The Deputy of Arcis by Honoré de Balzac (reading in the dark .txt) 📖

goes without saying, for you are the present, she the past."

"But, to desert the past for the present is a bad thing and goes by a bad name, monsieur; and yet you proclaim it with a very easy air."

"True," said Monsieur Dorlange, laughing, "but art is ferocious; wherever it sees material for its creations, it pounces upon it desperately."

"Art," I replied, "is a great word under which a multitude of things shelter themselves. The other day you told me that circumstances, too long to relate at that moment, had contributed to fix the image of which I was the reflection in your mind, where it has left a vivid memory; was not that enough to excite my curiosity?"

"It was true, madame, that time did not allow of my making an explanation of those circumstances; but, in any case, having the honor of speaking to you for the first time, it would have been strange, would it not, had I ventured to make you any confidences?"

"Well, but now?" I said, boldly.

"Now, unless I receive more express encouragement, I am still unable to suppose that anything in my past can interest you."

"Why not? Some acquaintances ripen fast. Your devotion to my Nais has advanced our friendship rapidly. Besides," I added, with affected levity, "I am passionately fond of stories."

"But mine has no conclusion to it; it is an enigma even to myself."

"All the better; perhaps between us we might find the key to it."

Monsieur Dorlange appeared to take counsel with himself; then, after a short pause he said:--

"It is true that women are admirably fitted to seize the lighter shades of meaning in acts and sentiments which we men are unable to decipher. But this confidence does not concern myself alone; I should have to request that it remain absolutely between ourselves, not even excepting Monsieur de l'Estorade from this restriction. A secret is never safe beyond the person who confides it, and the person who hears it."

I was much puzzled, as you can well suppose, about what might follow; still, continuing my explorations, I replied:--

"Monsieur de l'Estorade is so little in the habit of hearing everything from me, that he never even read a line of my correspondence with Madame Marie-Gaston."

Until then, Monsieur Dorlange had stood before the fireplace, at one corner of which I was seated; but he now took a chair beside me and said, by way of preamble:--

"I mentioned to you, madame, the family of Lanty--"

At that instant--provoking as rain in the midst of a picnic--Madame de la Bastie came up to ask me if I had been to see Nathan's last drama. Monsieur Dorlange was forced to give up his seat beside me, and no further opportunity for renewing the conversation occurred during the evening.

I have really, as you see now, no light upon the matter, and yet when I recall the whole manner and behavior of Monsieur Dorlange, whom I studied carefully, my opinion inclines to his perfect innocence. Nothing proves that the love I suspected plays any part in this curious affair; and I will allow you to think that I and my terrors, with which I tormented you, were terribly absurd,--in short, that I have played the part of Belise in the _Femmes Savantes_, who fancies that every man she sees is fatally in love with her.

I therefore cheerfully abandon that stupid conclusion. Lover or not, Monsieur Dorlange is a man of high character, with rare distinction of mind; and if, as I believe now, he has no misplaced pretensions, it is an honor and pleasure to count him among our friends. Nais is enchanted with her preserver. After he left us that evening, she said to me, with an amusing little air of approbation,--

"Mamma, how well Monsieur Dorlange talks."

Apropos of Nais, here is one of her remarks:--

"When he stopped the horses, mamma, and you did not seem to notice him, I thought he was only a man."

"How do you mean,--only a man?"

"Well, yes! one of those persons to whom one pays no attention. But, oh! I was so glad when I found out he was a monsieur. Didn't you hear me cry out, 'Ah! you are the monsieur who saved me'?"

Though her innocence is perfect, there was such pride and vanity in this little speech that I gave her, as you may well suppose, a lecture upon it. This distinction of man and monsieur is dreadful; but, after all, the child told the truth. She only said, with her blunt simplicity, what our democratic customs still allow us to put in practice, though they forbid us to put it into words. The Revolution of '89 has at least introduced that virtuous hypocrisy into our social system.

But I refrain from politics.


VIII. THE COMTESSE DE L'ESTORADE TO MADAME OCTAVE DE CAMPS

April, 1839.

For the last two weeks we have heard nothing more of Monsieur Dorlange. Not only has he not seen fit to renew the conversation so provokingly interrupted by Madame de la Bastie, but he has not even remembered that it was proper to leave his card at the house after a dinner.

While we were breakfasting yesterday morning, I happened to make this remark (though without any sharpness), and just then our Lucas, who, as an old servant, sometimes allows himself a little familiarity, had the door swung triumphantly open to admit him, bearing _something_, I knew not what, wrapped in tissue paper, which he deposited with great care on the table, giving a note to Monsieur de l'Estorade at the same time.

"What is that?" I said to Lucas, on whose face I detected the signs of a "surprise," at the same time putting out my hand to uncover the mysterious article.

"Oh! madame must be careful!" cried Lucas; "it is fragile."

During this time my husband had read the note, which he now passed to me, saying:--

"Read it. Monsieur Dorlange sends us an excuse."

The note said:--

Monsieur le Comte,--I think I observed that Madame la comtesse
granted me rather reluctantly her permission to profit by the
audacious larceny I committed at her expense. I have, therefore,
taken upon myself to change the character of my statue, and, at
the present moment, the _two sisters_ no longer resemble each
other. Nevertheless, as I did not wish that _all_ should be lost
to the world, I modelled the head of Saint-Ursula before
retouching it. From that model I have now made a reduction, which
I place upon the charming shoulders of a countess not yet
canonized, thank God! The mould was broken as soon as the one
cast, which I have now the honor of sending you, was made. This
fact may, perhaps, give some little additional value to the bust
in your eyes.

Accept, Monsieur le comte, etc., etc.

While I was reading the note, my husband, Lucas, Rene, and Nais had eagerly extracted me from my swathings, and then, in truth, I appeared no longer a saint, but a woman of the world. I really thought my husband and children would go out of their minds with admiration and pleasure. The news of this masterpiece spread about the house, and all our servants, whom we rather spoil, came flocking, one after another, as if sent for, crying out, "Oh, it is madame's own self!" I alone did not share in the general enthusiasm. As for Monsieur de l'Estorade, after working for an hour to find a place in his study where the bust could be seen in its best light, he came in to say to me:--

"On my way to the Treasury to-day I shall go and see Monsieur Dorlange, and if he is at liberty this evening I shall ask him to dine with us. To-day is Armand's half-holiday, and I would like him to see the boy. The assembled family can then thank him for his gift."

Monsieur Dorlange accepted the invitation. At dinner Monsieur de l'Estorade inquired further about his candidacy, giving it however, no approval. This led straight to politics. Armand, whose mind is naturally grave and reflective and who reads the newspapers, mingled in the conversation. Against the practice of youths of the present day, he thinks like his father; that is, he is very conservative; though perhaps less just and wise, as might well be expected in a lad of fifteen. He was consequently led to contradict Monsieur Dorlange, whose inclination as I told you, is somewhat jacobin. And I must say I thought the arguments of my little man neither bad nor ill-expressed. Without ceasing to be polite, Monsieur Dorlange had an air of disdaining a discussion with the poor boy, so much so that I saw Armand on the point of losing patience and replying sharply. However, as he has been well brought up, I had only to make him a sign and he controlled himself; but seeing him turn scarlet and shut himself up in gloomy silence, I felt that his pride had received a blow, and I thought it little generous in Monsieur Dorlange to crush a young lad in that way.

I know very well that children in these days make the mistake of wishing to be personages before their time, and that it often does them good to suppress such conceit. But really, Armand has an intellectual development and a power of reasoning beyond his age. Do you want a proof of it? Until last year, I had never consented to part with him, and it was only as a day scholar that he followed his course of study at the College Henri IV. Well, he himself, for the sake of his studies, which were hindered by going and coming to and fro, asked to be placed in the regular manner in the school; and he employed more entreaties and arguments with me to put him under that discipline than an ordinary boy would have used to escape it. Therefore this manly air and manner, which in most schoolboys would, of course, be intolerably ridiculous, seems in him the result of his natural precocity; and this precocity ought to be forgiven him, inasmuch as it comes to him from God.

In consequence of his unfortunate birth Monsieur Dorlange is less fitted than most men to judge of children in their homes, and he therefore, necessarily, shows a want of indulgence. But he had better take care; if he wishes to pay court to me merely as a friend he has chosen a very bad method of doing so.

Of course an evening in the midst of the family did not allow of his returning to the subject of his private history; but I thought he did not show any particular desire to do so. In fact, he occupied himself much more with Nais than with me, cutting out silhouettes in black paper for her during nearly the whole evening. I must also mention that Madame de Rastignac came in and I, on my side, was obliged to give my company to her. While we were conversing near the fire, Monsieur Dorlange at the other end of the room was posing the two children Nais and Rene, who presently brought me their likenesses snipped out with scissors, Nais whispering triumphantly in my ear:--

"You don't know; but Monsieur Dorlange is going to make my bust in marble."

Since this family dinner, civil war has been