Works of Honore De Balzac

by Honoré de Balzac

  “But the secret would get into the papers,” said Thuillier. “No, I must absolutely have Theodose; he knows that, and he makes these conditions. After all, we did promise him Celeste, and it is only fulfilling the promise a year earlier — what am I saying? — a few months, a few weeks, possibly; for the king may dissolve the Chamber before any one expects it.”

  “But suppose Celeste won’t have him?” objected Brigitte.

  “Celeste! Celeste, indeed!” ejaculated Thuillier; “she must have whomsoever we choose. We ought to have thought of that when we made the engagement with la Peyrade; our word is passed now, you know. Besides, if the child is allowed to choose between la Peyrade and Phellion — ”

  “So you really think,” said the sceptical old maid, “that if Celeste decides for Phellion you can still count on la Peyrade’s devotion?”

  “What else can I do? Those are his conditions. Besides, the fellow has calculated the whole thing; he knows very well that Felix will never bring himself in two weeks to please Celeste by going to confession, and unless he does, that little monkey will never accept him for a husband. La Peyrade’s game is very clever.”

  “Too clever,” said Brigitte. “Well, settle the matter as you choose; I shall not meddle; all this manoeuvring is not to my taste.”

  Thuillier went to see Madame Colleville, and intimated to her that she must inform Celeste of the designs upon her.

  Celeste had never been officially authorized to indulge her sentiment for Felix Phellion. Flavie, on the contrary, had once expressly forbidden her to encourage the hopes of the young professor; but as, on the part of Madame Thuillier, her godmother and her confidant, she knew she was sustained in her inclination, she had let herself gently follow it without thinking very seriously of the obstacles her choice might encounter. When, therefore, she was ordered to choose at once between Felix and la Peyrade, the simple-hearted girl was at first only struck by the advantages of one half of the alternative, and she fancied she did herself a great service by agreeing to an arrangement which made her the mistress of her own choice and allowed her to bestow it as her heart desired.

  But la Peyrade was not mistaken in his calculation when he reckoned that the religious intolerance of the young girl on one side, and the philosophical inflexibility of Phellion’s son on the other, would create an invincible obstacle to their coming together.

  CHAPTER III. GOOD BLOOD CANNOT LIE

  The evening of the day on which Flavie had communicated to Celeste the sovereign orders of Thuillier, the Phellions called to spend the evening with Brigitte, and a very sharp engagement took place between the two young people. Mademoiselle Colleville did not need to be told by her mother that it would be extremely unbecoming if she allowed Felix to know of the conditional approval that was granted to their sentiments. Celeste had too much delicacy, and too much real religious feeling to wish to obtain the conversion of the man she loved on any other ground than that of his conviction. Their evening was therefore passed in theological debate; but love is so strange a Proteus, and takes so many and such various forms, that though it appeared on this occasion in a black gown and a mob cap, it was not at all as ungraceful and displeasing as might have been imagined. But Phellion junior was in this encounter, the solemnity of which he little knew, unlucky and blundering to the last degree. Not only did he concede nothing, but he took a tone of airy and ironical discussion, and ended by putting poor Celeste so beside herself that she finally declared an open rupture and forbade him to appear in her presence again.

  It was just the case for a lover more experienced than the young savant to reappear the very next day, for young hearts are never so near to understanding each other as when they have just declared the necessity of eternal separation. But this law is not one of logarithms, and Felix Phellion, being incapable of guessing it, thought himself positively and finally banished; so much so, that during the fifteen days granted to the poor girl to deliberate (as says the Code in the matter of beneficiary bequests), although he was expected day by day, and from minute to minute by Celeste, who gave no more thought to la Peyrade than if he had nothing to do with the question, the deplorably stupid youth did not have the most distant idea of breaking his ban.

  Luckily for this hopeless lover, a beneficent fairy was watching over him, and the evening before the day on which the young girl was to make her decision the following affair took place.

  It was Sunday, the day on which the Thuilliers still kept up their weekly receptions.

  Madame Phellion, convinced that the housekeeping leakage, vulgarly called “the basket dance,” was the ruin of the best-regulated households, was in the habit of going in person to her tradespeople. From time immemorial in the Phellion establishment, Sunday was the day of the “pot-au-feu,” and the wife of the great citizen, in that intentionally dowdy costume in which good housekeepers bundle themselves when they go to market, was prosaically returning from a visit to the butcher, followed by her cook and the basket, in which lay a magnificent cut of the loin of beef. Twice had she rung her own doorbell, and terrible was the storm gathering on the head of the foot-boy, who by his slowness in opening the door was putting his mistress in a situation less tolerable than that of Louis XIV., who had only almost waited. In her feverish impatience Madame Phellion had just given the bell a third and ferocious reverberation, when, judge of her confusion, a little coupe drew up with much clatter at the door of her house, and a lady descended, whom she recognized, at this untimely hour, as the elegant Comtesse Torna de Godollo!

  Turning a purplish scarlet, the unfortunate bourgeoise lost her head, and, floundering in excuses, she was about to complicate the position by some signal piece of awkwardness, when, happily for her, Phellion, attracted by the noise of the bell, and attired in a dressing-gown and Greek cap, came out of his study to inquire what was the matter. After a speech, the pompous charm of which did much to compensate for his dishabille, the great citizen, with the serenity that never abandoned him, offered his hand very gallantly to the lady, and having installed her in the salon, said: —

  “May I, without indiscretion, ask Madame la comtesse what has procured for us the unhoped-for advantage of this visit?”

  “I have come,” said the lady, “to talk with Madame Phellion on a matter which must deeply interest her. I have no other way of meeting her without witnesses; and therefore, though I am hardly known to Madame Phellion, I have taken the liberty to call upon her here.”

  “Madame, your visit is a great honor to this poor dwelling. But where is Madame Phellion?” added the worthy man, impatiently, going towards the door.

  “No, I beg of you, don’t disturb her,” said the countess; “I have heedlessly come at a moment when she is busy with household cares. Brigitte has been my educator in such matters, and I know the respect we ought to pay to good housekeepers. Besides, I have the pleasure of your presence, which I scarcely expected.”

  Before Phellion could reply to these obliging words, Madame Phellion appeared. A cap with ribbons had taken the place of the market bonnet, and a large shawl covered the other insufficiencies of the morning toilet. When his wife arrived, the great citizen made as though he would discreetly retire.

  “Monsieur Phellion,” said the countess, “you are not one too many in the conference I desire with madame; on the contrary, your excellent judgment will be most useful in throwing light upon a matter as interesting to you as to your wife. I allude to the marriage of your son.”

  “The marriage of my son!” cried Madame Phellion, with a look of astonishment; “but I am not aware that anything of the kind is at present in prospect.”

  “The marriage of Monsieur Felix with Mademoiselle Celeste is, I think, one of your strongest desires — ”

  “But we have never,” said Phellion, “taken any overt steps for that object.”

  “I know that only too well,” replied the countess; “on the contrary, every one in your family seems to study how to defeat my efforts in that direction.
However, one thing is clear in spite of the reserve, and, you must allow me to say so, the clumsiness in which the affair has been managed, and that is that the young people love each other, and they will both be unhappy if they do not marry. Now, to prevent this catastrophe is the object with which I have come here this morning.”

  “We cannot, madame, be otherwise than deeply sensible of the interest you are so good as to show in the happiness of our son,” said Phellion; “but, in truth, this interest — ”

  “Is something so inexplicable,” interrupted the countess, “that you feel a distrust of it?”

  “Oh! madame!” said Phellion, bowing with an air of respectful dissent.

  “But,” continued the lady, “the explanation of my proceeding is very simple. I have studied Celeste, and in that dear and artless child I find a moral weight and value which would make me grieve to see her sacrificed.”

  “You are right, madame,” said Madame Phellion. “Celeste is, indeed, an angel of sweetness.”

  “As for monsieur Felix, I venture to interest myself because, in the first place, he is the son of so virtuous a father — ”

  “Oh, madame! I entreat — ” said Phellion, bowing again.

  “ — and he also attracts me by the awkwardness of true love, which appears in all his actions and all his words. We mature women find an inexpressible charm in seeing the tender passion under a form which threatens us with no deceptions and no misunderstandings.”

  “My son is certainly not brilliant,” said Madame Phellion, with a faint tone of sharpness; “he is not a fashionable young man.”

  “But he has the qualities that are most essential,” replied the countess, “and a merit which ignores itself, — a thing of the utmost consequence in all intellectual superiority — ”

  “Really, madame,” said Phellion, “you force us to hear things that — ”

  “That are not beyond the truth,” interrupted the countess. “Another reason which leads me to take a deep interest in the happiness of these young people is that I am not so desirous for that of Monsieur Theodose de la Peyrade, who is false and grasping. On the ruin of their hopes that man is counting to carry out his swindling purposes.”

  “It is quite certain,” said Phellion, “that there are dark depths in Monsieur de la Peyrade where light does not penetrate.”

  “And as I myself had the misfortune to marry a man of his description, the thought of the wretchedness to which Celeste would be condemned by so fatal a connection, impels me, in the hope of saving her, to the charitable effort which now, I trust, has ceased to surprise you.”

  “Madame,” said Phellion, “we do not need the conclusive explanations by which you illumine your conduct; but as to the faults on our part, which have thwarted your generous efforts, I must declare that in order to avoid committing them in future, it seems to me not a little desirable that you should plainly indicate them.”

  “How long is it,” asked the countess, “since any of your family have paid a visit to the Thuilliers’?”

  “If my memory serves me,” said Phellion, “I think we were all there the Sunday after the dinner for the house-warming.”

  “Fifteen whole days of absence!” exclaimed the countess; “and you think that nothing of importance could happen in fifteen days?”

  “No, indeed! did not three glorious days in July, 1830, cast down a perjured dynasty and found the noble order of things under which we now live?”

  “You see it yourself!” said the countess. “Now, tell me, during that evening, fifteen days ago, did nothing serious take place between your son and Celeste?”

  “Something did occur,” replied Phellion, — ”a very disagreeable conversation on the subject of my son’s religious opinions; it must be owned that our good Celeste, who in all other respects has a charming nature, is a trifle fanatic in the matter of piety.”

  “I agree to that,” said the countess; “but she was brought up by the mother whom you know; she was never shown the face of true piety; she saw only the mimicry of it. Repentant Magdalens of the Madame Colleville species always assume an air of wishing to retire to a desert with their death’s-head and crossed bones. They think they can’t get salvation at a cheaper rate. But after all, what did Celeste ask of Monsieur Felix? Merely that he would read ‘The Imitation of Christ.’”

  “He has read it, madame,” said Phellion, “and he thinks it a book extremely well written; but his convictions — and that is a misfortune — have not been affected by the perusal.”

  “And do you think he shows much cleverness in not assuring his mistress of some little change in his inflexible convictions?”

  “My son, madame, has never received from me the slightest lesson in cleverness; loyalty, uprightness, those are the principles I have endeavored to inculcate in him.”

  “It seems to me, monsieur, that there is no want of loyalty when, in dealing with a troubled mind, we endeavor to avoid wounding it. But let us agree that Monsieur Felix owed it to himself to be that iron door against which poor Celeste’s applications beat in vain; was that a reason for keeping away from her and sulking in his tent for fifteen whole days? Above all, ought he to have capped these sulks by a proceeding which I can’t forgive, and which — only just made known to us — has struck the girl’s heart with despair, and also with a feeling of extreme irritation?”

  “My son capable of any such act! it is quite impossible, madame!” cried Phellion. “I know nothing of this proceeding; but I do not hesitate to affirm that you have been ill-informed.”

  “And yet, nothing is more certain. Young Colleville, who came home to-day for his half-holiday, has just told us that Monsieur Felix, who had previously gone with the utmost punctuality to hear him recite has ceased entirely to have anything to do with him. Unless your son is ill, I do not hesitate to say that this neglect is the greatest of blunders, in the situation in which he now stands with the sister he ought not to have chosen this moment to put an end to these lessons.”

  The Phellions looked at each other as if consulting how to reply.

  “My son,” said Madame Phellion, “is not exactly ill; but since you mention a fact which is, I acknowledge, very strange and quite out of keeping with his nature and habits, I think it right to tell you that from the day when Celeste seemed to signify that all was at an end between them, a very extraordinary change has come over Felix, which is causing Monsieur Phellion and myself the deepest anxiety.”

  “Yes, madame,” said Phellion, “the young man is certainly not in his normal condition.”

  “But what is the matter with him?” asked the countess, anxiously.

  “The night of that scene with Celeste,” replied Phellion, “after his return home, he wept a flood of hot tears on his mother’s bosom, and gave us to understand that the happiness of his whole life was at an end.”

  “And yet,” said Madame de Godollo, “nothing very serious happened; but lovers always make the worst of things.”

  “No doubt,” said Madame Phellion; “but since that night Felix has not made the slightest allusion to his misfortune, and the next day he went back to his work with a sort of frenzy. Does that seem natural to you?”

  “It is capable of explanation; work is said to be a great consoler.”

  “That is most true,” said Phellion; “but in Felix’s whole personality there is something excited, and yet repressed, which is difficult to describe. You speak to him, and he hardly seems to hear you; he sits down to table and forgets to eat, or takes his food with an absent-mindedness which the medical faculty consider most injurious to the process of digestion; his duties, his regular occupations, we have to remind him of — him, so extremely regular, so punctual! The other day, when he was at the Observatory, where he now spends all his evenings, only coming home in the small hours, I took it upon myself to enter his room and examine his papers. I was terrified, madame, at finding a paper covered with algebraic calculations which, by their vast extent appeared to me to go beyond
the limits of the human intellect.”

  “Perhaps,” said the countess, “he is on the road to some great discovery.”

  “Or to madness,” said Madame Phellion, in a low voice, and with a heavy sigh.

  “That is not probable,” said Madame de Godollo; “with an organization so calm and a mind so well balanced, he runs but little danger of that misfortune. I know myself of another danger that threatens him to-morrow, and unless we can take some steps this evening to avert it, Celeste is positively lost to him.”

  “How so?” said the husband and wife together.

  “Perhaps you are not aware,” replied the countess, “that Thuillier and his sister have made certain promises to Monsieur de la Peyrade about Celeste?”

  “We suspected as much,” replied Madame Phellion.

  “The fulfilment of these pledges was postponed to a rather distant period, and subordinated to certain conditions. Monsieur de la Peyrade, after enabling them to buy the house near the Madeleine, pledged himself not only to obtain the cross for Monsieur Thuillier, but to write in his name a political pamphlet, and assist him in his election to the Chamber of Deputies. It sounds like the romances of chivalry, in which the hero, before obtaining the hand of the princess, is compelled to exterminate a dragon.”

  “Madame is very witty,” said Madame Phellion, looking at her husband, who made her a sign not to interrupt.

  “I have no time now,” said the countess; “in fact it would be useless to tell you the manoeuvres by which Monsieur de la Peyrade has contrived to hasten the period of this marriage; but it concerns you to know that, thanks to his duplicity, Celeste is being forced to choose between him and Monsieur Felix; fifteen days were given her in which to make her choice; the time expires to-morrow, and, thanks to the unfortunate state of feeling into which your son’s attitude has thrown her, there is very serious danger of seeing her sacrifice to her wounded feelings the better sentiments of her love and her instincts.”