“I esteem and honor you profoundly,” she cried, “for keeping your own counsel as you have done. I am in love! Is this a sentiment which is easy for me to repress? But what I can do is to confess the fact to you; to implore you to protect me from myself, to save me from my own folly. Be my master and be a stern master to me; take me away from this place, remove me from what has caused all this trouble, console me; I will forget him, I desire to do so. I do not wish to betray you. I humbly ask your pardon for the treachery love has suggested to me. Yes, I confess to you that the love which I pretended to have for my cousin was a snare set to deceive you. I love him with the love of friendship and no more. — Oh! forgive me! I can love no one but” — her voice was choked in passionate sobs — ”Oh! let us go away, let us leave Paris!”
She began to weep; her hair was disheveled, her dress in disarray; it was midnight, and her husband forgave her. From henceforth, the cousin made his appearance without risk, and the Minotaur devoured one victim more.
What instructions can we give for contending with such adversaries as these? Their heads contain all the diplomacy of the congress of Vienna; they have as much power when they are caught as when they escape. What man has a mind supple enough to lay aside brute force and strength and follow his wife through such mazes as these?
To make a false plea every moment, in order to elicit the truth, a true plea in order to unmask falsehood; to charge the battery when least expected, and to spike your gun at the very moment of firing it; to scale the mountain with the enemy, in order to descend to the plain again five minutes later; to accompany the foe in windings as rapid, as obscure as those of a plover on the breezes; to obey when obedience is necessary, and to oppose when resistance is inertial; to traverse the whole scale of hypotheses as a young artist with one stroke runs from the lowest to the highest note of his piano; to divine at last the secret purpose on which a woman is bent; to fear her caresses and to seek rather to find out what are the thoughts that suggested them and the pleasure which she derived from them — this is mere child’s pay for the man of intellect and for those lucid and searching imaginations which possess the gift of doing and thinking at the same time. But there are a vast number of husbands who are terrified at the mere idea of putting in practice these principles in their dealings with a woman.
Such men as these prefer passing their lives in making huge efforts to become second-class chess-players, or to pocket adroitly a ball in billiards.
Some of them will tell you that they are incapable of keeping their minds on such a constant strain and breaking up the habits of their life. In that case the woman triumphs. She recognizes that in mind and energy she is her husband’s superior, although the superiority may be but temporary; and yet there rises in her a feeling of contempt for the head of the house.
If many man fail to be masters in their own house this is not from lack of willingness, but of talent. As for those who are ready to undergo the toils of this terrible duel, it is quite true that they must needs possess great moral force.
And really, as soon as it is necessary to display all the resources of this secret strategy, it is often useless to attempt setting any traps for these satanic creatures. Once women arrive at a point when they willfully deceive, their countenances become as inscrutable as vacancy. Here is an example which came within my own experience.
A very young, very pretty, and very clever coquette of Paris had not yet risen. Seated by her bed was one of her dearest friends. A letter arrived from another, a very impetuous fellow, to whom she had allowed the right of speaking to her like a master. The letter was in pencil and ran as follows:
“I understand that Monsieur C — — - is with you at this moment. I am waiting for him to blow his brains out.”
Madame D — — - calmly continued the conversation with Monsieur C — — -. She asked him to hand her a little writing desk of red leather which stood on the table, and he brought it to her.
“Thanks, my dear,” she said to him; “go on talking, I am listening to you.”
C — — - talked away and she replied, all the while writing the following note:
“As soon as you become jealous of C — — - you two can blow out each other’s brains at your pleasure. As for you, you may die; but brains — you haven’t any brains to blow out.”
“My dear friend,” she said to C — — -, “I beg you will light this candle. Good, you are charming. And now be kind enough to leave me and let me get up, and give this letter to Monsieur d’H — — -, who is waiting at the door.”
All this was said with admirable coolness. The tones and intonations of her voice, the expression of her face showed no emotion. Her audacity was crowned with complete success. On receiving the answer from the hand of Monsieur C — — -, Monsieur d’H — — - felt his wrath subside. He was troubled with only one thing and that was how to disguise his inclination to laugh.
The more torch-light one flings into the immense cavern which we are now trying to illuminate, the more profound it appears. It is a bottomless abyss. It appears to us that our task will be accomplished more agreeably and more instructively if we show the principles of strategy put into practice in the case of a woman, when she has reached a high degree of vicious accomplishment. An example suggests more maxims and reveals the existence of more methods than all possible theories.
One day at the end of a dinner given to certain intimate friends by Prince Lebrun, the guests, heated by champagne, were discussing the inexhaustible subject of feminine artifice. The recent adventure which was credited to the Countess R. D. S. J. D. A — — -, apropos of a necklace, was the subject first broached. A highly esteemed artist, a gifted friend of the emperor, was vigorously maintaining the opinion, which seemed somewhat unmanly, that it was forbidden to a man to resist successfully the webs woven by a woman.
“It is my happy experience,” he said, “that to them nothing is sacred.”
The ladies protested.
“But I can cite an instance in point.”
“It is an exception!”
“Let us hear the story,” said a young lady.
“Yes, tell it to us,” cried all the guests.
The prudent old gentleman cast his eyes around, and, after having formed his conclusions as to the age of the ladies, smiled and said:
“Since we are all experienced in life, I consent to relate the adventure.”
Dead silence followed, and the narrator read the following from a little book which he had taken from his pocket:
I was head over ears in love with the Comtesse de — — -. I was twenty and I was ingenuous. She deceived me. I was angry; she threw me over. I was ingenuous, I repeat, and I was grieved to lose her. I was twenty; she forgave me. And as I was twenty, as I was always ingenuous, always deceived, but never again thrown over by her, I believed myself to have been the best beloved of lovers, consequently the happiest of men. The countess had a friend, Madame de T — — -, who seemed to have some designs on me, but without compromising her dignity; for she was scrupulous and respected the proprieties. One day while I was waiting for the countess in her Opera box, I heard my name called from a contiguous box. It was Madame de T — — -.
“What,” she said, “already here? Is this fidelity or merely a want of something to do? Won’t you come to me?”
Her voice and her manner had a meaning in them, but I was far from inclined at that moment to indulge in a romance.
“Have you any plans for this evening?” she said to me. “Don’t make any! If I cheer your tedious solitude you ought to be devoted to me. Don’t ask any questions, but obey. Call my servants.”
I answered with a bow and on being requested to leave the Opera box, I obeyed.
“Go to this gentleman’s house,” she said to the lackey. “Say he will not be home till to-morrow.”
She made a sign to him, he went to her, she whispered in his ear, and he left us. The Opera began. I tried to venture on a few words, but she silenced me; some o
ne might be listening. The first act ended, the lackey brought back a note, and told her that everything was ready. Then she smiled, asked for my hand, took me off, put me in her carriage, and I started on my journey quite ignorant of my destination. Every inquiry I made was answered by a peal of laughter. If I had not been aware that this was a woman of great passion, that she had long loved the Marquis de V — — -, that she must have known I was aware of it, I should have believed myself in good luck; but she knew the condition of my heart, and the Comtesse de — — -. I therefore rejected all presumptuous ideas and bided my time. At the first stop, a change of horses was supplied with the swiftness of lightning and we started afresh. The matter was becoming serious. I asked with some insistency, where this joke was to end.
“Where?” she said, laughing. “In the pleasantest place in the world, but can’t you guess? I’ll give you a thousand chances. Give it up, for you will never guess. We are going to my husband’s house. Do you know him?”
“Not in the least.”
“So much the better, I thought you didn’t. But I hope you will like him. We have lately become reconciled. Negotiations went on for six months; and we have been writing to one another for a month. I think it is very kind of me to go and look him up.”
“It certainly is, but what am I going to do there? What good will I be in this reconciliation?”
“Ah, that is my business. You are young, amiable, unconventional; you suit me and will save me from the tediousness of a tete-a-tete.”
“But it seems odd to me, to choose the day or the night of a reconciliation to make us acquainted; the awkwardness of the first interview, the figure all three of us will cut, — I don’t see anything particularly pleasant in that.”
“I have taken possession of you for my own amusement!” she said with an imperious air, “so please don’t preach.”
I saw she was decided, so surrendered myself to circumstances. I began to laugh at my predicament and we became exceedingly merry. We again changed horses. The mysterious torch of night lit up a sky of extreme clearness and shed around a delightful twilight. We were approaching the spot where our tete-a-tete must end. She pointed out to me at intervals the beauty of the landscape, the tranquillity of the night, the all-pervading silence of nature. In order to admire these things in company as it was natural we should, we turned to the same window and our faces touched for a moment. In a sudden shock she seized my hand, and by a chance which seemed to me extraordinary, for the stone over which our carriage had bounded could not have been very large, I found Madame de T — — - in my arms. I do not know what we were trying to see; what I am sure of is that the objects before our eyes began in spite of the full moon to grow misty, when suddenly I was released from her weight, and she sank into the back cushions of the carriage.
“Your object,” she said, rousing herself from a deep reverie, “is possibly to convince me of the imprudence of this proceeding. Judge, therefore, of my embarrassment!”
“My object!” I replied, “what object can I have with regard to you? What a delusion! You look very far ahead; but of course the sudden surprise or turn of chance may excuse anything.”
“You have counted, then, upon that chance, it seems to me?”
We had reached our destination, and before we were aware of it, we had entered the court of the chateau. The whole place was brightly lit up. Everything wore a festal air, excepting the face of its master, who at the sight of me seemed anything but delighted. He came forward and expressed in somewhat hesitating terms the tenderness proper to the occasion of a reconciliation. I understood later on that this reconciliation was absolutely necessary from family reasons. I was presented to him and was coldly greeted. He extended his hand to his wife, and I followed the two, thinking of my part in the past, in the present and in the future. I passed through apartments decorated with exquisite taste. The master in this respect had gone beyond all the ordinary refinement of luxury, in the hope of reanimating, by the influence of voluptuous imagery, a physical nature that was dead. Not knowing what to say, I took refuge in expressions of admiration. The goddess of the temple, who was quite ready to do the honors, accepted my compliments.
“You have not seen anything,” she said. “I must take you to the apartments of my husband.”
“Madame, five years ago I caused them to be pulled down.”
“Oh! Indeed!” said she.
At the dinner, what must she do but offer the master some fish, on which he said to her:
“Madame, I have been living on milk for the last three years.”
“Oh! Indeed!” she said again.
Can any one imagine three human beings as astonished as we were to find ourselves gathered together? The husband looked at me with a supercilious air, and I paid him back with a look of audacity.
Madame de T — — - smiled at me and was charming to me; Monsieur de T — — - accepted me as a necessary evil. Never in all my life have I taken part in a dinner which was so odd as that. The dinner ended, I thought that we would go to bed early — that is, I thought that Monsieur de T — — - would. As we entered the drawing-room:
“I appreciate, madame,” said he, “your precaution in bringing this gentleman with you. You judged rightly that I should be but poor company for the evening, and you have done well, for I am going to retire.”
Then turning to me, he added in a tone of profound sarcasm:
“You will please to pardon me, and obtain also pardon from madame.”
He left us. My reflections? Well, the reflections of a twelvemonth were then comprised in those of a minute. When we were left alone, Madame de T — — - and I, we looked at each other so curiously that, in order to break through the awkwardness, she proposed that we should take a turn on the terrace while we waited, as she said, until the servants had supped.
It was a superb night. It was scarcely possible to discern surrounding objects, they seemed to be covered with a veil, that imagination might be permitted to take a loftier flight. The gardens, terraced on the side of a mountain, sloped down, platform after platform, to the banks of the Seine, and the eye took in the many windings of the stream covered with islets green and picturesque. These variations in the landscape made up a thousand pictures which gave to the spot, naturally charming, a thousand novel features. We walked along the most extensive of these terraces, which was covered with a thick umbrage of trees. She had recovered from the effects of her husband’s persiflage, and as we walked along she gave me her confidence. Confidence begets confidence, and as I told her mine, all she said to me became more intimate and more interesting. Madame de T — — - at first gave me her arm; but soon this arm became interlaced in mine, I know not how, but in some way almost lifted her up and prevented her from touching the ground. The position was agreeable, but became at last fatiguing. We had been walking for a long time and we still had much to say to each other. A bank of turf appeared and she sat down without withdrawing her arm. And in this position we began to sound the praises of mutual confidence, its charms and its delights.
“Ah!” she said to me, “who can enjoy it more than we and with less cause of fear? I know well the tie that binds you to another, and therefore have nothing to fear.”
Perhaps she wished to be contradicted. But I answered not a word. We were then mutually persuaded that it was possible for us to be friends without fear of going further.
“But I was afraid, however,” I said, “that that sudden jolt in the carriage and the surprising consequences may have frightened you.”
“Oh, I am not so easily alarmed!”
“I fear it has left a little cloud on your mind?”
“What must I do to reassure you?”
“Give me the kiss here which chance — ”
“I will gladly do so; for if I do not, your vanity will lead you to think that I fear you.”
I took the kiss.
It is with kisses as with confidences, the first leads to another. They are multiplied, they in
terrupt conversation, they take its place; they scarce leave time for a sigh to escape. Silence followed. We could hear it, for silence may be heard. We rose without a word and began to walk again.
“We must go in,” said she, “for the air of the river is icy, and it is not worth while — ”
“I think to go in would be more dangerous,” I answered.
“Perhaps so! Never mind, we will go in.”
“Why, is this out of consideration for me? You wish doubtless to save me from the impressions which I may receive from such a walk as this — the consequences which may result. Is it for me — for me only — ?”
“You are modest,” she said smiling, “and you credit me with singular consideration.”
“Do you think so? Well, since you take it in this way, we will go in;
I demand it.”
A stupid proposition, when made by two people who are forcing themselves to say something utterly different from what they think.
Then she compelled me to take the path that led back to the chateau. I do not know, at least I did not then know, whether this course was one which she forced upon herself, whether it was the result of a vigorous resolution, or whether she shared my disappointment in seeing an incident which had begun so well thus suddenly brought to a close but by a mutual instinct our steps slackened and we pursued our way gloomily dissatisfied the one with the other and with ourselves. We knew not the why and the wherefore of what we were doing. Neither of us had the right to demand or even to ask anything. We had neither of us any ground for uttering a reproach. O that we had got up a quarrel! But how could I pick one with her? Meanwhile we drew nearer and nearer, thinking how we might evade the duty which we had so awkwardly imposed upon ourselves. We reached the door, when Madame de T — — - said to me:
“I am angry with you! After the confidences I have given you, not to give me a single one! You have not said a word about the countess. And yet it is so delightful to speak of the one we love! I should have listened with such interest! It was the very best I could do after I had taken you away from her!”
Works of Honore De Balzac Page 1304