895.808 second-hand dealer’s nose, and he sniffs out canvases that are in disrepair quite well. In the studios where he is received, he places himself as a point of admiration
7901.768 along the walls, celebrating everything, the good and the bad, until he has set his sights on a work to which the artist attaches
7908.928 little value. He devotes all the effort of his admiration to it, he gives it all the impetuosity of his enthusiasm. He moves away from it,
7917.112 then he returns; he depreciates a masterpiece for the benefit of his dominant passion; he leaves. But he adjusts his last glance on
7924.432 the object of his desire. The next day, he is seen again, but he sees no one; he barely says hello, he goes straight to the painting from the day before.
7931.472 He is his pole: you would say a magnetic man. He is not afraid to say to the artist: Here is your first masterpiece; the day you did
7940.032 this, you left the peers; the day before, you were just a painter like the others, a Delacroix, a Troyon, a Corot; the next day, you were
7948.032 you. And he looks again, and he takes down this unframed canvas, he carries it to the window, he wipes it with the back of his sleeve, he puts it back
7956.672 in place while grumbling against the bourgeois who do not come to cover it with gold. Eight days later, he returns, but he looks elsewhere;
7963.912 He avoids that corner, he only glances at it furtively while stifling a sigh. One morning, he arrives with the sun: he dreamed that his beloved
7972.952 painting was sold to the Queen of England; he wants to admire it once more. Suddenly the artist loses patience and insults him:
7981.552 You’re nothing but an ass; there are twenty paintings here, not bad, and you’ll be amazed by a piece of rubbish. This sketch is stupid,
7988.392 nothing will ever be done with it; I don’t want to see it again; take it away, but don’t mention it to me again. Chingru doesn’t need to be told twice: he runs to the painting
7997.232 with cries like a hungry eagle, he shows it to the artist, he celebrates it with great superlatives, and he ends up having
8004.992 a signature put on it that triples its value. No one thinks too much about giving him a painting, because they know he has several, and good
8011.232 painters; We tell ourselves that we will not be compromised in his gallery. But
his gallery, no one knows it. His house is the lion’s den: we
8019.576 know what goes in, we don’t know what comes out. All the paintings we give him are immediately sold underhand to a second-hand dealer,
8027.176 who sends them to the provinces, to Belgium or to England. If chance brought someone back to Paris, Chingru would answer without being
8034.816 troubled: I gave it away; I have nothing of my own; I’m such a bon vivant! or else: I exchanged it for a Van Dyck. What painter
8043.456 would complain of having been exchanged for a Van Dyck? This is how Louis-Théramène de Chingru made a charity office of all
8050.536 the studios in Paris. Henri Tourneur had never given him anything, and for good reason: when you sell your painting, what’s the point of giving it away? But he promised himself to
8058.696 reward him handsomely if he brought the marriage affair to a successful conclusion. Both were punctual at the rendezvous, and two o’clock was striking
8066.776 from the railway station on the Rue Saint-Lazare when Chingru reached out for M. Gaillard’s crowbar. It was Rosalie who
8074.216 opened the door: the old aunt was at the market with the maid. She showed them into the dining room, gave Chingru news of the
8081.536 whole family, allowed herself to be introduced to M. Tourneur as one would receive a man of whom one had heard much, and listened graciously
8089.496 to the explanations he gave her about the choice of land and the construction of a studio. She did not know under what conditions her
8096.376 father wanted to sell, nor if he would agree to divide a lot into two halves; but she showed a lithographed plan, which Henri asked
8104.416 permission to take home for a day or two: he would return to come to an agreement with M. Gaillard. The interview lasted ten minutes and the
8112.896 painter left dazzled. Well? Chingru asked him on the stairs. « Leave me alone; my eyes are tingling, it
8120.952 seems to me that I have just been on a trip to Italy.  » « You are not far mistaken: the Gaillard dynasty
8127.072 originates from Narbonne, a Roman city. Father Gaillard prides himself on being descended from the conquerors of the world. He would be greatly humiliated by
8133.752 proving to him that his name is only a very French adjective that has reached the rank of a proper noun. When someone sings to him, as at the Opéra-Comique:
8141.032 Bonjour, bonjour, Monsieur Gaillard! He begins a devilish dissertation to prove to you that there were soldiers or army valets, responsible for taking care of the
8149.712 helmets, galea, helmet, galearius, hence Gaillard; see the Strategy of Vegetius, such chapter, such paragraph…. That’s how you listen to me?
8158.152 Henri had his eyes glued to M. Gaillard’s house. Chingru continued: Don’t take so much trouble; its windows look out onto the courtyard.
8166.192 Is she then to your taste? –She is not a woman, Chingru; she is a goddess. I expected to see a poor Eugénie Grandet, wasted by privation and dried up
8174.272 by boredom. I would never have believed her to be so tall, so well made, so rich in beauty, and of such a dazzling color. You say she
8181.192 is twenty-five years old? Yes, she must be twenty-five, the age of perfection for women. All Greek statues are twenty-five!
8189.072 –Brrr! You’re leaving like a flock of partridges. Have you noticed her eyes? –I saw everything: her big black eyes, her beautiful chestnut hair, her
8197.752 divinely drawn eyebrows, her proud mouth, her thick red lips, her small transparent teeth, her beautiful slender hands,
8206.153 her powerful arms, her foot as big as a hand and as wide as two fingers, her ear as pink as a West Indian shell.
8212.8 Yes, I noticed her eyes! But I noticed her dress, which is made of English alpaca; her collar and her sleeves, which she designed herself, for they
8221.2 don’t make such designs at the merchants’. She has no rings on her fingers, and her ears are not pierced: you see
8227.441 that I know it by heart. –Good heavens! If the heart is already involved, I have nothing more to do here.
8233.72 –I must have said a thousand stupid things; I couldn’t hear myself speak; I was all in my eyes; I felt for the first time in my life
8240.401 the happiness of contemplating perfect beauty. –That’s all right; now come and contemplate something else. –What then?
8246.72 –The land. –I care a great deal about the land! If that girl is penniless and wants me, I’ll marry her!
8253.88 –Don’t be embarrassed, my dear; if the land bothers you, you ‘ll give it to me. I’ve long regretted not having been born
8260.16 a landowner. When M. Gaillard returned from his office, Rosalie told him that M.
8265.24 de Chingru had brought a young artist, M. Henri Tourneur, to see the land; that she had given him the plan; that this gentleman would come back
8273.04 to speak to her. But, she added, laughing, I’d wager he has another idea in mind, for he only looked at me; he spoke without knowing
8281.2 what he was saying; and besides… he’s much too good for a simple land buyer. M. Gaillard didn’t frown; he scratched his
8289.12 nose familiarly, which was very beautiful, and replied: M. de Chingru should mind his own business. I’ll go tomorrow
8296.2 morning to ask this young man for my plan again, and find out what he wants from us.
8301.441 Chapter 9. The next day, at eight o’clock in the morning, Henri put on his jacket. of the workshop, when Snowball introduced a very tall,
8309.24 very dry, very polite, somewhat timid man, preceded by a magnificent nose: it was Mr. Gaillard. He sat down and explained, with many
8317.2 circumlocutions, that his land had been divided once and for all, for the greater convenience of the purchasers; that it was impossible
8324.52 to divide a lot into two halves of equal value, since each lot had only fifteen meters of frontage, that it would be very difficult to
8331.68 calculate the value of the remaining fraction which did not give onto the street, and that, if Mr. Tourneur was not in a position or in the mood
8338.16 to buy an entire lot, unless he were to resell part of it, it would be better to leave it at that. Sir, continued Henri, almost as troubled as Mr. Gaillard, I
8347.281 am neither a very skilled buyer nor a very experienced seller. I am an artist, as you see. Mr. de Chingru…, but, look! I
8354.56 prefer to speak to you frankly, although the things I have to say are not easy to explain. Sir, you are not only
8361.04 a landowner; you are a father. I had heard Mademoiselle your daughter spoken of in such favorable terms that I felt an incredible
8368.481 desire to know her and speak to her. I took these lands as a pretext; I chose, I confess, a moment when I hoped to find her
8375.92 alone; I obtained by surprise the honor of talking with her for ten minutes; she seemed to me marvelously beautiful and quite well-bred;
8383.16 and since you came of your own accord to an interview that I would have requested today or tomorrow, allow me to tell you that my dearest
8388.56 ambition would be to obtain the hand of Mademoiselle Rosalie Gaillard. Mr. Gaillard quickly put his hand to his nose. Henri continued:
8395.96 I know, sir, how unusual there is in such a direct and unexpected request. You know my
8402.16 name at most. I am thirty-four years old; the public loves my painting and pays very well for it. I have amassed, in five years, a sum of fifty thousand
8409.184 francs, and I have bought the following furniture with my savings: it is worth about as much. I can justify eighty thousand francs in
8417.104 orders, which I will execute before January 1, 1857, without rushing.
8422.824 That is my assets, as my father would say. As for liabilities, not a cent of debt. I could count my father’s fortune among my assets,
8430.224 ten thousand francs of income, honorably amassed in business: I mention it only for the record. My father has acquired the sweet habit of
8437.304 letting me work as I please and of helping me in nothing: I will not cause him the trouble of asking for a dowry. For your part, if you
8446.464 would do me the honor of granting me Mademoiselle your daughter, I would beg you to keep all your wealth to use as you wish; I
8452.984 will earn a living for my wife and children. I do not conceal from myself that these conditions do not remedy the inequality of our fortunes.
8461.144 To do well, I would have to be richer or you poorer; but I do not know how to get rich in a
8467.504 day, and I am not selfish enough to desire your ruin. What I believe I can promise you is that, the day when Mademoiselle
8475.224 your daughter comes into possession of her property, I will have amassed enough comfort so that a million earned without work will not make me
8482.184 blush…. I do not know, sir, if I have made myself understood…. « Yes, sir, » replied M. Gaillard, « and, artist as you are,
8490.984 you seem to me to be a very honest man. » Henri Tourneur blushed to the whites of his eyes. « Excuse me, » the good man replied quickly; « I do not want to speak
8499.424 ill of artists: I do not know them. » I simply wanted to make you understand that you reason like a man of order, an employee,
8506.68 a merchant, a notary, and that you do not profess the cavalier morality of people of your profession. Besides, you are a good
8513.84 person, and I believe that you would please my daughter if she saw you. often. She has always had a pronounced taste for painting,
8520.96 music, embroidery and all those little social talents. Your age matches that of Rosalie. Your character seems good to me, both
8528.4 serious and cheerful. You seem to understand business, and I believe you are capable of administering a fortune of some importance.
8535.08 Finally, you please me, sir! That is why I beg you not to set foot in my house again, until further notice.
8541.32 Henri dreamed that he fell from Strasbourg Cathedral. M. Gaillard hastened to add:
8546.76 I would not say this to you if I believed you to be a man of no consequence, like, for example, M. de Chingru. But I am prudent,
8554.28 sir, and, in your interest as in the interest of my daughter, I need to make inquiries. I believe that you are leading
8561.12 a good conduct; But if, by chance, you had some affair that would later cause my daughter unhappiness, you wouldn’t be the one
8567.36 to warn me, would you? You tell me that you are earning mountains of gold, and I believe you, although it seems to me quite
8574.08 extraordinary that a single man could produce eighty thousand francs’ worth of paintings in eighteen months. I believe you; but, to
8580.68 clear my conscience, I must make inquiries. I need to talk to your father, to find out if he has ever had cause to
8588.4 complain about you. It will be good for me to inquire in the neighborhood if you owe anything to anyone….
8593.48 –Sir…. –I believe you; but sometimes one has debts without knowing it. Where did you study?
8600.048 –At the Charlemagne College, Jauffret Institution. –Good! I will go and see your headmaster and the head of your institution: I am not
8607.088 taking you by surprise, but I am being prudent, sir. It’s my quality; my fault, if you like. I’ve always done well.
8613.768 If I were less prudent, I would have sold my land to the Saint-Germain company in 1836: just look at the great deal! If I were
8622.768 a starling father like so many others, I would have given my daughter last year to a stockbroker who has just blown his brains out.
8630.328 Patience, young man, you won’t lose anything by waiting. If you deserve my daughter, you will have her; but business must take
8637.368 its course. I am prudent…. don’t send me back…. If my father had been as prudent as I am, I would be richer than I am…. Go
8644.208 to work, go…. I am prudent! Henri spent eight days performing variations on this well-known theme:
8650.528 A plague on prudence and prudent men! However, he acted prudently by untying the ties that bound him to Mellina. He
8658.608 sent him a grand piano he had promised him, and he sternly consigned it to his door. On the eighth day, Chingru came to tell him of M. Gaillard’s visit.
8666.808 He said that M. Gaillard had traveled all over Paris, questioned all the ministries, and especially the fine arts department, questioned
8674.648 the art dealers, consulted the booklets of previous exhibitions, reread the last five salons of Théophile Gautier, and
8681.768 collected a whole file of admirable information. He knows everything; he knows that you won a history prize in the general competition
8688.368 in the fourth year, on the organization of the Roman colonies: this particularly touched him.
8693.496 It was me that he questioned on the delicate question: needless to say, we did not discuss Mellina.
8700.616 M. Gaillard came at four thirty. He began the subject with a vigorous handshake, which delighted the painter. My
8707.296 young friend, he said, I have just come from forty or fifty houses where I have heard a lot about you: it remains for me to study you a little for
8715.896 myself. I would not be sorry either if you became better acquainted with my daughter, because it is not me that you will marry,
8723.536 if you marry. It is necessary, above all, that we see each other every day for two or three months; after which, we will speak
8730.576 business. Henri thanked him profusely. How kind you are, sir! You authorize me to go and pay my respects to Mlle Rosalie?
8738.016 « No, no, no! How you go about it! They’re talking about beautiful things in the house! A young man at my house every evening! And if the affair fell
8745.256 through! All of Paris would know that M. Henri Tourneur had to marry Mlle Rosalie Gaillard, that he paid court to her, and that the marriage failed.
8752.456 They would look for reasons why; they would invent reasons: who can predict what they would say? » Henri very opportunely restrained a movement of impatience. « Sir,
8761.096  » he said, « do you know of any other place where we can meet every day?
8766.336  » « Well, no, and that’s what embarrasses me. Look for it, you’re young, you say you’re in love: it’s up to you to find ideas! »
8774.736 –If it were only a matter of five or six meetings, we would have the theaters, the concerts; but we can’t go there every day. An
8782.016 idea! You don’t want me to come to your house? Come to my house. –Young man! With my daughter! –Why not? I am an artist before I am a man. Have you never
8789.936 seen a studio? –No, and here is the first one…. –Know then that an artist’s studio is like neutral ground,
8797.176 a public square shaded in summer, heated in winter, where people come when they want, where they leave when they have had enough, where they
8804.896 meet, where they arrange appointments, where everyone is at home from sunrise to sunset. A foreigner who comes to
8811.896 Paris visits the studios like the palaces and churches, without tickets to show, without permission to obtain, on the sole condition of greeting
8819.256 on entering and thanking on leaving. There is better, it is the artist who thanks. –But I don’t want France and foreigners to come here and parade
8827.016 before my daughter! –Is that all? I’ll lock my door. –But his visits must still have a plausible pretext.
8833.736 –Nothing could be simpler: I’ll paint her portrait. –Never, sir! I’m incapable of accepting….
8840.216 –You’ll pay me! –I’m not rich enough to indulge in this fantasy. –My God! Perhaps you think a portrait costs a lot!
8847.696 –I know how much you sell your paintings for. –Pictures, yes, but not portraits! I hope you don’t
8852.936 confuse a portrait with a painting! –The difference isn’t so great. –What, not so great? My dear Monsieur Gaillard, what
8861.336 determines the price of a painting? Is it the color? No. Is it the canvas? No. It’s the invention. Paintings are only so expensive because
8868.216 there are few men who know how to invent. But, in a portrait, invention is useless, I say more, dangerous: one must only copy
8877.496 the model exactly. The first painter who comes along makes a portrait. A photographer, a worker, a man who can neither read nor write
8885.656 can whip up an admirable portrait for you in ten minutes: price twenty francs, with the frame.
Faced with this competition, we have been forced to lower
8894.512 our prices, unless we can make up for it with the paintings. Walk along the boulevards, the price of portraits is posted everywhere. They are no longer sold
8900.632 , they are given away; a small one, fifty francs; a large one, one hundred francs; but the frame is not included!
8906.592 –That is not what would stop me. But what will my friends say when they see at my house the portrait of my daughter from the brushes
8912.712 of the famous Henri Tourneur? –You will tell them that you had it done on the boulevard. –Then you promise me not to sign?
8919.032 –I promise you anything you please. When is the first sitting? –Listen; I am entitled to a fortnight’s leave every year,
8926.192 without deduction. It has been two years since I took advantage of my right; I was saving time for a trip to Italy. I can therefore, by
8932.672 notifying my superiors, take six weeks’ leave. Give me five or six days to negotiate this matter smoothly. I don’t want
8939.432 to attract the attention of the entire ministry: I am prudent. He left, and the painter meditated joyfully on the nothingness of human wisdom
8947.112 . Here, he thought, is a father who, out of prudence, brings his daughter into a studio!
8953.232 One does not know how much the sight of a beautiful studio can disturb a woman’s imagination. I am speaking of a painting studio; for the
8960.992 cold, the humidity, the clay tub, the garish tone of the plaster and the marble dust which invades everything, harm the effect of the most
8968.912 beautiful sculptors’ studios. In a painter’s house, as long as he is rich and has taste, one is dazzled from the moment he enters the door.
8974.832 A frank and decisive light, which falls from the sky in a straight line, plays through the fabrics, the hangings, the costumes hanging on the
8982.752 wall, the old furniture and the trophies. A person accustomed to conventional furnishings, where each thing has its marked purpose, where
8989.944 everything is understood and explained, remains delightfully astonished by this organized jumble. His eager gaze runs from object to object, from
8997.224 mystery to mystery; it probes the depths of the old oak chests; it glides lightly over the plump porcelain of China and
9005.464 Japan; it rests on a quiver stuffed with long arrows; it falls back on a large two-handed sword; it stops on a Roman cuirass
9013.984 eaten away by the rust of twenty centuries. A guzla without strings, a hunting horn enameled with verdigris, the bagpipes of a pifferaro, a
9021.664 crudely motley Basque tambourine, become objects of great curiosity. For an intelligent woman (and all women are),
9029.624 each of these trifles must have a meaning, each tapestry expresses a legend, each beer jug ​​a lied, each Etruscan vase a novel,
9038.424 each steel blade an epic. All the arrows must have been dipped in curare, that poison from Central Africa which causes
9044.744 death in one sting. The mannequins crouching in the corners look like mysterious sphinxes who are silent because they have
9050.464 too much to say. The possessor of all these marvels, the king of this luminous empire, could not be a man like the others. When
9057.704 we see him, smiling and hospitable, in the midst of so many hieroglyphs which he understands, we admire him. His clothes, whatever they may be, add
9065.384 to the charm. It is a costume apart, free from the ridiculousness of fashion, and in harmony with his surroundings. If it is cotton, it
9073.024 must come from India; If it is flannel, it was woven in Scotland with Australian wool: you would never think it came from
9081.224 La Belle-Jardinière. The red slippers, bought on Rue Montmartre, are transformed into babouches from Cairo or Beirut. The small bedroom
9088.104 , whose half-open door reveals a bed covered in Algerian linen, has a false air of a harem. You would only be
9094.544 half surprised if you saw five or six oudals come out, a jug in their hands or an amphora on their heads. If you see
9102.104 a handsome black person, like Snowball, prowling around the workshop, dressed in oriental style, the illusion is complete. Even the heady smell of
9110.304 varnishes and essences contributes in its part to this intoxication. Add a few drops of Malaga wine to a glass of Venice, and
9117.544 Rosalie Gaillard, who has never drunk anything but water, will feel transported a thousand leagues from Paris.
9122.664 The first session was decisive. Henri had transplanted the entire stock of a florist from Neuilly into his garden; he had put
9128.784 flowerbeds right into the workshop. If I went to her house, he thought, I would bring her a bouquet every day; I don’t want
9136.184 her to lose. Rosalie adored flowers, like all Parisian women, and she had lived for many years in the hope
9142.024 of a garden. By a singular whim of nature, this child, born of inept parents, had all the needs of elegant life. She
9148.824 would have done without bread more willingly than music, and she judged flowers more useful than shoes. Her eyes lit up at
9155.664 the sight of a fine carriage, although she had never gone out except on foot or by omnibus. She loved the toilet, without ever having dressed
9162.024 ; she danced a little every evening in her imagination, although she had never been taken to a ball; she bought all the parks and
9168.464 all the castles that she saw for sale on the fourth page of the Constitutionnel. With such tastes, she would have been much to be pitied
9175.744 without the well-founded hopes that sustained her. A life of privation, her instincts perpetually offended, would have embittered her
9181.824 heart to the core and given to her ideas that grayish tint that one observes in old maids. But she knew
9188.184 her father’s fortune; she was sure of the future; She consoled herself by glancing over the vast, bare ground that was her entire horizon. She
9196.584 had taken as her motto: « A time will come! » and she lived on hope. She had created for herself, deep within her soul, a delightful retreat where
9204.384 she lacked nothing, not even the love of a handsome young man, who would soon present himself. Thus secluded, she patiently took
9211.144 care of the housework, the sewing, the conversation of her father’s friends, and the eternal game of piquet with which they
9218.824 enlivened their evenings. For a year, M. de Chingru had appeared to her as an intermediary being, ranked between these gentlemen and the people of the
9225.544 world, just as in the animal scale the monkey is placed between the dog and the man. When she saw Henri Tourneur, she said to herself that she
9231.944 had found him, and she looked no further. Her person, her garden, her mind, her studio represented ideal perfection to her; if someone
9239.624 had come and said to her: There is better, she would have thought they were making fun of her. The painter, while sketching a full-length portrait, one-quarter from
9246.784 nature, studied down to the smallest details this complete beauty which had first dazzled him. His first glance had not
9254.384 deceived him. One must be something of an artist to judge if a young girl is truly beautiful. The radiance of youth, the freshness of the
9260.704 skin and a certain measure of plumpness often compose a false beauty which lasts one or two years, and which the first pregnancy sweeps away.
9267.888 One has married an adorable girl, and one carries through life an ugly woman. True beauty is not in the epidermis, but in the
9274.488 structure, which never changes; hence it is that a truly beautiful woman remains so for her whole life, in spite of the external ravages of
9281.728 old age. Rosalie has that unalterable beauty that does not fear wrinkles and defies time. Those who have traveled in Italy will
9288.528 easily imagine her, if I tell them that she is a Roman with small feet. The ice was soon broken, to the great astonishment of M. Gaillard, who
9295.368 no longer recognized his daughter. He had never seen her so cheerful, so talkative, so lively. Rosalie gave herself over without constraint to the
9302.968 inclination of a permitted love. She ran in the garden, she jumped in the studio, she touched everything; she questioned, laughed and
9310.768 chattered like a thrush in the grape harvest. She was only fourteen years old now: her youth, long suppressed, was bursting forth. Henri, a little more
9318.288 restrained, lived in ecstasy. After all the privations to which poverty and economy had condemned him, everything fell from the sky
9325.488 at the same time, fortune and happiness. In fifteen years he had formed some pleasant relationships which had cost him quite a bit,
9333.208 and he was a little surprised to be loved for nothing by a girl prettier and more witty than any he had known. He had
9339.488 indeed foreseen the possibility of a marriage of money, but as a soldier in the field foresees the Invalides; he did not suppose that fortune
9346.048 would be so beautiful, and he had never heard that a million had such small hands and such large eyes. Joy lit up his somewhat
9353.048 effaced face, and he was truly handsome for two months. When he took up his violin, in the intervals of the pose, and played
9360.528 the prettiest motifs from Les Noces de Jeannette, or the most joyous melodies from Les Trovatelles, Rosalie thought she saw an inspired artist. M.
9367.968 Gaillard conscientiously fulfilled his role as troublemaker: he made Henri Tourneur talk. The good man belonged to the deplorable
9375.568 category of ignoramuses who want to learn at an age when one no longer learns. Enamored with Roman history, as one is enamored with
9381.648 the natural history of insects or shellfish, he had read and reread two or three volumes of outdated erudition; he quoted them at
9389.688 every opportunity, questioning, discussing, and seeking, as he said, to extend the modest scope of his knowledge. Henri played his
9397.248 part with all the respect due to the age, fortune, and status of a future father-in-law. When he was tired of discoursing, and
9403.688 the young people fell back on the subject of their love and their hopes, he would soon resume speaking and embark
9410.968 on long, rambling recommendations which could be summarized thus: Don’t love each other too much; you know that nothing is yet
9418.168 decided. In spite of these small precautions, Henri’s studio was an earthly paradise, under the watchful eye of Snowball. Mr. de Chingru
9425.608 tried several times to enter; he suspected some mystery. But he always found bronze face; Snowball
9433.168 answered him imperturbably: Sir, go outside,—master to me, dine in town.—Good little white man, go to the country, hunt
9439.728 animals, shoot a gun. It was his master who taught him the picturesque language of Friday. Instead of sending him to school, where he
9446.848 would have been taught French, he imposed upon himself the duties of a teacher. Take care not to become too learned and to speak
9453.072 like everyone else, he sometimes told him: you would lose your color! And Snowball insists on preserving his color, the most beautiful in
9460.992 the world, according to him. The portrait was finished during Mr. Gaillard’s vacation, towards the end of July. No one took care not to send it to the framer,
9469.232 where twenty artists could have seen it. A workman came to take the measurements, and three weeks later brought a border worth 500 francs,
9476.992 for which Mr. Gaillard paid one louis without haggling. While he was there, he paid the 50 francs for the portrait against a receipt.
9484.512 The following Sunday, he hosted an evening of beer and échaudés for all his friends: a former notary from Villiers-le-Bel, three old
9492.912 expeditioners, Rosalie’s writing master, and a retired cap-visor maker with a thousand crowns in income. They
9501.592 met at seven-thirty. At nine o’clock, M. Gaillard announced a surprise: he delicately removed the lampshade while
9510.832 his sister drew back a green serge curtain and revealed Rosalie’s portrait . There was only one cry of admiration:
9517.392 « What a beautiful frame! » exclaimed the visor maker. « Hey! Why, it’s the portrait of your young lady! » said the notary.
9524.872 « And a likeness! » said the chorus of employees. « That’s how I do things, » added M. Gaillard, kissing
9530.992 his daughter’s forehead. « I will allow myself an observation, » resumed the writing master, who
9536.072 had not yet said anything: « why did M. Gaillard not wait until September 4th, the feast day of Saint Rosalie
9542.192 , to give Mademoiselle this surprise ?  » « Because I am preparing another one for her feast day, » replied
9547.392 M. Gaillard resolutely. « You have the means! » said the chorus. « Would anyone dare ask, » said the notary, « how much this image
9554.192 costs you?  » « Seventy francs, all included.  » « It is expensive, and this is not expensive. And whose is it?
9560.072  » « It is no one’s; it is a portrait. » « That! » cried a loud voice that made everyone start,
9566.392 « that’s a Turner, second style, and it’s worth 8,000 francs!  » M. Gaillard fell thunderstruck onto a chair.  »
9572.592 Good evening, Papa Gaillard! Ladies, I have the honor! Gentlemen, I am yours! » added M. de Chingru, whom the maid had
9580.552 brought in without announcing him. « It’s devilishly hot.  » « The weather is heavy, » said the notary, panting.
9585.752 « The atmosphere is electric, » continued the writing master, seriously oppressed.
9590.992 « It will rain tomorrow, » said the chorus. The conversation continued in this tone until ten o’clock. M. de Chingru
9596.592 beat a retreat, and everyone followed him. There had been a scandal at M. Gaillard’s. The next morning, Chingru appeared at the workshop, and Snowball
9605.072 opened the door to him: he recounted the previous day’s event and warmly congratulated his friend. After such an outburst, he said, the deal is in
9613.752 the bag. The old Roman has crossed the Rubicon, and I congratulate you. Without me!… –I know what I owe you, and I won’t forget it.
9620.392 –My goodness! my dear, if you want to be grateful, I bring you a fine opportunity. I, too, have unearthed a golden marriage.
9627.752 –Pestilence! So there’s something for everyone! –A magnificent deal, I tell you…. I’m beginning to pay my court.
9633.752 –Bravo! –The devil is, there are advances to be made, bouquets, gifts, and I am temporarily penniless.
9640.152 –I thought you were well off. –They don’t pay me my allowance. Ah! My dear friend, heaven forbid you ever have farmers!
9646.152 –You want money? Here it is. –Two hundred francs! What do you want me to do with two hundred francs?
9652.048 –We have quite a few bouquets for that price. But if you need the five hundred, come back at noon, I’ll give them to you.
9657.288 –My dear fellow, I see with sorrow that we are far from the account. To do it right, you should be able to lend me ten thousand-franc notes.
9663.528 –For your bouquets? –For my bouquets and for something else. Are you afraid of me? Am I
9669.248 not good for ten thousand francs? –All right! Don’t be angry. You know that I could get married at any moment . I announced fifty thousand; if I don’t have my account,
9678.768 Father Gaillard will raise a hue and cry. –You will present him with my title. –That changes the thesis. Ah! If you give me a title, I have no more
9685.448 objections. Where are your properties? « A mortgage! Who do you take me for? They give a mortgage to a
9691.448 usurer; but I thought that with a friend a signature was enough. I offer you my signature!
9697.488 « Much obliged!  » « You refuse me?  » « Positively.  » « You don’t know what can happen!  » « Come what may!
9703.288  » « Your marriage is not yet agreed upon.  » « What does that mean? And in what tone do you take it?  » « I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think it over. If tomorrow… »
9711.088 The painter heard no more. He opened the door, seized Chingru by the shoulders, and threw him horizontally onto a basket
9717.768 of hydrangeas, which never recovered. Chapter 10. M. Gaillard poured out his complaints after his friends left. His
9725.048 daughter and sister consoled him. What’s the harm? said old Miss Gaillard. A little earlier, a little later, they should have been
9732.968 told of the marriage. What marriage? « Mine, Papa, » Rosalie continued boldly. « You talk about it as if it were a done deal. You’re not afraid of anything, are you!
9740.968  » « You’d have to be a real coward to be afraid of happiness.  » « So you love this young artist? » (The name « artist » still grated
9748.16 a little on that venerable mouth.) « I think I love him with all my heart.  » « It’s not enough to believe, you’d have to be quite sure. Think
9755.36 again; weigh the pros and cons carefully.  » « That’s all there is to it, Father.  » « Don’t you feel the need to collect yourself a month or two before? »
9762.36 such an important matter? –For twenty-five years and three months I have been meditating, my good father. –Oh! children! If this marriage takes place, you will begin by signing me
9772.2 a holographic declaration, that is to say, written entirely in your hand, stating that it is you who wants to marry Mr. Tourneur.
9779.72 –I will sign with both hands, my dear father. –In this way, my responsibility will be covered; and if you come and
9785.48 say to me in ten years: Why did you marry me to an artist? I will answer you, proof in hand: It was you who wanted it!
9792.36 –I will never complain, my excellent father. But what have they done to you, these poor artists, that you judge them so
9798.96 badly?
–You may say what you like, they form a caste outside of society. I understand the manufacturers who produce, the merchants who
9806.64 sell, the soldiers who illustrate their country, the civil servants who administer it. The artist is outside of everything; The Romans, our
9813.88 ancestors, paid no attention to it; they considered it a superfluity of the social body.
9819.56 –Fie! the ugly big words! When this poor Henri shuts himself in his studio in front of his canvases or his panels, what does he do?
9826.0 –What does he do? Not much: he makes pictures. –Ah! I’ve caught you out. He makes. He is a manufacturer. A painter is
9834.64 a manufacturer of pictures. He produces painted canvases, just as your friend Mr. Cottinet produced cap peaks!
9840.64 –That’s quite different! –I agree. And when he has finished a picture, what does he do with it? Does he
9846.72 keep it in a store? –No, he sells it. –You see! He sells it. He sells his products, he sells his
9852.72 merchandise, he trades; he is a merchant! –You’re playing with words. –Not at all, I’m reasoning; and when he has made a hundred
9861.76 masterpieces (for he makes masterpieces), what will people say in the world? They will say: Paris is honored to have given birth to the famous
9868.88 Henri Tourneur; Henri Tourneur, whose paintings humiliated old Holland and illustrated modern France. That is well worth a
9875.36 second lieutenant’s epaulette. He will be decorated within two years, the minister promised him. What do you mean by glory?
9882.12 –You can say what you like, it is not…. –No, no, I will not spare you a syllable, and you will hear
9888.12 everything. You spoke of civil servants! But Henri is ten times more so than you, a civil servant!
9893.28 –Ah! I would like to see that. –What is a civil servant? A man in the service of the State, and paid from the budget; the more one is paid, the more one is a civil servant.
9901.4 And now, when Henri receives an order from the ministry that will keep him busy for a whole year, does he put himself in the service of the State, yes
9909.04 or no? And when at the end of the year he goes to the treasury to collect 40,000 francs, is he not ten times more of a civil servant than you, who
9916.0 only collect 4,000? –Big child! This proves to us…. –That I must marry my dear Henri, if you want me to marry
9922.68 a manufacturer, a merchant, and a civil servant at the same time! –But, terrible girl, do I have time to marry you? Here
9930.04 again are my lands coming up again: there is talk of founding a workers’ city there. I saw the list of the board of directors;
9937.64 all very good men. They had one of my superiors speak to me; I would receive a million, cash on the table, and they would leave me a plot of land measuring
9945.848 20 meters by 15 to build on. It’s very fine: what should I do? –Accept, since it’s so beautiful.
9951.088 –But in ten years it would be superb! –But in a hundred years, Papa, it would be magnificent! It’s true that neither
9956.808 you nor I would enjoy it. –All this is racking my brain. Good evening, I’m going to bed.
9962.608 –Without deciding anything, Papa? –Night brings counsel. The worthy man slept, as usual, a deep sleep and
9969.568 resounding, whose noise sometimes recalled the rumbling of lightning, sometimes the rolling of a stagecoach over a bridge. There are
9977.408 two things in him that gnawing worries have never been able to affect: appetite and sleep. He left for his office more irresolute than he had
9984.648 ever been, but weighed down with a pound of bread and an enormous bowl of café au lait. He had barely arrived at the rue Saint-Lazare when
9991.288 his daughter and sister heard the most formidable chime that, in the memory of a doorbell, had sounded in the house. Rosalie ran to the
9998.448 door, shouting: Something has happened to Papa! The bell-ringer was M. de Chingru, buttoned up to the neck, with a great
10005.728 air of important discretion. They received him: Rosalie and her aunt were dressed from eight o’clock in the morning, as if in the provinces. By
10013.008 nine, the traces of lunch had disappeared, and the dining room was transformed into a workshop.
10018.088 Ladies, said Chingru, forgive me for disturbing you at this hour. I have come to fulfill the duty of an honest man. It was
10025.128 I who brought M. Henri Tourneur here, on the occasion of a piece of land he intended to buy: may I arrive in time to stop the
10032.368 consequences of my imprudence! « Hurry up, sir, speak; what is it? » said Rosalie.
10037.808 « Mademoiselle, you are witness that I have always praised M. Tourneur.  » « Yes, sir; then?
10043.568  » « I told you, as well as to your aunt and your father, that Tourneur was a talented artist, an excellent heart,
10051.328 and what we men of pleasure call a truly good boy. I judged him as a comrade, and my opinion has not changed; if you
10059.608 question me again on these points, I would answer you the same thing. But why didn’t I know sooner that your father had
10067.088 other ideas, and that he wanted to marry you off to him? Certainly, I wouldn’t have shouted at you: Don’t marry him, he’s unworthy of you, you’d
10076.288 regret it later! No, I’m not the man to disservice a friend. But I would have said to you very gently, right there, in your own interest:
10082.648 Here’s the obstacle; there are women who would be terrified by it; there are others who would think it’s nothing; it’s up to you to see if you
10090.168 want to engage in a struggle with this person, and the memory of a long affair, and the reciprocal pledges, and all that follows. If
10097.568 you hope to be the stronger, get married! M. de Chingru had no sooner spoken than he reaped the fruits of
10104.128 his speech. The tears did not fall from Rosalie’s eyes, they gushed forth before her, as if thrown by an invisible force. But it
10110.928 was a matter of a moment. The courageous girl contained her grief. I thank you for your good intentions, she said, we knew
10118.248 everything. She added, to ensure the effect of her all-too-obvious lie: Mr. Tourneur confided to us the story of the affair you speak of,
10125.768 and your zeal tells us nothing. Besides, everything is broken, is it not true?
10130.848 –I believe it, mademoiselle, as much as one can break it off…. –That is enough, sir; and if no other duty to fulfill
10138.008 keeps you with us…. –I…. If you…. You understand, mademoiselle, that, placed between the
10143.704 necessity of speaking or of remaining silent…. –You kept silent when it was necessary to speak, and you spoke when
10149.544 it was necessary to remain silent. Farewell, sir. It was in these words that Mr. de Chingru was shown the door.
10155.224 The same day, at four o’clock in the evening, Mr. Gaillard had just put away his quills, his penknife, and his black percale sleeves. A tall, beautiful
10163.544 woman, yellow as an orange, invaded his office. Sir, she cried with a very marked accent, he is a
10171.104 monster! I loved him, I still love him; I left for him my country, my family and the Scala theatre where I was absolute prima donna.
10179.864 He wants to get married; he abandons me with our two poor children, Enrico and Henriette. He is a monster, sir, an unnatural father. I
10189.064 you forbid yourself to give him your daughter! My dear Gaillard, you look like an honest man; promise me that you will not give him your daughter!
10195.784 I am crazy, you see; understand me well, my good Gaillard, I do not know French, I mi spiego mal; but you see well that I…
10204.464 I am no longer in my right mind. If he marries, I will kill him… I will kill him and his wife; I will kill myself afterwards, I will set fire to the church, and
10212.944 I will go to do penance in Rome! Swear to me that you will not give him your daughter! M. Gaillard endured a deluge of words in which Italian and French
10221.464 mingled pleasantly. He untangled this jumble of exclamations as best he could, and he learned that his future son-in-law had seduced and abandoned Mellina
10228.344 Barni. He consoled the inconsolable beauty as best he could, and he wrote, immediately, the following note which he had delivered by a
10235.144 messenger: Paris, this Monday, July 30, 1855, 4:15 p.m.
10242.264 Sir, I received at my office the visit of Miss Mellina Barni; I have nothing more to say to you. This young lady seems very interesting, and I
10249.76 am not unnatural enough to want to separate her from the father of her children. Please accept, sir, the assurances of my most
10257.68 distinguished consideration , GAILLARD. The signature was initialed by a master hand. The paper was that beautiful shaped paper, thick, heavy, laid, seigneurial paper, which the
10267.48 government has made expressly for the use of its offices and the correspondence of its employees.
10272.8 Henri Tourneur did not go into so many details. He dressed in a jiffy, took his cane and ran to Mellina, who received him with
10281.4 open arms. Mellina is a small, blonde woman, slender, and white as a drop of milk. She speaks French without any accent, since she
10289.88 is to make her debut at the Opéra-Comique in a one-act, three- scene play, a little masterpiece by Meyerbeer.
10296.32 She was in a white dressing gown and was rehearsing the allegro of a magnificent piece. Henri made a scene for her which she understood nothing of,
10303.28 except that her name had been misused. She knew neither M. de Chingru nor M. Gaillard. She guessed that Henri had broken up with
10311.24 her to get married, and she had good reasons to be upset about her marriage; but at no price would she have wanted to hinder it.
10318.08 The intervention of the two children infuriated her. She was indignant that she had been made to play a role in M. de Pourceaugnac’s La Limousine or La Picarde without her knowledge
10325.72 . For nothing, she would have run with Henri to M. Gaillard’s; and the painter had some difficulty in making him understand
10333.36 that the remedy would be worse than the disease. He went straight to the rue d’Amsterdam, and found the door closed: they
10339.48 were at the show, at least the servant said so. For eight days, he returned to the attack, and always met with the same response. He came during
10347.04 the day: they were at the concert. So many shows and concerts were equivalent to a formal dismissal. If, on going down the stairs,
10354.536 he had met M. de Chingru, he would have made a piece of it. He wrote to M. Gaillard, then to his sister: his letters were returned to him in
10362.296 envelopes. He lost patience, and had himself taken to the palace to the substitute on duty. He was a young man of thirty, initiated
10370.056 before his time into all the mysteries of Parisian life. Sir, the magistrate replied, this is not the first time
10375.816 that the public prosecutor has heard of such a matter. You have heard of marriage agencies whose public dealings have
10381.456 sometimes been tolerated, sometimes repressed by the courts. Apart from the great houses which display their prospectuses, there exists
10388.576 a whole class of individuals whose sole profession is to track down great fortunes, colossal dowries and millions lodged on the
10395.416 fourth floor in order to take a share of them. They associate with each other and form anonymous companies whose only capital is intrigue, and
10403.656 whose statutes have never been published. Some demand up to ten percent of the dowry, others are content with a modest profit,
10410.816 because there, as everywhere, you will find competition. Mr. de Chingru, whatever his real name, has certainly shown himself to be one of the most
10418.736 moderate. When he was refused the remuneration he hoped for, he will have had one of his associates, or rather his
10426.176 accomplices, play the little scene you are telling us about. We will look for the actress and the author of the play; but it is not likely that
10433.176 we will discover a woman about whom you have so little information, and, even if we did find her, it would be quite difficult to establish
10439.296 Chingru’s complicity. On returning home, the painter found the following letter, dated from Le
10445.04 Havre:
My poor Turner, if I had offered to give you 990,000 francs and an adorable wife into the bargain, you would have placed me among
10453.2 the gods. I was foolish enough to present the matter to you differently; I offered you a million, 10,000 francs of which were for me. You got angry,
10459.64 and you’re pissed off. I took my revenge like an artist. I found a way to persuade Mr. Gaillard that you were the father of two children and the
10466.2 husband, or almost, of a yellow woman. It’s a blow from which you’ll never recover, poor Turner! But when you laid me down on
10473.12 the hydrangeas, was I on a bed of roses? CHINGRU and Co. Henri was about to tear up the paper in a fit of anger; but,
10481.8 as he was blond, he changed his mind: That good Chingru! he thought, he’s going to reconcile me with Mr. Gaillard! It’s just a matter of forcing him to
10490.12 read this letter. He looked for a large envelope, slipped Chingru’s letter into it, sealed it with an enormous cornelian bearing the arms of Ninon de Lenclos, and
10498.56 wrote the address in a beautiful round: To Mr. GAILLARD, archivist, At the Ministry of….
10504.28 Mr. Gaillard opened the letter as piously as if he were unsealing a dispatch. Chingru’s signature piqued his curiosity: he had
10511.64 promised himself to return Tourneur’s letters, but not Chingru’s. This singular document turned his mind upside down. He accused himself
10518.68 of injustice and cruelty, and he asked permission to leave the office at two o’clock: it was the first time in thirty years!
10526.64 Rosalie wet Chingru’s autograph with her tears. I was sure of it, she said, and if you had believed me, you would have listened to
10533.6 poor Henri’s defense! We agreed to go and find him at his studio the next morning, all together, Rosalie, her father, and her aunt.
10540.32 We owed him this reparation. Rosalie was overjoyed. What! Did you still love him? her father asked her.
10546.36 « More than ever. Something told me that he had been slandered.  » The door opened abruptly and the servant announced Miss Mellina
10554.92 Barni. Rosalie and her aunt only had time to flee into the next room. I don’t know what they were saying there, but I think
10561.04 it would have been difficult to pass a hair between Rosalie’s ear and the dining-room door
10566.6 . M. Gaillard looked at the real Mellina as a child at Séraphin’s looks at Chinese shadows. The idea came to him for a moment that
10573.4 a plot had been formed against him, and that a new Mellina Barni would be sent to him every day. He thought of moving without giving his
10580.6 address. Mellina had great difficulty in persuading him that her real name was Mellina, that she was nineteen years old, that she was not
10586.96 a mother, that she lived with her mother, and that she had not come to complain about M. Henri Tourneur. She explained to him in very good
10593.84 French that she was being good, even though she had just left the Scala theatre and was entering the Opéra-Comique. She taught him that a theatre girl
10600.56 can make visits, receive presents and have friends, without being compromised or compromising. She confessed that she
10609.68 had loved M. Henri Tourneur and that she had hoped to marry him, but that, since the middle of May, he had stopped all
10616.04 visits and honorably ended a relationship that had never been anything but honorable. I will not tell you, sir, she added, that
10623.12 I have renounced my hopes without regret; but it is a destiny that we must all expect.
10628.544 We are all courted a little by rich young men who find us beautiful enough to be loved, who do not love us enough to marry
10636.064 us, and who, when they are assured of our virtue, turn
10641.224 their backs on us and marry in town. This is precisely the story of M. Tourneur; and since you have been told another story that is neither to his
10648.024 praise nor to mine, since you have closed your door on him, since I know that he is sick with grief, I took my courage in both hands,
10654.784 I came, and I hope that you will be able to distinguish between inventions and slander and the language of truth.
10659.944 When Mellina had left, Rosalie ran up. Perhaps she would have preferred that Chingru’s lies had been without any foundation; and
10667.944 yet I would not swear that Mellina’s visit had had a bad effect on her. Mellina, seen through the keyhole, had
10675.224 seemed very pretty to her, and she forgave the painter for having loved her. She knew that a girl who marries a man of thirty-four always has
10681.344 rivals in the past, and she preferred not to have them ugly: nineteen women out of twenty will reason like her. She had
10688.224 recognized from Mellina’s accent that she was speaking the truth and that this love was irreproachable. Finally, she learned beyond doubt that she
10695.664 had dethroned the beautiful Italian woman in the middle of May, that is to say, at first glance.
10701.024 But M. Gaillard had fallen back into all his perplexities. He no longer wanted to go and see M. Tourneur; he reproached his daughter
10708.184 for the obstinacy of her love. I am quite willing, he said, to accept that this young man is less guilty than I have been told; but he has frequented
10716.944 actresses, and whoever drinks will drink. You think he will be faithful to you; but he has abandoned this young Italian woman; he could well play the
10723.984 same trick on you.
Besides, as long as my lands are not sold, we must not think of this marriage. When he was pressed to sell his
10730.88 lands, he replied: There is no hurry; I will sell them to give a dowry to my daughter, and my daughter is not yet married. The sight of the
10738.84 portrait saddened him; He thought with vexation that he was indebted to Henri Tourneur. What will we do with this cursed portrait? he asked Rosalie. We
10747.56 can’t keep it here after a break-up. What if we sent it back to him? « Are you thinking about it, Father? I would be permanently in his studio?
10756.08  » « Selling it and making him give the money would be indelicate. Give it? To whom? I want neither to give nor to sell my daughter’s portrait. It
10764.72 could fall into the trade, and at each sale at the Hôtel Drouot, I would be afraid to read in my newspaper: Portrait of Miss RG, by Mr.
10774.4 Henri Tourneur: 8000 francs. I would rather scrape it out with my own
10780.0 hands.
 » « Destroy my portrait! All that remains to me of the happiest moments of my life!  » « Shut up! Cursed painter! Cursed Chingru! Cursed land! I
10788.16 would give it for nothing to anyone who wanted to take it! If we were less rich, all this would not have happened! »
10793.72 M. Gaillard lost his appetite; he ate like an ordinary man. His sleep became much lighter and infinitely less noisy. He was
10801.24 inaccurate at his office; he arrived twice after ten o’clock, on August 17 and 18. When he returned home, the old aunt said to
10810.28 Rosalie: Your father must have thought a lot, his nose is all red on one side. Henri no longer worked; he lived on the sidewalk of the Rue
10818.0 d’Amsterdam. M. Gaillard carefully avoided him, and he did not dare approach M. Gaillard. He would have dared to speak to Rosalie, but she didn’t go out
10824.88 without her father. Finally, on September 3, he received a letter from M. Gaillard inviting him to come and collect 7,950 francs as payment for the
10832.496 portrait. He would be expected at five o’clock with the funds. He accepted this strange invitation, not for the money, but for Rosalie. At
10839.616 the same time, the three principal founders of the workers’ city were gathered at M. Gaillard’s house to finalize the land deal.
10846.456 The man hadn’t wanted to take responsibility for anything: he had relied on Rosalie for everything, and it was she who had dealt with the buyers.
10853.896 Henri arrived as the notary was reading the last paragraph of the deed of sale. The buyers agreed to build a dwelling house for M. Gaillard and his family
10861.416 on lot F, belonging to the seller, with a painter’s studio on the first floor.
10867.216 M. Gaillard looked at his daughter, who looked at Henri, who was looking at no one: he was horribly pale and leaning against the wall.
10874.456 Come on! said the good man, taking up his pen, here is a signature that will free me from all my worries!
10880.656 « Sir, » remarked the notary, « your handwriting is very fine. » THE BUST Chapter 11.
10886.296 If you have good legs and if long journeys do not frighten you, we will walk as far as the castle of the Marquis de
10893.496 Guéblan. It is located six kilometers from Tortoni, further than the Rue Mouffetard, further than the Gobelins and the Marché aux
10900.536 Chevals, in those working-class regions where the Bièvre flows its inky stream. However, it is within the city walls, and the wine
10907.256 drunk there has paid for the entrance. It is a contemporary palace of the First Empire, built by Fontaine, in the Greek style, and surrounded by the
10913.936 obligatory colonnade. Its first use was to house the pleasures of a wealthy supplier to the army: it was then called the Folie-Sirguet.
10922.496 It was inaugurated in 1804 by the beautiful Thérèse Cabarrus, who was not yet Countess of Caraman, and who was no longer Madame Tallien.
10931.136 In 1856, the Folie-Sirguet was one of the most beautiful villas to be
10936.376 found in the interior of Paris: its garden is a park of twenty hectares where one hunts rabbit, pheasant, and even, if one
10943.536 squeezes in a little, roe deer. The pond contains magnificent samples of all the fish of Europe, without exception the catfish.
10950.656 Fishing and hunting! What more could one desire? Is this not, in two words, the countryside in Paris? The interiors of the castle are grandiose,
10957.496 as they were loved in the past, and elegant as they are preferred today. The cute luxury of 1856 is played out at ease in the vast
10964.536 rooms of 1804. I only saw the reception apartment, that is to say the ground floor, and I came away amazed. The dining room,
10972.736 paneled in old, black, shiny oak, opens on one side onto the billiard room, the weapons room, and the smoking room; on the other, onto a
10981.056 series of very rich and tasteful salons. Only one has retained its original decoration, the sphinx-headed armchairs and the
10988.216 lyre-shaped chairs: it is placed between a Pompadour boudoir and a
10993.696 Chinese salon whose furniture, carpets, chandelier, wall hangings, and even paintings were brought back from Macao. All the ceilings are painted with
11000.696 frescoes or hung with old tapestries. The Russian drawing room, cluttered with comfortable furniture, is covered with ivy that winds around
11007.616 the mirrors and provides a second green setting for the paintings. I rested with delight in a beautiful room paved with mosaics
11014.936 and decorated in the elegant style of the small houses of Pompeii. One would think one was at the foot of Vesuvius, if one did not see in the next room
11022.056 an enormous tapestry pouf crowned by a group by Pradier. This hospitable apartment is open to the art of all nations and
11030.048 all centuries: it also welcomes the fleshy painting of Rubens and the poetic reveries of Ary Scheffer; one sees there a blond landscape
11036.928 Corot’s castle, four steps from a seascape of Lorrain; Clodion’s joyful nymphs seem to smile at Barye’s lions, and
11044.048 Daniel Fert’s shipwrecked Don Juan clings to the damp rock, without making Cavalier’s Penelope raise her eyes. The first floor includes the apartments of the Marquis, his sister, and
11051.968 his daughter, and I don’t know how many guest rooms. The castle is so far from everything that one rarely dines there without sleeping there, although M. de
11059.288 Guéblan had two buses made to take his guests back to Paris. M. de Guéblan is a gentleman such as was not seen a
11064.568 hundred years ago, such as is rarely seen, even today. I hasten to tell you that his nobility is of good quality, and that his titles do not
11070.528 come from one of those small underground offices which are less rare than one might think. We have noble counterfeiters
11076.528 who extract income from the stupidity and vanity of their contemporaries, but the Guéblans have nothing to do with the industry
11083.608 of these gentlemen: they date back to Saint Louis. They made the last two crusades; they carried arms from father to son, until
11091.488 the Revolution, and they did not emigrate, which I praise. By a chance of which history offers few examples, the blood of this noble family
11100.088 has not become impoverished, and the last of the Guéblans could measure himself in a closed field with his ancestors. He is tall, broad, vigorous,
11106.928 colorful, and strong enough to wear the armor. He draws the sword like a musketeer, rides a horse like a reiter, eats like a lansquenet
11114.408 and drinks like M. de Bassompierre. His fifty years weigh no more than a feather on him. Besides, he proudly bears his name; he is not
11122.568 sorry to be someone’s son; he willingly reads the history of France and puts aside all the books that speak of his family; he preserves
11130.928 his honor with jealous care; he is full of rectitude; he knows how to give, lend and lose his money; in short, he has a noble heart. If you
11138.528 find ten men more aristocratic than him between the Quai d’Orsay and the rue de Vaugirard, you will have good eyes.
11144.008 But what would Guéblan I, equerry to Queen Blanche, say if he could be resurrected in his great-nephew’s study? He would exclaim,
11151.088 rubbing his eyes: Oh! oh! the world has become beautiful son, since my first acquaintance! It seems to me, Marquis, that you are making
11159.088 money. The big word is out; I can tell you everything: the Marquis is making an enormous amount of money. He does his own business, he has no
11167.368 steward, he is robbed by no one, he is not ruined any more than the lowest bourgeois, and he works like a proletarian to
11172.808 double his income. And how? In all honor, I beg you to believe him. The Marquis spent two years at the École Polytechnique, three years
11180.088 at the École des Ponts et Chaussées; he took agricultural lessons at Grignon; he often goes to listen to the professors of arts and crafts.
11187.688 He follows the progress of science step by step, and he makes the most of it. As much as his ancestors would have been ashamed to know, he would be
11195.488 humiliated if he were caught in the act of ignorance. It was he who drained the first field in Normandy, and he tripled the value of
11201.568 his land. Twenty kilometers from Lisieux, he manufactures drainage pipes which he delivers to his neighbors with a profit of 75%. He bought
11210.448 one of the first threshing machines ever sold in France, and he perfected it. He is thinking of acclimatizing the oak silkworm
11217.744 in his forests in Brittany, he is manufacturing indigenous opium on his property at Plessis-Piquet; within five years, he will be exporting it to China.
11225.464 Fish farming has quadrupled the product of his ponds in the department of Ain; his vineyards in Langres, which had never yielded anything but
11233.584 mediocre piquette, now provide an esteemed Champagne wine ,
11239.144 which comes in line immediately after the famous brands. I would wager that you have tasted some of his pineapples; there are delivers 4000 francs a year to the Paris trade: the leftovers from
11247.024 his table! This bourgeois gentleman, very superbly gentlemanly and very wittily bourgeois, does not disdain to print his
11253.824 coat of arms on the wheat he harvests and the wine he makes. If his ancestors found fault with this, he would answer them in good French: We
11261.664 are in the 19th century, life is expensive, gold mines have been discovered; what cost a hundred francs in your time is worth a thousand today;
11269.704 the greatest fortunes are lost in fifty years; the right of primogeniture is abolished, and for my grandsons to have a little money,
11275.584 I must earn a lot. He could add that France is as grateful to him for his peaceful conquests as for twenty
11281.424 lance thrusts received in pitched battle, for he is an officer of the Legion of Honor without having earned a single epaulette.
11286.624 His ancestors, who only wore a pen in their hat, would not be a little surprised to read the books he signed.
11293.224 The most recent (Paris, 1854, Dentu) is entitled: ON SMALL CATTLE
11299.824 , a treatise including the education of Russian rabbits and Cochinchinese chickens . And why not? Old Caton did indeed bequeath to his
11307.36 son and to posterity a recipe for making cabbage soup! The Marquis de Guéblan, who writes his language very neatly, is a member of
11314.6 the Society of Men of Letters; he was quaestor around 1850.
11320.48 Writers and artists have always found in him a protector without arrogance and a creditor without memory. He has kindness for them, and,
11327.6 what is better, consideration. I could cite a painter whom he literally pulled from the Seine, and two novels which would never
11335.04 have been published without him. What a wonderful dinner he offered us at the end of December! I hope, however, that you will spare me from transcribing here
11341.4 the card of three services. The immense properties that bring in half a million
11346.88 a year to M. de Guéblan are not precisely his. They belong to his sister and her companion, Madame Michaud. The Marquis married very
11354.32 young to a noble lady who left him a widower with ten thousand francs a year and a daughter to raise. Around the same time, his sister married
11361.44 a castle demolitionist, a knight of the Black Band, whose profession was to fell oaks to make logs,
11368.76 and to clear parks to plant vegetables. This honest industrialist died two years after Madame de Guéblan. His widow, rich and
11376.32 childless, placed all her affairs in the hands of the Marquis, saying to him: Manage my property, I will raise your daughter: you will serve me as a
11384.76 farmer, I will serve you as a housekeeper. Once the deal was done, they settled into the beautiful château that M. Michaud hadn’t had time to demolish. While
11392.12 working for his sister, M. de Guéblan took care of his daughter, since Victorine was Madame Michaud’s sole heir.
11399.4 This Madame Michaud is an excellent woman, but an original one! By placing her in a museum, we would only be doing her justice.
11406.624 First of all, she is almost as tall as her brother, that is to say, with a little more moustache, she would make a very presentable cent-garde. Her
11414.704 hands and feet are terrible: heaven forbid we receive a slap from her hand! and if she dies standing up, as I predict,
11422.944 it will take four men to lay her in the coffin. Besides, she is built as solidly as a drama by Frédéric Soulié, and
11428.784 her head is not ugly. She has a curved nose, a proud mouth and white teeth that cost her nothing. A double chin softens the
11435.384 severity of her features. Her hair is completely gray, although she is barely forty; but this shade suits her well, and she exaggerates it by
11442.664 putting on powder. Her shoulders are the kind that can be shown off; so you will see her with her neckline off from four o’clock in the evening. It is not
11449.264 that she wants to please anyone: she dresses for herself, and that is obvious enough. The opinion of others is so indifferent to her,
11456.664 that she does nothing but her own way and only wears her own fashion. She cuts her own dresses and pays the dressmaker double the cost
11463.304 to be dressed according to her fancy. When the milliner brings her a new hat, her first concern is to undo it. Under her formidable hands,
11470.384 a small masterpiece of taste is soon transformed into a rag: it is the work of two snips of the scissors and three punches.
11477.304 When she receives guests at her home, it is in inexplicable attire, which Champollion himself would not decipher. I have seen her wearing
11484.104 a crêpe de Chine scarf, with natural flowers scattered here and there, and lace from all over, white and russet,
11491.904 heavy and light, no Venice and no England, all put together with great reinforcement of pins, and in such beautiful disorder that a
11499.464 cat would not have found its kittens there. Dear Madame Michaud! her wardrobes are a jumble of magnificent rags that no chambermaid
11507.712 has ever been able to put in order; and her mind is a little like her wardrobes. The fault is doubtless the Guéblan family, who
11514.312 thought that a man never knows too much, but that a woman always knows enough. Not only does Madame Michaud rebel against the most
11521.552 paternal laws of spelling, but she has the misfortune of mutilating as many words as she pronounces. This is an infirmity that her husband has
11528.352 never noticed, and for good reason; her brother is so accustomed to it that he no longer notices it. Fortunately, she speaks so quickly that one
11535.992 rarely has time to hear her; she tells twenty things at once, without connection, without order, without transition: she most often knows neither
11545.072 what she says, nor what she does, nor what she wants, a good woman, moreover , and who would have ruined herself twenty times over without the authority of her brother.
11553.192 Sometimes prodigal, sometimes miserly; today paying without haggling, tomorrow haggling without paying; lighting a hundred-franc note to
11560.272 pick up a sou, and quarreling with the whole house over a match; refusing bread to a poor man, because begging is forbidden,
11568.192 and throwing a louis to a hungry dog ​​looking for bones in a pile; full of respect for her brother and watching for every opportunity to
11576.432 make him angry; passionately devoted to her niece, and eager to get rid of her by marriage: such was, in the month of June 1855, the sister of
11586.952 M. de Guéblan and the aunt of Mlle Victorine. It may be surprising that a man of great sense like M. de Guéblan
11593.992 entrusted his child to such an unreasonable governess. But the Marquis has too much on his plate to ponder Fénelon’s treatise
11600.752 on the Education of Girls, and besides, one owes a little condescension to a relative who personifies in herself a dozen
11606.832 millions. Finally, M. de Guéblan persuades himself, rightly or wrongly, that a woman’s true tutor is her husband. He knows that Victorine
11615.512 will not learn at the château everything she should know, but he is sure that she will know nothing of what she ought to be ignorant of. Full of this
11621.672 confidence, he sleeps soundly. The fact is that Madame Michaud has only given her niece teachers who are
11627.432 sixty years old; I do not except the dancing master. Of all the authors she has allowed him, the most dangerous is Sir Walter Scott,
11633.752 translated by Defauconpret. She has added Numa Pompilius and the complete works of Florian, Uncle Tom’s Cabin, some of
11641.512 Dickens’s little masterpieces, five or six volumes of Mme Cottin, and a selection of the chivalric romances that charmed Mme Michaud’s childhood
11649.992 and which do not sadden Victorine’s youth. The beautiful heiress is sixteen at most. She is a child, but a
11655.912 child of the most beautiful birth, tall, well-made, and in the fullness of her charms. I confess that her cheeks are a little too rosy: her
11663.312 face resembles a peach in September. Her hands are quite red; but the scarlet of hands does not beseem young girls.
11669.352 Her teeth are a little too short: it’s a kind of ugliness that I would rather appreciate. Her mouth is half flesh and half pearl,
11676.992 a charming mixture of transparent pulp and sparkling mother-of-pearl: do you like pomegranates? Her foot is not what one calls a
11685.952 small foot: a Chinese woman would not want one, and the learned mandarins would not write verses in her praise; but it is slender, arched, and
11694.592 exquisitely elegant; the soles of her boots are just the size of a sponge biscuit. Do not fear that Victorine
11701.512 will ever reach the colossal proportions of her terrible aunt: she takes after her mother, who was blond and delicate. When one wants to know
11710.872 how long a girl’s beauty will last, it is prudent to look at her mother’s portrait. This child, very attractive on the outside, is endowed with an
11719.272 inexplicable soul. She rarely speaks, perhaps because she is never questioned. Her father doesn’t have time to talk with her, and
11725.432 Madame Michaud, who talks with everyone, always gets the lion’s share. The men who come to the château are too much of their time to
11731.352 amuse themselves by deciphering a little girl’s mind. Finally, she has no friends from school, having never been sent to boarding school. People think she’s
11738.752 a bit silly, because she’s acquired the habit of silence; but her heart sings within. A young girl who is silent is like an
11745.112 aviary whose doors are closed. Come very close, you hear nothing. Put your ear to the door, not a whisper.
11752.952 Open! A chorus of fresh, sonorous chirping rises, filling the air and rising to the heavens. When Victorine went
11760.152 into the park, a book in her hand, escorted by her maid or old Perrochon, Madame Michaud would murmur as she followed her with her eyes:
11768.152 Poor little thing! she says nothing, but I want the wolf to eat me if she thinks more.
11773.656 Madame Michaud did not suspect that her niece, by dint of reading in books and in herself, was substituting herself
11779.176 for the opiate of all her novels, and that she had already had more adventures than the beautiful Angélique and Madame de Longueville.
11784.936 The day this story begins, Monsieur de Guéblan was running to Lisieux to rest from a trip to Nantua. Madame Michaud had come out
11792.256 like a shot, saying: I have some pretty money, I received the dividend on my shares in the Quatre-Canaux; I am going to order
11799.376 a bust in Paris! Victorine, followed by Perrochon, but at a respectful distance, had advanced to the end of the park, towards the
11806.856 outer boulevard, to a place where the wall is replaced by a four-meter-wide wolf’s leap. She sat down, like an
11813.976 opiate in a novel, in the shade of an old tree, famous in the songs of the 15th century under the name of the Round Oak:
11820.976 The lord holds his justice Beneath the round oak: Answer without artifice. All round, round, round!
11827.856 They drink and eat there Beneath the round oak; They dance there on Sundays Round, round, round! I will spare you the other couplets. The romance has nine times
11836.096 nine, all as poetic and as richly rhymed. Mademoiselle de Guéblan took from her pocket a small book with a red edge bound with the arms of her
11843.656 family, and entitled True Story of the Marvelous Adventures of the Incomparable Atalanta.
11849.256 She looked for the bookmark, and resumed her reading at the point where she had left off the day before: Now know that the wise and submissive princess was required in marriage
11857.696 by the younger son of the king of the Dacians and by the caliph of Schiraz. Poor me! said Victorine. I would like to choose neither one nor
11865.016 the other. But what would the queen of Michaud’s country say? She continued:
11870.256 And the beautiful Atalanta was very sad, and had no rest in this
11875.456 world, especially since the caliph had a strange face, for he had a short, wide nose and ears as large as the
11882.056 « Good! » she said. « Mr. Lefébure, my father’s candidate ! Let’s see the other one. » And the Prince of the Dacians was puny in
11890.456 body and pale in face, as if he had water and not blood in his veins. But! he does not resemble Mr. de Marsal,
11898.616 my aunt’s protégé, in a small way. Let’s listen to what happened: At this point the jousts began, and these two lords were to run one
11905.096 against the other to see who would have the princess. And then the princess and several other ladies were mounted on scaffolds, very nobly
11913.096 adorned with cloth beaten with gold, pearls and precious stones. But before the rival princes came to blows, a
11920.856 richly adorned knight, dressed entirely in white, entered the lists and said to them: Do not draw your lances until I have defeated you both
11930.816 and driven you flat to the ground. And as he said this, his voice was so harsh that both knights and horses trembled with great fear,
11938.936 but not the princess. And immediately the knight with the white armor rushed upon the caliph of Schiraz, and from the first thrust he made on
11946.256 his horse, he did so with such force that the fearful caliph did not know whether it was day or night. Seeing this, the knight turned against
11954.136 the prince of the Dacians, putting his sword back in its place, and struck him across the body and pulled him from his horse, and threw him so stiffly
11962.176 to the ground that it was almost as if he would have pierced his heart or his belly. And the ladies clapped their hands; and it seemed to them that
11968.824 the knight with the white arms was as handsome as the archangel Gabriel. Then the noble knight came to the ladies’ scaffold, and knelt
11976.264 before the beautiful Atalanta, saying: Lady, I am the Prince of Iron; and, as iron melts in fire, so does
11984.584 my heart in the flame of your eyes. Atalanta—I mean Victorine—continued her reading, closing her
11990.944 eyes. The day was heavy; and the June heat crept creeping under the great trees of the park. The pretty reader touched
11998.344 upon that delicious moment when waking and sleeping, reverie and dream, lies and reality seem to join hands. She
12006.224 saw the person of all types of body, Mr. Lefébure, lawyer at the Court of Appeal, swaddled in
12011.264 a heavy cuirass, under which passed a hem of black robe, and wearing a pot whose handles were represented by his ears.
12017.544 A little further on, Mr. Viscount de Marsal, pale and wan, made the most pitiful grimace through the visor of a plumed helmet.
12025.304 She also saw the Iron Prince, but without being able to uncover his face, which he kept obstinately hidden.
12032.064 Will I never see him? she asked. It is time for him to hurry, if he wants to deliver me from Caliph Lefébure and Prince de Marsal.
12040.024 I have already waited for him long enough. And in her half-sleep, she murmured the refrain of a
12045.144 peasant round dance she had learned in her childhood: Ah! I wait, I wait, I wait Will I wait much longer?
12051.264 Suddenly it seemed to her that a rocket passed before her eyes. A tall young man with a black beard had leaped over the
12057.264 leap and fallen in front of her. She jumped up with a start, while Perrochon came running up on his old legs.
12063.744 Her
first thought was that she was finally allowed to see the face of the Iron Prince. She stammered a few incoherent words:
12070.464 Prince…. my father…. your rivals…. the queen of Michaud’s country…. The young man bowed politely and said to her:
12076.824 Forgive me, mademoiselle, for entering your house like a bomb in Sevastopol. I rang for a quarter of an hour at an old gate that is
12083.504 probably blocked, and, unable to find the door, I took the shortest route. My name is Daniel Fert and I have come to make a
12091.864 bust of Madame Michaud. Chapter 12. Thirteen or fourteen years ago, I knew a little Spaniard whose parents had sent him to the M*** institution. It is the best disciplined
12100.984 of all the houses surrounding the Lycée Charlemagne. No new book is smuggled in; every yellow-bound volume is
12107.984 strictly confined to the door; the students read during recreation the less light tragedies of Racine, and the less frivolous funeral orations of
12115.224 Bossuet. The young Madrilenian was bored as if at work, and erased the days one by one on his little calendar. One of
12122.784 our comrades, touched by his pain, asked him: Why does time seem so long to you? Is it your family you
12129.704 miss, or simply your homeland? « Neither one nor the other, » replied the child. « I have begun
12135.904 reading an admirable novel in a Madrid newspaper, and I am waiting to return to Spain to read the end of it. In thirty months and seventeen
12143.144 days!  » « And what is the title of your Spanish novel?  » « Los Tres Mosqueteros, » « The Three Musketeers. »
12148.504 I don’t know why this anecdote comes back to me every time I speak of Daniel Fert. Perhaps it’s because Daniel
12154.704 resembles a musketeer lost in the 19th century. Put together the appearance of d’Artagnan, the pride of Athos, the vivacity of Aramis, and
12163.112 a little of the naiveté of Porthos, and you will have a fairly accurate idea of ​​the young sculptor. His tall, slender figure has the appearance of a
12171.232 steel spring; he has a sinewy hamstring, a powerful arm, an arched waist, and a hooked mustache. His large blue eyes are set
12179.752 in two bronzed sockets, under eyebrows of the most beautiful black. His broad, prominent, and polished forehead is crowned with ample
12186.512 , admirably planted hair, which falls back like a lion’s mane. Add a neck as white as ivory, pearly, smiling teeth,
12194.752 which seem happy to live in a pretty mouth; The long, thin nose of Francis I, the hands of a child, a woman’s foot, here,
12202.472 I think, is a fairly presentable hero of a novel. And yet this is not a novel. This man, thus built, is a compatriot of the small wine of Arbois, and the son
12210.712 of a winegrower without vines who worked by the day. At four years old, Daniel ran barefoot on the road, gleaning
12217.472 horse manure here and there and asking passengers on the stagecoach for a penny. At twelve
12222.512 , he broke stones like a man; at fifteen, he handled a billhook and carried a basket in the grape harvest. Ambition brought him to
12229.912 a master marble-worker in Besançon, who first entrusted him with slabs to polish, then epitaphs to engrave, then monuments to sculpt. He
12238.112 had taste and skill: it was guessed that he could win the Grand Prix de Rome and bring fame to his department. The General Council
12245.112 proved its munificence by sending him to Paris with a pension of 600 francs. He left with his mother: his father had just died. Madame Fert,
12254.032 old before her time, like all country women, but strong and patient, became her son’s housekeeper.
12259.968 Daniel was diligent at the School of Fine Arts, and earned some money in his spare time. He practiced art in the morning, crafts in the evening. After working
12269.048 according to the academy, he drew ornaments or sketched clock subjects. In 1853, at the age of twenty-five, after two admissions to the
12278.088 lodge, he spontaneously renounced the grand prize, and sent back the 600 francs he received from Besançon. Decidedly, he said to his mother, I am too
12287.408 old to go back to school; and, besides, what would become of you without me? He had managed, not without difficulty, to earn his living, and he
12294.008 had more talent than money. His busts and medallions are of fine and tight work, which recalls the exquisite manner of Pradier;
12300.888 his compositions, which he would have executed on a grand scale if he had been rich, and which he delivered, for lack of anything better, to the bronze merchants, are
12309.328 all of a bold flow, which proceeds from the genius of David. He worked passionately; it was neither for money nor for glory, but
12316.808 for the pleasure of working. The artist’s attachment to his work can only be compared to maternal tenderness: even a father
12323.808 does not know how to love like this. We adore with all the warmth of our soul these living creatures who came out of us. But, when Daniel
12331.048 was satisfied with his work, he gave it away. The merchants soon had to deal with him: he did not charge for his progress,
12338.408 nor for his vogue, nor for his nascent glory. The peasant wisdom of Madame Fert fought in vain against this spirit of detachment.
12344.688 She had no trouble reminding her son of his debts to pay, the illnesses to be anticipated and the holidays he granted himself from time to time, for he
12350.888 worked in fits and starts, like all those who deserve the name of artist. A mill can grind every day, but a brain that tried
12358.672 to do as much would only produce sad flour. When Daniel was at work, he would not have bothered to hear the
12365.672 statue of Memnon sing; but when he was in a vein of pleasure, no power would have made him return to the workshop, not even hunger,
12373.152 which is reputed to drive wolves out of the woods. He had only one regular habit, that of bodily exercise. He was awakened
12380.832 by his fencing master, and it was in the gymnasium that he digested his lunch: so he was incredibly strong, and violent in
12389.192 proportion. He is the last Frenchman who has retained the habit of throwing people out of windows. I remember the day he threw
12396.272 from the first floor a water carrier who had answered his mother rudely. Since that time, he has not encountered any
12403.592 impolite suppliers. With his friends, and especially with his mother, he is touchingly gentle . He holds the good woman to his heart with as much
12412.192 caution as if he feared breaking her. He has never been able to persuade her to take a servant; but, whenever he has money, he
12419.432 buys her a beautiful druggette dress, an Italian straw hat, or a few bottles of anisette, which she appreciates better.
12425.712 When Madame Michaud came to get him, he was entering a period of work: it was time! Since the beginning of May, he had
12433.512 rested without unbridling. He had completely forgotten that he had to pay his practitioner a thousand francs on July 15, and two hundred to his
12441.112 landlord: one does not notice everything. Madame Michaud, the booklet of the Exhibition in her hand, found him beyond the Faubourg Saint-Honoré,
12448.952 at the bottom of a garden, in a small colony of artists and literary people , which is called the Enclos des Ternes.
12455.112 Daniel and his mother occupied a rather elegant pavilion between Madame Noblet and Madame Persiani. He was a little surprised, he who received few visitors, to see
12463.672 this tall, escaped woman enter . She walked straight up to him and held out a large hand, which he did not dare take. He was modeling, and he had clay
12471.552 at his fingertips. Touch it, she said to him; you do not know me, but I know you. I bought the shipwreck of Don Juan. You are a great
12478.712 artist. « My shipwreck of Don Juan? » Daniel continued, still quite astonished.
12483.832 « Yes, your shipwreck of Don Juan. It is in one of my rooms, on the clock. But that is not all: I need my bust for my
12491.392 niece, who is going to marry M. Lefébure or M. de Marsal, I do not know which, but soon. How much will you charge me?
12498.672  » « Twelve or fifteen sittings, madame.  » « That is not money. What, twelve sittings! But I shall never have the time. Where do you want me to take twelve sittings?
12507.072 First of all, you live too far away. » What idea did you have to lodge in this country of savages? You will have to come to my house.
12515.112 Is two thousand francs enough? That will give you almost two hundred francs a day. How do you find me? I want
12521.272 to be in marble; bronze portraits are too sad: they look like old Romans. You will take a very clean marble, and you will have it taken
12528.632 to the castle. I warn you that if you do not flatter me enormously, I’ll leave your portrait to you. Victorine mustn’t
12535.872 make a scarecrow of it. –Madame, I think I can make you a fine bust that will be a likeness.
12541.912 –Don’t talk nonsense! If it’s a likeness, it will be awful. I look like Berezina, with my mustache.
12548.064 You’re the
one who’s handsome! Let me see you in profile! But, my dear sir, you’re simply magnificent! I imagined
12555.304 sculptors as masons! You absolutely must come and stay at the château. My niece is fine too; you’ll see. I’ll have your tools brought
12562.744 . She doesn’t look like me, not at all, and that’s a good thing. I’m curious to know if you’ll agree with me about the husband. M.
12569.024 Lefébure is awful: a boar’s head and enormous knees. But rich! That’s why my brother thinks so highly of him. M. de Marsal is
12577.424 better. And then, a fine name! I’m all for beautiful names. How singular yours is! Fert! Fert! Why not Caillou? You’ll tell me
12586.424 that when one’s name is Madame Michaud!… That’s precisely why. Here is my address: At the Folie-Sirguet, behind the Gobelins. There’s only
12594.224 one park on that side: it’s ours. Come early; we have a few people to dine with, among them Monsieur de Marsal. Oh, come on,
12602.064 don’t go courting him! You’d get us into a fine mess! But I’m crazy: one doesn’t get married in your condition. Is that settled? See you
12608.744 this evening. The most famous waterfalls, from the Tivoli Cascades to the Niagara Falls, would be ridiculously slow compared
12616.304 to Madame Michaud’s torrential speech. Daniel behaved like a traveler surprised by the rain: he wrapped himself in its silence
12623.824 as in a cloak. The downpour having passed and Madame Michaud gone, he collected his memories and concluded that he had found the opportunity to
12630.024 earn 1,500 francs in two weeks: he counted 500 francs in marble
12635.704 and in the practitioner. Madame Michaud’s figure did not displease him: life in the château pleased him greatly, and he foresaw a way to pay
12643.944 his debts delightfully. He told his mother about the adventure while dressing. That’s going well,
12649.192 said Madame Fert. This unfortunate deadline kept me awake. I’ll send you the saddle, the clay loaves, the roughing-pen, and
12656.712 everything else tomorrow. I’ll go over your clothes, check the buttons, and put everything away in the big trunk; you must be
12664.712 presentable. Perhaps they’re in the habit of playing in the evening, like at the Château d’Arbois; You will have tips to give to the servants:
12670.672 take the money we have at home and leave me 50 francs: that’s enough for me. You know I’m never hungry when you’re not there
12677.752 . Try to finish soon, and don’t let yourself be disturbed. But above all, watch yourself: there’s a young lady in the house and you’re a
12686.272 big, mentally ill person. « Don’t worry, Mama, » replied Daniel. « I’m taking 200 francs with me
12692.432 , which is our entire fortune, or almost. The meager little song of these ten louis chasing each other in my pocket
12698.432 would restore my sanity if I could lose it. For a poor devil like me, a rich young lady is of no sex.
12704.512  » Thus left the Iron Prince for the kingdom of the incomparable Atalanta. Victorine did not suppose for a moment that a young man so handsome and with
12712.192 such a proud countenance was a simple artist condemned to make a bust of Madame Michaud. She instantly constructed a little novel as
12719.912 plausible as the last one she had read. Surely, she thought, he is of high birth; it is enough to
12725.712 see his feet and hands. Rich? He must be that too, provided that a jealous enchanter or a dishonest guardian has not dispossessed him of
12733.832 his fathers’ inheritance. At least he has been left some dilapidated castle on the banks of the Rhine or on a peak in the Pyrenees? An
12740.912 eagle’s nest is the only dwelling worthy of him. Where has he met? At the ball last winter.
12746.52 Perhaps at the Spanish embassy! Yes, I’ve seen him before, I recognize him; it’s definitely him. My aunt
12752.28 took me away at midnight like Cinderella: she had her cursed migraine. Poor prince! What despair when he realized I was
12760.36 gone! Since that fatal moment, he has looked for me everywhere; he has asked heaven and earth for me: I can see clearly that he has suffered. Yesterday
12768.68 at last, chance, or rather his lucky star, led him to a sculptor’s studio. The artist was away, he waited for him; my aunt
12777.24 arrived: who would not guess the rest? But will he be able to carry the ruse to its conclusion? How can he outwit the surveillance of his rivals? We will see
12784.84 that this bust is not made. M. Lefébure has wit; M. de Marsal is only half stupid; and my father who is coming back! Certainly, I
12794.32 can help him hide his rank and his fortune, I who am somewhat in the know; but what if he is imprudent!
12799.56 She feared that by taking off his overcoat, the handsome stranger would discover a diamond star.
12804.6 Daniel followed her to the château, talking of indifferent things and admiring the beauty of the trees in the park. He was not
12812.08 blind to Victorine’s beauty, and he thought on the way that he would gladly make her bust for nothing, if he had the money. But he
12819.76 soon scolded himself for such an ill-timed idea, and his mother’s advice came back to him.
12824.8 He found Madame Michaud at the foot of the steps getting out of the carriage. Where the devil did you go? she asked him. He told how he
12831.92 had made his entrance into the Guéblan estate. Wooden saber! said the amazed woman, the Tyrolean chamois don’t jump any
12839.44 better than you. This story will make my brother happy and Mr. Lefébure despair. We’ll put you up at home. Perrochon,
12846.6 take the gentleman to the green room. Here! You’ll sleep between Victorine’s two husbands: stop them from fighting. Daniel bowed and
12854.808 followed Perrochon. Well! asked Madame Michaud to her niece, what do you think of my
12860.288 sculptor? It’s for my bust; a surprise I’m giving myself . We’ll start tomorrow, in the little drawing room at the end. Admit
12867.928 that he doesn’t look like an artist. He’s a hundred times better than all these gentlemen. The woman he marries will be able to boast of having a handsome
12874.328 husband! But I forbid you to notice it: if you noticed that he’s a handsome guy, I’d show him the door. After all, M. de
12882.248 Marsal is no swindler. Could my aunt be in on the plot? thought Victorine. Daniel took possession of a pretty room furnished with the
12890.328 most elegant simplicity. The hangings were light green chintz with pink and white bouquets. The bed, with twisted columns, sank into a
12897.728 sort of alcove formed by two dressing rooms. The writing desk, chest of drawers, chairs, and smoking chair were all bourgeois in
12904.368 rosewood, but of a pleasing shape and impeccable workmanship. The bookcase contained about fifty new novels and
12911.848 a few of those good, serious books that one likes to leaf through at night before falling asleep. The carpet had been replaced by a very
12918.608 fresh mat. The window opened onto a magnificent horizon: first the parterre, then the park and its tall groves, then a few
12926.008 laundresses’ gardens, all blooming with white towels and camisoles billowing in the wind; finally Paris, the domes of the Panthéon
12934.648 and the Val-de-Grâce, and the old tower of the Henri IV college. The young artist found himself so comfortable in his new home that he
12942.248 already regretted having to leave it. He would have hastened slowly, following Boileau’s precept, and he would have dragged his bust until the month
12949.888 of October, without the pressing need to earn fifteen hundred francs. But the fifteen hundred francs were indispensable, and there was no
12956.728 happiness that could stand up to these fifteen hundred francs. In these reveries that would have astonished Victorine, he moved an armchair near
12963.008 the window, looked at the landscape, thought of Madame Michaud’s profile, closed his eyes, and slept the sleep of athletes until the dinner bell.
12970.968 He found a company of twenty people seated in the pit on iron seats imitating reeds. Madame Michaud had not yet
12977.808 come down: she was powdering herself. He looked in this crowd for a familiar face, and found only Victorine: so he ran to her
12987.568 with an eagerness that was noticed. A man out of his element clings to the person he knows, like a drowning man to a pole. Victorine was
12994.288 a little troubled, especially since she felt all eyes fixed on her. She almost said to Daniel: « We are being watched,
13000.208 watch yourself. » At the second stroke of the bell, Madame Michaud appeared with three English shuttlecocks, and the artist breathed more freely. The
13007.688 queen of Michaud’s country asked for his arm, put it on her left, and didn’t say a word to him during the whole dinner.
13015.608 Daniel’s other neighbor was a dowager who was a little deaf; so he ate without distraction. Around him, people were talking about the little events in the Faubourg
13022.888 Saint-Germain and the latest news from the châteaux: he let them talk, and didn’t miss a beat. His only study was to sort out
13030.248 M. Lefébure and M. de Marsal, the two suitors that Madame Michaud
13035.408 had announced to him. He had no trouble recognizing them. M.
Francisque Lefébure is the only son of the famous lawyer Pierre
13041.736 Lefébure, who became known in the Cadoudal trial. The father, who owned nothing in 1804, was enriched by the generosity of the
13051.976 elder branch and the clientele of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. At the accession of Charles X, he refused letters of nobility and the peerage. He left
13058.136 his son 200,000 francs a year, a mediocre talent, more bombast than eloquence, and a hereditary ugliness. M. Lefébure, the second of the
13067.616 name, is a stocky, ruddy, and sanguine man; a person of all body types, a nose, a person of all body types, a
13075.496 short-sighted eye and large lips, the neck of an apoplectic, high shoulders, short arms, and massive legs. If he didn’t shave every day,
13083.296 he would have a beard down to his eyes. I must say that it is rare to meet a man more careful of his person. He watches
13089.696 his body like an Italian watches his enemy. He follows a strict diet, eats white meat, forbids himself floury foods and
13097.416 sweets, and wears an elastic belt. He devotes himself to the most violent labors and passionately studies gymnastics, English
13105.416 and French boxing, the stick, the cane, the saber and the sword: all to ward off the plumpness that threatens him, and to avoid resembling his
13113.456 father, who resembled a cask. The exercises he undertakes out of necessity have ended up becoming a pleasure, then a glory. He places
13121.016 his honor in his physical talents, and he makes more of his merit as a lawyer than of his abilities as a boxer. Moreover,
13128.336 he is a gallant man, and much more witty than the majority of fencing masters. M. de Marsal despises the vigor of M. Lefébure, who despises the
13136.736 weakness of M. de Marsal. If it is true that each of us is subject to a constellation, M.
13141.896 le Vicomte de Marsal was born under the influence of the Milky Way. I am not exaggerating when I say that he is the blondest
13147.336 of men, except for Albinos. His pale, thin person is one of those who escape illness and old age;
13154.456 illness does not know where to take them, and the years do not leave their mark. He is forty years old, like his rival, and yet, if you
13161.816 ever meet him, you will say with Madame Michaud: Poor young man! This feeble creature is a frigate captain and officer of the
13168.256 Legion of Honor. M. de Marsal entered the Naval Academy at fourteen , and he has made his way in the ports. His only expedition is
13176.176 a voyage around the world, an interesting voyage, not very dangerous, where he encountered no other enemies than seasickness. The pistols
13182.936 he had bought the day before his departure were not discharged from 1840 to 1855. However, the young officer did not waste his time
13193.256 traveling: he collected shells. His collection is one of the finest we have in France, and it is the only one where we find
13201.336 the ostrea marsaliana from Hong Kong, discovered and named by M. de Marsal. It was not the invention of this precious shell that allowed
13209.136 the captain to claim the hand of Mlle de Guéblan: he has other titles. His name is one of the oldest of the Lorraine nobility; the
13217.016 small town of Marsal, in the department of Meurthe, belonged for a long time to his ancestors. The Marsals are allied to the La Rochefoucaulds,
13224.376 the Gramonts, the Montmorencys, the greatest families of the suburb. Victorine valued these advantages only moderately, and M. de Guéblan himself
13231.616 did not make the most of them that he should have; but Madame Michaud was infatuated with them. M. de Marsal’s mind was not quite up
13238.656 to his birth, and, in terms of wealth, he had little or nothing . On the other hand, his education was perfect. He had that
13245.864 exquisite and icy politeness that distinguishes naval officers. For you know, I think, that sea dogs have had their day, that
13252.944 sailors no longer swear by a thousand ports, and that the day when etiquette is banished from all salons, it will be found aboard battleships
13259.784 . M. de Marsal, a small eater, and M. Lefébure, who lived on a diet,
13265.824 observed, for their part, the face of the newcomer. For some time they had ceased to observe each other. Each of them
13272.264 believed he was sure of prevailing over his rival. One relied on his name, the other on his fortune. The gentleman relied solidly on
13279.904 Madame Michaud; the bourgeois had no doubt about the support of Monsieur de Guéblan. But the arrival of an intruder put them on the alert. This handsome young
13287.744 man, whom no one knew, and whom Madame Michaud seemed to have pulled out of a box, seemed to them to be of the figure and size to play the role
13294.744 of the third thief. Daniel’s gargantuan appetite reassured them at first: they had nothing to fear from a man who devoured so
13301.584 boorishly. Meanwhile, Victorine, seated in the middle of the table, opposite her aunt, often raised her eyes to the stranger. On the other
13309.064 hand, the good aunt was so capricious that even her protégé could not place much trust in her friendship, and that
13316.144 anything was to be expected. As they left the table, the two suitors instinctively approached Madame Michaud. She introduced Daniel to them. Here,
13322.824 she said, is a new resident, Mr. Fert, the maker of my clock; he is going to make my head. By the way, sir, she asked Daniel,
13330.944 did you say that the marble was to be brought? Daniel could not help smiling as he replied: Oh! Madam, for the
13337.784 marble, we have time. « What! We have time! But it is a matter of urgency. I
13343.456 was counting on starting tomorrow.  » The artist told his model that he would first have to make her bust in
13348.816 clay, then mold it in plaster, then repair it carefully before touching the marble. God! It takes so long! said Madame Michaud.
13355.456 He wants to save time, thought Victorine, who did not miss a word of the conversation. With that, they drank coffee.
13361.576 There were five or six young women among the guests. Mr. de Marsal sat down at the piano and played a waltz. Daniel danced with Mademoiselle de Guéblan,
13369.176 and danced well. I was sure of it, she said to herself; but he’s going to compromise himself. There isn’t
13374.296 a sculptor who knows how to dance like that. The waltz over, Daniel took M. de Marsal’s place and played a
13380.256 quadrille. He was a mediocre musician, for he had started late. However, he played as well as M. de Marsal. Madame Michaud danced opposite
13388.576 her niece. At the ladies’ line, she shook his hand and said:
13394.016 Do you hear? For a man who breaks marble with a hammer!…  » Decidedly, » thought Victorine, « my aunt is in on the secret. »
13400.056 At ten o’clock, half the company set off for Paris, and the dancers were no longer in number. Two gaming tables were set up.
13408.256 Daniel was imprudent enough to admit that he was playing whist and to accept a card. He found himself partnered with M. Lefébure, against M. de
13415.016 Marsal and M. Lerambert the banker. M. Lerambert did not know that he was dealing with an artist. He asked, as he shuffled the cards:
13423.216 « The ordinary game, in five, a louis a card? » M. Lefébure answered briskly:
13429.976 « That’s very expensive, for a poor lawyer.  » « Yes, sir, » said Daniel, « the ordinary game.
13436.456  » Victorine blushed to her ears. What would people think when they saw the Iron Prince pull out a long purse full of gold coins bearing
13442.384 his father’s image? She went up to him and said: Monsieur Fert, I’ll only allow you one rubber, after which I’ll
13450.224 need you. She didn’t wait long. Daniel lost three times and three times, and left his ten louis on the table. He emptied his pocket with such a
13457.824 detached air that Monsieur Lefébure and Monsieur de Marsal exchanged a quick glance that could be translated as:
13464.704 It seems that one earns a lot of money carving clocks! Madame Michaud didn’t notice anything: she was gambling for a pittance at the
13472.344 next table. Daniel went away, all thoughtful, thinking that if someone brought him his saddle and tools, he wouldn’t have enough to pay for the
13479.624 carriage. Victorine took his arm and said: Monsieur, I am ashamed of my ignorance. We have a lot
13488.104 of sculpture here, good and bad, and I don’t know how to distinguish good from bad. Will you give me a lesson in criticism, you who are in the
13495.784 profession? She intended to prove to him that she was not his dupe, and that she had never taken him for a sculptor.
13501.504 Daniel was, like most artists, a completely useless critic . He knew how to recognize beautiful things, but he was incapable
13508.184 of saying why they were good. He obediently went through all the rooms of the castle, stopping at each bronze and each marble, and
13515.584 judging them with a word. He said: This is good; that is detestable.
13520.904 This is amusing sculpture; that is stupidly done. This group is by a man who knows his trade; that one is by an ass.
13527.544 –What do you think of this figure: the Child-God? –It is nice. –And this Philopœmen?
13532.984 –It is the masterpiece of modern sculpture. –Why? –Because nothing better has been done yet. –This Spartacus?
13539.504 –Good composition; poor work. –This Penelope? –Good, very good. –This Don Juan? –Mediocre.
13544.704 –What, mediocre? –Yes, an empty, raked sculpture. –But it’s by you! –I knew it.
13550.744 –Let’s stop here; I thank you for the lesson. Now, Mr. Artist, I am as learned as you. My goodness, she continued in the
13558.264 form of an aside, I am curious to see how he will go about sketching the bust of my aunt, and I vow not to
13564.864 miss a sitting . When she reappeared leaning on Daniel’s arm, M. Lefébure and M. de Marsal promised themselves to keep a close eye on this young intruder who
13572.744 was circling the aunt and wandering around alone with the niece. Madame Michaud left the boston and said in an intelligible voice: Tomorrow, after
13581.584 lunch, we will begin my bust in this living room. Whoever loves me will come there.
13586.944 « Madame… » said the two suitors, all with one voice. That evening, Daniel found his room less beautiful, his furniture less
13594.224 elegant, and his bed less comfortable than he had judged at first sight. It was because his pocket was empty. Man is built like that: no
13601.304 money, no illusions. This is doubtless why the poor are less fortunate than the rich.
13606.864 The next day he got up at eight o’clock and left for Paris with his watch and chain. He took care not to tell his mother how
13613.304 he had played whist and how much he had lost: such a confession would have brought him nothing but a reprimand for his dignity. He
13621.024 instead turned to a pawnbroker, who lent him 200 francs without explanation, without reproach, and without advice.
13629.904 Besides, what was a watch for at the Château de Guéblan? There were fifty clocks and a clock!
13635.144 This clock was striking noon when they sat down to lunch. The previous day’s guests had left, and only the castle’s guests remained
13643.28 , that is to say, the suitors and Daniel. M. Lefébure ate a cup of tea; M. de Marsal ate a slice of salmon with his lips
13649.24 ; Victorine pecked at a plate of cherries; The sculptor and the model resolutely fell upon an enormous pie.
13656.72 Madame Michaud informed Daniel that his tools had arrived with a horrible tub filled with greasy clay, and that everything had been set up.
13664.08 The two rivals were too curious to keep an eye on Daniel not to sacrifice their daily pleasures. In ordinary times,
13670.88 the captain fished; the lawyer practiced fencing with Monsieur de Guéblan, or amused himself by shooting magpies.
13676.28 They took a walk in the park before the session. Madame Michaud told Monsieur Lefébure about Daniel’s memorable leap. Monsieur de Marsal was very amused by
13684.0 this way of entering unannounced.  » I think, » he said, « that Maître Lefébure has met his match.
13689.44  » « I don’t pride myself on jumping ditches, » replied the lawyer. « However skilled we may be at this kind of exercise, there is always a small
13695.92 animal that is stronger than us.  » « What do you call it? » asked Madame Michaud. « The kangaroo. I’ll show you one at the Jardin des Plantes.
13703.36  » « I didn’t do it for glory, » Daniel continued naively, « but because I couldn’t find the door.  » « Do you draw a sword, sir?
13709.72  » « Yes, sir, and you?  » « For fifteen years, at the Lozès.  » « Me, in my studio, with a former provost of Gâtechair. We
13715.8 ‘re not from the same school.  » « What! Sir, you practice fencing? » said Victorine. « But Papa
13722.44 will adore you! » They set off again towards the château. Madame Michaud said to Daniel:  » Doesn’t it bother you that I invited these gentlemen to our
13729.56 sessions?  » « No, madame, as long as they don’t prevent you from posing. As for me, I’ll work to the sound of the cannon.
13736.832  » « Don’t worry, I’ll keep quiet like an Anabaptist. Watch these two lovers carefully: they’ll put on a show for you. What
13743.832 do you think of the lawyer?  » « I don’t think he’s any good. » « Poor man! He’s doing everything he can to lose weight, except
13751.752 drinking vinegar. And the captain?  » « Thin, very thin.  » « Yes, I always wonder how the gales didn’t carry him
13758.152 off. He must have had stones in his pockets. Which would you choose if you were a woman?
13764.112  » « I think I’d ask for a few years to think it over.  » « Unfortunate! Don’t say that to Victorine;
13770.352 she’s been thinking about it for more than six months. You must find it a little strange that we should have accepted two suitors at once; it was my idea. My brother
13778.272 wouldn’t budge from his lawyer; I clung to my gentleman. I said: Let’s invite them both, Victorine will choose.
13785.952 I don’t know if she has any preferences; in any case, she hides them well. If you become her friend, you will try to get her secret out.
13793.432 She’s a bookworm, a scribbler in notebooks; She reads every day, she writes every evening; I would soon know what she
13801.352 thinks, if I were a little piece of paper. Everyone who has posed for a portrait knows that the first sitting
13806.672 is almost always spent choosing the pose, arranging the light and to prepare the work of the following days. Madame Michaud’s hairdressing
13815.072 took no less than two hours. The worthy woman had dreamed of a Rococo bust with a Pompadour hairstyle. Daniel thought she had a
13822.192 Roman head, the mask enormous, the forehead narrow, the head small. He left the maid to exhaust herself making and unmaking an
13829.152 impossible edifice, on which everyone had their say. Then he asked permission to try it in his turn; he rolled up his sleeves and gave his
13837.328 model an admirable cameo hairstyle; it was a matter of a few strokes of the comb. The maid dropped her arms in amazement
13844.128 ; Madame Michaud looked at herself in the mirror without recognizing herself, and claimed that she had been given a new head like
13851.488 a doll’s: the suitors murmured in low voices the name of hair artist, and Victorine said to herself: It must be admitted that
13858.968 he is a good hairdresser, but as for the sculpture…. Daniel began to sketch out his bust, and it was then that the work
13865.408 became difficult. In these days of April when the wind shifts every moment from east to west, from north to south, the weather vanes
13873.288 do not turn as quickly as Madame Michaud’s head. Mobile as a wave is a word that would imperfectly describe the
13879.568 perpetual agitation of her whole person. She found it too much to remain seated, and she consoled herself for this partial immobility by
13886.928 talking here and there, at random, by calling out to everyone around her one by one, by imitating the telegraph with her arms,
13895.808 and by beating time with her feet. So she was exhausted after an hour of this exercise: the session had to be adjourned. Daniel had
13903.808 spent more patience in sixty minutes than a santon in sixty years; the bust was not sketched. I had predicted it, thought Victorine.
13911.088 « Phew! » said Madame Michaud, « and one! Eleven more sessions, and we will be finished.
 » Daniel did not dare tell her that if the sessions all resembled the
13919.208 first, more than a hundred would be needed. This singular work lasted until the end of June: the bust did not have
13925.368 a human figure. Madame Michaud suspected, after a while, that the artist was perhaps a little disturbed by the company.
13931.712 She shared her thoughts with Victorine; but Victorine would not listen to that. She was sure that the handsome stranger
13938.512 knew nothing about sculpture, and she helped him as best she could to hide his ignorance. What would become of us, she thought, if he were
13944.712 forced to confess the truth? She made it her duty to disturb her aunt, to interrupt Daniel and to shorten the sessions. The poor
13952.712 artist thought with terror of the deadline of July 15, and cordially cursed all the importunates, without excepting Victorine.
13959.672 What astonished the incomparable Atalante a little was the obstinate silence of her lover. Alas! she said to herself, what good will
13966.392 all his tricks and mine be to us, if he does not decide to tell me that he loves me? Is he afraid to open up to me? I will keep his secret so well!
13973.952 Sometimes, to pique him with jealousy, she affected to treat M. Lefébure or M. de Marsal well: she became coquettish for love of
13982.192 him! These young girlish whims caused great upheavals in the castle. M. de Marsal wrote triumphant letters to his
13988.272 family; M. Lefébure thought about packing his trunks; Madame Michaud bought a new carriage as a token of joy; Daniel alone noticed nothing
13995.792 . The next day, the wheel had turned: M. de Marsal was gloomy;
14001.312 M. Lefébure was noisy; Madame Michaud was so worried that she could no longer sit still in her chair, and Daniel saw mountain ranges rising
14008.192 between him and his fifteen hundred francs. What is he waiting for to declare himself? said Victorine. She took care to
14014.832 undo all the bouquets that the gardener brought into her room, and she crumpled them with vexation, after making sure that they would not
14020.792 contained no note. At night, she spent hours at her window, waiting for a serenade.
14026.368 If a gondola had come by land to the grand staircase of the château; if she had seen
14031.808 two rebecs, an oboe and a viola d’amore descend; if little Negroes, dressed in red satin, had served before her a collation of
14039.568 Italian fruits and a few basins of oranges from China, such a phenomenon would have astonished her less than Daniel’s miraculous silence.
14046.168 One evening, between eleven o’clock and midnight, in mild and amorous weather, she heard a magnificent bass voice singing in the aisles
14054.408 of the parterre. She was too far away to distinguish the words; but the music, which she did not know, seemed strangely dreamy
14062.208 and melancholy. She was leaning behind her blinds to listen a little more closely, when Madame Michaud entered her room.
14070.128 Daniel, convinced that everyone in the castle was asleep, walked around smoking a cigar, and between each puff sang a verse from The
14077.688 Plagues of Egypt. It is a well-known lament in the Parisian workshops. On damp shores , populated by crocodiles,
14084.728 the Jews groaned and built pyramids, with no other consolation
14089.928 than eating onions. Victorine had only heard a vague and delicious sound of this verse. Know that crocodiles
14095.208 are ferocious lizards, bigger than the Pont des Arts, who ate Jews by the thousand. The onions, in these misfortunes,
14101.608 still drew tears from them. This time! she murmured, I heard clearly. He said: Misfortunes and
14108.208 tears. Finally! But why is he standing so far away? It was then that Madame Michaud entered the room. Victorine began
14116.128 to chat noisily with her aunt, to prevent her from hearing the serenade. Only the echo benefited from the following two verses:
14123.368 This people, full of audacity, But not liking to die, Would have liked to clear off To go and live in Alsace;
14129.968 But to leave, first They needed a passport. A legitimate monarch, But full of perversity,
14135.648 Was withholding their papers: He will not have our esteem. If you do not know his name, It was King Pharaoh.
14142.328 Madame Michaud had a slight headache. She said to her niece: Since you are not sleeping, come to the garden; the fresh air will restore me. Victorine
14151.128 had her ear pulled; however, she went downstairs, determined to drag her aunt into the avenues of the park where one could only hear the
14159.288 nightingales. Unfortunately, the breeze carried a few stray notes to Madame Michaud’s ears.
14165.128 Look! she said, a serenade! « I didn’t notice anything, aunt.  » « Are my ears ringing? I heard it all right. There!
14172.768 What did I tell you?  » « You’re mistaken, aunt; it’s your migraine.
14178.088  » « No, it’s not my migraine! It’s… yes! It’s Fualdès’s lament.  » « Let’s go, aunt; I’m afraid.
14184.528  » « You’re afraid of Mr. Fert! But he sings very well, if he doesn’t work much! If his work resembled his warbling! Wait! Come
14192.128 here, we’ll surprise him. » Victorine was trembling like a willow leaf. Her aunt led her,
14198.208 by circuitous paths, to within forty paces of the singer. The young girl coughed to warn Daniel. « Hush! » said Madame Michaud: « let’s listen. »
14207.688 Daniel, as calm as a Homeric god, intoned the twenty-sixth verse: Moses visited
14213.768 The king who was dying of hunger: He made a fine dinner With four cooked apples,
14218.848 Without even a miserable stew of hare. You see, said Madame Michaud, that it is Fualdès’s lament!
14225.224 –What happiness! thought Victorine, he had the wit to change the song. Chapter 13.
14230.704 The next day, M. de Guéblan was expected. Madame Michaud recounted at lunch that she had spent the night listening to her beloved artist,
14237.544 who sang like a siren. Her story made the suitors open their eyes wide . When they learned that Victorine had been there
14243.904 , their surprise turned to stupor, and they wondered what role they were being made to play. They had never had much
14250.864 sympathy for M. Fert, but they were beginning to take a serious dislike to him. Certainly, Madame Michaud had the right to commission her
14257.624 bust from whomever she pleased, but to take her niece for a walk at night with a young man of thirty at most was beyond the pale of a joke.
14265.464 This sculptor, after all, was no eagle. His principal masterpieces were perched on clocks; he had been working for
14273.104 two weeks on an unfortunate bust without managing to sketch it. His conversation was anything but sparkling; he spoke little, and
14280.584 wit did not stifle him. Madame Michaud should be on her guard against his one-hour infatuations. She exposed the most
14288.304 serious interests of her family on the green carpet of paradox and caprice: in short, it was time for the marquis to return to the château.
14295.704 In the meantime, everyone was punctual at the hour of the session. Daniel, rather discouraged, removed for the fifteenth time the
14303.264 damp cloths which covered the shapeless bust of Madame Michaud. Monsieur Lefébure and Monsieur de Marsal looked at him with an air of sullen and
14309.824 malicious pity. Victorine, a little troubled by her father’s wait, wondered anxiously how the poor boy would get out of the impasse
14317.504 into which he had strayed. She scolded her aunt and reminded her from time to time to pose, but she was careful not to leave her there
14323.744 for long. Are you in luck today? asked Madame Michaud to Daniel. The hours pass one another and are not alike. Last night, you were singing,
14332.264 and I was very pleased. Well! Now sculpt! « Madame, » continued Daniel, « I know your face well, I am beginning to
14339.024 know you by heart, and it seems to me that I could do a lot of work in an hour, if you could only pose a little.
14345.424  » « Be happy; I say nothing more, I don’t know anyone anymore, I pose! » said the good woman, doing a half-somersault while sitting,
14353.864 accompanied by a most original grimace, « and I beg the gallery to observe the law of silence. Ah! if I were a pretty girl
14361.184 like Victorine, you would have more heart for your work, artist that you are!  » « Monsieur Lefébure, » said Victorine, spying on Daniel’s face,  »
14370.064 do you believe that one becomes an artist through love?  » « No doubt, mademoiselle; on one condition.
14375.984  » « And which one?  » « Very little: ten or twelve years of work! » « You are a man of prose: you do not believe in the power of
14383.824 love.  » « If there were unbelievers, » interrupted M. de Marsal gallantly, « you would not have to preach long to convert them.
14390.144  » « Captain, if you pay me compliments, I shall reason all wrong. Where were we? My aunt, stand up straight. I was saying
14397.184 that love can work miracles. Example: I am the princess… what princess? Princess Atalanta, daughter of the king of I don’t know where.
14406.144 I am riding in a carriage drawn by four horses; no, by four white unicorns: that is rarer and prettier. A shepherd, who was watching
14415.784 his sheep, saw me pass on the road. He fell in love with me. The next day, he sent me a sonnet.
14422.056 « By what means, if you please?  » « But by air, under the wing of a tame dove;
14428.416 This happens every day. Now, the sonnet is admirable, therefore love has made a poet.
14433.776 –He did much better, mademoiselle, replied M. Lefébure, laughing: he taught prosody, spelling and writing to a man who
14441.856 only knew how to look after sheep, and that in one day! not to mention of the particular rules of the sonnet, which are very complicated, so
14449.176 they say. I was recently reading a little poem, written by a dentist…. –That’s good; I’m giving up poetry. But painting! A young
14457.456 Italian woman is in the hands of an old man, who intends to marry her against her will. A handsome lord from the neighboring town enters the castle under
14464.336 the dress and name of a renowned painter; he has never handled a brush, but love guides his hand: will you still say that this has
14471.936 never been seen? –God forbid! But I would like to see it. Drawing is a spelling that cannot be taught in thirty lessons; and, as for
14479.696 color, we have members of the Institute who have never been able to learn it. –Is that true, Monsieur Fert?
14485.256 –Yes, mademoiselle. –But you, who are a sculptor, are you also going to set sculpture against me? Grant me only that a man of the world,
14492.216 a gentleman, who has never handled your modelers, can, by dint of love, in order to get closer to the one he loves, make… a bust!
14500.136 « My goodness! Mademoiselle, it is something I would have thought impossible six months ago.  » « And now?
14505.456  » « Now, I agree with you: I believe in the miracles of love. » Victorine felt herself turn pale; it seemed to her that all her blood was flowing back
14513.736 to her heart. « Is it a story? » she asked in a trembling voice. « Not too long, and I can tell it to you. »
14519.592 Madame Michaud was keeping quiet by chance; Daniel pushed on briskly with his work, while following her story with the slowness of Franche-Comté.  »
14528.672 Six months ago, » he said, « I was finishing a group for the Spanish ambassador. » I received a visit from a man of my country and my age, a
14536.152 school friend, named Cambier. He had come to Paris to write; but he hardly wrote, or he wrote badly. He edited a newspaper
14543.792 called La Feuille de Rose, L’Impartial de la parfumerie, I don’t remember exactly. The fact remains that the poor devil often
14549.872 needed a hundred sous. In January, he wore a wool and cotton jacket from La Belle-Jardinière, with a gray hat with bristling fur
14556.792 . He met in my studio a Jewish woman named Coralie who posed for the head and hands. She is truly beautiful, and she behaves
14563.752 well; she lives with her aunt in these parts, rue Mouffetard. This Cambier looked at her for half an hour like a
14570.832 dazed man; when she came out, he asked me all sorts of questions about her. He had never seen anything so beautiful; she was the woman he
14577.472 had dreamed of; he had been waiting for her for ten years! He asked me her name; he looked up her address on the slate where I wrote down my models; he wanted
14584.992 to see her again at all costs. He was capable of asking her to marry him and confusing two miseries into one. I warned him that he would probably be
14591.832 badly received, because the aunt lived off her niece and had no thought of marrying her off. Then he begged me to have her come to my house to pose,
14598.952 even though I wouldn’t need it: the poor man offered to pay for the sessions! I didn’t pay much attention to the nonsense he said; he
14607.272 seemed like a mentally ill person. The following days I was regularly absent; I was working in town.
14613.072 When I returned to the studio, I saw his name written ten or twelve times on the door. Note that I am at Ternes
14619.832 and he is on Rue de l’Arbre-Sec. Finally he reached me. He had gone to see Coralie, who had thrown the door in his face. As he told me about his visit,
14627.032 he wept. What a pity, he said, that I am not a sculptor! She would come to my house, and I could look at her to my heart’s content.
14634.272 He asked me for some old tools to borrow; I gave him a handful. A month later (it was the middle of February) he came back
14641.152 to see me. You would have said he was another man; I no longer recognized him. He had lively eyes, an animated face, and he stretched his hamstrings as he walked;
14648.712 a little more, and he would have sung. For example, what had not changed, It was his jacket and his hat. He started talking to me again about Coralie;
14657.072 he was more in love with her than ever, and he hoped to make himself loved by her. To begin with, he had made her bust from memory, and he thought he had
14664.512 succeeded. He didn’t let me rest until I had seen his work. Willingly or not, we had to leave with him. The Roule bus
14672.472 took us to the corner of Rue Saint-Honoré and Rue de l’Arbre-Sec; that’s where he lived, above the fountain, and well above. I
14680.832 didn’t count the floors, but there were six or seven. The bust was placed on a sort of night table. At that time I did
14687.072 not believe in the miracles of love, and I was as skeptical as M. Lefébure, for my first words, as soon as he had removed the linen, were: It
14695.592 was not you who did that! I swear to you, without false modesty, that I would gladly give everything I have done and everything I
14703.792 will do for this bust of Coralie. It was something naive and learned, vigorous and passionate, which recalled certain paintings
14711.728 by Holbein, certain drawings by Alber Durer, or, if you like, some of the most beautiful sculptures of the Middle Ages. The fact is
14718.528 that this bust in reddish clay shed a light like a masterpiece in the attic. I told the artist everything that came into my
14724.768 head; I was happier than those who discover a gold mine. He thanked me, he kissed me, he was a person mentally ill with joy: he already saw the
14734.168 day when Coralie would come to his studio. I asked him to wait for me the next day until three o’clock, and I returned with M. David, M. Rude
14742.048 and M. Dumont. The masters took his hand and told him that he was a great artist. They all declared that this bust must be molded
14749.288 and put in the exhibition. I pointed out to them at a glance the bareness of this room where there were not thirty francs for the
14755.248 molder. My sign was so well understood that after we left, Cambier found more than five louis on his chest of drawers.
14761.288 The head a little more to the left, madame, if you please. « And this masterpiece, what has become of it? » asked M. Lefébure. The public
14769.128 has not seen it; the art critics have said nothing about it! « Alas! Sir, love has done like tigers, who
14775.608 willingly eat their children. Eight days after this visit, I returned to Cambier. He was standing in front of his house, his feet in the
14782.968 melted snow, and he smoked his pipe with a gloomy air while looking at the fountain and the water carriers. He recognized me when I tapped him
14789.888 on the shoulder. I asked him what he was doing there. He replied: You see, I’m having fun.–And your loves?–Ah! that’s true. I went
14798.528 to Coralie’s with my bust under my arm. It was she who opened the door for me.
I told her what I had done for love of her, and
14805.968 what you had all told me, and that I would be an artist, and that she would come and pose at my house. She replied that she was making fun of
14812.688 me, that I bored her, and that I could take my plaster with me. I didn’t take it very far; I broke it against the boundary stone.
14820.128 « And is Coralie married? » asked Mlle de Guéblan. « Yes, mademoiselle, to a knife grinder who earns three francs a day.
14827.808  » « What joy! » cried Mme Michaud. « What? » asked everyone present. « What joy! My bust! It’s me; I’m striking; I catch your
14836.488 eye! Ah! my dear artist, I want to throw my arms around your neck too! » And to kiss Daniel, who hardly expected it.
14843.088 The bust was not finished, far from it; but it had made more progress in two hours than in a whole fortnight. Mme Michaud had
14850.248 posed without knowing it, out of pure distraction, while listening to Daniel’s story . The artist had seized the opportunity on the fly, and his work, although
14859.168 improvised, was no less successful. Everyone agreed, even Victorine, who could not believe her eyes. In her confusion,
14866.408 She said to Daniel: Ah! Sir, you have truly proven that love works miracles!
14871.448 Daniel thought she was referring to the story of Mr. Cambier. He stood with his arms crossed in front of his bust, and said to himself:
14877.968 This is a rather good sketch; it remains to finish it without spoiling it. It is July 1st, I have time on my hands. If these gentlemen
14886.568 would leave me alone, the plaster would be repaired in two weeks, and I could ask for fifteen hundred francs in advance.
14893.248 What is there of truth in this story? thought Victorine. The Spanish embassy…. a girl who lives here, with her aunt…. a young
14901.248 man of her age and from her country…. a masterpiece made for love…. Who marries a knife-grinder? And by what spell
14908.808 did this block of earth take on the figure of Madame Michaud? The Marquis had announced that he would return on July 1st for dinner , and although he had not written for four days,
14917.008 his mathematical accuracy was so well known that his apartment was ready and his place setting on the table.
14922.768 After the triumphant session where the bust had been miraculously sketched, Daniel, radiant as a sun, ran to the smoking-room to fill his
14930.968 cigar-case. Don Juan’s clock showed ten minutes past six: so, before dressing, they had a good half-hour of recreation.
14938.368 To return from the smoking-room to the garden, they had to cross the fencing-room. It was a large square room, with a fir floor, unwaxed
14945.448 , and lined with weapons of all kinds. There they saw side by side the combat swords, sharpened, greased, brand new and
14953.328 shining, and the assault swords, rusted by contact with the hands and chipped by parades. M. de Guéblan did not like foils,
14960.448 whose suppleness and lightness make the hand lazy. Daniel passed by humming: he saw M. Lefébure contemplating
14967.288 a panoply. The lawyer had not digested the successes of the newcomer , nor the famous serenade, nor that nurse’s kiss that Madame Michaud
14975.128 had just applied so generously to the face of her sculptor. Add that for two weeks he had not taken any exercise. The blood
14982.608 tormented him; he felt itching in his hands, he was like Mercury when he met Sosie. He asked heaven for a man,
14989.848 just one man, a poor little man whose bones he could break. In these philanthropic dispositions, he caressed with his eyes the
14997.848 speckled swords and those good, stiff blades whose knob leaves a bruise on the body. Daniel appeared to him like a victim sent by
15004.896 Providence: how sweet it would be to marble with all his might such a large and appetizing breast ! Victory was not in doubt: fifteen
15013.736 years in the hall and a recognized strength! M. Lefébure readily repeated, with proud modesty: I have already met three amateurs
15021.736 stronger than me, Lord Seymour, M. Legouvé and the Marquis de Guéblan. This was to say rather elegantly: I fear no one, except the
15029.736 three best fencers in Paris. He felt the need to give a good lesson in fencing to M. Fert. It is always pleasant to show oneself
15037.256 superior to the man one does not like, but it is doubly pleasant when the demonstration can be made in a fencing hall.
15043.016 The young artist had nothing against M. Lefébure. He did not find him handsome, and he would not have painted his portrait for gold or silver; he
15051.136 had found him importunate for fifteen days, from two o’clock to six; but apart from that, he only wanted good for him. He stopped to talk
15058.776 with him, examined the weapons, accepted a glove and a sword, and allowed himself to be masked with the innocent candor of a lamb dressed for
15066.976 sacrifice. The belligerent lawyer rushed at him without warning! and
15072.216 gave him twenty blows with a button in less time than I can tell : it was a hailstorm. As he pushed each boot, he murmured
15079.696 inwardly: Well! Well! Well! Here’s for your sculpture! Here’s for your music! Here’s to teach you to fly like a cockchafer in the
15088.296 midst of my loves and my affairs! Daniel pocketed the blows without breaking, and each time he was hit, he said according to the rules of the game:
15095.856 Touch-touch-touch! After five minutes of this little task, M. Lefébure stopped to
15101.456 catch his breath and to mop his streaming forehead. Daniel was neither hotter nor colder than when he had crossed
15109.0 swords. He looked at the purple face of his adversary, and said to himself: Now I know your game; you will not touch me again!
15116.56 The fact is that this person of all types of body, sanguine man, shot very badly. His French fury could disconcert a novice, and his hand was
15124.72 quick enough to surprise a clumsy one; but he revealed himself at every moment, he attacked with cuts, he riposted before parrying, he
15131.84 dazzled himself, went in blind, and saw neither his blade nor the blade of his adversary. My turn! said the artist.
15140.92 He firmly withstood a second assault more furious than the first, parried, riposted, did everything in its time, did not receive a
15147.52 button tap, and returned with wear the waistcoat that had been given to him. M. Lefébure would not admit it. In fencing, as in all
15156.52 games, there are good and bad players; he was a detestable player. Instead of shouting: Touch! when he was touched, he would say in
15164.04 riposte: It’s on the arm! on the neck! on the thigh! the blade slipped! bad blow!
15169.88 missed! We will not count this one! Over to you! That is what is called a touch! « Pardon me, sir, » Daniel continued, taking off his mask. « It seems to me that
15179.24 if your iron had been unspiked, I wouldn’t have received a scratch.  » « Not even the first time? » asked M. Lefébure mockingly
15186.52 . « However, let’s be fair: the second was a little better. We’ll start again later. Give me time to breathe. »
15195.56 Daniel was not pleased. This bad faith in a gallant man was driving him mad. He would have liked a gallery. He was furious at being
15202.8 right. « Let’s start again, » he said. He became so animated by the game that it was M. Lefébure’s turn to be
15209.04 dazzled and blink. Daniel gave him back beans for peas, and the button strokes went off so briskly that they would have said the
15215.344 bouquet of fireworks. Phew! said M. Lefébure, throwing his sword on a bench: I believe,
15221.264 sir, that we are strong. « My goodness! sir, » resumed the artist with charming roundness, « I
15227.504 thought I had beaten you.  » « What! what! I won the first round, the second is a draw, and the third is yours.
15233.784  » « Pardon; I did not know that the second was a draw.  » « Draw, that is to say, equal. You gave me two or three taps on the
15240.064 button, and I flatter myself that I gave them back to you.  » « Well, so be it! » said Daniel, exasperated. « Do you please play the fool?
15248.104  » « Will we have time? » The door of the billiard room was open, M. Lefébure went in, looked at the time on the clock, and came back saying: « It is twenty to. »
15257.064 During his absence, Daniel took down a perfectly sharpened fighting sword and substituted it for M. Lefébure’s. « We shall see
15264.744 ! » he said to himself. He continued aloud: It’s a matter of an instant; the beauty in one blow, a touch that hits.
15272.744 Come on, sir, on guard! M. Lefébure seized his iron and ran like a mentally ill person at the artist, who was
15279.704 standing sternly on guard. He threw two or three cuts in quick succession, the last of which whipped Daniel’s forearm roughly. The lawyer
15286.424 immediately lowered his point. Did I not hit? he asked politely. « I don’t think so, sir. »  »
15292.784 I thought I was quite sure, sir. » « You were mistaken, sir.  » « It’s a strange illusion, sir: I would have bet that I
15299.664 had hit you full in the chest. » « If you are sure, sir…. » « Perfectly sure, sir.  » « Then how is it that I am still alive, sir?
15307.104  » « I don’t understand, sir.  » « Please look at the point of your sword. » M. Lefébure felt himself stagger.  »
15313.408 We will not shoot together again, sir, » he said at once. « You have made a terrible joke there: you have exposed me to killing you.
15321.608  » « No, sir, I was sure that you would not touch me. » Victorine, her aunt, M. de Marsal, and the Marquis de Guéblan had
15328.768 arrived at the door of the fencing room, and their entrance prevented the discussion from degenerating into a quarrel. « What a man! » thought Victorine; « he is a valiant escapee from some old
15338.448 novel. » When Daniel had been presented to the Marquis, she approached him and whispered in his ear:  »
15344.568 Mr. Daniel, I forbid you to risk your life.  » « That little girl annoys me, » thought the sculptor.
15350.568 Chapter 14. During dinner, the Marquis studied Daniel’s face with interest,
15356.008 M. Lefébure gave him a cold face, M. de Marsal looked at him with stupefaction as a child looks at shadow puppets; Madame Michaud
15363.928 praised him in every tone, and Victorine was in ecstasy before him. As for the hero of the day, he didn’t miss a beat
15371.968 .
They parted two hours earlier than usual. A master of a house who returns home after a fortnight’s absence has a hundred questions
15379.968 to ask, and M. de Guéblan had a thousand to address to Madame Michaud. Victorine guessed well that she would be discussed at this
15387.168 conference. She did not go to bed; she took a book, and what she read did not profit her much. M. Lefébure and M. de Marsal, in league
15395.528 against the common enemy, sought together ways to thwart Daniel’s policy. Daniel went to bed bravely at ten o’clock, and
15402.448 slept soundly until the next morning. My dear sister, said the Marquis to Madame Michaud, I have done what you
15407.72 wished: I have opened a competition which is not without danger, and above all without ridicule, by agreeing to two suitors at once. I do not see
15415.04 that the question has made much progress in my absence. Where are we? What does Victorine say? –Always the same speech: she says nothing; but if she has a
15423.44 penny’s worth of understanding, she will choose M. de Marsal. I told her this again three days ago, and I will repeat it to both of you
15431.24 until you have understood it: one does not marry a man, but a name. A woman goes everywhere without her husband; but she must, willingly or unwillingly
15437.76 , drag her name behind her. In a drawing-room, those who see her dance do not inquire whether her husband is tall or short; They
15444.48 say: What is the name of that pretty woman who is waltzing over there? The name! But it eclipses everything, dress, fortune, beauty: it is the greatest
15452.8 luxury in life, because it is not within everyone’s reach . –Bah! They make them every day, and…
15459.32 –Because they make rhinestone jewelry, must they throw the diamonds into the street? You don’t know how flattering to
15465.88 the ear there is in a pretty, sonorous and good name. You are jaded; for fifty years and some months you have been called Marquis de Guéblan.
15473.016 Ah! if you could only, for ten minutes, be called Michaud! To think that I was well born, just like you, your sister by father and mother, and that I
15482.616 will forever be called Madame Michaud! I don’t blame my husband, God rest his soul! I lived in peace with him, I loved him despite his
15489.976 name and all his other faults; but, in all fairness, couldn’t he take his Michaud with him to the other world? Finally! she continued
15498.096 with a sigh, I’ve made up my mind, I resign myself, but on one condition, that Victorine will not be called Michaud.
15505.696 –Lefébure is not an ugly name, and, besides…. –Lefébure is Michaud. Any name that is not accompanied by a
15512.336 title, surmounted by a crown, flanked by a shield, falls into the great category of Michaud! There are thirty-seven million Michauds in
15519.416 France, and I am one of them! Two or three thousand Guéblans, and Victorine will be one of them! –And why not? She could marry M. Lefébure and be called Madame
15527.936 de Guéblan. I am the last of the name; and the council of the seal of titles…. –Bad, my brother, bad! M. Lefébure is known by his name throughout
15535.616 Paris. The graft would not take, and the Marquis Lefébure de Guéblan would never be anything but Lefébure. Marsal is a pretty name!
15543.416 M. de Guéblan had excellent reasons for rejecting M. de Marsal. He knew that the last scion of such an ancient family would not
15550.496 consent to exchange his name for any other, and the marquis passionately desired not to be the last of the Guéblans. He was
15557.616 still saying to himself, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the captain’s face, that by marrying him to Victorine, he was preparing for himself a pale and feeble
15565.816 posterity. Finally, he was not counting blindly on his sister’s fortune, although he had earned a good part of it.
15572.424 Madame Michaud was capable of remarrying for the pleasure of changing her name; Victorine was sheltering herself from all whims by marrying Monsieur Lefébure.
15580.544 This last argument, which the Marquis developed in all frankness, amused Madame Michaud greatly. You are mentally ill! she said to her brother. Who would want to marry an
15589.744 antiquity like me? Victorine will have everything. How much do you want me to give her in marriage? A hundred thousand francs a year? She will no longer need
15596.704 to marry Monsieur Lefébure. I understand that those who have no money seek it; but as soon as one has the necessities, what is the point of pursuing the
15603.184 superfluous? The only thing necessary is a hundred thousand francs a year; Victorine will not eat more: her teeth are so small! I believe, moreover,
15612.064 that she has a preference for M. de Marsal. « You should have told me at the beginning, we would not have argued.
15618.224 But are you quite sure? »  » Let’s go to her house, she is not in bed, we will confess her between
15623.504 the two of us.  » Victorine, the silent one, was beginning to tire of the role of the mute character. Since she was sure of being loved, joy escaped through
15630.824 her eyes. Happiness, long enclosed in the depths of her
15635.864 soul, rose to her lips; her love was like those aquatic plants which remain hidden until the day when they bloom on the
15641.864 surface of the water. She listened with a radiant brow to her father’s little exhortation, who begged her to frankly name the one she preferred.
15648.264 Lefébure or Marsal? Choose! added Madame Michaud. « Neither one nor the other, » she replied.
15654.104 « And why, my niece?  » « Because I don’t love them, aunt.  » « As you say! I’m not asking you if you’re in love with one of
15661.144 these gentlemen; people marry first out of friendship, love comes later.  » « I want to love my husband in advance. »
15667.064 « First of all, that’s not good form. I don’t know anything as shocking as those brides who doted on their husbands: they look as if they were at a
15673.432 wedding! When I married M. Michaud, I knew him, I esteemed him, I thought the greatest of his character, but I didn’t love him
15681.352 any more than the Emperor of China. Love is a tree that grows slowly; only bad marijuana grows quickly.
15687.312  » « Dear aunt, is it also good form for a husband to marry a wife without loving her? » « I didn’t say that, don’t accuse me of nonsense!
15695.352  » « It seems to me that these gentlemen like neither of me.  » « What!  » « Oh! I’m not mistaken. I’ve studied them carefully, especially since
15703.472 we’ve been working on the bust. Here, in a few words, is the summary of my observations.
15708.512  » « We’re listening. » « M. de Marsal is a well-born, well-bred man, of a gentle character, an even temper, and very agreeable manners.
15716.192  » « Ah! » cried Madame Michaud triumphantly. « Wait! M. Lefébure has a varied mind, lively and elegant, a
15724.072 beautiful voice, moving speech, noble and resolute gestures.  » « Eh! eh! » murmured the Marquis.
15729.752 « Patience, father! One is blond, the other is dark; one is thin,
15734.872 the other is people of all types of body; one is poor, the other is rich: and yet one
15740.272 would think they were the same man, so much do they resemble me in their manners. They say the same insipid things to me, as if they
15746.432 had learned them from a manual. They look at me in the same way; they have no two ways of approving me when I speak. If I
15752.952 smile at them, they are uniformly triumphant; if I pout at them, they bow their brows under the weight of the same pain. » It seems as
15759.312 if they agree to turn the conversation to the subject of marriage, and each one goes to great lengths to prove that he
15764.872 would be the best of husbands. If I condemn indifference, they frown like two jealous people. If I speak out against
15771.592 jealousy, their two faces simultaneously take on a blissful indifference. If my aunt said a single word against avarice, they
15778.992 would run to skip forty-franc pieces; if she reprimanded prodigality, they would look for pins in the
15786.472 carpet! That is not how one loves! « What do you know?  » « I feel it there! The heart is clear-sighted, especially at my age: its
15793.832 eyes are not tired! If these gentlemen were in love with me, something would tell me, and, whether I like it or not, I would at least feel grateful
15802.552 . But when their attentions leave me indifferent, it is because they are not addressed to me, and it is my dowry that should
15809.792 thank them. M. de Guéblan was less struck by his daughter’s words than by the tone in which she spoke. He had never seen her so animated. He wanted
15817.032 to examine her more closely; he took her by both hands, pulled her from her armchair, and gently sat her on his knees.
15823.672 Look me in the eyes, he said. Victorine was experiencing that first transfiguration that happy love
15829.312 produces in young girls: she was blossoming. Would you love someone? her father asked her.
15835.232 She kissed him for all reply. Is he noble? « Like a king.  » « Rich?  » « Like my aunt.
15840.792  » « Handsome? »
« Like you, my good father; and brave, and proud, and witty like you!  » « We know him?
15846.672  » « You have seen him; but you do not know him.  » « Where did you meet him? » –At the Spanish embassy last winter.
15853.552 –A century ago! –Yes; I went six months without news. –Has he forgotten you?
15858.872 –No.
–How do you know? –I have proof. –I don’t ask you if he wrote to you: you are my daughter.
15864.936 –Oh! my father! –Who is it then? Tell us his name! Victorine would have been very embarrassed to answer. Madame Michaud said to the
15872.256 marquis: You frightened her; now she’s all seized up. Leave me alone with her, she’ll tell me her secret.
15879.256 I don’t know how Victorine managed to bewitch her aunt. The fact is that she didn’t tell her her secret, and that she enlisted her in a
15885.576 conspiracy against the suitors. They promised to prove to them themselves that they had no love except for Madame Michaud’s fortune.
15891.856 Victorine soon made her siege; Love is a great master of strategy. On the spot, she cut out
15900.056 the following sentence from a volume in the Bibliothèque bleue, which was placed in an envelope addressed to M. Lefébure:
15905.816 The lady and her niece were married on the same day to the two knights they loved, and those who were in the chapel of the
15913.296 castle witnessed two beautiful ceremonies. Let us reason, said Madame Michaud. When the postman brings him this
15920.736 anonymous rag, he will not throw it in the fire: it is summer. He will read it. What will he think? First, let them make fun of him… a bad
15929.616 joke… a schoolboy’s trick. When I was supposed to marry Mr. Michaud, my father received more than twenty anonymous letters: one among others in which
15937.056 it was stated that my future husband was married to four women in Turkey! Then he will scratch his head, and he will say to himself that I am quite
15945.056 crazy enough to marry a second time, with my mustache and my gray hair. If I marry, the consequence is clear: you enter
15953.336 straight into the interesting category of girls without a dowry. This person of all body types
15958.856 Lefébure is bourgeois to the bone, very well-endowed with his income, and incapable of marrying you for free. I can see the grimace he will pull.
15965.856 Mr. de Marsal would marry you anyway! He is a knight. But I am thinking: how can I make the lawyer believe that I have a husband in mind?
15973.48 He never leaves my side! He knows perfectly well that we haven’t had fifteen visitors in two weeks. To get married, you need a husband.
15979.64 Find me a phantom husband! Wait! That little sculptor! –Oh! Aunt!
15985.12 –Why? He’s very handsome. –No doubt, but…. –He has talent. –I agree, but….
15990.84 –He has an absurd name, but a well-known name. That’s nobility! What I like in artists is that they’re not bourgeois.
15997.68 –But just think, Aunt…. –That he’s penniless? I’m rich enough for two! After all, this
16002.88 marriage would be a hundred times more likely than that of the Countess of Pagny with her steward Thibaudeau. The Marquise de Valin did marry
16009.32 a little engineer from the port of Brest named Henrion! And Madame de Bougé! And Madame de Lansac! And Madame de La Rue!
16017.28 « Yes, aunt, but what role will you have this poor young man play ? » « How unhappy he is! I will be charming with him; I will pay him
16024.2 compliments, I will take him for a walk with me in the park, and I will serve him chicken wings, while I will make
16030.4 Monsieur Lefébure eat the drumsticks. Besides, he will suspect nothing, and my attentions will only be intelligible to a man who has been warned. »
16037.8 Madame Michaud undertook to reassure the Marquis about her daughter’s mysterious love. She described it to him, in confidence, as a pure whim
16046.08 of the imagination, one of those daydreams that young hearts often have. There was no danger at home: Victorine was
16053.32 safe at the château, far from the world and the salons of Paris. The good aunt, who did not give up her project on Monsieur de Marsal,
16058.84 thought of hiring assistants. She brought Madame Lerambert from Paris with her son and her daughter, who had a dowry of a million.
16066.2 She was counting on Miss Lerambert to create a successful diversion by drawing the enemy’s forces towards her. At the same time, she sent
16072.64 a telegraph dispatch to old Miss de Marsal, a person of sense and intelligence, the elder and much older sister of her candidate. Miss de Marsal
16082.04 was to form the reserve and march in the rearguard. Unfortunately, she was deplorably slow in leaving her little castle at
16088.04 Lunéville, in taking leave of her neighbors and her cats, and in embarking in a traveling carriage. She had so little confidence
16094.84 in the railways that she wanted to come with her Lorraine horses, brave beasts, moreover, and which proudly covered their ten
16101.36 leagues a day. This reinforcement carriage did not arrive until July 12, when Mr. Lefébure was Miss Lerambert’s declared pursuer
16107.0 , and Daniel, tenderly pampered by Mrs. Michaud, was putting the finishing touches to his cast.
16112.96 The artist had noticed neither the rapid cooling of M. Lefébure, nor the joy that Victorine and her aunt had felt at it, nor his
16120.84 attentions returned to the banker’s daughter, nor the regret of the Marquis de Guéblan, nor the triumph of M. de Marsal: he had seen
16128.48 only his bust and the due date of the fifteen hundred francs. Nothing had been able to distract him, not even the looks of Victorine, which he had not
16135.72 not met, and her half-words, which he had not understood. Madame Michaud’s attentions had been close to his heart: he had no doubt
16143.96 that such a kind person would grant him the advance he needed . Full of this confidence, he had hastened his work and completed,
16152.88 in twelve sittings, a remarkable work. Artists never succeed better than under the whip of necessity: this is why
16160.48 millionaires are rarely great artists. Those who saw him work with such heart said to each other:
16166.68 How he loves! It is said that Phidias, when he made the Minerva of ivory and gold, was in love with his model. Who could have foreseen
16173.76 that Madame Michaud’s first passion would be shared by such a handsome boy? He will make a marriage of money and a marriage of love.
16180.88 No one doubted that he was seriously in love, except Victorine and M. de Marsal, who had another blindfold over their eyes. Madame Michaud
16188.2 herself was beginning to be alarmed by her work, and Monsieur de Guéblan was thinking of reprimanding his venerable sister.
16194.56 But it was Monsieur Lefébure who was laughing sincerely to himself. Seeing his old rival getting more and more bogged down, he congratulated himself on having been
16201.2 born a man of wit, and he was already picturing the pitiful face of the captain, the day when Daniel and Madame Michaud would walk down
16208.56 the aisle together. The lawyer had no illusions about Victorine . Since he learned she had no dowry, he found her much
16215.36 less beautiful than Mademoiselle Lerambert. For its part, the Lerambert family highly appreciated the eloquence and fortune of Monsieur Lefébure.
16222.64 The Marquis, greatly scandalized by the conduct of his candidate, felt himself drawn back by a secret instinct towards Monsieur de Marsal. He regretted
16229.88 more than ever having entered his daughter into the competition; He feared that the rumor of this adventure would spread to the Faubourg Saint-Germain,
16236.76 and he felt the need to marry Victorine as soon as possible. In this mood, he welcomed the captain’s advances favorably. He
16244.44 arranged two or three secret conversations with him: he opened his heart to him, and finally broached the delicate question of the change of
16252.56 name. M. de Marsal only needed to be asked in the right way; he resigned himself
16257.616 to being called Gaston de Marsal de Guéblan or de Marsal-Guéblan, or de Guéblan-Marsal, as it pleased the Marquis. Once the deal was done, he
16265.656 tenderly embraced his sister, who had just arrived from Lunéville, and told her the great news. Mlle de Marsal wept with joy, and said: I have arrived
16273.256 just in time to bless you. That is why, no doubt, Madame Michaud called me in such haste.
16278.976 The next day, July 13, was a Friday: a day of ill omen twice over . Mademoiselle de Marsal had had time to make inquiries and find out
16287.136 everything that was going on in the house. After lunch, she took her brother aside and said to him:
16292.296 What is Mademoiselle de Guéblan’s personal fortune? « I don’t know. Nothing, or ten thousand francs a year.
16297.936  » « In property born and acquired?  » « No, at her father’s death. Why do you ask me that? You know
16303.416 very well that she has her aunt’s fortune.  » « From Mademoiselle Daniel Fert?  » « What are you saying? From Mademoiselle Michaud!
16308.936  » « But, wretch! Don’t you know?  » « What? » « Madame Michaud is marrying the little sculptor. Everyone is in on the
16314.376 secret, except you. That’s why Monsieur Lefébure has withdrawn.  » « Mercy!
16319.496  » Monsieur de Marsal ran out: he had never in his life had such vivid colors . His sideburns, blond as flax, looked red. He
16327.656 fell into Madame Michaud, who took him amicably by the arm and said to him: Where are you running to? I am taking you prisoner. I have many things to
16335.056 tell you. You behaved like an angel; Monsieur Lefébure is a beast; I am delighted by the arrival of your sister, and you will have my niece.
16343.256 He looked rather impolitely at his faithful ally and replied in a dry tone: Thank you, madame. I think someone is being deceived here, and I
16350.816 I will try to make sure that the dupe is not me. Madame Michaud remained rooted to her feet: she thought she saw a lamb
16357.584 unchained. He gave the poor woman a low bow and ran to Daniel, who was walking with young Mr. Lerambert at the edge of the pond.
16366.104 Monsieur le sculpteur, he said to him, you have been making fun of me for a long time , and I feel obliged to tell you that I like neither
16372.744 rogues nor schemers. Mr. Lerambert dropped his arms in amazement. Daniel
16378.224 looked at the captain as a doctor from Bicêtre looks at a mentally ill person. Is it me you are talking to, sir?
16384.424 « Yourself.  » « I am the one who is a roguish man and a schemer?… » « And an impudent one, if the other words are not enough to make the
16390.904 portrait seem like him to you.  » Daniel wondered for a moment if he would throw the captain into the pond ; but after reflection, he took his gloves from his pocket and
16400.504 threw them in his face. Chapter 15. Never has a case been more badly conducted than the duel between M. Fert and
16406.344 M. de Marsal. The captain had not touched a sword in his life, and his pistols, loaded in 1840, were still brand new, as you
16415.145 know. Daniel, trained in all weapons, had only used his talents to expel a water carrier from the window: no one was
16423.184 sufficiently hostile to himself to pick a quarrel with him. The great advantage of those who know how to fight is that they almost never fight
16429.225 . On the other hand, the clumsy often come to ask their assistance and choose them as witnesses to their feats of arms. But
16435.863 Daniel lived far from the world, and he had few friends, all artists, confined to their studios, pacific by taste and by profession. So
16444.344 he had never appeared on the field, even as a spectator. M. de Marsal chose as witnesses the young M. Lerambert and his old
16451.465 rival M. Lefébure. But the lawyer was too prudent to expose himself to a month in prison in the event of misfortune: he wisely recused himself. M. Lerambert
16459.736 junior, a law student, very young, almost a child, felt himself grown a little by the completely new role to which he was called. He
16466.816 undertook to find a second witness among the innocents of his age. If you had seen him walking, his frock coat buttoned to the neck, one
16474.576 hand in his pocket, his eye half veiled, his face imbued with an air of important discretion, you would not have been able to stop yourself from smiling,
16482.455 and you would have forgotten that this schoolboy was about to risk the lives of two men. The captain, outraged by the affront he had received, and even more
16490.297 by the ruin of his hopes, was in a hurry to get it over with. I do n’t think he positively wished for Daniel’s death, but a
16496.816 pistol shot could break up Madame Michaud’s marriage and ensure Victorine an income of five hundred thousand francs. The artist, for his part, had
16504.416 no time to lose: he had signed a note for the 15th, and his practitioner, who had workmen to pay, was not in a position
16511.855 to wait. Daniel spent the rest of the day finishing his bust. At six o’clock, he informed Madame Michaud that he was forced to dine out,
16518.775 and he rushed to Paris. He was counting on two officer friends of his who were staying on Rue Saint-Paul, near the Ave-Maria barracks. Unfortunately
16525.615 , when he arrived at their house, he learned that the regiment had left for Lyon for a fortnight. He had himself taken to the Faubourg du Temple
16533.416 to see M. de Pibrac, former commander of the Royal Guard, one of the finest blades of 1816. He found him in bed with gout. In desperation
16541.576 , he returned to the Rue de l’Ouest and the workshops of his friends. He chose two of them for their vigor and composure rather than for
16549.377 their experience. They were a painter and a medal engraver, as new as he was in the matter of duelling. He asked them to stay at home all
16556.928 evening, to receive M. de Marsal’s witnesses. These two children were waiting for him in an office of the Provençal Brothers;
16564.008 They both lived with their parents, and they were afraid of alerting their family. Daniel brought them, at nine o’clock,
16572.168 the address of his two friends. He met M. de Marsal on the stairs as he was descending, and he exchanged a very ceremonial greeting with him.
16579.768 At ten o’clock in the evening, the four witnesses opened a truly singular conference in the rue de l’Ouest. None of them knew
16587.287 the causes of the duel. They knew that M. de Marsal had insulted M. Daniel Fert in words, who had insulted him in action. Daniel
16593.848 himself was unaware of the grievances that the captain might have against him. His ultimatum, written by his friends, under his dictation, was neither
16601.408 long nor complicated. I never had anything against M. de Marsal. He called me deceitful, scheming and impudent, I don’t know why.
16609.248 Attacked on my honor, I threw my glove in his face. If he withdraws what he said, I will regret what I have done. I want
16615.768 the matter settled tomorrow before noon. If I have the choice of weapons, I request the sword. M. de Marsal would have had no trouble finding
16622.248 more able witnesses than his own. He was not from Paris, and he knew few people there; but he had witnesses to choose from, either at the
16630.287 ministry or at the hotel of the military navy. He contented himself with two students, so as not to have to answer for them. M. Lerambert
16638.488 spoke, saying: Gentlemen, M. Daniel Fert has thrown down his glove to M. de Marsal; we are
16645.848 charged with demanding an explanation. None of the usual rules were observed: Daniel’s witnesses
16652.535 did not even know the names of M. de Marsal’s witnesses. There was no mention of Madame Michaud, nor of Victorine, nor of
16659.576 Daniel’s alleged intrigues, nor of the captain’s deception. This is what the captain had wanted.
16664.855 Under these conditions, no arrangement was possible. M. de Marsal was exasperated, like any indolent man who goes out of character.
16672.217 Daniel was not sorry to give him one of those lessons in politeness that one remembers in bed for six weeks: it was in this spirit
16679.336 that he had chosen the sword. The witnesses, the eldest of whom was not yet thirty , wanted to be witnesses to something. If you want a
16686.137 matter to be settled, never choose young witnesses. The conference lasted no more than half an hour: it is sooner declared
16692.336 battle than concluded peace. A meeting was arranged for the next day, six o’clock in the morning, at Petit-Montrouge.
16699.496 Beyond this village you will find a good number of abandoned quarries, where people fight more peacefully than in the Bois de Boulogne. The choice of weapons
16706.217 was up to no one, since the offenses were mutual. It was agreed to draw lots on the ground. As he was about to take his leave,
16714.576 M. Lerambert asked his adversaries: By the way, gentlemen, do you have any weapons? « No, sir; and you?
16721.455  » « We don’t have any either.  » « We should go to a gunsmith.  » « Is that prudent? Suppose we were followed! I think we could
16728.855 get some from the Château de Guéblan. Or rather, no: that would be abusing the Marquis’s hospitality. He would never be consoled if, unfortunately…
16737.615  » « My dear Édouard, » his companion told him, « M. de Marsal told us he had combat pistols. Would these gentlemen
16744.096 accept them?  » « Why not? » the painter replied naively. « If they are good, so much the better for the most skillful; if they are bad,
16751.84 we won’t hurt ourselves.  » « They are good. » « As for the swords, don’t worry. M. Fert has several in
16758.0 his studio. » During this interview, Daniel got out of the car at the entrance to the Ternes enclosure. He came there regularly on Thursdays and
16765.359 Sundays, after dinner to play dominoes with his old mother, and to find out if she lacked anything.
16772.199 I only lack you, the good woman invariably replied. That evening she wasn’t expecting him, since she had seen him the day before.
16779.6 She had gone to bed at nine o’clock, and was sleeping her first nap, the only good one for people her age. Daniel silenced the doorbell
16786.48 in the little garden, entered his workshop quietly, untied a pair of swords, wiped off the dust, bent the blades, and made sure the
16795.24 hilts were in his hand. He wrapped the two weapons in green serge and carried them discreetly to the garden. Here, he thought, are
16803.04 two good lancets to bleed M. de Marsal. My poor mother will be a little frightened when I come tomorrow to tell her about my
16809.48 adventure. Bah! He was about to leave, but I don’t know what force held him back. He
16814.96 searched in his pocket for the double key to the house; he entered stealthily , and only stopped in front of his mother’s bed. A small nightlight
16823.28 scattered its flickering light around the room. Madame Fert, surrounded by drawings, plaster casts, bronzes, and a thousand little works by
16830.84 her son, smiled as she slept. In her dreams, she saw her dear Daniel enameled with the green embroidery of the Institute and tied with the red ribbon
16838.72 of the Legion of Honor. Daniel looked at her tenderly for a few minutes; then he knelt before her, then kissed a small
16846.144 wrinkled hand that hung over the edge of the bed, then took a corner of the very white sheet, perfumed with a good scent of violets, and wiped his
16854.624 eyes with it. On returning to the château, he went nimbly up to his room, hid his swords in the dressing room, brushed his
16863.984 knees, and went back down to the drawing room. The Marquis, his sister, and his daughter were playing vingt-et-un with Monsieur Lefébure, Mademoiselle de Marsal, and the
16871.424 Lerambert family. Young Monsieur Lerambert and the captain arrived together after a quarter of an hour.
16877.944 Finally! said Madame Michaud, I am taking possession of all my boarders. Since seven o’clock, I have been like a hen that has lost
16883.864 her chicks. It’s as if you had agreed to leave us here, gentlemen. I don’t know if I should offer you tea;
16891.264 you hardly deserve it. My dear sculptor, a cup? Ah! I forgot that you take it without sugar. Pass the sugar bowl to Monsieur de Marsal; he
16900.464 really needs it today. The captain’s hand trembled imperceptibly as he received the cup from Daniel. Monsieur Lerambert junior, more pimply than ever,
16909.784 did not look like a young traitor in a melodrama. He tried to eat a piece of brioche with his tea, but the pieces
16916.424 stopped at his throat. He loosened the knot of his tie, which, however, was not too tight. Gentlemen absent, continued Madame Michaud, I sentence you to
16924.864 play twenty-one and lose your money with us. Who will take the bank? Mr. Fert?
16930.504 « Willingly, madame, » replied Daniel. He played so happily that he soon won five hundred
16936.784 francs. Mr. Lefébure and Mr. de Marsal were trying to break the bank. Mrs. Michaud said to them giddily: « Oh! No matter what you do,
16944.832 he’s stronger than you. He’s lucky. For example, that money will cost him dearly! Lucky at gambling… you know the proverb? »
16951.912 Mlle. de Marsal gave her brother a penetrating look. Victorine tried to meet Daniel’s eyes. Daniel said to himself:  »
16959.592 Good! I’ll only ask Mrs. Michaud for a thousand francs. » They parted around two o’clock. As they climbed the stairs to the first floor,
16966.192 Daniel exchanged a few words with Mr. Lerambert. « Is it for tomorrow?  » « Yes, sir, at six o’clock, in front of the town hall of Petit-Montrouge.
16973.192  » « Weapons?  » « We’ll draw lots.  » « I have my swords.  » « We have our pistols. » We will leave by the small door: take the
16980.592 other side, so that no one will have any suspicions. –The whole castle will be asleep; we go to bed so late!
16986.392 M. de Marsal took his pistols from the bottom of his trunk. He changed the primers, which were all green, wrote a long letter
16993.032 to his sister, threw himself fully dressed on his bed, and did not sleep a minute. Daniel rested like Alexander or the great Condé on the eve
17000.592 of a battle. At five-thirty, he was on his feet. The two adversaries left without waking anyone. M. de Marsal gave the
17008.712 guard at the little gate the letter he had written to his sister. Everyone was punctual for the meeting. The town hall of Montrouge is a
17014.912 new building, erected a few steps from the village, in the middle of the fields. The witnesses dismissed their cabs, and they set off on
17021.192 foot in the direction of the quarries. Daniel led the march with his friends. How calm you are! the painter told him.
17027.912 « I am calm if we have the sword. With these devilish pistols, I am not responsible for anything: I kill my man.
17033.552  » « How?  » « It’s quite simple. With sword in hand, I am sure he will not hurt me, and I can spare him.
17039.448 With pistols, one does not spare the clumsy, because they are capable of breaking your head. Advise them to use the sword, for their own good. »
17046.088 M. Lerambert said to M. de Marsal: You refuse the sword; so you draw the pistol? « Not me at all.
17052.168  » « Then it doesn’t shoot either?  » « It hits nineteen times in twenty shots.  » « Well! Let’s take the sword, it won’t kill you!
17058.808  » « I’ll tell you later what to do. » They went down into a quarry forty paces long by twenty. The ground
17064.368 was as even as the floor of a fencing hall. M. Lerambert threw a five-franc piece into the air. The painter asked for tails, and the coin
17073.808 came up heads: they were fighting with pistols. It remained to fix the distance and measure the terrain. The four witnesses
17081.168 were well cured of the intoxicated pride that had brought them there. M. Lerambert was stumped; the
17088.008 other three were weeping. Place us forty paces apart, said Daniel to his friends, and make sure he fires first: he will miss me and I will send my bullet to the larks.
17097.128 M. Lerambert came to bring the captain’s proposals: Gentlemen, he said, M. de Marsal has never fired a pistol; M. Fert
17105.688 is of the first force. The only way to make the chances equal is to discharge one of the two pistols, and draw lots to see who will have it.
17113.968 The two adversaries will be placed five paces apart. This is how M. de Marsal intends to fight.
17119.848 « But it is a fight to the death! » cried Daniel. « We will never allow it! » added his two witnesses.
17126.248 « Then, » replied M. Lerambert with visible satisfaction, « the duel is impossible, and the matter must be arranged.
17132.488  » « Eh! by Jove! » said Daniel, « arrange it. » I thirst for no one’s blood, and I am quite ready to forgive the captain for the foolish
17140.728 compliments he paid me. « May I report your words to him, sir?  » « Certainly, sir.
17145.984 See how far the forgetfulness of form and etiquette was carried! Daniel was talking on the field with his adversary’s witnesses.
17152.744 M. Lerambert said to the captain: He is well-mannered, he passes
17158.304 judgment on everything you told him: the matter is half settled.  » « We will get a good deal, » replied M. de Marsal: « these heroes of the sword
17166.904 and pistol rely on their skill. They refuse to play as soon as the game becomes equal. Ask, I pray you, what excuses
17174.904 he will make for the rudeness of his conduct. » M. Lerambert crossed again the neutral ground which ran between the
17180.744 two enemy camps. He addressed Daniel directly and said to him: M. de Marsal learned with pleasure that you no longer held
17187.624 his words against him; He hopes, sir, that you will be kind enough to give a new proof of courtesy by asking his forgiveness for…
17193.624 Daniel heard no more. Sir, he said in his most haughty voice, I ask forgiveness from no one, especially from people who
17201.144 have insulted me. Please unload a pistol! –But, sir…. –No buts, I beg you. The shortest jokes are
17208.104 the best, and this one has lasted too long! He was handsome in his anger, and his long black hair quivered
17214.624 magnificently on his forehead. His witnesses tried to calm him; he would hear nothing. The captain, a little cooled, sent M.
17222.264 Lerambert to him; he replied that he was not asking for explanations, but for pistols. M. de Marsal, pale as death, handed the weapons to his witnesses. Daniel
17231.424 examined them one by one with meticulous care. Thick barrels, he said, dry steel, a little sour and brittle; good weapons, otherwise. Who
17239.064 loaded them? « M. de Marsal’s gunsmith.  » « Have you brought powder and bullets?
17244.4  » « Yes, sir. Would you like us to reload in front of you?  » « It is useless. » He took a pistol and fired it in the air.  »
17250.88 They are well loaded, » he said. « Be kind enough, sir, to put a primer on them. » The two pistols were wrapped in a scarf; M. de Marsal
17259.04 chose one, the artist took the other. The painter, who had long legs , measured five enormous paces. The four witnesses withdrew apart,
17266.48 sobbing. Gentlemen, said M. Lerambert in a panting voice, I will clap three shots, you can fire when you wish.
17273.36 Daniel fired first; only the cap went off. His pistol was not loaded. M. de Marsal, paler than ever, remained in his
17281.72 place for a few seconds, his arm outstretched, the barrel pointed at Daniel’s chest. His legs gave way beneath him, his eyes swam in uncertainty
17289.36 and fear; his whole body wavered like a birch shaken by the wind. At a moment like this, seconds are longer than
17296.12 years. Daniel, his body effaced, his chest sheltered by his right arm, his head half hidden behind his pistol, had time to
17303.64 lose patience. Shoot! he shouted. « Shoot, sir! » repeated the four witnesses mechanically.
17309.6 All possible misfortunes seemed preferable to the anguish that was suffocating them. The captain, without lowering his hand, replied in a quavering voice:
17317.92 « Sir, your life is mine; but I hate to take it. You will ask my forgiveness.
17324.6  » « No, sir. Shoot!  » « If I shot now, I would be a murderer. Ask my forgiveness!
17329.88  » « If you don’t shoot, you are a coward!  » « Sir!  » « I will miss you, sir; your hand is trembling.
17335.992  » « Don’t push me to the limit! » Daniel thought neither of death, nor of his art, nor of his mother: he
17342.672 was boiling at the thought of his life in the hands of another. « Shoot! » he cried again. M. Lerambert took a step towards the two
17349.392 adversaries, saying: « This is intolerable! » « Wait! » replied the artist; « I will send him courage. »
17356.272 He thrust his left hand into his pocket to look for his gloves. The shot went off. It was M. de Marsal who fell backward.
17363.352 Everyone ran to him; Daniel arrived first. The pistol had exploded an inch from the thunder, and the captain’s arm was
17371.072 broken. The engraver and the painter wore long cravats; they arranged them in sashes, one under the forearm, the other around the
17378.872 wounded man’s arm. It won’t matter, sir, said Daniel. So, why the devil were you
17384.232 asking me for excuses when I’ve done nothing to you? « Forgive me, sir, and be happy! Marry the one you
17391.232 love.  » « Me?  » « You.  » « I love Mlle. de Guéblan?  » « No, Mme. Michaud. » The poor fellow looked at M. de Marsal’s head to make sure
17400.232 nothing had entered his brain. The skull was perfectly intact. At the same time, M. Lerambert picked up the section of the pistol.
17406.752 Daniel took it in his hands and examined it like a connoisseur. Who loaded this one for you?
17412.792 « My gunsmith. » « That’s right; but in what year? » « In 1840.  » « You’ll tell me so much! »
17418.072 The captain, leaning on Daniel’s arm, returned on foot to Petit-Montrouge. In the Grand’Rue they met the castle’s physician,
17425.992 that excellent Doctor Pellarin. He took the wounded man to one of his friends and put on the first apparatus, while M. Lerambert ran
17433.192 to reassure Mlle de Marsal. The morning had been stormy at the Folie-Sirguet. Mlle de Marsal,
17440.28 struck by her brother’s strange appearance, spent a sleepless night and got up before six o’clock. She came to knock at the
17445.92 captain’s room, entered without ceremony, found the nest deserted, and went in search of someone in the park. The guard gave her the letter he had for
17453.92 her. It was a detailed account of the quarrel, followed by a holographic will in case of an accident. Mlle de Marsal, terribly worried,
17461.36 found the legs to run to the castle. She unceremoniously woke Madame Michaud, who woke her brother, who sent for M. Lefébure. Victorine
17468.2 awoke of her own accord and hurried downstairs. Madame and Mademoiselle Lerambert soon appeared. I believe that if the
17476.64 Marquis’s ancestors had been buried nearby, they would have run to the sound. No one had thought of dressing; everyone had come
17483.6 as they happened to be, the men in their dressing gowns, the women in their night gowns, everyone in slippers.
17488.84 Never had the salons of the château seen such a carnival. Madame Michaud and Madame Lerambert lost a great deal by appearing so early, and the
17497.44 banker’s daughter did not retain all her illusions about the person of Monsieur Lefébure. But Victorine found it to her advantage. When she entered, with
17504.52 her hair down and without a corset, in a long embroidered percale dressing gown, she looked as beautiful as Mademoiselle Rachel in the last act of Polyeucte. The
17512.08 first words she heard told her what was happening. She was violently moved, not with fear, but with audacity.
17519.0 Don’t worry, she said: nothing will happen to him. I know him, he is the invincible man.
17524.6 « My brother? » asked Mademoiselle de Marsal. « It’s not your brother; but don’t be afraid, mademoiselle,
17531.2 he will be spared! If lionesses talk together in the desert, that’s how they should talk about lions. » The whole audience opened their eyes wide.
17539.32 Victorine didn’t need to be asked twice to tell her secret: a woman is not ashamed to love the man who fights for her. She told her father
17546.88 the short and full story of the month that had just passed, Daniel’s admirable discretion, his courage, and all the talent that
17554.8 love had given him. M. de Guéblan was thinking to himself that he had taken too much care of his affairs and too little of his house, Mme Michaud
17560.68 thought she was foolish, M. Lefébure was rubbing his eyes, and Mlle de Marsal no longer knew whether to be frightened or scandalized.
17568.48 Victorine’s passion was flaring up like those fires that have smoldered for several days on board a ship: you open a hatch and everything catches fire.
17575.04 Her father would have preferred to learn this great mystery in a smaller company. Such a confidence, made before witnesses, was equivalent to
17583.4 a formal engagement. But the Marquis had had time to appreciate Daniel, and, son-in-law for son-in-law, he preferred him to M. de Marsal.
17589.76 The latter, very probably, would not quibble over being called M. Fert de Guéblan! As for Mme Michaud, the most volatile of women, she
17597.68 passed in the blink of an eye from surprise to enthusiasm. I would not swear that her forty-year-old heart had remained insensitive to the beauty
17605.0 of the young sculptor. Taking him as a husband was out of the question; however ridiculous one may be, one is always afraid of ridicule. But nothing
17612.8 prevented her from making him her nephew: That’s always it! she thought. However, she reminded her niece of that marvelous stranger she
17620.36 had spoken of a fortnight before, that young man as noble as a king, as rich as a Hamburg banker, as handsome as…
17627.2 But it’s him! replied Victorine in the most convinced tone; be I’m sure he hid his name and birth from us.
17633.16 Nature is not so mistaken as to give the face of a prince to an unfortunate little sculptor. Just wait until he comes back, he’ll tell us everything. As for
17640.76 his fortune, could you believe that it was as modest as he said? Didn’t you see how the gold falls from his hands?
17648.76 Didn’t you notice, last night, with what disdain he picked up the money he had earned? These illusions did not hold up in the face of the appearance, the speech and the
17656.88 dress of Daniel’s mother. She in no way resembled the dowager queen of the country of Fert, and when she came, with tears in her
17663.0 eyes, to ask for news of her son, we recognized that same Franche-Comté accent which distinguished Perrochon’s language.
17669.24 The main caretaker of the Ternes enclosure is a feeder who sells milk and eggs to his entire colony. When her daughter, a
17676.2 pretty, fair-haired child, brought Madame Fert some cream for her lunch, she said to her: How late Monsieur Daniel came, Madame Fert! You must have been in bed.
17685.4 –When? –But yesterday evening. –You’re mistaken. –I’m sure of it; it was I who pulled the string. He took away a
17693.32 large green package like that of Monsieur Moreau, the fencing master. Two minutes later, the poor mother had recognized the absence of two
17700.0 swords in her son’s workshop. She dressed herself in her best clothes and ran to the Château de Guéblan.
17705.4 Ah! my dear sir! she said to the marquis, that’s just what I feared. I told him: There’s a beautiful young lady there, beware
17714.24 of falling in love! But he’s such a great, mentally ill person! Victorine didn’t think of criticizing the figure or the dress of her
17721.8 future mother-in-law; she had only one idea: He loves me! he told his parents!
17727.76 And to embrace the good old woman, who apologized for such a great honor. Monsieur
Lerambert junior finally arrived, and everyone was reassured, except for
17735.808 Mademoiselle de Marsal. She took the young messenger’s carriage and had herself driven to Montrouge. Hardly had she left when a cabriolet stopped
17743.488 in front of the steps, and a footman came to tell Madame Michaud that Monsieur Fert was asking her for the favor of a private interview.
17749.648 Wait, she said to everyone; it’s to me he wants to confess. She found him in the hall, took him by the hand, and led him
17757.568 to a boudoir on the first floor. Ah! Monsieur, she called to him with the brusqueness you know, I’m
17763.728 hearing some great things about you! Daniel was much more moved than when he said to Monsieur de Marsal: « Shoot! » He humbly replied: Forgive me, madame: I swear to you that
17773.528 if I had not been rudely provoked, I would have had more respect for the laws of hospitality. Besides, it was not I who
17780.288 hurt M. de Marsal: he hurt himself. –We know. Afterwards? –I understand, madame, that following such an outburst, I am no longer
17787.528 permitted to remain under your roof. I have therefore come to take leave of you, and to thank you for a welcome for which I will retain eternal gratitude
17794.648 . –What does he say? –Fortunately your bust is finished, and, with your permission,
17800.168 I will execute the marble at home. –Speak then! Afterwards…. –Afterwards, madame, afterwards…. –You have something to ask me?
17805.528 –It is true, madame; and since you are so kind as to encourage me…. –Certainly I encourage you! –Well! Madam, I have a note to pay tomorrow, or rather Monday, and
17815.408 if you would be so kind as to advance me a thousand francs towards the price of this bust, I… –Granted! Granted! Afterwards?
17821.248 –Afterwards, madame, I have nothing left to do but thank you. –Come now! I know everything. –What, madame?
17827.584 –Everything! You love my niece! –Me, madame? But I swear I don’t! –I swear I do! Why did you risk your life on the
17834.224 short straw against M. de Marsal? –Because he insulted me. –Why did you want to get yourself killed by that awful M. Lefébure?
17840.904 –Because he was getting on my nerves. –What a pretty reason! Be honest, and agree between us that
17846.424 you are not a mentally ill person for Victorine? –Madame, I want to die if…. –Don’t die; she loves you!
17853.344 Daniel was sincerely sorry. Tears welled up in his eyes. My dear Madame Michaud, he said, I have been slandered! On my mother’s head
17860.424 …. –She is here, your mother, and she has confessed to us that you love Victorine. Is he obstinate, good God! Since she is being given to you in marriage!
17868.704 « The joke, madame, is a little harsh, and whatever my faults, I don’t think I deserved it…  » « You have deserved my niece’s hand, I tell you, and you shall have it!
17876.864 What a lovely misfortune! Do you find her ugly?  » « No, madame, she is admirably beautiful.
17882.464  » « That’s very fortunate!  » « The first thought that came to me when I saw her was that I would rather paint her portrait than any other.
17888.144  » « Is what you say kind to me? But no matter! She will give you your portrait, big child, and may God grant
17896.064 that we have six copies! » « No incredulity can stand against such language. » Daniel
17901.344 allowed himself to be gently persuaded. « Happiness is a guest who needs no announcement: it always finds doors open. »
17908.504 On February 1, 1856, under a beautiful winter sun, M. Fert de Guéblan and
17913.904 his young wife were strolling in an American car through the park paths. Daniel was driving himself. As they passed under the round oak, Victorine
17921.264 signaled him to stop. Do you remember? she said. This is where the introduction took place.
17927.064 I was sitting there, under my beautiful old oak, whose leaves were less russet than today, and I was devouring a book of the greatest
17933.704 interest, the story of the incomparable Atalanta: I never saw the end of it.
« And why?
17938.744  » « Did you give me time? Here it is, this unfortunate little book. Do you want me to read you a chapter?
17944.984  » « Thank you, my dear love. Put your hands back in your muff.  » « Only the last sentence? »
17950.144 « What’s the use, if I don’t know the beginning?  » « You don’t know what you’re missing. » Listen: They married, and from
17956.784 them was born a prince as handsome as the day. –True? –There are only truths in that little book.
17962.624 GORGEON. As he had won second prize for tragedy at the Conservatoire, he soon made his debut at the Odéon. It was, if I remember correctly, in
17970.144 January 1846. He played Orosmane on the feast of Saint Charlemagne, and
17975.184 was booed by all the schoolboys on the left bank. None of his friends were surprised: it is so difficult to succeed in tragedy
17982.984 when one is called Gorgeon! He should have taken a battle name, and called himself Montreuil or Thabor; but what can you do? He clung to the name
17990.664 Gorgeon as to the only inheritance his parents had left him. His fall made little noise; he did not fall from a great height. He was
17998.104 twenty years old, had few friends, and no patrons in the newspapers. Poor Gorgeon! However, he had a fine moment in the fifth act,
18005.824 stabbing Zaire with a lion’s roar. No director wanted to hire him for tragedy; but an old
18011.584 vaudevillian who wished him well got him into the Palais-Royal. He made up his mind philosophically: After all, he thought, vaudeville has
18020.12 a better future than tragedy, because tragedies will no longer be written as beautiful as those of Racine, and everything leads me to believe that
18028.52 better verses will be rhymed than those of M. Clairville. It was soon recognized that he did not lack talent: he had the comic gesture, the
18035.16 happy grimace, and the pleasant voice. Not only did he understand his roles, but he put his own into them. The public took a liking to him, and the name of
18042.48 Gorgeon circulated pleasantly among men. It was repeated that Gorgeon had made a place for himself between Sainville and Alcide Tousez, and
18050.52 that he happily combined finesse and silliness. This metamorphosis from Orosmane to Jocrisse took eighteen
18057.68 months. At twenty-two, Gorgeon earned ten thousand francs, not counting the fires and profits. One does not advance so quickly in
18064.64 diplomacy. When he believed himself to be at the height of fame and fortune, he lost his head a little: we do not know what we would have done
18072.16 in his place. The astonishment of seeing furniture in his room and louis in his drawer troubled his reason. He led the life of a young man
18078.96 and learned to play lansquenet, which unfortunately is not difficult. No one would ruin themselves at gambling if all games were
18085.8 as complicated as chess. The poor boy persuaded himself, looking at his casket, that he was a
18091.2 son of family. When he left the theater on the 3rd of the month, with his salary in his pocket, he said to himself: I have a good man of a father,
18100.584 a hardworking, studious, and virtuous Gorgeon, who earned me a few crowns on the stage of the Palais-Royal: it’s up to me to make them roll!
18108.184 The crowns rolled so well that the year 1849 surprised him in the midst of a small crowd of creditors: he owed twenty thousand francs, and he was
18117.144 a little surprised: What! he said, at the time when I earned nothing, I owed nothing to anyone! The more I earn, the more I owe. Would
18125.384 people of all types of income have the privilege of putting their man in debt? His creditors came to see him every day, and he
18132.624 sincerely regretted disturbing so many people. It is not true that artists wallow in debt like fish in water.
18138.424 They are sensitive, like all other men, to the boredom of avoiding certain streets, of flinching at the ring of a doorbell, and of reading
18145.464 hieroglyphics on stamped paper. Gorgeon more than once regretted the time of his beginnings, that time, that happy time when the grocer and the
18153.504 milkmaid refused Orosmane any credit. One day, as he meditated sadly on the embarrassments that
18158.824 wealth brings, he cried out: Happy is he who has only the bare necessities! If I
18164.224 earned just enough to meet my needs, I would not commit follies, therefore no debts, and I could move freely in
18170.904 all the neighborhoods. Unfortunately, I have more than I need: it is this cursed superfluity that ruins me. I need five hundred francs a
18178.304 month, everything else is too much. Give me old parents to support, sisters to provide for, brothers to send to college! I will be enough for everything,
18187.384 and I will still find the means to pay my debts. But I am the only one of my race, and I have no family responsibilities.
18193.176 If only I married! He married, to save money, the most coquettish girl in his theater
18198.296 and in Paris. I am sure that you have not forgotten her, that little Pauline Rivière, whose wit and kindness served as a parachute for
18205.216 seven or eight vaudevilles. She spoke a little too quickly, but it was a pleasure to hear her stammer. Her small eyes, for they were
18212.136 small, seemed at times to spread over her whole face. She never opened her mouth without showing two rows of sharp teeth
18218.536 like those of a young wolf. Her shoulders were those of a person of all body types, a four-year-old child, pink and plump. Her black hair was so
18226.136 long that they made her play a Swiss girl expressly to display it. As for her hands, they were an object of curiosity like the feet of a
18232.176 Chinese woman. At seventeen, with no other fortune than her beauty, and no other ancestors than the head of the theater cheerleader, this pretty baby had
18240.936 almost metamorphosed into a marquise. A descendant of the Knights of the Round Table, a very marquis and a very Breton, had taken it into his head to
18247.856 marry her. It was a close call, and without the intervention of the Dowagers of Huelgoat and Sarravent, the matter was settled. But the
18254.776 anger of dowagers, as Solomon says, is terrible; especially that of Breton dowagers. Pauline remained Pauline as before; her
18262.416 marquisate fell into the water, and she was not so distressed as to go looking for it. She continued to lead five or six little
18268.176 loves of all conditions at great speed on the royal road to marriage. It was then that Gorgeon came to harness himself to his chariot. She received him as she
18274.016 received all her suitors, serious or frivolous, with a good, impartial grace. He was tall and well-built, and did not look too much like
18281.936 a porcelain brought back from China. He had neither puffy eyes, nor a hoarse voice, nor a blue chin. His demeanor was almost severe. He
18290.152 dressed like a member of the Comédie-Française. He paid his court. From the first day, Pauline found him well. After
18298.392 a month, she found him very well: that was in February 1849. In March, she found him better than all the others; in April, she fell in
18306.512 love with him, and made no secret of it. He expected to see his rivals rejected; but Pauline was in no hurry. The preparations
18313.712 for the wedding were made in the midst of a congestion of lovers that made Gorgeon impatient. He was not well anywhere, neither at home
18320.552 nor at Pauline’s: at her place, he found his rivals; at his, his creditors. He asked her one day quite pointedly if these gentlemen
18327.832 would not soon be sighing elsewhere. Are you jealous? she said. « No, although I made my debut in Orosmane.
18334.352  » « In town?  » « On stage. But I would play it in town if I were forced to.  » « Be quiet; you have a bad eye. » Why would you be jealous? You know
18342.272 very well that I love you. Jealousy is always a little ridiculous, but in our situation it is absurd. If you start it once, you will have to
18349.192 be jealous of the directors, the authors, the journalists and the public. The public courts me every night! What does that do to you?
18356.392 I love you, I tell you, I prove it to you by marrying you; if that were not enough for you, it is because you would be difficult.
18362.352 The marriage took place in the last days of April. The public had paid Gorgeon’s debts and the bride’s basket. It was
18368.712 the affair of two benefit performances. The first was given at the Odéon; the second, at the Italiens. All the theaters of Paris
18376.112 wanted to take part: Gorgeon and Pauline were loved everywhere. They
married in Saint-Roch, gave a grand luncheon at the restaurant,
18383.96 and left in the evening for Fontainebleau. The first quarter of their honeymoon lit up the tall trees of the old forest. Gorgeon
18390.48 was radiant like a king’s son. Around him, spring was bursting the buds of the trees. Everything was turning green, except
18397.52 the oaks, which are always late, as if their grandeur tied them to the shore. Marijuana and moss spread like a
18405.16 soft carpet under the feet of the two lovers. Pauline stuffed her pockets with white violets. They went out at dawn and returned at
18412.12 night. In the morning, they frightened the lizards; in the evening, the buzzing cockchafers threw themselves at their heads. On May 1, they went
18419.2 to the Sablons festival, which lasts from dusk to dawn under the tall beeches. All the young people of the area were there; the little
18425.92 bourgeois women of Moret, the winegrowers of Sablons and Veneux, and the beautiful girls of Thomery, peasants with white hands, whose job
18432.8 is to watch over the vines, thin out the bunches and remove the small grapes that bother people of all body types. All these
18440.68 young people admired Pauline; they took her for a local lady of the manor. She danced with all her heart until three o’clock in the morning, although
18447.08 she had a little sand in her boots. Then she walked, arm in arm with her husband, to the waiting carriage.
18453.48 They returned more than once their eyes to the festival that was taking shape behind them like a large red stain. The music of the minstrels,
18460.56 the sound of sugar whistles, the squeaking of rattles and the detonations of firecrackers reached their ears confusedly.
18466.52 Then they walked in a charming silence, lit by the moon and interrupted from minute to minute by the voice of a nightingale.
18473.28 Gorgeon felt moved; he let fall two good big tears. I swear to you that an elegiac poet could not have wept more, and the proof is
18481.16 that Pauline began to laugh and sob: How they would have fun, she said, if they saw us like this! It
18487.92 seems to me that we are two hundred leagues from the theater.  » Unfortunately, we will return there in three days.
18493.6  » « Bah! life is not made for crying. We will not love each other less for loving each other gaily. » Gorgeon was not jealous. When he reappeared at the Palais-Royal, he
18501.32 was not scandalized to hear the old actors addressing his wife informally as they were accustomed to. She was almost their
18508.36 adopted daughter; they had seen her as a child in the wings, and she remembered dancing on their knees. What bothered him more
18515.48 was seeing Pauline’s old admirers in the orchestra, opera glasses in hand. He had distractions, and his
18522.36 memory failed him several times; this was noticed, and he was a little mocked by his comrades. It was said that he was playing a supporting role. In the
18529.76 special language of the theater, the supporting roles are the traitors, the jealous, and all the characters in a dark mood. A bad joker
18536.36 asked him if he was not thinking of returning to the Odéon. He took all the gibes quite well; but he could not stomach the young men with opera glasses.
18543.84 Fortunately, he thought, these gentlemen will not come either on stage or to my house. Every time he went up to his dressing room by the
18550.4 dirty little staircase on the Rue Montpensier, he reread with a certain satisfaction the decree of the police prefect which forbade the entry
18557.52 of any person outside the theatre backstage. As a precaution,
18562.56 he accompanied Pauline whenever she played without him, and he took her with him whenever he played without her.
18568.512 Pauline asked for nothing better. She was coquettish and she readily threw smiles into the audience, but she loved her husband.
18574.992 The summer passed well; the orchestra was half empty; the handsome young men who so greatly displeased Gorgeon spent their leisure time in
18582.232 Baden-Baden, Biarritz or Trouville; M. de Gaudry, that Breton marquis who had been forced to marry Pauline, spent the fine season on his estate.
18590.792 The young couple lived in profound peace, and the honeymoon did not fade. But in December all of Paris had returned, and the Society of
18598.792 Dramatic Artists everywhere advertised a grand ball for February 1st. Gorgeon was commissioner and his wife was patroness. All the men
18606.152 who were even remotely interested in the theater ran to the patronesses to buy tickets; the beautiful saleswomen vied with each other in
18612.872 zeal, and it was a race to see who could get the most tickets. Gorgeon saw clearly that it would be impossible for him to keep his door closed. There was a
18620.192 tremendous coming and going on his stairs, and the yellow gloves wore out the cord of his bell . What could he do? He had to make himself a prisoner at
18628.432 home, he was rehearsing in two rooms, and his time was taken from noon to four o’clock. He rarely returned home without meeting
18634.312 some handsome gentleman who came downstairs humming a tune from his vaudevilles. When he found one near his wife, he had to
18641.232 put on a brave face, everyone being exquisitely polite to him. M. de Gaudry came to get a ticket, then he came back to get
18647.352 a second one for his brother. Then he lost his, and came back to get a third; then he wanted a fourth for a young man from his
18654.672 club, and so on until he got to twelve. Gorgeon drew his sword, he was first-rate with a pistol, but what good was it? M. de Gaudry had not
18662.992 never failed, quite the contrary. He congratulated him, he adulated him, he praised him to the skies; he said to him: My dear Gorgeon, you are an
18670.784 admirable joker. You have no equal when it comes to amusing people. Only yesterday you made me laugh so much that I had tears in
18677.384 my eyes. How comical you are, my dear Gorgeon! If the poor man had become angry, not only would everyone have agreed with him,
18684.224 but it would have been said that he had become mentally ill. Pauline loved him as much as on the first day, but she was very happy to
18690.184 see a few people and to hear compliments. The love of a few well-born and well-bred men did not bore her; she played with
18697.904 fire like a woman who is sure not to get burned. She kept a record of the passions she had experienced; She carefully noted the
18704.624 nonsense that had been said to her, and she laughed about it with her husband, who hardly laughed. When Gorgeon proposed outright that she close her door
18712.024 to the gallants, she sent him far away: I don’t want, she said,
18717.344 to make you ridiculous. Don’t worry; if one of these gentlemen were to dare to overstep the mark, I would know how to put him in his place. You
18725.144 can rely on me to look after your honor. But if we made a splash, all of Paris would know about it, and you would be singled out.
18732.704 He was imprudent enough to allude to these debates in front of his comrades at the theater. Gorgeon was teased; he was given the nickname Gorgeon
18741.264 the Tiger. He softened, he refrained from any remarks, he put on a good face to those who displeased him the most. His friends changed their
18749.144 tune, and called him Gorgeon-Dandin. No one would have thought of mocking him to his face, but that cursed name of Dandin hovered in the air
18757.064 around him. As he was about to enter the stage, he heard it behind a backdrop. He looked, and saw no one, the speaker had disappeared.
18764.568 He wanted to run further, impossible! unless he missed his entrance. Do not look for supernatural causes for this persecution; it
18772.288 is easily explained by the frivolity of Pauline, who was only a child, and by the natural malice of actors, who want to laugh at all costs.
18779.448 The jeers soured Gorgeon’s mood, and the good harmony of the household was broken. He quarreled with his wife. Pauline, strong in her
18786.688 innocence, stood up to him. She said: I do not want to be tyrannized. Gorgeon replied: I
18793.368 do not want to be ridiculous. Their mutual friends disagreed with the husband. If he was so touchy, why take a wife to the theater? He would have
18801.888 done better to marry a little bourgeois woman, no one would have gone to his house to chase her up. In the midst of these debates, the anniversary of
18808.608 their wedding passed without either of them having thought about it. They noticed it the next day, each on their own; Gorgeon said to himself:
18817.008 She must love me very little to have let it slip by. Pauline thought that her husband probably regretted having married her. M. de
18823.928 Gaudry, who was never far away, sent Pauline a bracelet. Gorgeon wanted to return it, with a thank you of his own; Pauline
18831.368 intended to keep it. Because you didn’t think of giving me a present, she said, you like to find fault with the slightest
18838.808 attentions from my friends! « Your friends are rogues whom I will correct.  » « You would do better to correct yourself. » I have believed until now
18845.728 that there were two classes of men above the others, gentlemen and artists: I now know what to think of
18851.608 artists. « You may think what you please, » said Gorgeon, taking his hat, « but it is no longer I who will provide a text for your
18858.208 comparisons. « Are you leaving?  » « Goodbye.  » « Where are you going?  » « You will find out.  » « Will you return?
18863.4  » « Never. »
Pauline was four months without news of her husband. They looked for him everywhere, even in the river. The public missed him; his roles
18870.92 were distributed to others. His wife mourned him sincerely; she had never ceased to love him. She kept her door closed to everyone
18878.76 , sent back the Marquis’s bracelet with horror, and rejected all consolations from men. She detested his coquetry and said,
18886.64 pulling at her beautiful hair: I killed my poor Gorgeon! Towards the end of September, a rumor spread that Gorgeon was not
18893.4 dead, and that he was the delight of Russia. Could the rascal be alive? thought the inconsolable Pauline. If it is true
18900.12 that he is well and that he made me cry for no reason, he will pay me for my tears. She tried to laugh; but the pain was stronger, and everything ended in
18908.76 a redoubled weeping. Eight days later, an anonymous friend, who was none other than M. de Gaudry,
18914.36 sent him the following article, cut from the Journal de Saint-Pétersbourg:
18919.64 On September 6 (18), in the presence of the court and before a brilliant assembly, the rival of Sainville and Alcide Tousez, the famous
18928.4 Gorgeon, made his debut at the Théâtre Michel, in La Sœur de Jocrisse. His success was complete, and the young defector from the Palais-Royal was
18935.96 showered with applause, bouquets, oranges and gifts of all kinds. One or two more such acquisitions, and our
18944.04 theater, already so rich, will no longer have an equal in Europe. Gorgeon is engaged at the rate of six thousand silver rubles and a profit per year. His
18951.36 penalty, which is insignificant, will be paid from the funds of the imperial theaters. Pauline no longer wept: the pretty widow entered the category of
18959.24 abandoned women. All of Paris agreed to pity her and blame her husband. After a year of living together, to leave an adorable woman about whom he
18967.248 had never had cause to complain! To leave her to her own devices at the age of eighteen! And all this without reason, without pretext, purely on a whim!
18973.848 What excuse could he offer? Jealousy? Pauline was the model of women; she had endured all the seductions without losing
18981.968 a feather of her wings. To add a final touch to the picture, it was said that Gorgeon was abandoning his wife without resources:
18989.208 as if she did not earn enough to live at the Palais-Royal! Her husband had left her all the money he possessed and some fine furniture,
18996.088 some of which she sold when she moved to the rue de la Fontaine-Molière, on the fourth floor.
19002.048 She inspired deep compassion in all the men, and especially in M. de Gaudry and his neighbors at the orchestra. But she did
19008.728 not allow any good soul in straw gloves to come and pity her at home. She lived alone with a cousin her own age who served as her
19015.968 cook and chambermaid. Her father was neither of much help nor much consolation to her: he drank. In her retirement, she
19023.528 wasted herself in useless projects and contradictory resolutions. Sometimes she wanted to sell everything she owned, embark for
19030.968 Petersburg and throw herself into the arms of her husband; sometimes she found it more just and more conjugal to go and tear out his eyes. Then she
19038.048 changed her mind; she wanted to stay in Paris, set an example of all virtues, edify the world by her widowhood and deserve the name of Penelope
19046.088 of the Palais-Royal. Her imagination also suggested other whims , but she did not stop there.
19051.408 Gorgeon, shortly after his debut, wrote her a letter full of tenderness. His anger had cooled, he no longer had his rivals
19059.6 before his eyes, he saw things sanely; he forgave, he asked forgiveness, he called his wife to him; he had
19065.88 found her an engagement. Unfortunately, these words of peace arrived at a time when Pauline, surrounded by three good friends, was stirring up her intolerance
19073.36 against her husband. Gorgeon, who was counting on a good response, was offended and wrote no more. In November, Pauline’s resentment, fueled by her friends,
19082.16 was still in all its strength. One morning, around eleven o’clock, she was dressing in front of her mirror to go to a rehearsal. Her cousin
19089.36 had gone to the market, leaving the key in the door. The young woman was taking off her last curls when she turned around with a cry
19096.68 of terror. She had seen in the mirror a little man, exceedingly ugly and furred up to his eyes with sable.
19102.08 Who are you? What do you want? Get out! One doesn’t come in like that…. Marie! she cried so hastily that her words fell one
19110.6 on top of the other. I don’t love you, you don’t please me, replied the little man, visibly embarrassed.
19116.16 « Do I love you? Get out!  » « I don’t love you, madame; you don’t….
19121.32  » « Insolent! Get out or I’ll call; I’ll cry ‘thief!’ I’ll throw myself out of the window!
19126.4  » The little man piteously clasped his hands and replied in a supplicating voice: « Forgive me; I didn’t mean to offend you. » I have traveled seven hundred
19135.0 leagues to propose something to you; I have just come from Saint Petersburg; I speak French badly; I have prepared what I was to say to you, and
19142.08 you have intimidated me so much…. He sat down, and passed a cambric handkerchief over his completely
19147.8 bare forehead. Pauline took advantage of this moment to throw a shawl over her shoulders. Madam, replied the good man, I do not love you…
19155.336 , excuse me, and do not be angry any more. Your husband has played a vile trick on me. I am
19161.736 Prince Vasilikof; I have a million in income, but I am only of the fourteenth class of nobility, having never served.
19168.816 –That is quite indifferent to me. –I know it well, but I had prepared what I was to say to you, and…. I continue. You see, madame, that I am neither very handsome,
19178.336 nor what one might call in the first flush of youth. Moreover, as I have grown older, I have acquired certain habits, or, if you will, certain
19185.016 nervous tics, which make people in society try to ridicule me . This did not prevent me from falling in love with a charming person from a
19191.656 very good family, and from asking her to marry me. Her parents had accepted me because of my fortune, and Varvara (her name is Varvara) was
19200.816 on the point of giving her consent, when your husband had the infernal idea….
19206.096 –To marry her? –No, but to make a caricature of myself on the stage and amuse the whole town at my expense. My marriage failed. After the first
19214.416 performance, I received my dismissal; at the second, Varvara became engaged to a little Finnish colonel who has not even a hundred thousand
19222.176 livres a year. –Well? –Well, I have resolved that I will take revenge on Gorgeon; and, if you
19227.216 want to help me, your fortune is made. I do not love you, although you are very pretty, and no woman can please me,
19233.856 except Varvara. The proposals I bring you are therefore perfectly honorable, and I beg you not to be surprised at
19241.176 what may be extraordinary in them. Would you like to leave for Saint Petersburg in an excellent post-chaise? You will find,
19246.776 on the Place du Palais-Michel, a hundred steps from the theater, a magnificent hotel which belongs to me and which I give you. The people of the house are
19255.056 my mougicks who will obey you blindly. The head waiter and the steward are French; you are free to take with you a
19262.04 chambermaid and a lady-in-waiting; you will have two carriages at your command. At the theater, I have rented for you a proscenium on the
19269.68 ground floor. I will provide for all the expenses of your house; my steward will count you every month the sum which you
19276.56 indicate to him; Finally, the day before you leave Paris, I will deposit with your notary as much capital as you
19284.12 please to ask for. I am not talking about a trifle of fifty to sixty thousand francs, but a fortune of two to three hundred thousand:
19290.32 you will only have to speak. Pauline had had time to recover. She crossed her arms, and looked her strange interlocutor in the face:
19299.08 My dear sir, she said to him, who do you take me for? « An honest woman shamefully abandoned, and who has a thousand reasons
19304.84 to take revenge on her husband.  » « There is some truth in what you say; but if I were to take revenge on Gorgeon, I would do it as an honest woman and I would not take
19313.0 a partner.  » « Madame, allow me to repeat to you again, at the risk of displeasing you, that I do not love you; on the other hand, I respect you
19320.88 very much, and I consider you to be a very honest woman. There is more : I esteem the character of your husband , although he treated me very
19327.76 cruelly. If I believed that he was indifferent to his honor, I would seek another form of revenge. Here is what I ask of you, in
19335.48 exchange for an assured fortune. Do not be alarmed too soon. You will owe me neither love, nor friendship, nor gratitude, nor complaisance. » I
19344.52 will promise, on my honor, not to set foot in your house. We will never go out together; you will be free to do what you want; you
19352.52 will receive whomever you wish, without excluding your husband. All I ask… Pauline opened both ears.
19358.624 All I ask is a seat next to you, in your box, for eight performances. Gorgeon made the court laugh at my
19366.224 expense: I want to put the laughers on my side. The young woman knew her husband’s proud temper well enough to know
19371.984 that such revenge would be cruel. She thought of the terrible consequences that could follow. You are mentally ill, she said to the prince; don’t you have a hundred other ways
19381.224 of punishing my husband? How difficult it would be for you to send him to Siberia for two or three months! « Very difficult. In your country, there are prejudices about Siberia.
19389.864 Besides, despite my title and my fortune, I am not a personage, because I have never served. »
19395.344 « I hear. » She thought for a few minutes, then continued: « In two words, here is the deal you are proposing to me: a fortune in exchange for my
19402.264 reputation!  » « Not even that; I have no interest in losing your honor. You will have the right to publish the conditions of our deal at any time. For
19410.504 my part, I undertake to justify myself to the best of my ability; I am only concerned with the dramatic twist. Once the effect has been produced, you will regain your
19417.464 reputation. You see, then, that for you this is only a role to play. I engage you for eight performances, at a price that no
19424.544 director ever offered to an actress, and I leave you free to tell everyone: It’s a comedy. »
19430.184 The debates continued until Marie’s return. Pauline asked for time to deliberate, and the matter was postponed for eight days. In
19436.624 the meantime, the young woman’s friends unanimously advised her to accept the prince’s offers. Some were delighted to see her
19443.184 leave, others were delighted to know she was compromised. She was told of her husband’s unforgivable wrongs, the sweetness
19450.36 of revenge, the singularity of such a new role, and the profits she would derive from it. She listened with a distracted ear, as if
19456.96 thinking of something else. Explain who will the oddities of the female heart! What would you think if I told you that she accepted these
19464.8 absurd proposals, and that she consented to this unfortunate journey, because she was dying to see her husband again?
19471.0 What proves that she was disinterested is that she refused Prince Vasilikof’s money. It took prayers to make her
19478.0 accept the dazzling outfits which were, so to speak, the costumes of her role. She left on December 1st, by post, with her
19485.36 cousin Marie. She arrived on the 15th, in a magnificent sleigh bearing the prince’s coat of arms . The whole town was moved by this; Vasilikof had arrived two
19493.36 days before, and no one was unaware of the great news, neither the Russians, nor the French, nor Gorgeon.
19499.8 Pauline was already repenting her escapade. The eagerness of the Public curiosity gave her food for thought. All the men she
19506.36 saw in the street or on the Prospect reminded her of her husband’s appearance; all men look alike under their coats.
19513.36 The prince gave her two weeks to recover; she was then given another week’s extension, because Gorgeon was not performing. She
19520.68 looked at the posters as the condemned, during the Terror, read the executioner’s lists. She enjoyed neither her clothes, nor her
19527.68 house, nor the prodigious luxury with which she was surrounded. Her drawing room was considered one of the marvels of Petersburg. The walls were of
19534.44 white Paros, and the furniture of old Beauvais with figures. The windows had no curtains other than six large ponceau camellias,
19541.28 trained in espaliers. In the middle, under an enormous rock crystal chandelier , was a circular divan shaded by a weeping camellia,
19549.192 a true horticultural miracle. Pauline barely paid any attention to it. Her cook, an illustrious Provençal whom Vasilikof had stolen from a
19558.392 prince-bishop of Germany, exhausted all the resources of his imagination in vain; Pauline was no longer hungry. She was, however, a
19565.872 little too greedy when she ate dinner at the Café Anglais with her husband. On January 6 (new style), the notice that was being taken to her house
19574.672 informed her that Gorgeon was playing that evening in Madelon’s Dinner. It seemed to her that she had received a blow to the heart. She wanted to write to her
19582.712 husband. She had a tender and supplicating letter delivered to Gorgeon’s house in which she faithfully recounted everything that had happened. I don’t know
19590.352 what to become of it, she said; I am alone, without support or advice. The day we were married, you promised me help and protection;
19598.032 come to my aid! She slipped into the envelope a small dried flower kept between two pages of her Molière; it was a
19605.752 white violet from Fontainebleau. Unfortunately, the man who delivered this letter to Gorgeon wore Prince Vasilikof’s livery.
19611.992 That evening, at seven o’clock, Pauline let herself be dressed like the dead. She vaguely hoped that the prince would take pity on her and
19619.312 spare her his company; but as she got out of the carriage, in front of the little door of the vestibule, she saw him running eagerly and radiant.
19627.592 She followed him, staggering, to her box, which was at the level of the footlights, and threw herself into an armchair, without seeing that the entire audience
19635.472 was staring at her. The theater was full; the Russians were celebrating Christmas. The management allows the tenant of a
19642.592 box to pile in as many people as it can physically contain. The hemicycle was literally carpeted with heads, all
19648.72 looking at Vasilikof’s box. When the curtain rose, Pauline felt dizzy. She saw before her an abyss full of fire,
19656.64 and she clung to the balustrade to keep from falling into it. Gorgeon had armored himself with courage and indifference. He had hidden
19664.0 his pallor under a thick layer of rouge, but he had forgotten to paint his lips; they became livid. He was sufficiently self-possessed
19671.32 to preserve his memory, and he played his part to the end. The evening was stormy. The audience at the Michel Theatre is composed of two
19679.84 very distinct elements: the great Russian world, which understands French, and the French colony. There are more than six thousand French people in Petersburg,
19687.48 and all of them, whoever they may be, tutors, merchants, hairdressers, or cooks, are crazy about the theatre. The Russians had admired Vasilikof’s coup
19695.24 d’état, and even those who had applauded his caricature two months earlier had turned to his side. The French
19702.48 idolized Gorgeon; they covered him with applause. The Russians responded with ironic applause, clapping their hands
19708.76 at every turn and out of place. After the curtain fell, they called him back so obstinately that he was forced to return. Pauline was
19716.04 more dead than alive. The next day, they gave The Misanthrope and The Auvergnat. Gorgeon was
19721.28 truly admirable in the role of Mâchavoine. The French had brought crowns; the Russians threw ridiculous crowns at him.
19727.56 A bad joker shouted to him: « Bless you madame! » He was crying
19732.92 with rage when he returned to his dressing room. There he found a letter from Pauline, a letter wet with tears. He trampled it underfoot, tore it into
19740.56 a thousand pieces and threw it into the fire. After these two horrible evenings, Pauline, terrified by her
19746.728 husband’s silence, begged the prince to spare her the rest. Wasn’t Gorgeon punished enough? Wasn’t Vasilikof avenged enough?
19754.528 The prince was conciliatory: he remitted half of Gorgeon’s sentence, and decided that the day after tomorrow, after the performance, Pauline
19762.448 would be free to spend her time as she saw fit. « You have to be fair, » he said, « Gorgeon has played me eight times in two weeks;
19769.408 but evenings like this must count double. » After the fourth, honor will be satisfied.
19774.968 A very cheerful vaudeville by Messrs. Xavier and Varin, La Colère d’Achille, was to be given for two consecutive days . It was almost a piece of
19782.288 circumstance. Achille Pangolin is a modern Sganarelle who believes he finds everywhere the proofs of his imaginary disgrace.
19789.328 Everything is a matter of suspicion to him , from the meowing of his cat to the interjections of his parrot. If he finds a cane in his house,
19796.328 he believes it has been left by a rival, and he tears it to pieces before recognizing that it is his own. He forgets his hat in
19803.208 his wife’s room; he returns, he finds it, he seizes it, he crushes it: he searches in every corner for the owner of this cursed
19811.368 hat. In the excess of his despair, he wants to end his life, and he loads a pistol to blow out his brains. But a scruple
19818.368 stops him on such a fine path. He wants to destroy himself, but he doesn’t want to hurt himself: death attracts him and pain bothers him. To
19826.008 reconcile his horror of life and his tenderness for himself, he stands in front of a mirror and harms himself in effigy.
19833.208 The Wrath of Achilles was a resounding success at the Théâtre Michel. All the words carried! Two hours before the performance, Gorgeon had
19840.128 refused to receive a visit from his wife. He played the rage au naturel. Unfortunately, the theater’s pistol was a venerable relic
19848.064 taken from the props store: it misfired. A lord of
19853.584 the orchestra cried out in bad French: Bad luck! After the performance, as the stage manager apologized, Gorgeon
19861.104 said to him: It’s nothing. I have a pistol at home, I’ll bring it tomorrow. He came with a double-barreled pistol, a fine weapon, indeed
19868.544 . You see, he said to the stage manager: if the first shot misses, I have the second. He played with a zest that had never been seen in him.
19875.624 In the last scene, instead of aiming at the ice, he turned the cannon toward his wife and killed her. He then blew his own brains out. The performance
19883.024 was interrupted. This adventure caused a great stir in Petersburg. It was Prince Vasilikof who told it to me. Would you believe,
19889.864 he said to me in closing, that this Gorgeon and this Pauline had married for love? That’s how you are in Paris!
19895.584 THE MARQUISE’S MOTHER. Chapter 16. This is an old story that will soon be ten years old.
19900.864 On April 15, 1846, the following announcement was published in all the major newspapers of Paris
19906.144 : A young man of good family, a former student of a government school , having studied mining, smelting, forging,
19915.904 accounting, and timber exploitation for ten years, would like to find honorable employment in his specialty. Write to Paris, poste restante
19924.184 at MLMDO The owner of the beautiful forges of Arlange, Mrs. Benoît, was then in Paris, in her small hotel on the rue Saint-Dominique; but she
19931.744 never read the newspapers. Why would she have read them? She was not looking for an employee for her forge, but a husband for her daughter.
19938.864 Mrs. Benoît, whose mood and appearance have changed considerably over the past ten years, years old, was at that time a perfectly amiable person.
19945.152 She
was delightfully enjoying that second youth which nature does not grant to all women, and which extends between the fortieth
19953.312 and fiftieth year. Her somewhat majestic plumpness gave her the appearance of a very full-blown flower, but no one seeing her
19961.232 thought of a faded flower. Her small eyes sparkled with the same fire as at twenty; her hair had not turned white, her teeth
19969.272 had not lengthened; her cheeks and chins shone with that vigorous, shiny, and down-free freshness which distinguishes the
19976.672 second youth from the first. Her arms and shoulders would have been the envy of many young women. Her foot had been a little crushed under
19984.832 the weight of her body, but her small, pink, plump hand still shone amidst the rings and bracelets like a jewel among
19991.752 jewels. The inner side of such an accomplished person corresponded exactly to the outer side. Madame Benoît’s mind was as lively as her eyes. Her face
19999.992 was no more radiant than her character. Laughter never dried up on that pretty mouth; her beautiful little hands were
20007.112 always open to give. Her soul seemed made of good humor and good will. To those who marveled at such sustained gaiety
20015.392 and such universal benevolence, Madame Benoît replied: What do you expect? I was born happy. My past contains nothing but
20023.232 pleasantness, except for a few hours long forgotten; the present is like a cloudless sky; as for the future, I am sure, I
20030.312 have it. You see that one would have to be mad to complain about fate or take a dislike to the human race! As there is nothing perfect in this world, Madame Benoît had a
20038.752 fault, but an innocent fault, which had never harmed anyone but herself. She was, although ambition seems a privilege of the
20046.344 ugly sex, passionately ambitious. I regret not having found another word to express her only failing; for, to tell the truth, Madame Benoît’s ambition
20053.624 had nothing in common with that of other men. She aimed neither at fortune nor honors: the forges of Arlange
20061.464 brought in a fairly regular income of one hundred and fifty thousand francs; and, as for the rest, Madame Benoît was not a woman to accept anything from the
20068.704 government of 1846. What was she pursuing then? Very little. So little, that you would not understand me if I did not first recount in
20076.984 a few lines the youth of Madame Benoît née Lopinot. Gabrielle-Auguste-Éliane Lopinot was born in the heart of the Faubourg
20082.824 Saint-Germain, on the banks of that blessed stream in the Rue du Bac, which Madame de Staël preferred to all the rivers of Europe.
20089.504 His parents, bourgeois up to their chins, sold novelties under the sign of the Bon Saint Louis, and quietly accumulated a
20096.304 colossal fortune. Their well-known principles, their enthusiasm for the monarchy and the respect they displayed for the nobility
20103.744 kept them a clientele throughout the suburb. M. Lopinot, as a well-trained supplier, never sent a bill unless it
20110.744 had been requested. It has never been heard of him taking a recalcitrant debtor to court. Thus the descendants of the crusaders often went
20117.464 bankrupt at the Bon Saint Louis; but those who pay, pay for others. This estimable merchant, surrounded by
20125.184 illustrious people, some of whom robbed him and others of whom allowed themselves to be robbed, gradually came to uniformly despise his noble clientele.
20132.624 He was seen very humble and very respectful in the shop; but he would get up as if by spring when he returned home.
20138.52 He astonished his wife and daughter with the freedom of his judgments and the audacity of his maxims. Madame Lopinot almost crossed herself devoutly when she
20147.88 heard him say after drinking: I am very fond of marquises, and they seem good people to me; but at no price would I want a marquis
20155.08 for a son-in-law. This was not Gabrielle-Auguste-Éliane’s plan. She would have been quite happy with a marquis, and, since each of us must play
20163.24 a role in this world, she preferred the role of marquise. This child, accustomed to seeing carriages pass by like
20170.4 peasant children to seeing swallows fly, had lived in perpetual amazement. Prone to infatuation, like all young girls,
20177.28 she had admired the objects that surrounded her: hotels, horses, dresses and liveries. At twelve, a great name exercised a sort
20185.4 of fascination on her ear; at fifteen, she felt seized by a profound respect for what is called the Faubourg Saint-Germain,
20192.6 that is to say, for this incomparable aristocracy which believes itself superior to all mankind by right of birth. When she
20198.84 was old enough to marry, the first idea that came to her was that a stroke of fortune could bring her into those hotels whose
20205.08 carriage entrances she gazed at, seat her beside those radiant grand ladies whom she dared not look in the face, involve her in those
20212.92 conversations which she believed to be more witty than the finest books and more interesting than the best novels. After all,
20218.28 she thought, it doesn’t take a great miracle to lower the insurmountable barrier before me. It’s enough that my figure or my dowry should
20225.44 win over a count, a duke, or a marquis. Her ambition was aimed above all at the marquisate, and for good reason.
20231.16 There are dukes and counts of recent creation who are not received in the suburb; while all
20237.72 marquises without exception are old stock, for since Molière they have stopped making them. I suppose that if she had been left to her own devices, she would have
20245.52 found the man she wanted for a husband without a lantern. But she lived under her mother’s wing, in profound solitude, where M.
20253.12 Lopinot came from time to time to offer her the hand of a lawyer, a notary, or a stockbroker. She disdainfully refused all
20260.64 matches until 1829. But one fine morning she realized that she was twenty-five years old, and she suddenly married M. Morel, ironmaster
20268.88 at Arlange. He was an excellent commoner, whom she would have loved like a marquis if she had had the time. But he died
20276.76 on July 31, 1830, six months after the birth of her daughter. The beautiful widow was so outraged by the July Revolution that she
20285.04 almost forgot to mourn her husband. The embarrassments of the succession and the care of the forges kept her in Arlange until the cholera of 1832,
20293.64 which took away her father and mother in a few days. She then returned to Paris, sold the Bon Saint Louis, and bought her mansion on
20300.8 the rue Saint-Dominique, between the Count of Preux and the Marshal of Lens. She settled with her daughter in her new home, and it
20307.92 was not without secret joy that she saw herself lodged in a mansion of noble appearance, between a Count and a Marshal. Its furniture was
20314.04 richer than that of her neighbors, its greenhouse larger, its horses of better breed and its carriages better suspended. However,
20321.04 she would have gladly given greenhouse, furniture, horses and carriages to
20326.08 have the right to be a neighbor at all. The walls of her garden were no more than four meters high, and, on quiet summer evenings
20333.04 , she heard people talking, sometimes at the Count’s, sometimes at the Marshal’s. Unfortunately, she was not allowed to take part in
20339.8 the conversation. One morning, her gardener brought her an old cockatoo that he had taken from a tree. She blushed with pleasure when she recognized it as
20348.04 the Marshal’s parrot. She would not allow anyone the pleasure of returning this beautiful bird to her mistress, and, at the risk of having
20355.52 her hands torn to pieces by the pecks, she carried it back herself. But she was received by a person of all kinds, a steward, who thanked her worthily on the
20363.2 doorstep. A few days later, the children of the Count of Preux sent a brand new balloon into her flowerbeds. Fearing
20370.08 that she would be thanked by a steward, she returned the balloon to the Countess through one of her servants, with a very witty letter
20377.8 in the most aristocratic style. It was the children’s tutor, a real pedant, who replied. The pretty widow (she was
20386.08 then in the height of her beauty) was displeased by his advances. She sometimes said to herself in the evening, when she returned home: Fate is so
20393.48 ridiculous! I have the right to enter as much as I want at number 57, and I am not allowed to enter for a quarter of an hour at 59 or 55!
20401.88 Her only acquaintances in the world of the suburb were a few of her father’s debtors, from whom she took care not to ask for
20408.24 money. As a reward for her discretion, these honorable people sometimes received her in the morning. At midday, she could undress:
20416.52 all her visits were made. The forge manager tore her away from this intolerable life by
20421.88 calling her back to her business. Arriving in Arlange, she found there what she had searched in vain throughout Paris: the key to the Faubourg
20427.88 Saint-Germain. One of her country neighbors had been sheltering the Marquis de Kerpry, a captain in the 2nd Dragoon Regiment, for three months. The
20435.92 Marquis was a man of forty, a bad officer, a bon vivant, always lively, insured against old age, and famous for his debts,
20444.04 his duels, and his pranks. Moreover, rich in his pay, that is to say, excessively poor. I have my marquisate! thought the beautiful
20452.92 Éliane. She paid court to the Marquis, and the Marquis did not hold it against her. Two months later, he sent his resignation to the Ministry of
20459.48 Battle and took the widow of M. Morel to church. In accordance with the law, the marriage was posted in the commune of Arlange, in the 10th
20467.12 arrondissement of Paris, and in the captain’s last garrison. The groom’s birth certificate, drawn up during the Terror, bore only the
20475.04 common name of Benoît, but a certificate of public notoriety was attached attesting that within living memory Mr. Benoît was known as the Marquis de
20482.68 Kerpry. The new marquise began by opening her salons in the nearby Faubourg Saint-Germain: for the suburb extends to the
20490.32 borders of France. After dazzling all the squires in the area with her luxury, she wanted to go to Paris to take revenge on the past; and she told
20498.48 her husband of this plan. The captain frowned and declared bluntly that he was happy in Arlange. The cellar was good, the cuisine to his
20506.36 taste, the hunting magnificent; he asked for nothing more. The Faubourg Saint-Germain was as new to him as America: he
20514.36 had no relatives, friends, or acquaintances there. Good heavens!
20520.408 cried poor Éliane, must I have stumbled upon the only marquis on earth who doesn’t know the Faubourg Saint-Germain!
20527.488 This was not her only disappointment. She soon realized that her husband drank absinthe four times a day, not to mention another
20534.008 liqueur called vermouth, which he had brought from Paris for his own personal use. The captain’s reason did not always resist these
20541.048 repeated libations, and when he lost his senses, it was most often to fly into a rage. His vivacity spared
20548.688 no one, not even Éliane, who came to wish for nothing more than to be a marquise. This event happened sooner than she
20556.328 had hoped. One day the captain was ill from having behaved too well the day before. His head was heavy and his eyes were aching. Sitting in the
20563.688 largest armchair in the living room, he was sadly polishing his long red mustache. His wife, standing by a samavar, was pouring him
20572.368 enormous cups of tea one after the other. A servant announced Monsieur le Comte de Kerpry. The captain, sick as he was,
20580.728 suddenly stood up. Didn’t you tell me you were without relatives? asked Éliane. little surprised.
20586.168 « I didn’t know, » replied the captain, « and I want the devil to take me… But we’ll see. Let me in! »
20592.968 The captain smiled disdainfully when he saw a young man of twenty appear, almost childlike in his beauty. He was of
20599.928 reasonable height, but so frail and delicate that one might have thought he hadn’t finished growing. His long blue eyes looked around
20607.488 them with a sort of fierce timidity. When he saw the beautiful Éliane, his face flushed like an espalier peach. The timbre of his
20615.288 voice was soft, fresh, limpid, almost feminine. If it weren’t for the brown mustache
20620.392 that delicately traced itself on his lip, one might have taken him for a young girl disguised as a man.
20626.272 « Sir, » he said to the captain, half turning towards Éliane,  » although I don’t have the honor of being known to you, I have come
20633.072 to speak to you about family matters. » Our conversation, which will be long, will doubtless contain some tedious chapters, and I fear that madame
20640.152 will be bored by it. « You are wrong to be afraid, sir, » continued Éliane, puffing herself up. « The Marquise de Kerpry wants and must know all the
20647.872 family affairs, and, since you are a relative of my husband…  » « That is what I still do not know, madame, but we will decide it
20655.392 soon, and in front of you, since you wish it and monsieur seems to consent. » The captain listened with a dazed air, without really understanding. The young
20663.232 count turned towards him as if to take him to task. « Sir, » he said, « I am the eldest son of the Marquis de Kerpry, who
20670.792 is known throughout the Faubourg Saint-Germain, and who has his mansion on the Rue Saint-Dominique.  » « What luck! » cried Éliane giddily.
20677.272 The count responded to this exclamation with a cold and ceremonious bow. He continued:
20682.312 Sir, as my father, my grandfather, and my great-grandfather were only children, and there have never been two branches in the family, you
20690.352 will excuse the astonishment that seized us the day we learned from the newspapers of the marriage of a Marquis de Kerpry.
20696.152 « So I had no right to marry? » asked the captain, rubbing his eyes. « I am not saying that, sir. We have at home, besides the
20704.632 family tree, all the papers that establish our right to bear the name Kerpry. If you are our relative, as I
20711.032 desire, I have no doubt that you also have in your hands some family papers.  » « What’s the use? Paperwork proves nothing, and everyone knows
20718.92 who I am.  » « You are right, sir, it doesn’t take many parchments to establish solid proof; A birth certificate is enough,
20726.6 with… –Sir, my birth certificate bears the name Benoît. It is dated 1794. Do you understand?
20733.8 –Perfectly, sir, and, despite this circumstance, I still hope to be your relative. Were you born in Kerpry or in
20740.84 the surrounding area? –Kerpry?… Kerpry? Where do you take Kerpry? –But where it has always been: three leagues from Dijon, on the road to
20748.08 Paris. –Eh! sir, what does it matter to me? Since Robespierre sold the family property….
20753.72 –You have been misinformed, sir. It is true that the land and the château were put up for sale as émigré property, but they did not
20760.28 find a buyer, and HM King Louis XVIII deigned to return them to my father. The captain had gradually emerged from his torpor; this last incident
20769.2 finally woke him up. He walked with clenched fists towards his frail adversary and shouted in his face:
20775.96 My little sir, I have been the Marquis of Kerpry for forty years, and whoever takes my name from me will have a strong wrist.
20783.52 The count turned pale with anger, but he remembered the presence of Eliane, who was stretched out, devastated, on a chaise longue. He replied in a
20790.84 casual tone : My great sir, although the judgments of God are out of fashion, I would willingly accept the means of conciliation that you
20798.12 offer me, if I alone were interested in the matter. But I represent here my father, my brothers and an entire family, who would have reason to complain
20804.96 if I were to play their interests at stake. Allow me then to return to Paris. The courts will decide which of us usurps the
20812.48 name of the other. Thereupon the count did a pirouette, bowed low to the supposed marquise, and returned to his post-chaise before the captain could
20820.984 think of detaining him. The samavar was no longer boiling; but it was not tea that was at issue between the captain and his wife. Éliane wanted to know whether
20828.624 or not she was the Marquise de Kerpry. The impetuous Benoît, who had just used up his remaining patience, forgot himself to the point of beating the
20835.064 prettiest woman in the department. These were the circumstances to which Madame Benoît was referring when she spoke of a few
20842.144 unpleasant hours long forgotten. The Kerpry vs. Kerpry trial was not long in coming.
20848.664 Although Mr. Benoît repeated through his lawyer that he had always heard himself called Marquis de Kerpry, he was ordered to sign Benoît and
20855.544 pay the costs. The day he received this news, he wrote the young count a letter of gross abuse, signed Benoît. The
20863.344 following Sunday, around eight o’clock in the morning, he returned home on a stretcher, with ten centimeters of iron in his body. He had been in a fight, and the count’s sword
20870.744 had broken in the wound. Éliane, who was still asleep, arrived just in time to receive his apologies and farewells.
20878.384 If this adventure had not caused a terrible scandal, the province would not be the province. The neighboring squires
20884.664 displayed a comical exasperation: they would have liked to take back from the false marquise the visits they had made to her. The widow
20892.224 did not hear the noise around her: she was weeping. It was not that she regretted anything about M. Benoît, whose faults, small
20900.424 and large, had forever corrected her from marriage; but she deplored her betrayed confidence, her lost hopes, her narrowed horizon, her
20908.864 ambition condemned to impotence. If you want to paint the state of her soul, imagine a fakir to whom it is made known that he will
20915.088 never see Wichnou. From the depths of her retreat, she cast over the Faubourg Saint-Germain the glances of Eve driven from earthly paradise.
20921.808 One morning as she wept under a bower of flowering clematis (it was in the summer of 1834), her daughter ran past her.
20930.088 She stopped the child by her dress and kissed her five or six times, reproaching herself for thinking less of her daughter than of her sorrows. When
20936.488 she had kissed her thoroughly, she looked at her face and was satisfied with the examination. At four and a half years old, little Lucile announced a
20944.408 fine and aristocratic beauty. Her features were charming; the attachments of her feet and hands, exquisite. Éliane searched in vain in her memory,
20952.008 she did not remember having seen a single child of such a distinguished type playing at the Tuileries. She gave a last kiss to the little one,
20958.888 who took a flight. Then she wiped her eyes, and since then she has not cried. But where was my head? she murmured, resuming her happiest
20966.968 smile. All is not lost; everything can be arranged; everything is arranged; it is good; it is for the best! I will go in; it is a
20974.608 matter of patience; It will take time, but these proud doors will open before me. I will not be a marquise, no; I have been
20982.448 married enough, and I will not be caught out again. The marquise, there she is, stamping her feet in the strawberries. I will choose a marquis for her, a good one:
20990.448 my experience must be of some use. I will be the real mother of a real marquise! She will be received everywhere, and so will I; celebrated
20996.968 everywhere, and so will I; she will dance with dukes, and so will I… I will watch her dance, unless these gentlemen of 1830 make it a law
21005.624 to leave mothers in the cloakroom! From that moment on, her only concern was to prepare her daughter for the
21011.144 role of marquise. She dressed her like a doll, taught her the various grimaces that make up grand manners, and taught her
21017.984 to curtsy, while her governess taught her the alphabet. Unfortunately, little Lucile was not born in the Rue du
21024.264 Bac. She woke to the song of birds and not to the rumble of carriages, and she saw more villagers in blouses than footmen
21031.744 in livery. She did not listen to the lessons in aristocracy that her mother gave her any better than her mother had listened to M. Lopinot’s diatribes
21037.664 against the marquises. The minds of children are formed by everything that surrounds them; they have their ears open to a hundred tutors at once; The
21045.024 sounds of the countryside and the sounds of the street speak to them much louder than the most intractable pedant or the most rigorous father.
21050.744 Madame Benoît preached in vain: the first pleasures of the young marquise were to fight with the little girls of the village, to roll in the
21058.464 sand in a new dress, to steal hot eggs from the henhouse, and to be dragged by a person of all body types, a Scottish hound that she pulled by the
21067.304 tail. Watching her play in the garden, an attentive observer would have guessed the blood of goodman Morel and Father Lopinot. Her mother lamented that she
21075.104 found in her neither pride, nor vanity, nor the simplest gesture of coquetry. She watched with feverish impatience the day
21081.544 when Lucile would despise someone, but Lucile opened her heart and her arms to all the good people around her, from Margot the
21088.864 cowherd to the blackest worker in the forge. When she grew up, her tastes changed a little, but not in
21094.92 the way her mother had desired. She took an interest in the garden, the orchard, the flock, the farmyard, the factory, housekeeping, and even (why
21103.96 not say so?) cooking. She kept an eye on the fruiterer, she studied the art of making jams, she worried about pastry.
21110.96 Strange thing! The people of the house, instead of growing impatient with her supervision, were very grateful to her for it. They
21119.28 understood, better than Madame Benoît, how wonderful it is for a woman to learn early order, care, a wise and liberal
21126.4 economy, and those obscure talents which make the charm of a house and the joy of the guests to whom she opens her door.
21132.96 Madame Benoît’s lessons had borne strange fruits. However, they were not entirely lost. The governess was stern
21139.52 out of love for her daughter, impatient out of love for the marquisate, and angry by temperament. She lost patience so often that Lucile became afraid
21147.0 of her mother. The poor child heard herself repeating every day: You know nothing about anything, you understand nothing about anything, you are so
21154.24 lucky to have me! She naively persuaded herself that she was very lucky to have Madame Benoît. She believed herself, in all honesty, to be foolish and
21161.6 incapable; and, instead of being sorry for it, she satisfied all her tastes, gave in to all her inclinations, was happy, loved, and charming.
21170.24 Madame Benoît was so eager to enjoy life and the suburb that she would have married her daughter at fifteen if she could have. But Lucile
21176.68 at fifteen was still only a little girl. The awkward age extended beyond the ordinary limits for her.
21183.672 It is noteworthy that village children are less precocious than those in towns: it is doubtless for the same reason that wildflowers
21191.832 lag behind those in gardens. At sixteen, Lucile began to take shape. She was still a bit of a nobody of all body types, a bit ruddy,
21200.752 a bit awkward; however, her clumsiness, her thinness and her red arms were not scarecrows to frighten off love. She resembled
21208.592 those chaste statues that the German sculptors of the Renaissance carved cathedrals in stone; but no fanatic of
21214.632 Greek art would have disdained to play the role of Pygmalion in her presence. Her mother said to her one fine morning, while closing five or six trunks: I am going to
21221.552 Paris to look for a marquis whom you will marry. « Yes, Mama, » she replied without objection. She had known for
21227.872 years that she was to marry a marquis. A single worry preoccupied her, without her ever having dared to reveal it to anyone. In the living room of a
21235.072 friend of her mother’s, Madame Mélier, while leafing through an album of costumes, she had seen a colored engraving representing a marquis. He was a little
21243.192 old man dressed in a costume from the time of Louis XV, short breeches, shoes with gold buckles, a sword with a steel hilt, a hat with plumes,
21250.392 a coat with sequins. This image was so well lodged in one of the compartments of her memory that it presented itself at the mere name of marquis, and the
21257.672 poor child could not persuade herself that there were other marquises on earth. She believed them all drawn after the same model, and
21264.072 she wondered with dread how she could prevent herself from laughing while holding her husband’s hand.
21269.472 While she abandoned herself to these innocent terrors, Madame Benoît set out in search of a marquis. She soon found one.
21275.712 Among her father’s debtors with whom she had maintained relations, the most amiable was the old Baron de Subressac. Not only
21283.192 was he always there for her, but he even did her the honor of coming to lunch at her house, alone. These familiarities were not
21289.312 compromising, for a man of seventy-five. She asked him one day, between the last two glasses of a bottle of Tokay wine:
21297.032 Baron, do you sometimes attend to weddings? « Never, charming, since there have been houses for that. »
21304.232 The Baron called her paternally charming.  » But, » she continued without flinching, « what if it were a question of doing
21311.152 two of your friends a favor?  » « If you were one of them, madame, I would do anything you ordered me to do.
21316.352  » « You are at the heart of the matter. I know a sixteen -year-old girl, pretty, well-bred, who has never been to boarding school, an angel! But,
21323.192 in fact, I don’t see why I should be secretive: she is my daughter. Her dowry, first of all, is this mansion: I
21330.672 mention it only for the record; plus a forest of four hundred hectares; plus a forge that works all by itself and brings in one hundred and fifty thousand
21337.632 francs in the worst years. On top of that, she will have to give me an income of fifty thousand francs, which, added to a few little
21344.312 things I have, will be enough for me to live on. We say then: a hotel, a forest and a hundred thousand francs income.
21350.912 –That’s very nice. –Wait! For very delicate reasons, which I am not permitted to divulge, my daughter must marry a marquis; we are not
21358.84 asking for money; we will be very lenient about age, intelligence, appearance, and all external advantages; what we want is a
21367.04 proven marquis, of good stock, well-connected, known throughout the suburb, and who can present himself proudly everywhere, with his wife
21374.2 and family. Do you know, Monsieur le Baron, a marquis whom you would love enough to wish for a pretty wife and a hundred thousand livres
21380.76 income? –My faith! Charming, I could not find two, but I know one. If your daughter accepts, she will marry a man I love like my
21388.8 son. But I’m giving you much better than you ask for. –True? –First of all, he’s young: twenty-eight.
21394.84 –That’s a detail, let’s move on. –He’s very handsome. –Vanity of vanities! –Your daughter won’t say the same. He’s full of wit.
21402.6 –A useless commodity in a household. –A serious education: a former student of the École Polytechnique!
21409.44 –Very well. –Furthermore, he has done special studies which will not be… –That’s very good; but the solid, Baron!
21415.92 –Ah! As for fortune, he fits the program too exactly. Ruined from top to bottom. He resigned upon leaving the School, because
21424.2 …. –I forgive him, Baron. –The last time he came to see me, the poor fellow was thinking of
21429.52 looking for a position. –His position is all found; but tell me, dear Baron, is he really noble?
21434.88 –Like Charlemagne. So that’s what you call solid! –No doubt. –One of his ancestors almost became King of Antioch in 1098.
21442.92 –And his relatives? –The whole suburb. –A well-known name? –Like Henry IV. He’s the Marquis d’Outreville. You must know
21451.12 that…. –I think so. Outreville!… it’s a pretty name. We’ll put a marble plaque above the carriage entrance: HÔTEL D’OUTREVILLE. But
21459.16 will he want my daughter? A misalliance! –Hey! Charming, a man doesn’t make misalliances. I understand that a girl
21468.48 called Mlle de Noailles or Mlle de Choiseul might be reluctant to change her name to Madame Mignolet. But a man keeps his name, so he
21475.0 loses nothing. Besides, Gaston doesn’t have the prejudices of his caste. I ‘ll see him when I leave here, and tomorrow at the latest I’ll give you
21482.4 news of him. –Do better, my excellent baron: if he’s well disposed, come
21487.92 tomorrow, without ceremony, to dine with him. Does he have family papers? A genealogical tree?
21493.56 –No doubt. –See to it that he brings them! –Are you thinking about it, charming? I’ll come one of these days
21499.36 to decipher this whole tome for you. See you soon! The Baron walked slowly towards number 34 Rue Saint-Benoît.
21505.96 It was a bourgeois house whose principal tenant had furnished a few rooms to house the students. He went up to the second floor and
21513.2 knocked on a small numbered door. The Marquis, in a work jacket, opened the door. He was indeed a handsome young man and a very
21521.0 desirable husband. He was a little tall, but so well-built that no one thought of criticizing him for being a few inches overweight. His
21528.08 feet and hands testified that his ancestors had lived without doing anything for several centuries.
21533.28 His head was magnificent: a high, broad forehead crowned with black hair that spontaneously fell
21539.04 back; blue eyes of great gentleness, but deeply set beneath powerful eyebrows; a proudly arched nose whose
21547.76 fine wings quivered at the slightest emotion, a slightly wide mouth and charming teeth; a thick, shiny black mustache,
21555.08 which framed beautiful red lips without hiding them; a complexion both brown and pink, the color of work and health. The baron took
21562.32 stock of this with a quick glance, while squeezing Gaston’s hand, and he murmured to himself: If the little girl isn’t happy with the present I’m
21569.48 giving her!… The young marquis’s face was open, but not radiant. On examining it closely, one would have seen something mobile
21578.2 and restless, the perpetual agitation of an unfulfilled desire, the tyranny of a dominant idea. Perhaps, on further investigation, one would even have
21586.92 recognized the seal of predestination that marks the face of all inventors. Gaston had left his work to open the door for his old
21594.2 friend. He was busy washing with Indian ink a large plate of drawings at the bottom of which was written: Plan, section and elevation of an
21602.08 economical blast furnace. His table was cluttered with drawings and memoirs whose titles, half hidden by each other, were
21609.32 of a nature to pique the curiosity of even the most indifferent. One saw there, or rather one guessed at the following superscriptions: On a new,
21618.28 more fusible steel.–New system of blast furnaces.–Most
21623.68 frequent accidents in mines, and means of preventing them.–Means of casting the wheels of…. in one piece.–Rational use of fuel.
21630.6 in….–New steam bellows for the forges…. When one had cast one’s eyes on this table, one saw nothing else in
21638.152 the room. The small boarder’s bed, the six wool damask chairs , the Utrecht velvet armchair, the small bookcase
21645.592 overloaded with books, the stopped clock, the two vases of artificial flowers under their globes, the framed portraits of La Fayette
21652.432 and General Foy, the red curtains with yellow battens, everything disappeared before this heap of labors and hopes.
21658.352 My child, said the baron to the marquis, it is eight whole days since I saw you: how are your affairs?
21663.512 « Good news, sir: I have a position. A few days ago , I had a notice placed in the newspapers. One of my old
21669.872 school friends who manages the mines of Poullaouen, in Finistère, guessed my name under the initials; He spoke to the administrators about me, and
21678.072 I was offered a position worth 3,000 francs, to be taken up on May 1st. It was about time! I was starting my last hundred-franc note. I will leave in
21685.952 five days for Brittany. Poullaouen is a sad country, where it rains ten months of the year, and you know how much I love the sun. But I will be able to
21693.592 continue my studies, practice some of my theories, carry out my experiments on a large scale: that’s quite a future!
21700.312 –See how unlucky I am! I came to propose something else to you. –Always say: I haven’t answered yet.
21706.512 –Do you want to get married? The Marquis made a perfectly sincere face. You are very kind to take care of me, he said to the old man,
21713.592 shaking both his hands: but I have never thought of such things. I don’t have the time; you know my work; I still have a million
21720.512 things to find; Science is jealous. « Ta, ta, ta! » the Baron continued, laughing.  » What! You are twenty-eight
21727.328 years old, you live here like a Carthusian; I have come to offer you a good, pretty, well-bred girl, a sixteen-year-old angel; and this is how you
21735.128 receive me!  » A flash of youth lit up in the depths of Gaston’s beautiful eyes, but it was only a matter of a moment. « Thank you a thousand times, » he replied, « but I
21743.768 have no time. Marriage would impose duties on me contrary to my tastes, unbearable occupations….
21748.888  » « It would impose nothing on you at all. Your future father-in-law has been dead for more than fifteen years; the family consists of a mother-in-law,
21755.768 an excellent bourgeois, despite her pretensions. To give you an idea of ​​her manners, I will tell you that she has asked me to take you
21763.248 to dinner at her house tomorrow, if this marriage does not displease you. You see , there is no ceremony! »
21768.768 « Thank you, sir, but I have Poullaouen on my mind. » « What a man! You are assured by contract of ownership of a hotel on Rue
21775.128 Saint-Dominique, of a forest of four hundred hectares in Lorraine, and of a hundred thousand pounds of income. Will they give you as much at
21782.328 Poullaouen?  » « No, but I shall be in my element there. Would you offer a fish a hundred thousand francs of income to live out of water?
21788.848  » « Well! Let’s not speak of it any more. I wanted to say that to you in passing. Now I have some visits to make; goodbye. You will not leave
21796.688 without saying goodbye to me? » The baron advanced to the door, smiling maliciously. As
21802.048 he was leaving, he turned and said to Gaston:  » By the way, the hundred thousand francs of income are the income from a magnificent forge
21809.688 .  » Gaston stopped him on the threshold: « A forge! I’m marrying! » Will you
21815.088 allow me to go and get you tomorrow for dinner at my mother-in-law’s? « No, no. Marry Poullaouen!
21820.208  » « My old friend!  » « Well, so be it. See you tomorrow. » Chapter 17. After the Baron’s departure, Gaston d’Outreville threw himself into the armchair,
21829.128 buried his head in his two hands, and reflected so long that his Indian ink had time to dry. « What is the purpose,
21837.248  » he wondered, « of a bourgeois woman offering me her daughter and a hundred a thousand francs a year? I know a good many young people who, in his
21843.568 place, would have been less embarrassed. They would soon have constructed a love story to explain the whole mystery. But Gaston
21851.088 lacked conceit, like Lucile lacked coquetry. The only idea that came to him was that Madame Benoît wanted a well-bred blacksmith for a son-in-law.
21858.648 She has heard of me, he thought; someone will have told her a word about my research and my discoveries; I was quite common in the
21864.888 suburb, at a time when I was not yet aware of the stupidity and vanity of worldly relations. It is obvious that this factory needs
21872.168 a man: a mother and her daughter added together do not make a master ironworker. Who knows if the work is not suffering, if
21880.088 the enterprise is not in danger? Well, morbleu! we will save it. Outreville to the rescue! as our ancestors used to say, those
21889.408 heroic craftsmen who forged their own swords. With that, he refilled his Indian ink and conscientiously finished his wash.
21895.928 The next day, he strolled briskly through the Luxembourg Gardens until lunchtime. In the afternoon, he shut himself in a
21903.128 reading room, where he leafed through all the daily newspapers and all the monthly magazines: he hadn’t committed such
21909.928 debauchery for a long time. It’s lucky, he thought, that people don’t get married often: they wouldn’t have to work much. At five o’clock, he began to dress, which
21919.048 was a long one: he was expecting to dine with his bride-to-be. Six-thirty struck when he entered the Baron’s. He hoped to learn from his
21926.368 old friend how Madame Benoît had taken it upon himself to choose him as her son-in-law; but the Baron was as mysterious as an oracle. He respected
21933.128 his pride too much to tell him the truth. Arriving at the little hotel on the Rue Saint-Dominique, they saw two workmen perched on a
21939.968 double ladder, busy measuring something above the carriage entrance. « Guess, » said the Baron, « what those good people are doing up there! They
21948.168 are measuring a marble plaque on which they will write: Hôtel d’Outreville.  » « Good joke! » replied Gaston, crossing the threshold
21955.928 . « You don’t believe me? Come back here. Hey there! Monsieur Renaudot; isn’t that you I see?
21963.128  » « Yes, Monsieur Baron, » said the marble mason, who went downstairs at once. « How long do you think it will take to install the plaque?
21969.128  » « But not before a month, Monsieur Baron, because of the coat of arms that must be carved above it.  » « What! You only asked the Marquis de Croix-Maugars for a fortnight
21977.208 ?  » « Ah! Monsieur Baron, the coat of arms of Outreville are much more complicated. » –That’s right. Good evening, Monsieur Renaudot. Well, skeptical?
21985.248 –Now, my old friend, what fairy tale are you leading me through? –It’s like Puss in Boots, since there’s a marquis….
21992.008 –Much obliged! –And Sleeping Beauty, since the future marquise, who has never seen you, is sleeping innocently soundly in the depths
21998.888 of your forest of Arlange, waiting for the king’s son to come and wake her.
–What! Isn’t she here?
22004.728 –We’ll let her know that you missed her. Madame Benoît welcomed her guests with open arms. Informed in time of the
22010.448 success of the affair, she had ordered an archbishop’s dinner. Little time was wasted on introductions: acquaintances are better made at
22018.488 table. The conversation began pleasantly enough between the mother-in-law and the son-in-law. Gaston spoke of Arlange, Madame Benoît answered faubourg;
22026.224 she launched into questions of nobility, he made a detour and returned to the forges, each one obstinately following his favorite idea.
22033.624 This obstinate struggle enlightened no one, not even the excellent baron, who gave himself up to the sole pleasure of his age, and did honor to dinner
22041.544 more than to conversation. Madame Benoît did not guess the passion of her son-in-law, and Gaston did not
22046.984 did not suspect his stepmother’s mania. He said to himself: One of two things: either Madame Benoît avoids, out of bourgeois vanity, talking about the subject that
22054.784 interests her most; or she is afraid of boring the Baron, who is not listening to us. Madame Benoît thought at the same time: The poor fellow thinks he
22064.224 is being polite by talking to me about things I know; he does not know that I know the suburb as well as he does. Weary of the battle,
22071.464 Gaston abandoned the question of iron and the metallurgical industry, and Madame Benoît was able to question him on anything she wanted. She knew
22078.744 by heart the ledger of her father’s store, that prosaic golden book of the Parisian nobility, and she was not unaware of any of the names that
22086.424 d’Hozier would have recognized. To ensure that Gaston was able to drive her everywhere, she subjected him, without his knowledge, to an
22093.944 examination from which he naively escaped to his credit. She rejoiced in the depths of her ambition to learn that Gaston had dined
22101.184 here, that he had danced there; that he was addressed informally in such and such a house, that he was scolded in such and such another; that he had played at the age of ten with such and such a duke
22108.624 and galloped at the age of twenty with such and such a prince. She inscribed in her memory on tablets of stone and bronze all the relatives, near and
22115.104 far, of her son-in-law. If she had forgotten a single one, she would have felt she was missing out on her own family.
22120.936 After coffee, they took a walk in the garden: the night was magnificent and the sky lit up as if for a festival. Madame Benoît showed the Marquis the
22128.576 neighboring properties. Here, she said, we have the Count of Preux, do you know him? « He is my uncle in the Breton fashion. »
22135.336 The glorious bourgeoise triumphantly inscribed this unexpected relative.  » There, » she continued, « is the Maréchale de Lens. It would be a
22142.416 curious encounter if she were also a member of the family.  » « No, madame, but she was the godmother of a brother I lost.
22148.256  » « Good! » thought Madame Benoît. « If the person of all types of stewardship corps is still in this world,
22153.896 we will see to it that he is driven out. Such a son-in-law is a treasure! » If Gaston had thought to say, « Let’s jump over the wall and
22162.616 surprise the Maréchale, » Madame Benoît would have jumped. But the baron, who readily went to bed after dinner, sounded the
22169.736 retreat, and Gaston followed him. A good brougham, bearing Madame Benoît’s cipher, was waiting for them at the door.
22175.816 My dear child, said the baron as soon as the door was closed, I dined prodigiously, and you? But one doesn’t dine at your age. What
22182.896 do you think of your stepmother? « I find her just what I could wish for; she is a vain and hollow woman, who will not meddle with the forge and who will not come to thwart my
22191.416 experiments.  » « So much the better if she pleased you. As for you, you have conquered her : she told me so with a sign while I kissed her
22198.736 hand. I think we can propose marriage.  » « Already?  » « But that is how matters are conducted in all fairy tales
22205.536 . When the king’s son had awakened Sleeping Beauty, he married her immediately, without even going to seek permission from her
22212.936 parents.
« As for me, unfortunately, I need no one’s permission .  » « If you find that tomorrow is a little early, we will wait
22220.32 a few days. I will abide by your orders. » By the way, you must lend me your birth certificate and a few other
22227.48 essential documents. « Whenever you wish. I have all my papers in a bundle; you can take what you need.
22233.28  » The carriage stopped in front of the Baron’s house. Gaston also got out and continued on foot, to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.
22240.16 The next day, M. de Subressac came to collect the birth certificate and , as if absentmindedly, took away all the papers that accompanied it.
22248.16 He entrusted the file to Madame Benoît, who, out of an abundance of caution, submitted it to the glasses of a paleographer archivist, a former student of
22256.0 the School of Charters and assistant curator at the Royal Library. The authenticity of the smallest rag was recognized and certified. The baron
22263.24 then made the official request, which was accepted by acclamation. The radiant widow remained uncertain for some time whether she would marry her
22270.6 daughter in Paris or whether she would move this grand ceremony to the small church of Arlange. On the one hand, it was very flattering to occupy
22277.6 the high altar of Saint-Thomas d’Aquin and disturb half the suburb for the wedding mass; but there was revenge to
22285.48 be had, and it was important to erase the last traces of the Marquisate of Kerpry from the countryside. Madame Benoît decided on Arlange, but with the
22294.0 firm intention of returning to Paris soon. She wrote to her coachbuilder: Mr. Barnes, I will leave on May 5 to marry my daughter, who
22303.48 is marrying, as you know, the Marquis d’Outreville. As soon as I leave, you will have all my carriages taken away to be refurbished and
22310.64 the doors painted with the enclosed coat of arms. Furthermore, I beg you to make me as soon as possible a carriage in the old style,
22318.304 wide, high and of the noblest shape you can. The coachman and footmen will be powdered white; regulate the harmony of the colors
22325.344 accordingly . She then thought that it would be her daughter who would introduce her to society, and this idea inspired in her a resurgence of maternal love.
22333.664 She wrote to Lucile, whom she was not accustomed to much address: My dear child, my beautiful darling, my adored Lucile, I have found
22341.824 the husband I was looking for: you will be Marquise d’Outreville! I chose him from among a thousand, so that he would be worthy of you: he is young, handsome,
22349.384 full of spirit, of an ancient and glorious nobility, and allied to the most illustrious families of France. Dear little one! Your happiness is assured
22356.624 and mine too, since I live only through you. You will soon come to Paris, you will leave this dreadful Arlange, where you have lived like a beautiful
22363.344 butterfly in a black chrysalis, you will be welcomed and celebrated in
22368.984 the greatest houses; I will lead you from pleasure to pleasure, from triumph to triumph: what a spectacle for a mother’s eyes!
22375.824 Madame Benoît was as light as a titmouse; her feet no longer touched the ground; her face had rejuvenated by ten years; one thought one saw a flame
22384.264 around her head. She sang while dancing, she cried while laughing, she had the itch to stop passers-by to tell them of
22390.464 her joy; She found herself greeting the ladies she met in armorial carriages. She was so tender with the Marquis, she
22397.824 enveloped him in such a network of little attentions and kindnesses, that Gaston, who for a long time had been no one’s spoiled child,
22404.464 took a real liking to his mother-in-law. He rarely left her , drove her everywhere, and was never bored with her,
22411.368 although she avoided all conversation about the forges. Two days before his departure, Madame Benoît took him for the day. She
22418.088 took him first to Tahan’s, where she chose before him a large rosewood box, long, wide, and flat, and divided inside into
22425.408 unequal compartments. What is this strange chest for? asked Gaston as he left.
22430.608 « That? It’s my daughter’s wedding basket. » « But, madame, » the Marquis continued with the pride of the poor, « it
22436.448 seems to me that it is mine…  » « It seems very wrong to you. My dear Marquis, when you are Lucile’s husband
22441.528 , you will give her as many presents as you please: from the day after the ceremony, you will have carte blanche; but, until then,
22450.648 it is up to me alone to give her anything. I find impertinent the custom which allows a girl’s fiancé to give her
22457.008 fifty thousand francs worth of clothes and jewels before the marriage and when she still has nothing. Say, if you like, that I have
22466.048 ridiculous prejudices, but I am too old to get rid of them. » Today we are going to choose my wedding presents: in a month I
22474.128 will come, if you wish, to help you choose yours. The reasoning was easy to refute; but it was deduced in such a caressing tone
22482.328 and such a maternal voice, that Gaston found no reply. For three days he had been in negotiations with a moneylender
22490.168 about this basket. He allowed himself to be taken to twenty merchants and chose fabrics, shawls, laces and jewels. No
22497.568 diamonds: Madame Benoît shared hers with her daughter. The mother-in-law took leave of her son-in-law on May 5, giving him
22504.128 an appointment for the 12th. She undertook to have the first publication made at the church and the town hall, while Gaston pushed
22512.096 his shirtmaker and his suit with a sword in his loins. In the confusion inseparable from a departure, she inadvertently packed up all the
22519.256 papers from the house in Outreville. Lucile’s first thought, on seeing Madame Benoît again, was that her mother had been changed in Paris. Never had the pretty widow been so
22527.216 indulgent. Everything Lucile did was well done, everything she said was well said; she behaved like an angel and spoke
22535.216 with gold. The tender mother could never part with such an accomplished daughter; she would follow her everywhere and leave her only at death.
22542.496 She said to her, as in the story of Ruth: Your country will be my country. Lucile opened her heart to this new mother, and learned with
22549.496 great satisfaction that there were many young, well-made marquises who did not wear sequined clothes.
22555.416 The day after Madame Benoît’s arrival, her friend, Madame Mélier, came
22560.816 to announce the impending marriage of her daughter Céline to M. Jordy, a refiner in Paris. M. Jordy was a very wealthy young man, and Madame
22567.456 Mélier did not hide her joy at having established her daughter so well. Madame Benoît responded vigorously with the announcement of Lucile’s impending marriage
22574.016 to the Marquis d’Outreville. Congratulations were expressed on both sides, and several embraces were exchanged. When Madame Mélier had left,
22581.776 Lucile, who had been close to the future Madame Jordy since childhood, cried out: « What joy! If I go to Paris, I will be very close to
22590.496 Céline; she will come to my house; I will go to her house; we will see each other every day .  » « Yes, my child, » replied Madame Benoît, « you will go to her house in your
22597.576 large emblazoned carriage, with your footmen powdered white; but as for receiving her at your house, that’s another matter.
22603.176 One owes oneself to one’s world, and one is a bit of a slave to the society in which one lives. When a duchess
22608.376 comes to your salon, she mustn’t rub shoulders with the wife of a refiner, of a man who sells sugar loaves!… That’s no
22615.216 reason to pout. Come now! You will receive Céline in the morning, before noon.
22620.256 –God! what a stupid country this Paris is! I prefer to stay in my poor Arlange, where one can see one’s friends at any hour of the day.
22627.296 Madame Benoît replied sententiously: « A wife must follow her husband. » The great event that was being prepared at Arlange was soon known
22634.976 throughout the surrounding area. Madame Mélier was on a visiting tour, and, since she was announcing a marriage, it cost no more to
22641.576 announce two. In each of the houses where she stopped, she repeated a ready-made phrase that she had arranged when leaving
22647.696 Madame Benoît’s: Madame, I know too well the interest you take in our whole family not to have wanted to announce to you myself the
22655.536 marriage of my dear Céline. She is marrying, not a marquis, like Mlle Lucile Benoît, but a handsome and good manufacturer, M. Jordy, who is, at
22664.256 thirty-three, one of the richest refiners in Paris. Madame Mélier had good horses; her carriage and the news she
22670.496 carried traveled ten leagues before nightfall. The local Faubourg Saint-Germain began by pitying poor Lucile and making fun
22677.696 of Madame Benoît, who had found a second marquis for her daughter de Kerpry. Madame Benoît learned without batting an eyelid everything that was being said
22685.536 about her. She took the papers of the Outreville family and had herself taken to the home of a very gossipy and influential old baroness, Madame
22694.176 de Sommerfogel. Baroness, she said to her in the most respectful tone, although
22699.24 I have only had the honor of receiving you two or three times, it did not take much more for me to appreciate the infallibility of your
22705.8 judgment, your in-depth knowledge of high society matters, and all the high qualities of observation and experience that are
22712.92 in you. You know how I had the misfortune to be deceived by a noble thief who had stolen, I know not where, an honorable name.
22719.84 Today, a seemingly magnificent match presents itself for my daughter , the Marquis d’Outreville. I have in my hands her
22726.56 genealogical tree and all the parchments of her family, right down to the most remote period. But I am only a poor, undiscerning bourgeois
22733.04 ; it has been cruelly proven to me, and I no longer dare to think for myself. Will you allow me, Madame la Baronne, to
22740.4 submit to you all the documents entrusted to me, so that you may judge them without appeal and in the last resort? This little speech was not clumsy; it flattered the
22749.2 Baroness’s vanity and piqued her curiosity. Madame de Sommerfogel gave the beautiful widow a warm welcome and accepted with visible satisfaction the
22757.12 important task entrusted to her. That same day, she summoned the ban and arrière-ban of the surrounding nobility, and Gaston’s papers
22763.92 passed before the eyes of twenty or thirty country gentlemen: this is what Madame Benoît had hoped for. This venerable bundle, from which
22772.08 exhaled a frank odor of nobility, made a profound impression on all the squires who were able to approach it with their sense of smell. Those most
22780.08 hostile to the mistress of the ironworks turned abruptly towards her. It was a concert of praise, in which Madame de Sommerfogel fulfilled
22786.76 the functions of conductor. This poor Madame Benoît will have something to console herself with, and I am very
22793.448 pleased; she is a deserving woman. –This Benoît, who deceived her, was a scoundrel. If we had known her
22799.648 at that time, we would have put her on her guard. –After all, what can one reproach her for? For having wanted to enter the
22805.168 nobility? That proves that in the eyes of enlightened bourgeoisie, nobility is still something. –Madame Benoît is not stupid.
22811.848 –Nor ugly. I don’t know what secret she has found to rejuvenate herself. –As for his daughter, she’s a little angel.
22817.128 –It’s been a long time since I saw her, in 1836. She was already showing promise. –From now on, we’ll see her often: she’s one of us!
22825.928 –She was already one by her upbringing. I have it on good authority that her mother always wanted to make her a marchioness.
22831.128 –Her mother will be one of us too; a daughter doesn’t go without her mother. –The marquis is arriving shortly; he’s a considerable addition to
22838.448 the canton’s aristocracy. –He’s said to be fabulously rich. –They’ll make a good house.
22844.128 –They’ll give parties. –We’ll be at the wedding. The next day, Madame Benoît’s drawing room was invaded by a horde of
22850.928 close friends she hadn’t seen for twelve years. The marquis arrived on May 12th at dinnertime. After
22856.448 searching for and finding a thousand francs, which cost him no more than sixty louis, he packed his bags, embraced the baron, and
22863.568 modestly took the carriage to Nancy. At Nancy, he embarked in the
22868.608 diligence to Dieuze; at Dieuze, he procured a cabriolet and a post horse which took him to Arlange. It is a matter of an hour
22875.888 when the roads are fine. As he approached the village, he felt something in his left side that was very much like a palpitation. I
22882.888 must say, to the shame of the scholar and the praise of the man, that he was not thinking of the forge, but of Lucile.
22888.8 An illustrious Englishwoman, Lady Montague, who was not much bothered by singing, was astonished that the Apollo Belvedere and some
22895.96 ancient Venus could remain in the museum without falling into each other’s arms. This little scandal
22902.08 almost occurred at the first meeting of Lucile and Gaston. These young beings, who had never seen each other, felt at the
22910.0 same moment that they were born for each other. From the first glance they were lovers; from the first words they were friends:
22917.04 youth attracted youth, and beauty beauty. There was neither
22922.32 trouble nor embarrassment between them: they looked at each other in the face, and reflected themselves in each other with the charming impudence of naiveté;
22931.48 Gaston’s heart was almost as new as Lucile’s. Their passion was born without mystery, like those beautiful summer suns that rise without
22939.64 clouds. I do not deny the intoxication of guilty passions that remorse seasons and that peril ennobles; but what is most beautiful in
22946.84 this world is a legitimate love that advances peacefully on a flowery road, with honor on its right and security on its left.
22955.6 Madame Benoît was too happy and too sensible to hinder the progress of a passion that served her so well. She left the two lovers
22962.72 that sweet freedom that the countryside allows: their first days were only a long tête-à-tête. Lucile did Gaston the honors of
22969.76 the house, the garden and the forest; they mounted their horses at noon, after lunch, and returned like children who have played
22977.32 truant, long after the dinner bell. After the forest, the forge had its turn.
22982.472 Gaston had the courage not to set foot there without Lucile; But when he saw that she did
22988.192 not despise work, that she knew the workers by name and that she was not afraid of staining her dresses, it was a redoubled
22995.072 joy. He gave himself up without constraint to the passion of his youth; he examined the work, questioned the foremen, advised the
23002.592 workshop managers, and enchanted Lucile who marveled to see him so learned and so capable. Madame Benoît, seeing them come home all powdered, or even
23011.032 a little blackened by the smoke, said: How happy the children are! Everything serves as a plaything! To relax from their fatigue, they
23017.752 sat at the bottom of the garden under an arbour of climbing roses, and they made plans. Plans of happiness and work, of love
23025.352 and retirement. They promised to hide their lives deep in the woods of Arlange, as birds make their nests in the thickest part of a bush
23031.872 or on the thickest branch of a tree. Not a word from Paris; not a word from the suburbs and the vanities of the world. Lucile was unaware that there were
23039.192 other pleasures; Gaston had forgotten that. One fine morning, Madame Benoît gave them great news: it was that
23046.152 evening that the contract was being signed. The marriage was set for Tuesday, June 1st; they would be married the day before at the town hall. As there are no pleasures
23053.512 without pains, the signing of the contract was preceded by an interminable dinner to which all the local people had been invited.
23061.712 While waiting for the arrival of the guests, Gaston and Lucile strolled in the garden in straw hats, one dressed in white coutil, the other
23069.432 in pink barège. As he passed within reach of the factory, Gaston was accosted by the manager, who held him in high esteem and
23077.552 readily asked for his advice. The three of them entered one of the workshops, and an interesting experiment began before them. When
23085.408 the factory clock struck four, Lucile slipped out to go and wash, saying to Gaston: « You have time to see
23092.688 the end; stay, I want you to! » He stayed and took such a keen interest in the spectacle that he put his hand to the work and got himself terribly dirty. At
23101.288 five o’clock he ran away, his sleeves rolled up and his hands black, and he appeared right in the middle of a group of guests who were walking around in
23107.888 full finery. Someone recognized him and called his name. It was the engineer from the saltworks of Dieuze, one of his classmates.
23115.928 The École Polytechnique is, like the aristocracy of the suburb, a little Freemasonry: it is found everywhere. Gaston threw his arms around his
23123.688 friend’s neck and kissed him on both cheeks, holding his hands in the air for fear of blackening him. There were three or four noble ladies there who
23128.848 were a little surprised to see a marquis made like a chimney sweep, and kissing an employee of the saltworks on both cheeks; but they were
23135.928 reconciled with him when he reappeared in a new suit, like the latest issue of the Journal des Tailleurs.
23142.328 He was to dine between Mme Benoît and the Baroness de Sommerfogel; but just as they were about to set out, the old lady had been struck with a
23149.528 migraine. Her apologies arrived during the soup. Their place was cleared, and Gaston found himself next to his friend the engineer. He was
23156.768 the center of attention; each of the guests, and especially the deputies of the nobility, expected a gracious glance and
23164.768 a kind word from him, just as on going to court one hopes for a little word from the king. But his two passions absorbed him too much for him to think of
23171.568 examining the collection of grotesques that were feasting around him. He had eyes only for Lucile, and ears only for his neighbor. The
23180.016 squires thought they could attract his attention by engaging in a semi-political conversation, in which the ridiculousness of old prejudices was naively displayed;
23187.016 a conversation full of freedom against what existed, full of regret for what had been. These speeches, whose suave absurdity would have
23194.176 revived a good-old marquis, buzzed around Gaston’s ears without reaching his brain. In a moment of
23200.896 silence, he was heard saying to the engineer: You have an underground railway in the salt marshes: how much do you pay for
23208.696 the rails? « In France, 360 francs for 1000 kilos. An English ton, which is 15
23214.216 kilos heavier, is worth, free on board, from 11 pounds 10 shillings to 12 pounds 5 shillings.
23220.056  » « I believe that by using certain economical furnaces, the plan of which I will show you, we could deliver excellent merchandise to you
23226.216 , well below English prices, at 200 francs a ton, perhaps less.  » « So you are always the same?
23232.336  » « No, worse. Do you sometimes have cables breaking? » « Too often: we lost four men last month. »
23239.496 « I’ll show you a remedy for these accidents. » « Have you found a secret to prevent the cables from breaking?
23244.776  » « No, but to hold the weight they drop in suspension in the shafts. I practiced this system for three years in a
23251.136 coal mine I managed at Saint-Étienne, and we didn’t have a single accident to deplore.
23256.976 All the nobility of the canton opened their ears, and Madame Benoît was dying to step on her son-in-law’s toe. The Viscount de
23263.896 Bourgaltroff introduced himself timidly into the conversation. Does the Marquis own coal mines in the
23270.192 Loire department?  » « No, sir, » replied Gaston; « I was the foreman there. » This time, Madame Benoît thought we had had enough dessert,
23278.912 and she got up from the table. As they passed through the drawing-room, the gentlemen whispered among themselves about the Marquis: « Singular great lord, who
23286.792 blackens his hands in a forge, who kisses employees, who invents machines, who sells rails cheaply, and who has been foreman
23294.432 for a simple coalman in Saint-Étienne! » The most indulgent, who were not in the majority, tried to
23300.912 defend him: « After all, » they said, « Louis XVI made locks.  » « Louis XVIII wrote Latin verses.
23306.992  » « Henri III shaved his courtiers.  » « But, » a severe critic would retort, « who is it who amuses himself by breaking
23313.632 coal at the bottom of a hole? « Hey, sir, » replied an indulgent man, « my father burned
23319.472 matches in Berlin during the emigration! » Madame Benoît guessed well that Gaston was being talked about, but she was not at all worried about it.
23325.312 « Talk, my good friends, » she murmured between her teeth; « I forced you to recognize my son-in-law as a true marquis; you came
23334.312 here to humiliate yourselves before me; Benoît is forgotten, I am avenged. I am leaving in eight days for Paris, and when I set foot in
23341.552 Arlange again, the youngest among you will have white hair! As for Maître Gaston, who is a frank eccentric, the stay at his hotel and
23348.712 the society of his equals will soon have cured him of his ideas. Before the signing of the contract, the basket was brought which arranged
23355.792 all the women on Gaston’s side. The poor fellow was bombarded with compliments which he did not dare to defend himself against; but he promised himself
23362.432 to tell Lucile, and the very next day, that it was not him she should thank. When the notary unrolled his notebook, it was a question of who would sit closest
23370.488 to him, not to learn Lucile’s dowry, which was well known, but to hear the enumeration of the Marquis’s lands and castles
23376.528 . Public curiosity was deceived: M. d’Outreville was getting married
23381.608 with his rights. The day after this celebration, Lucile and Gaston renewed the chain of
23387.048 their pleasures, and the last days of the month passed like hours. On May 31, the two lovers were married at the town hall, and
23393.888 neither of them trembled at the moment of saying yes. When the mayor, code in hand, repeated for the hundredth time in his life that a
23401.608 woman must follow her husband, Madame Benoît made a small , very expressive sign to her daughter . On returning home, the triumphant mother-in-law said to the
23409.808 Marquis in Lucile’s presence: My son-in-law (for you are my son-in-law by law), I will give you
23415.728 tomorrow the first half of your income. « A little patience, my charming mother! » replied Gaston; « what
23421.968 do you want me to do with such a sum? Money, » he added, looking at Lucile, « is the least of my worries.
23428.568  » « Hey! don’t disdain this poor money: you’ll need a lot of it in a few days in Paris.
23433.768  » « In Paris! Hey! Great God! What would I do there? Get a foothold, rally your friends and relatives, prepare a
23439.608 circle of acquaintances for the winter and for life.  » « But, madame, I am determined not to live in Paris. It is
23446.328 an unhealthy city where all the women are sick, where families die out after three generations for lack of children. » Do you know
23452.408 that every hundred years Paris would turn into a desert, if the provinces were not so furious as to repopulate it? « It is so that it does not become a desert that we have decided to
23460.168 go there as soon as possible.  » « You did not tell me, mademoiselle. » Lucile lowered her eyes without answering: her mother’s presence weighed on
23469.024 her. Madame Benoît replied sharply: « These things can be guessed without being said. My daughter is the Marquise
23475.304 d’Outreville: her place is in the Faubourg Saint-Germain! Isn’t that true, Lucile?  » She answered with a hint of a « yes. » That was not
23483.984 the way she had said « yes » at the town hall. « To the Faubourg! » Gaston continued, « to the Faubourg! You are curious to
23489.744 enter the Faubourg! » Following some disappointment, the secret of which no one knew, he had conceived a violent intolerance against the Faubourg.
23497.744 Do you know, mademoiselle, what one sees in the suburbs? Young girls as insipid as fruit grown in a greenhouse; young women
23504.344 lost in dress and vanity; old women who have neither the imposing stiffness of our seventeenth-century ancestors, nor the verve and
23512.224 good humor of the contemporaries of Louis XV; old men dazed by whist, young people who are lively and devout who mix up
23518.784 the names of racehorses and preachers in conversation; among men of an age to act, a policy without conviction, regrets
23526.824 artificial, loyalties that are put on display in the hope that someone will be pleased to buy them: this is the suburb, mademoiselle;
23535.584 you know it as well as if you had seen it. What! You live in the middle of an admirable forest, surrounded by a small people who
23543.032 love you; I am not talking about me who adores you; you have fortune, which allows you to make people happy; health without which nothing is good;
23550.392 the joys of family, the amusements of summer, the intimate pleasures of winter, the present illuminated by love, the future peopled with little
23557.192 white and pink children, and you want to abandon everything for a life of silly compliments and absurd reverences! It is not I who will be
23563.792 the accomplice of such a fatal exchange, and if you go to the suburb, mademoiselle, I will not take you there!
23570.032 Listening to this speech, Madame Benoît had the face of a child who has built a tower of dominoes and who sees the monument crumble stone
23578.232 by stone. She barely found the strength to say to Lucile:  » Answer me! » Lucile held out her hand to Gaston, and said, looking at her mother:
23586.392 « A woman must follow her husband. » This time, the Marquis was less reserved than the Apollo of the Belvedere. He took Lucile in his arms and kissed her tenderly.
23594.912 Madame Benoît spent the rest of the day forming plans, giving orders, and plotting ways to get her son-in-law to Paris.
23602.992 The next day, after the wedding mass, she took him aside and said: « Is that your last word? You don’t want to introduce us to the
23610.432 suburb?  » « But, madame, didn’t you hear how willingly Lucile renounced it ?
23615.712  » « And what if I didn’t renounce it? » And what if I told you that for thirty years (I’m forty-two) I’ve been tormented by the ambition
23623.312 to get into it? What if I told you that the desire to hear myself advertised in the salons of the Rue Saint-Dominique made me marry a
23629.232 contraband marquis who beat me? What if I added finally that I chose you neither for your appearance nor for your talents, but for your
23636.512 name which is a key to open all doors? Oh, do you think they give you a hundred thousand livres a year to waste your time
23642.992 working? « Pardon, madame. First of all, at the price of spotless names, I’m so vain as to believe that mine wouldn’t be expensive at two million. But
23650.752 that’s not the case, since you haven’t given me anything. » The forge and the forest are Lucile’s inheritance; the rent we must pay you
23658.072 represents the interest on all the sums you have contributed to the enterprise, and the two hundred thousand francs that the mansion on the Rue Saint-Dominique cost you
23663.432 . So I have everything from Lucile, and with her, I have no trouble paying it off.
23669.712 « But it is from me that you have Lucile; it is from me that she has you, » cried the poor woman, « and you are ungrateful if you
23676.992 refuse me the happiness of my life!  » « You are right, madame: ask me for everything in the world, except one thing; and I have nothing to refuse you. But I swore never
23685.072 to set foot in the suburb again.  » « In heaven’s name, why didn’t you tell me?
23690.392  » « You didn’t ask me. » Leaving Gaston, Madame Benoît said three words to her maid and
23695.984 four to her coachman. She did not speak to the Marquis again about the first half of her income. That evening, at the ball, Lucile was a success of beauty and happiness. None
23705.224 of the women present remembered having seen a bride so frankly happy. All the young people envied Gaston’s fate,
23711.984 as was customary; I will not allow myself to say that anyone envied Lucile’s. At two o’clock in the morning, the dancers had
23719.504 left, and the bride and groom remained in the breach: Madame Benoît had judged it appropriate that they close the ball as they had opened it. This
23726.624 tender mother, whose brow seemed veiled by a light cloud, asked for the grace to chat for a quarter of an hour with her daughter, and she led her
23733.624 into the bridal chamber, on the ground floor, while Gaston, who had to shake off the dust from the ball, returned for the last time to
23741.744 his little apartment on the second floor. As he descended the grand staircase, he was surprised to hear the sound of a carriage trotting away
23748.104 . He entered the bridal chamber: it was empty. He went to Madame Benoît’s: all the doors were open and
23756.984 the apartment deserted. Satin shoes, two ball gowns and a great disorder of clothes littered the carpet. He rang; no one
23765.024 came. He went out into the vestibule and came face to face with the rustic countenance of the little groom Jacquet. He grabbed him by the
23772.704 blouse: Didn’t I just hear a carriage? « Yes, sir: you’d have to be deaf…
23777.904  » « Who’s leaving so late, after everyone else? » « But, sir, it’s madame and mademoiselle in the sedan, with the
23784.504 people of all types of bodies, Pierre and Mlle Julie.  » « That’s good. Didn’t they say anything? Didn’t they leave anything for me?
23791.136  » « Forgive me, sir, since madame left a letter.  » « Where is it?  » « It’s here, sir, under the lining of my cap.
23797.576  » « Give it, animal!  » « It’s because I stuffed it right at the back, you see, for fear of losing it. There it is!
23802.976  » Gaston ran under the lantern in the vestibule and read the following note: My dear Marquis, in the hope that love and well
23810.696 -understood interest will be able to tear you away from dear Arlange, I am transporting your wife and your money to Paris: come and take them!
23817.336  » Chapter 18. Gaston crumpled up Madame Benoît’s note and stuffed it into his pocket. Then
23823.256 he turned to Jacquet, who was looking at him foolishly, rolling his cap between his hands: Didn’t Madame la Marquise say anything to you?
23831.576 « Mademoiselle? No, sir; she didn’t even look at me.  » « Is there a side road to Dieuze?
23838.416  » « Yes, sir.  » « Is it shorter?  » « By a good quarter of an hour.  » « Saddle Forward and Indiana for me. Wait! I’ll help you. You’ll
23844.896 show me the way. A louis for you if we arrive before the carriage.  » Half an hour later, Jacquet in his blouse and the Marquis in his wedding clothes
23852.856 stopped in front of the Dieuze post office. Jacquet woke a stable boy and inquired if any horses had been requested during the night.
23859.696 The answer was good: no traveler had shown up since the day before. « Here, » said the Marquis to Jacquet, « here are the twenty francs I
23867.616 promised you. » « Sir, » the little groom timidly continued, « are the louis no longer twenty-four francs?
23873.376  » « A long time ago, you simpleton.  » « It was my grandfather who always told me that. In his time,
23878.656 two louis and forty sous made fifty livres. » Gaston said nothing: his ear was pricked up towards Arlange.
23885.04 Jacquet continued, talking to himself: « How is it that such fine gold pieces have fallen to that price? »
23891.0 « Listen! » said the Marquis; « don’t you hear a carriage?  » « No, sir. Ah! that’s very unfortunate!
23897.28  » « What? » « That the gold louis have fallen to twenty francs.  » « Take it, animal; here’s another, and be quiet. »
23903.4 Jacquet remained silent out of obedience; he merely said between his teeth: « It’s all the same. » If the louis were still at twenty-four francs, two
23912.16 louis like here, and forty sous that madame gave me, would make me just fifty livres. But times are hard, as my
23918.76 grandfather used to say. Gaston waited for a good hour without dismounting. At last, he feared that an accident had happened to the carriage. Jacquet
23926.2 reassured him: Sir, he said to him, it is perhaps quite possible that these ladies have reached the royal road without going through Dieuze.
23932.76 « Let’s run, » said the marquis. « It’s not worth it, go on, sir: they have nearly two hours in advance.
23938.56 « Well then! Take me back home by road. » The house remained as Gaston had left it. The carriage
23944.28 was not under the coach house, and two horses were missing from the stable. In the distance, a sound of shrill violins and discordant songs could be heard
23951.84 : it was the workers and peasants dancing in the open air. Gaston first thought of ensuring Jacquet’s silence and
23960.8 the secrecy of his nocturnal pursuit. He found no better way than to send his confidant to Paris. « Go take the diligence from Nancy, »
23967.72 he told him; « in Nancy, you will embark in the rotunda for Paris. You will have yourself driven to the Hôtel d’Outreville, 57 rue Saint-Dominique, and you
23976.04 will tell Madame Benoît that I will arrive in two days. Here is enough to pay for the carriage. » « Sir, » Jacquet asked in an insinuating voice, « if I walked
23984.528 , would the money be mine? » He received in reply a peremptory kick, which took him away
23990.128 from Arlange and brought him closer to Paris. Gaston, exhausted, went back up to the second floor and threw himself on his
23996.328 bed, not to sleep, but to dream more calmly of his strange adventure. Lucile’s flight, at the moment when he thought himself most sure
24003.448 of being loved by her, seemed inexplicable to him. Obviously this departure was premeditated; it would have been impossible to prepare it in a quarter of an hour.
24010.648 But then, the young woman’s whole conduct was a lie: the happiness that shone in her eyes, the gentle pressure of her hand amidst
24019.328 the whirlwinds of the waltz, the delicious words she had murmured an hour before in her husband’s ear, everything
24026.688 became deception, bait, and bad faith. However, if she did n’t love him, why had she married him? It was so easy to
24034.288 say no instead of yes! Her mother wouldn’t have forced her, since she was favoring her escape. Gaston then remembered the
24041.208 animated discussion he had had that very morning against Madame Benoît; he understood
24046.368 without difficulty the widow’s vexation and her revenge. But how could this ambitious mother, in less than a day, have turned
24053.768 her daughter’s heart? Why hadn’t Lucile written a word of explanation to her husband? This idea led him quite naturally to
24060.128 search his pocket for Madame Benoît’s note. He noticed a word there that had escaped him on first reading: Your wife and your
24068.976 money! In truth, it was indeed money that was in question! As if money were something to someone who sees all
24075.216 the happiness of his life crumble away! What does a miserable sum matter to someone who has lost what cannot be bought at any price? Your wife and your
24082.256 money! It resembled the lugubrious joke of the assize courts which condemn a man to the death penalty and the costs of the trial!
24088.696 Gaston imagined, quite wrongly, that his mother-in-law had only written this note to remind him of the modest position from which she had lifted him, and
24096.536 his touchy dignity was revolted. By dint of rereading this unfortunate note, he persuaded himself that it would be a shame to leave for Paris
24104.536 without anyone knowing whether he was running after his wife or his money, and he resolved to remain at Arlange until Lucile had written to him.
24112.256 This decision led him into an expenditure of wit and amiability which he had not foreseen. The news of the Marquise’s departure had
24119.496 spread with electric speed; and as it had never been heard, within four leagues around, that a wedding ball had ended in such a
24126.256 way, all those who had dined or simply danced at the forge ran there in all haste under the natural pretext of a
24132.856 digestive visit. The Marquis faced this army of curious people, in such a way as to prove to the most difficult that he was a man of the world when he
24140.216 had the time. For a week, the house was always full, and he showed no annoyance at spending half the day in the drawing-room. This small
24148.376 crowd, thirsting for scandal, was stupefied by his tranquil air, his natural voice, with a happy and smiling face.
24154.848 He told anyone who would listen that for more than two weeks, Madame Benoît had been
24160.048 in Paris on urgent business that required her and her daughter’s presence ; that as a good mother, she had not wanted to delay
24166.408 Lucile’s marriage on that account; that as a wise administrator, she had wanted to leave a reliable man at the head of the forge; that as a gracious mistress
24173.768 of the house, she had not inconvenienced her guests by the announcement of such an imminent departure. If someone assumed a condolence and
24180.328 seemed to pity the victims of such an untimely separation, Gaston hastened to reassure this good soul by informing them that in a few
24189.288 days the husband, wife and mother-in-law would be definitively reunited. Not content with deceiving the curious and the malicious, he
24195.408 took the trouble to charm them. He displayed his natural and acquired graces in their favor ; he settled in the hearts of all women
24204.408 and in the esteem of all men; he approved of all the ridiculous things, he gave headlong into all the prejudices; he deceived his
24212.368 audience so cleverly that he won over the entire canton: this can happen to the most honest man. The first result of this comedy was to
24220.928 give him one hundred and fifty close friends; the second was to persuade everyone that his story was the pure truth.
24227.128 Here is the truth. After the ball, Lucile, her heart heavy with anxious joy, followed her mother to her apartment. Hardly had she entered when
24235.208 Madame Benoît stripped her, in a jiffy, of her white dress, wrapped her in a thick dressing gown and threw a shawl over her
24242.128 shoulders, while Julie replaced the satin shoes with a pair of ankle boots. Without giving her time to be surprised by this
24247.864 attire, her mother said briskly, while changing her dress: My darling, Gaston has complied with my prayers; we are leaving for
24255.504 Paris at once. « Already? He hasn’t spoken to me about it yet!  » « It’s a surprise he was planning for you, dear child, because, deep down, you
24262.704 were rather sorry not to see this beautiful Paris!  » « No, Mama.  » « You were sorry, my daughter; I know you better than you know yourself. »
24269.544 There was a discreet knock at the door. Madame Benoît started.  » Who’s there? » she asked.
24275.664 « Madame, » Pierre’s voice answered, « Madame’s carriage is hitched up. » The widow led her daughter to the carriage. « Quick, quick, » she
24283.424 said to her; « our people are dancing; if they got wind of our departure, we would have to endure their farewells.
24289.384  » « But I would have liked to say goodbye to them, » murmured Lucile. Her mother threw her to the back of the carriage and rushed in after her. And Gaston?
24298.224 asked the young woman, completely stunned by these hurried movements. « Come, my child. Pierre, where is Monsieur le Marquis? »
24304.904 Pierre’s lesson was given. He answered without embarrassment: « Madame, Monsieur le Marquis is having the luggage loaded onto the old chaise. He asks
24312.544 Madame to wait for him a minute or two.  » Lucile, driven by a secret inspiration, tried to open the
24318.664 door. The right-hand door, whether by chance or by calculation, refused to open. To get to the other, she had to pass over her mother’s body
24326.104 . Her courage did not go that far. « Julie, » she said, « see what Monsieur le Marquis is doing.
24333.224  » Julie, who had been in Madame Benoît’s service for fifteen years, left, returned, and replied: « Madame, Monsieur le Marquis asks these ladies not to
24341.384 wait for him. A line has broken; it is being mended; Monsieur will join the relay. At the same moment Pierre approached the left door,
24349.256 and Madame Benoît whispered in his ear: Take the crossbar; burn Dieuze, and straight to Moyenvic!
24355.136 The carriage set off at a trot. It was, in truth, a singular wedding night. Madame Benoît was triumphant at leaving Arlange and driving
24362.136 towards the suburb in the company of a marquise. She complained of fatigue, headache, sleep, and she retreated, her eyes
24370.896 closed, in a corner of the sedan, for fear that her daughter’s reflections might disturb the tumultuous joy that bubbled in
24377.936 her heart. The poor bride, without fearing the coolness of the night, stretched her neck out of the door, listening to the breath of the wind, and
24385.816 plunging her moist gaze into the darkness. At the Moyenvic relay, Madame Benoît threw off the mask and said to her daughter: Don’t open your
24392.976 eyes wide looking for your husband. You will not see him again until the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Lucile guessed the betrayal; but she was too afraid of her mother to
24401.416 answer her with anything other than tears. Your husband, continued the widow, is an obstinate man who refused to take you into the world.
24407.896 It is in your interest that I forced his hand. He will have joined you within twenty-four hours, if he loves you. There is no
24414.576 reason to cry like Hagar in the desert. I am your mother, I know better than you what is best for you; I am taking you to Paris: I am
24421.656 saving you from Arlange. « Oh, my poor happiness! » cried the child, wringing her hands.
24426.896 « What are you complaining about? You loved him, you married him. You are married! What more do you want?
24432.896  » « So, » said Lucile, « this is marriage! Ah! I was much happier when I was a girl: I saw my husband!
24439.936  » From Arlange to Paris, she never tired of looking out of the window. It seemed impossible to her that Gaston was not in pursuit of her. In
24447.184 every carriage that raised the dust of the road, on every horse that galloped behind the carriage, she thought she
24453.984 recognized her husband. This journey, which suffocated her triumphant mother with joy , was for her an interminable series of hopes and
24460.824 disappointments. Paris, without Gaston, seemed to her an immense solitude, and the
24466.184 Faubourg Saint-Germain, abandoned by half its inhabitants, was for her a desert within a desert.
24471.424 The day after her arrival, the first object she saw on opening her window was the figure of Jacquet. She came down in less
24477.944 than a second: Gaston must be in Paris! She learned that, if he had not arrived, he would not be long, and I leave you to imagine
24486.384 whether she celebrated the messenger of such good news. While Madame Benoît was still sleeping the sleep of the happy, Jacquet recounted the smallest
24493.984 details of the journey to Dieuze. How he loves me! thought Lucile. I even believe she thought aloud.
24499.464 To finish the story, continued Jacquet, the Marquis must owe me an eight-franc piece.
24505.304 « Here are twenty, my good Jacquet. » « Thank you very much, mademoiselle. I am not positively sure of what
24510.424 I am saying; but it seems to me that he owes them to me. I had calculated that he owed me twenty-four francs, and he only gave me
24517.544 twenty: that is four francs less. And then, he once again only gave me twenty: that is another four francs. And since four
24524.904 and four make eight…. However, I could be mistaken, and if you want me to pay you back…?
24530.304 « Keep it, keep it, my boy, and go and rest from your journey. » She ran to the garden and gathered flowers like on
24537.064 Corpus Christi Day, so that her room would be beautiful when Gaston arrived. Jacquet watched her leave, saying to himself: Sixty-two francs, that’s
24544.408 a bad calculation, as my grandfather used to say. And he calculated on his fingers how many more gold louis and
24550.648 forty-sou pieces would be needed to make one hundred francs. The day passed, and the next day, and a whole week, without news
24556.448 of the Marquis. Madame Benoît hid her annoyance; Lucile did not dare to grieve in front of her mother; but they made up for it well, one by
24564.808 cursing, the other by crying during the night. From morning to night, the mother drove her daughter in a coat-of-arms carriage, without footmen and without
24572.648 powder, for the famous coach was still at the construction site. She drove her to the Champs-Élysées, to the Bois, and everywhere where the high society goes,
24580.008 to give her a taste for those pleasures of vanity that one only savors Paris. In the absence of the Italians, she made him endure heavy
24586.528 evenings at the Théâtre-Français and the Opera. But Lucile acquired no taste for the pleasure of seeing or being seen. Wherever her
24594.688 mother took her, she carried with her the desire to return to the hotel and the hope of finding Gaston there.
24600.448 Madame Benoît guessed before her daughter that the Marquis was seriously sulking. Since she was not lacking in character, she soon made up her
24607.568 mind. Ah! she said to herself, my son-in-law can do without us! Let us try to do without him for a while. What did I lack in the past to
24615.968 mingle with the world of the suburb? A coat of arms and a name; I had everything else. Today, we lack nothing: we have a fine
24622.968 coat of arms on our carriages, we are the Marquise d’Outreville, and we must enter everywhere. But where to begin? That is the question.
24629.088 Lucile cannot go out and say to people who don’t know her : Open your door to me; I am the Marquise d’Outreville!
24637.728 But, I’m thinking of it! I will go and see my debtors, my good, my excellent debtors! They will receive me on a different footing than last time: one
24645.968 treats the daughter of a supplier cavalierly, but one shows consideration for the mother of a marquise. Her first visit was to the Baron de Subressac. She did not take
24655.088 Lucile to his house or to his other debtors. What good is it to teach this child how much it costs to open a door?
24661.568 Ah! dear Baron, she said as she entered, to what a cursed mentally ill person we have
24667.208 given my daughter! The Baron did not expect such an exordium. Madame, he continued a little too quickly, the mentally ill person who has done you
24674.568 the honor of becoming your son-in-law is the noblest heart I have ever known. « Alas! My God! If you only knew what he has done! Married for eight
24683.128 days, he has already abandoned his wife! She explained, without disguising anything, all the events of which the baron was ignorant, and which you know. As
24691.408 she spoke, the smile reappeared on the baron’s lips. When she had recounted everything, he took her hands and said gaily:
24699.528 You are right, charming, the marquis is a great culprit: he abandoned his wife as King Menelaus abandoned his.
24707.768 « Sir, Menelaus ran after Helen, and I maintain that a husband who lets his wife go without pursuing her, abandons her.
24714.848  » « Fortunately, the case is less serious, for I see no Paris on the horizon. You will bring your daughter back to her husband; it is your duty,
24722.648 you must not separate what God has joined. These children adore each other, happiness will seem all the sweeter to them because it has been delayed. »
24729.264 You will witness their joy, you will enjoy the spectacle of their love, and you will write to me within ten months to give me news of them.
24736.464 The pretty widow stretched out her hand, and with her index finger made a small horizontal gesture which meant: Never!
24743.544 But then, continued the baron, what do you intend to become? « Can I rely on your friendship, Monsieur le Baron?
24749.744  » « Have I not already proved it to you, charming one?  » « And I will never forget it as long as I live. If your kindness does not fail me
24754.784 , I have enough to do without M. d’Outreville forever.  » « Do you think the young marquise would say as much?
24760.944  » « It is not her that is at stake for the next quarter of an hour. Parents, in all justice, must come before children. What do I
24768.104 ask of God and man? Entrance to the suburb. What is necessary to have me received there? That Lucile be admitted. » Now, she has every
24775.984 imaginable right; all she lacks is an introducer. Will you refuse to present her? « Absolutely. First, because this honor is less fitting for
24784.504 a baron than for a baroness. Second, because I do not want to contribute to delaying Gaston’s happiness. Finally, because
24791.864 all my good will would be of no use to you. Your daughter, madame, undoubtedly has the right to enter everywhere, but on what grounds? »
24797.664 because she is Gaston’s wife. As Gaston’s wife, she will find the door open to all those who know her husband,
24804.496 that is to say, to all of us; but see if I would have the grace to introduce her by saying: Ladies and gentlemen, you love and
24812.256 esteem the Marquis d’Outreville; you are his relatives, his allies or his friends, allow me then to introduce to you his wife, who did
24819.456 not want to live with him! Believe me, charming, it is the experience of seventy-five years which speaks to you; a young woman never cuts
24827.376 a good figure without her husband, and the mother who parades her like this, all alone, outside of her household, does not play an applauded role in society.
24834.896 If you absolutely insist on rubbing shoulders with duchesses, go and get your son-in-law to bring you back to Paris by kind gestures. Your escapade
24841.536 has offended him; that is why he is not coming to join you. If you wait for him here, I know him well enough to predict that you will wait
24848.296 a long time. Return to Arlange. Let us not be prouder than Mahomet: the mountain did not come to him, he went to find the mountain.
24855.896 It was well enough said, but Madame Benoît did not take it for granted. She presented herself, past noon, to five or six of her debtors.
24863.776 No one was unaware of her daughter’s marriage, but no one showed any desire to know her. People spoke at length of the Marquis, they
24871.136 described him as a gallant man, they praised his wit, they regretted his rareness and his misanthropy, and they inquired whether he would spend the winter in
24878.376 Paris. The widow tried in vain to replace the petition she had addressed to M. de Subressac; she could find no opening. She did not
24885.776 lose hope, however, and promised herself to return to the charge. Besides, she still had one resource left, one anchor of
24893.456 salvation, which she was saving for the last extremities: the Countess of Malésy. The Countess was the woman who owed her the most, and
24901.368 consequently the one from whom she had the most to expect. She was a pretty little old woman of sixty, who was reproached for nothing but
24907.848 coquetry, gluttony, an unbridled love of gambling, and a rage for throwing money out of the window. Madame Benoît said to herself, with good
24916.128 reason, that a person with so many chinks in her armor could not be invulnerable, and that one must, by one way or another,
24922.608 reach her heart. She was already enjoying the Baron’s surprise, the day he would meet her in society between Lucile and Madame de
24929.208 Malésy. While she was making so many useless visits, the pretty Marquise d’Outreville shut herself in her room and, without consulting anyone
24937.208 , wrote the following letter to her husband: What are you doing, Gaston? When will you come? Yet you
24942.808 promised to join us. How could you have gone ten whole days without seeing me? When we were together in our dear Arlange, you
24950.368 did not know how to leave me for an hour. God! How long the hours are in Paris! Mama speaks to me every moment against you, but
24957.368 at your name alone there is a din in my heart that prevents me from hearing. She tells me that you have abandoned me: you guess that
24964.648 I do not believe it. For, after all, I am no uglier than when you knelt before me; and if I am older, it is
24971.288 not by much. All is not over between us, the last word has not been said, and I feel that I still have happiness to give you.
24978.008 You are not the man to close such a good book on the first page. Since I no longer have you, I have been completely dazed and
24985.168 languid. Imagine that at times I believe that I am not your wife, and that this beautiful ceremony in the church, and this ball
24993.072 where we were so happy, are a dream that ended too soon. What was not a dream was this kiss that you gave me. I have received
25000.592 many kisses since I was born, but none had penetrated so deeply into my heart. It is doubtless because this one came from
25008.192 you. Everything that belongs to you has something special about it that I don’t know how to define: for example, your voice is more penetrating
25015.512 than any other; no one has ever been able to say Lucile like you. Why aren’t you here, my dear Gaston? That kiss you
25022.592 gave me, I would be so happy to return it! It wouldn’t be bad, would it, since I am your wife! You will
25030.992 never imagine how much I miss you. When I go out with Mama, I look for you in the streets: all I have seen in Paris so far
25036.792 is that you are not there. In the evening, I regularly mix up your name in my prayers; in the morning, when I wake up, I look to see if you
25044.872 are not around me. Is it possible that I think so much about you and that you have forgotten me? Perhaps you are angry with me for having
25050.872 left you so abruptly and without saying goodbye. If you only knew! It wasn’t me who left; it was Mama who took me away. I thought
25058.672 you were going to catch us with the old post-chaise and the luggage; Mama had assured me of that, Pierre too, Julie too. I
25065.992 cried a lot, you see, when I learned that I had been told such a nasty lie. Since then, I would have cried all day long, if I
25073.072 didn’t hold back; but I’m holding back my tears, firstly so as not to be scolded, and secondly so that you don’t find me with red eyes.
25079.064 You mustn’t be angry if I didn’t write to you sooner: you sent word that you were coming, and when you’re expecting someone,
25087.184 you don’t write to them. Now I’ll write to you until I ‘ve seen you: I must not have much self-respect, for I write
25093.504 like a kitten, and I hardly know how to string my sentences together. It’s that I had never written to anyone, having neither uncles, nor aunts,
25100.704 nor friends from school. I hope that you will not let me ruin myself in stylistic expenses and that you will leave at my first request:
25107.024 come, leave the forge: there is no more business in the world while we are separated: I will reconcile you with Mama, on the condition
25114.864 that she will do everything you wish and that she will not ask you for anything disagreeable. If the stay in Paris displeases you as much as it does
25121.504 me, rest assured, we will not stay there long. But if you do not arrive, what do you expect me to do? It would be
25130.144 easy enough for me to escape from the hotel one day when Mama was out without me; but I cannot run the highways alone
25136.264 ! However, if you demanded it, I would leave; I would put myself under Jacquet’s protection. But something tells me that you won’t
25145.184 have to be asked twice or wait, just think of two little red hands reaching out to you! Madame Benoît came in while Jacquet was taking this letter to the post office.
25153.464 Weren’t you bored all alone? the mother asked her daughter. « No, Mama, » replied the Marquise.
25159.424 Chapter 19. The next three days were days of waiting. Lucile waited for
25164.464 Gaston as if he might already have received his letter; Madame Benoît hoped that her noble debtors would return his visits.
25171.744 So the mother and daughter stayed at home, but not together. One sat by a window in the living room, her eyes fixed on the
25179.272 carriage entrance; the other walked under the chestnut trees in the garden, her eyes turned toward the future. Madame Benoît was counting on her luxury to make
25187.072 friends: she promised herself to show her the beautiful apartments on the ground floor: We shall be unhappy, she thought, if no one
25195.992 offers us a cup of tea in the meantime; one gives willingly to those who can return. The drawing-room, hung with dazzling flowers, had a
25203.912 festive air; the mistress was in her finery from morning to night, like Russian officers who never take off their uniform. While waiting
25210.472 for the house to be assembled, Jacquet, transformed by a new livery, was serving his apprenticeship as a footman in the hall.
25219.432 Sensitive hearts will be pained to learn that all this expenditure was in vain: no debtor came to Madame Benoît’s house. What
25228.392 do you expect? The habit was set. These gentlemen and ladies had made a habit of paying her neither in money nor in courtesy, and of
25236.072 returning nothing, not even her visits. She was meditating sadly, behind a curtain, on the ingratitude of
25242.952 men, when a brougham, trotting along at full speed, made the sand in the courtyard squeal harmoniously. The pretty widow felt her heart leap: it was the
25251.032 first time that a carriage other than her own had come to trace two ruts in front of her door. The carriage stopped; a man still young
25258.392 got out. It was not a debtor; it was a hundred times better: the Count de Preux himself! He disappeared under the vestibule; and Madame
25266.472 Benoît, with the promptness of lightning, reviewed her salon, cast a final glance at her dress, and prepared the first
25273.632 words she would have to say: she had, however, enough wit to leave it to the chance of improvisation.
25279.416 The Count delayed a little: she cursed Jacquet, who was doubtless holding him in the antechamber.
25285.496 Why did the door not open? She would have run to meet her noble visitor, if she had not feared injuring herself by excessive
25292.136 haste. At last the door opened; a man appeared: it was Jacquet. « Let him in! » said the panting widow.
25299.016 « Who, Madame? » replied Jacquet, in that drawling voice which distinguishes the peasants of Lorraine.
25304.376 « The Count!  » « Ah! He’s a Count? Well, there he is in the courtyard. » Madame Benoît ran to the window and saw Monsieur de Preux return to his carriage
25313.136 without turning his head, and give an order to the coachman. Run after him, she said to Jacquet. What did he say to you?
25319.616 « Madame, he’s a very nice man, not at all proud. He probably comes from the country, for he thought that Monsieur le Marquis was
25326.416 here. I said he wasn’t; that’s it.  » « You fool, didn’t you say that Madame was here? » « Yes, Madame, I said so; but he didn’t seem to hear.
25334.616  » « You should have repeated it!  » « And the weather? He immediately began to ask me when Monsieur would be back. It seems his idea was to speak to Monsieur.
25341.936  » « What did you answer?  » « My goodness! That we didn’t quite know how to get on with Monsieur;
25348.096 that he didn’t seem to want to come back. » And then, as he wasn’t proud at all and seemed to be enjoying himself with me, I
25357.016 told him about the good joke that madame and mademoiselle had played on monsieur. « Wretch, I’m turning you out! Go away! How much do you owe me?
25364.056  » « I don’t know, madame.  » « How much do you earn a month?  » « Nine francs, madame. Don’t turn me out! I haven’t done anything! I won’t
25372.016 do it again! And tears. How long has it been since you were paid?  » « Two months, madame.
25377.624 What do you expect me to do if you turn me out?  » « Come here, here are your eighteen francs. Here are twenty more that I
25384.584 ‘ll give you so that you have time to look for a job. » Go! Jacquet took the money, looked to see if his account was there, and fell to his knees
25391.984 , crying:  » Pardon, madame! I’m not wicked! I’ve never hurt anyone! »
25397.864 « Master Jacquet, you should know that stupidity is the worst of all vices.  » « Why is that, madame? » Jacquet yelled.
25404.224 « Because it’s the only one you never correct. » She pushed him out and threw herself onto a sofa. Jacquet left
25410.864 the hotel, carrying, like the philosopher Bias, his entire fortune with him. If anyone had followed him, they would have heard him murmur
25419.184 in a desolate voice: Sixty-two and eight make seventy; and ten, eighty; and twenty, one hundred. But I’ve killed the goose: I’ll have no more
25427.784 eggs! Lucile learned of Jacquet’s disgrace at dinner, but she didn’t dare ask the cause. The mother and daughter, one sad and worried,
25434.904 the other sullen and scolding, were eating with their fingertips, without saying anything, when a letter was brought for Madame d’Outreville.
25442.704 From Gaston! she cried. Unfortunately not; the address bore the Passy stamp. It was Madame Céline Jordy, née Mélier, who was
25451.864 remembering her friend. Lucile read aloud: My pretty country girl, I am writing to you at the same time to our hamlet and to Paris;
25458.504 for since your marriage, you have neglected me so completely that I do not know what has become of you. As for me, I am happy, happy, happy! That is
25466.904 my whole story in three words. If you want more details, come and get them, or tell me where you are hiding. Robert is
25473.784 the most perfect of all men, apart from Monsieur d’Outreville, whom I will know when you have shown him to me.
25478.808 When will I be able to kiss you? I have a thousand secrets that I can only tell to you: haven’t you been
25484.168 my only confidante for sixteen years? I’m curious to know if you’ll recognize me without me writing my name on my hat. You
25491.728 , too, must be very changed. We were such children, you, two weeks ago, me, three weeks ago! Come tomorrow, if you’re in
25498.368 Paris; when you can, if you’re in Arlange. I like to believe that we won’t act like marquises, and that we’ll see each other as long as we
25505.208 can, without ever counting the visits. I can’t wait to show you my house: is it the most charming bourgeois nest that has ever been built
25513.848 on earth? You’re free to humiliate me afterwards with the spectacle of your palace; but I must see you. I want to. It’s a word that
25521.488 no one disobeys in Passy, ​​rue des Tilleuls, no. 16. See you soon. I kiss you without knowing where, blindly.
25529.448 YOUR CELINE. Dear Celine! I’ll go and spend the day with her tomorrow. Don’t you need me, Mama?
25535.608 No, I’m going out on my own to see one of my friends. Who, Mama? You don’t know her: the Countess of Malésy.
25542.808 It had been twelve or thirteen years since Madame Benoît had seen this venerable friend, in whom she placed her last hope. She
25549.408 found her little changed. The Countess had become deaf from hearing the shouting of her creditors; but it was a
25555.728 complacent deafness, even a little malicious, which did not prevent her from hearing what pleased her. Besides, her eye was kind and her stomach
25565.048 admirable. Madame de Malésy recognized her creditor and received her with touching familiarity.
25570.888 Good morning, little one, good morning! she said to her. I didn’t forbid you from my door. You have too much wit to come and ask me for money?
25578.248 « Oh! Countess! I have never paid you a self-interested visit.  » « Dear little one, just like her father! Ah! my child. Lopinot
25586.648 was a good man.  » « You fill me with joy, Countess. » « Do you understand why someone should come and ask a poor woman like me for money
25592.568 ? It’s not a year since I married my daughter to the Marquis de Croix-Maugars! It’s a good deal, I admit; but this marriage
25599.648 cost me an arm and a leg. Mademoiselle de Malésy hadn’t received a centime of dowry. I, Madame, have just married my daughter to the Marquis d’Outreville.
25607.208  » « What do you mean? What do you call that man? » Madame Benoît made a crowbar with both hands and cried: « The Marquis
25613.408 d’Outreville! » « Good, good, I understand; but which Outreville? » There are good Outrevilles and fake Outrevilles; and there aren’t many good ones left
25620.208 . –He’s a good one . –Are you quite sure? Is he rich? –He had nothing. –Good for you! The bad ones are rich as hell; they
25627.968 bought the land and the castle, and took the name into the bargain. What kind of nose does he have? –Who? –Your son-in-law.
25634.328 –An aquiline nose. –I compliment you. The fake Outrevilles are real hoards, all with noses like pots and pans.
25640.728 –He’s the one who came out of the École Polytechnique. « But I know him! A bit of a mentally ill person: he’s a good man. But then, you
25647.368 who are a sensible woman, explain to me how he committed such a stupidity?  » It was Madame Benoît’s turn to turn a deaf ear. The Countess
25656.608 continued: « I say, the stupidity of marrying your daughter. Is she very rich then?  » « She had a hundred thousand livres in marriage income. We
25664.088 bourgeois have kept the habit of giving dowries to our daughters…. Catch!  » « No matter; that astonishes me about him. I thought he was in a better position.
25672.128 You understand, little one, that I wouldn’t say that if he were here; but we are among ourselves…. What is it, Rosine?
25678.528  » « Madame, » replied the maid, « it’s that clerk of the Bon Saint Louis.  » « I’m not sure! These merchants have become unbearable. Ah!
25686.368 Little one, your father was a gallant man! » I was saying then that the Marquis will be blamed by everyone. No one will reproach him to his face;
25694.728 his name is his, he drags it wherever he wants. But it is not permissible for a true Outreville to enca…. se mésa…. What is it now,
25701.848 Rosine? –Madame, it is M. Majou. –I am not there; I am out for the day, I have just left
25707.368 for the country. Has anyone seen such a wine merchant? Creditors today are worse than beggars: no matter how much you chase them away, they
25715.248 always come back! Ah! little one, your father was a holy man!
25721.168 Is your daughter pretty, at least? –Madame, I will have the honor of presenting her to you one of these days in
25726.888 the afternoon. My son-in-law is on our estates. –That’s it, bring her to me one morning, this young woman. I’m here for
25732.088 you until noon…. Again, Rosine! So it’s a procession today? –Madame, it’s M. Bouniol.
25738.568 –Answer that someone put the leeches on me. –Madame, I’ve already told him that the Countess is not there. He
25743.888 replies that he has come five times in eight days without seeing Madame, and that, if they refuse to see him, he
25749.928 will not come back. –Well, let him come in: I’ll tell him what he thinks. Will you allow me , little one? We are showmen. Ah! my dear, your father was a great
25758.048 man! Madame Benoît said in a low voice as she got back into her carriage: Joke, joke, impertinent old woman! You have debts, I have money: I
25767.008 have you! Even if it costs me five hundred louis, I demand that you lead me by the hand to the middle of your daughter’s drawing-room! It was with
25775.208 these feelings that she parted from the Countess. Lucile had long been in her friend’s arms. She left
25781.744 the hotel at eight o’clock and an hour later arrived at the most beautiful gate on the Rue des Tilleuls. The morning was magnificent; the house
25788.624 and garden were bathed in sunlight. The garden, all in bloom, resembled an immense bouquet; a lawn studded with
25794.784 royal roses was framed in a circle of yellow blossoms, like a blood jasper in a gold setting. A large acacia tree showered
25801.984 its blossoms on the surrounding shrubs and delivered its intoxicating scents to the morning wind. Blackbirds with golden beaks flew singing
25809.264 from tree to tree; wrens hopped in the branches of the hawthorn, and cheeky finches chased each other along the paths.
25816.264 The house, built of red bricks with white joints, seemed to smile at the happy luxury that blossomed around it.
25823.544 Everything that climbed and everything that flowered bloomed and climbed along its walls. The wisteria with its violet clusters, the bignonia with its
25831.944 long red flowers, the white jasmine, the passion flower, the birthwort with its broad leaves, and the Virginia creeper that turns purple with the last
25837.624 smile of autumn, raised their intertwined stems to the roof. Large mats of morning glories bloomed at the door, and
25845.304 the blue bells of the water gourds adorned all the windows. This spectacle awakened in the marquise the sweetest memories of Arlange: in this
25852.464 moment she would have given for nothing her hotel on the rue Saint-Dominique and this too narrow garden where the flowers suffocated between the heavy shadow
25859.544 of the house and the thick foliage of the old chestnut trees. A dressing gown of ecru scarf, half hidden in a clump of rhododendrons,
25866.904 abruptly tore her from her reverie. She ran, and only stopped in the arms of Madame Jordy.
25872.168 Have you ever observed the meeting of Orestes and Pylades at the theater? However skillful the actors may be, this scene is always
25879.448 a little ridiculous. This is because human friendship is, by its nature, neither expansive nor graceful. A person of any type of body, a clasp of hands, an arm
25888.208 grotesquely passed around a neck, or the absurd rubbing of one beard against another, are not objects that can charm the
25895.288 eyes. How much more elegant is the tenderness of women, and how great artists in friendship are the most awkward!
25900.728 Céline was a very small, plump, and round blonde, with a rounded forehead and an upward-pointed nose, showing at every turn her sharp, white teeth
25909.608 like those of a young dog, laughing for no other reason than the joy of living, crying without sorrow, changing her face twenty times
25916.568 in an hour, and always pretty without anyone ever being able to say why. Fortunately for the narrator of this true story, beauty
25923.808 is not subject to definition; for it would be impossible for me to say by what charm Mlle Mélier seduced her husband and all those who
25931.648 saw her. There was nothing particularly beautiful about her, except the roundness of her figure, the perfection of her bust, the radiance of her complexion,
25938.808 and two very pretty little dimples, although they were not placed with all the desirable regularity. Lucile did not resemble Mme Jordy in any way; If friendship lives on
25947.328 contrasts, their connection must be eternal. The young marquise was a head taller than her friend, and plumper less: I
25954.968 warned you that her youth was a late bloomer. Imagine the beauty of people of all body types and the nervousness of Diana the Huntress. Have you sometimes seen, in
25964.568 the admirable landscapes of M. Corot, those nymphs with slender bodies and slender waists, who dance in circles under the great trees holding hands
25972.392 ? If the Marquise d’Outreville were to come and join their games, with no other clothing than a tunic, no other headdress than a
25979.352 golden arrow in her hair, the living circle would widen to make room for her, and the round would continue with one more sister.
25986.032 By a whim of chance, the queen of the woods of Arlange was, that morning, in a white crepe hat and a pink taffeta dress; and
25994.392 the little blonde bourgeois woman was dressed like a woodswoman: straw hat, flowing clothes:
26001.352 How good of you to have come! she said to the marquise. Spare me the trouble of noting down all the kisses with which the two friends interrupted their
26007.632 conversation. I had dreamed of you. How long have you been in Paris, my dear? « Since the day after my wedding.
26013.392  » « A fortnight lost for me! But it’s dreadful!  » « If I had known where to find you! » murmured the little marquise. « I really
26020.032 needed to see you.  » « And me! First, look me between the eyes. Do I really
26025.992 look like a lady? Will they still call me mademoiselle?  » « That’s true; you have something more assured about you: an air of
26031.992 gravity…  » « Not another word, or I’ll die laughing. And you? Come on! You’re
26037.432 still the same. Good morning, mademoiselle! » « Your servant, madame.  » « Madame! What a pretty word! If you behave yourself at lunch, I
26045.912 ‘ll call you madame at dessert. Do you remember the time we used to play madame?  » « It’s not long ago that I’ve forgotten it. »
26051.752 « Come, mademoiselle, let me take you for a walk in my garden. You won’t touch the flowers! » While talking, she picked an enormous handful of roses, behind
26060.712 which she disappeared entirely. I beg pardon for your beautiful garden, cried Lucile. « First of all, I forbid you to call it my beautiful garden. Everyone
26069.112 sees it, everyone comes here; it’s everyone’s garden! My beautiful garden is over there, behind that wall. There are only two people who walk there
26076.392 , Robert and me; you will be the third. Come; do you see that green door? Who will arrive first? »
26082.232 She started running. Lucile followed her, and soon got ahead of her. Madame Jordy, on arriving, took a little key from her pocket and opened the door.
26091.472 « This, » she said, « is our private park. These lime trees, whose flowers have wings, bloom only for us. We walk
26098.952 here alone every morning before work time, for we are early birds; I have kept my good habits
26105.912 from Arlange. » As for Robert, I don’t know how he manages it, but no matter how early I wake up, I always find him leaning on his pillow and
26112.952 gravely busy watching me sleep. Come over here. Here, the former owner had built a big, damp, beastly grotto,
26121.472 lined with rocks and shells, with a plaster Apollo in the middle and toads everywhere. Robert had three-quarters of it demolished
26128.992 ; he brought in the air and the light. It was he who arranged these climbing plants, hung these hammocks, installed this pretty table
26136.712 and these armchairs. He has taste like an angel; he’s an architect, he ‘s an upholsterer, he’s a gardener, he’s everything! Just sit down for
26144.792 a bit on this moss. No, I forgot your new dress. Here’s what I put on every morning: with it you can sit anywhere.
26151.912 Let’s go! « Not yet! It’s so comfortable under these beautiful trees! » –We’ll come back there later for lunch. Come and see our
26159.312 house. Then I’ll show you my husband; he’s at the factory. You
‘ll see, my Lucile, how handsome he is! Do you remember the jokes
26166.736 we used to make about our ideal? My ideal was a tall, dark man with a crooked mustache and eyebrows as black
26173.416 as ink. Well! my dear, my husband doesn’t look like that, not at all. He’s no taller than Papa; his hair
26181.776 is chestnut, and he has a pretty blond beard, as soft as silk , for it has never been shaved. Now I think my
26189.056 ideal was dreadful, and if I met him in the street, I’d be afraid. Robert is gentle, delicate, tender; he’s crying, my dear! Yesterday,
26197.136 at nightfall, he was sitting beside me; we were making plans; I was expounding my little ideas on the education of children. He
26204.016 let me talk to myself, and hid his head in his hands, as if to look into himself. When I had finished, he kissed me without
26210.696 saying anything, and I felt a big tear roll down my cheek. How beautiful they are, a man’s tears! Mama loves me well, but she has never
26217.936 loved me like this. What you will never believe is that with men he is proud, stiff and terrible at times. I was told that last year
26225.616 our workers wanted to go on strike to get rid of a foreman. He discovered the plot in time; he marched straight
26232.256 on the leaders, in the midst of fifty or sixty men mutinying against him, and he drove the revolt underground. Everyone
26239.736 in the house fears him, except me: judge if I have reason to be proud! It seems to me that I am making all these people march who obey him. O my
26247.896 Lucile, what an admirable thing marriage is! The day before we were two, the next day we are one; we have everything in common, we are
26255.296 two halves of the same soul; we hold together like two Siamese twins, who cannot separate without dying.
26260.608 Here is our room; what do you say? He chose the hanging for me like a dress: blue, in
26266.528 honor of my blond hair. By the way, what is a hanging? A dress that dresses us from afar. You, my dark-eyed brunette, you
26274.208 must have a room of pink satin? « I think so, » Lucile continued, all dreamy.
26279.288 « How? I think so! You answer like an Englishwoman. But I am English in one respect too. Don’t go imagining that everyone
26286.128 comes in here as if they were in the street! We have our discretion and our delicacy; if it weren’t for you, you wouldn’t be sitting in that armchair.
26293.888 Do you know that I make my own bed! It’s true that Robert helps me a little.  » Lucile said nothing. She contemplated with a thoughtful eye a magnificent
26301.568 jumble of lace and embroidery in the middle of which two large pillows lay side by side. The door opened, and Monsieur Jordy entered
26309.008 carelessly, throwing down his straw hat. At the sight of Lucile, he stopped, completely taken aback, and bowed respectfully. His wife threw her arms
26316.968 around his neck without ceremony, and said, pointing to the marquise with a gesture full of grace and simplicity:  »
26322.568 Robert, it’s Lucile! » That was the whole introduction. M. Jordy paid Lucile a little,
26329.528 unceremonious compliment, which proved that he had often heard of her, and that she was neither a stranger nor indifferent to him.
26336.328 He sat down, and his wife found a way to slip in beside him. Isn’t he handsome? she said to the marquise. But where
26343.208 has he come from? He must have been running; he’s sweating. And with a gesture as quick as words, she passed a cambric handkerchief over the forehead
26351.048 of the young man who was trying in vain to defend himself. M. Jordy had more people than Céline; but in vain did he give her looks that
26359.224 were meant to be severe, the little native of Arlange put both hands over his eyes and brazenly kissed his closed eyelids. Don’t
26365.864 scold me, she said to him; Lucile has been married for a fortnight, that is to say, as mad as we are. The clock struck noon; It was
26373.224 lunchtime. They ran to the garden and happily sat down under the beautiful lime trees that gave their name to the neighboring street. No
26380.624 servants were present at the meal; everyone served themselves and others; the two friends, raised in the village and strangers to the
26387.944 sentimentality of Parisian education, were not water drinkers; they dipped their lips in a lovely straw wine that M. Jordy fetched
26395.224 a few steps away, from a running stream. Robert easily pleased the Marquise; without lacking in wit or education,
26402.704 he was simple, full of heart, and of the kind of wood from which one makes the best friends. Besides, we all feel a natural sympathy for
26410.584 faces that radiate joy; only selfish people do not like happy people. Céline, who wanted to make her husband shine, forced him
26418.024 to sing at dessert. He chose one of Béranger’s most beautiful songs , although the old poet was already out of fashion. The
26423.944 birds, awakened in the middle of their nap, performed a joyful accompaniment above his head. Lucile sang in turn, without being
26432.384 asked, words that were not Italian. They joked as honest people joke; they talked about everything, except the
26439.504 next one and the new play; they laughed heartily, and no one noticed that there was a little fever in the Marquise’s gaiety.
26445.504 Why isn’t Monsieur d’Outreville here? said Madame Jordy.
26450.528 Two people are very fond of each other; but four people are in competition! Around two o’clock, Monsieur Jordy went about his business, and the two friends
26457.008 resumed their confidences. Céline spoke without tiring and without realizing that she was giving a monologue. Women are
26464.248 marvelously organized for microscopic work; they excel at detailing their pleasures and their pains.
26470.208 Lucile, moved, panting, listened, learned, guessed and sometimes
26476.288 even did not understand. She was like a navigator thrown by the storm into an enchanted land, but whose language he does not understand.
26482.608 Dinner time was approaching; Céline was still talking, and Lucile was still listening. As for the children, said the young woman, we must hope that they
26490.808 will come soon. Do you ever think about it, my Lucile? Love only lasts for a time; twenty years at most; and now three
26497.968 weeks have passed! The love of children is something else: it lasts as long as we do, and closes our eyes. You know that I was not
26505.088 very devout in the past; now, when I think that our children are in the hands of God, I become superstitious. What do you ask for? A
26513.488 son or a daughter? –But…. I have not thought about it yet. –You must think about it, my dear. If you do not think about it, who
26521.368 will think about it for you? I want a son. Listen to the paragraph I added to my prayers: Holy Virgin, if my heart seems
26528.848 pure enough to you, bless my love and obtain that I may have the happiness of having a son to teach it the fear of God, the worship of good and
26536.248 beauty, and all the duties of man and of the Christian. This last stroke finished off poor Lucile. The torrent of tears she
26542.968 had been holding back for so long broke the dams, and her pretty face was flooded with them. You’re crying! cried Céline.
26549.232 Have I hurt your feelings? « Ah! Céline, I’m so unhappy! Mother forced me to leave on the
26554.792 evening of my wedding, and I haven’t seen my husband since the ball!  » « The evening? Since the ball? Mercy! »
26561.832 Suddenly, Madame Jordy’s face took on a serious expression. « But this is a betrayal, » she said. « Why didn’t you tell me this sooner
26568.392 ? I’ve been talking to you since morning like a woman, and you’re only a child! You should have stopped me at the first word, and I would
26576.232 never forgive you for letting me talk, if you weren’t so much to be pitied.  » Lucile related her story briefly.  »
26582.192 Why didn’t you write to your husband? » asked Céline. « I wrote to him. » « When?  » « Four days ago.
26587.512  » « Well! My child, don’t cry anymore: he’ll arrive this evening. » At dinner, the table was elegant, the dining room bright and cheerful,
26595.512 the last rays of the setting sun played with the blinds and jalousies, the straw wine laughed in the glasses, and Monsieur Jordy
26603.432 caressed his wife’s pretty face with a radiant look; but Céline retained the gravity of a Roman matron, and I believe (God
26611.512 forgive me!) that she said « vous » to her husband. The Marquise left at ten o’clock. Céline and her husband took her back
26616.992 to her carriage. Seeing the coachman, Madame Jordy had a sudden inspiration:
26622.472 « Pierre, » she said in an indifferent tone, « has the Marquis arrived?  » « Yes, madame. » The Marquise threw herself into her friend’s arms with a cry.  »
26630.352 What is it? » asked Robert. « Nothing, » said Céline. Chapter 20.
26635.432 Upon receiving Lucile’s letter, Gaston did what any man would have done in her place: he kissed the signature a thousand times, and left by post
26643.232 for Paris. Fortune, which amuses itself with us almost as much as a little girl with her dolls, made him enter the Hôtel d’Outreville on a
26650.064 Tuesday evening, two weeks to the day after his marriage. With a little good will, he could imagine that the first two weeks
26657.864 of June had been a bad dream, and that he was waking up, worn out with fatigue, at his wife’s side. This time, his resolution was
26664.144 firmly taken; he had armed himself with courage against the maternal despotism of Madame Benoît, and he swore to himself to defend her property to
26671.544 the bitter end. He had not yet opened the door when Julie entered Madame Benoît’s room, shouting:
26676.984 Madame! Madame! Monsieur le Marquis! The widow, who did not know that her daughter had written to Arlange, thought
26683.664 she had won the day. She replied with barely contained joy:  » There is nothing to shout about: I was expecting it.
26690.784  » « I did not know, madame; and, because of what happened a fortnight ago, I thought madame would be very pleased to be informed.
26698.624 Is madame then in favor of the Marquis?  » « Certainly! Go! Run! What are you interfering with? »
26703.904 « Pardon, madame; but the Marquis’s trunks are being unloaded. Is he going to stay at the hotel?
26710.704  » « And where do you want him to stay? Go and take care of his luggage.  » « Pardon, madame; but where must they be taken?
26717.784  » « Where? You fool! To the Marquise’s room! Is n’t a husband’s place beside his wife? »
26724.704 Gaston entered his mother-in-law’s room, all powdered, and his first glance sought the absent Lucile. Madame Benoît, more considerate than on
26732.704 her best days, answered this glance:  » Are you looking for Lucile? She is dining with a friend; but it is late; you
26738.504 will see her before one o’clock. At last, here you are! Kiss me, my son-in-law; I forgive you.
26744.16  » « My goodness! my dear mother, you are stealing the first word I wanted to say to you. May all your wrongs be erased by this kiss! »
26751.36 –If I am wrong, you had justified them in advance by this incredible mania of which you are finally corrected! Wanting to live with
26758.36 wolves at your age! Admit that it was blindness and give thanks to the one who enlightened you! Are you not better off here than anywhere
26765.44 else? And can one live a human life outside Paris? –Pardon, madame, but I did not come to Paris to live here.
26772.08 –And for what purpose? To die here? –I will not stay here long enough for nostalgia to overcome me.
26777.36 I came to Paris to seek my wife and make an essential visit. –You intend to bring my daughter back to Arlange?
26783.64 –As soon as possible. –And she will accompany you to this burrow? –It seems to me that she must.
26789.32 –Will you order her to follow you by law, and will your love be escorted by two gendarmes?
26794.52 –No, madame; I would renounce my rights if I had to claim them in court; but we are not there yet: Lucile will follow me
26802.04 out of love. –For love of you or of Arlange? –Of both, of the forge and the blacksmith.
26807.48 –Are you sure of that? –Without conceit, yes. –We shall see. And can we know what this
26814.0 indispensable visit is that shares with my daughter the honor of bringing you to Paris? –Don’t delude yourselves; it is a visit to which you cannot
26819.92 come with me. –To which privileged mortal? –The Minister of the Interior. –The Minister! For what purpose? Are you thinking of it? If only we knew!
26828.6 –We shall know. It is important to the interests of the forge that I sit on the general council. A vacancy presents itself, and I want to ask the Minister
26836.88 to accept me as a candidate. –But, wretch, you are going to set me at odds with our entire party!
26842.544 « One only quarrels with people one knows. If you had asked me about my political opinions, I would have told you that I
26848.104 am not a man of opposition. Besides, it seems to me that we , the great landowners, have no reason to complain:
26855.024 nothing is done but for us!  » « You did say that word: We, the great landowners! » One would think, upon my word, that you have been one all your life!
26862.784 « What, madame! But I have been one from father to son for nine hundred years! Do you know many of older dates?
26869.424  » « If we play on words, we could talk for a long time without understanding each other. Listen. You like to seek provincial honors,
26876.704 fine. However, the forge has done well for fifteen years, although I have never sat on the general council. You want to present yourself as a
26883.504 ministerial candidate; I believe you would have done better to ask for the votes of our friends, who are numerous, rich, and influential. » However,
26891.344 I will pass over that again. See if I am lenient! I have just won a victory over you; I forced you to come to Paris, to
26897.864 my land…. –To my house. –That is true. Oh! you were born a landowner; you soon
26903.904 put down roots! Despite everything, you came here because I brought you here forced; it is a defeat; but I do not pretend to take advantage of it.
26911.664 Will you sign the peace? –With both hands!… if you are reasonable. –I will. You love Arlange, you are eager to return there, and you
26920.424 do not want to live there without your wife, which is very natural. I will give you back Lucile so that you can take her to the forge.
26926.824 –That is all I ask: let us sign! –Wait! For my part, I love Paris as you love the forge, and the
26934.024 suburb as you love Lucile. If I do not enter once and for all into the great world, I am a dead woman. Would it cost you much,
26940.304 while you are here, all carried away, to present your wife and me to eight or ten houses of your friends, and to show us a little corner
26947.344 of this earthly paradise from which I have always been excluded by…. –By original sin! It would cost me a lot and would
26954.184 be of no use to you. I will not repeat to you that I have an old grudge against the suburb which absolutely forbids me from setting foot there again:
26960.144 you believe you have enough right over me to demand the forgetting of my repugnances and the sacrifice of my self-esteem. But can you
26967.384 demand that I lay out for you Lucile’s entire future? I am reserving for her, far from Paris, a modest, equal happiness, without splendor, without noise, and
26976.024 of a smiling uniformity. We have, if God grants us life, thirty or forty years to spend together in a narrow but charming horizon,
26984.864 with no other events than the birth and marriage of our children. Such happiness is enough for her ambition, she told me. Who assures me that
26992.224 the sight of a country where everything is parade and vanity will not turn her head? That her eyes, dazzled by the brilliance of chandeliers and candelabras,
27000.904 will be able to accustom themselves to the soft light of the lamp which must illuminate all our evenings? that her ears, deafened by the din of the world,
27008.544 will always be able to hear the voices of our forests and mine? At this moment, she is still the Lucile of old; she is bored
27014.624 to death in Paris…. –What do you know? –I am sure of it. But I do not know if in six months she would think
27020.464 as she does today. It only takes one ball to change the heart of a young woman, and ten minutes of waltzing can cause more
27026.552 upheaval than an earthquake. –You think so? Well, so be it. Lucile is yours, govern her as
27032.392 you see fit. But me! Listen carefully: this is my ultimatum, and if
27038.592 you reject it, I break off the conferences! Who would prevent you from introducing me , I do not say in the whole suburb, but in five or six
27046.032 houses of your acquaintance? –Without my wife! Believe me, my dear Madame Benoît, let us
27052.232 each tie a stone around our necks and throw ourselves into the river together; that would be just as wise. The entire aristocracy knows you as they
27059.952 knew your father. They know your persevering ambition; you are already the talk of the faubourg; it was the Baron who wrote to me, and his
27067.512 testimony is not refutable. They say that you bought with your millions the pleasure of sailing the world in tow of a
27072.992 marchioness. If I were to introduce you today, tomorrow they would count the visits we made, and calculate, to the nearest centime,
27081.072 the sum that each one brought me. What do you say? Even if you were young enough to want to play such a game, I am not enough of
27088.472 a philosopher to serve as your partner. I am leaving tomorrow for Arlange with my wife; I offer you, as a good son-in-law, a place in the carriage,
27095.992 and that is all that common sense allows me to do for you. Madame Benoît was violently tempted to tear the eyes out of this model of
27102.752 sons-in-law, but she hid her annoyance. My friend, she said, you have spent thirty hours in a post-chaise, you are tired, you are sleepy, and
27110.952 I was ill-advised to want to convert a man still in boots. You will be more accommodating when you have slept. Wait for me in this
27118.632 chair, and allow me to go and see to your rest. I’m yours! She went out smiling and ran like a storm to
27126.336 her daughter’s room. I don’t know if she opened the door or if she burst it open, her entrance was so violent. She roughly seized Julie’s arm,
27133.856 who was unfolding a pillowcase: « Unhappy woman, » she cried, « what are you doing?
27138.936  » « But, madame, what madame told me.  » « You’re crazy! You didn’t understand me. Leave that and
27144.656 move all this luggage to me. Has anyone ever seen anything like this? A boy’s trunks in my daughter’s room!
27151.856  » « Pardon, madame, but…  » « There’s no but, and you’ll be forgiven when you obey. Take it away! Take it away!
27157.336  » « But where, madame?  » « Wherever you like; in the street, in the courtyard! No, here: in my
27163.376 room!  » « Madame is giving away her apartment? » But where will Madame’s bed be made? « Here, on this couch, in the Marquise’s room. Why
27171.336 are you acting surprised? Isn’t a mother’s place beside her daughter?  » She left the maid to her task and her surprise, and
27178.776 went back downstairs, saying to herself in a low voice: « The Marquis has only come to defy me; he will not have the joy of it. I want to go into society under
27186.176 his nose: Madame de Malésy will help me; we will show that devilish blacksmith that we can do without him. But I must not let him
27194.536 seduce my daughter! He would carry her off to Arlange, and then, goodbye to the suburb!  »
27199.976 At the same moment, Pierre asked for the door, and the Marquise, drunk with hope, jumped lightly from the step into the house. Madame
27206.696 Benoît was in the drawing-room before her; She feared nothing so much as the first meeting, and it was important that she be there to stop
27213.616 the expansion of these young hearts. Lucile thought she would fall into her husband’s arms ; it was her mother who received her: So here you are, dear
27221.2 little one! she said to her with her usual volubility and more than usual tenderness . How long you have stayed! I was beginning to
27229.28 worry. My heart hangs by a thread when I do not feel you near me. Dear beauty, there is only one
27236.36 disinterested affection in this world: the love of a mother for her child. How did you spend the day? Do you feel better than recently? See,
27243.56 sir, how she has changed! Your behavior has done her a lot of harm. She needs the greatest care; violent emotions
27250.12 are fatal to her, the sight of you alone makes her pale and blush at the same time. But you yourself, my dear marquis, do you know that I no
27257.84 longer recognize you? You claim that the air of Arlange is good for you; one wouldn’t say so to look at you. You are no longer that brilliant lord of Outreville
27265.08 whom I was introduced to two months ago. After all, one must allow for fatigue: poor fellow! A hundred leagues in post, all in one breath!
27273.04 It’s enough to break a man sturdier than you. Fortunately, a good night’s sleep will mend everything. There is an excellent bed
27279.8 waiting for you here nearby, in my room which I give up to you. « But, madame… » murmured Gaston timidly.
27285.36 « No objections and no fuss with me! Sacrificing everything for our children is our happiness, we mothers. Besides, I
27292.96 shall sleep very well on a camp bed, near my dear Lucile, whose health requires all my care. We should already be in bed.
27300.312 Come, sleepyhead, say goodnight to your wife, and come kiss her hand:
27305.952 it seems to me that you are not giving her much of a welcome! » Neither Gaston nor Lucile were fooled by this speech, but they were its
27312.352 victims; impudence almost always succeeds with young people, because they feel a kind of shame in refuting a lie. In
27319.192 the present circumstance, another kind of delicacy paralyzed the courage of Lucile and Gaston. These honest hearts would have thought
27326.992 it a shame to face the ill will of Madame Benoît. Gaston himself, after all the vigorous resolutions he had
27334.032 taken, did not dare to assert his rights, nor appeal to his wife’s feelings: he was as timid as Lucile, perhaps more so.
27343.152 Whatever boldness is attributed to our sex, it is no less true that well-born men are, in love, more fierce
27350.872 than young girls. The presence of a third party is enough to freeze the words on their lips and repress to the depths of their souls an
27357.712 overflowing passion. Madame Benoît drew up a plan of campaign which would never have succeeded
27363.032 without the influence she had taken over her daughter, and especially without Gaston’s proud timidity. For a whole week, she managed to
27370.192 keep apart two beings who adored each other, who belonged to each other, and who dined together every evening. The amount she spent on turbulence to
27378.112 stun her daughter and on effrontery to intimidate her son-in-law amounts to an incalculable sum. Every day she imagined a new pretext
27384.352 for dragging Lucile into Paris and leaving the Marquis at home. She clung to her daughter, leaving her only when it was wise,
27391.552 when Gaston was out. Seeing her zeal and perseverance, you would have said she was one of those jealous mothers who cannot resign themselves to
27399.472 sharing their daughter with a husband. Her first idea was simply to punish her son-in-law and
27404.632 inflict on him in turn the troubles of an unhappy passion. The success of her calculations then gave her a little hope: she thought that
27412.352 Gaston would end by admitting defeat and spontaneously offer to take her out into society. But the Marquis took his widowhood
27420.312 patiently: he wrote to Lucile, he received a few notes written surreptitiously; he was plotting a plan of escape with her. Thanks to
27428.272 Madame Benoît’s supervision, these two spouses, united by law and
27433.472 religion, were reduced to schoolboy stratagems. Their love, without losing any of its assurance and serenity, had gained the
27441.232 piquant charm of illegitimate passions. The daily ceremony of kissing the hand, authorized and presided over by the mother-in-law, covered up the exchange
27447.872 of this correspondence that Madame Benoît never guessed. Finally tired of waiting uselessly for her son-in-law’s conversion, she returned to her
27455.952 original plans and turned her attention back to Madame de Malésy. She had learned from her dressmaker that the Marquise de Croix-Maugars was going
27462.592 to give a party in her garden for her wedding anniversary. All the nobility present in Paris would be gathered there, for balls
27469.272 are rare on June 22, and when one encounters the opportunity to dance under a tent, one takes advantage of it. By a providential chance, Gaston
27477.552 had precisely obtained an audience with the minister for the 21st, at eleven o’clock in the morning. The widow took advantage of her son-in-law’s forced absence
27484.992 to leave Lucile at home, and she ran to the old countess’s. Madame, she said to her point-blank, you owe me eight thousand
27492.032 francs, or almost… « Please? » asked the countess, who rarely heard it that way.
27497.992 « I have come neither to demand them from you nor to reproach you for them.  » « Good. » « I care so little for money that not only will I renounce this
27505.08 sum, but I will also make other sacrifices if necessary to achieve my goal. I want to be received in the suburb with the marquise, my daughter, and
27512.76 without delay. » Tomorrow is the day Madame de Croix-Maugars is giving her ball: you are her mother, she has nothing to refuse you: would it be an abuse of the rights
27521.16 I have acquired through your kindness to ask you for two letters of invitation? The Countess’s bright little eyes rounded into
27528.32 armchair nails. She smiled at the widow’s speech like a miner at a vein of gold. Alas! child, she said, tearing up, my
27536.84 credit has been greatly exaggerated. My daughter is my daughter, I do not deny it; but she is in the power of a husband. Do you know Croix-Maugars?
27543.64 « If I knew him, I would have no need.  » « That is true. Well, dear child, I need only ask him for a
27549.92 service to obtain a refusal. I am the most unhappy woman in Paris. My creditors are hounding me, although I have
27556.48 never done anything to them. My son-in-law is a man; he should protect me: he abandons me. What did I ask of him the day before yesterday? A little money
27563.96 to pay the Good Saint Louis, who has degenerated so much since your father! He replied that his party would be magnificent, and that his purse was
27572.04 empty. I don’t know where to turn. How do you have the heart to come and talk about balls and pleasure to a poor desperate woman like
27579.32 me? All this will end badly; I will be seized, they will sell my furniture… Here the countess fell silent, and let her tears speak. Excuse me,
27586.8 she continued. You see that I am hardly in a state to receive visitors ; but I will always have pleasure in seeing you: you remind me of
27594.4 my good Lopinot. Ah! If he were still alive! Come back one of these days, we’ll talk, and if I’m still good for anything,
27602.328 I’ll do my best to serve you. At the Countess’s first tears, Madame Benoît had resolutely taken out
27607.928 her handkerchief. She said to herself: Since we must cry, let’s cry. After all, tears cost me no more than they do her! The sensitive widow
27615.528 added aloud: Come now, Madame la Comtesse, a little courage! It
27621.088 ‘s not enough to break a heart like yours. So you owe a lot of money to that wicked Saint-Louis?
27626.288 Alas! little one: fifteen hundred francs! But it’s a pittance! Yes, it’s a great pittance! To be called the Countess of Malésy, to be
27634.368 the mother of the Marquise de Croix-Maugars, to hold the first rank in the suburb, to have entry to all the salons for oneself and one’s friends, and
27641.168 not to be able to pay a sum of fifteen hundred francs! I pain you , don’t I? Farewell, my child, farewell. My grief redoubles to
27649.288 see you cry; leave me alone with my troubles! –Will you allow me to go to the Bon Saint Louis? I will undertake
27656.328 to arrange the matter. –I forbid you!… or rather, yes: go ahead. These people are your
27662.448 successors: you will get on with them better than I will. Besides, they are of your caste; merchants do not eat each other. You
27669.088 are lucky, you others; they give you for a hundred crowns what costs us a thousand. Go to the Bon Saint Louis. I bet, you rascal, that you
27676.088 will buy the debt without spending a penny; and it is to you that I shall owe fifteen hundred francs! –That is agreed, Madame la Comtesse; and as one service is worth another…
27684.408 –Yes; I will render you all the services in my power. But I definitely prefer that you not make my peace with these
27690.048 shopkeepers. What would I gain by it? It would soon be known that they are paid, and I would have to deal with all the others.
27696.672 My poor dear, I owe God and the devil. –How much? –Ah! how much! I don’t know myself anymore. My memory is failing.
27704.352 But I have some bills here. Look: the pastry chef in the Rue de Poitiers
27709.672 is demanding five hundred francs for half a dozen chickens that I had brought up to my house and a few miserable cakes that I nibbled at
27716.072 in his shop. How you exploit us! –I will have a word with him. « Yes, tell him he should be ashamed, and that I don’t want
27722.992 to hear anything about him again.  » « Don’t worry. » « Now here is Master Majou asking the price of an
27728.592 ordinary cask of wine.  » « It’s a trifle: give me that paper. « A thousand francs.
27733.712  » « Good heavens! Your ordinary wine is not to be despised.  » « Here: here is the bill from a very honest man; I’m sure you
27740.552 would come to an arrangement with him. He’s the upholsterer who restored this furniture . He’s asking me for a thousand crowns, but if you knew how to use him, you
27748.112 could get a receipt for almost nothing.  » « I’ll try, Madame la Comtesse. » She took the four bills and
27754.592 folded them carefully. « It’s noon, » she continued: « I’m going from this not put your affairs in order. But now that your mind is
27762.552 freer, won’t you go and try the effect of your eloquence on the Marquis de Croix-Maugars? « Yes, little one, I will go. But my mind is less free than you
27770.792 think. I haven’t told you all my sorrows. » She opened a drawer of her worktable and took out a wallet stuffed with papers. You
27777.352 ‘re going to learn of many other miseries! « All fine! » thought Madame Benoît. « Six thousand francs, although that
27783.032 ‘s a good price for a simple passport within the suburb. But the old lady has acquired a taste; her appetite is coming, and if I
27790.792 don’t put a stop to it, she’ll ask me to buy her, on the way, the Louvre and the Tuileries! » The widow put the bills she
27798.112 had taken back on the table, and said in a moved voice: « Alas! Madam, I fear greatly that you are right, and that your sorrows are without remedy!
27805.352 « But no! But no! » replied the Countess quickly. « I am sure of getting out of this difficulty one day or another. You have given me back my courage, and
27812.832 I feel quite refreshed. I will be at my daughter’s in an hour; time to put on a dress! I will have an invitation card in the name of
27819.672 the Marquise d’Outreville. You will not need two; you will enter with your daughter: I want to avoid this name of Benoît which would spoil everything.
27827.632 While I attend to you, go to your merchants with the bills, and finish this little speculation, which seems to
27835.472 please you. Meet here at three o’clock sharp, and we will exchange our powers like two ambassadors.
27841.312  » M. de Croix-Maugars grimaced when he saw his mother-in-law enter. The Countess was so terribly needy that people dreaded her
27848.032 appearance like the arrival of a bill of exchange. But when they learned that she wasn’t asking for money, they had nothing left to refuse her. The
27855.192 Marquis, smiling, handed her a square of satin cardboard, the value of which he was far from knowing; it was the fourth time in a year
27862.512 that he had paid her debts. Madame Benoît, as joyful as a sailor returning to port, ran to
27867.952 her notary, returned to the creditors, and paid without haggling. The accommodating upholsterer whom the Countess had praised was that
27876.192 fierce Bouniol, who had forced her door eight days earlier. At three o’clock, Madame de Malésy pocketed the receipts, and the widow ran
27884.072 to her hotel with the precious invitation. She didn’t put it in her pockets; she kept it in her hand, she contemplated it, she
27890.744 smiled at him. At last! she said, here are my letters of naturalization; I am a citizen of the suburb. Provided that between now and tomorrow I do not fall
27898.504 ill! She then remembered that Lucile had been alone since eleven o’clock, and that the Marquis had had time to talk to her alone. This
27906.064 idea, which would have exasperated her the day before, seemed almost indifferent to her. Happiness reconciled her with the whole world and with Gaston: a
27915.344 drunken man no longer has enemies. As she got out of the carriage, she saw in the courtyard a former victim of her outburst, the candid Jacquet.
27921.864 Come here, my boy! she said to him. Come here, have nothing to fear: you are forgiven. So you want to return to my service?
27928.944 « Oh! thank you very much, madame. Monsieur the Marquis introduced me to a house.  » « The Marquis introduced you? You are lucky, you!
27935.344  » « Yes, madame, I earn fifty francs a month.  » « I compliment you. » Is that all you had to say to me?
27940.624 « No, madame; I have come to bring you two letters.  » « Give them! » « Just a moment, madame; I’m looking for them under the cap of my
27947.384 hat. Here they are! One of these letters was from Gaston, the other from Lucile. Gaston said:
27954.384 My charming mother, In the hope that maternal love will tear you away from this Paris that you
27959.504 love too much, I am taking your daughter to Arlange. May you come and join us there soon! Who gave you this? » asked Madame Benoît of Jacquet. But
27968.944 Jacquet had fled, like a bird before a storm. She quickly unsealed her daughter’s letter and found three pages of excuses that
27975.864 ended with these words: A woman must follow her husband. I do not want to speak ill of the human heart, but the widow, after
27983.296 reading these two letters, thought neither of the abandonment of her daughter, nor of the betrayal of her son-in-law, nor of the isolation in which she was left, nor of the
27990.896 severance of all the ties that bound her to her family. She thought that she had just bought an invitation, that this invitation was
27996.336 in the name of Outreville, that it could not be of use to Madame Benoît, and that they would dance without her at the Hôtel de Croix-Maugars.
28002.656 Chapter 21. The Marquis d’Outreville, confident in his rights and sure of Lucile’s love, did not fear being pursued by his mother-in-law. The
28011.576 escape of the two spouses was a lovers’ promenade. We traveled a little in the morning, a little in the evening; we chose the lodgings; we stopped,
28018.576 like two connoisseurs in a painting salon, at all the fresh landscapes; we got out of the carriage, we followed the paths, we
28025.656 entered, arm in arm, into the woods; we often got lost, we always found each other again. Lucile, as much of a marquise as a woman
28034.576 can be, and recognized as such by all the innkeepers along the road, covered in three weeks the road that with her mother she had
28041.496 devoured in twenty-four hours: however, the second journey seemed shorter to her than the first.
28046.656 The arrival of the two spouses was a celebration in Arlange: Lucile was adored by all her vassals. The elders of the country and the deans of
28053.696 the forge came to tell her in their patois that they had found the time long after her; the companions of her childhood came
28060.096 awkwardly to bring her good morning: she received them in her arms. She amply repaid the good, fat, friendship coin that these
28066.856 good people spent on her; she inquired about the absent; she asked for news of the sick; she spread throughout the
28073.176 village the joy with which her heart was full. This tribute once paid to the memories of her early life, she intended
28078.304 to retreat into the forge with Gaston, close the door to all visitors, and live on love in the depths of her retreat. Children have
28085.744 the improvidence of those American savages who cut down the tree at the base and eat all the fruit in a day. But the Marquis, since his
28093.424 marriage, had given serious thought and divined the great secret of domestic life: the economy of happiness. He knew that solitude
28100.464 for two, that dream of lovers, must quickly exhaust the richest hearts , and that if one says everything in a day, one must soon
28108.104 repeat oneself or be silent. If all young spouses were not in the habit of wasting their happiness, the honeymoon, which the universe accuses of being
28115.944 too short, would have more than four quarters. Gaston felt enough tenderness in his soul to make his happiness last as long as
28122.304 his life, but on condition that he managed it carefully. He gently led Lucile to divide her time between love, work, and even boredom, that
28130.864 salutary neighbor who adds so much charm to pleasure. He interested her in his studies and his research; he persuaded her to make and receive
28137.704 visits; he had the heroism to take her to the Baroness de Sommerfogel! He joined her in begging Mr. and Mrs. Jordy to come and
28146.944 spend the first vacation they could take at the forge; he dictated five or six letters to her intended to soften Mrs. Benoît and bring her
28154.264 back. These signs of filial submission only exasperated the widow ‘s anger . She was not far from believing herself offended by vain excuses
28160.944 which had not the virtue of opening the slightest salon to her. If she had had to forget for a moment what she called the betrayal of
28167.896 her daughter, the invitation of the Marquis de Croix-Maugars, which she carried with her, would have brought it back before her eyes. She became a misanthrope
28175.056 like all weak minds when they believe they have something to complain about. She became intolerant of the entire universe, even her former
28182.456 paradise, the Faubourg Saint-Germain: it seemed to her that the aristocracy of Paris was conspiring against her, and that the Marquis d’Outreville was
28189.336 the leader of the plot. If she did not say an eternal farewell to the scene of her disappointments, it was so as not to admit defeat. She persisted
28197.056 in associating with the nobility, but only to brave them more closely: she wanted to tread the carpets of the Rue de Grenelle as Diogenes
28203.536 trampled underfoot the luxury of Plato! She saw neither Madame de Malésy nor her other debtors again, except the Baron de Subressac. It was not
28211.456 that she expected any service from him: she had folded her arms and now expected nothing but chance. But the baron showed him
28218.656 goodwill, and that is something, for want of anything better, than the friendship of a baron. M. de Subressac was very old at seventy-five: at twenty-five,
28226.576 he had been particularly young. He had spent his life and his fortune without counting, and his former adventures still provided
28234.696 the intimate conversation of the dowagers of the suburb. Unfortunately for his old age, he had forgotten to marry in time, and he had
28241.216 condemned himself to solitude, that cold companion of old bachelors. Relegated to a fourth floor with a life annuity of six thousand livres,
28248.616 between a valet and a cook who served him out of habit, he hated the home and lived outside.
28254.912 Every day, after lunch, he dressed himself with the meticulous coquetry of a
28260.272 woman who is getting on in years. It has been claimed that he wore rouge, but the fact does not seem to be well established. Once dressed, he made
28267.072 five or six visits at a leisurely pace, was well received everywhere, and invited to dinner seven times a week. He was loved for the care he took of himself and
28274.352 others: he had exquisite attentions for women of all ages that the younger generation no longer knows. Independently of this merit,
28282.312 sex rewarded thirty years of loyal service in him, as a sovereign gives the Invalides to a soldier aged in harness. I am not
28289.552 speaking of five or six venerable grandmothers among whom he found that closer friendship which is like crystallized love. Thanks
28297.352 to the good feelings he had sown along his path, he was as happy as one can be at seventy-five when one is forced
28303.792 to seek happiness outside one’s home. He had no infirmities, but from the winter of 1845, his closest friends
28311.112 began to notice that he was declining. He was no longer as alert to conversation; He had absences. His speech
28318.432 seemed less lively and his tongue less fluid. Finally, a more serious symptom, he could no longer resist sleep. One evening, after dinner,
28326.392 at the Marquis de Croix-Maugars’s, he fell asleep in his chair. Madame de Malésy, one of his whims of 1815, was the first to notice this and
28334.192 quoted a menacing saying about it: Youth that watches, old age
28339.632 that sleeps, omens of death. In April 1846, the Baron was seized by a
28344.952 dizziness in front of the barracks on Rue Bellechasse; he would have fallen to the pavement if it had not been for a brigadier of chasseurs who held him in
28350.952 his arms. This circumstance made him keenly miss a carriage: people were always happy to receive his visits, but they did not
28359.256 have him picked up at home. Madame Benoît was the first to show him such delicate care. Whether she was waiting for him or whether he
28366.536 was taking leave of her, she never forgot to place at his disposal the softest of her carriages and the softest cushions. She
28372.776 showed herself more attentive than old friends, and do not be surprised: he was a hope for her, for others a memory.
28380.456 The day when she no longer expected anything from him, after Lucile’s departure, she did not diminish her attentions in any way, quite the contrary. She
28387.056 felt a bitter pleasure in satisfying the only gentleman who was one of her friends. She said to herself: The fools! That’s how
28394.696 I would have pampered them all! The Baron took a true friendship for the one who treated him so well. Old people are like
28401.336 children: they instinctively attach themselves to those who take care of their weakness. He made her take advantage of the leisure that the season left her;
28409.416 while a large half of the suburb ran to the country to rest from the pleasures of winter, he took up his quarters in the rue
28416.096 Saint-Dominique, and came almost every day to dine with the bourgeoisie. The meal was ordered for him: he was served the dishes he
28422.216 liked. He ate slowly: Madame Benoît took his example, so as not to appear to be waiting for him. He liked old wines; she
28429.216 served him the cream from her cellar. At dessert she told him her grievances, and he listened to her. He came to pity her seriously for her
28436.616 imaginary ills. She wept, and, as tears are contagious, he wept with her. Three months after Lucile’s departure, he was with
28444.696 her. He had grown accustomed to this easy and rich life and these quiet pleasures which cost him only a little compassion. One
28452.056 evening, it was towards the end of September, he said to Madame Benoît: I am no longer good for anything, my poor charming: I am like an
28460.736 old tapestry which shows the thread everywhere, and of which the design is three-quarters erased; but, such as I am, I can still
28468.256 give you what you have wished for all your life: do you want to be a baroness? It is not a husband that I am proposing to you, it is only a name.
28475.016 At your age, and made as you are, you would deserve better; but I offer what I have. Something tells me that I will not bore you
28483.576 long, and that my old age will soon be over; I even believe that we would do well to hurry, if you want to become Madame de Subressac.
28490.296 I have many connections in the suburb; I am loved almost everywhere: let me just have time to introduce you to my friends! After my
28496.336 death, they will continue to receive you for love of me. Then nothing will prevent you, if you feel like it, from choosing a man of your
28504.216 age, who will be your husband in truth and no longer in effigy. Meditate on this proposal: take eight days to think it over, take fifteen,
28512.136 I am still good for fifteen days. Write to your children; perhaps the fear of this marriage will decide them to do what you
28518.576 want. As for me, whatever happens, I will die more peacefully if I have the consolation of having contributed to your happiness.
28524.856 Madame Benoît was in no way prepared for these overtures; however, she did not waste two days in reflection. An hour after the
28531.056 Baron’s departure, her decision was made. She said to herself: I swore I would not remarry; but before that I swore to enter the suburb.
28538.064 This time, at least, I am sure I will not be beaten by my husband! I marry the baron, I distort my fortune, and I disinherit the marquise
28547.064 of everything I can possibly take from her: let’s get to work! She had her reply taken to M. de Subressac, and the very next day, without
28554.904 writing to her children, she hastened the preparations for her marriage. Never did a passionate lover run more ardently to his wedding: it was because Madame
28562.384 Benoît married much better than a man, she married the suburb! A slight indisposition of M. de Subressac warned her that she had
28569.224 no time to lose: she took to the skies and displayed more activity
28574.584 than on the approach of her daughter’s marriage. While the baron was kept in the room, the fiancée ran from the town hall to the
28582.544 notary’s office, and from the office to the sacristy. She still found time to see her dear patient and to talk with the doctor. The ceremony
28590.504 was set for October 15. On the 14th, M. de Subressac, who was better, complained of a heaviness in his head; the doctor spoke of bleeding him; Madame
28599.344 Benoît silenced him; the bleeding was postponed until the next day, the headache
28604.464 dissipated, and the future spouses dined together with good appetite. The month of October was charming in 1846: one would have thought it was the first
28613.744 days of September, and the sun gave the calendar a brilliant lie. The grape harvest was beautiful throughout France, and even in
28621.304 Lorraine. While Madame Benoît ardently pursued her barony, her daughter and son-in-law enjoyed the autumn in the company
28629.424 of their friends. Mr. and Mrs. Jordy had left their businesses to come and spend three weeks in Arlange. Madame Mélier kept them for eight
28636.064 days and then allowed them to live in the forge; neither mothers nor husbands refuse anything to a young woman four months pregnant.
28643.136 A
close friendship had been established between the refiner and the blacksmith. They hunted every day together, while their wives sewed
28649.496 a prince’s layette. Robert called the Marquise Lucile and Gaston called Céline to Madame Jordy. On the very day when the Marquis was to gain
28656.616 a father-in-law and lose a fortune, the two couples, awake at dawn, embarked together in a sturdy chariot,
28663.736 proof against all the ruts of the forest. The dew in large drops sparkled in the marijuana; the yellowed leaves descended
28670.336 , swirling in the air, and came to lie at the foot of the trees. The robins followed the course of the
28676.576 carriage from branch to branch; the wagtail ran, wagging its tail, right under the horses’ hooves. From time to time a startled rabbit, its ears
28683.696 laid back, passed like lightning across the road. The sharp morning air colored the faces of the young women. I know of
28690.376 nothing more charming than these autumn shivers between the oppressive heat of summer and the brutal ice of winter. The heat
28696.456 enervates us, the cold stiffens us; A gentle coolness strengthens the springs of body and mind, stimulates our activity and redoubles
28704.616 the joy of living. After a long walk, which seemed long to no one, the four
28710.296 friends got out of the car. Lucile, who commanded the expedition, led them to a beautiful green space, under a large oak tree, near
28717.656 a small spring framed with watercress. Madame Jordy, lazy out of duty, settled comfortably on the woodland marijuana, finer and
28725.496 softer than the best furs, while her husband emptied the trunks of the char-à-bancs and the Marquis lit a large fire
28731.336 for lunch. Lucile threw in armfuls of dry leaves and handfuls of dead branches; then Robert carved the
28738.816 cold partridges, and the Marquise used all her talents to make a magnificent omelet. Then the coffee was put near the fire, at a respectful distance,
28746.216 recommending to the Marquis not to let it cook. Then began one of those tournaments of appetite which would be ridiculous in the city but
28751.976 are delicious in the country; and when an acorn fell into a glass, people laughed heartily, and they thought the old oak had
28759.656 a great deal of wit. It was not far from noon when the table was delivered to the footmen and the coachman. The two young women took a path they
28766.616 had known for a long time, walked briskly to the edge of the wood, and threw their husbands into the middle of the harvest in
28773.376 Madame Mélier’s vineyards. A soft sun lit up the purple leaves of the vines. The sturdy vines pressed their gnarled roots into the ground, like a
28780.336 vigorous child clinging to its nurse’s breast. The beautiful red earth, slightly soaked by autumn, clung to the feet of the
28786.576 harvesters, and each of them carried a small acre of it on his shoe. Two carts laden with large vats waited at the bottom of the hill,
28794.256 and every now and then a winegrower, bent under the weight, came to pour his full basket into them. A little further on, two six-year-old children
28802.216 watched the grape pickers’ meal with hungry eyes. An enormous cabbage soup bubbled up its succulent vapors;
28809.336 Potatoes were cooking under the ashes, and the curdled milk was waiting its turn in the blue stoneware jars. The two children’s eyes
28816.536 said with a certain eloquence: Oh! Hot potatoes , with cold curdled milk!
28823.136 The grape-pickers in short petticoats sang a rustic poem from the top of their heads. This noisy gaiety benefits the master of the vineyard:
28830.256 A mouth that bites the song does not bite the grape. While Gaston and Robert climbed the hill and reviewed
28835.736 a battle front bristling with stakes, a strange discussion arose between the two friends, near the grape-pickers’ kitchen.
28843.976 Are you crazy? said Madame Jordy; this soup must be detestable. « Just a plateful! » said the marquise.
28850.816 « But you’ve just had lunch!  » « I’m hungry for that soup.  » « If you’re hungry, let’s go back to the car. »
28856.376 « No, it’s soup I need; ask for some for me, or I ‘ll steal it. I’m dying of desire!
28861.696  » « Tears! Oh! This is getting serious. I thought that desires were only allowed to me. But, in fact, who knows? Eat, madame,
28869.696 eat.  » The pretty marquise devoured a thresher’s portion in the barn. Madame Jordy was astonished that one could have such a fierce appetite when one wasn’t
28876.976 eating for two. She took her friend aside, asked her a thousand and one questions, and chatted with her for a long time. The conclusion was that we
28884.496 should seek the doctor’s advice.  » Are we disturbing you? » asked Gaston, who was retracing his steps. « Not at all, » replied Madame Jordy; « we were talking about rags.
28893.296  » « Ah!  » « My God, yes. You know that we are working on a layette.  » « Well?  » « Well, a serious worry has come to us.
28901.056  » « And what? » « We’re afraid we’ll have to make two. » Gaston felt his legs give way under him: he was a
28908.744 strong man, though. He suggested getting back in the carriage and running to the doctor.  » What joy! » Lucile was saying. « If the doctor says yes, I’ll write to
28917.464 Mama tomorrow.  » That same day, at ten o’clock in the morning, Madame Benoît climbed into the famous
28922.864 carriage that had finally been completed, but with the coat of arms changed. Before climbing the velvet staircase that served as a step, she
28930.104 complacently eyed the baron’s tortil and the Subressac coat of arms. Contrary to custom, it was the bride who was going to fetch her
28936.904 husband. She climbed lightly to the fourth floor, rang the bell briskly, and found herself face to face with two weeping servants:
28944.784 the baron had died suddenly during the night. The poor bride felt the overwhelming grief of Calypso when she learned of
28952.024 Ulysses’ departure. She wanted to see what remained of the Baron: she touched his cold hand, she sat down by his bed, overwhelmed, stupid and without
28960.744 tears. Seeing this despair, the old valet, who knew the list of his master’s loves, said to himself that no one had loved him
28967.664 like Madame Benoît. It was Madame Benoît who provided for the Baron’s funeral. She assured
28972.944 the future of her old servants by saying: It is up to me to pay his debts: am I not his widow in the eyes of God? She resolved
28981.624 to wear her mourning. She followed the procession to the cemetery. The whole suburb was there. When she saw the long line of carriages
28988.808 advancing at a walking pace behind hers, she burst into tears, and cried out amidst sobs: How unhappy I am! All these
28996.728 people would have come to dance at my house! As she returned to the hotel, crushed under the weight of grief, she
29002.088 was given the following letter: Dear Mother, This is the sixth letter I have written to you without receiving two lines of reply; but, this time, I am sure of success. I will not
29010.408 repeat to you that we love you, that we are sorry to have caused you pain, that we miss you, that we are starting to light
29017.208 a fire in the evening, and that your empty armchair brings tears to our eyes. eyes: you have resisted all those good reasons, and
29025.608 more victorious arguments are needed to make up your mind. Listen then: if you want to be good and come back to us, I will give you as
29031.888 a reward…. a grandson! I am not trying to describe our joy to you; it is better that you come and see it and share it.
29038.608 LUCILE D’OUTREVILLE Yes, cried Madame Benoît, a grandson! And if it were a
29044.688 granddaughter! She ran to the fireplace, and continued, looking at herself in a mirror: I am forty-two years old; in sixteen years, my granddaughter will make her
29054.328 entrance into the world; her parents will never leave Arlange: who will take her to the suburb, if not me? Dear little one!
29062.928 I love her already. I will be fifty-eight years old, I will still be young; and until then, I will not be so foolish as to let myself die like
29069.448 certain clumsy old men. On my way to Arlange! « Madame, » interrupted Julie, « they have come from Queen Artemisia with
29076.688 mourning clothes.  » « Send these people away! Are they making fun of me? The Baron was
29082.528 nothing to me, and I do not want to display ridiculous regrets.  » « But, madame, it was madame who said… »
29088.456 « Mademoiselle Julie, when your mistress speaks to you, it is not for you to say but. » Because I have put up with your faults
29095.376 for fifteen years, you perhaps thought that I was engaged to you for life? It is like Master Pierre, your faithful friend, who
29102.136 follows your good examples and only wants to do as he pleases. You serve me rather badly; and what is much more serious, it has happened
29110.416 to both of you to grossly fail Madame la Marquise d’Outreville. Don’t come and object again that it was I who said it. The fact is
29117.976 that my daughter can no longer see either of you; and since I am returning to Arlange…. –I understand; madame is punishing us for having obeyed her.
29125.776 This is how Madame Benoît dismissed her allies before the signing of the peace. Two days later, her smile lit up Arlange. She did not
29133.216 speak of the past; she abstained from all recriminations; she frankly reconciled with her daughter and son-in-law: she almost
29141.016 admitted her wrongs. My children, she said, how good you are here! Stay here for a long time,
29146.496 stay here always! Gaston was quite right to praise the countryside: it is there that one lives well and raises good
29152.816 families. Give me many grandchildren; I will never complain of having too many. It is I who will provide dowries for your daughters: so, my
29159.976 Lucette, regulate yourself accordingly. But do you understand this infatuation they have for Paris? It is an abominable city; I have found nothing but
29167.576 disappointments there, and I will never set foot there again except to lead my grandchildren into society!
29172.896 Seven months later, the Marquise gave birth to a boy. He was Madame Jordy’s godson; Madame Benoît did not want to be his godmother.
29180.616 I am expecting the girls, she said. In the ten years that have just passed, Lucile has given her husband seven children, and such happy fertility does not seem to have
29189.648 tired her. She has gained a little plumpness without losing any of her grace: are the cherry trees less beautiful because they bear
29196.648 cherries every year? Gaston, faithful to the two passions of his youth, devotes the better part of his time to Lucile, and the rest to
29204.568 science. His factory is prospering as well as his household. He has vigorously pushed forward progress in the metallurgical industry; he has precipitated
29213.128 the decline in the price of iron: thanks to him, the ton of rails has fallen from 360
29219.728 francs to 285, and he does not despair of bringing it to 200, as he
29224.928 once promised to his friend the saltworks engineer. The Marquis d’Outreville is, moreover, a fine blacksmith, and you would not give him
29231.608 more than thirty years: years have so little hold on a happy man ! But Madame Benoît is a little old woman, emaciated, wrinkled,
29240.968 sullen, unbearable to others and to herself. It is because she waited in vain for the little blond head on which she based her
29247.488 last hopes. The seven children of the Marquis are seven chubby rascals who roll from morning to night in the dust, who wear holes
29255.048 in their jackets at the elbows and their trousers at the knees, who have chilblains in the winter, and red hands in all seasons, and who will go
29262.168 alone to the Faubourg Saint-Germain, if they ever have the curiosity to see their grandmother’s paradise.
29267.848 Gabrielle-Auguste-Éliane will die like Moses on Mount Nebo, without having set foot on the promised land.
29273.112 You have just traveled with Edmond About behind the scenes of Parisian weddings, where passions, illusions and social strategies
29281.032 meet and collide. This fine and piquant portrait of Parisian life reminds us how human relationships are both
29288.392 universal and timeless. We hope this story entertained you and offered a new perspective on 19th-century customs and
29295.352 spirit. Thank you for listening, and look forward to more literary gems on this channel dedicated to the great voices
29302.672 of classical literature.
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