Juana....................................................................................................................................................................1

Honore de Balzac .....................................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER I. EXPOSITION...................................................................................................................1

CHAPTER II. AUCTION ........................................................................................................................8

CHAPTER III. THE HISTORY OF MADAME DIARD.....................................................................18

Notwithstanding the discipline which Marechal Suchet had introduced into his army corps, he was unable to

prevent a short period of trouble and disorder at the taking of Tarragona. According to certain fairminded

military men, this intoxication of victory bore a striking resemblance to pillage, though the marechal

promptly suppressed it. Order being reestablished, each regiment quartered in its respective lines, and the

commandant of the city appointed, military administration began. The place assumed a mongrel aspect.

Though all things were organized on a French system, the Spaniards were left free to follow "in petto" their

This period of pillage (it is difficult to determine how long it lasted) had, like all other sublunary effects, a

cause, not so difficult to discover. In the marechal's army was a regiment, composed almost entirely of

Italians and commanded by a certain Colonel Eugene, a man of remarkable bravery, a second Murat, who,

having entered the military service too late, obtained neither a Grand Duchy of Berg nor a Kingdom of

Naples, nor balls at the Pizzo. But if he won no crown he had ample opportunity to obtain wounds, and it was

not surprising that he met with several. His regiment was composed of the scattered fragments of the Italian

legion. This legion was to Italy what the colonial battalions are to France. Its permanent cantonments,

established on the island of Elba, served as an honorable place of exile for the troublesome sons of good

families and for those great men who have just missed greatness, whom society brands with a hot iron and

designates by the term "mauvais sujets"; men who are for the most part misunderstood; whose existence may

become either noble through the smile of a woman lifting them out of their rut, or shocking at the close of an

orgy under the influence of some damnable reflection dropped by a drunken comrade.

Napoleon had incorporated these vigorous beings in the sixth of the line, hoping to metamorphose them

finally into generals,barring those whom the bullets might take off. But the emperor's calculation was

scarcely fulfilled, except in the matter of the bullets. This regiment, often decimated but always the same in

character, acquired a great reputation for valor in the field and for wickedness in private life. At the siege of

Tarragona it lost its celebrated hero, Bianchi, the man who, during the campaign, had wagered that he would

eat the heart of a Spanish sentinel, and did eat it. Though Bianchi was the prince of the devils incarnate to

whom the regiment owed its dual reputation, he had, nevertheless, that sort of chivalrous honor which

excuses, in the army, the worst excesses. In a word, he would have been, at an earlier period, an admirable

pirate. A few days before his death he distinguished himself by a daring action which the marechal wished to

reward. Bianchi refused rank, pension, and additional decoration, asking, for sole recompense, the favor of

being the first to mount the breach at the assault on Tarragona. The marechal granted the request and then

forgot his promise; but Bianchi forced him to remember Bianchi. The enraged hero was the first to plant our

This historical digression was necessary, in order to explain how it was that the 6th of the line was the

regiment to enter Tarragona, and why the disorder and confusion, natural enough in a city taken by storm,

This regiment possessed two officers, not at all remarkable among these men of iron, who played,

The first, a captain in the quartermaster's department, an officer half civil, half military, was considered, in

soldier phrase, to be fighting his own battle. He pretended bravery, boasted loudly of belonging to the 6th of

the line, twirled his moustache with the air of a man who was ready to demolish everything; but his brother

officers did not esteem him. The fortune he possessed made him cautious. He was nicknamed, for two

reasons, "captain of crows." In the first place, he could smell powder a league off, and took wing at the sound

of a musket; secondly, the nickname was based on an innocent military pun, which his position in the

regiment warranted. Captain Montefiore, of the illustrious Montefiore family of Milan (though the laws of the

Kingdom of Italy forbade him to bear his title in the French service) was one of the handsomest men in the

army. This beauty may have been among the secret causes of his prudence on fighting days. A wound which

might have injured his nose, cleft his forehead, or scarred his cheek, would have destroyed one of the most

beautiful Italian faces which a woman ever dreamed of in all its delicate proportions. This face, not unlike the

type which Girodet has given to the dying young Turk, in the "Revolt at Cairo," was instinct with that

The Marquis de Montefiore possessed an entailed property, but his income was mortgaged for a number of

years to pay off the costs of certain Italian escapades which are inconceivable in Paris. He had ruined himself

in supporting a theatre at Milan in order to force upon a public a very inferior prima donna, whom he was

said to love madly. A fine future was therefore before him, and he did not care to risk it for the paltry

distinction of a bit of red ribbon. He was not a brave man, but he was certainly a philosopher; and he had

precedents, if we may use so parliamentary an expression. Did not Philip the Second register a vow after the

battle of Saint Quentin that never again would he put himself under fire? And did not the Duke of Alba

encourage him in thinking that the worst trade in the world was the involuntary exchange of a crown for a

bullet? Hence, Montefiore was Philippiste in his capacity of rich marquis and handsome man; and in other

respects also he was quite as profound a politician as Philip the Second himself. He consoled himself for his

nickname, and for the disesteem of the regiment by thinking that his comrades were blackguards, whose

opinion would never be of any consequence to him if by chance they survived the present war, which seemed

to be one of extermination. He relied on his face to win him promotion; he saw himself made colonel by

feminine influence and a carefully managed transition from captain of equipment to orderly officer, and from

orderly officer to aidedecamp on the staff of some easygoing marshal. By that time, he reflected, he

should come into his property of a hundred thousand scudi a year, some journal would speak of him as "the

brave Montefiore," he would marry a girl of rank, and no one would dare to dispute his courage or verify his

Captain Montefiore had one friend in the person of the quartermaster, a Provencal, born in the

neighborhood of Nice, whose name was Diard. A friend, whether at the galleys or in the garret of an artist,

consoles for many troubles. Now Montefiore and Diard were two philosophers, who consoled each other for

their present lives by the study of vice, as artists soothe the immediate disappointment of their hopes by the

expectation of future fame. Both regarded the war in its results, not its action; they simply considered those

who died for glory fools. Chance had made soldiers of them; whereas their natural proclivities would have

seated them at the green table of a congress. Nature had poured Montefiore into the mould of a Rizzio, and

Diard into that of a diplomatist. Both were endowed with that nervous, feverish, halffeminine organization,

which is equally strong for good or evil, and from which may emanate, according to the impulse of these

singular temperaments, a crime or a generous action, a noble deed or a base one. The fate of such natures

depends at any moment on the pressure, more or less powerful, produced on their nervous systems by violent

Diard was considered a good accountant, but no soldier would have trusted him with his purse or his will,

possibly because of the antipathy felt by all real soldiers against the bureaucrats. The quartermaster was not

without courage and a certain juvenile generosity, sentiments which many men give up as they grow older, by

dint of reasoning or calculating. Variable as the beauty of a fair woman, Diard was a great boaster and a great

talker, talking of everything. He said he was artistic, and he made prizes (like two celebrated generals) of

works of art, solely, he declared, to preserve them for posterity. His military comrades would have been

puzzled indeed to form a correct judgment of him. Many of them, accustomed to draw upon his funds when

occasion obliged them, thought him rich; but in truth, he was a gambler, and gamblers may be said to have

nothing of their own. Montefiore was also a gambler, and all the officers of the regiment played with the pair;

for, to the shame of men be it said, it is not a rare thing to see persons gambling together around a green table

who, when the game is finished, will not bow to their companions, feeling no respect for them. Montefiore

was the man with whom Bianchi made his bet about the heart of the Spanish sentinel.

Montefiore and Diard were among the last to mount the breach at Tarragona, but the first in the heart of the

town as soon as it was taken. Accidents of this sort happen in all attacks, but with this pair of friends they

were customary. Supporting each other, they made their way bravely through a labyrinth of narrow and

gloomy little streets in quest of their personal objects; one seeking for painted madonnas, the other for

In what part of Tarragona it happened I cannot say, but Diard presently recognized by its architecture the

portal of a convent, the gate of which was already battered in. Springing into the cloister to put a stop to the

fury of the soldiers, he arrived just in time to prevent two Parisians from shooting a Virgin by Albano. In

spite of the moustache with which in their military fanaticism they had decorated her face, he bought the

picture. Montefiore, left alone during this episode, noticed, nearly opposite the convent, the house and shop

of a draper, from which a shot was fired at him at the moment when his eyes caught a flaming glance from

those of an inquisitive young girl, whose head was advanced under the shelter of a blind. Tarragona taken by

assault, Tarragona furious, firing from every window, Tarragona violated, with dishevelled hair, and

halfnaked, was indeed an object of curiosity,the curiosity of a daring Spanish woman. It was a magnified

Montefiore forgot the pillage, and heard, for the moment, neither the cries, nor the musketry, nor the

growling of the artillery. The profile of that Spanish girl was the most divinely delicious thing which he, an

Italian libertine, weary of Italian beauty, and dreaming of an impossible woman because he was tired of all

women, had ever seen. He could still quiver, he, who had wasted his fortune on a thousand follies, the

thousand passions of a young and blase manthe most abominable monster that society generates. An idea

came into his head, suggested perhaps by the shot of the draperpatriot, namely,to set fire to the house.

But he was now alone, and without any means of action; the fighting was centred in the marketplace, where

a few obstinate beings were still defending the town. A better idea then occurred to him. Diard came out of

the convent, but Montefiore said not a word of his discovery; on the contrary, he accompanied him on a series

of rambles about the streets. But the next day, the Italian had obtained his military billet in the house of the

The house of the worthy Spaniard consisted, on the groundfloor, of a vast and gloomy shop, externally

fortified with stout iron bars, such as we see in the old storehouses of the rue des Lombards. This shop

communicated with a parlor lighted from an interior courtyard, a large room breathing the very spirit of the

middleages, with smoky old pictures, old tapestries, antique "brazero," a plumed hat hanging to a nail, the

musket of the guerrillas, and the cloak of Bartholo. The kitchen adjoined this unique livingroom, where the

inmates took their meals and warmed themselves over the dull glow of the brazier, smoking cigars and

discoursing bitterly to animate all hearts with hatred against the French. Silver pitchers and precious dishes of

plate and porcelain adorned a buttery shelf of the old fashion. But the light, sparsely admitted, allowed these

dazzling objects to show but slightly; all things, as in pictures of the Dutch school, looked brown, even the

faces. Between the shop and this livingroom, so fine in color and in its tone of patriarchal life, was a dark

staircase leading to a wareroom where the light, carefully distributed, permitted the examination of goods.

Above this were the apartments of the merchant and his wife. Rooms for an apprentice and a servantwoman

were in a garret under the roof, which projected over the street and was supported by buttresses, giving a

somewhat fantastic appearance to the exterior of the building. These chambers were now taken by the

merchant and his wife who gave up their own rooms to the officer who was billeted upon them,probably

Montefiore gave himself out as a former Spanish subject, persecuted by Napoleon, whom he was serving

against his will; and these semilies had the success he expected. He was invited to share the meals of the

family, and was treated with the respect due to his name, his birth, and his title. He had his reasons for

capturing the goodwill of the merchant and his wife; he scented his madonna as the ogre scented the

youthful flesh of Tom Thumb and his brothers. But in spite of the confidence he managed to inspire in the

worthy pair the latter maintained the most profound silence as to the said madonna; and not only did the

captain see no trace of the young girl during the first day he spent under the roof of the honest Spaniard, but

he heard no sound and came upon no indication which revealed her presence in that ancient building.

Supposing that she was the only daughter of the old couple, Montefiore concluded they had consigned her to

But no revelation came to betray the hidingplace of that precious treasure. The marquis glued his face to the

lozengeshaped leaded panes which looked upon the blackwalled enclosure of the inner courtyard; but in

vain; he saw no gleam of light except from the windows of the old couple, whom he could see and hear as

Montefiore was far too wary to risk the future of his passion by exploring the house nocturnally, or by

tapping softly on the doors. Discovery by that hot patriot, the mercer, suspicious as a Spaniard must be,

meant ruin infallibly. The captain therefore resolved to wait patiently, resting his faith on time and the

imperfection of men, which always resultseven with scoundrels, and how much more with honest

The next day he discovered a hammock in the kitchen, showing plainly where the servantwoman slept. As

for the apprentice, his bed was evidently made on the shop counter. During supper on the second day

Montefiore succeeded, by cursing Napoleon, in smoothing the anxious forehead of the merchant, a grave,

blackvisaged Spaniard, much like the faces formerly carved on the handles of Moorish lutes; even the wife

let a gay smile of hatred appear in the folds of her elderly face. The lamp and the reflections of the brazier

illumined fantastically the shadows of the noble room. The mistress of the house offered a "cigarrito" to their

semicompatriot. At this moment the rustle of a dress and the fall of a chair behind the tapestry were plainly

"Ah!" cried the wife, turning pale, "may the saints assist us! God grant no harm has happened!"

"You have some one in the next room, have you not?" said Montefiore, giving no sign of emotion.

The draper dropped a word of imprecation against the girls. Evidently alarmed, the wife opened a secret door,

and led in, half fainting, the Italian's madonna, to whom he was careful to pay no attention; only, to avoid a

toostudied indifference, he glanced at the girl before he turned to his host and said in his own language:

Perez de Lagounia (such was the merchant's name) had large commercial relations with Genoa, Florence, and

"No; if she were my daughter I should take less precautions. The child is confided to our care, and I would

rather die than see any evil happen to her. But how is it possible to put sense into a girl of eighteen?"

They continued to smoke, watching each other. Though Montefiore compelled himself not to give the

slightest look which might contradict his apparent coldness, he could not refrain, at a moment when Perez

turned his head to expectorate, from casting a rapid glance at the young girl, whose sparkling eyes met his.

Then, with that science of vision which gives to a libertine, as it does to a sculptor, the fatal power of

disrobing, if we may so express it, a woman, and divining her shape by inductions both rapid and sagacious,

he beheld one of those masterpieces of Nature whose creation appears to demand as its right all the happiness

of love. Here was a fair young face, on which the sun of Spain had cast faint tones of bistre which added to its

expression of seraphic calmness a passionate pride, like a flash of light infused beneath that diaphanous

complexion, due, perhaps, to the Moorish blood which vivified and colored it. Her hair, raised to the top of

her head, fell thence with black reflections round the delicate transparent ears and defined the outlines of a

blueveined throat. These luxuriant locks brought into strong relief the dazzling eyes and the scarlet lips of a

wellarched mouth. The bodice of the country set off the lines of a figure that swayed as easily as a branch of

willow. She was not the Virgin of Italy, but the Virgin of Spain, of Murillo, the only artist daring enough to

have painted the Mother of God intoxicated with the joy of conceiving the Christ,the glowing imagination

In this young girl three things were united, a single one of which would have sufficed for the glory of a

woman: the purity of the pearl in the depths of ocean; the sublime exaltation of the Spanish Saint Teresa; and

a passion of love which was ignorant of itself. The presence of such a woman has the virtue of a talisman.

Montefiore no longer felt worn and jaded. That young girl brought back his youthful freshness.

But, though the apparition was delightful, it did not last. The girl was taken back to the secret chamber, where

"You do right to hide her," said Montefiore in Italian. "I will keep your secret. The devil! we have generals in

Montefiore's infatuation went so far as to suggest to him the idea of marrying her. He accordingly asked her

history, and Perez very willingly told him the circumstances under which she had become his ward. The

prudent Spaniard was led to make this confidence because he had heard of Montefiore in Italy, and knowing

his reputation was desirous to let him see how strong were the barriers which protected the young girl from

the possibility of seduction. Though the goodman was gifted with a certain patriarchal eloquence, in

keeping with his simple life and customs, his tale will be improved by abridgment.

At the period when the French Revolution changed the manners and morals of every country which served as

the scene of its wars, a street prostitute came to Tarragona, driven from Venice at the time of its fall. The life

of this woman had been a tissue of romantic adventures and strange vicissitudes. To her, oftener than to any

other woman of her class, it had happened, thanks to the caprice of great lords struck with her extraordinary

beauty, to be literally gorged with gold and jewels and all the delights of excessive wealth, flowers,

carriages, pages, maids, palaces, pictures, journeys (like those of Catherine II.); in short, the life of a queen,

despotic in her caprices and obeyed, often beyond her own imaginings. Then, without herself, or any one,

chemist, physician, or man of science, being able to discover how her gold evaporated, she would find herself

back in the streets, poor, denuded of everything, preserving nothing but her allpowerful beauty, yet living on

without thought or care of the past, the present, or the future. Cast, in her poverty, into the hands of some

poor gambling officer, she attached herself to him as a dog to its master, sharing the discomforts of the

military life, which indeed she comforted, as content under the roof of a garret as beneath the silken hangings

of opulence. Italian and Spanish both, she fulfilled very scrupulously the duties of religion, and more than

But this slime permeated with gold and perfumes, this careless indifference to all things, these unbridled

passions, these religious beliefs cast into that heart like diamonds into mire, this life begun, and ended, in a

hospital, these gambling chances transferred to the soul, to the very existence,in short, this great alchemy,

for which vice lit the fire beneath the crucible in which fortunes were melted up and the gold of ancestors and

the honor of great names evaporated, proceeded from a CAUSE, a particular heredity, faithfully transmitted

from mother to daughter since the middle ages. The name of this woman was La Marana. In her family,

existing solely in the female line, the idea, person, name and power of a father had been completely unknown

since the thirteenth century. The name Marana was to her what the designation of Stuart is to the celebrated

royal race of Scotland, a name of distinction substituted for the patronymic name by the constant heredity of

Formerly, in France, Spain, and Italy, when those three countries had, in the fourteenth and fifteenth

centuries, mutual interests which united and disunited them by perpetual warfare, the name Marana served to

express in its general sense, a prostitute. In those days women of that sort had a certain rank in the world of

which nothing in our day can give an idea. Ninon de l'Enclos and Marian Delorme have alone played, in

France, the role of the Imperias, Catalinas, and Maranas who, in preceding centuries, gathered around them

the cassock, gown, and sword. An Imperia built I forget which church in Rome in a frenzy of repentance, as

Rhodope built, in earlier times, a pyramid in Egypt. The name Marana, inflicted at first as a disgrace upon the

singular family with which we are now concerned, had ended by becoming its veritable name and by

One day, a day of opulence or of penury I know not which, for this event was a secret between herself and

God, but assuredly it was in a moment of repentance and melancholy, this Marana of the nineteenth century

stood with her feet in the slime and her head raised to heaven. She cursed the blood in her veins, she cursed

herself, she trembled lest she should have a daughter, and she swore, as such women swear, on the honor and

with the will of the galleysthe firmest will, the most scrupulous honor that there is on earthshe swore,

before an altar, and believing in that altar, to make her daughter a virtuous creature, a saint, and thus to gain,

after that long line of lost women, criminals in love, an angel in heaven for them all.

The vow once made, the blood of the Maranas spoke; the courtesan returned to her reckless life, a thought the

more within her heart. At last she loved, with the violent love of such women, as Henrietta Wilson loved

Lord Ponsonby, as Mademoiselle Dupuis loved Bolingbroke, as the Marchesa Pescara loved her

husbandbut no, she did not love, she adored one of those fair men, half women, to whom she gave the

virtues which she had not, striving to keep for herself all that there was of vice between them. It was from

that weak man, that senseless marriage unblessed by God or man which happiness is thought to justify, but

which no happiness absolves, and for which men blush at last, that she had a daughter, a daughter to save, a

daughter for whom to desire a noble life and the chastity she had not. Henceforth, happy or not happy,

opulent or beggared, she had in her heart a pure, untainted sentiment, the highest of all human feelings

because the most disinterested. Love has its egotism, but motherhood has none. La Marana was a mother like

none other; for, in her total, her eternal shipwreck, motherhood might still redeem her. To accomplish

sacredly through life the task of sending a pure soul to heaven, was not that a better thing than a tardy

repentance? was it not, in truth, the only spotless prayer which she could lift to God?

So, when this daughter, when her MarieJuanaPepita (she would fain have given her all the saints in the

calendar as guardians), when this dear little creature was granted to her, she became possessed of so high an

idea of the dignity of motherhood that she entreated vice to grant her a respite. She made herself virtuous and

lived in solitude. No more fetes, no more orgies, no more love. All joys, all fortunes were centred now in the

cradle of her child. The tones of that infant voice made an oasis for her soul in the burning sands of her

existence. That sentiment could not be measured or estimated by any other. Did it not, in fact, comprise all

human sentiments, all heavenly hopes? La Marana was so resolved not to soil her daughter with any stain

other than that of birth, that she sought to invest her with social virtues; she even obliged the young father to

settle a handsome patrimony upon the child and to give her his name. Thus the girl was not know as Juana

Then, after seven years of joy, and kisses, and intoxicating happiness, the time came when the poor Marana

deprived herself of her idol. That Juana might never bow her head under their hereditary shame, the mother

had the courage to renounce her child for her child's sake, and to seek, not without horrible suffering, for

another mother, another home, other principles to follow, other and saintlier examples to imitate. The

abdication of a mother is either a revolting act or a sublime one; in this case, was it not sublime?

At Tarragona a lucky accident threw the Lagounias in her way, under circumstances which enabled her to

recognize the integrity of the Spaniard and the noble virtue of his wife. She came to them at a time when her

proposal seemed that of a liberating angel. The fortune and honor of the merchant, momentarily

compromised, required a prompt and secret succor. La Marana made over to the husband the whole sum she

had obtained of the father for Juana's "dot," requiring neither acknowledgment nor interest. According to her

own code of honor, a contract, a trust, was a thing of the heart, and God its supreme judge. After stating the

miseries of her position to Dona Lagounia, she confided her daughter and her daughter's fortune to the fine

old Spanish honor, pure and spotless, which filled the precincts of that ancient house. Dona Lagounia had no

child, and she was only too happy to obtain one to nurture. The mother then parted from her Juana, convinced

that the child's future was safe, and certain of having found her a mother, a mother who would bring her up as

Leaving her child in the simple modest house of the merchant where the burgher virtues reigned, where

religion and sacred sentiments and honor filled the air, the poor prostitute, the disinherited mother was

enabled to bear her trial by visions of Juana, virgin, wife, and mother, a mother throughout her life. On the

Since that day of mourning and hope the mother, drawn by some invincible presentiment, had thrice returned

Asleep, she had seen her Juana dying. She nursed her and watched her, until one morning, sure of the girl's

convalescence, she kissed her, still asleep, on the forehead and left her without betraying whom she was. A

second time the Marana came to the church where Juana made her first communion. Simply dressed,

concealing herself behind a column, the exiled mother recognized herself in her daughter such as she once

had been, pure as the snow freshfallen on the Alps. A courtesan even in maternity, the Marana felt in the

depths of her soul a jealous sentiment, stronger for the moment than that of love, and she left the church,

incapable of resisting any longer the desire to kill Dona Lagounia, as she sat there, with radiant face, too

much the mother of her child. A third and last meeting had taken place between mother and daughter in the

streets of Milan, to which city the merchant and his wife had paid a visit. The Marana drove through the

Corso in all the splendor of a sovereign; she passed her daughter like a flash of lightning and was not

recognized. Horrible anguish! To this Marana, surfeited with kisses, one was lacking, a single one, for which

she would have bartered all the others: the joyous, girlish kiss of a daughter to a mother, an honored mother, a

mother in whom shone all the domestic virtues. Juana living was dead to her. One thought revived the soul of

the courtesana precious thought! Juana was henceforth safe. She might be the humblest of women, but at

The merchant and his wife had fulfilled their trust with scrupulous integrity. Juana's fortune, managed by

them, had increased tenfold. Perez de Lagounia, now the richest merchant in the provinces, felt for the young

girl a sentiment that was semisuperstitious. Her money had preserved his ancient house from dishonorable

ruin, and the presence of so precious a treasure had brought him untold prosperity. His wife, a heart of gold,

and full of delicacy, had made the child religious, and as pure as she was beautiful. Juana might well become

the wife of either a great seigneur or a wealthy merchant; she lacked no virtue necessary to the highest

destiny. Perez had intended taking her to Madrid and marrying her to some grandee, but the events of the

"I don't know where the Marana now is," said Perez, ending the above history, "but in whatever quarter of the

world she may be living, when she hears of the occupation of our province by your armies, and of the siege of

Tarragona, she will assuredly set out at once to come here and see to her daughter's safety."

The foregoing narrative changed the intentions of the Italian captain; no longer did he think of making a

Marchesa di Montefiore of Juana di Mancini. He recognized the blood of the Maranas in the glance the girl

had given from behind the blinds, in the trick she had just played to satisfy her curiosity, and also in the

parting look she had cast upon him. The libertine wanted a virtuous woman for a wife.

The adventure was full of danger, but danger of a kind that never daunts the least courageous man, for love

and pleasure followed it. The apprentice sleeping in the shop, the cook bivouacking in the kitchen, Perez and

his wife sleeping, no doubt, the wakeful sleep of the aged, the echoing sonority of the old mansion, the close

surveillance of the girl in the daytime,all these things were obstacles, and made success a thing wellnigh

impossible. But Montefiore had in his favor against all impossibilities the blood of the Maranas which gushed

in the heart of that inquisitive girl, Italian by birth, Spanish in principles, virgin indeed, but impatient to love.

Passion, the girl, and Montefiore were ready and able to defy the whole universe.

Montefiore, impelled as much by the instinct of a man of gallantry as by those vague hopes which cannot be

explained, and to which we give the name of presentiments (a word of astonishing verbal accuracy),

Montefiore spent the first hours of the night at his window, endeavoring to look below him to the secret

apartment where, undoubtedly, the merchant and his wife had hidden the love and joyfulness of their old age.

The wareroom of the "entresol" separated him from the rooms on the groundfloor. The captain therefore

could not have recourse to noises significantly made from one floor to the other, an artificial language which

all lovers know well how to create. But chance, or it may have been the young girl herself, came to his

assistance. At the moment when he stationed himself at his window, he saw, on the black wall of the

courtyard, a circle of light, in the centre of which the silhouette of Juana was clearly defined; the consecutive

movement of the arms, and the attitude, gave evidence that she was arranging her hair for the night.

"Is she alone?" Montefiore asked himself; "could I, without danger, lower a letter filled with coin and strike it

At once he wrote a note, the note of a man exiled by his family to Elba, the note of a degraded marquis now a

mere captain of equipment. Then he made a cord of whatever he could find that was capable of being turned

into string, filled the note with a few silver crowns, and lowered it in the deepest silence to the centre of that

"The shadows will show if her mother or the servant is with her," thought Montefiore. "If she is not alone, I

But, after succeeding with infinite trouble in striking the glass, a single form, the little figure of Juana,

appeared upon the wall. The young girl opened her window cautiously, saw the note, took it, and stood before

the window while she read it. In it, Montefiore had given his name and asked for an interview, offering, after

the style of the old romances, his heart and hand to the Signorina Juana di Mancinia common trick, the

success of which is nearly always certain. At Juana's age, nobility of soul increases the dangers which

surround youth. A poet of our day has said: "Woman succumbs only to her own nobility. The lover pretends

to doubt the love he inspires at the moment when he is most beloved; the young girl, confident and proud,

longs to make sacrifices to prove her love, and knows the world and men too little to continue calm in the

midst of her rising emotions and repel with contempt the man who accepts a life offered in expiation of a

Ever since the constitution of societies the young girl finds herself torn by a struggle between the caution of

prudent virtue and the evils of wrongdoing. Often she loses a love, delightful in prospect, and the first, if she

resists; on the other hand, she loses a marriage if she is imprudent. Casting a glance over the vicissitudes of

social life in Paris, it is impossible to doubt the necessity of religion; and yet Paris is situated in the

fortyeighth degree of latitude, while Tarragona is in the fortyfirst. The old question of climates is still

useful to narrators to explain the sudden denouements, the imprudences, or the resistances of love.

Montefiore kept his eyes fixed on the exquisite black profile projected by the gleam upon the wall. Neither he

nor Juana could see each other; a troublesome cornice, vexatiously placed, deprived them of the mute

correspondence which may be established between a pair of lovers as they bend to each other from their

windows. Thus the mind and the attention of the captain were concentrated on that luminous circle where,

without perhaps knowing it herself, the young girl would, he thought, innocently reveal her thoughts by a

series of gestures. But no! The singular motions she proceeded to make gave not a particle of hope to the

expectant lover. Juana was amusing herself by cutting up his missive. But virtue and innocence sometimes

imitate the clever proceedings inspired by jealousy to the Bartholos of comedy. Juana, without pens, ink, or

paper, was replying by snip of scissors. Presently she refastened the note to the string; the officer drew it up,

opened it, and read by the light of his lamp one word, carefully cut out of the paper: COME.

"Come!" he said to himself; "but what of poison? or the dagger or carbine of Perez? And that apprentice not

yet asleep, perhaps, in the shop? and the servant in her hammock? Besides, this old house echoes the slightest

sound; I can hear old Perez snoring even here. Come, indeed! She can have nothing more to lose."

Bitter reflection! rakes alone are logical and will punish a woman for devotion. Man created Satan and

Lovelace; but a virgin is an angel on whom he can bestow naught but his own vices. She is so grand, so

beautiful, that he cannot magnify or embellish her; he has only the fatal power to blast her and drag her down

Montefiore waited for a later and more somnolent hour of the night; then, in spite of his reflections, he

descended the stairs without boots, armed with his pistols, moving step by step, stopping to question the

silence, putting forth his hands, measuring the stairs, peering into the darkness, and ready at the slightest

incident to fly back into his room. The Italian had put on his handsomest uniform; he had perfumed his black

hair, and now shone with the particular brilliancy which dress and toilet bestow upon natural beauty. Under

The marquis arrived without hindrance before the secret door of the room in which the girl was hidden, a sort

of cell made in the angle of the house and belonging exclusively to Juana, who had remained there hidden

during the day from every eye while the siege lasted. Up to the present time she had slept in the room of her

adopted mother, but the limited space in the garret where the merchant and his wife had gone to make room

for the officer who was billeted upon them, did not allow of her going with them. Dona Lagounia had

therefore left the young girl to the guardianship of lock and key, under the protection of religious ideas, all

the more efficacious because they were partly superstitious, and also under the shield of a native pride and

sensitive modesty which made the young Mancini in sort an exception among her sex. Juana possessed in an

equal degree the most attaching virtues and the most passionate impulses; she had needed the modesty and

sanctity of this monotonous life to calm and cool the tumultuous blood of the Maranas which bounded in her

heart, the desires of which her adopted mother told her were an instigation of the devil.

A faint ray of light traced along the sill of the secret door guided Montefiore to the place; he scratched the

panel softly and Juana opened to him. Montefiore entered, palpitating, but he recognized in the expression of

the girl's face complete ignorance of her peril, a sort of naive curiosity, and an innocent admiration. He

stopped short, arrested for a moment by the sacredness of the picture which met his eyes.

He saw before him a tapestry on the walls with a gray ground sprinkled with violets, a little coffer of ebony,

an antique mirror, an immense and very old arm chair also in ebony and covered with tapestry, a table with

twisted legs, a pretty carpet on the floor, near the table a single chair; and that was all. On the table, however,

were flowers and embroidery; in a recess at the farther end of the room was the narrow little bed where Juana

dreamed. Above the bed were three pictures; and near the pillow a crucifix, with a holy water basin and a

prayer, printed in letters of gold and framed. Flowers exhaled their perfume faintly; the candles cast a tender

light; all was calm and pure and sacred. The dreamy thoughts of Juana, but above all Juana herself, had

communicated to all things her own peculiar charm; her soul appeared to shine there, like the pearl in its

matrix. Juana, dressed in white, beautiful with naught but her own beauty, laying down her rosary to answer

love, might have inspired respect, even in a Montefiore, if the silence, if the night, if Juana herself had not

seemed so amorous. Montefiore stood still, intoxicated with an unknown happiness, possibly that of Satan

"As soon as I saw you," he said in pure Tuscan, and in the modest tone of voice so peculiarly Italian, "I loved

you. My soul and my life are now in you, and in you they will be forever, if you will have it so."

Juana listened, inhaling from the atmosphere the sound of these words which the accents of love made

"Poor child! how have you breathed so long the air of this dismal house without dying of it? You, made to

reign in the world, to inhabit the palace of a prince, to live in the midst of fetes, to feel the joys which love

bestows, to see the world at your feet, to efface all other beauty by your own which can have no rivalyou,

"True," she replied. "But who can have told you my secret thoughts? For the last few months I have nearly

died of sadness. Yes, I would RATHER die than stay longer in this house. Look at that embroidery; there is

not a stitch there which I did not set with dreadful thoughts. How many times I have thought of escaping to

fling myself into the sea! Why? I don't know why,little childish troubles, but very keen, though they are so

silly. Often I have kissed my mother at night as one would kiss a mother for the last time, saying in my heart:

'Tomorrow I will kill myself.' But I do not die. Suicides go to hell, you know, and I am so afraid of hell that

I resign myself to live, to get up in the morning and go to bed at night, and work the same hours, and do the

same things. I am not so weary of it, but I sufferAnd yet, my father and mother adore me. Oh! I am bad, I

"Oh! I have not always been like this. Till I was fifteen the festivals of the church, the chants, the music gave

me pleasure. I was happy, feeling myself like the angels without sin and able to communicate every weekI

loved God then. But for the last three years, from day to day, all things have changed. First, I wanted flowers

hereand I have them, lovely flowers! Then I wantedbut I want nothing now," she added, after a pause,

"Yes, my Juana," cried Montefiore, softly, taking her round the waist and pressing her to his heart, "yes. But

let me speak to you as you speak to God. Are you not as beautiful as Mary in heaven? Listen. I swear to you,"

he continued, kissing her hair, "I swear to take that forehead for my altar, to make you my idol, to lay at your

feet all the luxuries of the world. For you, my palace at Milan; for you my horses, my jewels, the diamonds of

my ancient family; for you, each day, fresh jewels, a thousand pleasures, and all the joys of earth!"

"Yes," she said reflectively, "I would like that; but I feel within my soul that I would like better than all the

world my husband. Mio caro sposo!" she said, as if it were impossible to give in any other language the

infinite tenderness, the loving elegance with which the Italian tongue and accent clothe those delightful

"I should find," she continued, with a glance at Montefiore in which shone the purity of the cherubim, "I

should find in HIM my dear religion, him and GodGod and him. Is he to be you?" she said. "Yes, surely it

will be you," she cried, after a pause. "Come, and see the picture my father brought me from Italy."

She took a candle, made a sign to Montefiore, and showed him at the foot of her bed a Saint Michael

"Look!" she said, "has he not your eyes? When I saw you from my window in the street, our meeting seemed

to me a sign from heaven. Every day during my morning meditation, while waiting for my mother to call me

to prayer, I have so gazed at that picture, that angel, that I have ended by thinking him my husbandoh!

heavens, I speak to you as though you were myself. I must seem crazy to you; but if you only knew how a

poor captive wants to tell the thoughts that choke her! When alone, I talk to my flowers, to my tapestry; they

can understand me better, I think, than my father and mother, who are so grave."

"Juana," said Montefiore, taking her hands and kissing them with the passion that gushed in his eyes, in his

gestures, in the tones of his voice, "speak to me as your husband, as yourself. I have suffered all that you have

suffered. Between us two few words are needed to make us comprehend our past, but there will never be

enough to express our coming happiness. Lay your hand upon my heart. Feel how it beats. Let us promise

before God, who sees and hears us, to be faithful to each other throughout our lives. Here, take my ringand

"But our holy father the Pope has blessed it; it was put upon my finger in childhood by a beautiful lady who

She held out the ring with a trembling hand, holding it tightly as she looked at Montefiore with a clear and

penetrating eye that questioned him. That ring! all of herself was in it; but she gave it to him.

"Oh, my Juana!" said Montefiore, again pressing her in his arms. "I should be a monster indeed if I deceived

Juana was thoughtful. Montefiore, reflecting that in this first interview he ought to venture upon nothing that

might frighten a young girl so ignorantly pure, so imprudent by virtue rather than from desire, postponed all

further action to the future, relying on his beauty, of which he knew the power, and on this innocent ring

marriage, the hymen of the heart, the lightest, yet the strongest of all ceremonies. For the rest of that night,

and throughout the next day, Juana's imagination was the accomplice of her passion.

On this first evening Montefiore forced himself to be as respectful as he was tender. With that intention, in

the interests of his passion and the desires with which Juana inspired him, he was caressing and unctuous in

language; he launched the young creature into plans for a new existence, described to her the world under

glowing colors, talked to her of household details always attractive to the mind of girls, giving her a sense of

the rights and realities of love. Then, having agreed upon the hour for their future nocturnal interviews, he left

her happy, but changed; the pure and pious Juana existed no longer; in the last glance she gave him, in the

pretty movement by which she brought her forehead to his lips, there was already more of passion than a girl

should feel. Solitude, weariness of employments contrary to her nature had brought this about. To make the

daughter of the Maranas truly virtuous, she ought to have been habituated, little by little, to the world, or else

"The day, tomorrow, will seem very long to me," she said, receiving his kisses on her forehead. "But stay in

Montefiore, clever enough to imagine the girl's life, was all the more satisfied with himself for restraining his

desires because he saw that it would lead to his greater contentment. He returned to his room without

Ten days went by without any event occurring to trouble the peace and solitude of the house. Montefiore

employed his Italian cajolery on old Perez, on Dona Lagounia, on the apprentice, even on the cook, and they

all liked him; but, in spite of the confidence he now inspired in them, he never asked to see Juana, or to have

the door of her mysterious hidingplace opened to him. The young girl, hungry to see her lover, implored

him to do so; but he always refused her from an instinct of prudence. Besides, he had used his best powers

and fascinations to lull the suspicions of the old couple, and had now accustomed them to see him, a soldier,

stay in bed till midday on pretence that he was ill. Thus the lovers lived only in the night time, when the rest

of the household were asleep. If Montefiore had not been one of those libertines whom the habit of gallantry

enables to retain their selfpossession under all circumstances, he might have been lost a dozen times during

those ten days. A young lover, in the simplicity of a first love, would have committed the enchanting

imprudences which are so difficult to resist. But he did resist even Juana herself, Juana pouting, Juana

making her long hair a chain which she wound about his neck when caution told him he must go.

The most suspicious of guardians would however have been puzzled to detect the secret of their nightly

meetings. It is to be supposed that, sure of success, the Italian marquis gave himself the ineffable pleasures of

a slow seduction, step by step, leading gradually to the fire which should end the affair in a conflagration. On

the eleventh day, at the dinnertable, he thought it wise to inform old Perez, under seal of secrecy, that the

reason of his separation from his family was an illassorted marriage. This false revelation was an infamous

thing in view of the nocturnal drama which was being played under that roof. Montefiore, an experienced

rake, was preparing for the finale of that drama which he foresaw and enjoyed as an artist who loves his art.

He expected to leave before long, and without regret, the house and his love. It would happen, he thought, in

this way: Juana, after waiting for him in vain for several nights, would risk her life, perhaps, in asking Perez

what had become of his guest; and Perez would reply, not aware of the importance of his answer,

"The Marquis de Montefiore is reconciled to his family, who consent to receive his wife; he has gone to Italy

And Juana?The marquis never asked himself what would become of Juana; but he had studied her

character, its nobility, candor, and strength, and he knew he might be sure of her silence.

He obtained a mission from one of the generals. Three days later, on the night preceding his intended

departure, Montefiore, instead of returning to his own room after dinner, contrived to enter unseen that of

Juana, to make that farewell night the longer. Juana, true Spaniard and true Italian, was enchanted with such

boldness; it argued ardor! For herself she did not fear discovery. To find in the pure love of marriage the

excitements of intrigue, to hide her husband behind the curtains of her bed, and say to her adopted father and

mother, in case of detection: "I am the Marquise de Montefiore!"was to an ignorant and romantic young

girl, who for three years past had dreamed of love without dreaming of its dangers, delightful. The door

closed on this last evening upon her folly, her happiness, like a veil, which it is useless here to raise.

It was nine o'clock; the merchant and his wife were reading their evening prayers; suddenly the noise of a

carriage drawn by several horses resounded in the street; loud and hasty raps echoed from the shop where the

servant hurried to open the door, and into that venerable salon rushed a woman, magnificently dressed in

spite of the mud upon the wheels of her travellingcarriage, which had just crossed Italy, France, and Spain.

It was, of course, the Marana,the Marana who, in spite of her thirtysix years, was still in all the glory of

her ravishing beauty; the Marana who, being at that time the mistress of a king, had left Naples, the fetes, the

skies of Naples, the climax of her life of luxury, on hearing from her royal lover of the events in Spain and

"Tarragona! I must get to Tarragona before the town is taken!" she cried. "Ten days to reach Tarragona!"

Then without caring for crown or court, she arrived in Tarragona, furnished with an almost imperial

safeconduct; furnished too with gold which enabled her to cross France with the velocity of a rocket.

At this voice, and the abrupt invasion of their solitude, the prayer book fell from the hands of the old couple.

"She is there," replied the merchant, calmly, after a pause during which he recovered from the emotion

caused by the abrupt entrance, and the look and voice of the mother. "She is there," he repeated, pointing to

"O God! send me to hell if it so pleases thee!" cried the Marana, dropping, exhausted and half dead, into a

The flush in her cheeks, due to anxiety, paled suddenly; she had strength to endure suffering, but none to bear

this joy. Joy was more violent in her soul than suffering, for it contained the echoes of her pain and the

"Yes," said Perez, "but since you see me living why do you ask that question? Should I not have died before

At that answer, the Marana seized the calloused hand of the old man, and kissed it, wetting it with the tears

that flowed from her eyes she who never wept! those tears were all she had most precious under heaven.

"My good Perez!" she said at last. "But have you had no soldiers quartered in your house?"

"Only one," replied the Spaniard. "Fortunately for us the most loyal of men; a Spaniard by birth, but now an

Italian who hates Bonaparte; a married man. He is ill, and gets up late and goes to bed early."

"You are mistaken, wife," said Perez. "The marquis must have seen her for a moment, a short moment, it is

true; but I think he looked at her that evening she came in here during supper."

"Nothing easier," said Perez; "she is now asleep. If she has left the key in the lock we must waken her."

As he rose to take the duplicate key of Juana's door his eyes fell by chance on the circular gleam of light upon

the black wall of the inner courtyard. Within that circle he saw the shadow of a group such as Canova alone

"And I will show you why," he cried, seizing his dagger and rapping its hilt violently on Juana's door as he

Juana did not open, for she needed time to conceal Montefiore. She knew nothing of what was passing in the

"Madame, I lied to you in saying I could not find the key. Here it is," added Perez, taking it from a sideboard.

"But it is useless. Juana's key is in the lock; her door is barricaded. We have been deceived, my wife!" he

"Do not swear, Dona Lagounia. Our honor is dead, and this woman" He pointed to the Marana, who had

risen and was standing motionless, blasted by his words, "this woman has the right to despise us. She saved

our life, our fortune, and our honor, and we have saved nothing for her but her moneyJuana!" he cried

His voice, rising in violence, echoed through the garrets in the roof. He was cold and calm. The life of

Montefiore was in his hands; he would wash away his remorse in the blood of that Italian.

"Out, out, out! out, all of you!" cried the Marana, springing like a tigress on the dagger, which she wrenched

from the hand of the astonished Perez. "Out, Perez," she continued more calmly, "out, you and your wife and

servants! There will be murder here. You might be shot by the French. Have nothing to do with this; it is my

affair, mine only. Between my daughter and me there is none but God. As for the man, he belongs to ME.

The whole earth could not tear him from my grasp. Go, go! I forgive you. I see plainly that the girl is a

Marana. You, your religion, your virtue, were too weak to fight against my blood."

She gave a dreadful sigh, turning her dry eyes on them. She had lost all, but she knew how to suffer,a true

The door opened. The Marana forgot all else, and Perez, making a sign to his wife, remained at his post. With

his old invincible Spanish honor he was determined to share the vengeance of the betrayed mother. Juana, all

in white, and softly lighted by the wax candles, was standing calmly in the centre of her chamber.

Perez made a negative gesture; confiding in that gesture, the mother entered the room.

"Juana," she said, "I am your mother, your judge; you have placed yourself in the only situation in which I

could reveal myself to you. You have come down to me, you, whom I thought in heaven. Ah! you have fallen

"Madame, there is and can be no one but my husband," answered the girl. "I am the Marquise de

"Then there are two," said Perez, in a grave voice. "He told me he was married."

"Montefiore, my love!" cried the girl, tearing aside the curtain and revealing the officer. "Come! they are

The Italian appeared, pale and speechless; he saw the dagger in the Marana's hand, and he knew her well.

"Help! help! they are murdering a Frenchman. Soldiers of the 6th of the line, rush for Captain Diard! Help,

Perez had gripped the man and was trying to gag him with his large hand, but the Marana stopped him,

"Bind him fast, but let him shout. Open the doors, leave them open, and go, go, as I told you; go, all of

you.As for you," she said, addressing Montefiore, "shout, call for help if you choose; by the time your

Montefiore, who had fallen on the threshold of the door, scarcely a step from Juana, saw nothing but the

"Answer, soul of corruption," said the Marana, in a low voice, bending to the ear of the marquis.

"The daughter that was mine is dead or dying," interrupted the Marana. "I have no daughter; do not utter that

"No, madame," said Montefiore, at last, striving to gain time, "I desire to marry your daughter."

Juana said nothing, but she wrung her hands and went to her armchair and sat down.

At that moment a tumult rose in the street which was plainly heard in the silence of the room. A soldier of the

6th, hearing Montefiore's cry for help, had summoned Diard. The quartermaster, who was fortunately in his

"Why did I fly?" said Montefiore, hearing the voice of his friend. "Because I told you the truth; I am

But, at a word from Perez, the apprentice closed and bolted the doors, so that the soldiers were delayed by

battering them in. Before they could enter, the Marana had time to strike her dagger into the guilty man; but

anger hindered her aim, the blade slipped upon the Italian's epaulet, though she struck her blow with such

force that he fell at the very feet of Juana, who took no notice of him. The Marana sprang upon him, and this

"I am free and I will marry her! I swear it, by God, by my mother, by all there is most sacred in the world; I

"Mother," said Juana, "kill him. He is so base that I will not have him for my husband, were he ten times as

"They are murdering me," cried Montefiore, "on account of this girl; she says I am her lover. She inveigled

"And you reject her?" cried Diard, struck with the splendid beauty which contempt, hatred, and indignation

had given to the girl, already so beautiful. "Then you are hard to please. If she wants a husband I am ready to

The Marana pulled the Italian to the side of her daughter's bed and said to him, in a low voice,

"If I spare you, give thanks for the rest of your life; but, remember this, if your tongue ever injures my

daughter you will see me again. Go!How much 'dot' do you give her?" she continued, going up to Perez.

"And that is not all, monsieur," said the Marana, turning to Diard. "Who are you?Go!" she repeated to

The marquis, hearing this statement of gold piastres, came forward once more, saying,

"Alas! monsieur," said the girl, turning to Diard, "I thank you with admiration. But my husband is in heaven.

"Juana, my Juana, hush!" cried the mother, clasping her in her arms. Then she whispered in the girl's ear.

Juana turned pale. She freed herself from her mother and sat down once more in her armchair.

"Madame, I am at present only the quartermaster of the 6th of the line. But for such a wife I have the heart to

make myself a marshal of France. My name is PierreFrancois Diard. My father was provost of merchants. I

"But, at least, you are an honest man, are you not?" cried the Marana, interrupting him. "If you please the

Signorina Juana di Mancini, you can marry her and be happy together.Juana," she continued in a grave

tone, "in becoming the wife of a brave and worthy man remember that you will also be a mother. I have

sworn that you shall kiss your children without a blush upon your face" (her voice faltered slightly). "I have

sworn that you shall live a virtuous life; expect, therefore, many troubles. But, whatever happens, continue

pure, and be faithful to your husband. Sacrifice all things to him, for he will be the father of your

childrenthe father of your children! If you take a lover, I, your mother, will stand between you and him.

Do you see that dagger? It is in your 'dot,'" she continued, throwing the weapon on Juana's bed. "I leave it

there as the guarantee of your honor so long as my eyes are open and my arm free. Farewell," she said,

"Poor child!" she added, "you have been happier than you knew in this dull home.Do not allow her to

The foregoing rapid narrative is not the principal subject of this Study, for the understanding of which it was

necessary to explain how it happened that the quartermaster Diard married Juana di Mancini, that Montefiore

and Diard were intimately known to each other, and to show plainly what blood and what passions were in

By the time that the quartermaster had fulfilled all the long and dilatory formalities without which no French

soldier can be married, he was passionately in love with Juana di Mancini, and Juana had had time to think of

An awful destiny! Juana, who felt neither esteem nor love for Diard, was bound to him forever, by a rash but

necessary promise. The man was neither handsome nor wellmade. His manners, devoid of all distinction,

were a mixture of the worst army tone, the habits of his province, and his own insufficient education. How

could she love Diard, she, a young girl all grace and elegance, born with an invincible instinct for luxury and

good taste, her very nature tending toward the sphere of the higher social classes? As for esteeming him, she

rejected the very thought precisely because he had married her. This repulsion was natural. Woman is a

saintly and noble creature, but almost always misunderstood, and nearly always misjudged because she is

misunderstood. If Juana had loved Diard she would have esteemed him. Love creates in a wife a new woman;

the woman of the day before no longer exists on the morrow. Putting on the nuptial robe of a passion in

which life itself is concerned, the woman wraps herself in purity and whiteness. Reborn into virtue and

chastity, there is no past for her; she is all future, and should forget the things behind her to relearn life. In

this sense the famous words which a modern poet has put into the lips of Marion Delorme is infused with

That line seems like a reminiscence of a tragedy of Corneille, so truly does it recall the energetic diction of

the father of our modern theatre. Yet the poet was forced to sacrifice it to the essentially vaudevillist spirit of

So Juana loveless was doomed to be Juana humiliated, degraded, hopeless. She could not honor the man who

took her thus. She felt, in all the conscientious purity of her youth, that distinction, subtle in appearance but

sacredly true, legal with the heart's legality, which women apply instinctively to all their feelings, even the

least reflective. Juana became profoundly sad as she saw the nature and the extent of the life before her. Often

she turned her eyes, brimming with tears proudly repressed, upon Perez and Dona Lagounia, who fully

comprehended, both of them, the bitter thoughts those tears contained. But they were silent: of what good

were reproaches now; why look for consolations? The deeper they were, the more they enlarged the wound.

One evening, Juana, stupid with grief, heard through the open door of her little room, which the old couple

"Yes," said Perez, in a shaking voice, "but what can we do? I cannot now boast of her beauty and her chastity

Hearing these dreadful words Juana saw the happy future she had lost by her own wrongdoing. The pure and

simple years of her quiet life would have been rewarded by a brilliant existence such as she had fondly

dreamed,dreams which had caused her ruin. To fall from the height of Greatness to Monsieur Diard! She

wept. At times she went nearly mad. She floated for a while between vice and religion. Vice was a speedy

solution, religion a lifetime of suffering. The meditation was stormy and solemn. The next day was the fatal

day, the day for the marriage. But Juana could still remain free. Free, she knew how far her misery would go;

Religion triumphed. Dona Lagounia stayed beside her child and prayed and watched as she would have

Nature gives to woman alternately a strength which enables her to suffer and a weakness which leads her to

resignation. Juana resigned herself; and without restriction. She determined to obey her mother's prayer, and

cross the desert of life to reach God's heaven, knowing well that no flowers grew for her along the way of that

She married Diard. As for the quartermaster, though he had no grace in Juana's eyes, we may well absolve

him. He loved her distractedly. The Marana, so keen to know the signs of love, had recognized in that man

the accents of passion and the brusque nature, the generous impulses, that are common to Southerners. In the

paroxysm of her anger and her distress she had thought such qualities enough for her daughter's happiness.

The first days of this marriage were apparently happy; or, to express one of those latent facts, the miseries of

which are buried by women in the depths of their souls, Juana would not cast down her husband's joy,a

double role, dreadful to play, but to which, sooner or later, all women unhappily married come. This is a

history impossible to recount in its full truth. Juana, struggling hourly against her nature, a nature both

Spanish and Italian, having dried up the source of her tears by dint of weeping, was a human type, destined to

represent woman's misery in its utmost expression, namely, sorrow undyingly active; the description of which

would need such minute observations that to persons eager for dramatic emotions they would seem insipid.

This analysis, in which every wife would find some one of her own sufferings, would require a volume to

express them all; a fruitless, hopeless volume by its very nature, the merit of which would consist in faintest

tints and delicate shadings which critics would declare to be effeminate and diffuse. Besides, what man could

rightly approach, unless he bore another heart within his heart, those solemn and touching elegies which

certain women carry with them to their tomb; melancholies, misunderstood even by those who cause them;

sighs unheeded, devotions unrewarded,on earth at least,splendid silences misconstrued; vengeances

withheld, disdained; generosities perpetually bestowed and wasted; pleasures longed for and denied; angelic

charities secretly accomplished,in short, all the religions of womanhood and its inextinguishable love.

Juana knew that life; fate spared her nought. She was wholly a wife, but a sorrowful and suffering wife; a

wife incessantly wounded, yet forgiving always; a wife pure as a flawless diamond,she who had the beauty

and the glow of the diamond, and in that beauty, that glow, a vengeance in her hand; for she was certainly not

At first, inspired by a real love, by one of those passions which for the time being change even odious

characters and bring to light all that may be noble in a soul, Diard behaved like a man of honor. He forced

Montefiore to leave the regiment and even the army corps, so that his wife might never meet him during the

time they remained in Spain. Next, he petitioned for his own removal, and succeeded in entering the Imperial

Guard. He desired at any price to obtain a title, honors, and consideration in keeping with his present wealth.

With this idea in his mind, he behaved courageously in one of the most bloody battles in Germany, but,

unfortunately, he was too severely wounded to remain in the service. Threatened with the loss of a leg, he

was forced to retire on a pension, without the title of baron, without those rewards he hoped to win, and

This event, this wound, and his thwarted hopes contributed to change his character. His Provencal energy,

roused for a time, sank down. At first he was sustained by his wife, in whom his efforts, his courage, his

ambition had induced some belief in his nature, and who showed herself, what women are, tender and

consoling in the troubles of life. Inspired by a few words from Juana, the retired soldier came to Paris,

resolved to win in an administrative career a position to command respect, bury in oblivion the quartermaster

of the 6th of the line, and secure for Madame Diard a noble title. His passion for that seductive creature

enabled him to divine her most secret wishes. Juana expressed nothing, but he understood her. He was not

loved as a lover dreams of being loved; he knew this, and he strove to make himself respected, loved, and

cherished. He foresaw a coming happiness, poor man, in the patience and gentleness shown on all occasions

by his wife; but that patience, that gentleness, were only the outward signs of the resignation which had made

her his wife. Resignation, religion, were they love? Often Diard wished for refusal where he met with chaste

obedience; often he would have given his eternal life that Juana might have wept upon his bosom and not

disguised her secret thoughts behind a smiling face which lied to him nobly. Many young men for after a

certain age men no longer strugglepersist in the effort to triumph over an evil fate, the thunder of which

they hear, from time to time, on the horizon of their lives; and when at last they succumb and roll down the

precipice of evil, we ought to do them justice and acknowledge these inward struggles.

Like many men Diard tried all things, and all things were hostile to him. His wealth enabled him to surround

his wife with the enjoyments of Parisian luxury. She lived in a fine house, with noble rooms, where she

maintained a salon, in which abounded artists (by nature no judges of men), men of pleasure ready to amuse

themselves anywhere, a few politicians who swelled the numbers, and certain men of fashion, all of whom

admired Juana. Those who put themselves before the eyes of the public in Paris must either conquer Paris or

be subject to it. Diard's character was not sufficiently strong, compact, or persistent to command society at

that epoch, because it was an epoch when all men were endeavoring to rise. Social classifications

readymade are perhaps a great boon even for the people. Napoleon has confided to us the pains he took to

inspire respect in his court, where most of the courtiers had been his equals. But Napoleon was Corsican, and

Diard Provencal. Given equal genius, an islander will always be more compact and rounded than the man of

terra firma in the same latitude; the arm of the sea which separates Corsica from Provence is, in spite of

Diard's mongrel position, which he himself made still more questionable, brought him great troubles. Perhaps

there is useful instruction to be derived from the almost imperceptible connection of acts which led to the

In the first place, the sneerers of Paris did not see without malicious smiles and words the pictures with which

the former quartermaster adorned his handsome mansion. Works of art purchased the night before were said

to be spoils from Spain; and this accusation was the revenge of those who were jealous of his present fortune.

Juana comprehended this reproach, and by her advice Diard sent back to Tarragona all the pictures he had

brought from there. But the public, determined to see things in the worst light, only said, "That Diard is

shrewd; he has sold his pictures." Worthy people continued to think that those which remained in the Diard

salons were not honorably acquired. Some jealous women asked how it was that a DIARD (!) had been able

to marry so rich and beautiful a young girl. Hence comments and satires without end, such as Paris

contributes. And yet, it must be said, that Juana met on all sides the respect inspired by her pure and religious

life, which triumphed over everything, even Parisian calumny; but this respect stopped short with her, her

husband received none of it. Juana's feminine perception and her keen eye hovering over her salons, brought

This lack of esteem was perfectly natural. Diard's comrades, in spite of the virtues which our imaginations

attribute to soldiers, never forgave the former quartermaster of the 6th of the line for becoming suddenly so

rich and for attempting to cut a figure in Paris. Now in Paris, from the last house in the faubourg

SaintGermain to the last in the rue SaintLazare, between the heights of the Luxembourg and the heights of

Montmartre, all that clothes itself and gabbles, clothes itself to go out and goes out to gabble. All that world

of great and small pretensions, that world of insolence and humble desires, of envy and cringing, all that is

gilded or tarnished, young or old, noble of yesterday or noble from the fourth century, all that sneers at a

parvenu, all that fears to commit itself, all that wants to demolish power and worships power if it

resists,ALL those ears hear, ALL those tongues say, ALL those minds know, in a single evening, where

the newcomer who aspires to honor among them was born and brought up, and what that interloper has

done, or has not done, in the course of his life. There may be no court of assizes for the upper classes of

society; but at any rate they have the most cruel of public prosecutors, an intangible moral being, both judge

and executioner, who accuses and brands. Do not hope to hide anything from him; tell him all yourself; he

wants to know all and he will know all. Do not ask what mysterious telegraph it was which conveyed to him

in the twinkling of an eye, at any hour, in any place, that story, that bit of news, that scandal; do not ask what

prompts him. That telegraph is a social mystery; no observer can report its effects. Of many extraordinary

instances thereof, one may suffice: The assassination of the Duc de Berry, which occurred at the

Operahouse, was related within ten minutes in the IleSaintLouis. Thus the opinion of the 6th of the line

as to its quartermaster filtered through society the night on which he gave his first ball.

Diard was therefore debarred from succeeding in society. Henceforth his wife alone had the power to make

anything of him. Miracle of our strange civilization! In Paris, if a man is incapable of being anything himself,

his wife, when she is young and clever, may give him other chances for elevation. We sometimes meet with

invalid women, feeble beings apparently, who, without rising from sofas or leaving their chambers, have

ruled society, moved a thousand springs, and placed their husbands where their ambition or their vanity

prompted. But Juana, whose childhood was passed in her retreat in Tarragona, knew nothing of the vices, the

meannesses, or the resources of Parisian society; she looked at that society with the curiosity of a girl, but she

learned from it only that which her sorrow and her wounded pride revealed to her.

Juana had the tact of a virgin heart which receives impressions in advance of the event, after the manner of

what are called "sensitives." The solitary young girl, so suddenly become a woman and a wife, saw plainly

that were she to attempt to compel society to respect her husband, it must be after the manner of Spanish

beggars, carbine in hand. Besides, the multiplicity of the precautions she would have to take, would they meet

the necessity? Suddenly she divined society as, once before, she had divined life, and she saw nothing around

her but the immense extent of an irreparable disaster. She had, moreover, the additional grief of tardily

recognizing her husband's peculiar form of incapacity; he was a man unfitted for any purpose that required

continuity of ideas. He could not understand a consistent part, such as he ought to play in the world; he

perceived it neither as a whole nor in its gradations, and its gradations were everything. He was in one of

those positions where shrewdness and tact might have taken the place of strength; when shrewdness and tact

Now Diard, far from arresting the spot of oil on his garments left by his antecedents, did his best to spread it.

Incapable of studying the phase of the empire in the midst of which he came to live in Paris, he wanted to be

made prefect. At that time every one believed in the genius of Napoleon; his favor enhanced the value of all

offices. Prefectures, those miniature empires, could only be filled by men of great names, or chamberlains of

H.M. the emperor and king. Already the prefects were a species of vizier. The myrmidons of the great man

scoffed at Diard's pretensions to a prefecture, whereupon he lowered his demand to a subprefecture. There

was, of course, a ridiculous discrepancy between this latter demand and the magnitude of his fortune. To

frequent the imperial salons and live with insolent luxury, and then to abandon that millionaire life and bury

himself as subprefect at Issoudun or Savenay was certainly holding himself below his position. Juana, too

late aware of our laws and habits and administrative customs, did not enlighten her husband soon enough.

Diard, desperate, petitioned successively all the ministerial powers; repulsed everywhere, he found nothing

open to him; and society then judged him as the government judged him and as he judged himself. Diard,

grievously wounded on the battlefield, was nevertheless not decorated; the quartermaster, rich as he was, was

allowed no place in public life, and society logically refused him that to which he pretended in its midst.

Finally, to cap all, the luckless man felt in his own home the superiority of his wife. Though she used great

tactwe might say velvet softness if the term were admissibleto disguise from her husband this

supremacy, which surprised and humiliated herself, Diard ended by being affected by it.

At a game of life like this men are either unmanned, or they grow the stronger, or they give themselves to

evil. The courage or the ardor of this man lessened under the reiterated blows which his own faults dealt to

his selfappreciation, and fault after fault he committed. In the first place he had to struggle against his own

habits and character. A passionate Provencal, frank in his vices as in his virtues, this man whose fibres

vibrated like the strings of a harp, was all heart to his former friends. He succored the shabby and spattered

man as readily as the needy of rank; in short, he accepted everybody, and gave his hand in his gilded salons to

many a poor devil. Observing this on one occasion, a general of the empire, a variety of the human species of

which no type will presently remain, refused his hand to Diard, and called him, insolently, "my good fellow"

when he met him. The few persons of really good society whom Diard knew, treated him with that elegant,

polished contempt against which a newmade man has seldom any weapons. The manners, the semi Italian

gesticulations, the speech of Diard, his style of dress,all contributed to repulse the respect which careful

observation of matters of good taste and dignity might otherwise obtain for vulgar persons; the yoke of such

conventionalities can only be cast off by great and unthinkable powers. So goes the world.

These details but faintly picture the many tortures to which Juana was subjected; they came upon her one by

one; each social nature pricked her with its own particular pin; and to a soul which preferred the thrust of a

dagger, there could be no worse suffering than this struggle in which Diard received insults he did not feel

and Juana felt those she did not receive. A moment came, an awful moment, when she gained a clear and

lucid perception of society, and felt in one instant all the sorrows which were gathering themselves together

to fall upon her head. She judged her husband incapable of rising to the honored ranks of the social order, and

she felt that he would one day descend to where his instincts led him. Henceforth Juana felt pity for him.

The future was very gloomy for this young woman. She lived in constant apprehension of some disaster. This

presentiment was in her soul as a contagion is in the air, but she had strength of mind and will to disguise her

anguish beneath a smile. Juana had ceased to think of herself. She used her influence to make Diard resign his

various pretensions and to show him, as a haven, the peaceful and consoling life of home. Evils came from

societywhy not banish it? In his home Diard found peace and respect; he reigned there. She felt herself

strong to accept the trying task of making him happy,he, a man dissatisfied with himself. Her energy

increased with the difficulties of life; she had all the secret heroism necessary to her position; religion

inspired her with those desires which support the angel appointed to protect a Christian souloccult poesy,

Diard abandoned his projects, closed his house to the world, and lived in his home. But here he found another

reef. The poor soldier had one of those eccentric souls which need perpetual motion. Diard was one of the

men who are instinctively compelled to start again the moment they arrive, and whose vital object seems to

be to come and go incessantly, like the wheels mentioned in Holy Writ. Perhaps he felt the need of flying

from himself. Without wearying of Juana, without blaming Juana, his passion for her, rendered tranquil by

time, allowed his natural character to assert itself. Henceforth his days of gloom were more frequent, and he

often gave way to southern excitement. The more virtuous a woman is and the more irreproachable, the more

a man likes to find fault with her, if only to assert by that act his legal superiority. But if by chance she seems

really imposing to him, he feels the need of foisting faults upon her. After that, between man and wife, trifles

But Juana, patient and without pride, gentle and without that bitterness which women know so well how to

cast into their submission, left Diard no chance for planned illhumor. Besides, she was one of those noble

creatures to whom it is impossible to speak disrespectfully; her glance, in which her life, saintly and pure,

shone out, had the weight of a fascination. Diard, embarrassed at first, then annoyed, ended by feeling that

such high virtue was a yoke upon him. The goodness of his wife gave him no violent emotions, and violent

emotions were what he wanted. What myriads of scenes are played in the depths of his souls, beneath the

cold exterior of lives that are, apparently, commonplace! Among these dramas, lasting each but a short time,

though they influence life so powerfully and are frequently the forerunners of the great misfortune doomed to

fall on so many marriages, it is difficult to choose an example. There was a scene, however, which

particularly marked the moment when in the life of this husband and wife estrangement began. Perhaps it

Juana had two children, happily for her, two sons. The first was born seven months after her marriage. He

was called Juan, and he strongly resembled his mother. The second was born about two years after her arrival

in Paris. The latter resembled both Diard and Juana, but more particularly Diard. His name was Francisque.

For the last five years Francisque had been the object of Juana's most tender and watchful care. The mother

was constantly occupied with that child; to him her prettiest caresses; to him the toys, but to him, especially,

the penetrating motherlooks. Juana had watched him from his cradle; she had studied his cries, his motions;

she endeavored to discern his nature that she might educate him wisely. It seemed at times as if she had but

that one child. Diard, seeing that the eldest, Juan, was in a way neglected, took him under his own protection;

and without inquiring even of himself whether the boy was the fruit of that ephemeral love to which he owed

Of all the sentiments transmitted to her through the blood of her grandmothers which consumed her, Madame

Diard accepted one alone, maternal love. But she loved her children doubly: first with the noble violence

of which her mother the Marana had given her the example; secondly, with grace and purity, in the spirit of

those social virtues the practice of which was the glory of her life and her inward recompense. The secret

thought, the conscience of her motherhood, which gave to the Marana's life its stamp of untaught poesy, was

to Juana an acknowledged life, an open consolation at all hours. Her mother had been virtuous as other

women are criminal,in secret; she had stolen a fancied happiness, she had never really tasted it. But Juana,

unhappy in her virtue as her mother was unhappy in her vice, could enjoy at all moments the ineffable

delights which her mother had so craved and could not have. To her, as to her mother, maternity comprised

all earthly sentiments. Each, from differing causes, had no other comfort in their misery. Juana's maternal

love may have been the strongest because, deprived of all other affections, she put the joys she lacked into the

one joy of her children; and there are noble passions that resemble vice; the more they are satisfied the more

When Juana saw the generous pardon laid silently on the head of Juan by Diard's fatherly affection, she was

much moved, and from the day when the husband and wife changed parts she felt for him the true and deep

interest she had hitherto shown to him as a matter of duty only. If that man had been more consistent in his

life; if he had not destroyed by fitful inconstancy and restlessness the forces of a true though excitable

sensibility, Juana would doubtless have loved him in the end. Unfortunately, he was a type of those southern

natures which are keen in perceptions they cannot follow out; capable of great things overnight, and

incapable the next morning; often the victim of their own virtues, and often lucky through their worst

passions; admirable men in some respects, when their good qualities are kept to a steady energy by some

outward bond. For two years after his retreat from active life Diard was held captive in his home by the

softest chains. He lived, almost in spite of himself, under the influence of his wife, who made herself gay and

amusing to cheer him, who used the resources of feminine genius to attract and seduce him to a love of

At this time all Paris was talking of the affair of a captain in the army who in a paroxysm of libertine jealousy

had killed a woman. Diard, on coming home to dinner, told his wife that the officer was dead. He had killed

himself to avoid the dishonor of a trial and the shame of death upon the scaffold. Juana did not see at first the

logic of such conduct, and her husband was obliged to explain to her the fine jurisprudence of French law,

"But, papa, didn't you tell us the other day that the king could pardon?" asked Francisque.

Diard and Juana, the spectators of this little scene, were differently affected by it. The glance, moist with joy,

which his wife cast upon her eldest child was a fatal revelation to the husband of the secrets of a heart

hitherto impenetrable. That eldest child was all Juana; Juana comprehended him; she was sure of his heart,

his future; she adored him, but her ardent love was a secret between herself, her child, and God. Juan

instinctively enjoyed the seeming indifference of his mother in presence of his father and brother, for she

pressed him to her heart when alone. Francisque was Diard, and Juana's incessant care and watchfulness

betrayed her desire to correct in the son the vices of the father and to encourage his better qualities. Juana,

unaware that her glance had said too much and that her husband had rightly interpreted it, took Francisque in

her lap and gave him, in a gentle voice still trembling with the pleasure that Juan's answer had brought her, a

Madame Diard, struck by the tone in which the words were uttered, looked at her husband.

Then he sat down gloomily, and reflected. Presently, as his wife continued silent, he added:

"But neither of them have ever given me a moment's uneasiness," she answered quickly.

"How false you women are!" cried Diard. "Will you dare to say that Juan is not the child of your heart?"

"You have never loved me. If you had chosen, I would have conquered worlds for your sake. You know all

that I have struggled to do in life, supported by the hope of pleasing you. Ah! if you had only loved me!"

"A woman who loves," said Juana, "likes to live in solitude, far from the world, and that is what we are

The words were said bitterly, and cast, for the rest of their lives together, a coldness between them.

On the morrow of that fatal day Diard went back to his old companions and found distractions for his mind in

play. Unfortunately, he won much money, and continued playing. Little by little, he returned to the dissipated

Some months went by in the enjoyment of this new independence; he was determined to preserve it, and in

order to do so he separated himself from his wife, giving her the large apartments and lodging himself in the

entresol. By the end of the year Diard and Juana only saw each other in the morning at breakfast.

Like all gamblers, he had his alternations of loss and gain. Not wishing to cut into the capital of his fortune,

he felt the necessity of withdrawing from his wife the management of their income; and the day came when

he took from her all she had hitherto freely disposed of for the household benefit, giving her instead a

monthly stipend. The conversation they had on this subject was the last of their married intercourse. The

silence that fell between them was a true divorce; Juana comprehended that from henceforth she was only a

mother, and she was glad, not seeking for the causes of this evil. For such an event is a great evil. Children

are conjointly one with husband and wife in the home, and the life of her husband could not be a source of

As for Diard, now emancipated, he speedily grew accustomed to win and lose enormous sums. A fine player

and a heavy player, he soon became celebrated for his style of playing. The social consideration he had been

unable to win under the Empire, he acquired under the Restoration by the rolling of his gold on the green

cloth and by his talent for all games that were in vogue. Ambassadors, bankers, persons with newlyacquired

large fortunes, and all those men who, having sucked life to the dregs, turn to gambling for its feverish joys,

admired Diard at their clubs,seldom in their own houses,and they all gambled with him. He became the

fashion. Two or three times during the winter he gave a fete as a matter of social pride in return for the

civilities he received. At such times Juana once more caught a glimpse of the world of balls, festivities,

luxury, and lights; but for her it was a sort of tax imposed upon the comfort of her solitude. She, the queen of

these solemnities, appeared like a being fallen from some other planet. Her simplicity, which nothing had

corrupted, her beautiful virginity of soul, which her peaceful life restored to her, her beauty and her true

modesty, won her sincere homage. But observing how few women ever entered her salons, she came to

understand that though her husband was following, without communicating its nature to her, a new line of

Diard was not always lucky; far from it. In three years he had dissipated three fourths of his fortune, but his

passion for play gave him the energy to continue it. He was intimate with a number of men, more particularly

with the roues of the Bourse, men who, since the revolution, have set up the principle that robbery done on a

large scale is only a SMIRCH to the reputation,transferring thus to financial matters the loose principles of

love in the eighteenth century. Diard now became a sort of business man, and concerned himself in several of

those affairs which are called SHADY in the slang of the lawcourts. He practised the decent thievery by

which so many men, cleverly masked, or hidden in the recesses of the political world, make their

fortunes,thievery which, if done in the streets by the light of an oil lamp, would see a poor devil to the

galleys, but, under gilded ceilings and by the light of candelabra, is sanctioned. Diard brought up,

monopolized, and sold sugars; he sold offices; he had the glory of inventing the "man of straw" for lucrative

posts which it was necessary to keep in his own hands for a short time; he bought votes, receiving, on one

occasion, so much per cent on the purchase of fifteen parliamentary votes which all passed on one division

from the benches of the Left to the benches of the Right. Such actions are no longer crimes or thefts,they

are called governing, developing industry, becoming a financial power. Diard was placed by public opinion

on the bench of infamy where many an able man was already seated. On that bench is the aristocracy of evil.

It is the upper Chamber of scoundrels of high life. Diard was, therefore, not a mere commonplace gambler

who is seen to be a blackguard, and ends by begging. That style of gambler is no longer seen in society of a

certain topographical height. In these days bold scoundrels die brilliantly in the chariot of vice with the

trappings of luxury. Diard, at least, did not buy his remorse at a low price; he made himself one of these

privileged men. Having studied the machinery of government and learned all the secrets and the passions of

the men in power, he was able to maintain himself in the fiery furnace into which he had sprung.

Madame Diard knew nothing of her husband's infernal life. Glad of his abandonment, she felt no curiosity

about him, and all her hours were occupied. She devoted what money she had to the education of her

children, wishing to make men of them, and giving them straight forward reasons, without, however, taking

the bloom from their young imaginations. Through them alone came her interests and her emotions;

consequently, she suffered no longer from her blemished life. Her children were to her what they are to many

mothers for a long period of time,a sort of renewal of their own existence. Diard was now an accidental

circumstance, not a participator in her life, and since he had ceased to be the father and the head of the

family, Juana felt bound to him by no tie other than that imposed by conventional laws. Nevertheless, she

brought up her children to the highest respect for paternal authority, however imaginary it was for them. In

this she was greatly seconded by her husband's continual absence. If he had been much in the home Diard

would have neutralized his wife's efforts. The boys had too much intelligence and shrewdness not to have

In the long run, however, Juana's indifference to her husband wore itself away; it even changed to a species

of fear. She understood at last how the conduct of a father might long weigh on the future of her children, and

her motherly solicitude brought her many, though incomplete, revelations of the truth. From day to day the

dread of some unknown but inevitable evil in the shadow of which she lived became more and more keen and

terrible. Therefore, during the rare moments when Diard and Juana met she would cast upon his hollow face,

wan from nights of gambling and furrowed by emotions, a piercing look, the penetration of which made

Diard shudder. At such times the assumed gaiety of her husband alarmed Juana more than his gloomiest

expressions of anxiety when, by chance, he forgot that assumption of joy. Diard feared his wife as a criminal

fears the executioner. In him, Juana saw her children's shame; and in her Diard dreaded a calm vengeance,

After fifteen years of marriage Diard found himself without resources. He owed three hundred thousand

francs and he could scarcely muster one hundred thousand. The house, his only visible possession, was

mortgaged to its fullest selling value. A few days more, and the sort of prestige with which opulence had

invested him would vanish. Not a hand would be offered, not a purse would be open to him. Unless some

favorable event occurred he would fall into a slough of contempt, deeper perhaps than he deserved, precisely

because he had mounted to a height he could not maintain. At this juncture he happened to hear that a number

of strangers of distinction, diplomats and others, were assembled at the wateringplaces in the Pyrenees,

where they gambled for enormous sums, and were doubtless well supplied with money.

He determined to go at once to the Pyrenees; but he would not leave his wife in Paris, lest some importunate

creditor might reveal to her the secret of his horrible position. He therefore took her and the two children with

him, refusing to allow her to take the tutor and scarcely permitting her to take a maid. His tone was curt and

imperious; he seemed to have recovered some energy. This sudden journey, the cause of which escaped her

penetration, alarmed Juana secretly. Her husband made it gaily. Obliged to occupy the same carriage, he

showed himself day by day more attentive to the children and more amiable to their mother. Nevertheless,

each day brought Juana dark presentiments, the presentiments of mothers who tremble without apparent

reason, but who are seldom mistaken when they tremble thus. For them the veil of the future seems thinner

At Bordeaux, Diard hired in a quiet street a quiet little house, neatly furnished, and in it he established his

wife. The house was at the corner of two streets, and had a garden. Joined to the neighboring house on one

side only, it was open to view and accessible on the other three sides. Diard paid the rent in advance, and left

Juana barely enough money for the necessary expenses of three months, a sum not exceeding a thousand

francs. Madame Diard made no observation on this unusual meanness. When her husband told her that he

was going to the wateringplaces and that she would stay at Bordeaux, Juana offered no difficulty, and at

once formed a plan to teach the children Spanish and Italian, and to make them read the two masterpieces of

the two languages. She was glad to lead a retired life, simply and naturally economical. To spare herself the

troubles of material life, she arranged with a "traiteur" the day after Diard's departure to send in their meals.

Her maid then sufficed for the service of the house, and she thus found herself without money, but her wants

all provided for until her husband's return. Her pleasures consisted in taking walks with the children. She was

then thirtythree years old. Her beauty, greatly developed, was in all its lustre. Therefore as soon as she

appeared, much talk was made in Bordeaux about the beautiful Spanish stranger. At the first advances made

to her Juana ceased to walk abroad, and confined herself wholly to her own large garden.

Diard at first made a fortune at the baths. In two months he won three hundred thousand dollars, but it never

occurred to him to send any money to his wife; he kept it all, expecting to make some great stroke of fortune

on a vast stake. Towards the end of the second month the Marquis de Montefiore appeared at the same baths.

The marquis was at this time celebrated for his wealth, his handsome face, his fortunate marriage with an

Englishwoman, and more especially for his love of play. Diard, his former companion, encountered him, and

desired to add his spoils to those of others. A gambler with four hundred thousand francs in hand is always in

a position to do as he pleases. Diard, confident in his luck, renewed acquaintance with Montefiore. The latter

received him very coldly, but nevertheless they played together, and Diard lost every penny that he

"My dear Montefiore," said the exquartermaster, after making a tour of the salon, "I owe you a hundred

Diard had the money in bankbills in his pocket; but with the self possession and rapid bird'seye view of a

man accustomed to catch at all resources, he still hoped to recover himself by some one of the endless

caprices of play. Montefiore had already mentioned his intention of visiting Bordeaux. Had he paid his debt

on the spot, Diard would have been left without the power to take his revenge; a revenge at cards often

exceeds the amount of all preceding losses. But these burning expectations depended on the marquis's reply.

"Wait, my dear fellow," said Montefiore, "and we will go together to Bordeaux. In all conscience, I am rich

Three days later Diard and Montefiore were in Bordeaux at a gambling table. Diard, having won enough to

pay his hundred thousand francs, went on until he had lost two hundred thousand more on his word. He was

gay as a man who swam in gold. Eleven o'clock sounded; the night was superb. Montefiore may have felt,

like Diard, a desire to breathe the open air and recover from such emotions in a walk. The latter proposed to

They went downstairs; but before taking his hat Diard entered the diningroom of the establishment and

asked for a glass of water. While it was being brought, he walked up and down the room, and was able,

without being noticed, to pick up one of those small sharppointed steel knives with pearl handles which are

"Where do you live?" said Montefiore, in the courtyard, "for I want to send a carriage there to fetch me."

"You see," said Montefiore, in a low voice, taking Diard's arm, "that as long as I am with you I have nothing

to fear; but if I came home alone and a scoundrel were to follow me, I should be profitable to kill."

"No, not much," said the wary Italian, "only my winnings. But they would make a pretty fortune for a beggar

Diard led the marquis along a lonely street where he remembered to have seen a house, the door of which was

at the end of an avenue of trees with high and gloomy walls on either side of it. When they reached this spot

he coolly invited the marquis to precede him; but as if the latter understood him he preferred to keep at his

side. Then, no sooner were they fairly in the avenue, then Diard, with the agility of a tiger, tripped up the

marquis with a kick behind the knees, and putting a foot on his neck stabbed him again and again to the heart

till the blade of the knife broke in it. Then he searched Montefiore's pockets, took his wallet, money,

everything. But though he had taken the Italian unawares, and had done the deed with lucid mind and the

quickness of a pickpocket, Montefiore had time to cry "Murder! Help!" in a shrill and piercing voice which

was fit to rouse every sleeper in the neighborhood. His last sighs were given in those horrible shrieks.

Diard was not aware that at the moment when they entered the avenue a crowd just issuing from a theatre was

passing at the upper end of the street. The cries of the dying man reached them, though Diard did his best to

stifle the noise by setting his foot firmly on Montefiore's neck. The crowd began to run towards the avenue,

the high walls of which appeared to echo back the cries, directing them to the very spot where the crime was

committed. The sound of their coming steps seemed to beat on Diard's brain. But not losing his head as yet,

the murderer left the avenue and came boldly into the street, walking very gently, like a spectator who sees

the inutility of trying to give help. He even turned round once or twice to judge of the distance between

himself and the crowd, and he saw them rushing up the avenue, with the exception of one man, who, with a

"There he is! there he is!" cried the people, who had entered the avenue as soon as they saw Montefiore

As soon as that clamor rose, Diard, feeling himself well in the advance, began to run or rather to fly, with the

vigor of a lion and the bounds of a deer. At the other end of the street he saw, or fancied he saw, a mass of

persons, and he dashed down a cross street to avoid them. But already every window was open, and heads

were thrust forth right and left, while from every door came shouts and gleams of light. Diard kept on, going

straight before him, through the lights and the noise; and his legs were so actively agile that he soon left the

tumult behind him, though without being able to escape some eyes which took in the extent of his course

more rapidly than he could cover it. Inhabitants, soldiers, gendarmes, every one, seemed afoot in the

twinkling of an eye. Some men awoke the commissaries of police, others stayed by the body to guard it. The

pursuit kept on in the direction of the fugitive, who dragged it after him like the flame of a conflagration.

Diard, as he ran, had all the sensations of a dream when he heard a whole city howling, running, panting after

him. Nevertheless, he kept his ideas and his presence of mind. Presently he reached the wall of the garden of

his house. The place was perfectly silent, and he thought he had foiled his pursuers, though a distant murmur

of the tumult came to his ears like the roaring of the sea. He dipped some water from a brook and drank it.

Then, observing a pile of stones on the road, he hid his treasure in it; obeying one of those vague thoughts

which come to criminals at a moment when the faculty to judge their actions under all bearings deserts them,

That done, he endeavored to assume a placid countenance; he even tried to smile as he rapped softly on the

door of his house, hoping that no one saw him. He raised his eyes, and through the outer blinds of one

window came a gleam of light from his wife's room. Then, in the midst of his trouble, visions of her gentle

life, spent with her children, beat upon his brain with the force of a hammer. The maid opened the door,

which Diard hastily closed behind him with a kick. For a moment he breathed freely; then, noticing that he

was bathed in perspiration, he sent the servant back to Juana and stayed in the darkness of the passage, where

he wiped his face with his handkerchief and put his clothes in order, like a dandy about to pay a visit to a

pretty woman. After that he walked into a track of the moonlight to examine his hands. A quiver of joy

passed over him as he saw that no blood stains were on them; the hemorrhage from his victim's body was no

But all this took time. When at last he mounted the stairs to Juana's room he was calm and collected, and able

to reflect on his position, which resolved itself into two ideas: to leave the house, and get to the wharves. He

did not THINK these ideas, he SAW them written in fiery letters on the darkness. Once at the wharves he

could hide all day, return at night for his treasure, then conceal himself, like a rat, in the hold of some vessel

and escape without any one suspecting his whereabouts. But to do all this, money, gold, was his first

"Felicie," he said, "don't you hear a noise in the street, shouts, cries? Go and see what it means, and come and

His wife, in her white dressinggown, was sitting at a table, reading aloud to Francisque and Juan from a

Spanish Cervantes, while the boys followed her pronunciation of the words from the text. They all three

stopped and looked at Diard, who stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets; overcome, perhaps, by

finding himself in this calm scene, so softly lighted, so beautiful with the faces of his wife and children. It

"What has happened?" she asked, instantly perceiving from the livid paleness of her husband that the

"My dears, go to your room, and go to bed," said Juana; "say your prayers without me."

The boys left the room in silence, with the incurious obedience of welltrained children.

"My dear Juana," said Diard, in a coaxing voice, "I left you with very little money, and I regret it now. Listen

to me; since I relieved you of the care of our income by giving you an allowance, have you not, like other

"No," replied Juana, "I have nothing. In making that allowance you did not reckon the costs of the children's

education. I don't say that to reproach you, my friend, only to explain my want of money. All that you gave

"Enough!" cried Diard, violently. "Thunder of heaven! every instant is precious! Where are your jewels?"

Juana sprang to the door of her children's room and closed it; then she returned.

"There were many reasons why he should die by my hand. But I can't lose timeMoney, money! for God's

"Why, as one kills anything. He stole my whole fortune and I took it back, that's all. Juana, now that

everything is quiet you must go down to that heap of stonesyou know the heap by the garden walland

"What does that matter to you? Have you any money to give me? I tell you I must get away. They are on my

"Here," she said, holding out to him at arm's length a jewel, "that is Dona Lagounia's cross. There are four

"Felicie hasn't come back," he cried, with a sudden thought. "Can she have been arrested?"

Juana laid the cross on the table, and sprang to the windows that looked on the street. There she saw, in the

moonlight, a file of soldiers posting themselves in deepest silence along the wall of the house. She turned,

"You have not a minute to lose; you must escape through the garden. Here is the key of the little gate."

As a precaution she turned to the other windows, looking on the garden. In the shadow of the trees she saw

the gleam of the silver lace on the hats of a body of gendarmes; and she heard the distant mutterings of a

crowd of persons whom sentinels were holding back at the end of the streets up which curiosity had drawn

them. Diard had, in truth, been seen to enter his house by persons at their windows, and on their information

and that of the frightened maidservant, who was arrested, the troops and the people had blocked the two

streets which led to the house. A dozen gendarmes, returning from the theatre, had climbed the walls of the

Diard ran from window to window with the useless activity of a captive bird striking against the panes to

Juana left the room and returned immediately, holding out to Diard, with averted head, one of his own pistols.

Diard did not take it. Juana heard the entrance of the soldiers into the courtyard, where they laid down the

body of the murdered man to confront the assassin with the sight of it. She turned round and saw Diard white

"Butmy good Juana, my little Juana, do you thinkJuana! is it so pressing?I want to kiss you."

The gendarmes were mounting the staircase. Juana grasped the pistol, aimed it at Diard, holding him, in spite

of his cries, by the throat; then she blew his brains out and flung the weapon on the ground.

At that instant the door was opened violently. The public prosecutor, followed by an examining judge, a

doctor, a sheriff, and a posse of gendarmes, all the representatives, in short, of human justice, entered the

"Is that Monsieur Diard?" said the prosecutor, pointing to the dead body bent double on the floor.

She went to the little table and sat down, taking up the volume of Cervantes; she was pale, with a nervous

"Madame, under the circumstances, we can only congratulate you on the death of your husband," he said. "At

least he has died as a soldier should, whatever crime his passions may have led him to commit. His act

renders negatory that of justice. But however we may desire to spare you at such a moment, the law requires

that we should make an exact report of all violent deaths. You will permit us to do our duty?"

"It would be too painful for madame to see me operate," said the doctor, understanding the suspicions of the

prosecutor. "Messieurs," he added, "I hope you will allow her to remain in the next room."

The magistrates approved the request of the merciful physician, and Felicie was permitted to attend her

mistress. The judge and the prosecutor talked together in a low voice. Officers of the law are very unfortunate

in being forced to suspect all, and to imagine evil everywhere. By dint of supposing wicked intentions, and of

comprehending them, in order to reach the truth hidden under so many contradictory actions, it is impossible

that the exercise of their dreadful functions should not, in the long run, dry up at their source the generous

emotions they are constrained to repress. If the sensibilities of the surgeon who probes into the mysteries of

the human body end by growing callous, what becomes of those of the judge who is incessantly compelled to

search the inner folds of the soul? Martyrs to their mission, magistrates are all their lives in mourning for

their lost illusions; crime weighs no less heavily on them than on the criminal. An old man seated on the

bench is venerable, but a young judge makes a thoughtful person shudder. The examining judge in this case

"Do you think that woman was her husband's accomplice? Ought we to take her into custody? Is it best to

"Montefiore and Diard were two wellknown scoundrels. The maid evidently knew nothing of the crime.

The doctor performed the autopsy, and dictated his report to the sheriff. Suddenly he stopped, and hastily

"And, from the above assemblage of facts, it appears evident that the said Diard killed himself voluntarily

The doctor signed the report. Juana, who had followed him into the room, gave him one glance, repressing

with difficulty the tears which for an instant rose into her eyes and moistened them.

"Messieurs," she said to the public prosecutor and the judge, "I am a stranger here, and a Spaniard. I am

ignorant of the laws, and I know no one in Bordeaux. I ask of you one kindness: enable me to obtain a

"One moment!" cried the examining judge. "Madame, what has become of the money stolen from the

"Monsieur Diard," she replied, "said something to me vaguely about a heap of stones, under which he must

The two magistrates looked at each other. Juana made a noble gesture and motioned to the doctor.

"Monsieur," she said in his ear, "can I be suspected of some infamous action? I! The pile of stones must be

close to the wall of my garden. Go yourself, I implore you. Look, search, find that money."

The doctor went out, taking with him the examining judge, and together they found Montefiore's treasure.

Within two days Juana had sold her cross to pay the costs of a journey. On her way with her two children to

take the diligence which would carry her to the frontiers of Spain, she heard herself being called in the street.

Her dying mother was being carried to a hospital, and through the curtains of her litter she had seen her

daughter. Juana made the bearers enter a portecochere that was near them, and there the last interview

between the mother and the daughter took place. Though the two spoke to each other in a low voice, Juan