by George Sand
“And I know that you would not refuse to sign anything for him ; for I know your obliging disposition—your contempt for wealth.”
“You are mistaken, Bénédict. I should have courage, if it were necessary. It is true that, for my own part, I would be content with this pavilion and a few acres of land; if I were cut down to twelve hundred francs a year, I should still consider myself rich. But this property of which my sister was defrauded, this, at all events, I propose to bequeath to her son after my death : Valentin will be my heir. I propose that he shall be Comte de Raimbault some day. That is the object of my life.—Why did you shudder so, Bénédict ?”
“You ask me why ?” cried Bénédict, suddenly roused from the calmness induced by the turn their conversation had taken. “Alas! how little you know of life! how placid and over-confident you are! You talk of dying without children, as if—Merciful Heaven ! All my blood rises at the thought! But, by my soul, if you do not speak the truth, madame-99
He rose and paced the floor excitedly. From time to time he hid his face in his hands, and his loud breathing betrayed his mental agony.
“My friend,” said Valentine, gently, “you have no strength of will, no reasoning power to-day. The subject of our conversation is of too delicate a nature ! Take my advice; let us stop here, for I am much to blame for coming here at such an hour at the call of a reckless child. These stormy thoughts which torment you I cannot banish by my silence ; but you should know how to interpret it without insisting that I make promises that I must not make.—But,” she added, in a trembling voice, as she saw that Bénédict became more and more excited as she spoke, “if it is absolutely necessary, to reassure you and restrain you, that I fail in all my duties and disregard all my scruples, why, be satisfied: I swear to you by your affection and my own—I dare not swear by heaven—that I will die rather than belong to any man.”
“At last,” rejoined Bénédict hurriedly, as he drew nearer to her, “ you deign to toss me a word of encouragement ! I thought that you were going to send me away devoured by anxiety and jealousy ; I thought that you would never sacrifice to me a single one of your narrow ideas. Do you really promise that ? Why, madame, this is heroic !”
“You are very bitter, Bénédict. It is a long time since I have seen you like this. Every sort of sorrow must needs come upon me at once !”
“Ah ! it is because I love you madly,” said Bénédict, grasping her arm in an outburst of frenzy. “I would sell my soul to save your life; I would sell my chance of heaven to spare your heart the slightest pang ; I would commit any crime in the calendar to please you, and you would not make the most trivial misstep to make me happy.”
“Oh! don’t talk so,” she replied in a disheartened tone. “I have been accustomed to trust you for so long a time; now I must begin again to fear you and struggle against you! perhaps I shall have to fly from you.”
“Let us not play upon words!” cried Bénédict, fiercely, dropping with a violent gesture the arm which he held. “You talk about flying from me! Condemn me to death ; that will be a quicker way. I did not think, madame, that you would go back to such threats. Do you imagine, pray, that these fifteen months have changed me ? Well, you are right; they have made me love you more madly than ever; they have given me the power to live, whereas my former love gave me only strength to die. Now, Valentine, it is too late to stop. I love you to the exclusion of all else ; I have no one but you on earth; I love Louise and her son only for your sake. You are my future, my goal, my only passion, my only thought. What do you suppose will become of me if you throw me over ? I have no ambition, no friends, no trade ; I shall never have any of the things that make up the lives of other men. You have often told me that when I am older I shall be eager for the same things as the rest of mankind. I don’t know whether you will ever prove to be right in that respect; but this much is certain, that I am still very far from the age when the noble passions die out, and I shall never care to reach that age if you abandon me. No, Valentine, you will not drive me away from you; it is impossible. Have pity on me, for my courage is exhausted.”
Bénédict burst into tears. It requires such intense mental excitement to reduce an agitated, passionate man to tears and to the weakness of a child, that the least impressionable woman can rarely resist such sudden outbursts of overpowering emotion. Valentine threw herself weeping into the arms of the man she loved, and the consuming ardor of the kiss in which their lips met proved to her at last how closely akin to madness is the mental exaltation of virtue. But they had little time to reflect upon it, for they had no sooner exchanged the fervid effusion of their hearts than a short, dry cough, and the humming of an operatic air under the window with the most perfect tranquillity, almost paralyzed Valentine with terror. She tore herself from Bénédict’s embrace, and grasping his arm with one cold, trembling hand, covered his mouth with the other.
“We are lost,” she whispered; “it is he !”
“Valentine, my dear, aren’t you here?” said Monsieur de Lansac, approaching the steps without a trace of excitement.
“Hide!” said Valentine, pushing Bénédict behind a tall mirror which stood in a corner of the room.
And she darted to meet Monsieur de Lansac, armed with that skill in dissimulation which necessity, as if by a miracle, places at the service of the most inexperienced woman.
“I was very sure that I saw you go toward the pavilion a quarter of an hour ago,” said Lansac as he entered; “and, as I did not wish to disturb your solitary walk, I went in another direction for my own ; but the instinct of the heart or the magic force of your presence leads me involuntarily to the place where you are. I am not impertinent, am I, to interrupt your meditations thus ? Will you deign to admit me to your sanctuary ?”
“I came here to get a book which I want to finish tonight,” said Valentine in a loud, hurried tone, very different from her ordinary voice.
“Allow me to tell you, my dear Valentine, that you are leading a very strange sort of life, and that it makes me very anxious for your health. You pass your nights walking about and reading; that is neither sensible nor prudent.”
“But I assure you that you are mistaken,” said Valentine, trying to edge him toward the door. “It was by the merest chance that I came out for a breath of fresh air in the park to-night, being unable to sleep. I feel quite calm now, and I will go in.”
“But the book that you came for,—you haven’t it, have you ?”
“Oh I that is true !” said Valentine, in confusion. And she pretended to look for a book on the piano. By an unlucky chance there was not a single book in the room.
“How do you expect to find it in this darkness ?” said Monsieur de Lansac. “Let me light a candle.”
“Oh ! that would be impossible !” exclaimed Valentine in dismay. “No, no, don’t light one ; I don’t need the book ; I haven’t any desire to read now.”
“But why give it up when it’s so easy to procure a light ? I noticed a very pretty box of phosphorus on the mantel-piece yesterday. I will wager I can put my hand on it.”
As he spoke, he took the box and thrust in a match, which blazed up and cast a bright light about the room, then changed to a faint blue flame, and seemed to die while taking fire; that brief gleam sufficed to allow Monsieur de Lansac to catch the terrified glance which his wife cast at the mirror. When the candle was lighted, he adopted a still calmer and more artless tone: he knew where Bénédict was.
“As we happen to be together, my dear,” he said, seating himself on the sofa, to Valentine’s intense disgust, “I am resolved to talk to you of a matter of some importance which is annoying me. Here we are quite sure not to be overheard or interrupted. Will you be kind enough to give me your attention for a few moments?”
Valentine, paler than a ghost, sank into a chair.
“Please come nearer, my dear,” said Monsieur de Lansac, drawing toward him a small table on which he placed the candle.
He rested his chin on his
hand, and began the conversation with the self-possession of a man accustomed to propose peace or war to monarchs in the same tone of voice.
XXXIII
“I presume, my dear love, that you desire to know something of my plans, in order to make yours conform to them,” he began, fixing his eyes upon her with a piercing gaze which held her, like one fascinated, where she sat.- “ Let me tell you, therefore, that I cannot leave my post, as I had hoped, for several years to come. My fortune has suffered a considerable diminution, which it is necessary for me to make up by my labors. Shall I take you with me, or shall I not take you ? That is the question, as Hamlet says. Do you wish to go with me ? Do you wish to stay here ? So far as it is in my power, I will comply with your wishes ; but give me a definite answer, for, in this respect, your letters have been marked by a too modest restraint. I am your husband after all, and I have some claim to your confidence.”
Valentine moved her lips, but could not utter a word. Between her jocose lord and master and her jealous lover, she was in a horrible position.
She tried to raise her eyes to Lansac’s face ; his hawklike gaze was still fixed upon her. She lost countenance altogether, stammered and made no reply.
“Since you are so bashful,” he continued, raising his voice a little, “I augur well for your submission to my wishes, and it is time that I should speak to you of the duties we have contracted toward each other. We used to be friends once, Valentine, and this subject of conversation did not frighten you so. To-day you treat me with a reserve which I cannot understand. I fear lest you have been too much in the company of persons unfavorably disposed toward me, during my absence. I fear—shall I tell you everything ?—that your confidence in me may have been somewhat weakened by some too intimate friendships.”
Valentine turned red and white by turns; then she mustered courage to look her husband in the face, in order to grasp his meaning. She fancied that she could see an expression of ill-will beneath his air of calm kindliness, and she assumed a watchful attitude.
“Go on, monsieur,” she said, with more courage than she herself expected to command; “ I am waiting until you say all that you have to say before replying.”
“People who are on friendly terms with each other should understand each other before a word is said,” rejoined Lansac; “but, since such is your wish, Valentine, I will speak. I desire,” he added with terrifying significance, “that my words may not be thrown away. I mentioned just now our reciprocal duties; mine are to assist and protect you.”
“Yes, monsieur, to protect me !” echoed Valentine in consternation, but with some bitterness.
“I understand you perfectly,” he rejoined; “ you consider that my protection thus far has been a little too much like God’s. I confess that it has been a little distant, a little reserved ; but, if you wish,” he added ironically, “it shall be made more apparent.”
A sudden movement behind the mirror caused Valentine to turn as cold as a marble statue. She glanced at her husband with a startled expression, but he seemed not to have noticed the sound that had caused her alarm, and he continued :
“We will speak of that at another time, my love; I am too much a man of the world to annoy with manifestations of my affection a person who would spurn it. So that my duty toward you in the way of regard and protection shall be fulfilled in accordance with your desires, and never beyond them ; for in these days husbands make themselves especially unendurable by being too faithful to their duties. What do you think about it?”
“I have not had experience enough to answer.”
“Very well answered. Now, my dear love, I am going to speak of your duties toward me. That will not be very gallant; and, as I have a horror of anything resembling pedagogy, it will be the first and last time in my life that I shall do it. I am convinced that the meaning of the precepts I shall lay down will always remain in your memory. Why, how you tremble ! what childish folly! Do you take me for one of those antediluvian clowns who have nothing pleasanter to hold up before the eyes of their wives than the yoke of marital fidelity ? Do you think that I am going to preach to you like an old monk, and bury in your heart the daggers of the Inquisition, in order to compel a confession of your secret thoughts?—No, Valentine, no,” he continued, after a pause, during which he gazed at her coldly; “ I know very well what I must say to you in order not to disturb you. I will demand of you only what I can obtain without thwarting your inclinations and making your heart bleed. Don’t faint, I beg you ; I shall soon have said all I have to say. I have no objection whatever to your living on intimate terms with a select circle of your own which often assembles here, and whose recent presence is proved by various indications.”
He took from the table a sketch-book on which Bénédict’s name was written, and turned the leaves with an air of indifference.
“But,” he added, pushing the volume away with a resolute and commanding gesture, “I expect that your good sense will see to it that no stranger presumes to offer his advice in our private affairs, or attempts to interpose any obstacle to the management of our common property. I expect this much from your conscience, and I demand it in the name of the rights which your position gives me.—Well, why don’t you answer ? What are you looking at in that mirror ?”
“I was not looking at it, monsieur,” replied the terror-stricken Valentine.
“On the other hand, I thought that you were looking at it very intently. Come, Valentine, answer me ; or, if your attention is still distracted, I will remove the mirror to another part of the room, where it will no longer attract your eyes.”
“Do nothing of the sort, monsieur !” cried Valentine, beside herself with dread. “What do you want me to answer ? what do you demand of me ? what do you order me to do ?”
“I order you to do nothing,” he replied, resuming his usual nonchalant manner ; “ I entreat you to be compliant to-morrow. There will be a long and tedious matter of business to be adjusted; you will be called upon to consent to some necessary arrangements, and I hope that no outside influence will prevail upon you to disappoint me, not even the advice of your mirror, that adviser which women consult on every subject.”
“Monsieur,” said Valentine in a tone of entreaty, “I agree beforehand to whatever you choose to impose upon me, but let us go back to the château, I beg. I am very tired.”
“So I see,” observed Monsieur de Lansac.
He retained his seat for several minutes, however, watching Valentine, who stood, candle in hand, awaiting in mortal dread, the end of the scene.
It occurred to him to carry his vengeance even farther than he had done ; but, as he recalled the profession of faith he had heard Bénédict make a short time before, he very wisely concluded that that young madman was quite capable of murdering him ; so he rose at last and left the pavilion with Valentine. She, with useless dissimulation, ostentatiously locked the door of the pavilion with great care.
“That is a very wise precaution,” remarked Monsieur de Lansac, caustically, “especially as the windows are so arranged as to enable anyone who finds the door locked to go in and out with perfect ease.”
This last observation convinced Valentine at last of her real situation with respect to her husband.
XXXIV
The next day, she had hardly risen when the count and Monsieur Grapp sought admission to her apartments. They brought a bundle of papers.
“Read them, madame,” said Monsieur de Lansac, as he saw that she took up the pen mechanically to sign them.
She glanced up at him, and the color left her cheeks; his expression was so imperious, his smile so scornful, that she signed them all hastily, and said as she handed them back to him :
“You see, monsieur, that I have confidence in you, and do not look to see whether appearances are against you.”
“I understand, madame,” rejoined Lansac, handing the papers to Monsieur Grapp.
At that moment he was so happy and light-hearted at being rid of that debt, t
o which he owed ten years of annoyance and persecution, that he had a feeling of something like gratitude for his wife, and kissed her hand, saying with an almost sincere air:
“One good turn deserves another, madame.”
That same evening he informed her that he was obliged to leave for Paris with Monsieur Grapp on the following day, but that he should not return to his post without saying good-bye to her and consulting her as to her own plans, which, he said, he should never oppose.
He went to bed, overjoyed to be rid of his debt and his wife.
Valentine, when she was left alone at night, reflected calmly on the events of those three days. Until then, terror had made her incapable of considering her situation ; now that everything was amicably arranged, she was able to view it understandingly. But the irreparable step she had taken in signing those papers did not occupy her thoughts for an instant; she could find in her heart no other feeling than profound consternation at the thought that she was ruined forever in the estimation of her husband. That humiliation was so painful to her that it absorbed every other feeling.
Hoping to find a little peace of mind in prayer, she shut herself up in her oratory; but even then, accustomed as she was to mingle thoughts of Bénédict with all her aspirations toward heaven, she was horrified to find his image no longer so pure in her mind. The memory of the preceding night, of that tempestuous interview, every word of which, overheard doubtless by Monsieur de Lansac, brought the flush of shame to Valentine’s cheek, the sensation of that kiss, which still burned on her lips, her terror, her remorse, her agitation as she recalled even the most trivial details of that scene, all admonished her that it was time to turn back if she did not wish to fall into an abyss. Thus far her overweening trust in his strength had sustained her; but a moment sufficed to show her how weak the human will is. Fifteen months of unrestraint and confidence had not made Bénédict such a stoic that a single moment had not swept away the fruit of painfully acquired, slowly gathered, rashly vaunted virtue. Valentine could not close her eyes to the fact that the love she inspired was not the love of the angels for the Lord, but an earthly, passionate, violent love, a tempest likely to carry everything before it.