ferragus-第4章

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meddle　in　the　affairs　of　the　State。　It　is　sad　to　have　to　sketch　so
hackneyed　a　portrait；　for　has　it　not　figured　everywhere　and　become；
literally；　as　threadbare　as　that　of　a　grenadier　of　the　Empire？　But　the
vidame　had　an　influence　on　Monsieur　de　Maulincour's　destiny　which
obliges　us　to　preserve　his　portrait；　he　lectured　the　young　man　after
his　fashion；　and　did　his　best　to　convert　him　to　the　doctrines　of　the
great　age　of　gallantry。

The　dowager；　a　tender…hearted；　pious　woman；　sitting　between　God　and
her　vidame；　a　model　of　grace　and　sweetness；　but　gifted　with　that
well…bred　persistency　which　triumphs　in　the　long　run；　had　longed　to
preserve　for　her　grandson　the　beautiful　illusions　of　life；　and　had
therefore　brought　him　up　in　the　highest　principles；　she　instilled　into
him　her　own　delicacy　of　feeling　and　made　him；　to　outward　appearance；　a
timid　man；　if　not　a　fool。　The　sensibilities　of　the　young　fellow；
preserved　pure；　were　not　worn　by　contact　without；　he　remained　so
chaste；　so　scrupulous；　that　he　was　keenly　offended　by　actions　and
maxims　to　which　the　world　attached　no　consequence。　Ashamed　of　this
susceptibility；　he　forced　himself　to　conceal　it　under　a　false
hardihood；　but　he　suffered　in　secret；　all　the　while　scoffing　with
others　at　the　things　he　reverenced。

It　came　to　pass　that　he　was　deceived；　because；　in　accordance　with　a
not　uncommon　whim　of　destiny；　he；　a　man　of　gentle　melancholy；　and
spiritual　in　love；　encountered　in　the　object　of　his　first　passion　a
woman　who　held　in　horror　all　German　sentimentalism。　The　young　man；　in
consequence；　distrusted　himself；　became　dreamy；　absorbed　in　his
griefs；　complaining　of　not　being　understood。　Then；　as　we　desire　all
the　more　violently　the　things　we　find　difficult　to　obtain；　he
continued　to　adore　women　with　that　ingenuous　tenderness　and　feline
delicacy　the　secret　of　which　belongs　to　women　themselves；　who　may；
perhaps；　prefer　to　keep　the　monopoly　of　it。　In　point　of　fact；　though
women　of　the　world　complain　of　the　way　men　love　them；　they　have　little
liking　themselves　for　those　whose　soul　is　half　feminine。　Their　own
superiority　consists　in　making　men　believe　they　are　their　inferiors　in
love；　therefore　they　will　readily　leave　a　lover　if　he　is　inexperienced
enough　to　rob　them　of　those　fears　with　which　they　seek　to　deck
themselves；　those　delightful　tortures　of　feigned　jealousy；　those
troubles　of　hope　betrayed；　those　futile　expectations；in　short；　the
whole　procession　of　their　feminine　miseries。　They　hold　Sir　Charles
Grandison　in　horror。　What　can　be　more　contrary　to　their　nature　than　a
tranquil；　perfect　love？　They　want　emotions；　happiness　without　storms
is　not　happiness　to　them。　Women　with　souls　that　are　strong　enough　to
bring　infinitude　into　love　are　angelic　exceptions；　they　are　among
women　what　noble　geniuses　are　among　men。　Their　great　passions　are　rare
as　masterpieces。　Below　the　level　of　such　love　come　compromises；
conventions；　passing　and　contemptible　irritations；　as　in　all　things
petty　and　perishable。

Amid　the　hidden　disasters　of　his　heart；　and　while　he　was　still　seeking
the　woman　who　could　comprehend　him　（a　search　which；　let　us　remark　in
passing；　is　one　of　the　amorous　follies　of　our　epoch）；　Auguste　met；　in
the　rank　of　society　that　was　farthest　from　his　own；　in　the　secondary
sphere　of　money；　where　banking　holds　the　first　place；　a　perfect　being；
one　of　those　women　who　have　I　know　not　what　about　them　that　is　saintly
and　sacred；women　who　inspire　such　reverence　that　love　has　need　of
the　help　of　a　long　familiarity　to　declare　itself。

Auguste　then　gave　himself　up　wholly　to　the　delights　of　the　deepest　and
most　moving　of　passions；　to　a　love　that　was　purely　adoring。
Innumerable　repressed　desires　there　were；　shadows　of　passion　so　vague
yet　so　profound；　so　fugitive　and　yet　so　actual；　that　one　scarcely
knows　to　what　we　may　compare　them。　They　are　like　perfumes；　or　clouds；
or　rays　of　the　sun；　or　shadows；　or　whatever　there　is　in　nature　that
shines　for　a　moment　and　disappears；　that　springs　to　life　and　dies；
leaving　in　the　heart　long　echoes　of　emotion。　When　the　soul　is　young
enough　to　nurture　melancholy　and　far…off　hope；　to　find　in　woman　more
than　a　woman；　is　it　not　the　greatest　happiness　that　can　befall　a　man
when　he　loves　enough　to　feel　more　joy　in　touching　a　gloved　hand；　or　a
lock　of　hair；　in　listening　to　a　word；　in　casting　a　single　look；　than
in　all　the　ardor　of　possession　given　by　happy　love？　Thus　it　is　that
rejected　persons；　those　rebuffed　by　fate；　the　ugly　and　unfortunate；
lovers　unrevealed；　women　and　timid　men；　alone　know　the　treasures
contained　in　the　voice　of　the　beloved。　Taking　their　source　and　their
element　from　the　soul　itself；　the　vibrations　of　the　air；　charged　with
passion；　put　our　hearts　so　powerfully　into　communion；　carrying　thought
between　them　so　lucidly；　and　being；　above　all；　so　incapable　of
falsehood；　that　a　single　inflection　of　a　voice　is　often　a　revelation。
What　enchantments　the　intonations　of　a　tender　voice　can　bestow　upon
the　heart　of　a　poet！　What　ideas　they　awaken！　What　freshness　they　shed
there！　Love　is　in　the　voice　before　the　glance　avows　it。　Auguste；　poet
after　the　manner　of　lovers　（there　are　poets　who　feel；　and　poets　who
express；　the　first　are　the　happiest）；　Auguste　had　tasted　all　these
early　joys；　so　vast；　so　fecund。　SHE　possessed　the　most　winning　organ
that　the　most　artful　woman　of　the　world　could　have　desired　in　order　to
deceive　at　her　ease；　/she/　had　that　silvery　voice　which　is　soft　to　the
ear；　and　ringing　only　for　the　heart　which　it　stirs　and　troubles；
caresses　and　subjugates。

And　this　woman　went　by　night　to　the　rue　Soly　through　the　rue　Pagevin！
and　her　furtive　apparition　in　an　infamous　house　had　just　destroyed　the
grandest　of　passions！　The　vidame's　logic　triumphed。

〃If　she　is　betraying　her　husband　we　will　avenge　ourselves；〃　said
Auguste。

There　was　still　faith　in　that　〃if。〃　The　philosophic　doubt　of　Descartes
is　a　politeness　with　which　we　should　always　honor　virtue。　Ten　o'clock
sounded。　The　Baron　de　Maulincour　remembered　that　this　woman　was　going
to　a　ball　that　evening　at　a　house　to　which　he　had　access。　He　dressed；
went　there；　and　searched　for　her　through　all　the　salons。　The　mistress
of　the　house；　Madame　de　Nucingen；　seeing　him　thus　occupied；　said：

〃You　are　looking　for　Madame　Jules；　but　she　has　not　yet　come。〃

〃Good　evening；　dear；〃　said　a　voice。

Auguste　and　Madame　de　Nucingen　turned　round。　Madame　Jules　had　arrived；
dressed　in　white；　looking　simple　and　noble；　wearing　in　her　hair　the
marabouts　the　young　baron　had　seen　her　choose　in　the　flower…shop。　That
voice　of　love　now　pierced　his　heart。　Had　he　won　the　slightest　right　to
be　jealous　of　her　he　would　have　petrified　her　then　and　there　by　saying
the　words；　〃Rue　Soly！〃　But　if　he；　an　alien　to　her　life；　had　said　those
words　in　her　ear　a　thousand　times；　Madame　Jules　would　have　asked　him
in　astonishment　what　he　meant。　He　looked　at　her　stupidly。

For　those　sarcastic　persons　who　scoff　at　all　things　it　may　be　a　great
amusement　to　detect　the　secret　of　a　woman；　to　know　that　her　chastity
is　a　lie；　that　her　calm　face　hides　some　anxious　thought；　that　under
that　pure　brow　is　a　dreadful　drama。　But　there　are　other　souls　to　whom
the　sight　is　saddening；　and　many　of　those　who　laugh　in　public；　when
withdrawn　into　themselves　and　alone　with　their　conscience；　curse　the
world　while　they　despise　the　woman。　Such　was　the　case　with　Auguste　de
Maulincour；　as　he　stood　there　in　presence　of　Madame　Jules。　Singular
situation！　There　was　no　other　relation　between　them　than　that　which
social　life　establishes　between　persons　who　exchange　a　few　words　seven
or　eight　times　in　the　course　of　a　winter；　and　yet　he　was　calling　her
to　account　on　behalf　of　a　happiness　unknown　to　her；　he　was　judging
her；　without　letting　her　know　of　his　accusation。

Many　young　men　find　themselves　thus　in　despair　at　having　broken
forever　with　a　woman　adored　in　secret；　condemned　and　despised　in
secret。　There　are　many　hidden　monologues　told　to　the　walls　of　some
solitary　lodging；　storms　roused　and　calmed　without　ever　leaving　the
depths　of　hearts；　amazing　scenes　of　the　moral　world；　for　which　a
painter　is　wanted。　Madame　Jules　sat　down；　leaving　her　husband　to　make
a　turn　around　the　salon。　After　she　was　seated　she　seemed　uneasy；　and；
while　talking　with　her　neighbor；　she　kept　a　furtive　eye　on　Monsieur
Jules　Desmarets；　her　husband；　a　broker　chiefly　employed　by　the　Baron
de　Nucingen。　The　following　is　the　history　of　their　home　life。

Monsieur　Desmarets　was；　five　years　before　his　marriage；　in　a　broker's
office；　with　no　other　means　than　the　meagre　salary　of　a　clerk。　But　he
was　a　man　to　whom　misfortune　had　early　taught　the　truths　of　life；　and
he　followed　the　strait　path　with　the　tenacity　of　an　insect　making　for
its　nest；　he　was　one　of　those　dogged　young　men　who　feign　death　before
an　obstacle　and　wear　out　everybody's　patience　with　their　own　beetle…
like　perseverance。　Thus；　young　as　he　was；　he　had　all　the　republican
virtue　of　poor　peoples；　he　was　sober；　saving　of　his　time；　an　enemy　to
pleasure。　He　waited。　Nature　had　given　him　the　immense　advantage　of　an
agreeable　exterior。　His　calm；　pure　brow；　the　shape　of　his　placid；　but
expressive　face；　his　simple　manners；all　revealed　in　him　a　laborious
and　resigned　existence；　that　lofty　personal　dignity　which　is　imposing
to　others；　and　the　secret　nobility　of　heart　which　can　meet　all　events。
His　modesty　inspired　a　sort　of　respect　in　those　who　knew　him。　Solitary
in　the　midst　of　Paris；　he　knew　the　social　world　only　by　glimpses
during　the　brief　moments　which　he　spent　in　his　patron's　salon　on
holidays。

There　were　passions　in　this　young　man；　as　in　most　of　the　men　who　live
in　that　way；　of　amazing　profundity；passions　too　vast　to　be　drawn
into　petty　incidents。　His　want　of　means　compelled　him　to　lead　an
ascetic　life；　and　he　conquered　his　fancies　by　hard　work。　After　paling
all　day　over　figures；　he　found　his　recreation　in　striving　obstinately
to　acquire　that　wide　general　knowledge　so　necessary　in　these　days　to
every　man　who　wants　to　make　his　mark；　whether　in　society；　or　in
commerce；　at　the　bar；　or　in　politics　or　literature。　The　only　peril
these　fine　souls　have　to　fear　comes　from　their　own　uprightness。　They
see　some　poor　girl；　they　love　her；　they　marry　her；　and　wear　out　their
lives　in　a　struggle　between　poverty　and　love。　The　noblest　ambition　is
quenched　perforce　by　the　household　account…book。　Jules　Desmarets　went
headlong　into　this　peril。

He　met　one　evening　at　his　patron's　house　a　girl　of　the　rarest　beauty。
Unfortunate　men　who　are　deprived　of　affection；　and　who　consume　the
finest　hours　of　youth　in　work　and　study；　alone　know　the　rapid　ravages
that　passion　makes　in　their　lonely；　misconceived　hearts。　They　are　so
certain　of　loving　truly；　all　their　forces　are　concentrated　so　quickly
on　the　object　of　their　love；　that　they　receive；　while　beside　her；　the
most　delightful　sensations；　when；　as　often　happens；　they　inspire　none
at　all。　Nothing　is　more　flattering　to　a　woman's　egotism　than　to　divine
this　passion；　apparently　immovable；　and　these　emotions　so　deep　that
they　have　needed　a　great　length　of　time　to　reach　the　human　surface。
These　poor　men；　anchorites　in　the　midst　of　Paris；　have　all　the
enjoyments　of　anchorites；　and　may　sometimes　succ