a daughter of eve-第1章

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A　Daughter　of　Eve



by　Honore　de　Balzac



Translated　by　Katharine　Prescott　Wormeley









DEDICATION



　　To　Madame　la　Comtesse　Bolognini；　nee　Vimercati。



　　If　you　remember；　madame；　the　pleasure　your　conversation　gave　to　a

　　traveller　by　recalling　Paris　to　his　memory　in　Milan；　you　will　not

　　be　surprised　to　find　him　testifying　his　gratitude　for　many

　　pleasant　evenings　passed　beside　you　by　laying　one　of　his　works　at

　　your　feet；　and　begging　you　to　protect　it　with　your　name；　as　in

　　former　days　that　name　protected　the　tales　of　an　ancient　writer

　　dear　to　the　Milanese。



　　You　have　an　Eugenie；　already　beautiful；　whose　intelligent　smile

　　gives　promise　that　she　has　inherited　from　you　the　most　precious

　　gifts　of　womanhood；　and　who　will　certainly　enjoy　during　her

　　childhood　and　youth　all　those　happinesses　which　a　rigid　mother

　　denied　to　the　Eugenie　of　these　pages。　Though　Frenchmen　are　taxed

　　with　inconstancy；　you　will　find　me　Italian　in　faithfulness　and　

　　memory。　While　writing　the　name　of　〃Eugenie；〃　my　thoughts　have

　　often　led　me　back　to　that　cool　stuccoed　salon　and　little　garden　in

　　the　Vicolo　dei　Cappucini；　which　echoed　to　the　laughter　of　that

　　dear　child；　to　our　sportive　quarrels　and　our　chatter。　But　you　have

　　left　the　Corso　for　the　Tre　Monasteri；　and　I　know　not　how　you　are

　　placed　there；　consequently；　I　am　forced　to　think　of　you；　not　among

　　the　charming　things　with　which　no　doubt　you　have　surrounded

　　yourself；　but　like　one　of　those　fine　figures　due　to　Raffaelle；

　　Titian；　Correggio；　Allori；　which　seem　abstractions；　so　distant　are

　　they　from　our　daily　lives。



　　If　this　book　should　wing　its　way　across　the　Alps；　it　will　prove　to

　　you　the　lively　gratitude　and　respectful　friendship　of



Your　devoted　servant；

De　Balzac。









A　DAUGHTER　OF　EVE







CHAPTER　I



THE　TWO　MARIES



In　one　of　the　finest　houses　of　the　rue　Neuve…des…Mathurins；　at　half…

past　eleven　at　night；　two　young　women　were　sitting　before　the

fireplace　of　a　boudoir　hung　with　blue　velvet　of　that　tender　shade；

with　shimmering　reflections；　which　French　industry　has　lately　learned

to　fabricate。　Over　the　doors　and　windows　were　draped　soft　folds　of

blue　cashmere；　the　tint　of　the　hangings；　the　work　of　one　of　those

upholsterers　who　have　just　missed　being　artists。　A　silver　lamp　studded

with　turquoise；　and　suspended　by　chains　of　beautiful　workmanship；　hung

from　the　centre　of　the　ceiling。　The　same　system　of　decoration　was

followed　in　the　smallest　details；　and　even　to　the　ceiling　of　fluted

blue　silk；　with　long　bands　of　white　cashmere　falling　at　equal

distances　on　the　hangings；　where　they　were　caught　back　by　ropes　of

pearl。　A　warm　Belgian　carpet；　thick　as　turf；　of　a　gray　ground　with

blue　posies；　covered　the　floor。　The　furniture；　of　carved　ebony；　after

a　fine　model　of　the　old　school；　gave　substance　and　richness　to　the

rather　too　decorative　quality；　as　a　painter　might　call　it；　of　the　rest

of　the　room。　On　either　side　of　a　large　window；　two　etageres　displayed

a　hundred　precious　trifles；　flowers　of　mechanical　art　brought　into

bloom　by　the　fire　of　thought。　On　a　chimney…piece　of　slate…blue　marble

were　figures　in　old　Dresden；　shepherds　in　bridal　garb；　with　delicate

bouquets　in　their　hands；　German　fantasticalities　surrounding　a

platinum　clock；　inlaid　with　arabesques。　Above　it　sparkled　the

brilliant　facets　of　a　Venice　mirror　framed　in　ebony；　with　figures

carved　in　relief；　evidently　obtained　from　some　former　royal　residence。

Two　jardinieres　were　filled　with　the　exotic　product　of　a　hot…house；

pale；　but　divine　flowers；　the　treasures　of　botany。



In　this　cold；　orderly　boudoir；　where　all　things　were　in　place　as　if

for　sale；　no　sign　existed　of　the　gay　and　capricious　disorder　of　a

happy　home。　At　the　present　moment；　the　two　young　women　were　weeping。

Pain　seemed　to　predominate。　The　name　of　the　owner；　Ferdinand　du

Tillet；　one　of　the　richest　bankers　in　Paris；　is　enough　to　explain　the

luxury　of　the　whole　house；　of　which　this　boudoir　is　but　a　sample。



Though　without　either　rank　or　station；　having　pushed　himself　forward；

heaven　knows　how；　du　Tillet　had　married；　in　1831；　the　daughter　of　the

Comte　de　Granville；　one　of　the　greatest　names　in　the　French

magistracy；a　man　who　became　peer　of　France　after　the　revolution　of

July。　This　marriage　of　ambition　on　du　Tillet's　part　was　brought　about

by　his　agreeing　to　sign　an　acknowledgment　in　the　marriage　contract　of

a　dowry　not　received；　equal　to　that　of　her　elder　sister；　who　was

married　to　Comte　Felix　de　Vandenesse。　On　the　other　hand；　the

Granvilles　obtained　the　alliance　with　de　Vandenesse　by　the　largeness

of　the　〃dot。〃　Thus　the　bank　repaired　the　breach　made　in　the　pocket　of

the　magistracy　by　rank。　Could　the　Comte　de　Vandenesse　have　seen

himself；　three　years　later；　the　brother…in…law　of　a　Sieur　Ferdinand　DU

Tillet；　so…called；　he　might　not　have　married　his　wife；　but　what　man　of

rank　in　1828　foresaw　the　strange　upheavals　which　the　year　1830　was

destined　to　produce　in　the　political　condition；　the　fortunes；　and　the

customs　of　France？　Had　any　one　predicted　to　Comte　Felix　de　Vandenesse

that　his　head　would　lose　the　coronet　of　a　peer；　and　that　of　his

father…in…law　acquire　one；　he　would　have　thought　his　informant　a

lunatic。



Bending　forward　on　one　of　those　low　chairs　then　called　〃chaffeuses；〃

in　the　attitude　of　a　listener；　Madame　du　Tillet　was　pressing　to　her

bosom　with　maternal　tenderness；　and　occasionally　kissing；　the　hand　of

her　sister；　Madame　Felix　de　Vandenesse。　Society　added　the　baptismal

name　to　the　surname；　in　order　to　distinguish　the　countess　from　her

sister…in…law；　the　Marquise　Charles　de　Vandenesse；　wife　of　the　former

ambassador；　who　had　married　the　widow　of　the　Comte　de　Kergarouet；

Mademoiselle　Emilie　de　Fontaine。



Half　lying　on　a　sofa；　her　handkerchief　in　the　other　hand；　her

breathing　choked　by　repressed　sobs；　and　with　tearful　eyes；　the

countess　had　been　making　confidences　such　as　are　made　only　from　sister

to　sister　when　two　sisters　love　each　other；　and　these　two　sisters　did

love　each　other　tenderly。　We　live　in　days　when　sisters　married　into

such　antagonist　spheres　can　very　well　not　love　each　other；　and

therefore　the　historian　is　bound　to　relate　the　reasons　of　this　tender

affection；　preserved　without　spot　or　jar　in　spite　of　their　husbands'

contempt　for　each　other　and　their　own　social　disunion。　A　rapid　glance

at　their　childhood　will　explain　the　situation。



Brought　up　in　a　gloomy　house　in　the　Marais；　by　a　woman　of　narrow　mind；

a　〃devote〃　who；　being　sustained　by　a　sense　of　duty　（sacred　phrase！）；

had　fulfilled　her　tasks　as　a　mother　religiously；　Marie…Angelique　and

Marie　Eugenie　de　Granville　reached　the　period　of　their　marriagethe

first　at　eighteen；　the　second　at　twenty　years　of　agewithout　ever

leaving　the　domestic　zone　where　the　rigid　maternal　eye　controlled

them。　Up　to　that　time　they　had　never　been　to　a　play；　the　churches　of

Paris　were　their　theatre。　Their　education　in　their　mother's　house　had

been　as　rigorous　as　it　would　have　been　in　a　convent。　From　infancy　they

had　slept　in　a　room　adjoining　that　of　the　Comtesse　de　Granville；　the

door　of　which　stood　always　open。　The　time　not　occupied　by　the　care　of

their　persons；　their　religious　duties　and　the　studies　considered

necessary　for　well…bred　young　ladies；　was　spent　in　needlework　done　for

the　poor；　or　in　walks　like　those　an　Englishwoman　allows　herself　on

Sunday；　saying；　apparently；　〃Not　so　fast；　or　we　shall　seem　to　be

amusing　ourselves。〃



Their　education　did　not　go　beyond　the　limits　imposed　by　confessors；

who　were　chosen　by　their　mother　from　the　strictest　and　least　tolerant

of　the　Jansenist　priests。　Never　were　girls　delivered　over　to　their

husbands　more　absolutely　pure　and　virgin　than　they；　their　mother

seemed　to　consider　that　point；　essential　as　indeed　it　is；　the

accomplishment　of　all　her　duties　toward　earth　and　heaven。　These　two

poor　creatures　had　never；　before　their　marriage；　read　a　tale；　or　heard

of　a　romance；　their　very　drawings　were　of　figures　whose　anatomy　would

have　been　masterpieces　of　the　impossible　to　Cuvier；　designed　to

feminize　the　Farnese　Hercules　himself。　An　old　maid　taught　them

drawing。　A　worthy　priest　instructed　them　in　grammar；　the　French

language；　history；　geography；　and　the　very　little　arithmetic　it　was

thought　necessary　in　their　rank　for　women　to　know。　Their　reading；

selected　from　authorized　books；　such　as　the　〃Lettres　Edifiantes；〃　and

Noel's　〃Lecons　de　Litterature；〃　was　done　aloud　in　the　evening；　but

always　in　presence　of　their　mother's　confessor；　for　even　in　those

books　there　did　sometimes　occur　passages　which；　without　wise　comments；

might　have　roused　their　imagination。　Fenelon's　〃Telemaque〃　was　thought

dangerous。



The　Comtesse　de　Granville　loved　her　daughters　sufficiently　to　wish　to

make　them　angels　after　the　pattern　of　Marie　Alacoque；　but　the　poor

girls　themselves　would　have　preferred　a　less　virtuous　and　more　amiable

mother。　This　education　bore　its　natural　fruits。　Religion；　imposed　as　a

yoke　and　presented　under　its　sternest　aspect；　wearied　with　formal

practice　these　innocent　young　hearts；　treated　as　sinful。　It　repressed

their　feelings；　and　was　never　precious　to　them；　although　it　struck　its

roots　deep　down　into　their　natures。　Under　such　training　the　two　Maries

would　either　have　become　mere　imbeciles；　or　they　must　necessarily　have

longed　for　independence。　Thus　it　came　to　pass　that　they　looked　to

marriage　as　soon　as　they　saw　anything　of　life　and　were　able　to　compare

a　few　ideas。　Of　their　own　tender　graces　and　their　personal　value　they

were　absolutely　ignorant。　They　were　ignorant；　too；　of　their　own

innocence；　how；　then；　could　they　know　life？　Without　weapons　to　meet

misfortune；　without　experience　to　appreciate　happiness；　they　found　no

comfort　in　the　maternal　jail；　all　their　joys　were　in　each　other。　Their

tender　confidences　at　night　in　whispers；　or　a　few　short　sentences

exchanged　if　their　mother　left　them　for　a　moment；　contained　more　ideas

than　the　words　themselves　expressed。　Often　a　glance；　concealed　from

other　eyes；　by　which　they　conveyed　to　each　other　their　emotions；　was

like　a　poem　of　bitter　melancholy。　The　sight　of　a　cloudless　sky；　the

fragrance　of　flowers；　a　turn　in　the　garden；　arm　in　arm；these　were

their　joys。　The　finishing　of　a　piece　of　embroidery　was　to　them　a

source　of　enjoyment。



Their　mother's　social　circle；　far　from　opening　resources　to　their

hearts　or　stimulating　their　minds；　only　darkened　their　ideas　and

depressed　them；　it　was　made　up　of　rigid　old　women；　withered　and

graceless；　whose　conversation　turned　on　the　differences　which

distinguished　various　preachers　and　confessors；　on　their　own　petty

indispositions；　on　religious　events　insignificant　even　to　the

〃Quotidienne〃　or　〃l'Ami　de　la　Religion。〃　As　for　the　men　who　appeared

in　the　Comtesse　de　Granville's　salon；　they　extinguished　any　possible

torch　of　love；　so　cold　and　sad