‘You of course know.’ whispered du Châtelet, ‘what all Angoulême is talking about?…’
‘No,’ she said.
‘Well, I am too much your friend to leave you in ignorance. I must put you in a position to stop these slanders, no doubt invented by Amélie, who is conceited enough to consider herself your rival. I was coming to see you this morning with that ape Stanislas who was several paces in front of me, and when he got there’ – he pointed to the boudoir door – ‘he claims to have seen you with Monsieur de Rubempré in a situation which prevented him from entering; he came back to me quite scared and dragged me away without leaving me time to collect my wits; and we had got as far as Beaulieu before he told me why he had drawn back. If I had known why, I would not have stirred from your house before clearing the matter up to your advantage; but it would have proved nothing to have returned to your house once I had left it. Now then, whether Stanislas saw things inaccurately or was right, he must be shown to be in the wrong. Dear Naïs, don’t let an imbecile gamble with your life, your honour and your future; get him silenced immediately. You know my situation here. Though I need to be on good terms with everybody, I am entirely devoted to you. I belong to you and my life is at your service. Although you have spurned me, my heart will always be yours, and I will miss no opportunity to prove to you how much I love you. Yes, I will watch over you like a faithful servant, hoping for no reward, solely for the pleasure it gives me to serve you, even though you are unaware of it. This morning, I told everybody I was outside your drawing-room door and had seen nothing. If you are asked who told you of the remarks made about you, refer to me. I shall be very proud to act as your avowed champion; but, between you and me, Monsieur de Bargeton is the only man who can call Stanislas to account… Even if this little Rubempré has committed an indiscretion, a woman’s honour cannot be at the mercy of the first scatterbrain who flings himself at her feet. That is what I told them.’
Naïs inclined her head by way of thanks and remained pensive. She was sick to death of provincial life. At Châtelet’s first word, her thoughts had flown to Paris. Her silence put her artful admirer into an embarrassing situation.
‘I am at your service,’ he said. ‘I say that again.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied.
‘What do you think of doing?’
‘I shall see.’
A long silence ensued.
‘Do you love this little Rubempré so much?’
A haughty smile flashed over her face, she folded her arms and fixed her gaze on her boudoir curtains. Du Châtelet went out without being able to read this proud woman’s heart. When Lucien had gone, and also the four loyal old people who had come for their game of whist without concern for all these scandalous conjectures, Madame de Bargeton detained her husband as he was getting ready for bed and just about to say good night to her.
‘Come this way, my dear. I want to talk to you,’ she said with some show of solemnity.
Monsieur de Bargeton followed his wife into the boudoir.
‘Monsieur,’ she said, ‘I have perhaps been mistaken in bringing to my protective care for Monsieur de Rubempré a warmth which has been as ill understood by the stupid people in this town as by himself. This morning Lucien flung himself at my feet and made a declaration of love to me. Stanislas came in at the moment I was bringing the boy to his feet. In contempt of the duties courtesy imposes on a gentleman towards a woman in any sort of circumstance, he claims to have surprised me in an equivocal situation with this boy whom I was then treating according to his deserts. If this hare-brained young man knew what slander his impetuosity has occasioned, I know him well enough to be sure he would go and provoke Stanislas and force him to fight. This action would be tantamount to a public avowal of his love. I need not tell you that your wife is chaste; but you will agree that there would be some measure of dishonour both for you and me if Monsieur de Rubempré took it upon him to defend her. Go this instant to Stanislas, and call him seriously to account for the insulting remarks he has made about me. Bear this in mind: you must not allow the matter to be settled unless he retracts his words in the presence of numerous and important witnesses. In this way you will acquire the esteem of all decent people; you will be behaving like a man of intelligence, a chivalrous man, and you will have a right to my esteem. I am going to send Gentil on horseback to L’Escarbas, for my father must be your second; old as he is, I know him to be the sort of man to trample underfoot this puppet who is blackening the reputation of a Nègrepelisse. The choice of arms is yours; fight with pistols, you are a marvellous shot.’
‘I am going,’ replied Monsieur de Bargeton, taking up his hat and cane.
‘Very good, my friend,’ his wife said with emotion. ‘That is how I like men to be. You are a gentleman.’
She presented her forehead for a kiss, and the old man was proud and happy to kiss it. And she, who had a sort of motherly feeling for this grown-up child, could not repress a tear as she heard the outer door slam as it closed behind him.
‘How he loves me!’ she said to herself. ‘The poor man is attached to life, and yet he would not regret losing it for my sake.’
Monsieur de Bargeton was not worried at the thought of having to fight a duel, of gazing coolly into the muzzle of a pistol levelled against him. One thing only embarrassed him, and he was shuddering as he made his way to the house of Monsieur de Chandour. ‘What shall I say?’ he was thinking. ‘Naïs ought certainly to have primed me!’ And he racked his brains in order to formulate a few sentences which would not appear ridiculous.
But people like Monsieur de Bargeton, who live in a silence imposed upon them by their paucity of wit and mental range, discover a ready-made dignity in an important crisis. Having little to say, they naturally utter few stupid remarks. Then, since they ponder much over what they have to say, their extreme mistrust of themselves leads them to rehearse their speeches so thoroughly that they express themselves amazingly well, a phenomenon similar to that which loosed the tongue of Balaam’s ass. And so Monsieur de Bargeton conducted himself like an exceptional man. He justified the opinion of those who regarded him as a philosopher of the Pythagorean school. He arrived at Stanislas’s house at eleven in the evening and found a large company gathered there. He went and bowed to Amélie in silence, and treated everyone to his inane smile which, in present circumstances, appeared to be profoundly ironical. Then a great silence fell, as it does in nature when a storm is brewing. Châtelet, who was there again, looked in turn, in a very significant manner, at both Monsieur de Bargeton and Stanislas, whom the injured husband politely approached.
Du Châtelet grasped the meaning of a visit made at so late an hour, when the old man was usually in bed: evidently Naïs was prodding this feeble arm into action; and since his standing with Amélie gave him the right of meddling in the affairs of her household, he took Monsieur de Bargeton aside and said: ‘Do you want to speak to Stanislas?’
‘Yes,’ said the worthy man, happy at finding a go-between who would perhaps speak in his stead.
‘Very well, go to Amélie’s bedroom,’ replied the Director of Taxes, happy at the prospect of this duel which might make Madame de Bargeton a widow and rule out the possibility of her marrying Lucien, the cause of the duel.
‘Stanislas,’ said du Châtelet to Monsieur de Chandour. ‘Monsieur de Bargeton has no doubt come to call you to account for what you have been saying about Naïs. Come to your wife’s room, and both of you behave like gentlemen. Let there be no uproar; make a great show of politeness; in short, be as coldly formal and dignified as an Englishman would be.’
Stanislas and du Châtelet came promptly up to Bargeton.
‘Monsieur,’ said the offended husband, ‘You claim to have found Madame de Bargeton in an equivocal situation with Monsieur de Rubempré?’
‘With Monsieur Chardon,’ Stanislas sarcastically replied – he did not believe Bargeton to be a man of strong character.
‘So be it,’ the husba
nd continued. ‘If you do not take back this insult in the presence of all the company gathered in your house at this moment, I ask you to choose a second. My father-in-law, Monsieur de Nègrepelisse, will come to fetch you in the morning at four. Let us each make our arrangements, for the affront can only be settled in the manner I have just indicated. As I am the insulted party, I choose pistols.’
While making his way to the house, Monsieur de Bargeton had ruminated over this speech, the longest he had ever made. He delivered it without passion and with the simplest air in the world. Stanislas turned pale and asked himself: ‘What did I see after all?’ But, divided between the shame of eating his words in front of the whole town, in the presence of this mute but deadly serious person, and hideous fear, whose burning grip was tight about his neck, he opted for the less immediate peril.
‘Very well, tomorrow,’ he said to Monsieur de Bargeton, thinking that the matter might be smoothed out. Du Châtelet was smiling, Monsieur de Bargeton looked just the same as if he were at home; but Stanislas was pale. Seeing this, a few women guessed what the talk was about. The words: ‘They are going to fight’ were passed from mouth to mouth. One half of the assembly thought that Stanislas was in the wrong, since his pallor and bearing indicated that he had been lying; the other half admired Monsieur de Bargeton’s decorum. Du Châtelet’s demeanour was grave and mysterious. After staying for a few minutes to study people’s faces, Monsieur de Bargeton withdrew.
‘Have you any pistols?’ du Châtelet whispered in Stanislas’s ear. The latter shivered from head to foot.
Amélie took in the situation and felt ill; the women hurriedly carried her to her bedroom. The din was frightful, with everybody talking at once. The men remained in the salon and unanimously declared that Monsieur de Bargeton was in the right.
‘Would you have thought the old fellow was capable of behaving like that?’ asked Monsieur de Saintot.
‘Why,’ said the pitiless Jacques. ‘When he was young he was one of the best of men with weapons. My father often told me about his exploits.’
‘Bah!’ said Francis to Châtelet. ‘Put them twenty paces apart and they will surely miss one another if you choose cavalry pistols.’
When all the company had departed, Châtelet reassured Stanislas and his wife by explaining that all would be well, and that, in a duel between a man of sixty and one of thirty-six, the latter had all the advantage.
The next morning, just as Lucien was breakfasting with David, who had returned from Marsac without his father, Madame Chardon came in, in a fluster.
‘Well, Lucien, have you heard the news that is going round, even in the market-place? This morning, at five o’clock, Monsieur de Bargeton nearly killed Monsieur de Chandour on the duelling-ground belonging, oddly enough, to a Monsieur Tulloye.1 It seems that Monsieur de Chandour said yesterday that he had caught you making love to Madame de Bargeton.’
‘That’s a lie!’ exclaimed Lucien. ‘Madame de Bargeton is innocent.’
‘A man from the country who told me the details had seen the whole thing from the top of his cart. Monsieur de Nègrepelisse had come as early as three o’clock to be Monsieur de Bargeton’s second. He told Monsieur de Chandour that if any misfortune befell his son-in-law, he would take it upon himself to avenge him. A cavalry officer lent them his pistols, and Monsieur de Nègrepelisse tested them several times. Monsieur du Châtelet was opposed to the pistols being tried out, but the officer they had chosen as umpire said that unless they wanted to behave like children they must use serviceable weapons. The seconds posted the two adversaries twenty-five paces apart. Monsieur de Bargeton, who behaved as if he were out for a stroll, fired twice and lodged a bullet in Monsieur de Chandour’s neck, and he collapsed without being able to return the fire. The hospital surgeon has just now declared that Monsieur de Chandour’s neck will never be straight again for the rest of his days. I came to tell you about this duel to stop you from going to see Madame de Bargeton or showing yourself in Angoulême, for you might be challenged by some of Monsieur de Chandour’s friends.’
At this moment, Gentil, Monsieur de Bargeton’s valet, came in on the heels of the printing-office apprentice, and handed Lucien a letter from Louise.
‘You have doubtless heard, my friend, the upshot of the duel between Chandour and my husband. We shall not be receiving anyone today; be prudent and don’t appear in public. I beg this of you in the name of the affection you bear me. Don’t you think that the best way you can spend this sad day is to come and listen to your Beatrice, whose life is completely changed by this event and who has many things to say to you?’
‘Fortunately,’ said David, ‘our wedding is fixed for the day after tomorrow. That will be an excuse for going less often to see Madame de Bargeton.’
‘My dear David,’ Lucien replied. ‘She asks me to go and see her today. I think I must obey her. She will know better than we how I should behave in the present circumstances.’
‘And so all the work is finished here?’ asked Madame Chardon.
‘Come and see,’ cried David, happy to show her the transformation in the first-floor rooms, where everything was fresh and new. They breathed a spirit of calm such as often pervades young households, where orange blossom and the bridal veil are still the emblem of home life, with the springtime of love reflected in every object, where all is white, clean and bright with flowers.
‘Eve will be like a princess,’ said her mother. ‘But you have spent too much money. You have been extravagant!’
David gave a smile but no reply, for Madame Chardon had put her finger on the raw place in a secret wound which was causing the poor lover considerable anguish: his estimates for the work had been so greatly exceeded that it was impossible for him to build over the lean-to, which meant that his mother-in-law would have to wait a long time for the apartment he wanted to give her. Generous persons feel the liveliest pain at not keeping those promises which to some extent constitute the minor vanities of tenderness. David was careful to hide his embarrassment in order to spare Lucien’s feelings, for he might have felt overwhelmed by the sacrifice made for him.
‘Eve and her friends have done their work well,’ Madame Chardon was saying. ‘The trousseau, the household linen, everything is ready. The girls are so fond of her that, without her knowing anything about it, they have put white twill covers edged in pink on the mattresses. It’s beautiful! It makes you feel you want to get married!’
Mother and daughter had used up all their savings in furnishing David’s house with articles the young never think about. Knowing to what expense he was going, for he had ordered porcelain china from Limoges, they had tried to match the things they were bringing with those which David was buying. This little rivalry in love and generosity was to bring the couple into tight circumstances from the very beginning of their marriage, surrounded though they were with all the appearances of middle-class ease which might pass as luxury in so backward a town as Angoulême then was. When Lucien saw his mother and David going into the bedroom, with whose blue and white hangings and dainty furniture he was familiar, he slipped away to see Madame de Bargeton. He found Naïs at breakfast with her husband, who had gained an appetite from his early morning outing and was eating without a thought for what had happened. The old country gentleman, Monsieur de Nègrepelisse, an imposing figure, a relic of the old French nobility, was sitting beside his daughter. When Gentil announced Monsieur de Rubempré, the white-haired old man eyed him with the curiosity of a father eager to pass judgement on the man his daughter has singled out. Lucien’s extreme beauty made so lively an impression on him that he could not withhold a glance of approval; but he appeared to look on his daughter’s liaison as a passing fancy, as a caprice rather than a durable passion. Breakfast was ending, Louise was able to rise from table and leave her father with Monsieur de Bargeton, beckoning Lucien to follow her.
‘My friend,’ she said in a voice which was at once sad and joyful. ‘I am going to Paris, and my father is t
aking Monsieur de Bargeton to L’Escarbas, where he will remain during my absence. Madame d’Espard, a daughter of the Blamont-Chauvry’s, to whom we are related through the d’Espards, the elder branch of the Nègrepelisse family, has much power at present, both on her own account and through her relatives. If she deigns to acknowledge us, I hope to cultivate her a great deal: she might use her influence to obtain a post for Bargeton. My solicitations might get him thought of at Court as a possible deputy for a Charente constituency, and that will facilitate his nomination here. If he were elected deputy, that could further my plans in Paris. You it is, my darling child, who have inspired me to make this change in my existence. This morning’s duel obliges me to shut up my house for some time, for some people will side with the Chandours against us. In a situation like ours, and in a small town, one must always absent oneself for a time in order to let rancours die down. But either I shall succeed and shall never see Angoulême again, or I shall not succeed and shall wait in Paris until the time comes when I can spend every summer at L’Escarbas and every winter in Paris. That is the only life for a society woman, and I have been too slow in taking it up. Today will be enough for us to make all our preparations; I shall set off tomorrow night and you will go with me, won’t you? You will go on ahead. I will pick you up in my carriage between Mansie and Ruffec, and we shall soon be in Paris. It is there, my dear, that worthwhile people live. One can feel at ease only with one’s equals; everywhere else one suffers. Besides, Paris, the capital of the intellectual world, is the stage on which you will find success I You must leap quickly over the gap which separates you from it! Don’t let your ideas grow rancid in the provinces; get swiftly into contact with the men who will represent the nineteenth century. Draw near to Court and Government. Neither distinction nor high position go looking for talent wilting away in a small town. In any case tell me what fine works have been produced in the provinces! On the other hand think of the sublime but penniless Jean-Jacques Rousseau, irresistibly drawn to that radiant centre where men achieve glory through the fervour enkindled in them by the friction of rivalry. Must you not hasten to take your place in the constellation which rises in each generation? You can scarcely imagine how useful it is for a talented young man to be brought into the limelight by high social connections. I will get you received into Madame d’Espard’s salon, to which no one has easy access, and there you will meet all the celebrities of the day – ministers, ambassadors, Parliamentary orators, the most influential peers, wealthy and illustrious people. A handsome young man, full of genius, would have to be very maladroit not to arouse their interest. Men of great talent are not small-minded and will give you their support. When it is known that you move in distinguished circles, your works will acquire tremendous value. The great problem which artists have to solve is how to catch the eye of the public, but there you will find a thousand opportunities for making your way – sinecures, a subsidy from the privy purse. The Bourbons are devoted patrons of literature and the arts! Therefore you must be both a religious and a royalist poet. Not only will that be right and proper, but you will make your fortune into the bargain! Can you expect the Opposition or the Liberals to confer office and rewards or make a writer’s fortune? And so, take the right road and reach the heights to which all men of genius aspire. I have let you into my secret: keep absolutely quiet about it, and get ready to follow me.’
Lost Illusions (Penguin Classics) Page 18
