Another Study of Woman..................................................................................................................................1

At Paris there are almost always two separate parties going on at every ball and rout. First, an official party,

composed of the persons invited, a fashionable and muchbored circle. Each one grimaces for his neighbor's

eye; most of the younger women are there for one person only; when each woman has assured herself that for

that one she is the handsomest woman in the room, and that the opinion is perhaps shared by a few others, a

few insignificant phrases are exchanged, as: "Do you think of going away soon to La Crampade?" "How well

Madame de Portenduere sang!" "Who is that little woman with such a load of diamonds?" Or, after firing off

some smart epigrams, which give transient pleasure, and leave wounds that rankle long, the groups thin out,

The mistress of the house then waylays a few artists, amusing people or intimate friends, saying, "Do not go

yet; we will have a snug little supper." These collect in some small room. The second, the real party, now

begins; a party where, as of old, every one can hear what is said, conversation is general, each one is bound to

be witty and to contribute to the amusement of all. Everything is made to tell, honest laughter takes the place

of the gloom which in company saddens the prettiest faces. In short, where the rout ends pleasure begins.

The Rout, a cold display of luxury, a review of selfconceits in full dress, is one of those English inventions

which tend to mechanize other nations. England seems bent on seeing the whole world as dull as itself, and

dull in the same way. So this second party is, in some French houses, a happy protest on the part of the old

spirit of our lighthearted people. Only, unfortunately, so few houses protest; and the reason is a simple one.

If we no longer have many suppers nowadays, it is because never, under any rule, have there been fewer men

placed, established, and successful than under the reign of Louis Philippe, when the Revolution began again,

lawfully. Everybody is on the march some whither, or trotting at the heels of Fortune. Time has become the

costliest commodity, so no one can afford the lavish extravagance of going home tomorrow morning and

getting up late. Hence, there is no second soiree now but at the houses of women rich enough to entertain, and

In spite of the covert opposition of the Faubourg SaintGermain, two or three women, among them Madame

d'Espard and Mademoiselle des Touches, have not chosen to give up the share of influence they exercised in

The salon of Mademoiselle des Touches is noted in Paris as being the last refuge where the old French wit

has found a home, with its reserved depths, its myriad subtle byways, and its exquisite politeness. You will

there still find grace of manner notwithstanding the conventionalities of courtesy, perfect freedom of talk

notwithstanding the reserve which is natural to persons of breeding, and, above all, a liberal flow of ideas. No

one there thinks of keeping his thought for a play; and no one regards a story as material for a book. In short,

the hideous skeleton of literature at bay never stalks there, on the prowl for a clever sally or an interesting

The memory of one of these evenings especially dwells with me, less by reason of a confidence in which the

illustrious de Marsay opened up one of the deepest recesses of woman's heart, than on account of the

reflections to which his narrative gave rise, as to the changes that have taken place in the French woman since

On that evening chance had brought together several persons, whose indisputable merits have won them

European reputations. This is not a piece of flattery addressed to France, for there were a good many

foreigners present. And, indeed, the men who most shone were not the most famous. Ingenious repartee,

acute remarks, admirable banter, pictures sketched with brilliant precision, all sparkled and flowed without

elaboration, were poured out without disdain, but without effort, and were exquisitely expressed and

delicately appreciated. The men of the world especially were conspicuous for their really artistic grace and

Elsewhere in Europe you will find elegant manners, cordiality, genial fellowship, and knowledge; but only in

Paris, in this drawingroom, and those to which I have alluded, does the particular wit abound which gives an

agreeable and changeful unity to all these social qualities, an indescribable riverlike flow which makes this

profusion of ideas, of definitions, of anecdotes, of historical incidents, meander with ease. Paris, the capital of

taste, alone possesses the science which makes conversation a tourney in which each type of wit is condensed

into a shaft, each speaker utters his phrase and casts his experience in a word, in which every one finds

amusement, relaxation, and exercise. Here, then, alone, will you exchange ideas; here you need not, like the

dolphin in the fable, carry a monkey on your shoulders; here you will be understood, and will not risk staking

Here, again, secrets neatly betrayed, and talk, light or deep, play and eddy, changing their aspect and hue at

every phrase. Eager criticism and crisp anecdotes lead on from one to the next. All eyes are listening, a

gesture asks a question, and an expressive look gives the answer. In short, and in a word, everything is wit

The phenomenon of speech, which, when duly studied and well handled, is the power of the actor and the

storyteller, had never so completely bewitched me. Nor was I alone under the influence of its spell; we all

spent a delightful evening. The conversation had drifted into anecdote, and brought out in its rushing course

some curious confessions, several portraits, and a thousand follies, which make this enchanting improvisation

impossible to record; still, by setting these things down in all their natural freshness and abruptness, their

elusive divarications, you may perhaps feel the charm of a real French evening, taken at the moment when

the most engaging familiarity makes each one forget his own interests, his personal conceit, or, if you like,

At about two in the morning, as supper ended, no one was left sitting round the table but intimate friends,

proved by intercourse of fifteen years, and some persons of great taste and good breeding, who knew the

world. By tacit agreement, perfectly carried out, at supper every one renounced his pretensions to importance.

Perfect equality set the tone. But indeed there was no one present who was not very proud of being himself.

Mademoiselle des Touches always insists on her guests remaining at table till they leave, having frequently

remarked the change which a move produces in the spirit of a party. Between the diningroom and the

drawingroom the charm is destroyed. According to Sterne, the ideas of an author after shaving are different

from those he had before. If Sterne is right, may it not be boldly asserted that the frame of mind of a party at

table is not the same as that of the same persons returned to the drawingroom? The atmosphere is not heady,

the eye no longer contemplates the brilliant disorder of the dessert, lost are the happy effects of that laxness

of mood, that benevolence which comes over us while we remain in the humor peculiar to the wellfilled

man, settled comfortably on one of the springy chairs which are made in these days. Perhaps we are not more

ready to talk face to face with the dessert and in the society of good wine, during the delightful interval when

every one may sit with an elbow on the table and his head resting on his hand. Not only does every one like

to talk then, but also to listen. Digestion, which is almost always attent, is loquacious or silent, as characters

Was not this preamble necessary to make you know the charm of the narrative, by which a celebrated man,

now dead, depicted the innocent jesuistry of women, painting it with the subtlety peculiar to persons who

have seen much of the world, and which makes statesmen such delightful storytellers when, like Prince

De Marsay, prime minister for some six months, had already given proofs of superior capabilities. Those who

had known him long were not indeed surprised to see him display all the talents and various aptitudes of a

statesman; still it might yet be a question whether he would prove to be a solid politician, or had merely been

moulded in the fire of circumstance. This question had just been asked by a man whom he had made a prefet,

a man of wit and observation, who had for a long time been a journalist, and who admired de Marsay without

infusing into his admiration that dash of acrid criticism by which, in Paris, one superior man excuses himself

"Was there ever," said he, "in your former life, any event, any thought or wish which told you what your

vocation was?" asked Emile Blondet; "for we all, like Newton, have our apple, which falls and leads us to the

Pretty women, political dandies, artists, old men, de Marsay's intimate friends,all settled themselves

comfortably, each in his favorite attitude, to look at the Minister. Need it be said that the servants had left,

that the doors were shut, and the curtains drawn over them? The silence was so complete that the murmurs of

the coachmen's voices could be heard from the courtyard, and the pawing and champing made by horses

"The statesman, my friends, exists by one single quality," said the Minister, playing with his gold and

motherofpearl dessert knife. "To wit: the power of always being master of himself; of profiting more or

less, under all circumstances, by every event, however fortuitous; in short, of having within himself a cold

and disinterested other self, who looks on as a spectator at all the changes of life, noting our passions and our

sentiments, and whispering to us in every case the judgment of a sort of moral readyreckoner."

"That explains why a statesman is so rare a thing in France," said old Lord Dudley.

"From a sentimental point of view, this is horrible," the Minister went on. "Hence, when such a phenomenon

is seen in a young man Richelieu, who, when warned overnight by a letter of Concini's peril, slept till

midday, when his benefactor was killed at ten o'clockor say Pitt, or Napoleon, he was a monster. I became

"I fancied," said Madame de Montcornet with a smile, "that more politicians were undone by us than we

"The monster of which I speak is a monster just because he withstands you," replied de Marsay, with a little

"If this is a lovestory," the Baronne de Nucingen interposed, "I request that it may not be interrupted by any

"I was seventeen," de Marsay went on; "the Restoration was being consolidated; my old friends know how

impetuous and fervid I was then. I was in love for the first time, and I wasI may say so nowone of the

handsomest young fellows in Paris. I had youth and good looks, two advantages due to good fortune, but of

which we are all as proud as of a conquest. I must be silent as to the rest.Like all youths, I was in love with

a woman six years older than myself. No one of you here," said he, looking carefully round the table, "can

suspect her name or recognize her. Ronquerolles alone, at the time, ever guessed my secret. He had kept it

well, but I should have feared his smile. However, he is gone," said the Minister, looking round.

"For six months, possessed by my passion," de Marsay went on, "but incapable of suspecting that it had

overmastered me, I had abandoned myself to that rapturous idolatry which is at once the triumph and the frail

joy of the young. I treasured her old gloves; I drank an infusion of the flowers she had worn; I got out of bed

at night to go and gaze at her window. All my blood rushed to my heart when I inhaled the perfume she used.

"I believe I should have crushed with my scorn the philosopher who first uttered this terrible but profoundly

true thought," said de Marsay. "You are all far too keensighted for me to say any more on that point. These

"A great lady if ever there was one, a widow without childrenoh! all was perfectmy idol would shut

herself up to mark my linen with her hair; in short, she responded to my madness by her own. And how can

"We each devoted all our minds to concealing a love so perfect and so beautiful from the eyes of the world;

and we succeeded. And what charm we found in our escapades! Of her I will say nothing. She was perfection

then, and to this day is considered one of the most beautiful women in Paris; but at that time a man would

have endured death to win one of her glances. She had been left with an amount of fortune sufficient for a

woman who had loved and was adored; but the Restoration, to which she owed renewed lustre, made it seem

inadequate in comparison with her name. In my position I was so fatuous as never to dream of a suspicion.

Though my jealousy would have been of a hundred and twenty Othellopower, that terrible passion

slumbered in me as gold in the nugget. I would have ordered my servant to thrash me if I had been so base as

ever to doubt the purity of that angelso fragile and so strong, so fair, so artless, pure, spotless, and whose

blue eyes allowed my gaze to sound it to the very depths of her heart with adorable submissiveness. Never

was there the slightest hesitancy in her attitude, her look, or word; always white and fresh, and ready for the

Beloved like the Oriental Lily of the 'Song of Songs!' Ah! my friends!" sadly exclaimed the Minister, grown

young again, "a man must hit his head very hard on the marble to dispel that poem!"

This cry of nature, finding an echo in the listeners, spurred the curiosity he had excited in them with so much

"Every morning, riding Sultanthe fine horse you sent me from England," de Marsay went on, addressing

Lord Dudley, "I rode past her open carriage, the horses' pace being intentionally reduced to a walk, and read

the order of the day signaled to me by the flowers of her bouquet in case we were unable to exchange a few

words. Though we saw each other almost every evening in society, and she wrote to me every day, to deceive

the curious and mislead the observant we had adopted a scheme of conduct: never to look at each other; to

avoid meeting; to speak ill of each other. Selfadmiration, swagger, or playing the disdained swain,all

these old manoeuvres are not to compare on either part with a false passion professed for an indifferent

person and an air of indifference towards the true idol. If two lovers will only play that game, the world will

"Her stalkinghorse was a man in high favor, a courtier, cold and sanctimonious, whom she never received at

her own house. This little comedy was performed for the benefit of simpletons and drawingroom circles,

who laughed at it. Marriage was never spoken of between us; six years' difference of age might give her

pause; she knew nothing of my fortune, of which, on principle, I have always kept the secret. I, on my part,

fascinated by her wit and manners, by the extent of her knowledge and her experience of the world, would

have married her without a thought. At the same time, her reserve charmed me. If she had been the first to

speak of marriage in a certain tone, I might perhaps have noted it as vulgar in that accomplished soul.

"Six months, full and perfecta diamond of the purest water! That has been my portion of love in this base

"One morning, attacked by the feverish stiffness which marks the beginning of a cold, I wrote her a line to

put off one of those secret festivals which are buried under the roofs of Paris like pearls in the sea. No sooner

was the letter sent than remorse seized me: she will not believe that I am ill! thought I. She was wont to affect

jealousy and suspiciousness.When jealousy is genuine," said de Marsay, interrupting himself, "it is the

"Unique and true love," said de Marsay, "produces a sort of corporeal apathy attuned to the contemplation

into which one falls. Then the mind complicates everything; it works on itself, pictures its fancies, turns them

into reality and torment; and such jealousy is as delightful as it is distressing."

A foreign minister smiled as, by the light of memory, he felt the truth of this remark.

"Besides," de Marsay went on, "I said to myself, why miss a happy hour? Was it not better to go, even though

feverish? And, then, if she learns that I am ill, I believe her capable of hurrying here and compromising

herself. I made an effort; I wrote a second letter, and carried it myself, for my confidential servant was now

gone. The river lay between us. I had to cross Paris; but at last, within a suitable distance of her house, I

caught sight of a messenger; I charged him to have the note sent up to her at once, and I had the happy idea of

driving past her door in a hackney cab to see whether she might not by chance receive the two letters

together. At the moment when I arrived it was two o'clock; the great gate opened to admit a carriage. Whose?

"It is fifteen years sincewell, even while I tell the tale, I, the exhausted orator, the Minister dried up by the

friction of public business, I still feel a surging in my heart and the hot blood about my diaphragm. At the end

of an hour I passed once more; the carriage was still in the courtyard! My note no doubt was in the porter's

hands. At last, at halfpast three, the carriage drove out. I could observe my rival's expression; he was grave,

"I went to keep my appointment; the queen of my heart met me; I saw her calm, pure, serene. And here I

must confess that I have always thought that Othello was not only stupid, but showed very bad taste. Only a

man who is half a Negro could behave so: indeed Shakespeare felt this when he called his play 'The Moor of

Venice.' The sight of the woman we love is such a balm to the heart that it must dispel anguish, doubt, and

sorrow. All my rage vanished. I could smile again. Hence this cheerfulness, which at my age now would be

the most atrocious dissimulation, was the result of my youth and my love. My jealousy once buried, I had the

power of observation. My ailing condition was evident; the horrible doubts that had fermented in me

increased it. At last I found an opening for putting in these words: 'You have had no one with you this

morning?' making a pretext of the uneasiness I had felt in the fear lest she should have disposed of her time

after receiving my first note.'Ah!' she exclaimed, 'only a man could have such ideas! As if I could think of

anything but your suffering. Till the moment when I received your second note I could think only of how I

could contrive to see you.''And you were alone?''Alone,' said she, looking at me with a face of

innocence so perfect that it must have been his distrust of such a look as that which made the Moor kill

Desdemona. As she lived alone in the house, the word was a fearful lie. One single lie destroys the absolute

"To explain to you what passed in me at that moment it must be assumed that we have an internal self of

which the exterior I is but the husk; that this self, as brilliant as light, is as fragile as a shade well, that

beautiful self was in me thenceforth for ever shrouded in crape. Yes; I felt a cold and fleshless hand cast over

me the winding sheet of experience, dooming me to the eternal mourning into which the first betrayal

plunges the soul. As I cast my eyes down that she might not observe my dizziness, this proud thought

somewhat restored my strength: 'If she is deceiving you, she is unworthy of you!'

"I ascribed my sudden reddening and the tears which started to my eyes to an attack of pain, and the sweet

creature insisted on driving me home with the blinds of the cab drawn. On the way she was full of a

solicitude and tenderness that might have deceived the Moor of Venice whom I have taken as a standard of

comparison. Indeed, if that great child were to hesitate two seconds longer, every intelligent spectator feels

that he would ask Desdemona's forgiveness. Thus, killing the woman is the act of a boy.She wept as we

parted, so much was she distressed at being unable to nurse me herself. She wished she were my valet, in

whose happiness she found a cause of envy, and all this was as elegantly expressed, oh! as Clarissa might

have written in her happiness. There is always a precious ape in the prettiest and most angelic woman!"

At these words all the women looked down, as if hurt by this brutal truth so brutally stated.

"I will say nothing of the night, nor of the week I spent," de Marsay went on. "I discovered that I was a

"As I thought over the really cruel vengeance to be taken on a woman," said de Marsay, continuing his story,

"with infernal ingenuityfor, as we had loved each other, some terrible and irreparable revenges were

possibleI despised myself, I felt how common I was, I insensibly formulated a horrible codethat of

Indulgence. In taking vengeance on a woman, do we not in fact admit that there is but one for us, that we

cannot do without her? And, then, is revenge the way to win her back? If she is not indispensable, if there are

other women in the world, why not grant her the right to change which we assume?

"This, of course, applies only to passion; in any other sense it would be socially wrong. Nothing more clearly

proves the necessity for indissoluble marriage than the instability of passion. The two sexes must be chained

up, like wild beasts as they are, by inevitable law, deaf and mute. Eliminate revenge, and infidelity in love is

nothing. Those who believe that for them there is but one woman in the world must be in favor of vengeance,

The words produced in each of us the imperceptible movement which newspaper writers represent in

"Cured of my cold, and of my pure, absolute, divine love, I flung myself into an adventure, of which the

heroine was charming, and of a style of beauty utterly opposed to that of my deceiving angel. I took care not

to quarrel with this clever woman, who was so good an actress, for I doubt whether true love can give such

gracious delights as those lavished by such a dexterous fraud. Such refined hypocrisy is as good as virtue.I

am not speaking to you Englishwomen, my lady," said the Minister, suavely, addressing Lady Barimore,

"I wished to have some of my hair worked up for my new angel, and I went to a skilled artist who at that time

dwelt in the Rue Boucher. The man had a monopoly of capillary keepsakes, and I mention his address for the

benefit of those who have not much hair; he has plenty of every kind and every color. After I had explained

my order, he showed me his work. I then saw achievements of patience surpassing those which the story

books ascribe to fairies, or which are executed by prisoners. He brought me up to date as to the caprices and

fashions governing the use of hair. 'For the last year,' said he, 'there has been a rage for marking linen with

hair; happily I had a fine collection of hair and skilled needlewomen,'on hearing this a suspicion flashed

upon me; I took out my handkerchief and said, 'So this was done in your shop, with false hair?'He looked

at the handkerchief, and said, 'Ay! that lady was very particular, she insisted on verifying the tint of the hair.

My wife herself marked those handkerchiefs. You have there, sir, one of the finest pieces of work we have

ever executed.' Before this last ray of light I might have believed somethingmight have taken a woman's

word. I left the shop still having faith in pleasure, but where love was concerned I was as atheistical as a

"Two months later I was sitting by the side of the ethereal being in her boudoir, on her sofa; I was holding

one of her handsthey were very beautifuland we scaled the Alps of sentiment, culling their sweetest

flowers, and pulling off the daisypetals; there is always a moment when one pulls daisies to pieces, even if it

is in a drawing room and there are no daisies. At the intensest moment of tenderness, and when we are most

in love, love is so well aware of its own short duration that we are irresistibly urged to ask, 'Do you love me?

Will you love me always?' I seized the elegiac moment, so warm, so flowery, so fullblown, to lead her to

tell her most delightful lies, in the enchanting language of love. Charlotte displayed her choicest allurements:

She could not live without me; I was to her the only man in the world; she feared to weary me, because my

presence bereft her of all her wits; with me, all her faculties were lost in love; she was indeed too tender to

escape alarms; for the last six months she had been seeking some way to bind me to her eternally, and God

The women who heard de Marsay seemed offended by seeing themselves so well acted, for he seconded the

words by airs, and sidelong attitudes, and mincing grimaces which were quite illusory.

"At the very moment when I might have believed these adorable falsehoods, as I still held her right hand in

"The thrust was so direct, my gaze met hers so boldly, and her hand lay so tightly in mine, that her start,

slight as it was, could not be disguised; her eyes fell before mine, and a faint blush colored her cheeks.'The

Duke! What do you mean?' she said, affecting great astonishment.'I know everything,' replied I; 'and in my

opinion, you should delay no longer; he is rich; he is a duke; but he is more than devout, he is religious! I am

sure, therefore, that you have been faithful to me, thanks to his scruples. You cannot imagine how urgently

necessary it is that you should compromise him with himself and with God; short of that you will never bring

him to the point.' 'Is this a dream?' said she, pushing her hair from her forehead, fifteen years before

Malibran, with the gesture which Malibran has made so famous.'Come, do not be childish, my angel,' said

I, trying to take her hands; but she folded them before her with a little prudish and indignant mein.'Marry

him, you have my permission,' said I, replying to this gesture by using the formal vous instead of tu. 'Nay,

better, I beg you to do so.''But,' cried she, falling at my knees, 'there is some horrible mistake; I love no

one in the world but you; you may demand any proofs you please.''Rise, my dear,' said I, 'and do me the

fidelity?''No.''Well, I have committed the greatest crime,' I went on. 'I have doubted your love and your

fidelity. Between two intoxications I looked calmly about me.''Calmly!' sighed she. 'That is enough, Henri;

"She had at once found, you perceive, a loophole for escape. In scenes like these an adverb is dangerous. But,

happily, curiosity made her add: 'And what did you see? Have I ever spoken of the Duke excepting in public?

Have you detected in my eyes?''No,' said I, 'but in his. And you have eight times made me go to

SaintThomas d'Aquin to see you listening to the same mass as he.''Ah!' she exclaimed, 'then I have made

you jealous!'Oh! I only wish I could be!' said I, admiring the pliancy of her quick intelligence, and these

acrobatic feats which can only be successful in the eyes of the blind. 'But by dint of going to church I have

become very incredulous. On the day of my first cold, and your first treachery, when you thought I was in

bed, you received the Duke, and you told me you had seen no one.''Do you know that your conduct is

infamous?''In what respect? I consider your marriage to the Duke an excellent arrangement; he gives you a

great name, the only rank that suits you, a brilliant and distinguished position. You will be one of the queens

of Paris. I should be doing you a wrong if I placed any obstacle in the way of this prospect, this distinguished

life, this splendid alliance. Ah! Charlotte, some day you will do me justice by discovering how unlike my

character is to that of other young men. You would have been compelled to deceive me; yes, you would have

found it very difficult to break with me, for he watches you. It is time that we should part, for the Duke is

rigidly virtuous. You must turn prude; I advise you to do so. The Duke is vain; he will be proud of his

wife.''Oh!' cried she, bursting into tears, 'Henri, if only you had spoken! Yes, if you had chosen'it was I

who was to blame, you understand'we would have gone to live all our days in a corner, married, happy,

and defied the world.''Well, it is too late now,' said I, kissing her hands, and putting on a victimized

air.'Good God! But I can undo it all!' said she.'No, you have gone too far with the Duke. I ought indeed

to go a journey to part us more effectually. We should both have reason to fear our own

affection''Henri, do you think the Duke has any suspicions?' I was still 'Henri,' but the tu was lost for

ever.'I do not think so,' I replied, assuming the manner of a friend; 'but be as devout as possible, reconcile

yourself to God, for the Duke waits for proofs; he hesitates, you must bring him to the point.'

"She rose, and walked twice round the boudoir in real or affected agitation; then she no doubt found an

attitude and a look beseeming the new state of affairs, for she stopped in front of me, held out her hand, and

said in a voice broken by emotion, 'Well, Henri, you are loyal, noble, and a charming man; I shall never

"These were admirable tactics. She was bewitching in this transition of feeling, indispensable to the situation

in which she wished to place herself in regard to me. I fell into the attitude, the manners, and the look of a

man so deeply distressed, that I saw her too newly assumed dignity giving way; she looked at me, took my

hand, drew me along almost, threw me on the sofa, but quite gently, and said after a moment's silence, 'I am

dreadfully unhappy, my dear fellow. Do you love me?''Oh! yes.''Well, then, what will become of you?' "

"Though I can still suffer when I recall her perfidy, I still laugh at her expression of entire conviction and

sweet satisfaction that I must die, or at any rate sink into perpetual melancholy," de Marsay went on. "Oh! do

not laugh yet!" he said to his listeners; "there is better to come. I looked at her very tenderly after a pause, and

said to her, 'Yes, that is what I have been wondering.''Well, what will you do?' 'I asked myself that the

day after my cold.''And?' she asked with eager anxiety.'And I have made advances to the little lady

"Charlotte started up from the sofa like a frightened doe, trembling like a leaf, gave me one of those looks in

which women forgo all their dignity, all their modesty, their refinement, and even their grace, the sparkling

glitter of a hunted viper's eye when driven into a corner, and said, 'And I have loved this man! I have

struggled! I have' On this last thought, which I leave you to guess, she made the most impressive pause

I ever heard.'Good God!' she cried, 'how unhappy are we women! we never can be loved. To you there is

nothing serious in the purest feelings. But never mind; when you cheat us you still are our dupes!''I see that

plainly,' said I, with a stricken air; 'you have far too much wit in your anger for your heart to suffer from

it.'This modest epigram increased her rage; she found some tears of vexation. 'You disgust me with the

world and with life.' she said; 'you snatch away all my illusions; you deprave my heart.'

"She said to me all that I had a right to say to her, and with a simple effrontery, an artless audacity, which

would certainly have nailed any man but me on the spot.'What is to become of us poor women in a state of

society such as Louis XVIII.'s charter made it?' (Imagine how her words had run away with her.)'Yes,

indeed, we are born to suffer. In matters of passion we are always superior to you, and you are beneath all

loyalty. There is no honesty in your hearts. To you love is a game in which you always cheat.''My dear,'

said I, 'to take anything serious in society nowadays would be like making romantic love to an

actress.''What a shameless betrayal! It was deliberately planned!''No, only a rational

issue.''Goodbye, Monsieur de Marsay,' said she; 'you have deceived me horribly.' 'Surely,' I replied,

taking up a submissive attitude, 'Madame la Duchesse will not remember Charlotte's

grievances?''Certainly,' she answered bitterly.'Then, in fact, you hate me?'She bowed, and I said to

"The feeling she had when I parted from her allowed her to believe that she still had something to avenge.

Well, my friends, I have carefully studied the lives of men who have had great success with women, but I do

not believe that the Marechal de Richelieu, or Lauzun, or Louis de Valois ever effected a more judicious

retreat at the first attempt. As to my mind and heart, they were cast in a mould then and there, once for all,

and the power of control I thus acquired over the thoughtless impulses which make us commit so many

A scarcely perceptible smile on de Marsay's pale lips made Delphine de Nucingen color.

The great banker's simplicity was so extremely droll, that his wife, who was de Marsay's "second," could not

"You are all ready to condemn the woman," said Lady Dudley. "Well, I quite understand that she did not

regard her marriage as an act of inconstancy. Men will never distinguish between constancy and fidelity.I

know the woman whose story Monsieur de Marsay has told us, and she is one of the last of your truly great

"Alas! my lady, you are right," replied de Marsay. "For very nearly fifty years we have been looking on at the

progressive ruin of all social distinctions. We ought to have saved our women from this great wreck, but the

Civil Code has swept its leveling influence over their heads. However terrible the words, they must be

spoken: Duchesses are vanishing, and marquises too! As to the baronessesI must apologize to Madame de

Nucingen, who will become a countess when her husband is made a peer of Francebaronesses have never

"Countesses will survive," said de Marsay. "An elegant woman will be more or less of a countessa

countess of the Empire or of yesterday, a countess of the old block, or, as they say in Italy, a countess by

courtesy. But as to the great lady, she died out with the dignified splendor of the last century, with powder,

patches, highheeled slippers, and stiff bodices with a delta stomacher of bows. Duchesses in these days can

pass through a door without any need to widen it for their hoops. The Empire saw the last of gowns with

trains! I am still puzzled to understand how a sovereign who wished to see his drawing room swept by ducal

satin and velvet did not make indestructible laws. Napoleon never guessed the results of the Code he was so

proud of. That man, by creating duchesses, founded the race of our 'ladies' of todaythe indirect offspring

"It was logic, handled as a hammer by boys just out of school and by obscure journalists, which demolished

the splendors of the social state," said the Comte de Vandenesse. "In these days every rogue who can hold his

head straight in his collar, cover his manly bosom with half an ell of satin by way of a cuirass, display a brow

where apocryphal genius gleams under curling locks, and strut in a pair of patentleather pumps graced by

silk socks which cost six francs, screws his eyeglass into one of his eyesockets by puckering up his cheek,

and whether he be an attorney's clerk, a contractor's son, or a banker's bastard, he stares impertinently at the

prettiest duchess, appraises her as she walks downstairs, and says to his frienddressed by Buisson, as we

all are, and mounted in patentleather like any duke himself'There, my boy, that is a perfect lady.' "

"You have not known how to form a party," said Lord Dudley; "it will be a long time yet before you have a

policy. You talk a great deal in France about organizing labor, and you have not yet organized property. So

this is what happens: Any dukeand even in the time of Louis XVIII. and Charles X. there were some left

who had two hundred thousand francs a year, a magnificent residence, and a sumptuous train of

servantswell, such a duke could live like a great lord. The last of these great gentlemen in France was the

Prince de Talleyrand.This duke leaves four children, two of them girls. Granting that he has great luck in

marrying them all well, each of these descendants will have but sixty or eighty thousand francs a year now;

each is the father or mother of children, and consequently obliged to live with the strictest economy in a flat

on the ground floor or first floor of a large house. Who knows if they may not even be hunting a fortune?

Henceforth the eldest son's wife, a duchess in name only, has no carriage, no people, no operabox, no time

to herself. She has not her own rooms in the family mansion, nor her fortune, nor her pretty toys; she is

buried in trade; she buys socks for her dear little children, nurses them herself, and keeps an eye on her girls,

whom she no longer sends to school at a convent. Thus your noblest dames have been turned into worthy

"Alas! it is true," said Joseph Bridau. "In our day we cannot show those beautiful flowers of womanhood

which graced the golden ages of the French Monarchy. The great lady's fan is broken. A woman has nothing

now to blush for; she need not slander or whisper, hide her face or reveal it. A fan is of no use now but for

fanning herself. When once a thing is no more than what it is, it is too useful to be a form of luxury."

"Everything in France has aided and abetted the 'perfect lady,' " said Daniel d'Arthez. "The aristocracy has

acknowledged her by retreating to the recesses of its landed estates, where it has hidden itself to

dieemigrating inland before the march of ideas, as of old to foreign lands before that of the masses. The

women who could have founded European salons, could have guided opinion and turned it inside out like a

glove, could have ruled the world by ruling the men of art or of intellect who ought to have ruled it, have

committed the blunder of abandoning their ground; they were ashamed of having to fight against the citizen

class drunk with power, and rushing out on to the stage of the world, there to be cut to pieces perhaps by the

barbarians who are at its heels. Hence, where the middle class insist on seeing princesses, these are really

only ladylike young women. In these days princes can find no great ladies whom they may compromise; they

cannot even confer honor on a woman taken up at random. The Duc de Bourbon was the last prince to avail

"Nowadays princes have ladylike wives, obliged to share their opera box with other ladies; royal favor

could not raise them higher by a hair's breadth; they glide unremarkable between the waters of the citizen

class and those of the nobilitynot altogether noble nor altogether bourgeoises," said the Marquise de

"The press has fallen heir to the Woman," exclaimed Rastignac. "She no longer has the quality of a spoken

feuilletondelightful calumnies graced by elegant language. We read feuilletons written in a dialect which

changes every three years, society papers about as mirthful as an undertaker's mute, and as light as the lead of

their type. French conversation is carried on from one end of the country to the other in a revolutionary

jargon, through long columns of type printed in old mansions where a press groans in the place where

"The knell of the highest society is tolling," said a Russian Prince. "Do you hear it? And the first stroke is

"You are right, Prince," said de Marsay. "The 'perfect lady,' issuing from the ranks of the nobility, or

sprouting from the citizen class, and the product of every soil, even of the provinces is the expression of these

times, a last remaining embodiment of good taste, grace, wit, and distinction, all combined, but dwarfed. We

shall see no more great ladies in France, but there will be 'ladies' for a long time, elected by public opinion to

form an upper chamber of women, and who will be among the fair sex what a 'gentleman' is in England."

"And that they call progress!" exclaimed Mademoiselle des Touches. "I should like to know where the

"Why, in this," said Madame de Nucingen. "Formerly a woman might have the voice of a fishseller, the

walk of a grenadier, the face of an impudent courtesan, her hair too high on her forehead, a large foot, a thick

handshe was a great lady in spite of it all; but in these days, even if she were a Montmorencyif a

"She is a modern product, a deplorable triumph of the elective system as applied to the fair sex," said the

Minister. "Every revolution has a word of its own which epitomizes and depicts it."

"You are right," said the Russian, who had come to make a literary reputation in Paris. "The explanation of

certain words added from time to time to your beautiful language would make a magnificent history.

Organize, for instance, is the word of the Empire, and sums up Napoleon completely."

"But all that does not explain what is meant by a lady!" the young Pole exclaimed, with some impatience.

"Well, I will tell you," said Emile Blondet to Count Adam. "One fine morning you go for a saunter in Paris. It

is past two, but five has not yet struck. You see a woman coming towards you; your first glance at her is like

the preface to a good book, it leads you to expect a world of elegance and refinement. Like a botanist over

hill and dale in his pursuit of plants, among the vulgarities of Paris life you have at last found a rare flower.

This woman is attended by two very distinguishedlooking men, of whom one, at any rate, wears an order; or

else a servant out of livery follows her at a distance of ten yards. She displays no gaudy colors, no

openworked stockings, no overelaborate waistbuckle, no embroidered frills to her drawers fussing round

her ankles. You will see that she is shod with prunella shoes, with sandals crossed over extremely fine cotton

stockings, or plain gray silk stockings; or perhaps she wears boots of the most exquisite simplicity. You

notice that her gown is made of a neat and inexpensive material, but made in a way that surprises more than

one woman of the middle class; it is almost always a long pelisse, with bows to fasten it, and neatly bound

with fine cord or an imperceptible braid. The Unknown has a way of her own in wrapping herself in her

shawl or mantilla; she knows how to draw it round her from her hips to her neck, outlining a carapace, as it

were, which would make an ordinary woman look like a turtle, but which in her sets off the most beautiful

forms while concealing them. How does she do it? This secret she keeps, though unguarded by any patent.

"As she walks she gives herself a little concentric and harmonious twist, which makes her supple or

dangerous slenderness writhe under the stuff, as a snake does under the green gauze of trembling grass. Is it

to an angel or a devil that she owes the graceful undulation which plays under her long black silk cape, stirs

its lace frill, sheds an airy balm, and what I should like to call the breeze of a Parisienne? You may recognize

over her arms, round her waist, about her throat, a science of drapery recalling the antique Mnemosyne.

"Oh! how thoroughly she understands the cut of her gaitforgive the expression. Study the way she puts her

foot forward moulding her skirt with such a decent preciseness that the passerby is filled with admiration,

mingled with desire, but subdued by deep respect. When an Englishwoman attempts this step, she looks like a

grenadier marching forward to attack a redoubt. The women of Paris have a genius for walking. The

"Our Unknown jostles no one. If she wants to pass, she waits with proud humility till some one makes way.

The distinction peculiar to a wellbred woman betrays itself, especially in the way she holds her shawl or

cloak crossed over her bosom. Even as she walks she has a little air of serene dignity, like Raphael's

Madonnas in their frames. Her aspect, at once quiet and disdainful, makes the most insolent dandy step aside

"Her bonnet, remarkable for its simplicity, is trimmed with crisp ribbons; there may be flowers in it, but the

cleverest of such women wear only bows. Feathers demand a carriage; flowers are too showy. Beneath it you

see the fresh unworn face of a woman who, without conceit, is sure of herself; who looks at nothing, and sees

everything; whose vanity, satiated by being constantly gratified, stamps her face with an indifference which

piques your curiosity. She knows that she is looked at, she knows that everybody, even women, turn round to

see her again. And she threads her way through Paris like a gossamer, spotless and pure.

"This delightful species affects the hottest latitudes, the cleanest longitudes of Paris; you will meet her

between the 10th and 110th Arcade of the Rue de Rivoli; along the line of the Boulevards from the equator of

the Passage des Panoramas, where the products of India flourish, where the warmest creations of industry are

displayed, to the Cape of the Madeleine; in the least muddy districts of the citizen quarters, between No. 30

and No. 130 of the Rue du Faubourg Saint Honore. During the winter, she haunts the terrace of the

Feuillants, but not the asphalt pavement that lies parallel. According to the weather, she may be seen flying in

the Avenue of the ChampsElysees, which is bounded on the east by the Place Louis XV., on the west by the

Avenue de Marigny, to the south by the road, to the north by the gardens of the Faubourg SaintHonore.

Never is this pretty variety of woman to be seen in the hyperborean regions of the Rue SaintDenis, never in

the Kamtschatka of miry, narrow, commercial streets, never anywhere in bad weather. These flowers of Paris,

blooming only in Oriental weather, perfume the highways; and after five o'clock fold up like morningglory

flowers. The women you will see later, looking a little like them, are wouldbe ladies; while the fair

"It is not very easy for a foreigner, my dear Count, to recognize the differences by which the observer

emeritus distinguishes themwomen are such consummate actresses; but they are glaring in the eyes of

Parisians: hooks ill fastened, strings showing loops of rustywhite tape through a gaping slit in the back,

rubbed shoeleather, ironed bonnetstrings, an overfull skirt, an overtight waist. You will see a certain

effort in the intentional droop of the eyelid. There is something conventional in the attitude.

"As to the bourgeoise, the citizen womankind, she cannot possibly be mistaken for the spell cast over you by

the Unknown. She is bustling, and goes out in all weathers, trots about, comes, goes, gazes, does not know

whether she will or will not go into a shop. Where the lady knows just what she wants and what she is doing,

the townswoman is undecided, tucks up her skirts to cross a gutter, dragging a child by the hand, which

compels her to look out for the vehicles; she is a mother in public, and talks to her daughter; she carries

money in her bag, and has openwork stockings on her feet; in winter, she wears a boa over her fur cloak; in

"You will meet the fair Unknown again at the Italiens, at the Opera, at a ball. She will then appear under such

a different aspect that you would think them two beings devoid of any analogy. The woman has emerged

from those mysterious garments like a butterfly from its silky cocoon. She serves up, like some rare dainty, to

your lavished eyes, the forms which her bodice scarcely revealed in the morning. At the theatre she never

mounts higher than the second tier, excepting at the Italiens. You can there watch at your leisure the studied

deliberateness of her movements. The enchanting deceiver plays off all the little political artifices of her sex

so naturally as to exclude all idea of art or premeditation. If she has a royally beautiful hand, the most

perspicacious beholder will believe that it is absolutely necessary that she should twist, or refix, or push aside

the ringlet or curl she plays with. If she has some dignity of profile, you will be persuaded that she is giving

irony or grace to what she says to her neighbor, sitting in such a position as to produce the magical effect of

the 'lost profile,' so dear to great painters, by which the cheek catches the high light, the nose is shown in

clear outline, the nostrils are transparently rosy, the forehead squarely modeled, the eye has its spangle of fire,

but fixed on space, and the white roundness of the chin is accentuated by a line of light. If she has a pretty

foot, she will throw herself on a sofa with the coquettish grace of a cat in the sunshine, her feet outstretched

without your feeling that her attitude is anything but the most charming model ever given to a sculptor by

"Only the perfect lady is quite at her ease in full dress; nothing inconveniences her. You will never see her,

like the woman of the citizen class, pulling up a refractory shoulderstrap, or pushing down a rebellious

whalebone, or looking whether her tucker is doing its office of faithful guardian to two treasures of dazzling

whiteness, or glancing in the mirrors to see if her headdress is keeping its place. Her toilet is always in

harmony with her character; she had had time to study herself, to learn what becomes her, for she has long

known what does not suit her. You will not find her as you go out; she vanishes before the end of the play. If

by chance she is to be seen, calm and stately, on the stairs, she is experiencing some violent emotion; she has

to bestow a glance, to receive a promise. Perhaps she goes down so slowly on purpose to gratify the vanity of

a slave whom she sometimes obeys. If your meeting takes place at a ball or an evening party, you will gather

the honey, natural or affected of her insinuating voice; her empty words will enchant you, and she will know

"To be such a woman, is it not necessary to be very clever?" asked the Polish Count.

"This woman's cleverness is the triumph of a purely plastic art," Blondet went on. "You will not know what

she said, but you will be fascinated. She will toss her head, or gently shrug her white shoulders; she will gild

an insignificant speech with a charming pout and smile; or throw a Voltairean epigram into an 'Indeed!' an

'Ah!' a 'What then!' A jerk of her head will be her most pertinent form of questioning; she will give meaning

to the movement by which she twirls a vinaigrette hanging to her finger by a ring. She gets an artificial

grandeur out of superlative trivialities; she simply drops her hand impressively, letting it fall over the arm of

her chair as dewdrops hang on the cup of a flower, and all is saidshe has pronounced judgment beyond

appeal, to the apprehension of the most obtuse. She knows how to listen to you; she gives you the opportunity

The candid simplicity of the young Pole, to whom Blondet spoke, made all the party shout with laughter.

"Now, you will not talk for halfanhour with a bourgeoise without her alluding to her husband in one way

or another," Blondet went on with unperturbed gravity; "whereas, even if you know that your lady is married,

she will have the delicacy to conceal her husband so effectually that it will need the enterprise of Christopher

Columbus to discover him. Often you will fail in the attempt singlehanded. If you have had no opportunity

of inquiring, towards the end of the evening you detect her gazing fixedly at a middleaged man wearing a

"You are not the rose, but you have been with the rose, and you go to bed under the golden canopy of a

delicious dream, which will last perhaps after Sleep, with his heavy finger, has opened the ivory gates of the

"The lady, when she is at home, sees no one before four; she is shrewd enough always to keep you waiting. In

her house you will find everything in good taste; her luxury is for hourly use, and duly renewed; you will see

nothing under glass shades, no rags of wrappings hanging about, and looking like a pantry. You will find the

staircase warmed. Flowers on all sides will charm your sightflowers, the only gift she accepts, and those

only from certain people, for nosegays live but a day; they give pleasure, and must be replaced; to her they

are, as in the East, a symbol and a promise. The costly toys of fashion lie about, but not so as to suggest a

museum or a curiosity shop. You will find her sitting by the fire in a low chair, from which she will not rise

to greet you. Her talk will not now be what it was at the ball; there she was our creditor; in her own home she

owes you the pleasure of her wit. These are the shades of which the lady is a marvelous mistress. What she

likes in you is a man to swell her circle, an object for the cares and attentions which such women are now

happy to bestow. Therefore, to attract you to her drawingroom, she will be bewitchingly charming. This

especially is where you feel how isolated women are nowadays, and why they want a little world of their

own, to which they may seem a constellation. Conversation is impossible without generalities."

"Yes," said de Marsay, "you have truly hit the fault of our age. The epigrama volume in a wordno

longer strikes, as it did in the eighteenth century, at persons or at things, but at squalid events, and it dies in a

"Hence," said Blondet, "the intelligence of the lady, if she has any, consists in casting doubts on everything.

Here lies the great difference between two women; the townswoman is certainly virtuous; the lady does not

know yet whether she is, or whether she always will be; she hesitates and struggles where the other refuses

pointblank and falls full length. This hesitancy in everything is one of the last graces left to her by our

horrible times. She rarely goes to church, but she will talk to you of religion; and if you have the good taste to

affect Freethought, she will try to convert you, for you will have opened the way for the stereotyped

phrases, the headshaking and gestures understood by all these women: 'For shame! I thought you had too

much sense to attack religion. Society is tottering, and you deprive it of its support. Why, religion at this

moment means you and me; it is property, and the future of our children! Ah! let us not be selfish!

Individualism is the disease of the age, and religion is the only remedy; it unites families which your laws put

asunder,' and so forth. Then she plunges into some neoChristian speech sprinkled with political notions

which is neither Catholic nor Protestantbut moral? Oh! deuced moral!in which you may recognize a fag

The women could not help laughing at the airs by which Blondet illustrated his satire.

"This explanation, dear Count Adam," said Blondet, turning to the Pole, "will have proved to you that the

'perfect lady' represents the intellectual no less than the political muddle, just as she is surrounded by the

showy and not very lasting products of an industry which is always aiming at destroying its work in order to

replace it by something else. When you leave her you say to yourself: She certainly has superior ideas! And

you believe it all the more because she will have sounded your heart with a delicate touch, and have asked

you your secrets; she affects ignorance, to learn everything; there are some things she never knows, not even

when she knows them. You alone will be uneasy, you will know nothing of the state of her heart. The great

ladies of old flaunted their loveaffairs, with newspapers and advertisements; in these days the lady has her

little passion neatly ruled like a sheet of music with its crotchets and quavers and minims, its rests, its pauses,

its sharps to sign the key. A mere weak women, she is anxious not to compromise her love, or her husband, or

the future of her children. Name, position, and fortune are no longer flags so respected as to protect all kinds

of merchandise on board. The whole aristocracy no longer advances in a body to screen the lady. She has not,

like the great lady of the past, the demeanor of lofty antagonism; she can crush nothing under foot, it is she

who would be crushed. Thus she is apt at Jesuitical mezzo termine, she is a creature of equivocal

compromises, of guarded proprieties, of anonymous passions steered between two reefbound shores. She is

as much afraid of her servants as an Englishwoman who lives in dread of a trial in the divorcecourt. This

womanso free at a ball, so attractive out walkingis a slave at home; she is never independent but in

perfect privacy, or theoretically. She must preserve herself in her position as a lady. This is her task.

"For in our day a woman repudiated by her husband, reduced to a meagre allowance, with no carriage, no

luxury, no operabox, none of the divine accessories of the toilet, is no longer a wife, a maid, or a

townswoman; she is adrift, and becomes a chattel. The Carmelites will not receive a married woman; it would

be bigamy. Would her lover still have anything to say to her? That is the question. Thus your perfect lady

"And so," said Blondet, "our 'perfect lady' lives between English hypocrisy and the delightful frankness of the

eighteenth centurya bastard system, symptomatic of an age in which nothing that grows up is at all like the

thing that has vanished, in which transition leads nowhere, everything is a matter of degree; all the great

figures shrink into the background, and distinction is purely personal. I am fully convinced that it is

impossible for a woman, even if she were born close to a throne, to acquire before the age of

fiveandtwenty the encyclopaedic knowledge of trifles, the practice of manoeuvring, the important small

things, the musical tones and harmony of coloring, the angelic bedevilments and innocent cunning, the

speech and the silence, the seriousness and the banter, the wit and the obtuseness, the diplomacy and the

"And where, in accordance with the sketch you have drawn," said Mademoiselle des Touches to Emile

Blondet, "would you class the female author? Is she a perfect lady, a woman comme il faut?"

"When she has no genius, she is a woman comme il n'en faut pas," Blondet replied, emphasizing the words

with a stolen glance, which might make them seem praise frankly addressed to Camille Maupin. "This

"You need not owe Napoleon any grudge on that score," said Canalis, with an emphatic tone and gesture. "It

was one of his weaknesses to be jealous of literary geniusfor he had his mean points. Who will ever

explain, depict, or understand Napoleon? A man represented with his arms folded, and who did everything,

who was the greatest force ever known, the most concentrated, the most mordant, the most acid of all forces;

a singular genius who carried armed civilization in every direction without fixing it anywhere; a man who

could do everything because he willed everything; a prodigious phenomenon of will, conquering an illness by

a battle, and yet doomed to die of disease in bed after living in the midst of ball and bullets; a man with a

code and a sword in his brain, word and deed; a clearsighted spirit that foresaw everything but his own fall;

a capricious politician who risked men by handfuls out of economy, and who spared three heads those of

Talleyrand, of Pozzo de Borgo, and of Metternich, diplomatists whose death would have saved the French

Empire, and who seemed to him of greater weight than thousands of soldiers; a man to whom nature, as a rare

privilege, had given a heart in a frame of bronze; mirthful and kind at midnight amid women, and next

morning manipulating Europe as a young girl might amuse herself by splashing water in her bath!

Hypocritical and generous; loving tawdriness and simplicity; devoid of taste, but protecting the arts; and in

spite of these antitheses, really great in everything by instinct or by temperament; Caesar at fiveandtwenty,

Cromwell at thirty; and then, like my grocer buried in Pere Lachaise, a good husband and a good father. In

short, he improvised public works, empires, kings, codes, verses, a romanceand all with more range than

precision. Did he not aim at making all Europe France? And after making us weigh on the earth in such a way

as to change the laws of gravitation, he left us poorer than on the day when he first laid hands on us; while he,

who had taken an empire by his name, lost his name on the frontier of his empire in a sea of blood and

soldiers. A man all thought and all action, who comprehended Desaix and Fouche."

"All despotism and all justice at the right moments. The true king!" said de Marsay.

"But do you suppose that the treat we are giving you is a common one?" asked Joseph Bridau. "If you had to

pay for the charms of conversation as you do for those of dancing or of music, your fortune would be

"And are we really so much deteriorated as these gentlemen think?" said the Princesse de Cadignan,

addressing the women with a smile at once sceptical and ironical. "Because, in these days, under a regime

which makes everything small, you prefer small dishes, small rooms, small pictures, small articles, small

newspapers, small books, does that prove that women too have grown smaller? Why should the human heart

change because you change your coat? In all ages the passions remain the same. I know cases of beautiful

devotion, of sublime sufferings, which lack the publicitythe glory, if you choosewhich formerly gave

lustre to the errors of some women. But though one may not have saved a King of France, one is not the less

an Agnes Sorel. Do you believe that our dear Marquise d'Espard is not the peer of Madame Doublet, or

Madame du Deffant, in whose rooms so much evil was spoken and done? Is not Taglioni a match for

Camargo? or Malibran the equal of SaintHuberti? Are not our poets superior to those of the eighteenth

century? If at this moment, through the fault of the Grocers who govern us, we have not a style of our own,

had not the Empire its distinguishing stamp as the age of Louis XV. had, and was not its splendor fabulous?

"I am quite of your opinion, madame; the women of this age are truly great," replied the Comte de

Vandenesse. "When posterity shall have followed us, will not Madame Recamier appear in proportions as

fine as those of the most beautiful women of the past? We have made so much history that historians will be

lacking. The age of Louis XIV. had but one Madame de Sevigne; we have a thousand now in Paris who

certainly write better than she did, and who do not publish their letters. Whether the Frenchwoman be called

"Emile Blondet has given us a picture of the fascinations of a woman of the day; but, at need, this creature

who bridles or shows off, who chirps out the ideas of Mr. This and Mr. That, would be heroic. And it must be

said, your faults, mesdames, are all the more poetical, because they must always and under all circumstances

be surrounded by greater perils. I have seen much of the world, I have studied it perhaps too late; but in cases

where the illegality of your feelings might be excused, I have always observed the effects of I know not what

chancewhich you may call Providenceinevitably overwhelming such as we consider light women."

"With all the more reason because he has preached a great deal by example," said the Baronne de Nucingen.

"On my honor!" said General de Montriveau, "in all the dramasa word you are very fond of," he said,

looking at Blondet"in which the finger of God has been visible, the most frightful I ever knew was very

"It is the taste of a virtuous woman," replied de Marsay, looking at Lord Dudley's lovely daughter.

"During the campaign of 1812," General de Montriveau began, "I was the involuntary cause of a terrible

disaster which may be of use to you, Doctor Bianchon," turning to me, "since, while devoting yourself to the

human body, you concern yourself a good deal with the mind; it may tend to solve some of the problems of

"I was going through my second campaign; I enjoyed danger, and laughed at everything, like the young and

foolish lieutenant of artillery that I was. When we reached the Beresina, the army had, as you know, lost all

discipline, and had forgotten military obedience. It was a medley of men of all nations, instinctively making

their way from north to south. The soldiers would drive a general in rags and barefoot away from their fire

if he brought neither wood nor victuals. After the passage of this famous river disorder did not diminish. I had

come quietly and alone, without food, out of the marshes of Zembin, and was wandering in search of a house

where I might be taken in. Finding none or driven away from those I came across, happily towards evening I

perceived a wretched little Polish farm, of which nothing can give you any idea unless you have seen the

wooden houses of Lower Normandy, or the poorest farmbuildings of la Beauce. These dwellings consist of

a single room, with one end divided off by a wooden partition, the smaller division serving as a storeroom

"In the darkness of twilight I could just see a faint smoke rising above this house. Hoping to find there some

comrades more compassionate than those I had hitherto addressed, I boldly walked as far as the farm. On

going in, I found the table laid. Several officers, and with them a womana common sight enoughwere

eating potatoes, some horseflesh broiled over the charcoal, and some frozen beetroots. I recognized among

the company two or three artillery captains of the regiment in which I had first served. I was welcomed with a

shout of acclamation, which would have amazed me greatly on the other side of the Beresina; but at this

moment the cold was less intense; my fellowofficers were resting, they were warm, they had food, and the

room, strewn with trusses of straw, gave the promise of a delightful night. We did not ask for so much in

those days. My comrades could be philanthropists gratisone of the commonest ways of being

"At the end of the table, by the side of the door opening into the smaller room full of straw and hay, sat my

old colonel, one of the most extraordinary men I ever saw among all the mixed collection of men it has been

my lot to meet. He was an Italian. Now, whenever human nature is truly fine in the lands of the South, it is

really sublime. I do not know whether you have ever observed the extreme fairness of Italians when they are

fair. It is exquisite, especially under an artificial light. When I read the fantastical portrait of Colonel Oudet

sketched by Charles Nodier, I found my own sensations in every one of his elegant phrases. Italian, then, as

were most of the officers of his regiment, which had, in fact, been borrowed by the Emperor from Eugene's

army, my colonel was a tall man, at least eight or nine inches above the standard, and was admirably

proportioneda little stout perhaps, but prodigiously powerful, active, and clean limbed as a greyhound.

His black hair in abundant curls showed up his complexion, as white as a woman's; he had small hands, a

shapely foot, a pleasant mouth, and an aquiline nose delicately formed, of which the tip used to become

naturally pinched and white whenever he was angry, as happened often. His irascibility was so far beyond

belief that I will tell you nothing about it; you will have the opportunity of judging of it. No one could be

calm in his presence. I alone, perhaps, was not afraid of him; he had indeed taken such a singular fancy to me

that he thought everything I did right. When he was in a rage his brow was knit and the muscles of the middle

of his forehead set in a delta, or, to be more explicit, in Redgauntlet's horseshoe. This mark was, perhaps,

even more terrifying than the magnetic flashes of his blue eyes. His whole frame quivered, and his strength,

"He spoke with a strong guttural roll. His voice, at least as powerful as that of Charles Nordier's Oudet, threw

an incredible fulness of tone into the syllable or the consonant in which this burr was sounded. Though this

faulty pronunciation was at times a grace, when commanding his men, or when he was excited, you cannot

imagine, unless you had heard it, what force was expressed by this accent, which at Paris is so common.

When the Colonel was quiescent, his blue eyes were angelically sweet, and his smooth brow had a most

charming expression. On parade, or with the army of Italy, not a man could compare with him. Indeed,

d'Orsay himself, the handsome d'Orsay, was eclipsed by our colonel on the occasion of the last review held

"Everything was in contrasts in this exceptional man. Passion lives on contrast. Hence you need not ask

whether he exerted over women the irresistible influences to which our nature yields"and the general

looked at the Princesse de Cadignan"as vitreous matter is moulded under the pipe of the glassblower;

still, by a singular fatalityan observer might perhaps explain the phenomenonthe Colonel was not a

"To give you an idea of his violence, I will tell you in a few words what I once saw him do in a paroxysm of

fury. We were dragging our guns up a very narrow road, bordered by a somewhat high slope on one side, and

by thickets on the other. When we were halfway up we met another regiment of artillery, its colonel

marching at the head. This colonel wanted to make the captain who was at the head of our foremost battery

back down again. The captain, of course, refused; but the colonel of the other regiment signed to his foremost

battery to advance, and in spite of the care the driver took to keep among the scrub, the wheel of the first gun

struck our captain's right leg and broke it, throwing him over on the near side of his horse. All this was the

work of a moment. Our Colonel, who was but a little way off, guessed that there was a quarrel; he galloped

up, riding among the guns at the risk of falling with his horse's four feet in the air, and reached the spot, face

to face with the other colonel, at the very moment when the captain fell, calling out 'Help!' No, our Italian

colonel was no longer human! Foam like the froth of champagne rose to his lips; he roared inarticulately like

a lion. Incapable of uttering a word, or even a cry, he made a terrific signal to his antagonist, pointing to the

wood and drawing his sword. The two colonels went aside. In two seconds we saw our Colonel's opponent

stretched on the ground, his skull split in two. The soldiers of his regiment backed yes, by heaven, and

"The captain, who had been so nearly crushed, and who lay yelping in the puddle where the gun carriage had

thrown him, had an Italian wife, a beautiful Sicilian of Messina, who was not indifferent to our Colonel. This

circumstance had aggravated his rage. He was pledged to protect the husband, bound to defend him as he

"Now, in the hovel beyond Zembin, where I was so well received, this captain was sitting opposite to me, and

his wife was at the other end of the table, facing the Colonel. This Sicilian was a little woman named Rosina,

very dark, but with all the fire of the Southern sun in her black almondshaped eyes. At this moment she was

deplorably thin; her face was covered with dust, like fruit exposed to the drought of a highroad. Scarcely

clothed in rags, exhausted by marches, her hair in disorder, and clinging together under a piece of a shawl

tied close over her head, still she had the graces of a woman; her movements were engaging, her small rose

mouth and white teeth, the outline of her features and figure, charms which misery, cold, and neglect had not

altogether defaced, still suggested love to any man who could think of a woman. Rosina had one of those

frames which are fragile in appearance, but wiry and full of spring. Her husband, a gentleman of Piedmont,

had a face expressive of ironical simplicity, if it is allowable to ally the two words. Brave and well informed,

he seemed to know nothing of the connections which had subsisted between his wife and the Colonel for

three years past. I ascribed this unconcern to Italian manners, or to some domestic secret; yet there was in the

man's countenance one feature which always filled me with involuntary distrust. His under lip, which was

thin and very restless, turned down at the corners instead of turning up, and this, as I thought, betrayed a

"As you may suppose the conversation was not very sparkling when I went in. My weary comrades ate in

silence; of course, they asked me some questions, and we related our misadventures, mingled with reflections

on the campaign, the generals, their mistakes, the Russians, and the cold. A minute after my arrival the

colonel, having finished his meagre meal, wiped his moustache, bid us goodnight, shot a black look at the

Italian woman, saying, 'Rosina?' and then, without waiting for a reply, went into the little barn full of hay, to

bed. The meaning of the Colonel's utterance was selfevident. The young wife replied by an indescribable

gesture, expressing all the annoyance she could not feel at seeing her thralldom thus flaunted without human

decency, and the offence to her dignity as a woman, and to her husband. But there was, too, in the rigid

setting of her features and the tight knitting of her brows a sort of presentiment; perhaps she foresaw her fate.

"A minute later, and apparently when the Colonel was snug in his couch of straw or hay, he repeated,

"The tone of this second call was even more brutally questioning than the first. The Colonel's strong burr, and

the length which the Italian language allows to be given to vowels and the final syllable, concentrated all the

man's despotism, impatience, and strength of will. Rosina turned pale, but she rose, passed behind us, and

"All the party sat in utter silence; I, unluckily, after looking at them all, began to laugh, and then they all

" 'On my honor, old comrade,' said I, becoming serious again, 'I confess that I was wrong; I ask your pardon a

thousand times, and if you are not satisfied by my apologies I am ready to give you satisfaction.'

"Next morning each one, without rousing his neighbor or seeking companionship, set out again on his way,

with that selfishness which made our rout one of the most horrible dramas of selfseeking, melancholy, and

horror which ever was enacted under heaven. Nevertheless, at about seven or eight hundred paces from our

shelter we, most of us, met again and walked on together, like geese led in flocks by a child's wilful tyranny.

"Having reached a knoll where we could still see the farmhouse where we had spent the night, we heard

sounds resembling the roar of lions in the desert, the bellowing of bullsno, it was a noise which can be

compared to no known cry. And yet, mingling with this horrible and ominous roar, we could hear a woman's

feeble scream. We all looked round, seized by I know not what impulse of terror; we no longer saw the

house, but a huge bonfire. The farmhouse had been barricaded, and was in flames. Swirls of smoke borne on

the wind brought us hoarse cries and an indescribable pungent smell. A few yards behind, the captain was

quietly approaching to join our caravan; we gazed at him in silence, for no one dared question him; but he,

understanding our curiosity, pointed to his breast with the forefinger of his right hand, and, waving the left in

"It would be frightful to let us leave with this horrible picture in our memory," said Madame de Montcornet.

"And what was the punishment of Monsieur de Marsay's 'First'?" said Lord Dudley, smiling.

"Monsieur Bianchon can tell us, for he saw her dying," replied de Marsay, turning to me.

"Yes," said I; "and her end was one of the most beautiful I ever saw. The Duke and I had spent the night by

the dying woman's pillow; pulmonary consumption, in the last stage, left no hope; she had taken the

sacrament the day before. The Duke had fallen asleep. The Duchess, waking at about four in the morning,

signed to me in the most touching way, with a friendly smile, to bid me leave him to rest, and she meanwhile

was about to die. She had become incredibly thin, but her face had preserved its really sublime outline and

features. Her pallor made her skin look like porcelain with a light within. Her bright eyes and color contrasted

with this languidly elegant complexion, and her countenance was full of expressive calm. She seemed to pity

the Duke, and the feeling had its origin in a lofty tenderness which, as death approached, seemed to know no

bounds. The silence was absolute. The room, softly lighted by a lamp, looked like every sickroom at the hour

"At this moment the clock struck. The Duke awoke, and was in despair at having fallen asleep. I did not see

the gesture of impatience by which he manifested the regret he felt at having lost sight of his wife for a few of

the last minutes vouchsafed to him; but it is quite certain that any one but the dying woman might have

misunderstood it. A busy statesman, always thinking of the interests of France, the Duke had a thousand odd

ways on the surface, such as often lead to a man of genius being mistaken for a madman, and of which the

explanation lies in the exquisiteness and exacting needs of their intellect. He came to seat himself in an

armchair by his wife's side, and looked fixedly at her. The dying woman put her hand out a little way, took

her husband's and clasped it feebly; and in a low but agitated voice she said, 'My poor dear, who is left to

"The stories the doctor tells us," said the Comte de Vandenesse, "always leave a deep impression."

Bianchon, Horace Father Goriot The Atheist's Mass Cesar Birotteau The Commission in Lunacy Lost

Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Bachelor's Establishment The Secrets of a Princess The

Government Clerks Pierrette A Study of Woman Scenes from a Courtesan's Life Honorine The Seamy Side

of History The Magic Skin A Second Home A Prince of Bohemia Letters of Two Brides The Muse of the

Department The Imaginary Mistress The Middle Classes Cousin Betty The Country Parson In addition, M.

Blondet, Emile Jealousies of a Country Town A Distinguished Provincial at Paris Scenes from a Courtesan's

Life Modeste Mignon The Secrets of a Princess A Daughter of Eve The Firm of Nucingen The Peasantry

Blondet, Virginie (Madame Montcornet) Jealousies of a Country Town The Secrets of a Princess The

Peasantry A Distinguished Provincial at Paris The Member for Arcis A Daughter of Eve

Bridau, Joseph The Purse A Bachelor's Establishment A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Start in Life

Modeste Mignon Pierre Grassou Letters of Two Brides Cousin Betty The Member for Arcis

Canalis, ConstantCyrMelchior, Baron de Letters of Two Brides A Distinguished Provincial at Paris

Modeste Mignon The Magic Skin A Start in Life Beatrix The Unconscious Humorists The Member for Arcis

Dudley, Lord The Lily of the Valley The Thirteen A Man of Business A Daughter of Eve

Espard, JeanneClementineAthenais de BlamontChauvry, Marquise d' The Commission in Lunacy A

Distinguished Provincial at Paris Scenes from a Courtesan's Life Letters of Two Brides The Gondreville

Marsay, Henri de The Thirteen The Unconscious Humorists The Lily of the Valley Father Goriot Jealousies

of a Country Town Ursule Mirouet A Marriage Settlement Lost Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at Paris

Letters of Two Brides The Ball at Sceaux Modeste Mignon The Secrets of a Princess The Gondreville

Maufrigneuse, Duchesse de The Secrets of a Princess Modeste Mignon Jealousies of a Country Town The

Muse of the Department Scenes from a Courtesan's Life Letters of Two Brides The Gondreville Mystery The

Montriveau, General Marquis Armand de The Thirteen Father Goriot Lost Illusions A Distinguished

Nucingen, Baron Frederic de The Firm of Nucingen Father Goriot Pierrette Cesar Birotteau Lost Illusions A

Distinguished Provincial at Paris Scenes from a Courtesan's Life The Secrets of a Princess A Man of

Nucingen, Baronne Delphine de Father Goriot The Thirteen Eugenie Grandet Cesar Birotteau Melmoth

Reconciled Lost Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at Paris The Commission in Lunacy Scenes from a

Courtesan's Life Modeste Mignon The Firm of Nucingen A Daughter of Eve The Member for Arcis

Rastignac, Eugene de Father Goriot A Distinguished Provincial at Paris Scenes from a Courtesan's Life The

Ball at Sceaux The Commission in Lunacy A Study of Woman The Magic Skin The Secrets of a Princess A

Daughter of Eve The Gondreville Mystery The Firm of Nucingen Cousin Betty The Member for Arcis The

Ronquerolles, Marquis de The Imaginary Mistress The Peasantry Ursule Mirouet A Woman of Thirty The

Serizy, Comtesse de A Start in Life The Thirteen Ursule Mirouet A Woman of Thirty Scenes from a

Touches, Mademoiselle Felicite des Beatrix Lost Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at Paris A Bachelor's

Vandenesse, Comte Felix de The Lily of the Valley Lost Illusions A Distinguished Provincial at Paris Cesar

Birotteau Letters of Two Brides A Start in Life The Marriage Settlement The Secrets of a Princess The