Works of Honore De Balzac

by Honoré de Balzac

  “And when a man has a hundred thousand francs a year, a name, a family, and a position at court, — for I will get you appointed as gentleman-of-the-bedchamber, — he can do what he likes,” she said to Charles. “You can then become anything you choose, — master of the rolls in the council of State, prefect, secretary to an embassy, the ambassador himself, if you like. Charles X. is fond of d’Aubrion; they have known each other from childhood.”

  Intoxicated with ambition, Charles toyed with the hopes thus cleverly presented to him in the guise of confidences poured from heart to heart. Believing his father’s affairs to have been settled by his uncle, he imagined himself suddenly anchored in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, — that social object of all desire, where, under shelter of Mademoiselle Mathilde’s purple nose, he was to reappear as the Comte d’Aubrion, very much as the Dreux reappeared in Breze. Dazzled by the prosperity of the Restoration, which was tottering when he left France, fascinated by the splendor of aristocratic ideas, his intoxication, which began on the brig, increased after he reached Paris, and he finally determined to take the course and reach the high position which the selfish hopes of his would-be mother-in-law pointed out to him. His cousin counted for no more than a speck in this brilliant perspective; but he went to see Annette. True woman of the world, Annette advised her old friend to make the marriage, and promised him her support in all his ambitious projects. In her heart she was enchanted to fasten an ugly and uninteresting girl on Charles, whose life in the West Indies had rendered him very attractive. His complexion had bronzed, his manners had grown decided and bold, like those of a man accustomed to make sharp decisions, to rule, and to succeed. Charles breathed more at his ease in Paris, conscious that he now had a part to play.

  Des Grassins, hearing of his return, of his approaching marriage and his large fortune, came to see him, and inquired about the three hundred thousand francs still required to settle his father’s debts. He found Grandet in conference with a goldsmith, from whom he had ordered jewels for Mademoiselle d’Aubrion’s corbeille, and who was then submitting the designs. Charles had brought back magnificent diamonds, and the value of their setting, together with the plate and jewelry of the new establishment, amounted to more than two hundred thousand francs. He received des Grassins, whom he did not recognize, with the impertinence of a young man of fashion conscious of having killed four men in as many duels in the Indies. Monsieur des Grassins had already called several times. Charles listened to him coldly, and then replied, without fully understanding what had been said to him, —

  “My father’s affairs are not mine. I am much obliged, monsieur, for the trouble you have been good enough to take, — by which, however, I really cannot profit. I have not earned two millions by the sweat of my brow to fling them at the head of my father’s creditors.”

  “But suppose that your father’s estate were within a few days to be declared bankrupt?”

  “Monsieur, in a few days I shall be called the Comte d’Aubrion; you will understand, therefore, that what you threaten is of no consequence to me. Besides, you know as well as I do that when a man has an income of a hundred thousand francs his father has never failed.” So saying, he politely edged Monsieur des Grassins to the door.

  At the beginning of August in the same year, Eugenie was sitting on the little wooden bench where her cousin had sworn to love her eternally, and where she usually breakfasted if the weather were fine. The poor girl was happy, for the moment, in the fresh and joyous summer air, letting her memory recall the great and the little events of her love and the catastrophes which had followed it. The sun had just reached the angle of the ruined wall, so full of chinks, which no one, through a caprice of the mistress, was allowed to touch, though Cornoiller often remarked to his wife that “it would fall and crush somebody one of these days.” At this moment the postman knocked, and gave a letter to Madame Cornoiller, who ran into the garden, crying out:

  “Mademoiselle, a letter!” She gave it to her mistress, adding, “Is it the one you expected?”

  The words rang as loudly in the heart of Eugenie as they echoed in sound from wall to wall of the court and garden.

  “Paris — from him — he has returned!”

  Eugenie turned pale and held the letter for a moment. She trembled so violently that she could not break the seal. La Grande Nanon stood before her, both hands on her hips, her joy puffing as it were like smoke through the cracks of her brown face.

  “Read it, mademoiselle!”

  “Ah, Nanon, why did he return to Paris? He went from Saumur.”

  “Read it, and you’ll find out.”

  Eugenie opened the letter with trembling fingers. A cheque on the house of “Madame des Grassins and Coret, of Saumur,” fluttered down. Nanon picked it up.

  My dear Cousin, —

  “No longer ‘Eugenie,’” she thought, and her heart quailed.

  You —

  “He once said ‘thou.’” She folded her arms and dared not read another word; great tears gathered in her eyes.

  “Is he dead?” asked Nanon.

  “If he were, he could not write,” said Eugenie.

  She then read the whole letter, which was as follows:

  My dear Cousin, — You will, I am sure, hear with pleasure of the

  success of my enterprise. You brought me luck; I have come back

  rich, and I have followed the advice of my uncle, whose death,

  together with that of my aunt, I have just learned from Monsieur

  des Grassins. The death of parents is in the course of nature, and

  we must succeed them. I trust you are by this time consoled.

  Nothing can resist time, as I am well aware. Yes, my dear cousin,

  the day of illusions is, unfortunately, gone for me. How could it

  be otherwise? Travelling through many lands, I have reflected upon

  life. I was a child when I went away, — I have come back a man.

  To-day, I think of many I did not dream of then. You are free, my

  dear cousin, and I am free still. Nothing apparently hinders the

  realization of our early hopes; but my nature is too loyal to hide

  from you the situation in which I find myself. I have not

  forgotten our relations; I have always remembered, throughout my

  long wanderings, the little wooden seat —

  Eugenie rose as if she were sitting on live coals, and went away and sat down on the stone steps of the court.

  — the little wooden seat where we vowed to love each other

  forever, the passage, the gray hall, my attic chamber, and the

  night when, by your delicate kindness, you made my future easier

  to me. Yes, these recollections sustained my courage; I said in my

  heart that you were thinking of me at the hour we had agreed upon.

  Have you always looked at the clouds at nine o’clock? Yes, I am

  sure of it. I cannot betray so true a friendship, — no, I must not

  deceive you. An alliance has been proposed to me which satisfies

  all my ideas of matrimony. Love in marriage is a delusion. My

  present experience warns me that in marrying we are bound to obey

  all social laws and meet the conventional demands of the world.

  Now, between you and me there are differences which might affect

  your future, my dear cousin, even more than they would mine. I

  will not here speak of your customs and inclinations, your

  education, nor yet of your habits, none of which are in keeping

  with Parisian life, or with the future which I have marked out for

  myself. My intention is to keep my household on a stately footing,

  to receive much company, — in short, to live in the world; and I

  think I remember that you love a quiet and tranquil life. I will

  be frank, and make you the judge of my situation; you have the

&nbs
p; right to understand it and to judge it.

  I possess at the present moment an income of eighty thousand

  francs. This fortune enables me to marry into the family of

  Aubrion, whose heiress, a young girl nineteen years of age, brings

  me a title, a place of gentleman-of-the-bed-chamber to His

  Majesty, and a very brilliant position. I will admit to you, my

  dear cousin, that I do not love Mademoiselle d’Aubrion; but in

  marrying her I secure to my children a social rank whose

  advantages will one day be incalculable: monarchical principles

  are daily coming more and more into favor. Thus in course of time

  my son, when he becomes Marquis d’Aubrion, having, as he then will

  have, an entailed estate with a rental of forty thousand francs a

  year, can obtain any position in the State which he may think

  proper to select. We owe ourselves to our children.

  You see, my cousin, with what good faith I lay the state of my

  heart, my hopes, and my fortune before you. Possibly, after seven

  years’ separation, you have yourself forgotten our youthful loves;

  but I have never forgotten either your kindness or my own words. I

  remember all, even words that were lightly uttered, — words by

  which a man less conscientious than I, with a heart less youthful

  and less upright, would scarcely feel himself bound. In telling

  you that the marriage I propose to make is solely one of

  convenience, that I still remember our childish love, am I not

  putting myself entirely in your hands and making you the mistress

  of my fate? am I not telling you that if I must renounce my social

  ambitions, I shall willingly content myself with the pure and

  simple happiness of which you have shown me so sweet an image?

  “Tan, ta, ta — tan, ta, ti,” sang Charles Grandet to the air of Non piu andrai, as he signed himself, —

  Your devoted cousin, Charles.

  “Thunder! that’s doing it handsomely!” he said, as he looked about him for the cheque; having found it, he added the words: —

  P.S. — I enclose a cheque on the des Grassins bank for eight

  thousand francs to your order, payable in gold, which includes the

  capital and interest of the sum you were kind enough to lend me. I

  am expecting a case from Bordeaux which contains a few things

  which you must allow me to offer you as a mark of my unceasing

  gratitude. You can send my dressing-case by the diligence to the

  hotel d’Aubrion, rue Hillerin-Bertin.

  “By the diligence!” said Eugenie. “A thing for which I would have laid down my life!”

  Terrible and utter disaster! The ship went down, leaving not a spar, not a plank, on a vast ocean of hope! Some women when they see themselves abandoned will try to tear their lover from the arms of a rival, they will kill her, and rush to the ends of the earth, — to the scaffold, to their tomb. That, no doubt, is fine; the motive of the crime is a great passion, which awes even human justice. Other women bow their heads and suffer in silence; they go their way dying, resigned, weeping, forgiving, praying, and recollecting, till they draw their last breath. This is love, — true love, the love of angels, the proud love which lives upon its anguish and dies of it. Such was Eugenie’s love after she had read that dreadful letter. She raised her eyes to heaven, thinking of the last words uttered by her dying mother, who, with the prescience of death, had looked into the future with clear and penetrating eyes: Eugenie, remembering that prophetic death, that prophetic life, measured with one glance her own destiny. Nothing was left for her; she could only unfold her wings, stretch upward to the skies, and live in prayer until the day of her deliverance.

  “My mother was right,” she said, weeping. “Suffer — and die!”

  XIV

  Eugenie came slowly back from the garden to the house, and avoided passing, as was her custom, through the corridor. But the memory of her cousin was in the gray old hall and on the chimney-piece, where stood a certain saucer and the old Sevres sugar-bowl which she used every morning at her breakfast.

  This day was destined to be solemn throughout and full of events. Nanon announced the cure of the parish church. He was related to the Cruchots, and therefore in the interests of Monsieur de Bonfons. For some time past the old abbe had urged him to speak to Mademoiselle Grandet, from a purely religious point of view, about the duty of marriage for a woman in her position. When she saw her pastor, Eugenie supposed he had come for the thousand francs which she gave monthly to the poor, and she told Nanon to go and fetch them; but the cure only smiled.

  “To-day, mademoiselle,” he said, “I have come to speak to you about a poor girl in whom the whole town of Saumur takes an interest, who, through lack of charity to herself, neglects her Christian duties.”

  “Monsieur le cure, you have come to me at a moment when I cannot think of my neighbor, I am filled with thoughts of myself. I am very unhappy; my only refuge is in the Church; her bosom is large enough to hold all human woe, her love so full that we may draw from its depths and never drain it dry.”

  “Mademoiselle, in speaking of this young girl we shall speak of you. Listen! If you wish to insure your salvation you have only two paths to take, — either leave the world or obey its laws. Obey either your earthly destiny or your heavenly destiny.”

  “Ah! your voice speaks to me when I need to hear a voice. Yes, God has sent you to me; I will bid farewell to the world and live for God alone, in silence and seclusion.”

  “My daughter, you must think long before you take so violent a step. Marriage is life, the veil is death.”

  “Yes, death, — a quick death!” she said, with dreadful eagerness.

  “Death? but you have great obligations to fulfil to society, mademoiselle. Are you not the mother of the poor, to whom you give clothes and wood in winter and work in summer? Your great fortune is a loan which you must return, and you have sacredly accepted it as such. To bury yourself in a convent would be selfishness; to remain an old maid is to fail in duty. In the first place, can you manage your vast property alone? May you not lose it? You will have law-suits, you will find yourself surrounded by inextricable difficulties. Believe your pastor: a husband is useful; you are bound to preserve what God has bestowed upon you. I speak to you as a precious lamb of my flock. You love God too truly not to find your salvation in the midst of his world, of which you are noble ornament and to which you owe your example.”

  At this moment Madame des Grassins was announced. She came incited by vengeance and the sense of a great despair.

  “Mademoiselle,” she said — ”Ah! here is monsieur le cure; I am silent. I came to speak to you on business; but I see that you are conferring with — ”

  “Madame,” said the cure, “I leave the field to you.”

  “Oh! monsieur le cure,” said Eugenie, “come back later; your support is very necessary to me just now.”

  “Ah, yes, indeed, my poor child!” said Madame des Grassins.

  “What do you mean?” asked Eugenie and the cure together.

  “Don’t I know about your cousin’s return, and his marriage with Mademoiselle d’Aubrion? A woman doesn’t carry her wits in her pocket.”

  Eugenie blushed, and remained silent for a moment. From this day forth she assumed the impassible countenance for which her father had been so remarkable.

  “Well, madame,” she presently said, ironically, “no doubt I carry my wits in my pocket, for I do not understand you. Speak, say what you mean, before monsieur le cure; you know he is my director.”

  “Well, then, mademoiselle, here is what des Grassins writes me. Read it.”

  Eugenie read the following letter: —

  My dear Wife, — Charles Grandet has returned from the Indies and

 
has been in Paris about a month —

  “A month!” thought Eugenie, her hand falling to her side. After a pause she resumed the letter, —

  I had to dance attendance before I was allowed to see the future

  Vicomte d’Aubrion. Though all Paris is talking of his marriage and

  the banns are published —

  “He wrote to me after that!” thought Eugenie. She did not conclude the thought; she did not cry out, as a Parisian woman would have done, “The villain!” but though she said it not, contempt was none the less present in her mind.

  The marriage, however, will not come off. The Marquis d’Aubrion

  will never give his daughter to the son of a bankrupt. I went to

  tell Grandet of the steps his uncle and I took in his father’s

  business, and the clever manoeuvres by which we had managed to

  keep the creditor’s quiet until the present time. The insolent

  fellow had the face to say to me — to me, who for five years have

  devoted myself night and day to his interests and his honor! — that

  his father’s affairs were not his! A solicitor would have had

  the right to demand fees amounting to thirty or forty thousand

  francs, one per cent on the total of the debts. But patience!

  there are twelve hundred thousand francs legitimately owing to the

  creditors, and I shall at once declare his father a bankrupt.

  I went into this business on the word of that old crocodile

  Grandet, and I have made promises in the name of his family. If

  Monsieur de vicomte d’Aubrion does not care for his honor, I care

  for mine. I shall explain my position to the creditors. Still, I

  have too much respect for Mademoiselle Eugenie (to whom under

  happier circumstances we once hoped to be allied) to act in this

  matter before you have spoken to her about it —

  There Eugenie paused, and coldly returned the letter without finishing it.