‘It will always cause me the deepest astonishment to see a government giving up the guidance of ideas to scoundrels like us,’ said Claude Vignon.
‘If the Cabinet is so stupid as to step into the arena,’ Finot replied, ‘we’ve got it on the run. If it gets riled we enflame the discussion and stir up the masses against it. The Press never runs any risk, whereas the Government stands to lose everything!’
‘France is non-existent until the day the Press is outlawed,’ said Claude Vignon. ‘You’re going further every day,’ he said to Finot. ‘You’ll be like the Jesuits, but without their faith, their stability of thought, their discipline and unity.’
They all returned to the card-tables. The candle-light soon became dim under the glimmering light of early dawn.
‘Your friends from the rue des Quatre-Vents were as gloomy as condemned criminals,’ said Coralie to her lover.
‘No,’ the poet answered. ‘It’s they who were the judges.’
‘Judges are more fun,’ said Coralie.
31. Polite society
LUCIEN lived for a month with his time taken up by suppers, dinners, lunches, soirées, and was dragged by an irresistible current into a whirlpool of pleasure and facile labour. He gave up calculating. The power to calculate amid the complications of life is the mark of a strong will which poets and weak or purely intellectual people can never counterfeit. Like most journalists, Lucien lived from hand to mouth, spending his money as fast as he earned it, giving no thought to the periodical expenses of Paris life which all Bohemians find so crushing. His clothes and appearance rivalled those of the most celebrated dandies. Like all doting women, Coralie loved to dress up her idol; she ruined herself in order to provide her beloved poet with the elegant outfit of a man about town for which he had so much yearned when he first wandered through the Tuileries. And so Lucien had wonderful canes, a dainty lorgnette, diamond studs, rings for his morning cravats, signet-rings, and finally a sufficient number of fabulous waistcoats to match the colour of his clothes. The day he betook himself to the party given by the German diplomat, his metamorphosis aroused a kind of repressed envy among the young men present, those who reigned supreme in the realm of fashion, like De Marsay, Vandenesse, Ajuda-Pinto, Maxime de Trailles, the Duc de Maufrigneuse, Beaudenord, Manerville etc. Men of the world are as jealous of one another as women. The Comtesse de Montcornet and the Marquise d’Espard, in whose honour the dinner was given, had Lucien between them and overwhelmed him with coquettish attentions.
‘But why did you withdraw from society?’ the Marquise asked him. ‘It was so ready to welcome you and make much of you. I have a bone to pick with you: you owed me a call, and I’m still waiting for it. I saw you the other day at the Opera and you didn’t even deign to see me or greet me.’
‘Your cousin, Madame, had dismissed me in no uncertain terms, and…’
‘You don’t understand women,’ Madame d’Espard broke in. ‘You have wounded to the heart the most angelic and noblest person I know. You have no idea what Louise intended to do for you, and with what subtlety she had drawn up her plan. Oh yes, she would have succeeded,’ she said in response to a mute objection from Lucien, ‘was not her husband, who has now died, as he was sure to die, of dyspepsia, bound to leave her free sooner or later? Do you think she wanted to become Madame Chardon? The title “Comtesse de Rubempré” was well worth the trouble of acquiring. You see, love is a great vanity which must come to terms – particularly in marriage – with all the other vanities. Suppose I were madly in love with you, that is to say enough to marry you, I should find it very hard to be called “Madame Chardon”. Don’t you agree? Now that you have seen how difficult life is in Paris, you know how many twists and turns one must make in order to reach one’s goal. Well, you must admit that for a man without name or fortune, Louise was aspiring to an almost unattainable favour, and so she had to leave nothing to chance. You have a lot of intelligence, but when a woman loves she has more of it than even the most intelligent man. My cousin wanted to make use of this absurd Châtelet… I have much pleasure to thank you for – your articles against him gave me many a laugh!,’ she said by way of parenthesis.
Lucien no longer knew what to think. Initiated as he was in the perfidies of journalism, he knew nothing of those of society. And so, despite his perspicacity, he was due for some hard lessons.
‘What, Madame,’ said the poet, his curiosity now keenly aroused, ‘are you not giving your support to the Heron?’
‘Why, in society one is forced to show politeness to one’s cruellest enemies and pretend to be amused by boring people, and often one has to seem to be sacrificing one’s friends the better to serve them. You must still be very inexperienced. You are to be a writer, and yet you are unaware of the deceptions current in society? If my cousin appeared to be sacrificing you to the Heron, wasn’t that necessary in order to exploit his influence for your benefit? The man’s in very good odour with the present Ministry. And therefore we pointed out to him that to some extent your attacks did him service, so that one day we might be able to reconcile the two of you. Châtelet has been compensated for your persecution of him. As Des Lupeaulx said to the Ministers, while the newspapers ridicule Châtelet, they leave the Ministry in peace.’
‘Monsieur Blondet gave me the hope that I might have the pleasure of seeing you at my house,’ said the Comtesse de Montcornet while the Marquise was leaving Lucien to his reflections. ‘You will find a few artists there, some writers and a woman who most keenly desires to meet you: Mademoiselle des Touches, a woman whose talent is rarely found in our sex; no doubt you will be going to visit her. Mademoiselle des Touches – or Camille Maupin if you prefer – has one of the most remarkable salons in Paris and is fabulously rich; she has been told you are as handsome as you are witty and she’s dying to meet you.’
Lucien could only thank her profusely, and he threw an envious glance at Blondet. There was as much difference between a woman of the style and quality of the Comtesse de Montcornet and Coralie as there was between Coralie and a woman of the streets. This Comtesse, young, beautiful and sprightly, had as a special brand of beauty the extremely fair complexion of Northern women. Her mother was the Princess Scherbellof by birth, and for that reason, before dinner, the German envoy had lavished the most respectful attentions on her.
By this time the Marquise had finished disdainfully toying with a chicken wing. ‘My poor Louise,’ she said to Lucien, ‘was so fond of you! She confided in me about the fine future she was dreaming about for you. She would have put up with a lot of things, but what contempt for her you showed by sending her back her letters! We can forgive cruelty – to wound a person means that one still has faith in her – but not indifference! Indifference is like ice at the poles, it deadens everything. Come now, let’s agree on this: you have wilfully thrown away treasures. Why had you to break with her? Even if you had been disdained, had you not your fortune to make and your name to recover? Louise was thinking of all that.’
‘Why did she tell me nothing about it?’
‘Goodness me, it was I who advised her not to take you into her confidence. Look: between ourselves, seeing you so unaccustomed to society, I was afraid of you. I feared that your lack of experience, your impetuous fervour might destroy or disturb her calculations and our plans. Can you remember now what you were like then? Acknowledge that if you could see yourself now as you were then you would be of my opinion. You and your former double are no longer alike. That’s the only wrong we committed. Tell me, is there one man in a thousand who combines so much intelligence with so marvellous an aptitude for falling into step? I didn’t think you were so surprisingly exceptional. Your metamorphosis was so swift, you found it so easy to conform to Parisian manners that I didn’t recognize you in the Bois de Boulogne a month ago!’
Lucien was listening to the great lady with inexpressible satisfaction: she uttered her flattering words with so confiding, so playful, so naive an air, she seemed so deeply intere
sted in him that he believed some miracle was happening like that of his first evening at the Panorama-Dramatique. Since that happy evening, everyone had smiled on him and he believed that his youthfulness worked like a charm. So he decided to test the Marquise, promising himself the while that he would not let himself be duped.
‘What then, Madame, were those plans which today have become chimerical?’
‘Louise wanted to obtain from the King an ordinance which would allow you to bear the name and title de Rubemprê. She wanted to bury the Chardon. This first success, so easy to obtain then, one which your opinions now make almost impossible, would have made your fortune. You may think these ideas are visions and airy nothings; but we have some knowledge of life, and we know what substance there is in the title of “count” borne by an elegant and charming young man. Announce here and now in front of any young English millionairess or any heiress: Monsieur Chardon or Monsieur le Comte de Rubempré: there would be two very different reactions. Even if he were in debt, the Count would find open hearts and his beauty would be enhanced like a diamond in a rich setting. Monsieur Chardon would simply not be noticed. We haven’t invented these ideas: we find them reigning everywhere, even among the bourgeois. At present you are turning your back on fortune. Look at that attractive young man, the Vicomte de Vandenesse, one of the King’s private secretaries. The King is quite fond of young men of talent, and he, when he came from his native province, was just as lightly-equipped as you. You have infinitely more intelligence than he: but do you belong to a great family? Have you a name?
‘You know Des Lupeaulx? His family name, Chardin, is similar to yours. But he wouldn’t sell his little farmstead – Les Lupeaulx – for a million francs. One day he’ll be the Comte des Lupeaulx, and his grandson will perhaps be high up in the nobility. If you keep to the wrong track, the one you are following, you haven’t a hope. See how much more reasonable Emile Blondet is than you. He’s got into a newspaper which supports the Government: all the powers that be approve of him; he can consort with the Liberals without danger since he has orthodox opinions. And so, sooner or later, he’ll get where he wants; but he made a careful choice both of opinions and patrons. The pretty little lady next to you is a Madamoiselle de Troisville with two peers of France and two members of the Chamber in her family. Her name enabled her to make a rich marriage. Her salon is much frequented, she’ll have influence and she’ll stir up the political world in favour of this little Monsieur Emile Blondet. What will a Coralie bring you? You’ll find yourself loaded with debts and sated with pleasure in a few years’ time. Your love for her is a bad investment and you’re planning your life badly. That is what the woman whose feelings you like to hurt told me the other day at the Opera. When she deplored the misuse you’re making of your talent and the best days of your youth, she was thinking, not of herself, but of you!’
‘Ah! if only you were right, Madame!’ cried Lucien.
‘What motive have I for falsehood?’ asked the Marquise, throwing Lucien a cold and haughty look which brought him down to earth again.
Abashed, Lucien did not continue the conversation and the offended Marquise spoke to him no more. He was piqued, but recognized that he had been clumsy and promised himself he would make amends. He turned to Madame de Montcornet and talked to her about Blondet, lauding the merit of this young writer. The countess took this in good part and, at a gesture from Madame d’Espard, invited him to her next soirée, asking him if it would not give him pleasure to meet Madame de Bargeton again there, for, despite her widowhood, she would be present. It was not to be a grand reception – just an intimate and friendly occasion.
‘Madame la Marquise,’ said Lucien, ‘maintains that I alone am in the wrong. Is it not for her cousin to be gracious to me?’
‘Call a halt to the absurd attacks being made on her – in any case they compromise her strongly with a man she derides – and a peace treaty will soon be signed. You thought she had played with you, so they tell me, but I could see she was very sad at your having abandoned her. Is it true that she left her province with you and for you?’
Lucien looked at the Countess with a smile, without venturing to reply.
‘How could you mistrust a woman who made such sacrifices for you? For that matter, beautiful and intelligent as she is, she ought to be loved despite everything. Madame de Bargeton loved you even more for your talent than for yourself. Believe me, women love intelligence more than good looks.’ As she said this, she stole a glance at Emile Blondet.
At the Envoy’s party Lucien recognized the differences existing between high society and the marginal society in which he had been living for some time: two spheres of outward show between which there was no similarity and no point of contact. The loftiness and the arrangement of rooms in this residence, one of the richest in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, the antique gilding in the salons, the grand scale in which the decoration was carried out, the lavish attention to every detail, all this was new and strange to him; but the so swiftly acquired habit of moving in luxurious surroundings prevented him from showing any astonishment. His demeanour was as far removed from self-assurance and fatuousness as it was from complaisance and servility. The poet behaved in a seemly manner and found favour with those who had no reason for showing hostility, unlike the young men who were jealous because of his sudden introduction into high social circles, his success and his good looks.
When they rose from table, Lucien offered his arm to Madame d’Espard, who accepted it. Rastignac, seeing that Lucien was thus courted by the Marquise, availed himself of the fact that they both belonged to the same province and reminded him of their first meeting in the salon of Madame du Val-Noble. The young nobleman seemed inclined to cultivate acquaintance with the great man from his province by inviting him to lunch at his flat one morning and offering to put him in touch with the young men of fashion. Lucien accepted this proposal.
‘Our dear Blondet will be with us,’ said Rastignac.
The minister plenipotentiary came and joined the group formed by the Marquis de Ronquerolles, the Duc de Rhétoré, De Marsay, General Montriveau, Rastignac and Lucien.
‘Very good,’ he said with the Teutonic simplicity under which he concealed a formidable astuteness. ‘You have made peace with Madame d’Espard, she is enchanted with you, and we all know,’ he said, looking round at each man in turn, ‘how difficult she is to please.’
‘Yes, but she adores wit,’ said Rastignac, ‘and my illustrious fellow-countryman has plenty to spare.’
‘It won’t take him long to realize what a bad line of business he’s in,’ said Blondet with some asperity. ‘He’ll come over, he’ll soon be one of us.’
A chorus chimed up round Lucien on this theme. The men of graver status launched a few profound observations in portentous tones, while the young men made fun of the Liberal party.
‘I’m sure he tossed up head or tails,’ said Blondet, ‘whether he should plump for the Left or the Right; but now he’ll really make his choice.’
Lucien was moved to laughter as he remembered the scene with Lousteau in the Luxembourg gardens.
‘He took as his mentor,’ continued Blondet, ‘a certain Etienne Lousteau, a petit journal swashbuckler who looks on a newspaper column merely as a five-franc piece, whose political creed is that Napoleon will come back and – this seems to me more stupid still – believes in the gratitude and patriotism of the left-wing gentry. As a Rubempré, Lucien is bound to have aristocratic leanings; as a journalist, he is bound to side with the Government, otherwise he’ll never either be Rubempré or come to be a secretary-general.’
The diplomat proposed that Lucien should take a hand at whist: there was great surprise when Lucien confessed that he did not understand the game.
‘My friend,’ Rastignac whispered to him, ‘come to my rooms early the day you will be sharing my paltry lunch and I’ll teach you whist. You are disgracing our royal borough of Angoulême. I’ll repeat a remark of Monsieur de Talleyr
and: if you know no whist, you’re saving up for a miserable old age.’
Des Lupeaulx was announced. He was a Master of Requests much in favour who served the Government in a clandestine way, an astute and ambitious man who insinuated himself everywhere. He greeted Lucien whom he had already met at Madame du Val-Noble’s party, and his greeting had a semblance of friendliness which was to take Lucien in. Finding the young journalist at this gathering, Des Lupeaulx, who made it his policy to be everybody’s friend in order not to be caught napping by anyone, realized that Lucien was likely to reap as much success in society as in literary circles. He detected an ambitious man in the poet and showered protestations of friendship and benevolence on him so as to make their acquaintance to appear of longer standing than it actually was and to deceive Lucien as to the value of his words and promises. Des Lupeaulx’s principle was to get a good knowledge of those he might wish later to shake off once he found they were rivals. Thus Lucien was well received in this society. He realized how much he owed to the Duc de Rhétoré, the Envoy, Madame d’Espard and Madame de Montcornet. He went over and chatted with each of these ladies for a few moments before leaving, and he gave them a graceful display of wit.
‘What a fatuous man!’ said Des Lupeaulx to the Marquise, when Lucien had taken his leave of her.
‘He’ll go rotten before he’s ripe,’ de Marsay said to the Marquise with a smile. ‘You must have hidden reasons for turning his head like this.’
Lucien found Coralie ensconced in her carriage in the courtyard, where she had come to wait for him. This attention moved him, and he told her how the evening had passed. To his great astonishment, she approved of the new ideas which were already running through Lucien’s head, and she strongly urged him to enrol under the ministerial banner.
Lost Illusions Page 47
