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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +Etext prepared by Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com +and John Bickers, jbickers@templar.actrix.gen.nz + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<p>THE DESERTED WOMAN</p> + +<p>by HONORE DE BALZAC</p> + +<p><br> + Translated By<br> + Ellen Marriage</p> + +<p>DEDICATION</p> + +<p>To Her Grace the Duchesse d'Abrantes,<br> + from her devoted servant,<br> + Honore de Balzac.<br> + PARIS, August 1835.</p> + +<p> </p> + +<h1><br> + THE DESERTED WOMAN</h1> + +<h1> </h1> + +<p>In the early spring of 1822, the Paris doctors sent to Lower +Normandy<br> + a young man just recovering from an inflammatory complaint, +brought on<br> + by overstudy, or perhaps by excess of some other kind. His<br> + convalescence demanded complete rest, a light diet, bracing air, +and<br> + freedom from excitement of every kind, and the fat lands of +Bessin<br> + seemed to offer all these conditions of recovery. To Bayeux, +a<br> + picturesque place about six miles from the sea, the patient +therefore<br> + betook himself, and was received with the cordiality +characteristic of<br> + relatives who lead very retired lives, and regard a new arrival +as a<br> + godsend.</p> + +<p><br> + All little towns are alike, save for a few local customs. When +M. le<br> + Baron Gaston de Nueil, the young Parisian in question, had spent +two<br> + or three evenings in his cousin's house, or with the friends who +made<br> + up Mme. de Sainte-Severe's circle, he very soon had made the<br> + acquaintance of the persons whom this exclusive society +considered to<br> + be "the whole town." Gaston de Nueil recognized in them the +invariable<br> + stock characters which every observer finds in every one of the +many<br> + capitals of the little States which made up the France of an +older<br> + day.</p> + +<p>First of all comes the family whose claims to nobility are +regarded as<br> + incontestable, and of the highest antiquity in the department, +though<br> + no one has so much as heard of them a bare fifty leagues away. +This<br> + species of royal family on a small scale is distantly, but<br> + unmistakably, connected with the Navarreins and the Grandlieu +family,<br> + and related to the Cadignans, and the Blamont-Chauvrys. The head +of<br> + the illustrious house is invariably a determined sportsman. He +has no<br> + manners, crushes everybody else with his nominal +superiority,<br> + tolerates the sub-prefect much as he submits to the taxes, +and<br> + declines to acknowledge any of the novel powers created by +the<br> + nineteenth century, pointing out to you as a political +monstrosity the<br> + fact that the prime minister is a man of no birth. His wife +takes a<br> + decided tone, and talks in a loud voice. She has had adorers in +her<br> + time, but takes the sacrament regularly at Easter. She brings up +her<br> + daughters badly, and is of the opinion that they will always be +rich<br> + enough with their name.</p> + +<p>Neither husband nor wife has the remotest idea of modern +luxury. They<br> + retain a livery only seen elsewhere on the stage, and cling to +old<br> + fashions in plate, furniture, and equipages, as in language and +manner<br> + of life. This is a kind of ancient state, moreover, that +suits<br> + passably well with provincial thrift. The good folk are, in +fact, the<br> + lords of the manor of a bygone age, /minus/ the quitrents and +heriots,<br> + the pack of hounds and the laced coats; full of honor among<br> + themselves, and one and all loyally devoted to princes whom they +only<br> + see at a distance. The historical house /incognito/ is as quaint +a<br> + survival as a piece of ancient tapestry. Vegetating somewhere +among<br> + them there is sure to be an uncle or a brother, a +lieutenant-general,<br> + an old courtier of the Kings's, who wears the red ribbon of the +order<br> + of Saint-Louis, and went to Hanover with the Marechal de +Richelieu:<br> + and here you will find him like a stray leaf out of some old +pamphlet<br> + of the time of Louis Quinze.</p> + +<p>This fossil greatness finds a rival in another house, +wealthier,<br> + though of less ancient lineage. Husband and wife spend a couple +of<br> + months of every winter in Paris, bringing back with them its +frivolous<br> + tone and short-lived contemporary crazes. Madame is a woman +of<br> + fashion, though she looks rather conscious of her clothes, and +is<br> + always behind the mode. She scoffs, however, at the ignorance +affected<br> + by her neighbors. /Her/ plate is of modern fashion; she has +"grooms,"<br> + Negroes, a valet-de-chambre, and what-not. Her oldest son drives +a<br> + tilbury, and does nothing (the estate is entailed upon him), +his<br> + younger brother is auditor to a Council of State. The father is +well<br> + posted up in official scandals, and tells you anecdotes of +Louis<br> + XVIII. and Madame du Cayla. He invests his money in the five +per<br> + cents, and is careful to avoid the topic of cider, but has been +known<br> + occasionally to fall a victim to the craze for rectifying +the<br> + conjectural sums-total of the various fortunes of the +department. He<br> + is a member of the Departmental Council, has his clothes from +Paris,<br> + and wears the Cross of the Legion of Honor. In short, he is a +country<br> + gentleman who has fully grasped the significance of the +Restoration,<br> + and is coining money at the Chamber, but his Royalism is less +pure<br> + than that of the rival house; he takes the /Gazette/ and the +/Debats/,<br> + the other family only read the /Quotidienne/.</p> + +<p>His lordship the Bishop, a sometime Vicar-General, fluctuates +between<br> + the two powers, who pay him the respect due to religion, but at +times<br> + they bring home to him the moral appended by the worthy +Lafontaine to<br> + the fable of the /Ass laden with Relics/. The good man's origin +is<br> + distinctly plebeian.</p> + +<p>Then come stars of the second magnitude, men of family with +ten or<br> + twelve hundred livres a year, captains in the navy or +cavalry<br> + regiments, or nothing at all. Out on the roads, on horseback, +they<br> + rank half-way between the cure bearing the sacraments and the +tax<br> + collector on his rounds. Pretty nearly all of them have been in +the<br> + Pages or in the Household Troops, and now are peaceably ending +their<br> + days in a /faisance-valoir/, more interested in felling timber +and the<br> + cider prospects than in the Monarchy.</p> + +<p>Still they talk of the Charter and the Liberals while the +cards are<br> + making, or over a game at backgammon, when they have exhausted +the<br> + usual stock of /dots/, and have married everybody off according +to the<br> + genealogies which they all know by heart. Their womenkind are +haughty<br> + dames, who assume the airs of Court ladies in their basket +chaises.<br> + They huddle themselves up in shawls and caps by way of full +dress; and<br> + twice a year, after ripe deliberation, have a new bonnet from +Paris,<br> + brought as opportunity offers. Exemplary wives are they for the +most<br> + part, and garrulous.</p> + +<p>These are the principal elements of aristocratic gentility, +with a few<br> + outlying old maids of good family, spinsters who have solved +the<br> + problem: given a human being, to remain absolutely stationary. +They<br> + might be sealed up in the houses where you see them; their faces +and<br> + their dresses are literally part of the fixtures of the town, +and the<br> + province in which they dwell. They are its tradition, its +memory, its<br> + quintessence, the /genius loci/ incarnate. There is something +frigid<br> + and monumental about these ladies; they know exactly when to +laugh and<br> + when to shake their heads, and every now and then give out +some<br> + utterance which passes current as a witticism.</p> + +<p>A few rich townspeople have crept into the miniature Faubourg +Saint-<br> + Germain, thanks to their money or their aristocratic leanings. +But<br> + despite their forty years, the circle still say of them, "Young +So-<br> + and-so has sound opinions," and of such do they make deputies. +As a<br> + rule, the elderly spinsters are their patronesses, not +without<br> + comment.</p> + +<p>Finally, in this exclusive little set include two or three<br> + ecclesiastics, admitted for the sake of their cloth, or for +their wit;<br> + for these great nobles find their own society rather dull, +and<br> + introduce the bourgeois element into their drawing-rooms, as a +baker<br> + puts leaven into his dough.</p> + +<p>The sum-total contained by all heads put together consists of +a<br> + certain quantity of antiquated notions; a few new inflections +brewed<br> + in company of an evening being added from time to time to the +common<br> + stock. Like sea-water in a little creek, the phrases which +represent<br> + these ideas surge up daily, punctually obeying the tidal laws +of<br> + conversation in their flow and ebb; you hear the hollow echo +of<br> + yesterday, to-day, to-morrow, a year hence, and for evermore. On +all<br> + things here below they pass immutable judgments, which go to +make up a<br> + body of tradition into which no power of mortal man can infuse +one<br> + drop of wit or sense. The lives of these persons revolve with +the<br> + regularity of clockwork in an orbit of use and wont which admits +of no<br> + more deviation or change than their opinions on matters +religious,<br> + political, moral, or literary.</p> + +<p>If a stranger is admitted to the /cenacle/, every member of it +in turn<br> + will say (not without a trace of irony), "You will not find +the<br> + brilliancy of your Parisian society here," and proceed forthwith +to<br> + criticise the life led by his neighbors, as if he himself were +an<br> + exception who had striven, and vainly striven, to enlighten the +rest.<br> + But any stranger so ill advised as to concur in any of their +freely<br> + expressed criticism of each other, is pronounced at once to be +an ill-<br> + natured person, a heathen, an outlaw, a reprobate Parisian +"as<br> + Parisians mostly are."</p> + +<p>Before Gaston de Nueil made his appearance in this little +world of<br> + strictly observed etiquette, where every detail of life is +an<br> + integrant part of a whole, and everything is known; where the +values<br> + of personalty and real estate is quoted like stocks on the vast +sheet<br> + of the newspaper--before his arrival he had been weighed in +the<br> + unerring scales of Bayeusaine judgment.</p> + +<p>His cousin, Mme. de Sainte-Severe, had already given out the +amount of<br> + his fortune, and the sum of his expectations, had produced the +family<br> + tree, and expatiated on the talents, breeding, and modesty of +this<br> + particular branch. So he received the precise amount of +attentions to<br> + which he was entitled; he was accepted as a worthy scion of a +good<br> + stock; and, for he was but twenty-three, was made welcome +without<br> + ceremony, though certain young ladies and mothers of daughters +looked<br> + not unkindly upon him.</p> + +<p>He had an income of eighteen thousand livres from land in the +valley<br> + of the Auge; and sooner or later his father, as in duty bound, +would<br> + leave him the chateau of Manerville, with the lands +thereunto<br> + belonging. As for his education, political career, personal +qualities,<br> + and qualifications--no one so much as thought of raising the<br> + questions. His land was undeniable, his rentals steady; +excellent<br> + plantations had been made; the tenants paid for repairs, rates, +and<br> + taxes; the apple-trees were thirty-eight years old; and, to +crown all,<br> + his father was in treaty for two hundred acres of woodland +just<br> + outside the paternal park, which he intended to enclose with +walls. No<br> + hopes of a political career, no fame on earth, can compare with +such<br> + advantages as these.</p> + +<p>Whether out of malice or design, Mme. de Sainte-Severe omitted +to<br> + mention that Gaston had an elder brother; nor did Gaston himself +say a<br> + word about him. But, at the same time, it is true that the +brother was<br> + consumptive, and to all appearance would shortly be laid in +earth,<br> + lamented and forgotten.</p> + +<p>At first Gaston de Nueil amused himself at the expense of the +circle.<br> + He drew, as it were, for his mental album, a series of portraits +of<br> + these folk, with their angular, wrinkled faces, and hooked +noses,<br> + their crotchets and ludicrous eccentricities of dress, portraits +which<br> + possessed all the racy flavor of truth. He delighted in +their<br> + "Normanisms," in the primitive quaintness of their ideas and<br> + characters. For a short time he flung himself into their +squirrel's<br> + life of busy gyrations in a cage. Then he began to feel the want +of<br> + variety, and grew tired of it. It was like the life of the +cloister,<br> + cut short before it had well begun. He drifted on till he +reached a<br> + crisis, which is neither spleen nor disgust, but combines all +the<br> + symptoms of both. When a human being is transplanted into an<br> + uncongenial soil, to lead a starved, stunted existence, there +is<br> + always a little discomfort over the transition. Then, gradually, +if<br> + nothing removes him from his surroundings, he grows accustomed +to<br> + them, and adapts himself to the vacuity which grows upon him +and<br> + renders him powerless. Even now, Gaston's lungs were accustomed +to the<br> + air; and he was willing to discern a kind of vegetable happiness +in<br> + days that brought no mental exertion and no responsibilities. +The<br> + constant stirring of the sap of life, the fertilizing influences +of<br> + mind on mind, after which he had sought so eagerly in Paris, +were<br> + beginning to fade from his memory, and he was in a fair way +of<br> + becoming a fossil with these fossils, and ending his days among +them,<br> + content, like the companions of Ulysses, in his gross +envelope.</p> + +<p><br> + One evening Gaston de Nueil was seated between a dowager and one +of<br> + the vicars-general of the diocese, in a gray-paneled +drawing-room,<br> + floored with large white tiles. The family portraits which +adorned the<br> + walls looked down upon four card-tables, and some sixteen +persons<br> + gathered about them, chattering over their whist. Gaston, +thinking of<br> + nothing, digesting one of those exquisite dinners to which +the<br> + provincial looks forward all through the day, found himself +justifying<br> + the customs of the country.</p> + +<p>He began to understand why these good folk continued to play +with<br> + yesterday's pack of cards and shuffle them on a threadbare +tablecloth,<br> + and how it was that they had ceased to dress for themselves or +others.<br> + He saw the glimmerings of something like a philosophy in the +even<br> + tenor of their perpetual round, in the calm of their +methodical<br> + monotony, in their ignorance of the refinements of luxury. +Indeed, he<br> + almost came to think that luxury profited nothing; and even now, +the<br> + city of Paris, with its passions, storms, and pleasures, was +scarcely<br> + more than a memory of childhood.</p> + +<p>He admired in all sincerity the red hands, and shy, bashful +manner of<br> + some young lady who at first struck him as an awkward +simpleton,<br> + unattractive to the last degree, and surprisingly ridiculous. +His doom<br> + was sealed. He had gone from the provinces to Paris; he had led +the<br> + feverish life of Paris; and now he would have sunk back into +the<br> + lifeless life of the provinces, but for a chance remark which +reached<br> + his ear--a few words that called up a swift rush of such emotion +as he<br> + might have felt when a strain of really good music mingles with +the<br> + accompaniment of some tedious opera.</p> + +<p>"You went to call on Mme. de Beauseant yesterday, did you +not?" The<br> + speaker was an elderly lady, and she addressed the head of the +local<br> + royal family.</p> + +<p>"I went this morning. She was so poorly and depressed, that I +could<br> + not persuade her to dine with us to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"With Mme. de Champignelles?" exclaimed the dowager with +something<br> + like astonishment in her manner.</p> + +<p>"With my wife," calmly assented the noble. "Mme. de Beauseant +is<br> + descended from the House of Burgundy, on the spindle side, 'tis +true,<br> + but the name atones for everything. My wife is very much +attached to<br> + the Vicomtesse, and the poor lady has lived alone for such a +long<br> + while, that----"</p> + +<p>The Marquis de Champignelles looked round about him while he +spoke<br> + with an air of cool unconcern, so that it was almost impossible +to<br> + guess whether he made a concession to Mme. de Beauseant's +misfortunes,<br> + or paid homage to her noble birth; whether he felt flattered +to<br> + receive her in his house, or, on the contrary, sheer pride was +the<br> + motive that led him to try to force the country families to meet +the<br> + Vicomtesse.</p> + +<p>The women appeared to take counsel of each other by a glance; +there<br> + was a sudden silence in the room, and it was felt that their +attitude<br> + was one of disapproval.</p> + +<p>"Does this Mme. de Beauseant happen to be the lady whose +adventure<br> + with M. d'Ajuda-Pinto made so much noise?" asked Gaston of +his<br> + neighbor.</p> + +<p>"The very same," he was told. "She came to Courcelles after +the<br> + marriage of the Marquis d'Ajuda; nobody visits her. She has, +besides,<br> + too much sense not to see that she is in a false position, so +she has<br> + made no attempt to see any one. M. de Champignelles and a +few<br> + gentlemen went to call upon her, but she would see no one but M. +de<br> + Champignelles, perhaps because he is a connection of the family. +They<br> + are related through the Beauseants; the father of the present +Vicomte<br> + married a Mlle. de Champignelles of the older branch. But though +the<br> + Vicomtesse de Beauseant is supposed to be a descendant of the +House of<br> + Burgundy, you can understand that we could not admit a wife +separated<br> + from her husband into our society here. We are foolish enough +still to<br> + cling to these old-fashioned ideas. There was the less excuse +for the<br> + Vicomtesse, because M. de Beauseant is a well-bred man of the +world,<br> + who would have been quite ready to listen to reason. But his +wife is<br> + quite mad----" and so forth and so forth.</p> + +<p>M. de Nueil, still listening to the speaker's voice, gathered +nothing<br> + of the sense of the words; his brain was too full of +thick-coming<br> + fancies. Fancies? What other name can you give to the alluring +charms<br> + of an adventure that tempts the imagination and sets vague +hopes<br> + springing up in the soul; to the sense of coming events and +mysterious<br> + felicity and fear at hand, while as yet there is no substance of +fact<br> + on which these phantoms of caprice can fix and feed? Over +these<br> + fancies thought hovers, conceiving impossible projects, giving +in the<br> + germ all the joys of love. Perhaps, indeed, all passion is +contained<br> + in that thought-germ, as the beauty, and fragrance, and rich +color of<br> + the flower is all packed in the seed.</p> + +<p>M. de Nueil did not know that Mme. de Beauseant had taken +refuge in<br> + Normandy, after a notoriety which women for the most part envy +and<br> + condemn, especially when youth and beauty in some sort excuse +the<br> + transgression. Any sort of celebrity bestows an +inconceivable<br> + prestige. Apparently for women, as for families, the glory of +the<br> + crime effaces the stain; and if such and such a noble house is +proud<br> + of its tale of heads that have fallen on the scaffold, a young +and<br> + pretty woman becomes more interesting for the dubious renown of +a<br> + happy love or a scandalous desertion, and the more she is to +be<br> + pitied, the more she excites our sympathies. We are only +pitiless to<br> + the commonplace. If, moreover, we attract all eyes, we are to +all<br> + intents and purposes great; how, indeed, are we to be seen +unless we<br> + raise ourselves above other people's heads? The common herd +of<br> + humanity feels an involuntary respect for any person who can +rise<br> + above it, and is not over-particular as to the means by which +they<br> + rise.</p> + +<p>It may have been that some such motives influenced Gaston de +Nueil at<br> + unawares, or perhaps it was curiosity, or a craving for some +interest<br> + in his life, or, in a word, that crowd of inexplicable impulses +which,<br> + for want of a better name, we are wont to call "fatality," that +drew<br> + him to Mme. de Beauseant.</p> + +<p>The figure of the Vicomtesse de Beauseant rose up suddenly +before him<br> + with gracious thronging associations. She was a new world for +him, a<br> + world of fears and hopes, a world to fight for and to +conquer.<br> + Inevitably he felt the contrast between this vision and the +human<br> + beings in the shabby room; and then, in truth, she was a woman; +what<br> + woman had he seen so far in this dull, little world, where +calculation<br> + replaced thought and feeling, where courtesy was a +cut-and-dried<br> + formality, and ideas of the very simplest were too alarming to +be<br> + received or to pass current? The sound of Mme. de Beauseant's +name<br> + revived a young man's dreams and wakened urgent desires that had +lain<br> + dormant for a little.</p> + +<p>Gaston de Nueil was absent-minded and preoccupied for the rest +of the<br> + evening. He was pondering how he might gain access to Mme. +de<br> + Beauseant, and truly it was no very easy matter. She was +believed to<br> + be extremely clever. But if men and women of parts may be +captivated<br> + by something subtle or eccentric, they are also exacting, and +can read<br> + all that lies below the surface; and after the first step has +been<br> + taken, the chances of failure and success in the difficult task +of<br> + pleasing them are about even. In this particular case, moreover, +the<br> + Vicomtesse, besides the pride of her position, had all the +dignity of<br> + her name. Her utter seclusion was the least of the barriers +raised<br> + between her and the world. For which reasons it was +well-nigh<br> + impossible that a stranger, however well born, could hope +for<br> + admittance; and yet, the next morning found M. de Nueil taking +his<br> + walks abroad in the direction of Courcelles, a dupe of +illusions<br> + natural at his age. Several times he made the circuit of the +garden<br> + walls, looking earnestly through every gap at the closed +shutters or<br> + open windows, hoping for some romantic chance, on which he +founded<br> + schemes for introducing himself into this unknown lady's +presence,<br> + without a thought of their impracticability. Morning after +morning was<br> + spent in this way to mighty purpose; but with each day's walk, +that<br> + vision of a woman living apart from the world, of love's martyr +buried<br> + in solitude, loomed larger in his thoughts, and was enshrined in +his<br> + soul. So Gaston de Nueil walked under the walls of Courcelles, +and<br> + some gardener's heavy footstep would set his heart beating high +with<br> + hope.</p> + +<p>He thought of writing to Mme. de Beauseant, but on mature<br> + consideration, what can you say to a woman whom you have never +seen, a<br> + complete stranger? And Gaston had little self-confidence. Like +most<br> + young persons with a plentiful crop of illusions still standing, +he<br> + dreaded the mortifying contempt of silence more than death +itself, and<br> + shuddered at the thought of sending his first tender epistle +forth to<br> + face so many chances of being thrown on the fire. He was +distracted by<br> + innumerable conflicting ideas. But by dint of inventing +chimeras,<br> + weaving romances, and cudgeling his brains, he hit at last upon +one of<br> + the hopeful stratagems that are sure to occur to your mind if +you<br> + persevere long enough, a stratagem which must make clear to the +most<br> + inexperienced woman that here was a man who took a fervent +interest in<br> + her. The caprice of social conventions puts as many barriers +between<br> + lovers as any Oriental imagination can devise in the most +delightfully<br> + fantastic tale; indeed, the most extravagant pictures are +seldom<br> + exaggerations. In real life, as in the fairy tales, the woman +belongs<br> + to him who can reach her and set her free from the position in +which<br> + she languishes. The poorest of calenders that ever fell in love +with<br> + the daughter of the Khalif is in truth scarcely further from his +lady<br> + than Gaston de Nueil from Mme. de Beauseant. The Vicomtesse +knew<br> + absolutely nothing of M. de Nueil's wanderings round her house; +Gaston<br> + de Nueil's love grew to the height of the obstacles to overleap; +and<br> + the distance set between him and his extemporized lady-love +produced<br> + the usual effect of distance, in lending enchantment.</p> + +<p><br> + One day, confident in his inspiration, he hoped everything from +the<br> + love that must pour forth from his eyes. Spoken words, in his +opinion,<br> + were more eloquent than the most passionate letter; and, +besides, he<br> + would engage feminine curiosity to plead for him. He went, +therefore,<br> + to M. de Champignelles, proposing to employ that gentleman for +the<br> + better success of his enterprise. He informed the Marquis that +he had<br> + been entrusted with a delicate and important commission +which<br> + concerned the Vicomtesse de Beauseant, that he felt doubtful +whether<br> + she would read a letter written in an unknown handwriting, or +put<br> + confidence in a stranger. Would M. de Champignelles, on his +next<br> + visit, ask the Vicomtesse if she would consent to receive +him--Gaston<br> + de Nueil? While he asked the Marquis to keep his secret in case +of a<br> + refusal, he very ingeniously insinuated sufficient reasons for +his own<br> + admittance, to be duly passed on to the Vicomtesse. Was not M. +de<br> + Champignelles a man of honor, a loyal gentleman incapable of +lending<br> + himself to any transaction in bad taste, nay, the merest +suspicion of<br> + bad taste! Love lends a young man all the self-possession and +astute<br> + craft of an old ambassador; all the Marquis' harmless vanities +were<br> + gratified, and the haughty grandee was completely duped. He +tried hard<br> + to fathom Gaston's secret; but the latter, who would have been +greatly<br> + perplexed to tell it, turned off M. de Champignelles' adroit<br> + questioning with a Norman's shrewdness, till the Marquis, as a +gallant<br> + Frenchman, complimented his young visitor upon his +discretion.</p> + +<p>M. de Champignelles hurried off at once to Courcelles, with +that<br> + eagerness to serve a pretty woman which belongs to his time of +life.<br> + In the Vicomtesse de Beauseant's position, such a message was +likely<br> + to arouse keen curiosity; so, although her memory supplied no +reason<br> + at all that could bring M. de Nueil to her house, she saw no +objection<br> + to his visit--after some prudent inquiries as to his family +and<br> + condition. At the same time, she began by a refusal. Then +she<br> + discussed the propriety of the matter with M. de +Champignelles,<br> + directing her questions so as to discover, if possible, whether +he<br> + knew the motives for the visit, and finally revoked her +negative<br> + answer. The discussion and the discretion shown perforce by +the<br> + Marquis had piqued her curiosity.</p> + +<p>M. de Champignelles had no mind to cut a ridiculous figure. He +said,<br> + with the air of a man who can keep another's counsel, that +the<br> + Vicomtesse must know the purpose of this visit perfectly well; +while<br> + the Vicomtesse, in all sincerity, had no notion what it could +be. Mme.<br> + de Beauseant, in perplexity, connected Gaston with people whom +he had<br> + never met, went astray after various wild conjectures, and +asked<br> + herself if she had seen this M. de Nueil before. In truth, no +love-<br> + letter, however sincere or skilfully indited, could have +produced so<br> + much effect as this riddle. Again and again Mme. de Beauseant +puzzled<br> + over it.</p> + +<p>When Gaston heard that he might call upon the Vicomtesse, his +rapture<br> + at so soon obtaining the ardently longed-for good fortune was +mingled<br> + with singular embarrassment. How was he to contrive a suitable +sequel<br> + to this stratagem?</p> + +<p>"Bah! I shall see /her/," he said over and over again to +himself as he<br> + dressed. "See her, and that is everything!"</p> + +<p>He fell to hoping that once across the threshold of Courcelles +he<br> + should find an expedient for unfastening this Gordian knot of +his own<br> + tying. There are believers in the omnipotence of necessity who +never<br> + turn back; the close presence of danger is an inspiration that +calls<br> + out all their powers for victory. Gaston de Nueil was one of +these.</p> + +<p>He took particular pains with his dress, imagining, as youth +is apt to<br> + imagine, that success or failure hangs on the position of a +curl, and<br> + ignorant of the fact that anything is charming in youth. And, in +any<br> + case, such women as Mme. de Beauseant are only attracted by the +charms<br> + of wit or character of an unusual order. Greatness of +character<br> + flatters their vanity, promises a great passion, seems to imply +a<br> + comprehension of the requirements of their hearts. Wit amuses +them,<br> + responds to the subtlety of their natures, and they think that +they<br> + are understood. And what do all women wish but to be amused,<br> + understood, or adored? It is only after much reflection on the +things<br> + of life that we understand the consummate coquetry of neglect of +dress<br> + and reserve at a first interview; and by the time we have +gained<br> + sufficient astuteness for successful strategy, we are too old +to<br> + profit by our experience.</p> + +<p>While Gaston's lack of confidence in his mental equipment +drove him to<br> + borrow charms from his clothes, Madame de Beauseant herself +was<br> + instinctively giving more attention to her toilette.</p> + +<p>"I would rather not frighten people, at all events," she said +to<br> + herself as she arranged her hair.</p> + +<p>In M. de Nueil's character, person, and manner there was that +touch of<br> + unconscious originality which gives a kind of flavor to things +that<br> + any one might say or do, and absolves everything that they may +choose<br> + to do or say. He was highly cultivated, he had a keen brain, and +a<br> + face, mobile as his own nature, which won the goodwill of +others. The<br> + promise of passion and tenderness in the bright eyes was +fulfilled by<br> + an essentially kindly heart. The resolution which he made as +he<br> + entered the house at Courcelles was in keeping with his frank +nature<br> + and ardent imagination. But, bold has he was with love, his +heart beat<br> + violently when he had crossed the great court, laid out like +an<br> + English garden, and the man-servant, who had taken his name to +the<br> + Vicomtesse, returned to say that she would receive him.</p> + +<p>"M. le Baron de Nueil."</p> + +<p>Gaston came in slowly, but with sufficient ease of manner; and +it is a<br> + more difficult thing, be it said, to enter a room where there is +but<br> + one woman, than a room that holds a score.</p> + +<p>A great fire was burning on the hearth in spite of the mild +weather,<br> + and by the soft light of the candles in the sconces he saw a +young<br> + woman sitting on a high-backed /bergere/ in the angle by the +hearth.<br> + The seat was so low that she could move her head freely; every +turn of<br> + it was full of grace and delicate charm, whether she bent, +leaning<br> + forward, or raised and held it erect, slowly and languidly, as +though<br> + it were a heavy burden, so low that she could cross her feet and +let<br> + them appear, or draw them back under the folds of a long black +dress.</p> + +<p>The Vicomtesse made as if she would lay the book that she was +reading<br> + on a small, round stand; but as she did so, she turned towards +M. de<br> + Nueil, and the volume, insecurely laid upon the edge, fell to +the<br> + ground between the stand and the sofa. This did not seem to +disconcert<br> + her. She looked up, bowing almost imperceptibly in response to +his<br> + greeting, without rising from the depths of the low chair in +which she<br> + lay. Bending forwards, she stirred the fire briskly, and stooped +to<br> + pick up a fallen glove, drawing it mechanically over her left +hand,<br> + while her eyes wandered in search of its fellow. The glance +was<br> + instantly checked, however, for she stretched out a thin, white, +all-<br> + but-transparent right hand, with flawless ovals of rose-colored +nail<br> + at the tips of the slender, ringless fingers, and pointed to a +chair<br> + as if to bid Gaston be seated. He sat down, and she turned her +face<br> + questioningly towards him. Words cannot describe the subtlety of +the<br> + winning charm and inquiry in that gesture; deliberate in its<br> + kindliness, gracious yet accurate in expression, it was the +outcome of<br> + early education and of a constant use and wont of the +graciousness of<br> + life. These movements of hers, so swift, so deft, succeeded each +other<br> + by the blending of a pretty woman's fastidious carelessness with +the<br> + high-bred manner of a great lady.</p> + +<p>Mme. de Beauseant stood out in such strong contrast against +the<br> + automatons among whom he had spent two months of exile in that +out-of-<br> + the-world district of Normandy, that he could not but find in +her the<br> + realization of his romantic dreams; and, on the other hand, he +could<br> + not compare her perfections with those of other women whom he +had<br> + formerly admired. Here in her presence, in a drawing-room like +some<br> + salon in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, full of costly trifles +lying<br> + about upon the tables, and flowers and books, he felt as if he +were<br> + back in Paris. It was a real Parisian carpet beneath his feet, +he saw<br> + once more the high-bred type of Parisienne, the fragile outlines +of<br> + her form, her exquisite charm, her disdain of the studied +effects<br> + which did so much to spoil provincial women.</p> + +<p>Mme. de Beauseant had fair hair and dark eyes, and the pale +complexion<br> + that belongs to fair hair. She held up her brow nobly like some +fallen<br> + angel, grown proud through the fall, disdainful of pardon. Her +way of<br> + gathering her thick hair into a crown of plaits above the +broad,<br> + curving lines of the bandeaux upon her forehead, added to +the<br> + queenliness of her face. Imagination could discover the ducal +coronet<br> + of Burgundy in the spiral threads of her golden hair; all the +courage<br> + of her house seemed to gleam from the great lady's brilliant +eyes,<br> + such courage as women use to repel audacity or scorn, for they +were<br> + full of tenderness for gentleness. The outline of that little +head, so<br> + admirably poised above the long, white throat, the delicate, +fine<br> + features, the subtle curves of the lips, the mobile face itself, +wore<br> + an expression of delicate discretion, a faint semblance of +irony<br> + suggestive of craft and insolence. Yet it would have been +difficult to<br> + refuse forgiveness to those two feminine failings in her; for +the<br> + lines that came out in her forehead whenever her face was not +in<br> + repose, like her upward glances (that pathetic trick of manner), +told<br> + unmistakably of unhappiness, of a passion that had all but cost +her<br> + her life. A woman, sitting in the great, silent salon, a woman +cut off<br> + from the rest of the world in this remote little valley, alone, +with<br> + the memories of her brilliant, happy, and impassioned youth, +of<br> + continual gaiety and homage paid on all sides, now replaced by +the<br> + horrors of the void--was there not something in the sight to +strike<br> + awe that deepened with reflection? Consciousness of her own +value<br> + lurked in her smile. She was neither wife nor mother, she was +an<br> + outlaw; she had lost the one heart that could set her pulses +beating<br> + without shame; she had nothing from without to support her +reeling<br> + soul; she must even look for strength from within, live her own +life,<br> + cherish no hope save that of forsaken love, which looks forward +to<br> + Death's coming, and hastens his lagging footsteps. And this +while life<br> + was in its prime. Oh! to feel destined for happiness and to +die--never<br> + having given nor received it! A woman too! What pain was this! +These<br> + thoughts flashing across M. de Nueil's mind like lightning, left +him<br> + very humble in the presence of the greatest charm with which +woman can<br> + be invested. The triple aureole of beauty, nobleness, and +misfortune<br> + dazzled him; he stood in dreamy, almost open-mouthed admiration +of the<br> + Vicomtesse. But he found nothing to say to her.</p> + +<p>Mme. de Beauseant, by no means displeased, no doubt, by his +surprise,<br> + held out her hand with a kindly but imperious gesture; then, +summoning<br> + a smile to her pale lips, as if obeying, even yet, the woman's +impulse<br> + to be gracious:</p> + +<p>"I have heard from M. de Champignelles of a message which you +have<br> + kindly undertaken to deliver, monsieur," she said. "Can it +be<br> + from----"</p> + +<p>With that terrible phrase Gaston understood, even more clearly +than<br> + before, his own ridiculous position, the bad taste and bad faith +of<br> + his behavior towards a woman so noble and so unfortunate. He +reddened.<br> + The thoughts that crowded in upon him could be read in his +troubled<br> + eyes; but suddenly, with the courage which youth draws from a +sense of<br> + its own wrongdoing, he gained confidence, and very humbly +interrupted<br> + Mme. de Beauseant.</p> + +<p>"Madame," he faltered out, "I do not deserve the happiness of +seeing<br> + you. I have deceived you basely. However strong the motive may +have<br> + been, it can never excuse the pitiful subterfuge which I used to +gain<br> + my end. But, madame, if your goodness will permit me to tell +you----"</p> + +<p>The Vicomtesse glanced at M. de Nueil, haughty disdain in her +whole<br> + manner. She stretched her hand to the bell and rang it.</p> + +<p>"Jacques," she said, "light this gentleman to the door," and +she<br> + looked with dignity at the visitor.</p> + +<p>She rose proudly, bowed to Gaston, and then stooped for the +fallen<br> + volume. If all her movements on his entrance had been +caressingly<br> + dainty and gracious, her every gesture now was no less +severely<br> + frigid. M. de Nueil rose to his feet, but he stood waiting. Mme. +de<br> + Beauseant flung another glance at him. "Well, why do you not +go?" she<br> + seemed to say.</p> + +<p>There was such cutting irony in that glance that Gaston grew +white as<br> + if he were about to faint. Tears came into his eyes, but he +would not<br> + let them fall, and scorching shame and despair dried them. He +looked<br> + back at Madame de Beauseant, and a certain pride and +consciousness of<br> + his own worth was mingled with his humility; the Vicomtesse had +a<br> + right to punish him, but ought she to use her right? Then he +went out.</p> + +<p>As he crossed the ante-chamber, a clear head, and wits +sharpened by<br> + passion, were not slow to grasp the danger of his situation.</p> + +<p>"If I leave this house, I can never come back to it again," he +said to<br> + himself. "The Vicomtesse will always think of me as a fool. It +is<br> + impossible that a woman, and such a woman, should not guess the +love<br> + that she has called forth. Perhaps she feels a little, +vague,<br> + involuntary regret for dismissing me so abruptly.--But she could +not<br> + do otherwise, and she cannot recall her sentence. It rests with +me to<br> + understand her."</p> + +<p>At that thought Gaston stopped short on the flight of steps +with an<br> + exclamation; he turned sharply, saying, "I have forgotten +something,"<br> + and went back to the salon. The lackey, all respect for a baron +and<br> + the rights of property, was completely deceived by the +natural<br> + utterance, and followed him. Gaston returned quietly and +unannounced.<br> + The Vicomtesse, thinking that the intruder was the servant, +looked up<br> + and beheld M. de Nueil.</p> + +<p>"Jacques lighted me to the door," he said, with a half-sad +smile which<br> + dispelled any suspicion of jest in those words, while the tone +in<br> + which they were spoken went to the heart. Mme. de Beauseant +was<br> + disarmed.</p> + +<p>"Very well, take a seat," she said.</p> + +<p>Gaston eagerly took possession of a chair. His eyes were +shining with<br> + happiness; the Vicomtesse, unable to endure the brilliant light +in<br> + them, looked down at the book. She was enjoying a delicious, +ever new<br> + sensation; the sense of a man's delight in her presence is +an<br> + unfailing feminine instinct. And then, besides, he had divined +her,<br> + and a woman is so grateful to the man who has mastered the +apparently<br> + capricious, yet logical, reasoning of her heart; who can track +her<br> + thought through the seemingly contradictory workings of her +mind, and<br> + read the sensations, shy or bold, written in fleeting red, a<br> + bewildering maze of coquetry and self-revelation.</p> + +<p>"Madame," Gaston exclaimed in a low voice, "my blunder you +know, but<br> + you do not know how much I am to blame. If you only knew what +joy it<br> + was to----"</p> + +<p>"Ah! take care," she said, holding up one finger with an air +of<br> + mystery, as she put out her hand towards the bell.</p> + +<p>The charming gesture, the gracious threat, no doubt called up +some sad<br> + thought, some memory of the old happy time when she could be +wholly<br> + charming and gentle without an afterthought; when the gladness +of her<br> + heart justified every caprice, and put charm into every +least<br> + movement. The lines in her forehead gathered between her brows, +and<br> + the expression of her face grew dark in the soft candle-light. +Then<br> + looking across at M. de Nueil gravely but not unkindly, she +spoke like<br> + a woman who deeply feels the meaning of every word.</p> + +<p>"This is all very ridiculous! Once upon a time, monsieur, +when<br> + thoughtless high spirits were my privilege, I should have +laughed<br> + fearlessly over your visit with you. But now my life is very +much<br> + changed. I cannot do as I like, I am obliged to think. What +brings you<br> + here? Is it curiosity? In that case I am paying dearly for a +little<br> + fleeting pleasure. Have you fallen /passionately/ in love +already with<br> + a woman whom you have never seen, a woman with whose name +slander has,<br> + of course, been busy? If so, your motive in making this visit is +based<br> + on disrespect, on an error which accident brought into +notoriety."</p> + +<p>She flung her book down scornfully upon the table, then, with +a<br> + terrible look at Gaston, she went on: "Because I once was weak, +must<br> + it be supposed that I am always weak? This is horrible, +degrading. Or<br> + have you come here to pity me? You are very young to offer +sympathy<br> + with heart troubles. Understand this clearly, sir, that I would +rather<br> + have scorn than pity. I will not endure compassion from any +one."</p> + +<p>There was a brief pause.</p> + +<p>"Well, sir," she continued (and the face that she turned to +him was<br> + gentle and sad), "whatever motive induced this rash intrusion +upon my<br> + solitude, it is very painful to me, you see. You are too young +to be<br> + totally without good feeling, so surely you will feel that +this<br> + behavior of yours is improper. I forgive you for it, and, as you +see,<br> + I am speaking of it to you without bitterness. You will not come +here<br> + again, will you? I am entreating when I might command. If you +come to<br> + see me again, neither you nor I can prevent the whole place +from<br> + believing that you are my lover, and you would cause me +great<br> + additional annoyance. You do not mean to do that, I think."</p> + +<br> +She said no more, but looked at him with a great dignity which +abashed<br> +him. + +<p>"I have done wrong, madame," he said, with deep feeling in his +voice,<br> + "but it was through enthusiasm and thoughtlessness and eager +desire of<br> + happiness, the qualities and defects of my age. Now, I +understand that<br> + I ought not to have tried to see you," he added; "but, at the +same<br> + time, the desire was a very natural one"--and, making an appeal +to<br> + feeling rather than to the intellect, he described the weariness +of<br> + his enforced exile. He drew a portrait of a young man in whom +the<br> + fires of life were burning themselves out, conveying the +impression<br> + that here was a heart worthy of tender love, a heart which,<br> + notwithstanding, had never known the joys of love for a young +and<br> + beautiful woman of refinement and taste. He explained, +without<br> + attempting to justify, his unusual conduct. He flattered Mme. +de<br> + Beauseant by showing that she had realized for him the ideal +lady of a<br> + young man's dream, the ideal sought by so many, and so often +sought in<br> + vain. Then he touched upon his morning prowlings under the walls +of<br> + Courcelles, and his wild thoughts at the first sight of the +house,<br> + till he excited that vague feeling of indulgence which a woman +can<br> + find in her heart for the follies committed for her sake.</p> + +<p>An impassioned voice was speaking in the chill solitude; the +speaker<br> + brought with him a warm breath of youth and the charms of a +carefully<br> + cultivated mind. It was so long since Mme. de Beauseant had +felt<br> + stirred by real feeling delicately expressed, that it affected +her<br> + very strongly now. In spite of herself, she watched M. de +Nueil's<br> + expressive face, and admired the noble countenance of a soul, +unbroken<br> + as yet by the cruel discipline of the life of the world, +unfretted by<br> + continual scheming to gratify personal ambition and vanity. +Gaston was<br> + in the flower of his youth, he impressed her as a man with +something<br> + in him, unaware as yet of the great career that lay before him. +So<br> + both these two made reflections most dangerous for their peace +of<br> + mind, and both strove to conceal their thoughts. M. de Nueil saw +in<br> + the Vicomtesse a rare type of woman, always the victim of +her<br> + perfections and tenderness; her graceful beauty is the least of +her<br> + charms for those who are privileged to know the infinite of +feeling<br> + and thought and goodness in the soul within; a woman whose +instinctive<br> + feeling for beauty runs through all the most varied expressions +of<br> + love, purifying its transports, turning them to something almost +holy;<br> + wonderful secret of womanhood, the exquisite gift that Nature +so<br> + seldom bestows. And the Vicomtesse, on her side, listening to +the ring<br> + of sincerity in Gaston's voice, while he told of his +youthful<br> + troubles, began to understand all that grown children of +five-and-<br> + twenty suffer from diffidence, when hard work has kept them +alike from<br> + corrupting influences and intercourse with men and women of the +world<br> + whose sophistical reasoning and experience destroys the fair +qualities<br> + of youth. Here was the ideal of a woman's dreams, a man +unspoiled as<br> + yet by the egoism of family or success, or by that narrow +selfishness<br> + which blights the first impulses of honor, devotion, +self-sacrifice,<br> + and high demands of self; all the flowers so soon wither that +enrich<br> + at first the life of delicate but strong emotions, and keep +alive the<br> + loyalty of the heart.</p> + +<p>But these two, once launched forth into the vast of sentiment, +went<br> + far indeed in theory, sounding the depths in either soul, +testing the<br> + sincerity of their expressions; only, whereas Gaston's +experiments<br> + were made unconsciously, Mme. de Beauseant had a purpose in all +that<br> + she said. Bringing her natural and acquired subtlety to the +work, she<br> + sought to learn M. de Nueil's opinions by advancing, as far as +she<br> + could do so, views diametrically opposed to her own. So witty +and so<br> + gracious was she, so much herself with this stranger, with whom +she<br> + felt completely at ease, because she felt sure that they should +never<br> + meet again, that, after some delicious epigram of hers, +Gaston<br> + exclaimed unthinkingly:</p> + +<p>"Oh! madame, how could any man have left you?"</p> + +<p>The Vicomtesse was silent. Gaston reddened, he thought that he +had<br> + offended her; but she was not angry. The first deep thrill of +delight<br> + since the day of her calamity had taken her by surprise. The +skill of<br> + the cleverest /roue/ could not have made the impression that M. +de<br> + Nueil made with that cry from the heart. That verdict wrung from +a<br> + young man's candor gave her back innocence in her own eyes, +condemned<br> + the world, laid the blame upon the lover who had left her, +and<br> + justified her subsequent solitary drooping life. The world's<br> + absolution, the heartfelt sympathy, the social esteem so longed +for,<br> + and so harshly refused, nay, all her secret desires were given +her to<br> + the full in that exclamation, made fairer yet by the heart's +sweetest<br> + flatteries and the admiration that women always relish eagerly. +He<br> + understood her, understood all, and he had given her, as if it +were<br> + the most natural thing in the world, the opportunity of rising +higher<br> + through her fall. She looked at the clock.</p> + +<p>"Ah! madame, do not punish me for my heedlessness. If you +grant me but<br> + one evening, vouchsafe not to shorten it."</p> + +<p>She smiled at the pretty speech.</p> + +<p>"Well, as we must never meet again," she said, "what signifies +a<br> + moment more or less? If you were to care for me, it would be a +pity."</p> + +<p>"It is too late now," he said.</p> + +<p>"Do not tell me that," she answered gravely. "Under any +other<br> + circumstances I should be very glad to see you. I will speak +frankly,<br> + and you will understand how it is that I do not choose to see +you<br> + again, and ought not to do so. You have too much magnanimity not +to<br> + feel that if I were so much as suspected of a second trespass, +every<br> + one would think of me as a contemptible and vulgar woman; I +should be<br> + like other women. A pure and blameless life will bring my +character<br> + into relief. I am too proud not to endeavor to live like one +apart in<br> + the world, a victim of the law through my marriage, man's +victim<br> + through my love. If I were not faithful to the position which I +have<br> + taken up, then I should deserve all the reproach that is heaped +upon<br> + me; I should be lowered in my own eyes. I had not enough lofty +social<br> + virtue to remain with a man whom I did not love. I have snapped +the<br> + bonds of marriage in spite of the law; it was wrong, it was a +crime,<br> + it was anything you like, but for me the bonds meant death. I +meant to<br> + live. Perhaps if I had been a mother I could have endured the +torture<br> + of a forced marriage of suitability. At eighteen we scarcely +know what<br> + is done with us, poor girls that we are! I have broken the laws +of the<br> + world, and the world has punished me; we both did rightly. I +sought<br> + happiness. Is it not a law of our nature to seek for happiness? +I was<br> + young, I was beautiful . . . I thought that I had found a nature +as<br> + loving, as apparently passionate. I was loved indeed; for a +little<br> + while . . ."</p> + +<p>She paused.</p> + +<p>"I used to think," she said, "that no one could leave a woman +in such<br> + a position as mine. I have been forsaken; I must have offended +in some<br> + way. Yes, in some way, no doubt, I failed to keep some law of +our<br> + nature, was too loving, too devoted, too exacting--I do not +know. Evil<br> + days have brought light with them! For a long while I blamed +another,<br> + now I am content to bear the whole blame. At my own expense, I +have<br> + absolved that other of whom I once thought I had a right to +complain.<br> + I had not the art to keep him; fate has punished me heavily for +my<br> + lack of skill. I only knew how to love; how can one keep oneself +in<br> + mind when one loves? So I was a slave when I should have sought +to be<br> + a tyrant. Those who know me may condemn me, but they will +respect me<br> + too. Pain has taught me that I must not lay myself open to this +a<br> + second time. I cannot understand how it is that I am living yet, +after<br> + the anguish of that first week of the most fearful crisis in a +woman's<br> + life. Only from three years of loneliness would it be possible +to draw<br> + strength to speak of that time as I am speaking now. Such +agony,<br> + monsieur, usually ends in death; but this--well, it was the +agony of<br> + death with no tomb to end it. Oh! I have known pain indeed!"</p> + +<p>The Vicomtesse raised her beautiful eyes to the ceiling; and +the<br> + cornice, no doubt, received all the confidences which a stranger +might<br> + not hear. When a woman is afraid to look at her interlocutor, +there is<br> + in truth no gentler, meeker, more accommodating confidant than +the<br> + cornice. The cornice is quite an institution in the boudoir; +what is<br> + it but the confessional, /minus/ the priest?</p> + +<p>Mme. de Beauseant was eloquent and beautiful at that moment; +nay,<br> + "coquettish," if the word were not too heavy. By justifying +herself<br> + and love, she was stimulating every sentiment in the man before +her;<br> + nay, more, the higher she set the goal, the more conspicuous it +grew.<br> + At last, when her eyes had lost the too eloquent expression +given to<br> + them by painful memories, she let them fall on Gaston.</p> + +<p>"You acknowledge, do you not, that I am bound to lead a +solitary,<br> + self-contained life?" she said quietly.</p> + +<p>So sublime was she in her reasoning and her madness, that M. +de Nueil<br> + felt a wild longing to throw himself at her feet; but he was +afraid of<br> + making himself ridiculous, so he held his enthusiasm and his +thoughts<br> + in check. He was afraid, too, that he might totally fail to +express<br> + them, and in no less terror of some awful rejection on her part, +or of<br> + her mockery, an apprehension which strikes like ice to the most +fervid<br> + soul. The revulsion which led him to crush down every feeling as +it<br> + sprang up in his heart cost him the intense pain that diffident +and<br> + ambitious natures experience in the frequent crises when they +are<br> + compelled to stifle their longings. And yet, in spite of +himself, he<br> + broke the silence to say in a faltering voice:</p> + +<p>"Madame, permit me to give way to one of the strongest +emotions of my<br> + life, and own to all that you have made me feel. You set the +heart in<br> + me swelling high! I feel within me a longing to make you forget +your<br> + mortifications, to devote my life to this, to give you love for +all<br> + who ever have given you wounds or hate. But this is a very +sudden<br> + outpouring of the heart, nothing can justify it to-day, and I +ought<br> + not----"</p> + +<p>"Enough, monsieur," said Mme. de Beauseant; "we have both of +us gone<br> + too far. By giving you the sad reasons for a refusal which I +am<br> + compelled to give, I meant to soften it and not to elicit +homage.<br> + Coquetry only suits a happy woman. Believe me, we must +remain<br> + strangers to each other. At a later day you will know that ties +which<br> + must inevitably be broken ought not to be formed at all."</p> + +<p>She sighed lightly, and her brows contracted, but almost +immediately<br> + grew clear again.</p> + +<p>"How painful it is for a woman to be powerless to follow the +man she<br> + loves through all the phases of his life! And if that man loves +her<br> + truly, his heart must surely vibrate with pain to the deep +trouble in<br> + hers. Are they not twice unhappy?"</p> + +<p>There was a short pause. Then she rose smiling.</p> + +<p>"You little suspected, when you came to Courcelles, that you +were to<br> + hear a sermon, did you?"</p> + +<p>Gaston felt even further than at first from this extraordinary +woman.<br> + Was the charm of that delightful hour due after all to the +coquetry of<br> + the mistress of the house? She had been anxious to display her +wit. He<br> + bowed stiffly to the Vicomtesse, and went away in +desperation.</p> + +<p>On the way home he tried to detect the real character of a +creature<br> + supple and hard as a steel spring; but he had seen her pass +through so<br> + many phases, that he could not make up his mind about her. The +tones<br> + of her voice, too, were ringing in his ears; her gestures, the +little<br> + movements of her head, and the varying expression of her eyes +grew<br> + more gracious in memory, more fascinating as he thought of them. +The<br> + Vicomtesse's beauty shone out again for him in the darkness; +his<br> + reviving impressions called up yet others, and he was enthralled +anew<br> + by womanly charm and wit, which at first he had not perceived. +He fell<br> + to wandering musings, in which the most lucid thoughts grow +refractory<br> + and flatly contradict each other, and the soul passes through a +brief<br> + frenzy fit. Youth only can understand all that lies in the +dithyrambic<br> + outpourings of youth when, after a stormy siege, of the most +frantic<br> + folly and coolest common-sense, the heart finally yields to +the<br> + assault of the latest comer, be it hope, or despair, as some<br> + mysterious power determines.</p> + +<p>At three-and-twenty, diffidence nearly always rules a man's +conduct;<br> + he is perplexed with a young girl's shyness, a girl's trouble; +he is<br> + afraid lest he should express his love ill, sees nothing but<br> + difficulties, and takes alarm at them; he would be bolder if he +loved<br> + less, for he has no confidence in himself, and with a growing +sense of<br> + the cost of happiness comes a conviction that the woman he +loves<br> + cannot easily be won; perhaps, too, he is giving himself up +too<br> + entirely to his own pleasure, and fears that he can give none; +and<br> + when, for his misfortune, his idol inspires him with awe, he +worships<br> + in secret and afar, and unless his love is guessed, it dies +away. Then<br> + it often happens that one of these dead early loves lingers on, +bright<br> + with illusions in many a young heart. What man is there but +keeps<br> + within him these virgin memories that grow fairer every time +they rise<br> + before him, memories that hold up to him the ideal of perfect +bliss?<br> + Such recollections are like children who die in the flower +of<br> + childhood, before their parents have known anything of them but +their<br> + smiles.</p> + +<p>So M. de Nueil came home from Courcelles, the victim of a mood +fraught<br> + with desperate resolutions. Even now he felt that Mme. de +Beauseant<br> + was one of the conditions of his existence, and that death would +be<br> + preferable to life without her. He was still young enough to +feel the<br> + tyrannous fascination which fully-developed womanhood exerts +over<br> + immature and impassioned natures; and, consequently, he was to +spend<br> + one of those stormy nights when a young man's thoughts travel +from<br> + happiness to suicide and back again--nights in which youth +rushes<br> + through a lifetime of bliss and falls asleep from sheer +exhaustion.<br> + Fateful nights are they, and the worst misfortune that can +happen is<br> + to awake a philosopher afterwards. M. de Nueil was far too +deeply in<br> + love to sleep; he rose and betook to inditing letters, but none +of<br> + them were satisfactory, and he burned them all.</p> + +<p>The next day he went to Courcelles to make the circuit of her +garden<br> + walls, but he waited till nightfall; he was afraid that she +might see<br> + him. The instinct that led him to act in this way arose out of +so<br> + obscure a mood of the soul, that none but a young man, or a man +in<br> + like case, can fully understand its mute ecstasies and its +vagaries,<br> + matter to set those people who are lucky enough to see life only +in<br> + its matter-of-fact aspect shrugging their shoulders. After +painful<br> + hesitation, Gaston wrote to Mme. de Beauseant. Here is the +letter,<br> + which may serve as a sample of the epistolary style peculiar +to<br> + lovers, a performance which, like the drawings prepared with +great<br> + secrecy by children for the birthdays of father or mother, is +found<br> + insufferable by every mortal except the recipients:--</p> + +<p>"MADAME,--Your power over my heart, my soul, myself, is so +great<br> + that my fate depends wholly upon you to-day. Do not throw +this<br> + letter into the fire; be so kind as to read it through. +Perhaps<br> + you may pardon the opening sentence when you see that it is +no<br> + commonplace, selfish declaration, but that it expresses a +simple<br> + fact. Perhaps you may feel moved, because I ask for so little, +by<br> + the submission of one who feels himself so much beneath you, +by<br> + the influence that your decision will exercise upon my life. At +my<br> + age, madame, I only know how to love, I am utterly ignorant +of<br> + ways of attracting and winning a woman's love, but in my own +heart<br> + I know raptures of adoration of her. I am irresistibly drawn +to<br> + you by the great happiness that I feel through you; my +thoughts<br> + turn to you with the selfish instinct which bids us draw nearer +to<br> + the fire of life when we find it. I do not imagine that I am<br> + worthy of you; it seems impossible that I, young, ignorant, +and<br> + shy, could bring you one-thousandth part of the happiness that +I<br> + drink in at the sound of your voice and the sight of you. For +me<br> + you are the only woman in the world. I cannot imagine life +without<br> + you, so I have made up my mind to leave France, and to risk +my<br> + life till I lose it in some desperate enterprise, in the +Indies,<br> + in Africa, I care not where. How can I quell a love that knows +no<br> + limits save by opposing to it something as infinite? Yet, if +you<br> + will allow me to hope, not to be yours, but to win your<br> + friendship, I will stay. Let me come, not so very often, if +you<br> + require it, to spend a few such hours with you as those +stolen<br> + hours of yesterday. The keen delight of that brief happiness to +be<br> + cut short at the least over-ardent word from me, will suffice +to<br> + enable me to endure the boiling torrent in my veins. Have I<br> + presumed too much upon your generosity by this entreaty to +suffer<br> + an intercourse in which all the gain is mine alone? You could +find<br> + ways of showing the world, to which you sacrifice so much, that +I<br> + am nothing to you; you are so clever and so proud! What have +you<br> + to fear? If I could only lay bare my heart to you at this +moment,<br> + to convince you that it is with no lurking afterthought that +I<br> + make this humble request! Should I have told you that my love +was<br> + boundless, while I prayed you to grant me friendship, if I had +any<br> + hope of your sharing this feeling in the depths of my soul? +No,<br> + while I am with you, I will be whatever you will, if only I may +be<br> + with you. If you refuse (as you have the power to refuse), I +will<br> + not utter one murmur, I will go. And if, at a later day, any +other<br> + woman should enter into my life, you will have proof that you +were<br> + right; but if I am faithful till death, you may feel some +regret<br> + perhaps. The hope of causing you a regret will soothe my +agony,<br> + and that thought shall be the sole revenge of a slighted<br> + heart. . . ."</p> + +<p>Only those who have passed through all the exceeding +tribulations of<br> + youth, who have seized on all the chimeras with two white +pinions, the<br> + nightmare fancies at the disposal of a fervid imagination, can +realize<br> + the horrors that seized upon Gaston de Nueil when he had reason +to<br> + suppose that his ultimatum was in Mme. de Beauseant's hands. He +saw<br> + the Vicomtesse, wholly untouched, laughing at his letter and his +love,<br> + as those can laugh who have ceased to believe in love. He could +have<br> + wished to have his letter back again. It was an absurd letter. +There<br> + were a thousand and one things, now that he came to think of it, +that<br> + he might have said, things infinitely better and more moving +than<br> + those stilted phrases of his, those accursed, sophisticated,<br> + pretentious, fine-spun phrases, though, luckily, the punctuation +had<br> + been pretty bad and the lines shockingly crooked. He tried not +to<br> + think, not to feel; but he felt and thought, and was wretched. +If he<br> + had been thirty years old, he might have got drunk, but the +innocence<br> + of three-and-twenty knew nothing of the resources of opium nor +of the<br> + expedients of advanced civilization. Nor had he at hand one of +those<br> + good friends of the Parisian pattern who understand so well how +to say<br> + /Poete, non dolet!/ by producing a bottle of champagne, or +alleviate<br> + the agony of suspense by carrying you off somewhere to make a +night of<br> + it. Capital fellows are they, always in low water when you are +in<br> + funds, always off to some watering-place when you go to look +them up,<br> + always with some bad bargain in horse-flesh to sell you; it is +true,<br> + that when you want to borrow of them, they have always just lost +their<br> + last louis at play; but in all other respects they are the +best<br> + fellows on earth, always ready to embark with you on one of the +steep<br> + down-grades where you lose your time, your soul, and your +life!</p> + +<p><br> + At length M. de Nueil received a missive through the +instrumentality<br> + of Jacques, a letter that bore the arms of Burgundy on the +scented<br> + seal, a letter written on vellum notepaper.</p> + +<p>He rushed away at once to lock himself in, and read and +re-read /her/<br> + letter:--</p> + +<p>"You are punishing me very severely, monsieur, both for +the<br> + friendliness of my effort to spare you a rebuff, and for the<br> + attraction which intellect always has for me. I put confidence +in<br> + the generosity of youth, and you have disappointed me. And yet, +if<br> + I did not speak unreservedly (which would have been +perfectly<br> + ridiculous), at any rate I spoke frankly of my position, so +that<br> + you might imagine that I was not to be touched by a young soul. +My<br> + distress is the keener for my interest in you. I am +naturally<br> + tender-hearted and kindly, but circumstances force me to act<br> + unkindly. Another woman would have flung your letter, unread, +into<br> + the fire; I read it, and I am answering it. My answer will make +it<br> + clear to you that while I am not untouched by the expression +of<br> + this feeling which I have inspired, albeit unconsciously, I +am<br> + still far from sharing it, and the step which I am about to +take<br> + will show you still more plainly that I mean what I say. I +wish<br> + besides, to use, for your welfare, that authority, as it +were,<br> + which you give me over your life; and I desire to exercise it +this<br> + once to draw aside the veil from your eyes.</p> + +<p>"I am nearly thirty years old, monsieur; you are barely +two-and-<br> + twenty. You yourself cannot know what your thoughts will be at +my<br> + age. The vows that you make so lightly to-day may seem a +very<br> + heavy burden to you then. I am quite willing to believe that +at<br> + this moment you would give me your whole life without a +regret,<br> + you would even be ready to die for a little brief happiness; +but<br> + at the age of thirty experience will take from you the very +power<br> + of making daily sacrifices for my sake, and I myself should +feel<br> + deeply humiliated if I accepted them. A day would come when<br> + everything, even Nature, would bid you leave me, and I have<br> + already told you that death is preferable to desertion. +Misfortune<br> + has taught me to calculate; as you see, I am arguing +perfectly<br> + dispassionately. You force me to tell you that I have no love +for<br> + you; I ought not to love, I cannot, and I will not. It is too +late<br> + to yield, as women yield, to a blind unreasoning impulse of +the<br> + heart, too late to be the mistress whom you seek. My +consolations<br> + spring from God, not from earth. Ah, and besides, with the<br> + melancholy insight of disappointed love, I read hearts too +clearly<br> + to accept your proffered friendship. It is only instinct. I<br> + forgive the boyish ruse, for which you are not responsible as +yet.<br> + In the name of this passing fancy of yours, for the sake of +your<br> + career and my own peace of mind, I bid you stay in your own<br> + country; you must not spoil a fair and honorable life for an<br> + illusion which, by its very nature, cannot last. At a later +day,<br> + when you have accomplished your real destiny, in the fully<br> + developed manhood that awaits you, you will appreciate this +answer<br> + of mine, though to-day it may be that you blame its hardness. +You<br> + will turn with pleasure to an old woman whose friendship +will<br> + certainly be sweet and precious to you then; a friendship +untried<br> + by the extremes of passion and the disenchanting processes +of<br> + life; a friendship which noble thoughts and thoughts of +religion<br> + will keep pure and sacred. Farewell; do my bidding with the<br> + thought that your success will bring a gleam of pleasure into +my<br> + solitude, and only think of me as we think of absent +friends."</p> + +<p>Gaston de Nueil read the letter, and wrote the following +lines:--</p> + +<p>"MADAME,--If I could cease to love you, to take the chances +of<br> + becoming an ordinary man which you hold out to me, you must +admit<br> + that I should thoroughly deserve my fate. No, I shall not do +as<br> + you bid me; the oath of fidelity which I swear to you shall +only<br> + be absolved by death. Ah! take my life, unless indeed you do +not<br> + fear to carry a remorse all through your own----"</p> + +<p>When the man returned from his errand, M. de Nueil asked him +with whom<br> + he left the note?</p> + +<p>"I gave it to Mme. la Vicomtesse herself, sir; she was in her +carriage<br> + and just about to start."</p> + +<p>"For the town?"</p> + +<p>"I don't think so, sir. Mme. la Vicomtesse had +post-horses."</p> + +<p>"Ah! then she is going away," said the Baron.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir," the man answered.</p> + +<p>Gaston de Nueil at once prepared to follow Mme. de Beauseant. +She led<br> + the way as far as Geneva, without a suspicion that he followed. +And<br> + he? Amid the many thoughts that assailed him during that +journey, one<br> + all-absorbing problem filled his mind--"Why did she go away?" +Theories<br> + grew thickly on such ground for supposition, and naturally he +inclined<br> + to the one that flattered his hopes--"If the Vicomtesse cares +for me,<br> + a clever woman would, of course, choose Switzerland, where +nobody<br> + knows either of us, in preference to France, where she would +find<br> + censorious critics."</p> + +<p>An impassioned lover of a certain stamp would not feel +attracted to a<br> + woman clever enough to choose her own ground; such women are +too<br> + clever. However, there is nothing to prove that there was any +truth in<br> + Gaston's supposition.</p> + +<p>The Vicomtesse took a small house by the side of the lake. As +soon as<br> + she was installed in it, Gaston came one summer evening in +the<br> + twilight. Jacques, that flunkey in grain, showed no sign of +surprise,<br> + and announced /M. le Baron de Nueil/ like a discreet domestic +well<br> + acquainted with good society. At the sound of the name, at the +sight<br> + of its owner, Mme. de Beauseant let her book fall from her +hands; her<br> + surprise gave him time to come close to her, and to say in tones +that<br> + sounded like music in her ears:</p> + +<p>"What a joy it was to me to take the horses that brought you +on this<br> + journey!"</p> + +<p>To have the inmost desires of the heart so fulfilled! Where is +the<br> + woman who could resist such happiness as this? An Italian woman, +one<br> + of those divine creatures who, psychologically, are as far +removed<br> + from the Parisian as if they lived at the Antipodes, a being who +would<br> + be regarded as profoundly immoral on this side of the Alps, an +Italian<br> + (to resume) made the following comment on some French novels +which she<br> + had been reading. "I cannot see," she remarked, "why these poor +lovers<br> + take such a time over coming to an arrangement which ought to be +the<br> + affair of a single morning." Why should not the novelist take a +hint<br> + from this worthy lady, and refrain from exhausting the theme and +the<br> + reader? Some few passages of coquetry it would certainly be +pleasant<br> + to give in outline; the story of Mme. de Beauseant's demurs and +sweet<br> + delayings, that, like the vestal virgins of antiquity, she might +fall<br> + gracefully, and by lingering over the innocent raptures of first +love<br> + draw from it its utmost strength and sweetness. M. de Nueil was +at an<br> + age when a man is the dupe of these caprices, of the fence which +women<br> + delight to prolong; either to dictate their own terms, or to +enjoy the<br> + sense of their power yet longer, knowing instinctively as they +do that<br> + it must soon grow less. But, after all, these little boudoir<br> + protocols, less numerous than those of the Congress of London, +are too<br> + small to be worth mention in the history of this passion.</p> + +<p>For three years Mme. de Beauseant and M. de Nueil lived in the +villa<br> + on the lake of Geneva. They lived quite alone, received no +visitors,<br> + caused no talk, rose late, went out together upon the lake, +knew, in<br> + short, the happiness of which we all of us dream. It was a +simple<br> + little house, with green shutters, and broad balconies shaded +with<br> + awnings, a house contrived of set purpose for lovers, with its +white<br> + couches, soundless carpets, and fresh hangings, everything +within it<br> + reflecting their joy. Every window looked out on some new view +of the<br> + lake; in the far distance lay the mountains, fantastic visions +of<br> + changing color and evanescent cloud; above them spread the sunny +sky,<br> + before them stretched the broad sheet of water, never the same +in its<br> + fitful changes. All their surroundings seemed to dream for them, +all<br> + things smiled upon them.</p> + +<p>Then weighty matters recalled M. de Nueil to France. His +father and<br> + brother died, and he was obliged to leave Geneva. The lovers +bought<br> + the house; and if they could have had their way, they would +have<br> + removed the hills piecemeal, drawn off the lake with a siphon, +and<br> + taken everything away with them.</p> + +<p><br> + Mme. de Beauseant followed M. de Nueil. She realized her +property, and<br> + bought a considerable estate near Manerville, adjoining +Gaston's<br> + lands, and here they lived together; Gaston very graciously +giving up<br> + Manerville to his mother for the present in consideration of +the<br> + bachelor freedom in which she left him.</p> + +<p>Mme. de Beauseant's estate was close to a little town in one +of the<br> + most picturesque spots in the valley of the Auge. Here the +lovers<br> + raised barriers between themselves and social intercourse, +barriers<br> + which no creature could overleap, and here the happy days of<br> + Switzerland were lived over again. For nine whole years they +knew<br> + happiness which it serves no purpose to describe; happiness +which may<br> + be divined from the outcome of the story by those whose souls +can<br> + comprehend poetry and prayer in their infinite +manifestations.</p> + +<p>All this time Mme. de Beauseant's husband, the present Marquis +(his<br> + father and elder brother having died), enjoyed the soundest +health.<br> + There is no better aid to life than a certain knowledge that +our<br> + demise would confer a benefit on some fellow-creature. M. de +Beauseant<br> + was one of those ironical and wayward beings who, like holders +of<br> + life-annuities, wake with an additional sense of relish every +morning<br> + to a consciousness of good health. For the rest, he was a man of +the<br> + world, somewhat methodical and ceremonious, and a calculator +of<br> + consequences, who could make a declaration of love as quietly as +a<br> + lackey announces that "Madame is served."</p> + +<p>This brief biographical notice of his lordship the Marquis +de<br> + Beauseant is given to explain the reasons why it was impossible +for<br> + the Marquise to marry M. de Nueil.</p> + +<p>So, after a nine years' lease of happiness, the sweetest +agreement to<br> + which a woman ever put her hand, M. de Nueil and Mme. de +Beauseant<br> + were still in a position quite as natural and quite as false as +at the<br> + beginning of their adventure. And yet they had reached a fatal +crisis,<br> + which may be stated as clearly as any problem in +mathematics.</p> + +<p>Mme. la Comtesse de Nueil, Gaston's mother, a strait-laced +and<br> + virtuous person, who had made the late Baron happy in strictly +legal<br> + fashion would never consent to meet Mme. de Beauseant. Mme. +de<br> + Beauseant quite understood that the worthy dowager must of +necessity<br> + be her enemy, and that she would try to draw Gaston from his<br> + unhallowed and immoral way of life. The Marquise de Beauseant +would<br> + willingly have sold her property and gone back to Geneva, but +she<br> + could not bring herself to do it; it would mean that she +distrusted M.<br> + de Nueil. Moreover, he had taken a great fancy to this very +Valleroy<br> + estate, where he was making plantations and improvements. She +would<br> + not deprive him of a piece of pleasurable routine-work, such as +women<br> + always wish for their husbands, and even for their lovers.</p> + +<p>A Mlle. de la Rodiere, twenty-two years of age, an heiress +with a<br> + rent-roll of forty thousand livres, had come to live in the<br> + neighborhood. Gaston always met her at Manerville whenever he +was<br> + obliged to go thither. These various personages being to each +other as<br> + the terms of a proportion sum, the following letter will throw +light<br> + on the appalling problem which Mme. de Beauseant had been trying +for<br> + the past month to solve:--</p> + +<p>"My beloved angel, it seems like nonsense, does it not, to +write<br> + to you when there is nothing to keep us apart, when a caress +so<br> + often takes the place of words, and words too are caresses? +Ah,<br> + well, no, love. There are some things that a woman cannot say +when<br> + she is face to face with the man she loves; at the bare thought +of<br> + them her voice fails her, and the blood goes back to her +heart;<br> + she has no strength, no intelligence left. It hurts me to +feel<br> + like this when you are near me, and it happens often. I feel +that<br> + my heart should be wholly sincere for you; that I should +disguise<br> + no thought, however transient, in my heart; and I love the +sweet<br> + carelessness, which suits me so well, too much to endure +this<br> + embarrassment and constraint any longer. So I will tell you +about<br> + my anguish--yes, it is anguish. Listen to me! do not begin +with<br> + the little 'Tut, tut, tut,' that you use to silence me, an<br> + impertinence that I love, because anything from you pleases +me.<br> + Dear soul from heaven, wedded to mine, let me first tell you +that<br> + you have effaced all memory of the pain that once was crushing +the<br> + life out of me. I did not know what love was before I knew +you.<br> + Only the candor of your beautiful young life, only the purity +of<br> + that great soul of yours, could satisfy the requirements of +an<br> + exacting woman's heart. Dear love, how very often I have +thrilled<br> + with joy to think that in these nine long, swift years, my<br> + jealousy has not been once awakened. All the flowers of your +soul<br> + have been mine, all your thoughts. There has not been the +faintest<br> + cloud in our heaven; we have not known what sacrifice is; we +have<br> + always acted on the impulses of our hearts. I have known<br> + happiness, infinite for a woman. Will the tears that drench +this<br> + sheet tell you all my gratitude? I could wish that I had knelt +to<br> + write the words!--Well, out of this felicity has arisen +torture<br> + more terrible than the pain of desertion. Dear, there are +very<br> + deep recesses in a woman's heart; how deep in my own heart, I +did<br> + not know myself until to-day, as I did not know the whole +extent<br> + of love. The greatest misery which could overwhelm us is a +light<br> + burden compared with the mere thought of harm for him whom +we<br> + love. And how if we cause the harm, is it not enough to make +one<br> + die? . . . This is the thought that is weighing upon me. But<br> + it brings in its train another thought that is heavier far, +a<br> + thought that tarnishes the glory of love, and slays it, and +turns<br> + it into a humiliation which sullies life as long as it lasts. +You<br> + are thirty years old; I am forty. What dread this difference +in<br> + age calls up in a woman who loves! It is possible that, first +of<br> + all unconsciously, afterwards in earnest, you have felt the<br> + sacrifices that you have made by renouncing all in the world +for<br> + me. Perhaps you have thought of your future from the social +point<br> + of view, of the marriage which would, of course, increase +your<br> + fortune, and give you avowed happiness and children who +would<br> + inherit your wealth; perhaps you have thought of reappearing +in<br> + the world, and filling your place there honorably. And then, +if<br> + so, you must have repressed those thoughts, and felt glad to<br> + sacrifice heiress and fortune and a fair future to me without +my<br> + knowledge. In your young man's generosity, you must have +resolved<br> + to be faithful to the vows which bind us each to each in the +sight<br> + of God. My past pain has risen up before your mind, and the +misery<br> + from which you rescued me has been my protection. To owe your +love<br> + to your pity! The thought is even more painful to me than the +fear<br> + of spoiling your life for you. The man who can bring himself +to<br> + stab his mistress is very charitable if he gives her her +deathblow<br> + while she is happy and ignorant of evil, while illusions are +in<br> + full blossom. . . . Yes, death is preferable to the two +thoughts<br> + which have secretly saddened the hours for several days. +To-day,<br> + when you asked 'What ails you?' so tenderly, the sound of +your<br> + voice made me shiver. I thought that, after your wont, you +were<br> + reading my very soul, and I waited for your confidence to +come,<br> + thinking that my presentiments had come true, and that I had<br> + guessed all that was going on in your mind. Then I began to +think<br> + over certain little things that you always do for me, and I<br> + thought I could see in you the sort of affection by which a +man<br> + betrays a consciousness that his loyalty is becoming a burden. +And<br> + in that moment I paid very dear for my happiness. I felt +that<br> + Nature always demands the price for the treasure called +love.<br> + Briefly, has not fate separated us? Can you have said, 'Sooner +or<br> + later I must leave poor Claire; why not separate in time?' I +read<br> + that thought in the depths of your eyes, and went away to cry +by<br> + myself. Hiding my tears from you! the first tears that I have +shed<br> + for sorrow for these ten years; I am too proud to let you +see<br> + them, but I did not reproach you in the least.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are right. I ought not to be so selfish as to bind +your<br> + long and brilliant career to my so-soon out-worn life. . . . +And<br> + yet--how if I have been mistaken? How if I have taken your +love<br> + melancholy for a deliberation? Oh, my love, do not leave me +in<br> + suspense; punish this jealous wife of yours, but give her back +the<br> + sense of her love and yours; the whole woman lies in +that--that<br> + consciousness sanctifies everything.</p> + +<br> +"Since your mother came, since you paid a visit to Mlle. de<br> +Rodiere, I have been gnawed by doubts dishonoring to us both. +Make<br> +me suffer for this, but do not deceive me; I want to know<br> +everything that your mother said and that you think! If you +have<br> +hesitated between some alternative and me, I give you back +your<br> +liberty. . . . I will not let you know what happens to me; I +will<br> +not shed tears for you to see; only--I will not see you +again.<br> +. . . Ah! I cannot go on, my heart is breaking . . . . . . . . . +.<br> +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I have been +sitting<br> +benumbed and stupid for some moments. Dear love, I do not +find<br> +that any feeling of pride rises against you; you are so kind-<br> +hearted, so open; you would find it impossible to hurt me or +to<br> +deceive me; and you will tell me the truth, however cruel it +may<br> +be. Do you wish me to encourage your confession? Well, then, +heart<br> +of mine, I shall find comfort in a woman's thought. Has not +the<br> +youth of your being been mine, your sensitive, wholly +gracious,<br> +beautiful, and delicate youth? No woman shall find henceforth +the<br> +Gaston whom I have known, nor the delicious happiness that he +has<br> +given me. . . . No; you will never love again as you have +loved,<br> +as you love me now; no, I shall never have a rival, it is<br> +impossible. There will be no bitterness in my memories of our<br> +love, and I shall think of nothing else. It is out of your +power<br> +to enchant any woman henceforth by the childish provocations, +the<br> +charming ways of a young heart, the soul's winning charm, the<br> +body's grace, the swift communion of rapture, the whole +divine<br> +cortege of young love, in fine. + +<p>"Oh, you are a man now, you will obey your destiny, weighing +and<br> + considering all things. You will have cares, and anxieties, +and<br> + ambitions, and concerns that will rob /her/ of the +unchanging<br> + smile that made your lips fair for me. The tones that were +always<br> + so sweet for me will be troubled at times; and your eyes +that<br> + lighted up with radiance from heaven at the sight of me, +will<br> + often be lustreless for /her/. And besides, as it is impossible +to<br> + love you as I love you, you will never care for that woman as +you<br> + have cared for me. She will never keep a constant watch over<br> + herself as I have done; she will never study your happiness +at<br> + every moment with an intuition which has never failed me. Ah, +yes,<br> + the man, the heart and soul, which I shall have known will +exist<br> + no longer. I shall bury him deep in my memory, that I may have +the<br> + joy of him still; I shall live happy in that fair past life +of<br> + ours, a life hidden from all but our inmost selves.</p> + +<p>"Dear treasure of mine, if all the while no least thought +of<br> + liberty has risen in your mind, if my love is no burden on you, +if<br> + my fears are chimerical, if I am still your Eve--the one woman +in<br> + the world for you--come to me as soon as you have read this<br> + letter, come quickly! Ah, in one moment I will love you more +than<br> + I have ever loved you, I think, in these nine years. After<br> + enduring the needless torture of these doubts of which I am<br> + accusing myself, every added day of love, yes, every single +day,<br> + will be a whole lifetime of bliss. So speak, and speak openly; +do<br> + not deceive me, it would be a crime. Tell me, do you wish for +your<br> + liberty? Have you thought of all that a man's life means? Is +there<br> + any regret in your mind? That /I/ should cause you a regret! +I<br> + should die of it. I have said it: I love you enough to set +your<br> + happiness above mine, your life before my own. Leave on one +side,<br> + if you can, the wealth of memories of our nine years' +happiness,<br> + that they may not influence your decision, but speak! I +submit<br> + myself to you as to God, the one Consoler who remains if you<br> + forsake me."</p> + +<p>When Mme. de Beauseant knew that her letter was in M. de +Nueil's<br> + hands, she sank in such utter prostration, the over-pressure of +many<br> + thoughts so numbed her faculties, that she seemed almost drowsy. +At<br> + any rate, she was suffering from a pain not always proportioned +in its<br> + intensity to a woman's strength; pain which women alone know. +And<br> + while the unhappy Marquise awaited her doom, M. de Nueil, +reading her<br> + letter, felt that he was "in a very difficult position," to use +the<br> + expression that young men apply to a crisis of this kind.</p> + +<p>By this time he had all but yielded to his mother's +importunities and<br> + to the attractions of Mlle. de la Rodiere, a somewhat +insignificant,<br> + pink-and-white young person, as straight as a poplar. It is true +that,<br> + in accordance with the rules laid down for marriageable young +ladies,<br> + she scarcely opened her mouth, but her rent-roll of forty +thousand<br> + livres spoke quite sufficiently for her. Mme. de Nueil, with +a<br> + mother's sincere affection, tried to entangle her son in +virtuous<br> + courses. She called his attention to the fact that it was a +flattering<br> + distinction to be preferred by Mlle. de la Rodiere, who had +refused so<br> + many great matches; it was quite time, she urged, that he should +think<br> + of his future, such a good opportunity might not repeat itself, +some<br> + day he would have eighty thousand livres of income from land; +money<br> + made everything bearable; if Mme. de Beauseant loved him for his +own<br> + sake, she ought to be the first to urge him to marry. In short, +the<br> + well-intentioned mother forgot no arguments which the +feminine<br> + intellect can bring to bear upon the masculine mind, and by +these<br> + means she had brought her son into a wavering condition.</p> + +<p>Mme. de Beauseant's letter arrived just as Gaston's love of +her was<br> + holding out against the temptations of a settled life +conformable to<br> + received ideas. That letter decided the day. He made up his mind +to<br> + break off with the Marquise and to marry.</p> + +<p>"One must live a man's life," said he to himself.</p> + +<p>Then followed some inkling of the pain that this decision +would give<br> + to Mme. de Beauseant. The man's vanity and the lover's +conscience<br> + further exaggerated this pain, and a sincere pity for her seized +upon<br> + him. All at once the immensity of the misery became apparent to +him,<br> + and he thought it necessary and charitable to deaden the deadly +blow.<br> + He hoped to bring Mme. de Beauseant to a calm frame of mind +by<br> + gradually reconciling her to the idea of separation; while Mlle. +de la<br> + Rodiere, always like a shadowy third between them, should be<br> + sacrificed to her at first, only to be imposed upon her later. +His<br> + marriage should take place later, in obedience to Mme. de +Beauseant's<br> + expressed wish. He went so far as to enlist the Marquise's +nobleness<br> + and pride and all the great qualities of her nature to help him +to<br> + succeed in this compassionate design. He would write a letter at +once<br> + to allay her suspicions. /A letter!/ For a woman with the +most<br> + exquisite feminine perception, as well as the intuition of +passionate<br> + love, a letter in itself was a sentence of death.</p> + +<p>So when Jacques came and brought Mme. de Beauseant a sheet of +paper<br> + folded in a triangle, she trembled, poor woman, like a snared +swallow.<br> + A mysterious sensation of physical cold spread from head to +foot,<br> + wrapping her about in an icy winding sheet. If he did not rush +to her<br> + feet, if he did not come to her in tears, and pale, and like a +lover,<br> + she knew that all was lost. And yet, so many hopes are there in +the<br> + heart of a woman who loves, that she is only slain by stab after +stab,<br> + and loves on till the last drop of life-blood drains away.</p> + +<p>"Does madame need anything?" Jacques asked gently, as he went +away.</p> + +<p>"No," she said.</p> + +<p>"Poor fellow!" she thought, brushing a tear from her eyes, "he +guesses<br> + my feelings, servant though he is!"</p> + +<p>She read: "My beloved, you are inventing idle terrors for<br> + yourself . . ." The Marquise gazed at the words, and a thick +mist<br> + spread before her eyes. A voice in her heart cried, "He +lies!"--Then<br> + she glanced down the page with the clairvoyant eagerness of +passion,<br> + and read these words at the foot, "/Nothing has been decided +as<br> + yet . . ./" Turning to the other side with convulsive quickness, +she<br> + saw the mind of the writer distinctly through the intricacies of +the<br> + wording; this was no spontaneous outburst of love. She crushed +it in<br> + her fingers, twisted it, tore it with her teeth, flung it in the +fire,<br> + and cried aloud, "Ah! base that he is! I was his, and he had +ceased to<br> + love me!"</p> + +<br> +She sank half dead upon the couch. + +<p>M. de Nueil went out as soon as he had written his letter. +When he<br> + came back, Jacques met him on the threshold with a note. "Madame +la<br> + Marquise has left the chateau," said the man.</p> + +<p>M. de Nueil, in amazement, broke the seal and read:--</p> + +<p>"MADAME,--If I could cease to love you, to take the chances +of<br> + becoming an ordinary man which you hold out to me, you must +admit<br> + that I should thoroughly deserve my fate. No, I shall not do +as<br> + you bid me; the oath of fidelity which I swear to you shall +only<br> + be absolved by death. Ah! take my life, unless indeed you do +not<br> + fear to carry a remorse all through your own . . ."</p> + +<p>It was his own letter, written to the Marquise as she set out +for<br> + Geneva nine years before. At the foot of it Claire de Bourgogne +had<br> + written, "Monsieur, you are free."</p> + +<p>M. de Nueil went to his mother at Manerville. In less than +three weeks<br> + he married Mlle. Stephanie de la Rodiere.</p> + +<p>If this commonplace story of real life ended here, it would be +to some<br> + extent a sort of mystification. The first man you meet can tell +you a<br> + better. But the widespread fame of the catastrophe (for, +unhappily,<br> + this is a true tale), and all the memories which it may arouse +in<br> + those who have known the divine delights of infinite passion, +and lost<br> + them by their own deed, or through the cruelty of fate,--these +things<br> + may perhaps shelter the story from criticism.</p> + +<p>Mme. la Marquise de Beauseant never left Valleroy after her +parting<br> + from M. de Nueil. After his marriage she still continued to +live<br> + there, for some inscrutable woman's reason; any woman is at +liberty to<br> + assign the one which most appeals to her. Claire de Bourgogne +lived in<br> + such complete retirement that none of the servants, save Jacques +and<br> + her own woman, ever saw their mistress. She required absolute +silence<br> + all about her, and only left her room to go to the chapel on +the<br> + Valleroy estate, whither a neighboring priest came to say mass +every<br> + morning.</p> + +<p>The Comte de Nueil sank a few days after his marriage into +something<br> + like conjugal apathy, which might be interpreted to mean +happiness or<br> + unhappiness equally easily.</p> + +<p>"My son is perfectly happy," his mother said everywhere.</p> + +<p>Mme. Gaston de Nueil, like a great many young women, was a +rather<br> + colorless character, sweet and passive. A month after her +marriage she<br> + had expectations of becoming a mother. All this was quite in<br> + accordance with ordinary views. M. de Nueil was very nice to +her; but<br> + two months after his separation from the Marquise, he grew +notably<br> + thoughtful and abstracted. But then he always had been serious, +his<br> + mother said.</p> + +<p>After seven months of this tepid happiness, a little thing +occurred,<br> + one of those seemingly small matters which imply such great<br> + development of thought and such widespread trouble of the soul, +that<br> + only the bare fact can be recorded; the interpretation of it +must be<br> + left to the fancy of each individual mind. One day, when M. de +Nueil<br> + had been shooting over the lands of Manerville and Valleroy, +he<br> + crossed Mme. de Beauseant's park on his way home, summoned +Jacques,<br> + and when the man came, asked him, "Whether the Marquise was as +fond of<br> + game as ever?"</p> + +<p>Jacques answering in the affirmative, Gaston offered him a +good round<br> + sum (accompanied by plenty of specious reasoning) for a very +little<br> + service. Would he set aside for the Marquise the game that the +Count<br> + would bring? It seemed to Jacques to be a matter of no great<br> + importance whether the partridge on which his mistress dined had +been<br> + shot by her keeper or by M. de Nueil, especially since the +latter<br> + particularly wished that the Marquise should know nothing about +it.</p> + +<p>"It was killed on her land," said the Count, and for some days +Jacques<br> + lent himself to the harmless deceit. Day after day M. de Nueil +went<br> + shooting, and came back at dinner-time with an empty bag. A +whole week<br> + went by in this way. Gaston grew bold enough to write a long +letter to<br> + the Marquise, and had it conveyed to her. It was returned to +him<br> + unopened. The Marquise's servant brought it back about +nightfall. The<br> + Count, sitting in the drawing-room listening, while his wife at +the<br> + piano mangled a /Caprice/ of Herold's, suddenly sprang up and +rushed<br> + out to the Marquise, as if he were flying to an assignation. He +dashed<br> + through a well-known gap into the park, and went slowly along +the<br> + avenues, stopping now and again for a little to still the loud +beating<br> + of his heart. Smothered sounds as he came nearer the chateau +told him<br> + that the servants must be at supper, and he went straight to +Mme. de<br> + Beauseant's room.</p> + +<p>Mme. de Beauseant never left her bedroom. M. de Nueil could +gain the<br> + doorway without making the slightest sound. There, by the light +of two<br> + wax candles, he saw the thin, white Marquise in a great +armchair; her<br> + head was bowed, her hands hung listlessly, her eyes gazing +fixedly at<br> + some object which she did not seem to see. Her whole attitude +spoke of<br> + hopeless pain. There was a vague something like hope in her +bearing,<br> + but it was impossible to say whither Claire de Bourgogne was +looking--<br> + forwards to the tomb or backwards into the past. Perhaps M. de +Nueil's<br> + tears glittered in the deep shadows; perhaps his breathing +sounded<br> + faintly; perhaps unconsciously he trembled, or again it may have +been<br> + impossible that he should stand there, his presence unfelt by +that<br> + quick sense which grows to be an instinct, the glory, the +delight, the<br> + proof of perfect love. However it was, Mme. de Beauseant slowly +turned<br> + her face towards the doorway, and beheld her lover of bygone +days.<br> + Then Gaston de Nueil came forward a few paces.</p> + +<p>"If you come any further, sir," exclaimed the Marquise, +growing paler,<br> + "I shall fling myself out of the window!"</p> + +<p>She sprang to the window, flung it open, and stood with one +foot on<br> + the ledge, her hand upon the iron balustrade, her face turned +towards<br> + Gaston.</p> + +<p>"Go out! go out!" she cried, "or I will throw myself +over."</p> + +<p>At that dreadful cry the servants began to stir, and M. de +Nueil fled<br> + like a criminal.</p> + +<p>When he reached his home again he wrote a few lines and gave +them to<br> + his own man, telling him to give the letter himself into Mme. +de<br> + Beauseant's hands, and to say that it was a matter of life and +death<br> + for his master. The messenger went. M. de Nueil went back to +the<br> + drawing-room where his wife was still murdering the /Caprice/, +and sat<br> + down to wait till the answer came. An hour later, when the +/Caprice/<br> + had come to an end, and the husband and wife sat in silence +on<br> + opposite sides of the hearth, the man came back from Valleroy +and gave<br> + his master his own letter, unopened.</p> + +<p>M. de Nueil went into a small room beyond the drawing-room, +where he<br> + had left his rifle, and shot himself.</p> + +<p>The swift and fatal ending of the drama, contrary as it is to +all the<br> + habits of young France, is only what might have been expected. +Those<br> + who have closely observed, or known for themselves by +delicious<br> + experience, all that is meant by the perfect union of two +beings, will<br> + understand Gaston de Nueil's suicide perfectly well. A woman +does not<br> + bend and form herself in a day to the caprices of passion. +The<br> + pleasure of loving, like some rare flower, needs the most +careful<br> + ingenuity of culture. Time alone, and two souls attuned each to +each,<br> + can discover all its resources, and call into being all the +tender and<br> + delicate delights for which we are steeped in a thousand<br> + superstitions, imagining them to be inherent in the heart +that<br> + lavishes them upon us. It is this wonderful response of one +nature to<br> + another, this religious belief, this certainty of finding +peculiar or<br> + excessive happiness in the presence of one we love, that +accounts in<br> + part for perdurable attachments and long-lived passion. If a +woman<br> + possesses the genius of her sex, love never comes to be a matter +of<br> + use and wont. She brings all her heart and brain to love, +clothes her<br> + tenderness in forms so varied, there is such art in her most +natural<br> + moments, or so much nature in her art, that in absence her +memory is<br> + almost as potent as her presence. All other women are as +shadows<br> + compared with her. Not until we have lost or known the dread of +losing<br> + a love so vast and glorious, do we prize it at its just worth. +And if<br> + a man who has once possessed this love shuts himself out from it +by<br> + his own act and deed, and sinks to some loveless marriage; if by +some<br> + incident, hidden in the obscurity of married life, the woman +with whom<br> + he hoped to know the same felicity makes it clear that it will +never<br> + be revived for him; if, with the sweetness of divine love still +on his<br> + lips, he has dealt a deadly wound to /her/, his wife in truth, +whom he<br> + forsook for a social chimera,--then he must either die or take +refuge<br> + in a materialistic, selfish, and heartless philosophy, from +which<br> + impassioned souls shrink in horror.</p> + +<p>As for Mme. de Beauseant, she doubtless did not imagine that +her<br> + friend's despair could drive him to suicide, when he had drunk +deep of<br> + love for nine years. Possibly she may have thought that she +alone was<br> + to suffer. At any rate, she did quite rightly to refuse the +most<br> + humiliating of all positions; a wife may stoop for weighty +social<br> + reasons to a kind of compromise which a mistress is bound to +hold in<br> + abhorrence, for in the purity of her passion lies all its<br> + justification.</p> + +<p>ANGOULEME, September 1832.</p> + +<h2><br> + ADDENDUM</h2> + +<p>The following personages appear in other stories of the Human +Comedy.</p> + +<p>Beauseant, Marquis and Comte de<br> + Father Goriot<br> + An Episode under the Terror</p> + +<p>Beauseant, Marquise de<br> + Letters of Two Brides</p> + +<p>Beauseant, Vicomte de<br> + Father Goriot</p> + +<p>Beauseant, Vicomtesse de<br> + Father Goriot<br> + Albert Savarus</p> + +<p>Champignelles, De<br> + The Seamy Side of History</p> + +<p>Jacques (M. de Beauseant's butler)<br> + Father Goriot</p> + +<p>Nueil, Gaston de<br> + The Deserted Woman<br> + Albert Savarus</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Deserted Woman, by Honore +de Balzac</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p> </p> + +<p> </p> +</body> +</html> + + |