The Lesser Bourgeoisie, Honore de Balzac [good book recommendations .TXT] 📗

la Peyrade had the satisfaction of making an

inventory of all the choice things by which he was surrounded.

Paintings by good masters detached themselves from walls of even tone;

on a pier-table stood a very tall Japanese vase; before the windows

the jardinieres were filled with lilium rubrum, showing its handsome

reversely curling petals surmounted by white and red camellias and a

dwarf magnolia from China, with flowers of sulphur white with scarlet

edges. In a corner was a stand of arms, of curious shapes and rich

construction, explained, perhaps, by the lady's Hungarian nationality

--always that of the hussar. A few bronzes and statuettes of exquisite

selection, chairs rolling softly on Persian carpets, and a perfect

anarchy of stuffs of all kinds completed the arrangement of this

salon, which the lawyer had once before visited with Brigitte and

Thuillier before the countess moved into it. It was so transformed

that it seemed to him unrecognizable. With a little more knowledge of

the world la Peyrade would have been less surprised at the marvellous

care given by the countess to the decoration of the room. A woman's

salon is her kingdom, and her absolute domain; there, in the fullest

sense of the word, she reigns, she governs; there she offers battle,

and nearly always comes off victorious.

 

Coquettishly lying back in a corner of the sofa, her head carelessly

supported by an arm the form and whiteness of which could be seen

nearly to the elbow through the wide, open sleeve of a black velvet

dressing-gown, her Cinderella foot in its dainty slipper of Russia

leather resting on a cushion of orange satin, the handsome Hungarian

had the look of a portrait by Laurence or Winterhalter, plus the

naivete of the pose.

 

"Monsieur," she said, with the slightly foreign accent which lent an

added charm to her words, "I cannot help thinking it rather droll that

a man of your mind and rare penetration should have thought you had an

enemy in me."

 

"But, Madame la comtesse," replied la Peyrade, allowing her to read in

his eyes an astonishment mingled with distrust, "all the appearances,

you must admit, were of that nature. A suitor interposes to break off

a marriage which has been offered to me with every inducement; this

rival does me the service of showing himself so miraculously stupid

and awkward that I could easily have set him aside, when suddenly a

most unlooked-for and able auxiliary devotes herself to protecting him

on the very ground where he shows himself most vulnerable."

 

"You must admit," said the countess, laughing, "that the protege

showed himself a most intelligent man, and that he seconded my efforts

valiantly."

 

"His clumsiness could not have been, I think, very unexpected to you,"

replied la Peyrade; "therefore the protection you have deigned to give

him is the more cruel to me."

 

"What a misfortune it would be," said the countess, with charmingly

affected satire, "if your marriage with Mademoiselle Celeste were

prevented! Do you really care so much, monsieur, for that little

school-girl?"

 

In that last word, especially the intonation with which it was

uttered, there was more than contempt, there was hatred. This

expression did not escape an observer of la Peyrade's strength, but

not being a man to advance very far on a single remark he merely

replied:--

 

"Madame, the vulgar expression, to 'settle down,' explains this

situation, in which a man, after many struggles and being at an end of

his efforts and his illusions, makes a compromise with the future.

When this compromise takes the form of a young girl with, I admit,

more virtue than beauty, but one who brings to a husband the fortune

which is indispensable to the comfort of married life, what is there

so astonishing in the fact that his heart yields to gratitude and that

he welcomes the prospect of a placid happiness?"

 

"I have always thought," replied the countess, "that the power of a

man's intellect ought to be the measure of his ambition; and I

imagined that one so wise as to make himself, at first, the poor man's

lawyer, would have in his heart less humble and less pastoral

aspirations."

 

"Ah! madame," returned la Peyrade, "the iron hand of necessity compels

us to strange resignations. The question of daily bread is one of

those before which all things bend the knee. Apollo was forced to 'get

a living,' as the shepherd of Admetus."

 

"The sheepfold of Admetus," said Madame de Godollo, "was at least a

royal fold; I don't think Apollo would have resigned himself to be the

shepherd of a--bourgeois."

 

The hesitation that preceded that last word seemed to convey in place

of it a proper name; and la Peyrade understood that Madame de Godollo,

out of pure clemency, had suppressed that of Thuillier, had turned her

remark upon the species and not the individual.

 

"I agree, madame, that your distinction is a just one," he replied,

"but in this case Apollo has no choice."

 

"I don't like persons who charge too much," said the countess, "but

still less do I like those who sell their merchandise below the market

price; I always suspect such persons of trying to dupe me by some

clever and complicated trick. You know very well, monsieur, your own

value, and your hypocritical humility displeases me immensely. It

proves to me that my kindly overtures have not produced even a

beginning of confidence between us."

 

"I assure you, madame, that up to the present time life has never

justified the belief in any dazzling superiority in me."

 

"Well, really," said the Hungarian, "perhaps I ought to believe in the

humility of a man who is willing to accept the pitiable finale of his

life which I threw myself into the breach to prevent."

 

"Just as I, perhaps," said la Peyrade, with a touch of sarcasm, "ought

to believe in the reality of a kindness which, in order to save me,

has handled me so roughly."

 

The countess cast a reproachful look upon her visitor; her fingers

crumpled the ribbons of her gown; she lowered her eyes, and gave a

sigh, so nearly imperceptible, so slight, that it might have passed

for an accident in the most regular breathing.

 

"You are rancorous," she said, "and you judge people by one aspect

only. After all," she added, as if on reflection, "you are perhaps

right in reminding me that I have taken the longest way round by

meddling, rather ridiculously, in interests that do not concern me. Go

on, my dear monsieur, in the path of this glorious marriage which

offers you so many combined inducements; only, let me hope that you

may not repent a course with which I shall no longer interfere."

 

The Provencal had not been spoilt by an experience of "bonnes

fortunes." The poverty against which he had struggled so long never

leads to affairs of gallantry, and since he had thrown off its harsh

restraint, his mind being wholly given up to the anxious work of

creating his future, the things of the heart had entered but slightly

into his life; unless we must except the comedy he had played on

Flavie. We can therefore imagine the perplexity of this novice in the

matter of adventures when he saw himself placed between the danger of

losing what seemed to be a delightful opportunity, and the fear of

finding a serpent amid the beautiful flowers that were offered to his

grasp. Too marked a reserve, too lukewarm an eagerness, might wound

the self-love of that beautiful foreigner, and quench the spring from

which he seemed invited to draw. On the other hand, suppose that

appearance of interest were only a snare? Suppose this kindness

(ill-explained, as it seemed to him), of which he was so suddenly the

object, had no other purpose than to entice him into a step which

might be used to compromise him with the Thuilliers? What a blow to

his reputation for shrewdness, and what a role to play!--that of the

dog letting go the meat for the shadow!

 

We know that la Peyrade was trained in the school of Tartuffe, and the

frankness with which that great master declares to Elmire that without

receiving a few of the favors to which he aspired he could not trust

in her tender advances, seemed to the barrister a suitable method to

apply to the present case, adding, however, a trifle more softness to

the form.

 

"Madame la comtesse," he said, "you have turned me into a man who is

much to be pitied. I was cheerfully advancing to this marriage, and

you take all faith in it away from me. Suppose I break it off, what

use can I--with that great capacity you see in me--make of the liberty

I thus recover?"

 

"La Bruyere, if I am not mistaken, said that nothing freshens the

blood so much as to avoid committing a folly."

 

"That may be; but it is, you must admit, a negative benefit; and I am

of an age and in a position to desire more serious results. The

interest that you deign to show to me cannot, I think, stop short at

the idea of merely putting an end to my present prospects. I love

Mademoiselle Colleville with a love, it is true, which has nothing

imperative about it; but I certainly love her, her hand is promised to

me, and before renouncing it--"

 

"So," said the countess, hastily, "in a given case you would not be

averse to a rupture? And," she added, in a more decided tone, "there

would be some chance of making you see that in taking your first

opportunity you cut yourself off from a better future, in which a more

suitable marriage may present itself?"

 

"But, at least, madame, I must be enabled to foresee it definitely."

 

This persistence in demanding pledges seemed to irritate the countess.

 

"Faith," she said, "is only a virtue when it believes without seeing.

You doubt yourself, and that is another form of stupidity. I am not

happy, it seems, in my selection of those I desire to benefit."

 

"But, madame, it cannot be indiscreet to ask to know in some remote

way at least, what future your kind good-will has imagined for me."

 

"It is very indiscreet," replied the countess, coldly, "and it shows

plainly that you offer me only a conditional confidence. Let us say no

more. You are certainly far advanced with Mademoiselle Colleville; she

suits you, you say, in many ways; therefore marry her. I say again,

you will no longer find me in your way."

 

"But does Mademoiselle Colleville really suit me?" resumed la Peyrade;

"that is the very point on which you have lately raised my doubts. Do

you not think there is something cruel in casting me first in one

direction and then in the other without affording me any ground to go

upon?"

 

"Ah!" said the countess, in a tone of impatience, "you want my opinion

on the premises! Well, monsieur, there is one very conclusive fact to

which I can bring proof: Celeste does not love you."

 

"So I have thought," said la Peyrade, humbly. "I felt that I was

making a marriage of mere convenience."

 

"And she cannot love you, because," continued Madame de Godollo, with

animation, "she cannot comprehend you. Her proper husband is that

blond little man, insipid as herself; from the union of those two

natures without life or heat will result in that lukewarm existence

which, in the opinion of the world where she was born and where she

has lived, is the ne plus ultra of conjugal felicity. Try to make that

little simpleton understand that when she had a chance to unite

herself with true talent she ought to have felt highly honored! But,

above all, try to make her miserable, odious family and surroundings

understand it! Enriched bourgeois, parvenus! there's the roof beneath

which you think to rest from your cruel labor and your many trials!

And do you believe that you will not be made to feel, twenty times a

day, that your share in the partnership is distressingly light in the

scale against their money? On one side, the Iliad, the Cid, Der

Freyschutz, and the frescos of the Vatican; on the other, three

hundred thousand francs in good, ringing coin! Tell me which side they

will trust and admire! The artist, the man of imagination who falls

into the bourgeois atmosphere--shall I tell you to what I compare him?

To Daniel cast into the lion's den, less the miracle of Holy Writ."

 

This invective against the bourgeoisie was uttered in a tone of heated

conviction which could scarcely fail to be communicated.

 

"Ah! madame," cried la Peyrade, "how eloquently you say things which

again and again have entered my troubled and anxious mind! But I have

felt myself lashed to that most cruel fate, the necessity of gaining a

position--"

 

"Necessity! position!" interrupted the countess, again raising the

temperature of her speech,--"words void of meaning! which have not

even sound to able men, though they drive back fools as though they

were formidable barriers. Necessity!