UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES 
 
 BROWSING ROOM
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 tre
 
 e tre 
 
 PRIVATE LIFE 
 
 VOLUME III
 
 LIMITED TO ONE THOUSAND COMPLETE COPIES 
 
 NO.
 
 COLONEL MIGNON AND DUMAY 
 
 The next day he accompanied his master upon 
 the ship The Modeste sailing for Constantinople. 
 There on the stern of the ship, the Breton asked: 
 "What are your last orders, my colonel?" 
 "Let no man approach the Chalet!" the father 
 exclaimed, suppressing his tears with difficulty.
 
 THE NOVELS 
 
 OF 
 
 HONORE DE BALZAC 
 
 NOW FOR THE FIRST TIME 
 COMPLETELY TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH 
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 BY GERTRUDE CHRISTIAN FOSD1CK 
 
 WITH FIVE ETCHINGS BY EUGENE DECISY, 
 AFTER PAINTINGS BY PIERRE VIDAL 
 
 IN ONE VOLUME 
 
 PRINTED ONLY FOR SUBSCRIBERS BY 
 
 GEORGE BARRIE & SON, PHILADELPHIA
 
 COPYRIGHTED, 1896, BY G. B. A SON
 
 . 
 
 ?Q 
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 189938
 
 TO A POLISH LADY 
 
 Daughter of an enslaved land, an angel through 
 love, through fancy a demon, in faith a child, old 
 through experience, in brain a man, in heart a 
 woman, through hope a giant, a mother through 
 suffering and a poet through thy dreams : to thee, 
 who art still Beauty itself, belongs this work, in 
 which thy love, thy fancy, thy faith, thy experi- 
 ence, thy grief, thy hope and thy dreams are as the 
 warp which carries a woof less brilliant than the 
 poetry locked in thy soul ; whose expression ani- 
 mating thy face, is for those who love thee, what 
 the symbols of a lost language are for scholars. 
 
 DE BALZAC. 
 
 (3)
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 About the beginning of the month of October, 1829, 
 Monsieur Simon-Babylas Latournelle, a notary, 
 went up from Havre to Ingouville arm in arm with 
 his son, and accompanied by his wife, near whom 
 walked, like a page, the head clerk of the office, a 
 little hunchback named Jean Butscha. When these 
 four persons two of whom made this journey 
 every evening arrived at the bend of the road 
 which turns back upon itself like those which the 
 Italians call corniches, the notary, from the height 
 of a terrace, looked about him behind and before, 
 to make sure that no one could hear him and then, 
 as an extra precaution, lowered his voice. 
 
 "Exupere," he said to his son, "try to execute the 
 little manoeuvre which I am about to entrust to you, 
 with intelligence; and without trying to understand 
 it; but if you divine it, I command you to throw it 
 into that Styx, which every notary and every man 
 destined for the law, ought to have within himself 
 for the secrets of others. After having presented 
 your respectful homage to Madame and Mademoiselle 
 Mignon, to Monsieur and Madame Dumay and to 
 Monsieur Gobenheim, if he is at the Chalet; when 
 
 (5)
 
 6 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 silence is re-established, Monsieur Dumay will take 
 you into a corner and you can look attentively 
 at Mademoiselle Modeste I will allow you that 
 all the time that he is speaking to you. My worthy 
 friend will ask you to go out and take a walk, and 
 come back in about an hour, about nine o'clock, 
 with an excited air; and trying to imitate the 
 breathing of a man who has been running, say then, 
 in his ear very low, but nevertheless so that Made- 
 moiselle Modeste can hear you: 'The young man 
 is here.' " 
 
 Exupere was going the next day to Paris to begin 
 his studies. This near departure had decided 
 Latournelle to propose his son to his friend Dumay 
 as an accomplice in the important conspiracy which 
 this order was to reveal. 
 
 "Is Mademoiselle Modeste, then, suspected of 
 having an intrigue?" Butscha timidly asked his 
 patron. 
 
 "Nonsense, Butscha!" replied Madame Latour- 
 nelle, again taking her husband's arm. 
 
 Madame Latournelle, the daughter of the recorder 
 of an inferior court for civil causes, considered her- 
 self sufficiently authorized by her birth to call her- 
 self the issue of a parliamentary family. This 
 pretension already indicates why this woman, a 
 little too red-faced for refinement, tries to affect the 
 majesty of the tribunal whose decrees are scribbled 
 by her father. She takes snuff, holds herself as 
 stiff as a ramrod, poses as a woman of importance, 
 and resembles a mummy which has been, for the
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 7 
 
 moment, galvanized into life. She tries to give 
 her sharp voice an aristocratic tone ; but she scarcely 
 succeeds in covering up the faults of her education. 
 Her social utility seems indisputable when one ob- 
 serves her bonnets, covered with flowers, the masses 
 of frizzled hair on her temples and the dresses that 
 she chooses. Where would the merchants place 
 these productions if there were no Madame Latour- 
 nelles? All the absurdities of this worthy woman, 
 essentially charitable and pious as she was, would 
 have perhaps passed unperceived, if Nature, which 
 sometimes amuses itself in producing these droll 
 creatures, had not given her the height of a drum- 
 major to make the inventions of this provincial 
 spirit more conspicuous. She had never been out of 
 Havre, she believed in the infallibility of Havre. She 
 bought everything there, and she had her dresses made 
 there; she called herself a woman to her finger- 
 ends ; she venerated her father and adored her hus- 
 band. The little Latournelle had the courage to 
 wed this girl, already arrived at the anti-matri- 
 monial age of thirty-three, and had even had a son. 
 As he could have obtained in many other ways the 
 sixty thousand francs dot given by the recorder, 
 people attributed his uncommon intrepidity to a de- 
 sire to escape the invasion of the Minotaur, against 
 whom his personal qualifications would have been 
 an insufficient guarantee, had he been guilty of the 
 imprudence of bringing home a young and pretty 
 wife. The notary had, however, recognized the 
 good qualities of Mademoiselle Agnes thus she was
 
 8 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 called and realized that a woman's beauty soon 
 passes and vanishes in the eyes of her husband. 
 As to the insignificant youth, on whom the recorder 
 bestowed his own Norman name in baptism, Madame 
 Latournelle is still so surprised at becoming a 
 mother at thirty-five years and seven months that 
 she would still provide him, were it necessary, with 
 her breast and her milk a hyperbole which will 
 give an idea of her motherly devotion. 
 
 "How beautiful my son is!" she said quite nat- 
 urally, showing him to her little friend Modeste, 
 when her handsome Exupere walked before them 
 when going to mass. 
 
 "He resembles you," replied Modeste Mignon, 
 just as she might have said, "what wretched 
 weather!" 
 
 The silhouette of this person, as an accessory, 
 seemed necessary in saying that Madame Latour- 
 nelle had for three years chaperoned the young girl 
 for whom the notary and his friend Dumay were to 
 arrange one of those snares called mouse-traps in the 
 Pkysiologie du Manage. 
 
 As for Latournelle, imagine a good little man, as 
 crafty as the purest probity permits. Any stranger 
 seeing this odd physiognomy, which is so familiar 
 to Havre, would take him for a sharper. A weak 
 vision forced the worthy notary to wear green 
 glasses to protect his eyes, which were always in- 
 flamed. Each eyebrow, ornamented with very lit- 
 tle hair, surrounded the line of the brown shell frame 
 of the glasses and made a double circle about his
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 9 
 
 eyes. If you have never observed the effect pro- 
 duced by these two circumferences placed one above 
 the other, upon the face of some passer-by, you 
 cannot imagine how such a face misleads you, es- 
 pecially when pale and wrinkled and ending in a 
 point like that of Mephistopheles a type which 
 painters give to cats. Such is the picture offered by 
 Babylas Latournelle. Above those atrocious glasses 
 a bald head rises, all the more fantastic because of 
 the wig which covers it. This wig seems to be en- 
 dowed with motion and is never in the same place ; 
 it allows the white locks to show on all sides and is 
 cut very unequally in front Seeing this estimable 
 Norman dressed in black like a coleopter, mounted 
 on two legs like two pins, and knowing him to be 
 the most honest fellow in the world, one looks in 
 vain for the reason of these misleading physiog- 
 nomic traits. 
 
 Jean Butscha, the poor natural child abandoned 
 by his parents, whom the recorder Labrosse and his 
 daughter had taken care of, was now head clerk in 
 the notary's office by virtue of hard work. He 
 slept and ate at his patron's house and received nine 
 hundred francs salary. With no semblance of 
 youth, and almost a dwarf, Jean made Modeste his 
 idol, indeed he would have given his life for her. 
 This poor creature, marked by small-pox, whose 
 eyes, pressed between their thick lids, seemed like 
 two touch-holes of a cannon, with frizzly hair 
 flattened on his square head, and embarrassed by 
 enormous hands, had lived since he was seven years
 
 10 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 old under the eye of charity is not this amply 
 sufficient to explain his whole being to you ? Silent, 
 reserved, of exemplary conduct, religiously in- 
 clined, he traveled in that immense expanse called 
 upon the map of the heart: Love-without-Hope, 
 the arid and sublime steppes of Desire. Modeste 
 had nicknamed this grotesque little clerk her Black 
 Dwarf. This sobriquet made Butscha read Walter 
 Scott's romance and he said to Modeste : 
 
 "Would you like to have a rose from your 
 mysterious dwarf for the day of danger ?" 
 
 Modeste forthwith plunged the soul of her adorer 
 into his slough of despond by one of those terrible 
 looks which young girls throw on men who do not 
 please them. Butscha nicknamed himself the clerc 
 obscur without knowing that this joke had its origin 
 in the scutcheons; for like his patroness he had 
 never been out of Havre. 
 
 Perhaps it is necessary, in the interest of those 
 who do not know Havre, to say a word in expla- 
 nation of where the Latournelle family was going, 
 for the head clerk is evidently included in this fam- 
 ily. Ingouville is to Havre what Montmartre is to 
 Paris, a high hill at the foot of which the city 
 spreads itself, with this difference, that the sea and 
 the Seine surround the city and the hill ; that Havre 
 finds itself fatally circumscribed by close fortifica- 
 tions and that the mouth of the river, the port, the 
 basins, present a very different spectacle from the 
 fifty thousand houses of Paris. At the foot of Mont- 
 martre rises an ocean of slate roofs with its seeming,
 
 MODESTE MIGNON II 
 
 motionless blue billows; at Ingouville one sees, as 
 it were, the mobile billows stirred by the winds. 
 This eminence, which from Rouen to the sea coasts 
 the river, leaves a margin more or less narrow be- 
 tween it and the waters. It, however, certainly 
 contains the treasures of the picturesque, with its 
 villages, gorges, dales, and fields and it acquired an 
 immense value at Ingouville after 1816, the date 
 when the prosperity of Havre began. 
 
 This district became the Auteuil, the Ville- 
 d'Avray, the Montmorency of the merchants, who 
 built their villas one above the other on this amphi- 
 theatre, to breathe the air of the sea perfumed by 
 the flowers of their sumptuous gardens. These 
 daring speculators rested here after the fatigues of 
 their counting-rooms, and of the atmosphere of their 
 city houses crowded one against the other without 
 space, often without courtyards, as the increase of 
 the population of Havre, the inflexible lines of its 
 ramparts, and the aggrandizements of the docks com- 
 pelled them. Indeed what sadness seemed to rest 
 in the heart of Havre and what joy at Ingouville! 
 The law of social development has caused the 
 Faubourg de Graville to spring up as a mushroom; 
 to-day, more considerable than Havre, it extends at 
 the foot of its slope like a serpent On the ridge, 
 Ingouville has only one street and, as in all such 
 cases, the houses which look toward the Seine have 
 an immense advantage over those on the other side 
 of the way, whose view they obstruct, and they 
 have the air of standing on tiptoe like spectators
 
 12 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 to see over the roofs opposite. Nevertheless, there 
 exist here, as elsewhere, certain servitudes. Some 
 houses situated on the summit occupy a superior 
 position or enjoy a legal right to the view, which 
 obliges the neighbor to build his house only to a 
 given height. Then the capricious rock is hollowed 
 by roads which render the amphitheatre habitable, 
 and by these means some of the estates obtain a 
 view of the city, the river or the sea. Instead of 
 being cut perpendicularly, the hill ends abruptly in 
 a cliff. At the end of the street which winds to the 
 summit the ravines are seen where several villages 
 are situated, Sainte-Adresse, two or three Saints, 
 I don't know whom, and the creeks where the 
 ocean's roar is heard. This almost deserted side of 
 Ingouville forms a striking contrast to the beautiful 
 villas in the valley of the Seine. Do they fear the 
 winds for their vegetation ? Whatever it may be, 
 the tourist on the steamboats is astonished to find 
 the side of Ingouville to the west, naked and barren, 
 like a poor man in rags beside a rich one sumptu- 
 ously dressed and perfumed. 
 
 In 1829 one of the last houses on the ocean side, 
 and which no doubt now stands about the middle of 
 Ingouville, was called, and is perhaps still, The 
 Chalet. It was formerly a porter's lodge with a 
 little garden in front. The owner of the villa to 
 which it belonged a house with a park, gardens, 
 aviaries, hot-houses and meadows took a fancy to 
 put this little house more in keeping with the splen- 
 dors of his own abode and reconstruct it as a model
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 13 
 
 cottage. He separated this cottage from his own 
 lawn ornamented with flower beds, which formed 
 the terrace of his villa, by a low wall, along the 
 length of which he planted a hedge to conceal it. 
 Behind the cottage, called in spite of him the Chalet, 
 extended orchards and kitchen gardens. This 
 chalet, which had neither cows nor dairy, had, as 
 enclosure from the highway, only a wooden fence 
 covered with a luxuriant hedge. On the other side 
 of the way, the house opposite, subject to some 
 rights of other parties, had the same kind of fence 
 and hedge which allowed the chalet a view of Havre. 
 This little house was the despair of Monsieur 
 Vilquin, the owner of the villa; and this is the 
 reason. The creator of this place, every detail of 
 which cried aloud : "Behold our millions 1 " had ex- 
 tended his park far enough toward the country so 
 that, as he said, "his gardeners could not be in his 
 pockets," and that when finished, the chalet could 
 only be occupied by a friend. Monsieur Mignon, 
 the former owner, was very fond of his cashier and 
 this story will prove that Dumay returned his affec- 
 tion; he therefore offered him this dwelling. A 
 stickler for form, Dumay insisted on signing a lease 
 for twelve years at three hundred francs' rent to his 
 employer and Monsieur Mignon signed it willingly, 
 saying: 
 
 "My dear Dumay, remember that you promise to 
 live with me for twelve years." 
 
 On account of certain events, which will soon be 
 related, the property of Monsieur Mignon, formerly
 
 14 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 the richest merchant of Havre, was sold to Vilquin, 
 one of his fellow competitors. In the joy of coming 
 into possession of the celebrated Mignon villa he 
 forgot to demand the canceling of this lease. Du- 
 may, in order not to lose the sale, would have 
 signed anything that Vilquin had required, but the 
 sale once made, he held to his lease with a ven- 
 geance. He remained, as it were, in Vilquin's 
 pocket, in the heart of the Vilquin family, watching 
 Vilquin, worrying Vilquin, the veritable gad-fly of 
 the Vilquins. Every morning, Vilquin experienced 
 great annoyance in seeing that jewel of construction 
 from his window, that chalet which cost sixty thou- 
 sand francs and glittered in the sun like a ruby, 
 which by the way is not a bad comparison. The 
 architect had built this cottage of the reddest brick, 
 pointed in white. The window frames were painted 
 a bright green, and the woodwork a yellowish 
 brown. The roof overhung several feet A pretty 
 open-work gallery surmounts the first floor and in 
 the middle of the facade projects a veranda with 
 glass sides. The ground floor contained a salon and 
 a dining-room, separated from each other by the 
 landing of a wooden staircase, the design and orna- 
 ment of which is of elegant simplicity. The kitchen 
 is behind the dining-room, the room corresponding 
 is used as the bed-chamber of Monsieur and Madame 
 Dumay. On the next floor, the architect has pro- 
 vided two large sleeping-rooms with dressing-rooms 
 attached, to which the veranda serves as a salon ; 
 then above, under the eaves, which resemble two
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 15 
 
 cards put one against the other, two servants' rooms, 
 lighted by a round window in the mansard roof, but 
 quite spacious. 
 
 Vilquin had been petty enough to build a wall on 
 the side toward the orchard and kitchen garden, and, 
 on account of this meanness, the few square yards 
 which the lease left to the Chalet resembled a Pari- 
 sian garden. The outbuildings, constructed and 
 painted in a manner to correspond with the Chalet, 
 are set against the wall of the adjoining property. 
 The interior of this charming habitation is in har- 
 mony with the exterior. The drawing-room, with 
 its floor inlaid entirely with iron-wood, presents the 
 wonders of a painting in miniature of Chinese 
 lacquer. Many-colored birds, impossible green foli- 
 age, and fantastic Chinese designs shine out from a 
 black background framed in gold. The dining-room 
 is entirely covered with carved Baltic wood, sculp- 
 tured as in the beautiful Russian cottages. The 
 small antechamber formed by the landing and the 
 staircase wall is painted like old wood to represent 
 Gothic designs. The bed-chambers, hung in 
 chintz, are beautiful in their costly simplicity. 
 The room in which the cashier and his wife slept, 
 is wainscoted and ceiled like the cabin of a steam- 
 boat These caprices of the owner explain Vil- 
 quin's rage; he would have liked this cottage for his 
 daughter and son-in-law to live in. This project 
 being known to Dumay may later explain his 
 Breton tenacity. 
 
 The entrance to the Chalet was through a small
 
 16 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 door covered with iron lattice- work, the iron spikes 
 of which were some inches higher than the fence 
 and hedge. The little garden, equal in size to an 
 ostentatious lawn, was now full of flowers, roses, 
 dahlias, the most beautiful and rarest productions 
 of the greenhouses; for the lovely little green- 
 house was still another subject of Vilquin's unrest, 
 the tasteful conservatory, the so-called conservatory 
 of madame, belongs to the Chalet and separates the 
 Vilquin villa from it, or, if you prefer, unites it to 
 the cottage. Dumay took his relaxation from his 
 account-books by caring for this conservatory, the 
 exotic productions of which made one of Modeste's 
 chief pleasures. 
 
 The billiard-room of the Vilquin villa, a kind of 
 gallery, formerly communicated with this conserva- 
 tory by an immense aviary in the form of a tower, 
 but since the construction of the wall which de- 
 prived him of the view of the orchard Dumay had 
 walled up this communicating door. 
 
 "Wall for wall," he said. 
 
 "You and Dumay fight each other with walls!" 
 said the merchants to Vilquin, to tease him, and 
 every day on Change the jealous speculator was 
 saluted with a new pleasantry. 
 
 In 1827, Vilquin offered Dumay a salary of six 
 thousand francs and ten thousand francs indemnity 
 to cancel the lease, but the cashier refused, although 
 he had only a thousand crowns from Gobenheim, 
 an old clerk of his captain. Dumay was, believe 
 me, a Breton planted by fate in Normandy. Imagine
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 17 
 
 then the hatred of this Norman Vilquin for the 
 tenants of the Chalet; Vilquin worth his three mil- 
 lions! What a crime of treachery to millions, thus 
 to demonstrate to the rich the impotency of gold ! 
 Vilquin, whose despair made him the talk of Havre, 
 had just proposed and Dumay had again refused, the 
 entire ownership of a pretty residence. Havre 
 began to grow uneasy over this obstinacy, the reason 
 of which many persons found in this phrase : "Du- 
 may is a Breton." The cashier felt that Madame 
 Mignon, and still more, Mademoiselle Modeste, 
 would have been too badly situated anywhere else. 
 His two idols dwelt in a temple worthy of them, 
 and at least preserved in this sumptuous cottage, in 
 which fallen kings could have kept the majesty of 
 surroundings, a sort of decorum which is often 
 wanting to those who have been reduced. Perhaps 
 the reader will not regret having known in advance 
 both Modeste's place of abode and her habitual 
 society; for at her age, people and things have as 
 much influence upon the future as disposition has, 
 even if the character does not receive any indelible 
 impressions from them.
 
 From the manner in which the Latournelles en- 
 tered the Chalet, a stranger might well have sup- 
 posed that they went there every evening. 
 
 "Here already, sir !" said the notary, when, in 
 in the salon, he noticed Gobenheim, a young banker 
 of Havre, a relative of Gobenheim-Keller, the head 
 of the large Paris house. 
 
 This young man with a livid face, one of those 
 blonds with black eyes in whose fixed look there is 
 something fascinating, as temperate in his speech as 
 in his living, clothed in black, thin as a consump- 
 tive, but with a strong frame, cultivated the family 
 of his former master and his cashier's house much 
 less from affection than calculation. They played 
 whist there for two cents a point, and full dress was 
 not necessary. He accepted only glasses of 
 sugared water and was not obliged to return any 
 civilities in exchange. This apparent devotion to 
 the Mignons led people to believe that Gobenheim 
 was in love and exempted him from going into so- 
 ciety in Havre, from making a thousand useless 
 expenditures, and from disarranging the economy 
 of his domestic life. This worshiper of the golden 
 calf went to bed every night at half-past ten and 
 rose at five o'clock in the morning. Sure of the dis- 
 cretion of Latournelle and Butscha, Gobenheim could 
 analyze knotty questions before them, submit them 
 (19)
 
 20 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 to the gratuitous advice of the lawyer and reduce 
 the idle stories of the town to their true valuation. 
 This young "gobbler-of-gold" as Butscha called him, 
 belonged to that class of bodies which chemistry 
 calls absorbents. Since the catastrophe which over- 
 whelmed the house of Mignon, where he had been 
 placed by the Kellers to learn maritime commerce, 
 no one at the Chalet had ever asked him to do any- 
 thing for him, not even a simple commission; his 
 reply was known. This fellow regarded Modeste 
 as he would have examined a lithograph worth two 
 cents. 
 
 "He is one of the pistons of that immense machine 
 called Commerce," poor Butscha, whose intelligence 
 betrayed itself by words timidly thrown out, said of 
 him. 
 
 The four Latournelles, with the most respectful 
 deference greeted an elderly lady dressed in black 
 velvet, who did not rise from the arm-chair in 
 which she was seated, both her eyes being covered 
 with the yellow film produced by cataracts. Ma- 
 dame Mignon may be described in a single phrase. 
 She attracted notice at once by her noble look of the 
 mother of a family whose reproachless life defies the 
 blows of destiny, but whom, nevertheless, it has 
 taken as the target for its arrows ; she was of those 
 who form the numerous tribe of Niobes. Her white 
 hair, carefully brushed and curled, became her cold, 
 white face, like those of the burgomasters' wives, 
 painted by Mirevelt. The excessive care of her 
 toilet, the velvet shoes, the lace collar, the carefully
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 21 
 
 arranged shawl, everything showed Modeste's solic- 
 itude for her mother. 
 
 When the moment of silence mentioned by the 
 notary, occurred in the pretty drawing-room, 
 Modeste, who was seated near her mother embroid- 
 ering a fichu for her, became the object of attention. 
 This curiosity hidden under the common questions 
 which everyone asks when making a call, and even 
 those who see each other every day, would have 
 betrayed to an indifferent person the domestic plot 
 meditated against the young girl ; but Gobenheim, 
 more than indifferent, remarked nothing. He 
 busied himself lighting the candles on the card-table. 
 Dumay's attitude made this situation terrible for 
 Butscha, for the Latournelles and especially for Ma- 
 dame Dumay, who knew that her husband Avas 
 capable of shooting Modeste's lover as he would a 
 mad dog. After dinner the cashier had gone to walk 
 followed by two immense Pyrenean dogs, which he 
 suspected of treachery and had left at an old farm of 
 Monsieur Mignon ; then, a few moments before the 
 Latournelles arrived, he had taken his pistols from 
 his bedside and placed them on the chimney-piece 
 without the knowledge of Modeste. The young girl 
 did not pay the least attention to all these prepara- 
 tions, which, were at least peculiar. 
 
 Although short, thickset, pock-marked, with a 
 very low voice and an air of listening to himself, 
 this Breton, a former lieutenant of the guard, pre- 
 sented such resolution, such courage plainly written 
 on his face, that during twenty years in the army no
 
 22 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 one had ever dared to joke him. His small calm 
 blue eyes resembled two pieces of steel. His man- 
 ner, the expression of his face, his speech, his bear- 
 ing all were in accord with his short name 
 Dumay. Besides, his well-known strength caused 
 him to dread no aggression. He was capable of 
 killing a man with a blow of his fist, indeed he had 
 done this great feat at Bautzen, when he found him- 
 self behind his company, unarmed and face to face 
 with a Saxon. 
 
 Just now the firm and gentle expression of the 
 man had reached a tragical sublimity; his lips, 
 pale as his skin, indicated an inward convulsion 
 controlled by his Breton energy; a slight moisture 
 which everyone saw and supposed to be cold, made 
 his forehead wet The lawyer knew from all this 
 that a tragedy in the Court of Assizes might be the 
 result. In short, the cashier was playing, on account 
 of Modeste Mignon, a part in which were engaged 
 honor and faith sentiments of an importance supe- 
 rior to those of mere social bonds, and resulting from 
 one of those compacts of which, in case of tragedy, 
 Heaven alone can be judge. 
 
 Most dramas exist in the ideas which we form 
 about things. The events which seem dramatic to 
 us are but the subjects which our own minds con- 
 vert into tragedy or comedy according to the bent of 
 our natures. 
 
 Madame Latournelle and Madame Dumay, charged 
 to observe Modeste, showed something unnatural in 
 their manner, a trembling of the voice, which the
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 23 
 
 accused did not notice in the least, so much was she 
 absorbed in her embroidery. 
 
 Modeste placed every needle full of cotton with 
 such accurate precision as to be the despair of all 
 embroiderers. Her face expressed the pleasure she 
 received in embroidering a petal which finished the 
 flower she was making. The dwarf, seated be- 
 tween his master and Gobenheim and barely re- 
 straining his tears, considered how he could reach 
 Modeste in order to whisper two words of advice in 
 her ear. In taking her place before Madame Mignon, 
 Madame Latournelle had, with the diabolical intelli- 
 gence of a bigot, isolated Modeste. Madame Mignon, 
 silent from her blindness, paler than was her 
 custom, also showed that she knew the trial to 
 which Modeste was to be subjected. Perhaps at 
 this last moment she blamed herself for this strata- 
 gem, although she had found it necessary. Hence 
 her silence her heart wept 
 
 Exupere, the trigger of the trap, was entirely ig- 
 norant of the piece in which chance had given him 
 a part Gobenheim, through his natural character- 
 istics, remained in a state of indifference equal to 
 that shown by Modeste. This contrast between 
 the complete ignorance of some, and the agitated 
 attention of others would have been interesting to a 
 well-informed onlooker. Authors make use of these 
 effects to-day more than ever and with good reason ; 
 as nature at all times is stronger than they. Here 
 you will see social nature, which is a nature within 
 nature, providing itself the pleasure of making a
 
 24 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 story more interesting than a romance, just as the 
 torrents trace fancies forbidden to painters and ac- 
 complish feats by arranging and wearing away 
 stones to the surprise of sculptors and architects. 
 
 It was eight o'clock and the twilight at this season 
 was already fading. There was not a cloud in the 
 sky, the balmy air caressed the earth, the flowers 
 gave forth their richest perfumes, and in the still- 
 ness the gravel could be heard crushing under the 
 footsteps of the returning promenaders. The sea 
 shone like a mirror, there was so little air stirring 
 that the flames of the candles lighted on the card- 
 table burned steadily, although the windows were 
 wide open. 
 
 The room, the evening, the dwelling, what a 
 frame for the portrait of the young girl then being 
 studied with the profound attention of a painter be- 
 fore the Margherita Dora, one of the glories of the 
 Pitti Palace. Was Modeste, a flower shut up 1 ike that 
 of Catullus, worth all these precautions? You have 
 seen the cage, now behold the bird. 
 
 Twenty years old, slender, exquisite as one of 
 those sirens invented by the English designers for 
 their Books of Beauties, Modeste presents, as her 
 mother did once, a coquettish expression, the charm 
 of which is so little understood in France, where 
 it is called sentimentality, but which with the 
 Germans is the poetry of the heart surging to the 
 surface; which in foolish people overflows in 
 affectation, while it gives to intelligent young 
 girls an exquisite charm of manner. Remarkable
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 25 
 
 for her hair, which is of a pale golden color, she 
 belongs to that class of women known, doubtless in 
 memory of Eve, as celestial blonds, whose satin 
 skin seems like a silky paper laid upon the flesh, 
 which quivers at a cold look, or brightens at a sunny 
 glance, and makes the hand envious to touch what 
 the eye can see. Beneath her hair, light as down 
 and curled in ringlets, her forehead, so purely 
 modeled that it might have been traced with a com- 
 pass, rests serene, calm almost to placidness, 
 although thoughtfully intelligent. Where could 
 one find a forehead more harmonious or of more 
 transparent clearness ? It seemed to have a lustre 
 like that of a pearl. Her eyes, blue bordering on 
 gray, showed both a love of mischief and innocence, 
 in harmony with her arching eyebrows, as regular 
 as those made by one stroke of the brush in Chinese 
 paintings of faces. This spirituelle candor is further 
 enhanced by the blue veins which show in the 
 mother-of-pearl tints around her eyes and temples, 
 a privilege of delicate skins. Her face, of that oval 
 so often used by Raphael for his Madonnas, is dis- 
 tinguished by the maidenly color of the cheeks, as 
 delicate as the rose of Bengal, and upon which the 
 long eyelashes of her transparent eyelids throw 
 shadows mingled with lights. Her small neck, 
 white as milk, recalls the fleeting lines loved 
 by Leonardo da Vinci. A few tiny freckles, like 
 the patches of the eighteenth century, show that 
 Modeste is indeed a being of the earth, and not one 
 of those creations dreamed of in Italy by the school
 
 26 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 of Fra Angelico. Her lips a little roguish, both 
 dainty and full at the same time, express volup- 
 tuousness. Her waist supple without being frail, 
 will not distress her motherhood, like those of the 
 young girls whose pretty figures are due to the mor- 
 bid pressure of corsets. The cloth and steel refined 
 but did not manufacture the serpentine lines of this 
 elegance comparable to that of a young poplar 
 swayed by the wind. Her dress, which was of pearl- 
 gray trimmed with cherry-red, and made with a long 
 waist, delicately defined her bust and covered her 
 shoulders, still rather thin, while a chemisette only 
 permitted a view of the first curves of the throat 
 where it joins the shoulders. Looking at this face, 
 both ethereal and intelligent, where the delicacy of 
 a Grecian nose with rosy, clear-cut nostrils denoted 
 a positive nature; where the poetry which domi- 
 nated the almost mystical forehead was half belied 
 by the voluptuous expression of the mouth; where 
 candor disputed the deep and varied expression of 
 the eye with one of irony an observer would have 
 felt that this young girl with her quick and firm 
 hearing alert to every sound, with her nostrils open 
 to catch the fragrance of the celestial flower of the 
 Ideal, was destined to be the stage on which would 
 be played the drama between the poetry which 
 surrounds every sunrise and the labors of the 
 day ; between Fancy and Real ity. Modeste was the 
 pure and modest young girl, knowing her destiny, 
 yet full of chastity the Virgin of Spain rather 
 than the Madonna of Raphael.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 27 
 
 She raised her head as she heard Dumay say to 
 Exupere, "Come here, young man," and when she 
 saw them talking in the corner of the drawing-room 
 she thought it was concerning some commission in 
 Paris. 
 
 She looked at the friends about her, astonished 
 at their silence, and exclaimed in the most natural 
 voice: "Well, are you not going to play?" as she 
 pointed to the green table which Madame Latour- 
 nelle called the altar. 
 
 "Let us play," said Dumay, who had just sent 
 young Exupere away. 
 
 "Sit here, Butscha," said Madame Latournelle, 
 thus separating the clerk, by the length of the table, 
 from Madame Mignon and her daughter. 
 
 "And you come here," said Dumay to his wife, 
 as he ordered her to keep near him. 
 
 Madame Dumay, a little American thirty-six 
 years old, secretly wiped away her tears ; she adored 
 Modeste and feared some catastrophe. 
 
 "You are not gay this evening," said Modeste. 
 
 "We are playing," replied Gobenheim, as he ar- 
 ranged his cards. 
 
 However interesting this situation may appear, it 
 will be more so after explaining the position of 
 Dumay toward Modeste. If the conciseness of this 
 explanation renders it dry, the reader will pardon 
 this dryness in favor of the wish to finish the scene 
 rapidly and understand the necessity of relating the 
 argument which regulates all dramas.
 
 Dumay Anne - Francois - Bernard born at 
 Vannes, set out in 1799 as a soldier to the army in 
 Italy. His father, president of the revolutionary 
 tribunal, had made himself so prominent by his 
 zeal, that the country was no longer the place for 
 Dumay when his father, a pettifogging lawyer, 
 perished on the scaffold after the Qth Thermidor. 
 After having seen his mother die of sorrow, Anne 
 sold everything he possessed, and at the age of 
 twenty-two ran away to Italy at the moment when 
 our armies yielded. He met in the Department of 
 Var a young man, who for like motives, was also 
 seeking glory, finding the field of battle less perilous 
 than Provence. 
 
 The father of Charles Mignon, the last scion of 
 that family to which Paris owes the street and hotel 
 built by Cardinal Mignon, was an artful man who 
 desired to save from the grasp of the Revolution the 
 estate of La Bastie, a pretty fief in Comtat Like 
 all timid persons at this time, the Count de la Bas- 
 tie, having become the citizen Mignon, found it 
 more salutary to cut off the heads of others than to 
 allow his own to be cut off. This false Terrorist 
 disappeared in the Qth Thermidor and was then 
 enrolled upon the list of refugees. The estate of La 
 Bastie was sold and the dishonored chateau had its 
 turrets razed to the ground. Finally citizen Mignon, 
 (29)
 
 30 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 discovered at Orange, was massacred with his wife 
 and children with the exception of Charles Mignon, 
 who had been sent to find an asylum in the High- 
 Alps. Overwhelmed with this terrible blow, 
 Charles waited for a less stormy time in the valley 
 of Mont Genevra. There he lived until 1799 on a 
 few louis which his father had put in his hand upon 
 leaving him. At last when he was twenty-three 
 years old, without other fortune than his fine, noble 
 bearing and that southern beauty, which, when per- 
 fect, reaches sublimity, of which Antinous, the 
 favorite of Adrian, is the type, Charles resolved to 
 hazard upon the red carpet of war his southern 
 audacity, which like many others he took for a voca- 
 tion. He met the Breton as he was going to the 
 seat of the army at Nice. Having become comrades 
 through the similarity of their destiny and through 
 the contrast of their characters, these two soldiers 
 drank from the same cup at the gushing torrent, 
 divided the same piece of bread and found them- 
 selves sergeants at the peace which followed the 
 Battle of Marengo. When the war began again, 
 Charles Mignon went into the cavalry and then lost 
 sight of his comrade. The last of the Mignons of La 
 Bastie was, in 1812, an officer of the Legion of Honor 
 and major of a regiment of cavalry, and hoped to be 
 recreated count of La Bastie and made a colonel by 
 the Emperor. Being captured by the Russians, he 
 was sent, like many others, to Siberia. 
 
 He made the journey with a poor lieutenant in 
 whom he recognized Anne Dumay, brave, unhappy
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 31 
 
 and undecorated, like a million foot-soldiers with 
 worsted epaulettes, the rank and file, that canvas 
 of men upon which Napoleon has painted the pic- 
 ture of the Empire. To kill time in Siberia, the 
 lieutenant-colonel taught the Breton writing and 
 arithmetic, as his father Scevola had considered 
 education useless. Charles found in his first 
 traveling companion one of those rare hearts into 
 which he could pour all his sorrows while telling 
 his happiness. The son of Provence had finished 
 by meeting the fate which awaits all handsome 
 bachelors. In 1804, at Frankfort-on-the-Main, he 
 became the adored of Bettina Wallenrod, the only 
 daughter of a banker, and he had married her with 
 all the more enthusiasm since she was rich and one 
 of the beauties of the town, and he only a lieutenant 
 without other fortune than the exceedingly prob- 
 lematical future of the military men of that time. 
 The old Wallenrod, a German baron who had fallen 
 from his rank, banking and the baronage are insep- 
 arable delighted to know that the handsome lieu- 
 tenant was the sole representative of the Mignons 
 of La Bastie, approved of the love of the blond 
 Bettina, whom a painter there was one at that time 
 in Frankfort had asked to pose for an ideal statue 
 of Germany. Wallenrod designated in advance 
 his grandsons as the Counts of La Bastie- Wallen- 
 rod, and placed in French securities the necessary 
 sum to give his daughter an income of thirty thou- 
 sand francs. This dowry made a very small hole 
 in his cash-box, taking into account the small amount
 
 32 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 of capital required at that time. The Empire pur- 
 sued a policy adopted by many debtors and rarely 
 paid its dividends, therefore Charles was frightened 
 at this investment, as he had not so much faith in 
 the Imperial eagle as the German baron. The phe- 
 nomenon of faith, or admiration which is only an 
 ephemeral faith, is established with difficulty when 
 we are brought into close relation with the idol. 
 The engineer suspects the machine which the trav- 
 eler admires, and the officers were in some meas- 
 ure the stokers of the Napoleonic locomotive if they 
 were not its fuel. Baron Wallenrod-Tustall-Bar- 
 tenstild promised, if necessary, to come to the aid 
 of the household. Charles loved Bettina Wallenrod 
 as much as he was loved by her, which is saying a 
 great deal ; but when a Provencal is enthusiastic, 
 everything becomes natural in regard to sentiment 
 And how could he fail to adore a blond escaped 
 from one of Albert Durer's pictures, of an angelic 
 disposition and a fortune which was notable at 
 Frankfort? 
 
 Charles had four children, of whom only two 
 daughters remained at the time when he poured his 
 sorrows into the ear of the Breton. Without know- 
 ing them, Dumay loved these two little ones from 
 the effect of that sympathy so well understood by 
 Charles, which makes a soldier the father of all chil- 
 dren. The elder, called Bettina-Caroline, was born 
 in 1805 ; the other, Marie-Modeste, in 1808. The un- 
 fortunate lieutenant-colonel, having no news from 
 these beloved beings, returned home on foot through
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 33 
 
 Russia and Prussia in 1814, with the lieutenant 
 These two friends, with whom the difference in 
 epaulettes did not count, reached Frankfort at the 
 time that Napoleon landed at Cannes. Charles 
 found his wife at Frankfort, but in mourning. She 
 had had the sorrow of losing her father, by whom 
 she was so loved that he wished to see her always 
 smiling even at his death-bed. The old Wallen- 
 rod did not survive the disasters of the Empire. 
 At seventy-two, he had speculated in cotton, be- 
 lieving in the genius of Napoleon, without realiz- 
 ing that genius is as often above, as below 
 current events. This last Wallenrod, one of the 
 true Wallenrod-Tustall-Bartenstilds, had bought 
 almost as many bales of cotton as the Emperor 
 had lost men, during his marvelous campaign in 
 France. 
 
 "I tie in ze goten!" this father a father of the 
 Goriot type said to his daughter, in striving to 
 mitigate a sorrow which terrified him. "I tie owing 
 nobody nodings. " This Frenchman of Germany 
 died trying to speak the language beloved by his 
 daughter. 
 
 Happy to have saved his wife and two daughters 
 from the general wreck. Charles Mignon returned 
 to Paris, where the Emperor made him lieutenant- 
 colonel of the cuirassiers of the guard and a com- 
 mander of the Legion of Honor. The dream of the 
 colonel to see himself general and count at the first 
 triumph of Napoleon, vanished in the flood of blood 
 at Waterloo. The colonel, slightly wounded, fell 
 3
 
 34 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 back upon the Loire and left Tours before the troops 
 disbanded. 
 
 In the spring of 1816, Charles disposed of his 
 income of thirty thousand francs from government 
 securities, which gave him about four hundred thou- 
 sand francs, and resolved to go to America to make 
 a fortune, abandoning the country where persecution 
 already weighed upon Napoleon's soldiers. He 
 went from Paris to Havre, accompanied by Dumay, 
 whose life he had saved by mounting him behind 
 him in the midst of the turmoil which followed the 
 day at Waterloo. Dumay shared the opinions and 
 discouragements of the colonel. Charles was fol- 
 lowed by the Breton as though by a faithful dog, 
 and the poor soldier idolized the two little girls. 
 The colonel saw that, with the obedience and 
 habits of the guard-room, and the probity and 
 attachment of the lieutenant, he would make a faith- 
 ful as well as useful servant for him, so he proposed 
 to Dumay that he should put himself as a civilian 
 under his orders. Dumay was very happy to be 
 adopted by a family to whom he resolved to cling 
 like the mistletoe to the oak. While waiting for an 
 opportunity to embark, choosing between the ves- 
 sels and meditating upon the chances offered by 
 their destinations, the colonel heard much said of 
 the brilliant destiny which the peace promised for 
 Havre. Listening to the conversation of two citi- 
 zens, he saw the means of fortune and he became at 
 one and the same time a ship-owner, a land-owner 
 and a banker. He bought two hundred thousand
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 35 
 
 francs' worth of land and houses, and dispatched a 
 vessel to New York, laden with a cargo of French 
 silks, bought for a low price at Lyons. His agent 
 Dumay went with the ship. While the colonel in- 
 stalled himself and family in one of the most beauti- 
 ful houses of the Rue Royale, and learned the 
 principles of banking, in which he displayed the 
 activity and the marvelous intelligence of the peo- 
 ple of Provence, Dumay made two fortunes, for he 
 returned with a cargo of cotton bought at a ridicu- 
 lously low price. This double operation was worth 
 an enormous capital to the house of Mignon. The 
 colonel bought the villa at Ingouville and rewarded 
 Dumay by giving him a modest house on the Rue 
 Royale. The poor Breton had brought from New 
 York, along with the cotton, a pretty little wife who 
 had a weakness for French characteristics. Miss 
 Grummer was worth about four thousand dollars, 
 twenty thousand francs, which Dumay invested 
 with the colonel. Dumay, having become the alter 
 ego of the ship-owner, learned in a short time to 
 take charge of the books, that science which, accord- 
 ing to him, distinguished the sergeant-majors of 
 commerce. This simple-minded soldier, having 
 been forgotten by fortune for twenty years, thought 
 himself the happiest fellow in the world on finding 
 himself the owner of a house prettily furnished 
 through the generosity of his chief, twelve hundred 
 francs in dividends from investments and a salary of 
 three thousand six hundred francs. Even in his 
 dreams, Lieutenant Dumay had never hoped for
 
 36 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 such a position; but he was still better satisfied to 
 find himself the pivot of the largest commercial 
 house in Havre. Madame Dumay had experienced 
 the grief of losing all her children attheir birth, and 
 the sufferings of her last confinement had deprived 
 her of all hope of more; she therefore had attached 
 herself to the two Mignon daughters with almost as 
 much devotion as Dumay, who even preferred them 
 to his own children. Madame Dumay, whose 
 parents had been farmers, was accustomed to a life 
 of economy, and she contented herself with two thou- 
 sand four hundred francs a year for herself and 
 house. Thus every year Dumay placed two thou- 
 sand and some hundred francs more in the house of 
 Mignon. When the master examined the balance- 
 sheet, he added to the cashier's account a present 
 in keeping with his services. In 1824, the cashier's 
 credit amounted to fifty-eight thousand francs. It 
 was at that time that Charles Mignon, Comte de la 
 Bastie, a title which was never mentioned, over- 
 whelmed the cashier by giving him as a residence 
 the Chalet, where Modeste and her mother now live 
 in quiet retirement. The deplorable condition in 
 which we find Madame Mignon, whom her husband 
 had left still beautiful, has its cause in the catastro- 
 phe to which Charles's absence is due. It had 
 taken three years of sorrow to destroy this beautiful 
 German woman, but it was a grief like the worm 
 at the core of the fruit. It is easy to sum up the 
 causes. Two children who died at an early age 
 had a double grave in this heart which did not know
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 37 
 
 how to forget, and the captivity of her husband in 
 Siberia was a living death to this loving wife. The 
 downfall of the wealthy house of Wai lenrod, and the 
 death of the poor banker, leaving his coffers empty, 
 was like a mortal blow in the midst of Bettina's 
 doubts about her husband's fate. This tender Ger- 
 man flower barely escaped dying from the excessive 
 joy of Charles's return. Then the second fall of 
 the Empire and the anticipated expatriation were 
 new accessions of the same fever. But ten years of 
 continual prosperity, the gaieties of her house, the 
 handsomest in Havre, the dinners, balls, fetes of the 
 successful merchant, the sumptuousness of the villa 
 Mignon, the immense consideration and respectful 
 esteem which Charles enjoyed, the absolute devo- 
 tion of her husband, who responded to a unique love 
 with a love as unique: all these had reconciled the 
 poor woman to life. At last when her fears left 
 her, when she foresaw a beautiful evening to her 
 stormy day, a disaster which was not known, but 
 which lay buried in the heart of the family, and of 
 which we shall soon speak, became the consum- 
 mation of her misfortunes. 
 
 In January, 1826, in the midst of a fte, when 
 Havre had unanimously chosen Charles Mignon as 
 its deputy, three letters arriving from New York, 
 Paris and London had fallen as so many blows of a 
 hammer upon his crystal palace of Prosperity. In 
 ten minutes Ruin with its vulture wings, had lighted 
 upon this unheard-of happiness, as the cold settled 
 upon the great army in 1812. In one night spent
 
 38 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 with Dumay and his books, Charles Mignon had 
 decided what to do. All his property, without even 
 excepting the furniture, would be required in order 
 to pay his debts. 
 
 "Havre," said the lieutenant-colonel, "shall 
 never see me abased. Dumay, I will take your 
 sixty thousand francs at six per cent." 
 
 "At three, my dear colonel." 
 
 "Then I will not take them at all," replied the 
 colonel, peremptorily. "I will give you your share 
 in my new business. The Modeste, which no longer 
 belongs to me, sails to-morrow and I shall go with 
 the captain. I leave my wife and daughter in your 
 care. Do not expect to hear from me, no news 
 must be taken for good news." 
 
 Dumay, always the lieutenant, did not ask his 
 colonel a single question about his projects. "I 
 think," he said to Latournelle, with a wise air, 
 "that the colonel has his plans laid." 
 
 The next day he accompanied his master upon 
 the ship The Modeste sailing for Constantinople. 
 There on the stern of the ship, the Breton asked: 
 
 "What are your last orders, my colonel ?" 
 
 "Let no man approach the Chalet!" the father 
 exclaimed, suppressing his tears with difficulty. 
 
 "Dumay, guard my last child for me as a bulldog 
 would guard her. Death to the man who would try 
 to ruin my second daughter ! Fear nothing, not 
 even the scaffold. I will join you there." 
 
 "My dear colonel, go your way in peace, I under- 
 stand you. You will either find Mademoiselle
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 39 
 
 Modeste as you have confided her to me, or I will be 
 dead. You know me and you know our two Pyrenean 
 dogs. No man can reach your daughter. Pardon 
 me for having said so much." 
 
 The two soldiers threw themselves into each 
 other's arms, as two men may who have tested each 
 other in the wilds of Siberia. 
 
 The same day, the Courrier du Havre published 
 this simple, terrible, energetic and honest leading 
 article: 
 
 The house of Charles Mignon suspends payment. The 
 undersigned liquidators undertake to pay all liabilities. On 
 and after this date, all bills of exchange can be cashed to the 
 third holders. The sale of the landed property will fully 
 cover all current accounts. 
 
 This notice is given for the honor of the house, and to pre- 
 vent any disturbance of credits upon the Exchange of Havre. 
 Monsieur Charles Mignon left this morning on The Modeste 
 for Asia Minor, having left full powers to effect the sale of all 
 his property, even of real estate. 
 
 DUMAY, assignee for the bank accounts. 
 LATOURNELLE, notary, assignee for the 
 
 city and country estates. 
 GOBENHE1M, assignee for commercial 
 securities. 
 
 Latournelle owed his fortune to Monsieur 
 Mignon's kindness, for in 1817 he loaned him a 
 hundred thousand francs with which to buy the best 
 practice in Havre. This poor man, having no pe- 
 cuniary means, had been head clerk for ten years. 
 He was now forty years old and believed he was to 
 remain a head clerk for the remainder of his days.
 
 40 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 He was the only one in all Havre whose devotion 
 compared to that of Dumay, for Gobenheim profited 
 by the liquidation to continue the business of Mon- 
 sieur Mignon, which enabled him to increase his 
 own banking business. While unanimous regrets 
 were expressed at the Bourse, on the wharves, and 
 in domestic circles, while praises for such an irre- 
 proachable, honorable and well-meaning man filled 
 all mouths, Latournelleand Dumay,silent and active 
 as two ants, made sales, collected money, paid 
 off liabilities and closed up the business. Vilquin 
 played the generous part in buying the villa, the 
 town house and a farm, Latournelle profiting by 
 this in getting a good price from him. People 
 wished to call on Madame and Mademoiselle 
 Mignon , but they had obeyed Charles by taking 
 refuge in the Chalet the very morning of his depart- 
 ure, the exact hour of which had been concealed 
 from them. In order not to be shaken in his resolve 
 by his grief, the brave banker had kissed his wife 
 and daughter while they slept There were three 
 hundred visiting cards sent to the house of the 
 Mignons. Two weeks later, just as Charles had 
 predicted, they were entirely forgotten, which con- 
 vinced these two women of the wisdom and dignity 
 of the command. Dumay had his master repre- 
 sented in New York, London and Paris. He fol- 
 lowed up the liquidation of the three banking-houses 
 to which this failure was due, and from 1826 to 1828 
 he real ized five hundred thousand francs, the eighth 
 part of Charles's fortune, and according to his
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 41 
 
 written orders the night of his departure, he sent it, 
 in the beginning of the year 1828, through the Mon- 
 genod house, to New York to be placed to the credit 
 of Monsieur Mignon. All this was done with mili- 
 tary obedience, except as to withholding thirty 
 thousand francs for the personal needs of Madame 
 and Mademoiselle Mignon, which Charles had com- 
 manded but which Dumay did not do. The Breton 
 sold his house in town for twenty thousand francs 
 and put it to the credit of Madame Mignon, think- 
 ing that the more capital the colonel had, the sooner 
 he would return. 
 
 "People have been known to perish for lack of 
 thirty thousand francs," he said to Latournelle, who 
 had taken the house from him at his own valuation, 
 and where the inmates of the Chalet always found 
 a room. 
 
 Such, for the celebrated Mignon House, was the 
 result of the crisis which from 1825 to 1826 ruined 
 some of the principal places of business and wrecked 
 several Parisian bankers, among whom as some 
 may remember was the president of the Chamber 
 of Commerce. 
 
 One can well understand that this immense dis- 
 aster, crowning a bourgeois reign of ten years, 
 might be the death-blow to Bettina Wallenrod, who 
 again saw herself separated from her husband with- 
 out knowing his fate, which seemed as perilous and 
 adventurous to her as his exile in Siberia. But the 
 sorrow which dragged her to the grave was to these 
 visible sorrows what the misled child of the family,
 
 42 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 who destroys its happiness, is to ordinary trials. 
 The last stone thrown at the heart of this poor 
 mother was the stone in the little graveyard at In- 
 gouville upon which was inscribed: 
 
 BETTINA-CAROLINE MIGNON 
 
 DIED AGED TWENTY-TWO YEARS. 
 
 PRAY FOR HER ! 
 
 1827. 
 
 This inscription is, for the young girl, what many 
 an epitaph is for the dead, the table of contents of 
 an unknown book. Here then is the book in its 
 terrible brevity, which will explain the oath ex- 
 changed between the colonel and the lieutenant in 
 their adieus. 
 
 A charming young man named Georges d'Estour- 
 ny, came to Havre under the natural pretext of 
 seeing the sea and there he saw Caroline Mignon. 
 An elegant, entertaining Parisian is never without 
 recommendations. He was invited through the 
 intervention of a friend of the Mignons, to a fete 
 given at Ingouville. Very much attracted by both 
 Caroline and her fortune, the Parisian foresaw a 
 happy ending to the meeting. In three months he 
 had used all his seductive powers and Caroline 
 disappeared. When there are daughters in a family, 
 a father ought no more to allow a young man
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 43 
 
 whom he does not know to be introduced to his 
 house, than to leave papers and books about with- 
 out reading them first himself. The innocence of 
 maidens is like milk, which turns sour at the sound 
 of thunder, a poisonous perfume, warm weather or 
 even a breath. After reading the farewell letter of 
 his elder daughter, Charles Mignon had Madame 
 Dumay set out at once for Paris and the family 
 alleged that this sudden journey had been ordered 
 by the family physician, who affirmed this necessary 
 excuse; but, nevertheless, they could not prevent 
 some gossip at Havre about this absence. 
 
 "How can it be that such a strong young girl, with 
 a Spanish complexion and jet black hair ! she a con- 
 sumptive!" 
 
 "Yes, they say that she was imprudent " 
 
 "Ah! ah!" cried a Vilquin. 
 
 "She came in bathed in perspiration from a 
 horseback ride and drank ice water ; at least that is 
 what Doctor Troussenard says. " 
 
 When Madame Dumay came back from Paris, the 
 failure of the Mignon House had taken place and no 
 one paid any further attention to the absence of 
 Caroline nor to the return of the cashier's wife. 
 
 In the beginning of the year 1827, the papers 
 were full of the suit against Georges d'Estourny, 
 accused of cheating at cards, by the correctional 
 police. This young corsair exiled himself without 
 troubling about Mademoiselle Mignon, as the news 
 of the failure of her father had rendered her value- 
 less in his eyes. In a short time, Caroline learned
 
 44 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 of his infamous desertion and the ruin of her pater- 
 nal house. Having returned to the Chalet in a state 
 of desperate illness she died in a few days, and her 
 death at least shielded her reputation. 
 
 People believed now in the illness which Monsieur 
 Mignon had allegedatthe time of his daughter's flight, 
 and in the doctor's order, which was said to have 
 sent Mademoiselle Caroline to Nice. Up to the last 
 moment the mother had hoped to save her daughter. 
 Bettinawas her favorite asModestewas the favorite 
 of Charles. There was something touching in these 
 two preferences. Bettinawas the image of Charles 
 as Modeste was of her mother. This devoted couple 
 perpetuated their love for each other in their 
 children. Caroline, daughter of Provence, inherited 
 from her father that beautiful hair, black as a 
 raven's wing, which we admire in Southern 
 women, deep almond-shaped brown eyes as brilliant 
 as stars, an olive complexion, velvety skin like 
 ripe fruit, an arched instep and a Spanish figure on 
 which the short skirts set crisply. Both the father 
 and mother were proud of the extreme opposites of 
 the two sisters. 
 
 "A devil and an angel," they said jestingly; 
 however, it become a prophecy. After weeping for 
 a month in her room, where she would see no one, 
 the poor German mother came out with her eyes 
 seriously injured. Before losing her sight entirely 
 she went to see Caroline's grave, contrary to the 
 wishes of all her friends. This last image remained 
 distinct in the darkness which surrounded her, as a
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 45 
 
 red outline of the last object seen remains in the 
 vision when we close our eyes in bright daylight 
 Modeste now being the only daughter, her father 
 not knowing his loss, his terrible, double misfortune 
 made Dumay more watchful than in the past, but 
 not less devoted. Madame Dumay idolized Modeste. 
 Being a woman deprived of children, she heaped 
 upon her her mother-love, without, however, for- 
 getting the orders of her husband, who distrusted 
 women's friendships. These orders were positive. 
 
 "If any man of whatever age or whatever rank, 
 speaks to Modeste, looks at her or makes eyes at her, 
 he is a dead man," said Dumay. "I will blow his 
 brains out and give myself over to the legal conse- 
 quences : perhaps my death may save her. If you do 
 not wish to see my head cut off take my place in 
 watching over her while I am away in the city." 
 
 For three years past, Dumay examined his weap- 
 ons every evening. He put half the responsibility 
 of his oath upon two Pyrenean dogs, two animals of 
 unusual intelligence. One slept within the house 
 and the other was posted in a kennel without, from 
 which he neither came out nor barked; but the hour 
 when these two dogs tried their teeth upon anyone 
 would have been a terrible one for the unfortunate 
 person. 
 
 The life led by the mother and daughter at the 
 Chalet can now be imagined. Monsieur and Ma- 
 dame Latournelle, often accompanied by Goben- 
 heim, came almost every evening to join their 
 friends and play whist The conversation turned
 
 46 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 upon the gossip of Havre, the petty events of pro- 
 vincial life. They left between nine and ten 
 o'clock and Modeste put her mother to bed, when 
 they said their prayers together, encouraged each 
 other, and spoke of the beloved traveler. After 
 having kissed her mother good-night, she went to 
 her own room about ten o'clock. The next day 
 Modeste dressed her mother with the same care, the 
 same prayers, and the same prattle. Let it be said 
 to the praise of Modeste that since the day when a 
 terrible calamity deprived her mother of sight she 
 had become her servant and had always displayed 
 the same solicitude toward her without wearying, 
 without any indication of finding it monotonous. 
 This sublime affection given at all times, and with 
 a gentleness rare among young girls, was greatly 
 appreciated by those who witnessed it. Modeste 
 was a pearl of great price in the estimation of the 
 Latournelles and Monsieur and Madame Dumay. 
 Between lunch and dinner, Madame Mignon and 
 Madame Dumay took a little walk, when the sun 
 shone, to the water's edge, and Modeste accompanied 
 them, as two arms were needed to guide the unfor- 
 tunate blind woman. 
 
 A month previous to the scene to which this ex- 
 planation is a parenthesis, Madame Mignon had 
 taken counsel with her only friends, Madame La- 
 tournelle, the notary and Dumay, while Madame 
 Dumay took Modeste off for a long walk. 
 
 "Listen to me, my friends," said the blind 
 woman, "my daughter is in love, I feel it; I see it,
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 47 
 
 a strange change has taken place in her and I do 
 not understand how it is that you have not per- 
 ceived it " 
 
 "My word of honor" cried the lieutenant 
 
 "Do not interrupt me, Dumay. For two months 
 past Modeste has taken great care of her appearance, 
 as if she were going to meet a lover. She is ex- 
 ceedingly difficult to please about her shoes, she 
 wishes to display her foot at its best She scolds 
 Madame Gobet her shoemaker. It is the same with 
 her dressmaker. Some days my poor darling is 
 meditative, expectant, as if she awaited some one; 
 her voice has a querulous tone when one questions 
 her, as if she were disturbed in her fancies and 
 secret expectations; then if the expected arrives " 
 
 "Good gracious!" 
 
 "Sit down, Dumay," said the blind woman. 
 "Well, Modeste is gay! Oh! not for you, per- 
 haps, these shades of expression are too delicate to 
 be recognized by people who can see the actual. 
 This gaiety betrays itself in the notes of her voice, 
 certain accents which I understand. Then, instead 
 of sitting still, dreaming, Modeste expresses a wild 
 activity in impulsive movements, in short, she is 
 happy! There is grace even in the ideas which 
 she expresses. Ah! my friends, I know happi- 
 ness as well as sorrow even by the kiss which 
 she gives me, I understand what is passing in her 
 mind; if she has received what she awaited or 
 if disappointed. There are a great many shades 
 of expression in a kiss, even in the kiss of an
 
 48 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 innocent young girl and Modeste is innocence 
 itself, but it is informed innocence. If I am blind, 
 my love is farseeing and I charge you to watch 
 over my daughter." 
 
 Dumay became ferocious, the notary, a man who 
 wished to ferret out a mystery, Madame Latournelle 
 the deceived chaperone, and Madame Dumay who 
 shared her husband's fears, constituted themselves 
 so many spies to guard Modeste. She was not 
 left alone for an instant. Dumay passed nights 
 under her window wrapped in his cloak like a jeal- 
 ous Spaniard; but, armed with all his military 
 sagacity he was unable to find any clew to the 
 mystery. Unless she was in love with the night- 
 ingales in the Vilquin park or some Prince Lutin, 
 Modeste could have seen no one nor given nor re- 
 ceived any signal. Madame Dumay, who never 
 went to bed until she saw that Modeste was asleep, 
 watched the roads from the top of the Chalet with a 
 vigilance equal to that of her husband. Under the 
 surveillance of these Argus eyes, the irreproachable 
 child, whose least movement was studied and ana- 
 lyzed, was so thoroughly acquitted of all guilt that 
 the friends taxed Madame Mignon with foolishness 
 and preoccupation. 
 
 Madame Latournelle, who took Modeste to and 
 from the church, was instructed to disabuse the 
 mother's mind about her daughter. 
 
 "Modeste," she observed, "is a young person 
 of very exalted ideas, she adores the poetry of 
 one author, and the prose of another. You have
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 49' 
 
 only to judge by the impression produced on her by 
 that symphony of the scaffold an idea supplied by 
 Butscha, who often lent his abundant wit to his 
 benefactress called The Last Day of a Condemned 
 Man, but she seems crazy with admiration for this 
 Monsieur Hugo. I don't know where such people 
 Victor Hugo, Lamartine, and Byron are such people in 
 the eyes of the Madame Latournelles get their ideas 
 any way. The child kept talking to me about 
 Childe Harold, and I, not wishing to have her get 
 the best of me, was simple enough to commence 
 reading the stuff, so as to reason with her about it. 
 It may have been the fault of the translation, but it 
 turned my stomach, made my eyes swim and I could 
 not finish it. Why there are howling comparisons, 
 vanishing rocks and lava of the war! Well, one 
 may expect peculiarities in a traveling Englishman, 
 but he passes all bounds. He takes you to Spain, 
 puts you in the clouds above the Alps and makes 
 the torrents and stars converse and then there are 
 too many virgins! that is provoking. Then, after 
 Napoleon's campaigns, we have flaming bullets and 
 sounding brass which roll through several pages. 
 Modeste tells me that all that bathos is the fault of 
 the translator and that I ought to read it in English. 
 But I am not going to learn English for Lord Byron 
 when I did not learn it for Exupere. I much prefer 
 the novels of Ducray-Duminil to those English 
 romances! I am too good a Norman to fall in love 
 with things which come from foreign lands, espe- 
 cially England. "
 
 50 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 In spite of her eternal mourning, Madame Mignon 
 could not help laughing at the idea of Madame La- 
 tour nelle reading Childe Harold, and the wife of the 
 notary took the smile as an approbation of her sen- 
 timents. 
 
 "Thus then, my dear Madame Mignon, you take 
 the fancies of Modeste, the effect of her reading, for 
 love affairs. Remember she is only twenty and at 
 that age a girl is in love with herself and dresses for 
 her own benefit I remember that I used to put a 
 man's hat on my poor little sister and play that she 
 was a gentleman. You had a very happy youth at 
 Frankfort, but let us be just : Modeste has no amuse- 
 ments here. In spite of having her slightest wish 
 gratified, she knows that she is watched, and the 
 life she leads would offer very little pleasure to a 
 young girl who did not get her amusement from 
 books. Rest assured she loves no one as she loves 
 you and you may be very happy that she raves 
 over the corsairs of Lord Byron, the heroes of Sir 
 Walter Scott and your own Germans, the tales of 
 Egmont, Werther, Schiller and the other errs." 
 
 "Well, madame?" said Dumay respectfully, 
 somewhat frightened at Madame Mignon's silence. 
 
 "Modeste is not only in love, but she loves some 
 individual man," responded the mother obstinately. 
 
 "Madame, this thing affects my life, my honor, 
 and you must allow me, not only for my own sake, 
 but on account of my wife, my colonel and all of us, 
 to ferret this to the bottom and find out whether it 
 is the mother or the watch-dog that is deceived."
 
 MODESTE MIGNON $1 
 
 "It is you, Dumay! Ah! if I could only see my 
 daughter! " said the unfortunate blind woman. 
 
 "But with whom can she be in love?" asked Ma- 
 dame Latournelle. "As for us, I can be responsible 
 for my Exupere. " 
 
 "It cannot be Gobenheim, whom we have seen 
 scarcely nine hours a week since the colonel went 
 away," said Dumay. "Besides he does not think 
 of Modeste, that crown of one hundred sous made 
 into a man! His uncle Gobenheim-Keller told him 
 to be sure and get rich enough to marry a Keller. 
 With this program there is no fear that he will 
 even know to what sex Modeste belongs. Those 
 are all the men we see here. I do not count Butscha, 
 though I love him, poor little hunchback. He is 
 your Dumay, madame," he said to the lawyer's 
 wife. "Butscha knows very well that one look 
 cast upon Modeste would cost him a soaking such 
 as they give in Vannes. Not a soul has had any 
 communication with us. Madame Latournelle, who 
 since your your affliction, madame, comes to take 
 Modeste with her to church and returns with her, 
 has observed her carefully these last days dur- 
 ing the service and has seen nothing suspicious 
 about her. And if I must confess, I myself have 
 raked the avenues about the house for a month, 
 and have never found them with any traces of 
 footsteps. ' ' 
 
 "Rakes are neither expensive nor difficult to 
 handle," said the daughter of Germany. 
 
 "And the dogs?" asked Dumay.
 
 52 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Lovers knowhowto find potions for them," said 
 Madame Mignon. 
 
 "I shall blow my brains out if you are right, for 
 I shall be done for," cried Dumay. 
 
 "And why, Dumay?" 
 
 "Ah! madame I could not bear to look the colonel 
 in the face if he should not find his daughter, now 
 his only daughter, as pure, as virtuous as she was 
 when he said to me on the ship, 'Let not the fear 
 of the scaffold stay you Dumay, if it be a question 
 of Modeste's honor.' " 
 
 "I recognize you both in that speech," said Ma- 
 dame Mignon, much moved. 
 
 "I would wager my everlasting salvation, that 
 Modeste is as pure as she was in her little cradle," 
 said Madame Dumay. 
 
 "Oh! I should be sure of it," Dumay replied, "if 
 the countess would allow me to try one means, for 
 we old troopers believe in stratagems." 
 
 "I will permit you to do anything possible to en- 
 lighten us unless it will injure our child." 
 
 "What will you do, Anne, to learn the secret of a 
 young girl when it is so well guarded?" asked Ma- 
 dame Dumay. 
 
 "You must all obey me," exclaimed the lieuten- 
 ant, "I shall need every one." 
 
 This rapid summary, which, if understandingly 
 developed, would have furnished an 'entire picture 
 gallery of manners and customs in which many 
 families could recognize the events of their lives, 
 will suffice to make comprehensible the slight
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 53 
 
 details of the individuals and things given during 
 this evening when the old soldier had undertaken 
 to struggle with a young girl's heart and force 
 from its depths a love observed only by her blind 
 mother.
 
 An hour passed in terrible silence, interrupted 
 only by the hieroglyphic words of the whist players : 
 "Spades! Trump! Cut! Have we the honors? 
 Two of clubs ! Eight tricks ! Whose deal ?" phrases 
 which constitute to-day the great emotions of the 
 European aristocracy. Modeste, who was em- 
 broidering, was not surprised at her mother's 
 silence. Madame Mignon's handkerchief slipped 
 from her dress to the floor, and as Butscha hastened 
 to pick it up, finding himself near Modeste, as he 
 rose he whispered in her ear : 
 
 "Be on your guard." 
 
 Modeste looked at the dwarf with astonished eyes 
 whose subdued rays filled him with ineffable joy. 
 
 "She does not love anyone," the poor hunchback 
 said to himself, rubbing his hands hard enough to 
 tear off the skin. 
 
 At this moment Exupere rushed through the gar- 
 den, into the house and finally burst into the draw- 
 ing-room like a whirlwind, and said in Dumay 's 
 ear: 
 
 "The young man is here." 
 
 Dumay rose, snatched his pistols and went out 
 
 "Mercy! suppose he kill him," exclaimed Ma- 
 dame Dumay, as she burst into tears. 
 
 "What has happened?" asked Modeste, looking 
 fearlessly and innocently at her friends. 
 (55)
 
 56 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Oh! there is a young man walking around the 
 Chalet " cried Madame Latournelle. 
 
 "Well, but why should Dumay kill him ?" replied 
 Modeste. 
 
 "Sancta simplicitas! " exclaimed Butscha, looking 
 at his master as proudly as Alexander looks at Baby- 
 lon in the great picture by Lebrun. 
 
 "Where are you going, Modeste?" the mother 
 asked of her daughter as she got up to leave the room. 
 
 "To prepare everything for you to go to bed, 
 mama," replied Modeste in a voice as pure as the 
 tones of a harmonica. 
 
 "You have had your trouble for nothing," said 
 the dwarf to Dumay when he returned. 
 
 "Modeste is as virtuous as the Virgin on our 
 altar," exclaimed Madame Latournelle. 
 
 "Bless me! such emotions exhaust me although I 
 am very strong," said the cashier. 
 
 "I am willing to lose twenty five sous, if I under- 
 stand one word of what you are about this evening, " 
 said Gobenheim. "You seem to me to be crazy." 
 
 "Nevertheless, it concerns a treasure," said But- 
 scha standing on tiptoe to reach Gobenheim's ear. 
 
 "Unfortunately, Dumay, I am almost confident of 
 what I have told you," repeated the mother. 
 
 "It is now your turn, madame, to prove to us that 
 we are wrong," said Dumay in a calm voice. 
 
 Seeing that it was only a question of Modeste's 
 honor, Gobenheim took his hat, bowed, and went 
 away taking with him ten sous, as he deemed 
 another rubber impossible.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 57 
 
 "Exupere, and you Butscha, leave us," said Ma- 
 dame Latournelle. "Go into Havre, you can be 
 there in time to go to the theatre, and I will pay for 
 the tickets." 
 
 When Madame Mignon was alone with her four 
 friends, Madame Latournelle, after having looked at 
 Dumay, who being a Breton, understood the stub- 
 bornness of the mother, and at her husband who 
 was playing with the cards, thought herself author- 
 ized to speak first. 
 
 "Come now, Madame Mignon, what decisive 
 thing has impressed your mind?" 
 
 "Ah! my good friend, if you were a musician 
 you would already have heard, as I have, the 
 language of Modeste when she speaks of love." 
 
 The piano, belonging to the two young girls, was 
 among the few pieces of furniture which had been 
 brought from the town house to the Chalet, for the 
 use of the ladies. Modeste had sometimes driven 
 away her troubles by studying without a master, 
 and, a born musician, she played to cheer her mother. 
 She sang naturally and loved the German airs her 
 mother had taught her. From these lessons and 
 efforts resulted a phenomenon common enough in 
 natures having the true musical instinct; that is, 
 without knowing it, Modeste composed really melo- 
 dious songs, as one can compose without under- 
 standing harmony. Melody is to music what 
 imagery and sentiment are to poetry, flowers that 
 can bloom spontaneously. Thus national melodies 
 preceded the invention of harmony, as botany came
 
 58 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 after the flowers. So Modeste without having 
 learned the painter's profession, except what she 
 had seen with her sister, who painted in water 
 colors, would have stood charmed and spellbound 
 before a picture by Raphael, Titian, Rubens, Mu- 
 rillo, Rembrandt, Albert Diirer or Holbein that is 
 before the beau ideals of each country. Modeste, 
 especially for the last month, had spent her time 
 singing 1 ike a nightingale. The meaning and poetry 
 of these attempts had aroused the attention of her 
 mother, who was greatly surprised to note her en- 
 thusiasm in composing and arranging airs to un- 
 known words. 
 
 "If your suspicions have no basis," said Madame 
 Latournelle to Madame Mignon, "I pity your sus- 
 ceptibility." 
 
 "When the young girls of Brittany sing," said 
 Dumay gloomily, "the lover is not far off." 
 
 "I will let you hear Modeste as she improvises 
 and you will see," replied the mother. 
 
 "Poor child," said Madame Dumay, "if she but 
 knew our anxieties, she would be in despair, and 
 would tell us the truth, especially if she knew how 
 it concerned Dumay." 
 
 "My friends, I will question my daughter to-mor- 
 row," said Madame Mignon, "and perhaps I shall 
 obtain more through tenderness, than you through 
 strategy." 
 
 Was the comedy of the Ill-Guarded Daughter being 
 enacted there, as everywhere and always, without 
 these good Bartolos, these devoted spies, these ever
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 59 
 
 vigilant Pyrenese dogs being able to scent, divine 
 or see the lover, the intrigue or the smoke of the 
 fire ? This was not the result of any defiance be- 
 tween the guardians and the prisoner, between the 
 despotism of the dungeon and the liberty of the 
 prisoner, but the eternal repetition of the first scene 
 played at the raising of Creation's curtain Eve in 
 Paradise. Now which was right, the mother or the 
 watch-dogs ? None of the persons who were around 
 Modeste could understand this young girl's heart, 
 for, believe me, her soul and face were in harmony. 
 Modeste had transported her existence into a world 
 as contradictory to our day as was that of Christo- 
 pher Columbus to the sixteenth century. Happily 
 she kept her feelings to herself, otherwise she 
 would have appeared mad. Let us explain before 
 all else the influence of the past upon Modeste. 
 
 Two events formed for all time the soul, as they 
 had developed the mind, of this young girl. Warned 
 by the misfortune which had befallen Bettina, Mon- 
 sieur and Madame Mignon had resolved, before the 
 failure arrived, to marry Modeste. They had 
 chosen the son of a rich banker, a native of Ham- 
 burg, who had been living since 1815 at Havre, and 
 was under obligations to them. This young man, 
 named Francisque Althor, the dandy of Havre, en- 
 dowed with that ordinary beauty which satisfies the 
 commoner class, he was what the English call a 
 "masher," of high flesh tint, stout and of powerful 
 build, abandoned his fiancee so completely when 
 he heard of the failure, that he had never since seen
 
 60 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Modeste, Madame Mignon or the Dumays. Latour- 
 nelle having chanced to question papa Jacob Althor 
 on the subject, the German shrugged his shoulders 
 and replied, "I do not know what you are talking 
 about!" This reply, carried to Modeste in order to 
 give her experience, was all the better understood 
 as a lesson, because Latournelle and Dumay made 
 extended commentaries upon this ignominious 
 treachery. Charles Mignon's two daughters, spoiled 
 children, rode horseback, kept their own horses and 
 grooms and otherwise enjoyed a dangerous liberty. 
 Modeste when she saw herself with an authorized 
 lover, had allowed Francisque to kiss her hand, to 
 take her by the waist when he helped her to mount, 
 and accepted his bouquets, those delicate tokens 
 of tenderness shown to one's betrothed which accom- 
 pany all love-making. She had embroidered a 
 purse for him, believing in such bonds, so strong 
 for beautiful souls, but which are as spider's threads 
 for the Gobenheims, the Vilquins and the Althors. 
 During the Spring following the establishment 
 of Madame and Mademoiselle Mignon at the Chalet, 
 Francisque Althor came to dine with the Vilquins, 
 when catching a glimpse of Modeste over the wall 
 bounding the lawn, he turned his head away. Six 
 weeks later he married the elder Mademoiselle 
 Vilquin. Modeste, young, beautiful and of noble 
 birth, thus learned that for three months she had 
 been only Mademoiselle Million. The recognized 
 poverty of Modeste was thus a sentinel which de- 
 fended the approaches to the Chalet as effectively
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 6l 
 
 as the prudence of the Dumays or the vigilance of 
 the Latournelle household. Mademoiselle Mignon 
 was only mentioned to be insulted by such phrases 
 as: "Poor girl, what will become of her? She 
 will remain an old maid. What a fate! to have 
 seen everyone at her feet, to have had the chance 
 of marrying Althor's son, and now to find herself 
 with no one who wishes her. To have known the 
 most luxurious life, my dear, and then to fall into 
 poverty." Let no one imagine that these speeches 
 were made in secret and only guessed at by Modeste. 
 She heard them repeated often by the young men 
 and girls of Havre, who in walking to Ingouville, 
 and knowing that Madame and Mademoiselle 
 Mignon were living at the Chalet, spoke of them as 
 they passed that pretty house. Some of Vilquin's 
 friends were astonished that these two women had 
 been willing to live in the midst of the creations of 
 their former splendor. Modeste, behind her closed 
 blinds, often heard insolent speeches of this kind: 
 "I do not understand how they can live there!" 
 Someone had said while strolling around the grounds, 
 perhaps to help the Vilquins to drive away their 
 tenants: "What do they live on? what can they 
 do there? The old lady has become blind! Is Ma- 
 demoiselle Mignon still pretty? Ah! she has her 
 horses no longer! Dear me, how she put on 
 airs! " Upon hearing this wild nonsense, the 
 outcome of envy, which burst forth in a snarling, 
 spiteful tone, even in regard to the past, many 
 young girls would have felt the blood mount to their
 
 62 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 foreheads, others would have wept, some would 
 have been enraged, but Modeste smiled, as one 
 smiles at the theatre when listening to the actors. 
 Her pride did not descend to the level of such base 
 speeches. 
 
 The other event was much more serious than this 
 mercenary cowardice. Bettina-Caroline died in 
 Modeste's arms, and was nursed by her sister with 
 the devotion of youth, and the curiosity of a virgin 
 imagination. During the silence of night, the two 
 sisters exchanged many confidences. With what 
 dramatic interest was Bettina clothed in the eyes of 
 her innocent sister! Bettina understood passion 
 only through misfortune, she died a victim of love. 
 Between two young girls, every man, no matter how 
 much of a rascal he may be, remains a lover. Pas- 
 sion is the one absolute thing in life, and it can 
 never be wrong. Georges d'Estourney, gambler, 
 criminal, and debauchee, always assumed in the 
 minds of these two young girls the form of the 
 Parisian dandy admired of women at the fe"tes of 
 Havre. Bettina thought she had taken him away 
 from the coquettish Madame Vilquin to become her 
 happy lover. Adoration in a young girl is stronger 
 than all social condemnation. In Bettina's eyes 
 justice had been deceived, or how could it. have 
 condemned a young man, by whom she had been 
 loved for six months passionately loved in that 
 mysterious retreat where Georges had hidden her 
 in Paris, in order to preserve his liberty? The 
 dying Bettina had thus implanted in her sister the
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 63 
 
 sentiment of love. These two young girls had often 
 talked of this grand drama of passion, which the 
 imagination magnifies still more; and the dead 
 woman had carried to her tomb the uninformed 
 innocence of her sister, leaving her, if not in- 
 structed, at least devoured by curiosity. 
 
 Nevertheless, remorse had too often plunged its 
 fangs into Bettina's heart for her to dispense with 
 good advice to her sister. In the midst of her 
 avowals, she had never failed to preach to Modeste, 
 and to recommend to her an absolute obedience to 
 her family. The night before her death, she had 
 supplicated her sister to remember her tear-soaked 
 pillow, and not to follow a line of conduct which so 
 much suffering had barely expiated. 
 
 Bettina accused herself of having brought a curse 
 upon her family, and died in despair at not having 
 obtained her father's forgiveness. In spite of reli- 
 gious consolations and softened by so much repent- 
 ance, Bettina could not take her final sleep without 
 exclaiming with her latest breath in heartrending 
 tones, "My father! oh! my father!" 
 
 "Never give your heart without your hand," Bet- 
 tina said to Modeste an hour before her death, "and 
 above all do not receive the homage of any man 
 without the knowledge of mama and papa." 
 
 These words, so touching in their literal truth, 
 spoken in the crisis of her last agony, were oftener 
 echoed in Modeste's thoughts than if Bettina had 
 dictated the most solemn oath to her. This poor 
 girl, clear-sighted as a prophet, drew from under her
 
 64 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 pillow a ring on which she had had engraved at 
 Havre through her faithful servant Franchise Cochet, 
 these words: "Think of Bettina! 1827," instead of 
 any other device. A few moments before she drew 
 her last breath, she placed this ring upon her sister's 
 finger, praying her to keep it there until her mar- 
 riage. 
 
 There was thus between these two young girls a 
 strange union of poignant remorse and artless vis- 
 ions of the short summer of love, to which had so 
 promptly succeeded the deadly, cold atmosphere of 
 abandonment, but in which tears, regrets and mem- 
 ories were always dominated by the terror of doing 
 wrong. 
 
 Yet this tragedy of the girl seduced and return- 
 ing to die of a horrible malady under the roof of fallen 
 splendor, the disaster of her father, the cowardice 
 of her fiance, the blindness produced by her mother's 
 grief, found response only as yet in Modeste's out- 
 ward life, with which alone the Dumays and Latour- 
 nelles were concerned, for no devotion can take the 
 place of a mother's eye. The monotonous life in 
 this pretty Chalet surrounded by the flowers culti- 
 vated by Dumay; these habits with the regularity 
 of clockwork, this provincial prudence, these card 
 parties during which one sat and knitted, this 
 silence interrupted only by the roaring of the sea at 
 the time of the equinox; this monastic tranquillity 
 concealed a most tumultuous life, a life of imagi- 
 nation, a life of the intellect. We sometimes 
 wonder that young girls go wrong; but there does
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 65 
 
 not exist near them a blind mother, to strike her 
 intuitive rod upon the subterranean depths of the 
 virgin's heart, hollowed out by fancy. The 
 Dumays were sleeping when Modeste opened her 
 window, fondly imagining that a man might pass 
 by, the man of her dreams, the expected knight who 
 would take her behind him on his horse while risk- 
 ing Dumay's fire. 
 
 Modeste, cast down after her sister's death, 
 plunged into reading, steeping her mind in litera- 
 ture. Educated to speak two languages, she under- 
 stood German as well as French, while she and her 
 sister had learned English from Madame Dumay. 
 Modeste, being little watched over in this and by 
 persons without instruction, gave her mind for food 
 the modern masterpieces of the three languages, 
 English, German and French. Lord Byron, Goethe, 
 Schiller, Walter Scott, Hugo, Lamartine, Crabbe, 
 Moore, the great works of the seventeenth and eight- 
 eenth centuries, history and the drama, novels from 
 Rabelais to Manon Lescaut, from the Essays of Mon- 
 taigne to Diderot, from the Fables to the Nouvelle 
 Helotse, the thoughts of these three nationalities 
 filled with confused images that girlish head, sub- 
 lime in its cold artlessness, its sustained virginity, 
 but from which burst forth brilliant, full-armed, a 
 sincere, strong and absolute admiration for genius. 
 A new book was a great event for Modeste ; she 
 was happy with a masterpiece which would have 
 frightened Madame Latournelle, as we have seen; 
 she grieved when the book did not rend her heart 
 5
 
 66 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 An innate sentimentality worked in this soul, full of 
 the beautiful illusions of youth. But not one ray 
 of this burning life came to the surface. It escaped 
 the view of both Lieutenant Dumay and his wife, 
 as well as the Latournelles, and only the ears of the 
 blind mother heard the crackling of the flame. The 
 profound disdain which Modeste had conceived for 
 ordinary men, soon impressed on her face an inde- 
 scribable air of pride, of harshness even, which 
 modified her Germanic artlessness and which cor- 
 responded also with a detail of her physiognomy. 
 The roots of her hair, forming a point on her fore- 
 head, seemed to continue the slight line already 
 formed by thought between her eyebrows, thus 
 making this expression of firmness a 1 ittle too strong. 
 The voice of this charming child, whom, on account 
 of her mind, Charles, before his departure, had 
 called his Little Solomon, had acquired the most 
 delicious flexibility from the study of three lan- 
 guages. This advantage was still more enhanced 
 by the timbre of the voice, which was both smooth 
 and fresh and impressed the heart as much as the 
 ear. If the mother could not see the hope of a great 
 destiny written upon this forehead, she studied the 
 transitions of the growth of a soul in the accents 
 of this amorous voice.
 
 With Modeste, after the period of this eager read- 
 ing, there followed the play of that strange faculty 
 given to imaginative minds, that of making them- 
 selves actors in a life of mere dreams; of repre- 
 senting to one's self the things desired with an 
 impression so keen that it borders on reality, to 
 enjoy by the sentiment, to surmount everything 
 even to the years, to being married, to seeing one's 
 self old, to assisting at one's own funeral, as did 
 Charles V. ; in short, to enact in one's self the 
 comedy of life and, if need be, of death. Modeste 
 was playing the comedy of love. She imagined 
 herself adored to her heart's content, passing through 
 all the social phases. Having become the heroine 
 of a sad novel, she loved either a brute or some ras- 
 cal who ended upon the scaffold, or, like her sister, 
 some fashionable young man without a sou whose 
 life was confined to the sixth story. She imagined 
 herself a courtesan, and made fun of her admirers 
 in the midst of continual ftes, as did Ninon. She 
 led in turn the life of an adventuress, or that of a 
 much-applauded actress, exhausting the adventures 
 of Gil Bias, and the triumphs of Pasta, Malibran 
 and Florine. Then, weary of horrors, she returned 
 to actual life. She had married a lawyer, she ate 
 the brown bread of an honest everyday life and 
 saw herself reflected in Madame Latournelle. She 
 
 (67)
 
 68 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 accepted a painful existence, she bore the bustle of 
 fortune-making. Then she recommenced the 
 romances. She was loved for her beauty by a son 
 of a peer of France, an eccentric young man, an 
 artist, divined her heart and recognized the star 
 which the genius of the de Staels had placed upon 
 her forehead. Finally, her father returned with 
 millions. Justified by her experience, she sub- 
 jected her lovers to ordeals in which she guarded 
 her own independence. She possessed a magnifi- 
 cent chateau, with servants, equipages, everything 
 that luxury could present which was rare, and she 
 mystified her lovers until she was forty years old, 
 at which age she made her decision. This edition 
 of The Thousand and One Nights, of which only one 
 copy was printed, lasted one year and gave Modeste, 
 in thought, the experience of satiety. Too often 
 she had held her life in the hollow of her hand, she 
 had said to herself philosophically and with too 
 much bitterness, with too much seriousness and too 
 often: "Well! and afterwards? " not to plunge 
 herself up to her waist into that profound disgust 
 into which the earnest men of genius fall, only to 
 withdraw themselves through the tremendous labor 
 of the work to which they have dedicated themselves. 
 Had it not been for her rich nature, for her youth, 
 Modeste would have gone into a convent This 
 satiety threw this girl, already filled with catholic 
 grace, into the love of the Good, into the infinity 
 of Heaven. She thought of charity as an occupa- 
 tion for life; but she crept back into a dejected
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 69 
 
 melancholy in not being able to find food for the 
 fancies crouching in her heart like a venomous 
 insect at the bottom of a calyx. Yet she tranquilly 
 sewed on garments for poor women's children, and 
 listened with an absent manner to the grumblings 
 of Monsieur Latournelle to Monsieur Dumay, for 
 having cut a thirteenth card, or for having drawn 
 his last trump. Her faith drove Modeste into a 
 strange pathway. She imagined by becoming irre- 
 proachable speaking from a catholic point of view 
 she would arrive at such a condition of sanctity, 
 that God would listen to her and grant her desires. 
 
 Faith according to Jesus Christ can move mount- 
 ains, the Savior led His apostle on the Lake of 
 Tiberius; but I, I ask only a husband of God, she 
 said to herself; that is surely easier than to walk 
 upon the waters. 
 
 She fasted an entire Lent and did not commit the 
 least sin; then she told herself that some day in 
 leaving the church she would meet a fine young 
 man, worthy of her and of whom her mother would 
 approve and who, madly in love, would follow her. 
 
 The day which she had assigned to God for the 
 purpose of sending an angel to her, she was obsti- 
 nately followed by a poor wretch, disgusting enough 
 in appearance. It rained in torrents and there was 
 not a single young man in sight. She went to walk 
 upon the quay to watch the Englishmen disembark, 
 but each of them had an Englishwoman with him, 
 almost as pretty as Modeste, and there was not the 
 least trace of a wandering Childe Harold. This
 
 70 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 time tears overcame her when, like Marius, she 
 seated herself on the ruins of her fancies. One day, 
 when she had summoned God's aid for the third 
 time, she believed that the chosen one of her dreams 
 had entered the church and, perhaps, hidden him- 
 self through delicacy behind one of the pillars, so 
 she took Madame Latournelle on a tour of inspec- 
 tion. This blow deprived her of all belief in the 
 power of God to help her. She often held conver- 
 sations with this imaginary lover, inventing ques- 
 tions and replies, and ascribing much intelligence 
 to him. 
 
 The excessive ambition of her heart hidden in 
 these romances, was the cause of that prudence of 
 conduct so much admired by the good people who 
 guarded Modeste ; they might have brought many 
 Francisque Althors and Vilquin sons to her, and 
 she would not have stooped to such clowns. She 
 desired purely and simply a man of genius, talent 
 seemed to her a small thing, even as a lawyer is 
 nothing to a girl who limits herself to an ambassa- 
 dor. She desired riches only to throw them at the 
 feet of her idol. The gold background, upon which 
 the figures of her dreams were outlined, was even 
 less rich than her heart, full of womanly delicacy, 
 for her one thought was to render happy and rich a 
 Tasso, a Milton, a Jean- Jacques Rousseau, a Murat, 
 a Christopher Columbus. Ordinary misfortunes 
 made little impression upon this youthful soul who 
 wished to extinguish the funeral piles of those 
 martyrs often ignored during their lifetime.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 71 
 
 Modeste thirsted for the unnamed sorrows, the grand 
 suffering of thought Sometimes she composed 
 balms, she invented refinements, music and the 
 thousand means by which she could have calmed the 
 savage misanthropy of Jean- Jacques. Sometimes 
 she imagined herself the wife of Lord Byron and 
 almost comprehended his disdain of the real, in 
 making herself as fantastic as the poetry of Man- 
 fred and understood his doubts in making him a 
 Catholic. Modeste reproached all the women of 
 the seventeenth century for the melancholy of 
 Moliere. 
 
 "Why," she asked herself, "was there not one 
 woman, loving, rich and beautiful, to stand by 
 every man of geni-us and become his slave like Lara, 
 the mysterious page?" 
 
 She had, you will see, well understood the sorrow 
 which the English poet sang through the character 
 of Gulnare. She greatly admired the act of that 
 young English girl who offered herself to the son of 
 Crebillon and whom he married. The story of 
 Sterne and Eliza Draper made her life and happi- 
 ness for several months. Having become, in imagi- 
 nation, the heroine of a like romance, she more than 
 once studied the sublime role of Eliza. The admi- 
 rable tenderness so graciously expressed in this 
 correspondence, dimmed her eyes with tears, which 
 it is said were wanting in those of the cleverest 
 English authors. 
 
 Modeste also lived for a time through the compre- 
 hension, not only of the works, but also of the
 
 72 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 characters of her favorite authors. Goldsmith, the 
 author of Obermann, Charles Nodier, Maturin, the 
 poorest and most suffering among them, were her 
 deities. She divined their sorrows, she initiated 
 herself into their destitution so intermingled with 
 celestial ideas and she poured out the treasures of 
 her heart for them ; she saw herself the author of 
 the material well-being of these artists, martyrs to 
 their faculties. This noble tender-heartedness, this 
 intuition of the difficulties of work, this worship of 
 talent, is one of the rarest fancies which has ever 
 glowed in the womanly heart. At first it is like a 
 secret between the woman and her God ; for there 
 is in it nothing striking, nothing which flatters the 
 vanity that powerful auxiliary to noble actions in 
 France. During this third period of the develop- 
 ment of her ideas, there was born in Modeste a pas- 
 sionate desire to penetrate into the heart of one of 
 these anomalous existences, to understand the forces 
 of thought, the innermost woes of genius; to know 
 not only what he wishes to be, but what he is. 
 Thus with her, these vagaries of Fancy, the voyages 
 of her soul into space, the glances darted into the 
 mysteries of the future, the impatience of an un- 
 formed love to reach its goal, the nobility of her 
 ideas as to life, her resolution to suffer in an ele- 
 vated sphere instead of paddling around in the 
 swamps of a provincial life, as her mother had done, 
 the pledge which she maintained with herself not to 
 do wrong, but to respect the paternal hearth-stone 
 and bring only joy to her home all this world of
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 73 
 
 sentiments finally found expression and definite 
 shape. 
 
 Modeste wished to become the companion of a 
 poet, an artist, in short, a man superior to the mass 
 of men ; but she wished to choose him herself, to give 
 him her heart, her life, her great tenderness free 
 from the storminess of passion, only, however, after 
 having subjected him to profound study. She com- 
 menced by thinking over and enjoying this little 
 romance. The most perfect tranquillity reigned 
 in her soul. Her cheeks took on a delicate color. 
 She became the beautiful and sublime image of 
 Germany which you have seen, the glory of the 
 Chalet and the pride of Madame Latournelle and 
 the Dumays. 
 
 Modeste led then a double existence. Humbly 
 and lovingly she performed all the details of the 
 everyday life at the Chalet, she made use of it as a 
 curb to keep in subjection her ideal life, in imita- 
 tion of the Carthusian monks, who occupy them- 
 selves and regulate their material life in order to 
 permit the soul to develop itself in prayer. All 
 great minds bind themselves down to some mechan- 
 ical work in order to make themselves masters of 
 their thoughts. Spinosa ground glass for spectacles, 
 Bayle counted roof-tiles, Montesquieu worked in the 
 garden. The body thus controlled, the soul may 
 spread its wings with security. Madame Mignon, 
 who read her daughter's heart, was then right. 
 Modeste loved, she loved with that platonic love so 
 rare, so little understood, the first illusion of a
 
 74 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 young girl, the most delicate of all sentiments a 
 very dainty of the heart. She quaffed long draughts 
 from the cup of the unknown, the impossible, the 
 visionary. She admired the blue bird of Paradise 
 of youth which sings afar off, and upon which the 
 hand can never rest, which allows itself only to be 
 caught sight of, and which no shot can reach, whose 
 magical colors, like scintillating gems, dazzle the 
 eyes, and which is never seen again when Reality, 
 that hideous hag, appears, accompanied by witnesses 
 and the mayor. To have all the poetry of love 
 without seeing the lover! What a gentle debauch! 
 What a chimera with flowing mane and outspread 
 wings! 
 
 And here is the trivial and foolish chance which 
 decided the life of this young girl. 
 
 Modeste saw on the shelf of a bookseller the lith- 
 ograph portrait of Canalis, one of her favorites. 
 You know how false these sketches are, which are 
 the outcome of hideous speculations which take as 
 their object the persons of celebrated people, as if 
 their faces were public property. Now Canalis was 
 presented in a very Byronic pose, for the admiration 
 of the public; his hair in a gale of wind, his throat 
 bare, his forehead out of proportion, as every bard's 
 should be. The forehead of Victor Hugo has caused 
 the hair to be cut from as many foreheads, as the 
 glory of Napoleon has caused marshals, in embryo, 
 to be killed. 
 
 This face, made sublime by commercial necessity, 
 struck Modeste. The day upon which she bought
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 75 
 
 this portrait, one of the most beautiful works of 
 d'Arthez appeared, and even if Modeste suffers in 
 your opinion, it must be acknowledged that she 
 hesitated a long time between the illustrious poet 
 and the famous prose-writer. But were these two 
 celebrated men free? 
 
 Modeste commenced by assuring herself of the co- 
 operation of Francoise Cochet, the girl who was 
 taken away and brought back to Havre by poor Bet- 
 tina-Caroline, whom Mesdames Mignon and 
 Dumay, preferring to all others, hired by the 
 day and who lived at Havre. She took this suffi- 
 ciently discredited girl to her room, assured her that 
 she would never bring the least sorrow to her 
 parents, and never overstep the limits imposed upon 
 a young girl. She also assured Francoise that later, 
 upon the return of her father, she should have a 
 restful life for the rest of her days provided she 
 kept the secret inviolate, of the service she de- 
 manded. What was this? A small and innocent 
 thing surely. All that Modeste asked of her accom- 
 plice was to mail some letters and to take from the 
 office those addressed to Francoise Cochet. The 
 compact made, Modeste wrote a polite little note to 
 Dauriat, the publisher of the poems of Canal is, in 
 which she asked him, in the interest of the great 
 poet, if Canal is were married; then she begged him 
 to address his reply to Mademoiselle Franchise, 
 poste restante, Havre. 
 
 Dauriat, incapable of considering this letter se- 
 riously, replied by a letter written while five or six
 
 76 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 journalists were in his office, all of whom added 
 their witticisms. 
 
 MADEMOISELLE: 
 
 Canalis (Baron de) Constant-Cyr-Melchior, member of the 
 French Academy, born in 1800, at Ganalis (Corrfcze), height, 
 five feet four inches, in good condition, vaccinated, of pure 
 blood, has satisfactorily arranged his conscription, enjoys 
 perfect health, owns a little patrimonial estate in Correze and 
 wishes to marry, but the lady must be very rich. 
 
 He bears per pale, gules an axe or, sable three escallops argent, 
 above which is a baron's coronet; supporters, two larches, vert. 
 Device : OR ET PER ( never aurifere auriferous). 
 
 The original Canalis, who went to the Holy Land with the 
 First Crusade, according to the chronicles of Auvergne, is 
 related to have been armed only with an axe on account of 
 the extreme indigence of the family at that time, which still 
 weighs upon the race. Thence comes, doubtless, the escutch- 
 eon. The axe has given place to the shell. This lofty 
 baron is still celebrated to-day for having routed a great num- 
 ber of infidels, and died at Jerusalem without or or/er, naked 
 as a worm, on the way to Ascalon, ambulances being then 
 unknown. 
 
 The chateau of Canalis there are some chestnuts grown 
 there consists of two dilapidated towers joined by a crum- 
 bling wall remarkable for the fine ivy which grows on it, and 
 is taxed at twenty-two francs. 
 
 The undersigned editor begs to observe that he buys 
 volumes of Monsieur de Canalis's poems at ten thousand 
 francs each volume, as the author does not give away his 
 shells. The poet of Correze lives in Rue de Paradis-Poisson- 
 niere, number 29, which is a very convenient quarter for a 
 poet of the angelic school. The vers attract the gudgeons. 
 Letters must be post-paid. 
 
 Some noble ladies of the Faubourg Saint-Germain are said 
 to take their way to Paradise and protect this god. King
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 77 
 
 Charles X. thinks so highly of this great poet as to believe 
 him capable of becoming administrator ; he has recently nom- 
 inated him as an officer of the Legion of Honor, and, what 
 is worth more, master of the Court of Claims at the min- 
 istry of Foreign Affairs. These functions do not prevent the 
 great man from drawing a pension of three thousand francs 
 from the funds intended for the encouragement of art and 
 literature. This money success causes an eighth plague in 
 the library which Egypt escaped Us vers. 
 
 The last edition of the works of Canalis, printed on vellum, 
 with illustrations by Bixiou, Joseph Bridau, Schinner, Som- 
 mervieux, etc., published by Didot, is in five volumes, price 
 nine francs by mail 
 
 This letter fell like a paving-stone on a tulip. A 
 poet, master of the Court of Claims drawing a sal- 
 ary at the ministry, and receiving a pension, seek- 
 ing a red decoration, flattered by the women of the 
 Faubourg Saint-Germain did he resemble the 
 wretched poet strolling along the quays, sad, 
 dreamy, tired out by work and mounting to his attic 
 freighted with poetry? However, Modeste divined 
 the sarcasm of the envious bookseller who said: "I 
 made Canalis! I made Nathan!" Besides, she 
 had re-read the poems of Canalis, which were ex- 
 tremely seductive, full of hypocrisy, and need a 
 word of analysis to explain to you her enchantment 
 
 Canalis differs from Lamartine, the chief of the 
 angelic school, by his wheedling tone as of a sick- 
 nurse, by a treacherous sweetness, and a delightful 
 correctness. If the chief with his sublime cries is 
 an eagle, Canalis, white and rose, is a flamingo. 
 In him, women find the friend they need, a discreet
 
 78 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 confidant, their interpreter, a being who understands 
 them, and who explains them to themselves. The 
 large margins left on the last edition by Dauriat 
 were covered over with notes written by Modeste's 
 pencil expressive of her sympathy with this dream- 
 ful and tender soul. Canal is does not possess the 
 gift of life, he cannot breathe existence into his 
 creations; but he knows how to calm the vague suf- 
 ferings such as assailed Modeste. He speaks in 
 their own language to young girls, he soothes the 
 suffering of the most bleeding wounds, he stills 
 their moans, even their sobs. His talent does not 
 consist so much in making stirring speeches to those 
 who suffer, in giving them a remedy in arousing 
 strong emotions ; he is content to say to them in a 
 harmonious voice which they trust: "I too am un- 
 happy, I understand you well, come to me and let 
 us weep together on the border of this brook under 
 the willows." And they follow him, they listen to 
 his empty and sonorous poetry as children listen to 
 a nurse's song. Canal is is like Nodier in this, he 
 enchants you by a naivete, natural to the prose 
 writer, but sought after by Canal is, by his finesse, 
 his smile, his leaf-shed flowers, his infantine phil- 
 osophy. He imitates so well the language of our 
 youth, that he leads us back into the fields of illu- 
 sion. We are pitiless with the eagles, we demand 
 from them the qualities of the diamond, incorrup- 
 tible perfection; but with Canalis one is content 
 with him as he is, without wishing for more. He 
 seems a good fellow and above all, human. The
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 79 
 
 affectations of the angelic poet succeed with him, 
 just as those of a woman who plays well the part of 
 an inggnue, the surprised, the youth, the victim, 
 the wounded angel, will always succeed. While 
 receiving these impressions Modeste had confidence 
 in that soul, and in that countenance as ravishing 
 as that of Bernardin de Saint-Pierre. She paid 
 no heed to the publisher, and about the beginning of 
 the month of August she wrote the following letter 
 to this Dorat of the Sacristy, who still holds his 
 own as one of the stars of the modern Pleiades : 
 
 TO MONSIEUR DE CANALIS 
 
 "Many times, monsieur, I have wished to write to 
 you and why? you can guess it: to tell you how I 
 admire your great talent Yes, I indeed need to 
 express to you the admiration of a poor country girl, 
 alone in her corner, and whose greatest happiness 
 is to read your poetry. I come from Rene to you. 
 Melancholy follows revery. How many women 
 have sent you the homage of their secret thoughts 
 what chance have I to be noticed in this crowd ? 
 How can this paper filled as it is with my soul 
 be more to you than all the perfumed sheets which 
 beset you? I present myself with more anxiety 
 than any other ; and I wish to remain unknown to 
 you, and I crave an entire confidence, as if you had 
 known me for a long time.
 
 80 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Be good to me and answer my letter. I do not 
 promise to make myself known to you some day, 
 however I do not say absolutely that I will not 
 What can I add to this letter ? Then monsieur, see 
 in it a great effort, and permit me to offer you my 
 hand, oh ! such a friendly hand that of 
 
 "Your servant, 
 "O. D'ESTE-M." 
 
 "If you do me the kindness to reply to this, 
 address your letter, please, to Mademoiselle F. 
 Cochet, paste restante, Havre."
 
 MODESTE MIGNON TO CANALIS 
 
 "Many times, monsieur, I have wished to write to 
 you and why ? you can guess it : to tell you hoiv I 
 admire your great talent. Yes, I indeed need to 
 express to you the admiration of a poor country girl, 
 alone in her corner, and whose greatest happiness 
 is to read your poetry. * * * How many women 
 have sent you the homage of their secret thoughts 
 * * * Hoiv can this paper -filled as it is with my 
 soul "

 
 Now all young girls, romantic or otherwise, can 
 imagine in what impatience Modeste spent the next 
 few days ! The air was full of tongues of fire. The 
 trees seemed bedecked with plumage. She did not 
 realize that she had a body, but floated in space, the 
 earth seemed to bend beneath her feet Delighted 
 with the institution of the post-office, she followed 
 her little sheet of paper on its journey and was 
 happy as one is happy at twenty in the first exer- 
 cise of one's will. She was occupied, possessed as 
 one in the Middle Ages. She imagined his apart- 
 ment the poet's desk, she saw him break the seal 
 of her letter and she made endless suppositions 
 about it 
 
 After having sketched his poetry, it becomes 
 necessary to give the profile of the poet Canal is 
 is a dried-up little man of aristocratic appearance, 
 dark complexion, with a calf-like face and a slender 
 head like that of a man who has more vanity than 
 pride. He loves luxury, style and splendor, and 
 money is more necessary to him than to most men. 
 Proud of his noble birth, as much as of his talent, 
 he has injured the importance of his ancestry by 
 making too much of them, for after all the Canalises 
 are not the Negrepelisses, nor the Cadignans, nor 
 theGrandlieus, northeNavarreins; however, nature 
 has served his claims well. He has those eyes of 
 6 (8i
 
 82 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Oriental brightness which we demand in a poet, a 
 charm of manner, and a vibrating voice; but a nat- 
 ural charlatanism destroys nearly all these advan- 
 tages. He is really a comedian. If he advances a 
 well -shaped foot, it is because it has become a 
 habit. If he uses declamatory phrases, it is because 
 they are his own. If he takes a dramatic pose, it is 
 because he has made his deportment second nature. 
 Faults of this kind harmonize with an ever-present 
 generosity, which he displays, which we must call 
 knight-errantry in contrast to chivalry. Canal is 
 has not enough faith for a Don Quixote, but he is 
 too lofty not to put himself on the nobler side of a 
 question. His poetry, which makes these feverish 
 outbreaks at every turn, really injures the poet who 
 does not lack mind, but his talent prevents him 
 from using it properly; he is dominated by his rep- 
 utation and tries to make it appear greater than it 
 is. Thus, as very often happens, the man is not in 
 complete accord with the products of his brain. 
 These wheedling, naive, tender pieces, these calm 
 verses, pure as a frozen lake, this caressing femi- 
 nine poesy has for author, an ambitious little man 
 in a tightly-buttoned frock-coat, a diplomatic bear- 
 ing, dreaming of political influence, fulsomely aris- 
 tocratic, perfumed and pretentious, thirsting for the 
 money necessary to his ambition, already spoiled 
 by his success in two directions: crowned by the 
 laurel and the myrtle. With an office worth eight 
 thousand francs, a pension of three thousand francs, 
 two thousand francs from the Academy, three
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 83 
 
 thousand from his inherited estate less the neces- 
 sary repairs of the Canal is land a total of fifteen 
 thousand francs fixed, plus the ten thousand francs 
 on an average which accrued from his poetry in 
 all twenty-five thousand francs. For the hero of 
 Modeste, however, this sum constituted so pre- 
 carious a fortune that he usually spent five or six 
 thousand francs over his income; but the king's 
 private purse and the secret funds of the ministry 
 had heretofore made up this deficit. He had 
 written a hymn for the king's coronation which had 
 been worth a whole silver service to him. He had 
 refused to accept money, saying that a Canal is 
 owed homage to the King of France. The cheval ier- 
 king smiled and ordered from Odiot a costly edition 
 of the verses of Zaire. 
 
 Ah ! rhymester, you would flatter yourself, 
 By effacing Charles the Tenth in generosity. 
 
 About this time Canal is had, according to the 
 journalists' picturesque way of putting it, emptied 
 his budget; he did not feel capable of inventing a 
 new form in poetry; his lyre did not possess seven 
 strings; it had only one; and having been forced to 
 harp on it for so long, the public left him no alter- 
 native but to hang himself with it or be mute. De 
 Marsay, who did not like Canal is, made a jesting 
 remark whose poisonous point had wounded his 
 self-esteem. 
 
 "Canalis," he said, "puts me in mind of a brave 
 man who was sought out by Frederick the Great
 
 84 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 after a battle and commended because he had never 
 ceased tooting his one little tune." 
 
 Canal is wished to become a politician and to fur- 
 ther this end, he made use of a journey he had once 
 made to Madrid as the ambassador of the Due de 
 Chaulieu; but according to the gossip of the salons, 
 he really went as an attache of the Duchesse de 
 Chaulieu. How often a word of gossip has decided 
 the whole course of a man's life! The former pres- 
 ident of the Cisalpine Republic, Colla, the greatest 
 lawyer of the Piedmontese, was told by a friend at 
 the age of forty that he knew nothing of botany. 
 He was piqued, he became a second Jussieu, culti- 
 vated flowers, introduced new ones, and published 
 in Latin, The Flora of Piedmont, a work of ten 
 years. 
 
 "After all, Canning and Chateaubriand are both 
 politicians," the crushed poet said to himself, "and 
 De Marsay will find his master in me yet." 
 
 Canal is would have been glad to write some 
 great political work, but he was afraid of compro- 
 mising himself with French prose, whose require- 
 ments are severe for those who take four alexandrines 
 to express a single idea. Of all the poets of our 
 time, only three, Hugo, Theophile Gautier and De 
 Vigny, have been able to unite the double glory of 
 successful poetry and prose, as did also Racine and 
 Voltaire, Moliere and Rabelais. This is one of the 
 rarest distinctions of French literature and should, 
 above everything else, distinguish the real poet 
 among us. So then the Faubourg Saint-Germain
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 85 
 
 poet did wisely to keep his chariot under the pro- 
 tecting roof of the administration. In taking the 
 position of Mattre des Requetes, he experienced the 
 need of a secretary, a friend who could take his 
 place on many occasions, look after his interests 
 with publishers, see to his laudations in the news- 
 papers and, if need be, aid him in politics, to be, in 
 short, his right-hand man. Many celebrated men 
 in science, art or letters in Paris have one or two 
 train-bearers, a captain of the guards or a chamber- 
 lain who live in the halo which surrounds them, 
 a species of aides-de-camp intrusted with delicate 
 missions, even allowing themselves to be compro- 
 mised, if necessary, while working at the pedestal of 
 their idol ; neither altogether their servants nor yet 
 their equals; bold in their defense, the first in the 
 breach, covering their retreats, occupying them- 
 selves in their interest and devoted as long as their 
 illusions last, or until their desires are satisfied. 
 Some satellites recognize a slight ingratitude in 
 their great men ; others perceive that they are sim- 
 ple tools and tire of the position; few are contented 
 with that sweet equality of feeling, the only reward 
 which one ought to seek in an intimacy with a 
 superior mind a reward which satisfied Ali when 
 Mahomet raised him to his level. Many of these 
 men, misled by their vanity, presume themselves 
 to be as capable as the great man himself. Devotion, 
 such as Modeste conceived it, is indeed rare, espe- 
 cially when it is given without substantial results 
 and without hope. Nevertheless, some Mennevals
 
 86 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 exist, and perhaps more often at Paris than else- 
 where, men who really cherish a life led in the 
 shadow, with a quiet devotion to work, wandering 
 Benedictines to whom society offers no other mon- 
 astery. These courageous lambs express in their 
 actions, in their inner life, the poetry to which writers 
 give verbal expression. They are poets by nature, 
 by their secret meditations and tenderness, as 
 others are poets by expression in the fields of litera- 
 ture at so much a verse! like Lord Byron, like all 
 those who live, alas! by their ink, the Hippocrene 
 water of to-day, in the absence of power itself. 
 
 Attracted by the reputation of Canal is, and the 
 fair future promised by that pretended political in- 
 telligence; and advised by Madame d'Espard, who 
 acted in this for the Duchesse de Chaulieu, a young 
 counselor of the Cour des Comptes was appointed 
 secretary to the poet and was petted by him as a 
 speculator caresses his first client The beginning 
 of the companionship thus formed bore a strong re- 
 semblance to friendship. This young man had 
 already served in this capacity to one of the minis- 
 ters who left the office in 1827; but the minister 
 had taken care to procure him a situation in the 
 Audit Office. Ernest de la Briere, then about 
 twenty-seven years of age, was decorated with the 
 Legion of Honor, but without fortune except his 
 salary. He possessed a knowledge of business and, 
 after having spent four years in a minister's office, 
 was well qualified for the position. Of a sweet, 
 amiable disposition with a modest heart full of good
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 87 
 
 sentiments, he never wished to be in the fore- 
 ground. He loved his country and he wished to 
 serve her, but notoriety embarrassed him. He pre- 
 ferred rather to be the secretary to a Napoleon than 
 to be the prime minister. 
 
 Ernest, having become the friend of Canal is, did 
 a great amount of work for him, but in eighteen 
 months he recognized the barrenness of this nature, 
 poetic only through its literary expression. The 
 truth of the popular proverb, "it is not the cowl that 
 makes the friar," is especially applicable to litera- 
 ture. It is extremely rare to find harmony between 
 talent and character : the faculties are not the sum- 
 mary of the man. This separation whose phenom- 
 ena cause astonishment, springs from an unexplored, 
 perhaps, unexplorable mystery. The brain and its 
 products of all kinds, for in the arts the hand of 
 man follows up the brain, are a world apart 
 blooming beneath the cranium, in a perfect indepen- 
 dence of the sentiments, of that which is called the 
 virtues of a citizen, of the father of a family, or of 
 the private man. However, this is not absolute. 
 Nothing is absolute with man. It is certain that 
 the dissipated man will throw away his talents in 
 his orgies, that the drunkard will waste them in his 
 libations, while the good man cannot attain talents 
 by wholesome living; nevertheless, it is also almost 
 proven that Virgil, the painter of love, never loved 
 a Dido, and that Rousseau, the model citizen, had 
 pride enough to supply a whole aristocracy. Never- 
 theless, Michael Angelo and Raphael have offered
 
 88 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 the happy harmony of genius and character. Talent, 
 with men, is then as to morals, what beauty is with 
 women, simply a promise. Let us doubly admire 
 the man in whom we find heart and character equal 
 in perfection to the talent. In finding the poet an 
 ambitious egoist, the worst kind of an egoist, for 
 there are some amiable forms of the vice, Ernest felt 
 a kind of shame at leaving him. Good souls do not 
 easily break their bonds, especially those which 
 they have themselves voluntarily tied. The secre- 
 tary then 1 i ved happily with the poet when Modeste's 
 letter arrived, but as one always lives happily with 
 anyone by always sacrificing one's self, La Briere 
 took into consideration the frankness with which 
 Canal is had opened his heart to him. Besides, the 
 defects of this man, who will be esteemed great dur- 
 ing his life, and who will be fted as Marmontel 
 was, were the reverse side of his brilliant qualities. 
 Thus without his vanity, without his pretension, 
 perhaps he would not have been gifted with that 
 sonorous diction, a necessary instrument of the 
 political 1 ife of to-day. His sharpness bordered upon 
 rectitude, upon loyalty. His ostentation is lined 
 with generosity. The results profit society; the 
 motives concern God. 
 
 But when Modeste's letter arrived, Ernest no 
 longer deceived himself about Canalis. The two 
 friends had just breakfasted and were talking in the 
 study of the poet, who occupied then an apartment 
 on the ground floor at the end of a courtyard look- 
 ing out upon a garden.
 
 CANALIS, LA BRIERE AND MODESTE'S 
 LETTER 
 
 "Oh, Jwiv I should loi>e a woman to come to me ! " 
 exclaimed La Brier c, restraining a tear. "All I can 
 say to you, my dear Canalis, is, that it is never a poor 
 girl who reaches towards a celebrated man ; she has 
 too mucJi mistrust, too much vanity, too much fear. 
 It is always a star, a " 
 
 "A princess" exclaimed Canalis.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 89 
 
 "Oh," exclaimed Canal is, "I was right in telling 
 Madame de Chaul ieu the other day, that I ought to 
 publish some new poem. The admiration for me 
 is falling off, for it is some time since I have re- 
 ceived any anonymous letters." 
 
 "From a stranger?" asked La Briere. 
 
 "A stranger! A D'Este and from Havre! It is 
 evidently an assumed name," and Canalis handed 
 the letter to La Briere. This poem, this hidden 
 exaltation, in short, Modeste's heart, was recklessly 
 spread out by the gesture of a coxcomb. 
 
 "It is beautiful !" exclaimed the lawyer, "thus to 
 attract to one's self the most chaste sentiments, to 
 force a poor woman out of the habits which educa- 
 tion, nature and society mark out for her ; to force 
 her to break down conventionalities. What privi- 
 leges genius acquires! A letter like this which I 
 hold, written by a young girl, a true young girl, 
 without mental reservation, with enthusiasm, " 
 
 "Well ?" said Canalis. 
 
 "Well, if one had suffered as much as Tasso, one 
 should feel recompensed!" exclaimed La Briere. 
 
 "One says that to himself at the first, at the 
 second letter," said Canalis, "but when it is the 
 thirtieth! Or when a man has found that the 
 young enthusiast is not quite moral ; or when, at 
 the end of the brilliant path traversed by the ex- 
 altation of the poet, a man sees an old English- 
 woman seated upon a milestone, who holds out her 
 hand to him! or, when an angel in correspondence 
 changes into a poor girl of mediocre beauty, who is
 
 90 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 seeking a husband! Ah, then one's effervescence 
 ceases." 
 
 "I commence to believe," said La Briere smil- 
 ingly, "that glory has something poisonous in it, 
 like certain brilliant flowers. " 
 
 "And then, my friend," replied Canalis, "all 
 these women, even if they are sincere, they have 
 an ideal, and you rarely attain to it. They do not 
 say to themselves that the poet is a man quite vain, 
 as I am taxed with being; they never imagine that 
 he is a man dominated by a sort of feverish agita- 
 tion which makes him disagreeable, changeable; 
 they desire he should be always great, always hand- 
 some; they never think that talent is a disease; 
 that Nathan lives with Florine; that D'Arthez 
 is too fat; that Joseph Bridau is too thin; that 
 Beranger limps and that their own particular god 
 can have catarrh! A Lucien de Rubempre, poet 
 and good fellow, is a phoenix. Why then go in 
 search of miserable compliments and receive the 
 cold shower-baths which are given by the stupified 
 looks of disillusioned women?" 
 
 "The true poet," said La Briere, "should then 
 remain hidden like God in the centre of his worlds, 
 to be seen only by his creations." , 
 
 "Glory would then cost too much," replied 
 Canalis. "There are good things in life! See!" said 
 he, as he took a cup of tea, "when a noble and beau- 
 tiful woman loves a poet, she hides herself neither in 
 the upper nor in the stage-boxes of the theatre, like 
 a duchess infatuated with an actor. She feels
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 91 
 
 herself strong enough, sufficiently guarded by her 
 beauty, by her fortune, by her name, to say, as in 
 all epic poems: '/ am the nymph Calypso in love 
 with Telemachus. ' Mystery is the resource of petty 
 minds. For some time I have not replied to these 
 masked epistles " 
 
 "Oh, how I should love a woman to come to me!" 
 exclaimed La Briere, restraining a tear. "All I can 
 say to you, my dear Canal is, is, that it is never a 
 poor girl who reaches towards a celebrated man; 
 she has too much mistrust, too much vanity, too 
 much fear. It is always a star, a " 
 
 "A princess," exclaimed Canal is, bursting into 
 laughter, "is it not, who descends to him? My 
 dear fellow, that happens once in a hundred years. 
 Such love is like the flower which blooms once in a 
 century. The princesses young, rich and beautiful, 
 are too much occupied; they are surrounded, like 
 all rare plants, with a hedge of idiotic gentlemen, 
 well-educated but empty as the elder-trees. My 
 dream, alas! the crystal of my dream bordered from 
 Correze here with garlands of flowers, with what 
 fervor! Ah, let us not talk of it any more! It has 
 been in fragments for a long time at my feet. No, 
 no, every anonymous letter is a beggar! And what 
 demands! Write to this little person, supposing 
 she is young and pretty, and you will see ! There 
 is nothing else to do. A man cannot reasonably 
 love every woman. Apollo, at least the Apollo of 
 the Belvedere, is an elegant consumptive, who ought 
 to take care of himself."
 
 92 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "But when a creature comes in this manner, her 
 excuse should be the certainty of eclipsing in ten- 
 derness, in beauty, the most adored mistress," said 
 Ernest, "and then a little curiosity, " 
 
 "Ah," replied Canal is, "you will allow me, you 
 most youthful Ernest, to adhere to the lovely 
 duchess who makes my happiness." 
 
 "You are right, entirely right," replied Ernest. 
 Nevertheless, the young secretary read Modeste's 
 letter and re-read it, endeavoring to discover its 
 hidden spirit. 
 
 "There is not an exaggerated phrase in it. She 
 does not ascribe genius to you; she addresses your 
 heart," he said to Canal is. "This perfume of mod- 
 esty and this proposed contract would tempt me " 
 
 "Write yourself, reply, go yourself to the end of 
 the adventure ; I wager you will receive a poor 
 salary for it," exclaimed Canalis, smiling. "Go. 
 You may tell me about it in three months, if it last 
 three months. " 
 
 Four days later, Modeste received the following 
 letter, written on fine paper, protected by two envel- 
 opes and sealed with the arms of Canalis. 
 
 II 
 
 TO MADEMOISELLE O. D'ESTE-M. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, 
 
 "The admiration for beautiful writings, supposing 
 that mine are such, admits of an indescribable
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 93 
 
 something of sanctity and of candor, which protects 
 against all raillery and justifies before every tri- 
 bunal the step which you have taken in writing to 
 me. Before all, I ought to thank you for the 
 pleasure which such testimony always causes, even 
 if not merited; for the poets and versifiers deem 
 themselves entirely worthy of them, so little is 
 self-love a substance refractory to praise. The best 
 proof of friendship which I can give to a stranger, in 
 exchange for this cure which would heal the stings 
 of the critic, will be to share with her the harvest 
 of my experience at the risk of causing her living 
 illusions to fly away, will it not? 
 
 "Mademoiselle, the most splendid ornament of a 
 young girl is the flower of a holy, pure, irreproach- 
 able life. Are you alone in the world? Then all 
 is said. But if you have a family, a father or a 
 mother, think of all the sorrow which may follow a 
 letter like yours, addressed to a poet whom you do 
 not know personally. All writers are not angels; 
 they have faults. There are among them those who 
 are thoughtless, giddy, foolish, ambitious, and dis- 
 sipated ; and, however imposing innocence may be, 
 however chivalrous the French poet may be, you 
 might meet in Paris more than one degenerate 
 minstrel ready to cultivate your affection in order to 
 deceive it Your letter would then be interpreted 
 otherwise than I have done. A thought would be 
 seen in it which you have not put there and which 
 in your innocence you do not suspect There are 
 as many different characters as there are authors.
 
 94 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 I am exceedingly flattered that you deem me worthy 
 of understanding you; but if you had fallen upon a 
 talented hypocrite, upon a scoffer whose books are 
 melancholy and whose life is a continual carnival, 
 you would have found at the close of your sublime 
 imprudence, a Dad man, some frequenter of the 
 green-room or a hero of the tavern. You do not 
 perceive among the bowers of clematis where you 
 meditate upon poetry, the odor of the cigars which 
 make the manuscripts unpoetical ; even as in going 
 to a ball, wearing the resplendent work of the jew- 
 eler, you do not think of the vigorous arms, of the 
 workmen in their shirt-sleeves, of the humble work- 
 shops from which spring forth radiantly these flow- 
 ers of workmanship. Let us go still farther! In 
 what can the dreamy and solitary life which you 
 lead, no doubt, on the seashore, interest a poet 
 whose mission is to divine all, since he ought to 
 paint everything? Our young girls are so accom- 
 plished that none of Eve's daughters can vie with 
 them ! What reality is ever as good as the dream ? 
 Now, what will you gain, you a young girl educated 
 to become the virtuous mother of a family, in 
 initiating yourself into the terrible agitations of a 
 poet's life in this frightful capital, which can be 
 only defined by these words: a Hell which one 
 loves! If it is the desire to enliven the monotonous 
 existence of a curious young girl which has put the 
 pen into your hand, has not that the appearance of 
 depravity? What signification shall I give to your let- 
 ter ? Do you belong to a condemned caste, and do you
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 95 
 
 seek a lover far from you? Are you mortified at 
 being homely, and are you conscious of a beautiful 
 soul without a confidant? Alas! a sad conclusion; 
 you have done too much or not enough. Either we 
 must stop here, or if you continue, tell me more 
 than in the letter you have written to me. But, 
 mademoiselle, if you are young, if you have a 
 family, if you feel in your heart that you have 
 celestial ointment to pour out, as did the Magdalene 
 at the feet of Jesus, allow yourself to be appreciated 
 by a man worthy of you, and become as every good 
 young girl should: an excellent wife, a virtuous 
 mother of a family. A poet is the saddest conquest 
 which a young girl can make; he has too much 
 vanity, too many sharp angles which must wound 
 the legitimate vanities of a woman, and kill the 
 tenderness of an inexperienced life. A poet's wife 
 should love him for a long time before she marries 
 him ; she should bring herself to have the charity 
 of angels, their indulgence, the virtues of mother- 
 hood. There are only the germs of these qualities 
 in young girls, mademoiselle. 
 
 "Listen to the whole truth, for do I not owe it to 
 you in return for your intoxicating flattery? If it 
 be glorious to marry a man of great renown, one 
 soon perceives that a superior man is, in all that 
 makes a man, like other men. Thus he realizes so 
 much the less, because prodigies are expected of 
 him. He becomes like a woman whose beauty is 
 overpraised and of whom we say on seeing her for 
 the first time: 'I thought her far more beautiful.'
 
 96 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 She does not respond to the demands of the portrait 
 traced by the fairy to whom I owe your note, the 
 Imagination! In short, the qualities of the mind 
 only develop and bloom in an invisible sphere; the 
 poet's wife only sees the inconvenience of them; 
 she sees the jewels made, instead of adorning her- 
 self with them. If the brilliancy of an exceptional 
 position has fascinated you, learn that the pleasures 
 of it are soon consumed. It makes one irritable to 
 find so much roughness in a position which at a 
 distance seems smooth; so much coldness on a bril- 
 liant summit! Then, as women never step into 
 the world of difficulties, they soon cease to appre- 
 ciate that which they admired, when they see, as 
 they think, at the first sight, the inner mechanism 
 of it 
 
 "I close with a last consideration, in which you 
 will be wrong to see a disguised request It is the 
 advice of a friend. The interchange of souls can 
 only be established between people disposed to hide 
 nothing from each other. Will you show yourself 
 as you are to a stranger? I stop at the conse- 
 quences of this thought. 
 
 "Receive, mademoiselle, the homage which we 
 owe to all women, even to those who are strangers 
 and masked." 
 
 To have worn this letter between her corsets and 
 her flesh, over her palpitating heart throughout an 
 entire day! To have reserved the reading of it for 
 the hour when all the world slept, midnight,
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 97 
 
 after having waited for this solemn silence with the 
 anxieties of an imagination on fire! To have 
 blessed the poet, to have read in advance a thousand 
 letters, to have imagined everything except this 
 drop of cold water, falling upon the vaporous forms 
 of fancy, and dissolving them as prussic acid does 
 life! That was something from which to hide one's 
 self, although alone, as did Modeste, with her face 
 in the pillows, to extinguish the candle and weep. 
 
 This happened during the first days of July. 
 Modeste arose, walked up and down her chamber 
 and opened her window. She wished air. The 
 perfume of the flowers mounted to her with that 
 freshness peculiar to odors during the night The 
 sea, illumined by the moon, shone like a mirror. 
 A nightingale sang in a tree in the Vilquin park. 
 
 "Ah, there is the poet," said Modeste to herself, 
 as her anger subsided. 
 
 The most bitter reflections succeeded each other 
 in her mind. She felt herself piqued to the quick; 
 she wished to re-read the letter; she relighted the 
 candle; she studied this carefully worded prose, and 
 finished by hearing the croaking voice of the real 
 world. 
 
 "He is right and I am wrong," she said to her- 
 self. "But, how can one believe that one will find 
 one of Moliere's old men, under the starry robe of 
 the poet?" 
 
 When a woman or a young girl is taken in the 
 deed, she conceives a profound hatred against the 
 witness, the author or object of her fault Thus 
 
 7
 
 Q8 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 the true, the natural, the wild Modeste, felt in her 
 heart a frightful desire to get the mastery over this 
 spirit of rectitude, and to precipitate him into some 
 contradiction and so return him blow for blow. 
 This pure child, whose mind alone had been cor- 
 rupted both by her reading, by the long agony of 
 her sister, and by the dangerous meditations of soli- 
 tude, was surprised by a ray of sunshine upon her 
 face. She had passed three hours roaming upon 
 the borders of the immense sea of doubt. Such 
 nights are never forgotten. Modeste went directly 
 to her little Chinese table, a present from her 
 father, and wrote a letter dictated by the infernal 
 spirit of vengeance which boils in the bottom of the 
 hearts of young persons.
 
 * 
 
 III 
 
 TO MONSIEUR DE CANALIS 
 "Monsieur, 
 
 "You are certainly a great poet, but you are 
 something more than that. You are a good man. 
 After having had so much loyal frankness with a 
 young girl who stood on the side of an abyss, have 
 you enough left to reply without the least hypoc- 
 risy, without subterfuge, to the following question? 
 
 "Would you have written the letter I hold in my 
 hand in reply to mine, would your ideas and your 
 language have been the same, if someone had said 
 in your ear that which may be true: Mademoiselle 
 O. D'Este-M. is worth six millions and does not 
 wish a fool for a master ? 
 
 "Admit for a moment that this supposition is true. 
 Be with me what you are with yourself; do not fear 
 anything. I am older than my twenty years. No 
 frankness would injure you in my mind. When I have 
 read your confidence, if you still deign to give it to 
 me, you will then receive a reply to your first letter. 
 
 "After having admired your talent, so often sub- 
 lime, permit me to render homage to your delicacy 
 and your probity, which compel me to call myself 
 always, 
 
 "Your humble servant, 
 
 "O. D'ESTE-M." 
 
 (99)
 
 100 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 When Ernest de la Briere had this letter in his 
 hands, he went to walk on the boulevards, his soul 
 being agitated as a frail craft by a tempest, when 
 the winds blow from all points of the compass at 
 every moment. For a young man such as one often 
 meets, for a true Parisian, all would have been ex- 
 pressed in this sentence: "She is a little vixen!" 
 But for a fellow whose soul was noble and beautiful, 
 this kind of oath administered, this appeal to Truth, 
 had the virtue of awakening the three judges 
 crouching in the depths of all consciences. Honor, 
 Truth and Justice, standing erect, cried energet- 
 ically. "Ah, dear Ernest," said Truth, "you would 
 certainly not have given this lesson to a rich heir- 
 ess! Ah, my boy, you would have left quickly for 
 Havre to learn if the young girl were beautiful, and 
 you would have felt very unhappy at the preference 
 accorded to genius; and if you could have sup- 
 planted your friend, to have put yourself in his 
 place, Mademoiselle D'Este would have been a 
 divinity!" "How," said Justice, "you find fault, 
 you penniless people of mind, at seeing rich girls 
 married to beings whom you would not make your 
 porters ! You rail against the practical character of 
 the century, which is eager to unite money with 
 money, and never some fine young man full of 
 talent, without fortune, to some beautiful young 
 girl noble and rich. Here is a girl who revolts 
 against the spirit of the age! And the poet replies 
 to her with an unfeeling blow upon her heart!" 
 "Rich or poor, young or old, beautiful or homely,
 
 MODESTE MIGNON IOI 
 
 this young girl is right. She has intelligence, she 
 rolls the poet in the mire of personal interest," ex- 
 claimed Honor; "she deserves a sincere, noble and 
 frank reply, and above all, the expression of your 
 thoughts! Examine yourself! Sound your heart 
 and purge it of its cowardices. What would 
 Moliere's Alceste say?" And La Briere, having 
 set out from the Boulevard Poissoniere, walked so 
 slowly, lost in thought, that it was almost an hour 
 later when he reached the Boulevard des Capu- 
 cines. He went by the quay to reach the Court of 
 Audits, then situated near the Sainte-Chapelle. 
 But instead of verifying accounts, he remained 
 under the influence of his perplexities. 
 
 "She has not six millions. That is evident," 
 he said to himself. "But that is not the ques- 
 tion." 
 
 Six days later, Modeste received the following 
 letter : 
 
 IV 
 TO MADEMOISELLE O. D'ESTE-M. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, 
 
 "You are not a D'Este. This name is only a 
 nom-de-plume to hide your own. Does a man owe 
 the revelations which you solicit, to one who de- 
 ceives about herself? Listen. I will reply to your 
 request by another. Are you of an illustrious fam- 
 ily? Of a noble family? Of a family belonging
 
 102 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 to the middle-class? Certainly the moral status 
 does not change. It is one and the same, but its 
 obligations vary according to the social sphere. 
 Even as the sun illuminates situations in varied 
 ways, producing there the differences which we 
 admire, it conforms social duty to rank and posi- 
 tion. The peccadillo of the soldier is a crime with 
 the general, and vice-versa. The observances are 
 not the same for a peasant girl who reaps ; for a 
 working girl at fifteen sous a day; for the daughter 
 of a small retail dealer; for a girl of the middle- 
 class; for the child of a rich commercial house; for 
 the young heiress of a noble family; for a daughter 
 of the house of D'Este. A king should not stoop to 
 pick up a piece of gold, but the laborer ought to re- 
 trace his steps to find six sous which he has lost, 
 although both should obey the laws of economy. A 
 D'Este with six millions, may put on a broad- 
 brimmed hat with plumes, brandish her whip; mount 
 her Barbary steed and come in her riding habit em- 
 broidered with gold, followed by lackeys, to a poet, 
 saying: "I love poetry and I desire to expiate the 
 wrongs of Leonora towards Tasso!" while the 
 young daughter of a merchant would cover herself 
 with ridicule in imitating her. To what social 
 class do you belong? Reply sincerely and I will 
 reply in the same manner to the questions which 
 you have asked. 
 
 "Not having the good fortune of knowing you, 
 and being already bound by a sort of poetical com- 
 munion, 1 do not wish to offer you common homage.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 103 
 
 Perhaps it is already a triumphant malice to have 
 embarrassed a man who publishes his books." 
 
 The lawyer was not wanting in that cleverness 
 in which a man of honor may indulge himself. By 
 return mail, he received the reply. 
 
 TO MONSIEUR DE CANALIS 
 
 "You are more and more reasonable, my dear 
 poet. My father is a count. Our principal ances- 
 tor was a cardinal of that period when cardinals 
 were almost the equals of kings. To-day our 
 house, half-fallen, ends with me; but I possess the 
 necessary qualities to enter into every court and 
 into every chapter-house in Europe. We are as 
 good as the Canalises. Deem yourself fortunate that 
 1 do not send you our coat-of-arms. Try to reply as 
 sincerely as I have done. I await your reply to 
 learn if I may still call myself, as now, 
 "Your servant, 
 
 "O. D'ESTE-M." 
 
 "How she abuses her advantages, this little crea- 
 ture!" exclaimed De la Briere. "But is she 
 frank?" 
 
 No man can be for four years the private secre- 
 tary of a minister, and live in Paris, without ob- 
 serving these intrigues with impunity, and the
 
 104 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 purest soul is more or less intoxicated by the ex- 
 hilarating atmosphere of this imperial city. Happy 
 at not being Canal is, the young lawyer secured a 
 place in the mail-coach for Havre, after having 
 written a letter in which he deferred his reply upon 
 the ground of the importance of the confession de- 
 manded, and upon the pressure of work. He took 
 the precaution to have given to him by the director- 
 general of the mails, a word to the director at Havre, 
 which asked for silence and co-operation. Ernest 
 could in this way see Francoise Cochet come to the 
 post office and follow her without difficulty. Guided 
 by her, he reached the heights of Ingouville, and at 
 the window of the Chalet, he saw Modeste. 
 
 "Well, Francoise?" asked the young girl, to 
 which the servant replied: "Yes, mademoiselle, I 
 have one." 
 
 Struck by the beauty of this heavenly blond, 
 Ernest retraced his steps and inquired from a 
 passer-by the name of the owner of this magnificent 
 dwelling. 
 
 "That one?" asked the passer-by, pointing to the 
 estate. 
 
 "Yes, my friend." 
 
 "Oh! that belongs to Monsieur Vilquin, one of 
 the richest ship-owners of Havre, a man who does 
 not know his own fortune." 
 
 "I do not recall a Cardinal Vilquin in history," 
 said the lawyer to himself, as he walked towards 
 Havre to return to Paris. 
 
 Naturally he questioned the director of the post
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 105 
 
 office about the Vilquin family. He learned that 
 they possessed an immense fortune, that Monsieur 
 Vilquin had a son and two daughters, one of whom 
 had married the son of Althor. Prudence prevented 
 La Briere from seeming to have any design upon 
 the Vilquins. As it was, the director looked at him 
 slyly. 
 
 "Is there anyone with them at this time, besides 
 the family?" he asked further. 
 
 "Atthis moment, the Herouville family are there. 
 There is a talk of the marriage of the young duke 
 with the younger Mademoiselle Vilquin." 
 
 "There was the famous Cardinal d'Herouville 
 under the Valois," La Briere said to himself, "and 
 under Henry IV. the terrible marshal, who was 
 created a duke." 
 
 Ernest left, having seen enough of Modeste to 
 dream of her, to think that rich or poor, if she had 
 a beautiful soul, he would make her Madame de la 
 Briere willingly enough, and he resolved to con- 
 tinue the correspondence. 
 
 Try then to remain unknown, poor women of 
 France; to carry on the smallest little romance in 
 the midst of a civilization which notes upon the 
 public squares the hour of the departure and arrival 
 of the trains, which counts the letters, which 
 stamps them doubly with the precise moment when 
 they are thrown into the boxes and when they are 
 distributed; which numbers the houses; which reg- 
 isters upon the tax-rolls the different stories, after 
 having taken account of the doors and windows;
 
 106 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 which will soon possess all its territory represented 
 in its smallest holdings, with their most minute 
 details, upon the vast sheets of the land survey, 
 work of a giant ordained by a giant! Try then, 
 imprudent girls, to shelter yourselves not from 
 the eye of the police, but from this incessant prat- 
 tling, which, in the meanest village, scrutinizes the 
 most unimportant actions, counts the dishes of the 
 dessert at the house of the prefect, and notices 
 the melon rinds at the door of the poor man; which 
 endeavors to hear the money when the hand of 
 economy adds it to the treasury, and which every 
 evening at the hearthstone corner, estimates the 
 amount of the fortunes in the canton, in the town, 
 in the department ! Modeste had escaped by a com- 
 mon instance of mistaken identity from the most 
 innocent espionage for which Ernest already re- 
 proached himself. But what Parisian would allow 
 himself to be the dupe of a little country girl ? To 
 be the dupe of nothing; that horrid maxim dissolves 
 all the noblest sentiments of man. 
 
 One can easily imagine to what a struggle of sen- 
 timents this good young man was a prey, by the 
 letter which he wrote and in which each blow of the 
 scourge received by his conscience, left its trace. 
 
 Behold, then, that which some days later, 
 Modeste read at her window on a beautiful summer 
 day.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 107 
 
 VI 
 
 TO MADEMOISELLE O. D'ESTE-M. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, 
 
 "Yes, without any hypocrisy, if I had been 
 certain that you had an immense fortune, I should 
 have acted entirely different Why? I have 
 sought the reason. Here it is. There is in us an 
 innate sentiment, developed beyond measure by 
 society, which pushes us to the pursuit, to the pos- 
 session of happiness. The greater part of men con- 
 found happiness with its means, and fortune in 
 their eyes is the largest element of happiness. I 
 should then have tried to please you, influenced by 
 the social sentiment which at all times has made 
 wealth a religion. At least, I believe so. One 
 ought not to expect in a man, still young, that wis- 
 dom which substitutes good sense for the pleasure 
 of the senses, and in sight of the prey the animal 
 instinct, hidden in man's heart, pushes him on. 
 Instead of a lesson, you would then have received 
 compliments and flatteries from me. Should I have 
 esteemed myself? I doubt it. Mademoiselle, in 
 this case success brings absolution, but happiness, 
 that is another thing. Should I have mistrusted 
 my wife, if I had won her thus? Most assuredly. 
 Your proceeding would sooner or later have resumed 
 its character. Your husband, however great you 
 might have made him, would have finished by re- 
 proaching you for having dishonored him, and you
 
 108 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 yourself would, perhaps, sooner or later come to 
 despise him. The ordinary man cuts the Gordian 
 knot which constitutes a marriage for money with 
 the sword of tyranny. The strong man pardons. 
 The poet laments. Such, mademoiselle, is the 
 reply which my honesty compels me to make. 
 
 "Now listen a little. You have had the triumph 
 of causing me to reflect deeply, both upon you 
 whom I do not know enough, and upon myself 
 whom I know slightly. You have had the ability 
 to stir well the bad thoughts which lie stagnant at 
 the bottom of all hearts. But from these, some- 
 thing generous has gone out of me, and I salute you 
 with my most gracious blessings as one salutes on 
 the ocean a lighthouse which has shown us the 
 rock upon which we might perish. This is my 
 confession, for I would lose neither your esteem nor 
 my own, at the price of all the treasures on earth. 
 
 "I wished to know who you were. I returned to 
 Havre, where 1 saw Francoise Cochet I followed 
 her to Ingouville and I saw you in the midst of your 
 magnificent villa. You are as beautiful as a woman 
 of a poet's dreams ; but I do not know whether you 
 are Mademoiselle Vilquin disguised as Mademoiselle 
 d'Herouville, or Mademoiselle d'Herouville dis- 
 guised as Mademoiselle Vilquin. 
 
 "Although all is fair in war, this espionage made 
 me blush and I stopped in my quest. You have 
 aroused my curiosity. Do not be angry with me 
 for having been a little like a woman. Is it not the 
 poet's right? Now I have opened my heart to you.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON IOg 
 
 I have allowed you to read it, and you may believe 
 in the sincerity of that which I am going to add. 
 Although the glance which I cast at you was rapid, 
 it has sufficed to modify my judgment You are at 
 one and the same time, poetry and a poet, before 
 being a woman. You possess something more 
 precious than beauty. You are the beau ideal of 
 art, of fancy. The proceeding, which is censur- 
 able in young girls dedicated to an ordinary destiny, 
 changes for those who are endowed with the char- 
 acter which I ascribe to you. There are exceptions 
 among the large number thrown by the chance of 
 social life upon the earth, to make up a generation. 
 If your letter is the termination of long poetical 
 reveries upon the fate which the social law reserves 
 for women; if you have desired, misled by the in- 
 clination of a superior and educated mind, to learn 
 the intimate life of a man to whom you accord the 
 chance of genius ; in short, to create for yourself a 
 friendship secure from the ordinary relations, with 
 a soul like your own, in escaping from all the con- 
 ditions of your sex; surely you are an exception! 
 The law which serves to measure the actions of the 
 masses is then too narrow to measure your resolu- 
 tion. But the phrase in my first letter returns then 
 in all its force: you have done too much, or not 
 enough. Accept then, my renewed thanks for the 
 service which you have rendered me by obliging me 
 to fathom my heart You have rectified in me this 
 error, common enough in France, that marriage is a 
 means to fortune. From the depth of my troubled
 
 1 10 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 conscience, a holy voice has spoken to me. I have 
 solemnly sworn to myself to make my own fortune 
 and not to be influenced in my choice of a com- 
 panion for life by motives of cupidity. Then I have 
 condemned, I have repressed the unbecoming curi- 
 osity which you have excited in me. You have not 
 six millions. It would be impossible, at Havre, for 
 a young person possessed of such a fortune to re- 
 main unknown. You would have been sought out 
 by that pack of families of the peerage which I see 
 in Paris hunting heiresses among the great families, 
 and who would have sent an ambassador to your 
 Vilquins. Thus, the sentiments that I have ex- 
 pressed to you have become as fixed as an absolute 
 rule, robbed of all the influence of romance. Prove 
 to me now that you have one of those souls which 
 can forgive the disobedience to common law and 
 your spirit will comprehend this second letter as 
 you did my first If you be destined to the life of 
 the middle class, obey that iron law which society 
 upholds. As a superior woman I admire you; but 
 if you are tempted to obey an instinct which you 
 ought to repress, I pity you ; thus the social state 
 decrees. The wonderful moral of that great domes- 
 tic epic Clarissa Harlowe is that the legitimate and 
 honest love of the victim leads her to her ruin, be- 
 cause it is conceived, developed and pursued in 
 spite of the family. The family, silly and cruel 
 though it may be, is right in its stand against 
 Lovelace. The family is Society. Believe me, the 
 glory of a girl as well as a woman will always be
 
 MODESTE MIGNON HI 
 
 in suppressing her ardent caprices within the limits 
 of conventionalities. If I had a daughter who gave 
 promise of becoming a Madame de Stael, I would 
 rather see her dead at fifteen. Can you imagine a 
 daughter of yours exhibiting herself upon the lad- 
 der of fame or flaunting herself for the plaudits of 
 the multitude without experiencing a thousand 
 poignant regrets? No matter how lofty a woman's 
 imagination may rise through the secret poetry of 
 her dreams, she should sacrifice this upon the sacred 
 altar of home. All the ambition, the genius, the 
 aspirations of a young girl toward the good and the 
 sublime belong to the man whom she accepts, the 
 children she bears. I see that you would secretly 
 wish to enlarge the narrow circle to which every 
 woman's life is limited and to put passion and love 
 in marriage. Ah ! it is a beautiful dream, it is not 
 impossible, it is difficult but it might be realized 
 by the despair of souls forgive me this expression, 
 which has become ridiculous and out of place. 
 
 "If it be platonic friendship you seek, it will 
 bring you trouble in the future. If your letter were 
 a jest, discontinue it, I beseech you. Is then, this 
 little romance finished? If so, it will not be with- 
 out fruit My honor is aroused and you will have 
 acquired a more exact view of social life. Turn 
 your attention towards actual life and put the tran- 
 sient enthusiasms which you gather from literature 
 into the virtues of your sex. 
 
 "Adieu, mademoiselle. Accord me the honor of 
 your esteem. After having seen you, or she whom
 
 112 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 I believe to be you, I have thought your letter very 
 natural, so beautiful a flower must turn toward the 
 sun of poetry. Love, then, poetry as you must 
 love flowers, music, the grandeur of the ocean, the 
 beauties of nature as an ornament of the soul ; but 
 remember all that I have had the honor to say to 
 you about poets. Take care not to marry a fool ; 
 seek carefully the companion whom God has created 
 for you. Believe me, there exist many minds ca- 
 pable of appreciating you, of rendering you happy. 
 If I were rich, and you were poor, I would some day 
 place my fortune and my heart at your feet, for I 
 believe that you possess a soul full of beauty and 
 loyalty and I would confide my life and my honor 
 to you with perfect security. Once more, adieu, 
 fair daughter of Eve the fair." 
 
 The reading of this letter, swallowed as a drop of 
 water in the desert, lifted the mountain which 
 weighed upon Modeste's heart; for she saw the mis- 
 take she had made in arranging her plan and she 
 repaired it at once by giving Francoise some envel- 
 opes, on which she had written her own address at 
 Ingouville and advising her to be seen no more at 
 the Chalet. Francoise went home and put each 
 letter from Paris into one of these envelopes and put 
 it secretly into the mail at Havre. Modeste deter- 
 mined to be on the threshold of the Chalet at the 
 hour when the postman passed to receive the letter 
 herself. 
 
 This reply to her letter, in which the noble heart
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 113 
 
 of poor La Briere, beating as it did under the bril- 
 liant disguise of Canalis, excited in Modeste feel- 
 ings as varied as the waves which come to die one 
 after the other on the shore, while with her eyes 
 fixed on the ocean, she gave herself up to the hap- 
 piness of having attracted an angelic soul in the 
 Parisian sea; of having discovered that with men 
 of genius the heart is, sometimes, in harmony with 
 their talent, and for having been led aright by the 
 magic voice of intuition. A powerful new interest 
 animated her life. The confines of her pretty 
 dwelling-place, the bars of her cage were broken 
 and her thoughts soared forth on outspread wings. 
 
 "Oh! my father," she said looking toward the 
 horizon, "come back and bring us great riches." 
 
 The response which Ernest de la Briere read five 
 days later, will tell the reader her feelings better 
 than any kind of commentary.
 
 VII 
 TO MONSIEUR DE CANALIS 
 
 "My friend, allow me to give you this name, you 
 have delighted me. I would not have you different 
 from what you are in this letter, the first oh! may 
 it not be the last! Who save a poet could have 
 understood and excused a young girl so graciously? 
 
 "I wish to speak to you with the same sincerity 
 which you have used in the first lines of your letter. 
 And first, I must say, that most fortunately, you 
 do not know me. I can tell you with joy, I am 
 neither that hideous Mademoiselle Vilquin, nor the 
 most noble and wrinkled Mademoiselle d'Herouville 
 whose age vibrates between thirty and fifty, as she 
 cannot decide on an exact figure. The Cardinal 
 d'Herouville flourished in the history of the church 
 before our cardinal who was our only great family 
 pride, for I do not count as remarkable the lieuten- 
 ant-generals and the abbes who are celebrated for 
 their little volumes and grand verses. 
 
 "Then, I do not live in the splendid Vilquin villa 
 and I have not, thank Heaven, a ten-millionth part 
 of a drop of that cold, counting-house blood in my 
 veins. I come on one side from Germany and on 
 the other from the south of France. I have the 
 Teutonic revery in my mind and the vivacity of
 
 116 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Provence in my blood. I am noble on both sides of 
 my house. Through my mother, I am associated 
 with every page of the Almanach de Gotha. You 
 will see that my precautions are well taken; it is 
 neither in the power of man nor law to unmask my 
 incognito. I will remain veiled, unknown. As to 
 my appearance and mespropres, as the Normans say, 
 reassure yourself. I am at least as beautiful as the 
 young person happy without knowing it upon 
 whom your eyes have rested, and I am not so poor 
 either, although I do not have ten sons of the peers 
 of France to accompany me on my walks! I have 
 already seen the degrading comedy of the heiress 
 adored for her millions, played for me. So do not 
 attempt in any way, even for a wager, to seek me 
 out. Alas! although free, I am watched, by myself 
 first of all, and by people of courage who would not 
 hesitate to put a knife in your heart, if you try to 
 penetrate my retreat. I do not say this to excite 
 your courage or your curiosity, I do not believe I 
 have need of such measures to attract or interest you. 
 
 "I now reply to the second edition, considerably 
 enlarged, of your first sermon. 
 
 "Will you hear a confession ? Seeing you so dis- 
 trustful, and believing me to be a Corinne whose 
 improvised verses always bored me I said to my- 
 self that probably many Muses had already led you 
 on, through your curiosity, into their valleys and 
 you had been disposed to taste the fruits of their 
 boarding-school inspiration Oh! be assured of 
 your safety with me, my friend. I love poetry, but
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 117 
 
 I have no little verses hidden in my pocket-book and 
 my stockings are, and will always be, perfectly 
 white. You will not be annoyed by trifles in one 
 or two volumes. Indeed, if I ever say to you, 
 'Come,' you will not find you know it now a poor, 
 homely old maid. O my friend, if you knew how 
 much I regret your visit to Havre ! You have by 
 this means modified what you call my romance. 
 No, God alone in His power can estimate the treasure 
 which I was reserving for the man noble enough, 
 trustful enough, clear-sighted enough to come 
 through faith in my letters, having penetrated, 
 step by step, into the recesses of my heart, to meet 
 me at our first rendezvous with the simplicity of a 
 child! I can imagine this innocence in a man of 
 genius. You have spoiled my treasure, but I forgive 
 you. You live in Paris; and as you say, there is 
 the man in the poet Now you will take me for a 
 little girl who cultivates a garden of illusions. Do 
 not amuse yourself throwing stones at the broken 
 windows of a chateau long since in ruins. How is 
 it that you man of mind as you are have not 
 guessed that when Mademoiselle d'Este read your 
 first pedantic letter she said to herself: 'No, dear 
 poet, my first letter was not the stone thrown by a 
 child, strolling along the roads, who amuses herself 
 by frightening by her random shots the owner, while 
 reading his tax list under the shelter of his fruit 
 trees; but rather a line thrown out by a fisherman 
 from a high rock on the seashore, hoping to land 
 a wonderful fish. '
 
 Il8 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "All that you say so beautifully of the family has 
 my approval. The man who will please me and of 
 whom I believe myself worthy, will possess both my 
 heart and my life with the consent of my parents; 
 for I will neither bring them sorrow nor surprise 
 them; besides, they are without prejudice and I 
 have the certainty of controlling their opinions. And 
 so you see I feel strong against the illusions of my 
 fancy. I have built my fortress with my own 
 hands and I have allowed it to be fortified by the 
 boundless devotion of those who watch over me as a 
 treasure, not that I am not capable of defending my- 
 self, for fate has clothed me with a well-tried armor 
 upon which is engraved the word DISDAIN. I have 
 the deepest horror of all that is calculating, of what 
 is not entirely pure, noble and disinterested. I wor- 
 ship the beautiful, the ideal, without being roman- 
 tic, but I have been romantic too for myself alone, in 
 my dreams. Also, I have recognized the truth of all 
 you say even to the verge of brutality which you 
 have written to me on the social side of life. 
 
 "For the time being, we are and we can only be, 
 two friends. Why seek a friend in a stranger ? you 
 will say. Your person is unknown to me, but your 
 mind, your heart, I know, and they please me. I 
 feel an infinite longing for the unique confidence of 
 a man of genius. I do not wish the poem of my 
 heart wasted, it will shine for you as it might have 
 shone for God alone. What can be more precious 
 than a good comrade to whom one can tell all ! How 
 can you refuse the unpublished flowers of a young
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 119 
 
 girl's mind which fly toward you as naturally as 
 beautiful insects fly toward the rays of the sun ? I 
 am sure that you have never encountered that good 
 fortune of the mind: the confidences of a young 
 girl ! Listen to her prattle, accept the music which 
 until now she has sung only for herself. Later if 
 ours are sister souls, if our characters warrant it, 
 some day an old servant with white hair, will await 
 you on the wayside to conduct you to a chalet, a 
 villa, a castle, a palace, I do not know yet what the 
 yellow and brown flag of Hymen will be the colors 
 of Austria so powerful by marriage nor if the 
 denouement will be possible; but acknowledge that 
 it is poetic and that Mademoiselle d'Este is easily 
 satisfied. Has she not left you your liberty? does 
 she come on jealous feet to watch you in the salons 
 of Paris ? Has she imposed upon you the duties of 
 an adventure, chains which paladins took upon 
 themselves voluntarily in the olden times? No, 
 she only demands a wholly mysterious and spiritual 
 alliance. Come to my heart, then, when you are 
 unhappy, wounded or weary. Tell me all, conceal 
 nothing from me and I will have an elixir for all 
 your griefs. I am only twenty, my friend, but I 
 have the knowledge of one of fifty years, and I have 
 unfortunately known through my other self all the 
 horrors and delights of love. I know that the 
 human heart may contain cowardice, infamy, never- 
 theless, I am the purest of young girls. No, I have 
 no more illusions, but I have what is better, faith 
 and religion. See, I begin our confidences.
 
 120 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Whoever my husband may be, that is, if I 
 choose him, he will be able to sleep tranquilly or go 
 to the East Indies and when he returns he will find 
 me finishing the piece of tapestry begun at his de- 
 parture, without meantime having had the eyes of 
 man look into mine or the voice of man disturb my 
 ear; and, in each stitch of my work, he will recog- 
 nize a stanza of the poem of which he is the hero. 
 Even should I be deceived by some beautiful though 
 false personality, that man shall have all the flow- 
 ers of my thoughts, all the delights of my tender- 
 ness, the remote sacrifice of a resignation, proud 
 rather than humble. Yes, I do not intend to follow 
 my husband in the world when he does not wish it; 
 I would be the divinity of his hearth. That would 
 be my religion. But why should I not test and 
 choose the man to whom I shall be as life to the 
 body? Is man ever tired of life? How can a 
 woman thwart one whom she loves? That would 
 be sickness rather than life. By life, I mean that 
 beautiful health which makes a pleasure of each 
 hour. 
 
 "But to return to your letter, which will ever be 
 precious to me. Yes, jesting aside, it contains 
 what I desire, an expression of prosaic sentiments 
 as necessary to the family as air to the lungs, and 
 without which happiness is not possible. To act as 
 an honest man, to think as a poet, to love as a 
 woman ; that is what I would wish for in a friend, 
 and now it is no longer a chimera. 
 
 "Adieu, my friend. Just now I am poor; that is
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 121 
 
 one of the reasons why I cling to my mask, my in- 
 cognito, my impregnable fortress. I read your last 
 verses in the Revue and with what delight after 
 being initiated into the austere and secret grandeur 
 of your soul. 
 
 "Will it make you unhappy to know that a young 
 girl prays God fervently for you, that she makes of 
 you her one thought, and that you have no rivals 
 unless it be her father and her mother? Can there 
 be any reason to reject these pages full of you, 
 written for you, which will be read by no one else ? 
 Send me the same. I am still so little a woman 
 that your confidences, provided that they are full 
 and true, will suffice to make up the happiness of 
 
 "Your 
 
 "O. D'ESTE-M." 
 
 "Good Heavens! Am I then in love already?" 
 cried the young secretary, when he found that he 
 had sat for an hour with this letter in his hand after 
 reading it "What ought I to do? She believes 
 that she is writing our great poet! ought I to con- 
 tinue this deception ? Is she a woman of forty or 
 a girl of twenty?" 
 
 Ernest was fascinated by the gulf of the unknown. 
 The unknown is infinity of obscurity and nothing is 
 more alluring. It arises from out that sombre 
 stretch of fires, which at moments pierce it and 
 color fancies a la Martynn. In a busy life like that 
 of Canal is, an adventure of this kind is swept away 
 like a corn-flower by a mountain torrent But in
 
 122 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 the life of a young secretary, waiting for the return 
 to power of the system whose representative is his 
 protector and who was prudently bringing up 
 Canal is to be an influential politician, this pretty 
 girl whom in his imagination he saw as the young 
 blond, was to lodge herself in his heart and there 
 cause unlimited havoc as in the romance of bourgeois 
 life, like the proverbial fox in the barn-yard. 
 Ernest occupied himself much, therefore, with the 
 stranger in Havre, and he replied by the following 
 letter, a studied letter, a pretentious letter, but one 
 in which passion began to reveal itself through 
 pique. 
 
 VIII 
 
 TO MADEMOISELLE D'ESTE-M. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, is it really fair in you to seat your- 
 self in the heart of a poor poet with the mental 
 reservation of letting it alone, if it is not according 
 to your wishes, and bequeathing to him everlasting 
 regrets by showing him for a few moments an image 
 of perfection, even if it were only feigned, or at 
 least a beginning of happiness? I was very im- 
 provident in soliciting that letter in which you 
 began to unroll the elegant fabric of your ideas. A 
 man can very well become enamored of a 
 strange woman who understands how to unite so 
 much boldness with so much originality; so much 
 fancy with so much sentiment. Who would not
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 123 
 
 desire to know you, after having read that first con- 
 fidence? It takes really great strength on my part 
 to preserve my composure in thinking of you, for 
 you have united all that troubles the heart and mind 
 of man. However, I avail myself of the remaining 
 composure which I possess at this moment to make 
 you some modest representations. Do you believe, 
 mademoiselle, that letters, more or less true in re- 
 lation to life, more or less hypocritical, for the let- 
 ters that we write each other will be the expression 
 of the moment at which they are written, and not 
 the general sense of our characters; do you believe, 
 I say, that however beautiful they may be, they 
 will ever replace the impression we make of our- 
 selves by the evidence of daily life? Man is dual. 
 There is the invisible life, that of the heart, for 
 which letters may suffice, and the mechanical life to 
 which alas! much more importance is attached than 
 one thinks at your age. These two existences 
 should correspond with the ideal which you caress, 
 and which let it be said in passing is very rare. 
 The pure, spontaneous, disinterested homage of a 
 solitary soul, educated and chaste at the same time, 
 is one of those celestial flowers whose colors and 
 perfume are a solace for all sorrows, all wounds, all 
 treachery which literary life at Paris admits of, and 
 I thank you with a warmth equal to your own. But 
 after this poetical exchange of my sorrows for the 
 pearls of your charity, what can you expect? I 
 have neither the genius nor the magnificent position 
 of Lord Byron; above all, I have not the halo of his
 
 124 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 pretended damnation and his false social misfortune; 
 but what would you have hoped from him in a simi- 
 lar position? His friendship? Well, he who 
 should have had only pride, was devoured by 
 wounding and sickly vanities which discourage 
 friendship. I, a thousand times less great, may I 
 not have discords of character which render life dis- 
 agreeable, make friendship the most difficult burden ? 
 What would you receive in exchange for your 
 daydreams? The wearisomeness of a life which 
 could not be entirely yours ? This contract is sense- 
 less. This is the reason. Listen. Your contem- 
 plated poem is only a plagiarism. A young girl of Ger- 
 many, who was not like you only half German, but 
 a whole-souled German, adored Goethe in the mad- 
 ness of her twenty years; she made him her friend, 
 her religion, her god, although she knew he was 
 married. Madame Goethe, as a good German, as 
 the wife of a poet, lent herself to this worship in a 
 very crafty way, but it did not cure Bettina. But 
 what happened ? The enthusiast ended by marry- 
 ing some good, fat German. 
 
 "Between ourselves let us acknowledge that a 
 young girl who would make herself the servant of 
 genius, who would make herself his equal through 
 the intellect, who would piously adore him until 
 death, like one of those divine figures traced by 
 painters on the panels of their mystic chapels, and 
 who when Germany shall lose Goethe, will retire 
 into some solitude never more to see anyone, as did 
 the beloved of Bolingbroke, let us acknowledge that
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 125 
 
 this young girl will be a part of the glory of the poet 
 as Mary Magdalene has ever been in the bloody 
 triumph of our Savior. If this be the sublime, 
 what do you say to the reverse of the picture ? 
 
 "Being only the author of some appreciated poetry, 
 1 could not claim the honor of being worshiped as are 
 Byron, Goethe, two giants of poetry and egotism. I 
 am very little of a martyr; I have at the same time 
 heart and ambition, I am still young and have my 
 future to make. See me as I am. The favor of the 
 king, the protection of his ministers, give me suffi- 
 cient means to live on. I have all the outward 
 bearing of a very ordinary man. 1 go to entertain- 
 ments in Paris just like any other blockhead, but 
 in a carriage whose wheels do not rest upon as solid 
 a foundation as is the case with one whose income 
 comes from government bonds. 
 
 "If I am not rich, neither have I the picturesque 
 consolations given by living in a garret, by work 
 misunderstood, by the glory in misery of certain 
 men much greater than I; as D'Arthez for example. 
 What prosaic denouement do you see in the enchant- 
 ing fancies of your youthful enthusiasm? Let us 
 stop here. If I have had the good fortune to seem to 
 you an earthly paragon, you have been for me some- 
 thing as luminous and elevated as the stars which 
 but blaze forth to vanish suddenly. Let nothing 
 tarnish this episode in our lives. By continuing in 
 this way I could love you, could conceive one of 
 those mad passions, which breakdown all obstacles, 
 and which kindle in the heart fires whose violence
 
 126 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 is alarming in proportion to its duration. And 
 supposing that I should succeed with you, we 
 should finish in the most ordinary way; a marriage, 
 housekeeping and children Oh! Belise and Hen- 
 riette Chrysale together! is it possible? So then, 
 adieu!"
 
 * 
 IX 
 
 TO MONSIEUR DE CANALIS 
 
 "My friend, your letter has given me as much pain 
 as pleasure. Soon, perhaps, we shall have only 
 pleasure in reading each others' letters. Under- 
 stand me thoroughly. We speak to God, we ask 
 many things of Him, He remains silent I wish to 
 find in you the replies which God does not make to 
 us. Can not the friendship of Mademoiselle de 
 Gournay and Montaigne be repeated ? Do you not 
 know of the household of Sismonde de Sismondi in 
 Geneva, the happiest home, I have been told, ever 
 known, something like that of the Marquis and 
 Marquise of Pescaire happy until their old age? 
 Mon Dieu! is it impossible that there should exist, 
 at a distance from each other, two souls which re- 
 spond as in a symphony, vibrating and producing a 
 lovely melody? Man alone in creation is at the 
 same time the harp, the musician and the listener. 
 Do you think me uneasy and jealous after the man- 
 ner of ordinary women ? Do I not know that you 
 go into society, and see there the most beautiful and 
 intellectual women of Paris? May I not presume 
 that one of these sirens condescends to entwine you 
 with her cold, scaly arms and that she has made the 
 reply whose prosaic consequences sadden me? 
 There is, my friend, something more beautiful than 
 (127)
 
 128 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 these flowers of Parisian coquetry; there exists a 
 flower which grows on the Alpine peaks called men 
 of genius, the pride of humanity, which they fer- 
 tilize with the dews of heaven drawn by their lofty 
 peaks. I would cultivate this flower and make it 
 bloom, for its wild sweet fragrance will never fail 
 us, it is eternal. Do me the honor to believe that 
 there is nothing low or commonplace about me. If 
 I had been Bettina, for I know to whom you allude, 
 I should never have been Madame d'Arnim, and if 
 I had been one of Byron's many loves, I should at 
 this moment be in a convent. You have roused my 
 sensitiveness. You do not know me, but you will 
 know me. I feel within myself something sublime 
 and of which I dare speak without vanity. God 
 has put in my heart the root of that hybrid plant 
 grown on those Alpine summits, of which I have 
 just spoken and which I do not want to place in a 
 flower-pot on my window-sill to see it die there. 
 No, this magnificent, unique flower, with its intoxi- 
 cating perfume, will never be dragged into the vul- 
 garities of life it is yours, yours which no other 
 look shall wither, yours forever. Yes, dear poet, to 
 you belong all my thoughts, even the most hidden, 
 the most foolish; to you belongs without reserve, 
 the heart of a young girl, an infinite affection. If 
 your person does not suit me, I will not marry. I 
 can live in the life of the heart, in your mind, in 
 your sentiments, they please me and I will always 
 be what I am, your friend. Your nature is some- 
 thing beautiful in its morality, and that pleases me.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 129 
 
 There will be my life. Do not contemn a young 
 and pretty handmaiden who does not recoil in hor- 
 ror at the idea of one day becoming the aged com- 
 panion of a poet, embodying, in a small measure, 
 for him, the qualities of mother, housekeeper, and 
 guide, while being a little his treasure. This 
 handmaiden, so precious to the poet's life, is Friend- 
 ship, pure and disinterested friendship to whom he 
 can bring everything, who sometimes listens, while 
 warning, who watches, while spinning by the even- 
 ing lamp, in order to be there when the poet returns 
 soaked by the rain or vexed in mind. That is my 
 destiny, if perchance I have not that of a happy and 
 devoted wife and I smile at either prospect. Do 
 you think that France will be wronged because 
 Mademoiselle d'Este will not give her country two 
 or three sons; because she will not be another Ma- 
 dame Vilquin? As for me I shall never be an old 
 maid. I shall become a mother in taking care of 
 others and by my secret co-operation with the life of 
 a great man, to whom I will relate my thoughts and 
 my efforts here below. I have the most profound 
 horror of commonplaceness. If I am free, if I am 
 rich, I know that I am young and handsome; I will 
 never belong to any idiot just because he happens 
 to be the son of some French peer, or to some mer- 
 chant who may lose all his fortune in a day, or to 
 some handsome Adonis who will be the woman of 
 the household, or to any man who would make me 
 blush twenty times a day because I belonged to 
 him. Be assured on that subject. My father has 
 9
 
 130 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 too much respect for my wishes, and will never op- 
 pose them. If I please my poet, if he please me, 
 the brilliant edifice of our love will tower so high 
 that it will be perfectly inaccessible to any kind of 
 misfortune. I am an eaglet, and you will see it in 
 my eyes. I will not repeat to you that which I 
 have already said, but will put it in fewer words, 
 in avowing to you that I shall be the happiest of 
 women to be imprisoned by love, as I am now by 
 my father's will. Ah! my friend, let us reduce to 
 reality the romance which came to us through the 
 exercise of my will. 
 
 "A young girl with a lively imagination, shut up 
 in a tower, is dying to be free to run in the park 
 over which only her eyes can roam. She invents 
 the means to break through her grating, jumps from 
 her window, climbs over the wall of the park and 
 goes to play with her neighbor. It is the everlast- 
 ing comedy. Well, this young girl is my soul, and 
 the neighbor's park is your genius. Is it not en- 
 tirely natural ? Was there ever a neighbor who 
 complained because his trellis was broken by pretty 
 feet ? That is for the poet to say. But does the 
 sublime reasoner of the comedy of Moliere wish for 
 more reasons ? Here they are. My dear Geronte, 
 ordinarily marriages are made contrary to common 
 sense. A family makes inquiries about a young 
 man: if the Leander furnished by a neighboring 
 friend, or angled for at a ball have not stolen, if he 
 have no visible blemish, if he have ample fortune, 
 if he have attended a college or a school of law,
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 131 
 
 having satisfied the vulgar ideas upon education, 
 and if he dress well, then he is permitted to visit 
 a young woman who has been dressed all day to re- 
 ceive him, and whose mother cautions her to guard 
 well her speech and permit nothing of her soul or 
 heart to show itself in her face, on which must rest 
 the fixed smile of a danseuse finishing a pirouette. 
 She fortifies her also with the most positive instruc- 
 tions upon the danger of showing her real character 
 or of appearing too well-educated. When the settle- 
 ments have been agreed upon, the parents are good 
 enough to invite the young people to make each 
 other's acquaintance during the fugitive moments in 
 which they are alone, when they talk and walk 
 without any kind of freedom, because they already 
 feel themselves allied. A man clothes his soul as 
 well as his body at this time, and the girl does the 
 same. This pitiable comedy interspersed with 
 bouquets, ornaments, and theatre parties is called 
 paying your addresses. You see what has disgusted 
 me, and I wish to make the actual marriage follow 
 a long marriage of the souls. A girl has only this 
 moment in all her life in which reflection, foresight 
 and experience may be useful to her. She gambles 
 with her liberty and her happiness and you allow her 
 neither the dice-box nor the dice; she risks all and is 
 only allowed to be a spectator. I have the right, the 
 will, the power and the permission to make my own 
 unhappiness, and I make use of it as my mother did, 
 who, guided by instinct, married the most generous, 
 the most devoted, the most loving of men, with
 
 132 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 whom she fell in love, for his beauty, at a party. I 
 know that you are a poet, free and handsome. Be 
 assured that I should never have chosen for a confi- 
 dant one of your brothers in Apollo who was already 
 married. If my mother was seduced by beauty, 
 which is perhaps the genius of form, why should 
 not I be attracted by the mind and form combined? 
 Shall I not know you better in studying you through 
 this correspondence than by the usual experience 
 of 'receiving your addresses' for some months? 
 'That is the question,' as Hamlet says. But my 
 proceeding, my dear Chrysale, has, at least, the 
 advantage of not compromising our personalities. 
 I know that love has its illusions and that every 
 illusion has its to-morrow. In this may be found 
 the reason of so many separations between lovers 
 who believed themselves bound for life. The real 
 proof of affection lies in two things, suffering and 
 happiness. Then, after having passed through this 
 double ordeal of life, in which two beings have dis- 
 played their defects and their good qualities and 
 have noted each other's characteristics through all, 
 they can safely go down to the grave hand in hand. 
 "But, my dear Argante, who tells you that our 
 little budding drama shall have no future? At all 
 events, shall we not have had the pleasure of our 
 correspondence? I await your orders, monsieur, 
 and remain with a full heart, 
 
 "Your handmaiden, 
 
 "O. D'ESTE-M."
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 133 
 
 TO MADEMOISELLE O. D'ESTE-M. 
 
 "You are a witch, and I love you! Is that what 
 you wish, eccentric girl ? Perhaps you wish to 
 while away the tedium of your provincial life with 
 the spectacle of the follies which a poet can com- 
 mit? That would be very wicked of you. Your 
 two letters imply just enough mischief to inspire a 
 Parisian with this doubt. But I am no longer 
 master of myself, my life and my future depend 
 upon the answer which you will make to me. Tell 
 me if the certainty of limitless affection, oblivious 
 to all conventionalities, will move you; in short, 
 if you will permit me to solicit you in marriage. 
 There will be quite enough uncertainty and agony 
 for me in the torture of knowing whether my per- 
 sonality will please you. If you reply favorably to 
 me, I shall change my life and bid adieu to many of 
 the tiresome things which we are foolish enough to 
 call happiness. 
 
 "Happiness, my dear, beautiful unknown, is that 
 which you dream it to be; a complete blending of 
 sentiments, a perfect harmony of the soul, a vivid 
 impression of the ideal, such as God permits of it 
 here below of the common actions of life whose 
 habits we must perforce obey, in short, the con- 
 stancy of the heart more to be prized than that 
 which we call fidelity. Can we claim that is mak- 
 ing sacrifices, which is the pursuit of the supreme
 
 134 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 good, the dream of poets, the dream of maidens, 
 the poem which, at the commencement of life, as 
 soon as thought tries its wings, every noble mind 
 has caressed and fondly brooded over, only to see it 
 dashed upon some stumbling block as hard as it is 
 vulgar, for, in almost all cases, the foot of Reality 
 steps immediately upon this mysterious and rarely 
 hatched egg. Therefore, I will not talk to you more 
 of myself, nor of my past, nor of my character, nor 
 of an affection half-maternal on the one side, and 
 filial on mine, which you have already seriously 
 changed, an effect upon my life which will explain 
 the word sacrifice. Already you have made me 
 very forgetful, not to say ungrateful ; does that sat- 
 isfy you ? Oh ! speak, say one word to me and I 
 will love you forever until my eyes close in death, 
 as the Marquis de Pescaire loved his wife, as 
 Romeo loved Juliet, and faithfully. Our life, for 
 me at least, will be that 'felicity without pain,' of 
 which Dante speaks as being the element of his 
 Paradiso a poem far superior to his Inferno. 
 Strange as it may seem, it is not myself whom I 
 doubt in the long reveries in which, like yourself 
 perhaps, I delight in embracing the chimerical 
 course of a longed-for existence no, it is you. Yes, 
 dear, I feel myself capable of loving in this way, to 
 walk on toward the tomb with deliberate slowness 
 and an ever-smiling face, with my loved one upon 
 my arm, with no cloud to obscure the sunshine of 
 our souls. Yes, I have the courage to contemplate 
 our mutual old age, to see our hair white, like the
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 135 
 
 venerable historian of Italy, still animated by the 
 same affection; but transformed according to the 
 spirit of each period. Thus you see I can no longer 
 be only your friend. Although you say Chrysale, 
 Geronte and Argante live again in me, 1 am not yet 
 old enough to drink from a cup held to my lips by 
 the charming hands of a veiled woman without feel- 
 ing a ferocious desire to tear off her mask and see 
 the face it conceals. Write me no more or give me 
 hope. I must see you or I must give up everything. 
 Must I bid you adieu? Permit me to sign myself 
 
 "YOUR FRIEND?" 
 XI 
 
 TO MONSIEUR DE CANALIS 
 
 "What flattery! With what rapidity the grave 
 Ansel me has become the handsome Leander! To 
 what ought I to attribute such a change ? Is it to 
 the black ink which I have put upon this white 
 paper ? to these ideas which are to the flowers of 
 my soul what a rose drawn with a pencil is to the 
 rose of the garden ; or to the remembrance of the 
 young girl taken for me, and who compared to me 
 is what the chambermaid is to the mistress ? Have 
 we changed parts ? Am I Reason, and you Fancy ? 
 But a truce to jesting. Your letter has given me 
 the most intoxicating pleasures of the heart, the 
 first which I do not owe to family affection. What 
 are the ties of blood, as the poet says, which have
 
 136 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 such weight upon ordinary minds, compared to 
 those which Heaven forges for us in mysterious 
 sympathies ? Let me thank you no, one does not 
 give thanks for such things receive my blessing 
 for the happiness you have given me, be happy for 
 the joy with which you have filled my soul. You 
 have explained to me some apparent injustices of 
 social life. There is an inexplicable brilliancy in 
 glory, a virility which belongs only to man, and 
 God has forbidden us women to wear this aureole, 
 but has left to us love and tenderness, with which 
 to refresh the foreheads bathed in its terrible light; 
 1 have found my mission, or rather you have con- 
 firmed me in it. 
 
 "Sometimes, my friend, I have risen in the morn- 
 ing in a mood of inconceivable sweetness. A kind 
 of peace, tender and divine, has given me an idea 
 of Heaven. My first thought was like a benedic- 
 tion. I called these mornings my sweet dawns of 
 Germany in contrast to my sunsets of the South, 
 full of heroic deeds, of battles, of Roman fetes and 
 of passionate-poetry. Well, after having read that 
 letter in which you show a feverish impatience, I 
 had in my heart the freshness of one of those celes- 
 tial awakenings when I loved the air and all nature, 
 and felt myself destined to die for one I love. One 
 of your poems, The Maiden's Song, describes those 
 delicious moments, when joy is tender and prayer 
 a necessity. This is my favorite. Do you wish 
 me to tell you all my flattery in one? Well then, I 
 believe you worthy to be me!
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 137 
 
 "Your letter, although short, has allowed me to 
 read you. Yes, I have divined tumultuous struggles, 
 your piqued curiosity, your pfons, the faggots 
 brought by whom ? for affection's pyre. But I do 
 not yet know you well enough to gratify your de- 
 mand. Listen, dear one, mystery allows me this 
 abandon which permits the depths of the soul to be 
 seen. Once we meet, good-bye to our mutual 
 knowledge. Will you make a compact ? Was the 
 first one to your disadvantage? You gained my 
 esteem by it and it is a good deal, my friend, to 
 have admiration added to esteem. 
 
 "Here it is. Write me first your life in a few 
 words, then relate to me your life from day to day 
 at Paris without any disguise and as if you were 
 talking to an old friend; afterwards, our friendship 
 shall advance another step. I will see you, that I 
 promise, and it is much. All this, dear, is neither 
 an adventure nor an intrigue. I tell you beforehand 
 that there cannot result from it any affair, as you 
 men say among yourselves. It concerns my life, 
 which causes me sometimes fearful remorse at the 
 thoughts which fly in flocks to you ; it concerns the 
 life of an adored father and mother whom my choice 
 must please, and who must find a true son in my 
 friend. 
 
 "Tell me! to what extent can superb minds like 
 yours to which God gives the wings of His angels, 
 without always adding their perfection be con- 
 formed to the family life with its petty sufferings? 
 What a text for me to meditate upon already!
 
 138 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Ah ! though I said to my heart before coming to you 
 'Let us go on!' I have not had a less palpitating 
 heart in the race. I have hidden from myself 
 neither the barrenness of the path nor the difficul- 
 ties of the mountain which I have to climb. I have 
 thought of everything during my long reveries. Do 
 I not know that men eminent as you, know of the 
 love which they inspire, quite as well as that which 
 they feel, that they have more than one romance in 
 their lives, and that you, especially, who send forth 
 those airy poems which women buy at ridiculous 
 cost, you are attracted more by the climax 
 than by the opening chapters. Nevertheless, I said 
 to my heart, 'Let us go on.' I have studied, more 
 than you think, those grand summits of Humanity 
 which you tell me are so cold. Have you not told 
 me that Byron and Goethe are two giants of egotism 
 and poetry? Ah! my friend, there you have fallen 
 into the error into which superficial people fall ; 
 but it may be false modesty with you, generosity, 
 or the desire to escape me. The ordinary mind may 
 take the effects of work for the development of per- 
 sonality, but you cannot. Neither Lord Byron, nor 
 Goethe, nor Walter Scott, nor any inventor belongs 
 to himself, he is the slave of his idea. This mys- 
 terious power is more jealous than a woman; it ab- 
 sorbs them; it makes them live and die for its own 
 benefit It is true that the visible development of 
 that hidden existence resembles egotism in its 
 results, but who shall dare to say that the man who 
 has sold himself for the pleasure, the instruction, or
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 139 
 
 the aggrandizement of his time is an egotist? Is a 
 mother imbued with egotism when she sacrifices 
 everything for her child? Well, the detractors of 
 genius do not see its prolific maternity, that is all. 
 The life of the poet is such a continual sacrifice that 
 he requires a gigantic organization to be able to give 
 himself up to the pleasures of an everyday life. 
 Therefore, into what troubles may he not fall when, 
 following Moliere's example, he attempts to live the 
 life of the sentiments, expressing them entirely by 
 their most perilous crises; for to me, remembering 
 Moliere's private life, his comedies are horrible. 
 The generosity of genius seems to me half divine 
 and I have placed you in that noble family of so- 
 called egoists. Ah ! if I had found there selfishness, 
 calculation and ambition, there, where are all my 
 best loved flowers of the heart, you do not know 
 what long sorrow I should have suffered. 1 met 
 with disappointment at the door of my sixteenth 
 year! What would have become of me, if, at 
 twenty years of age, I had learned that glory is a 
 deception and that he, who in his works had ex- 
 pressed so many of the sentiments hidden in my 
 heart, misunderstood that heart when it was un- 
 veiled for him alone? Oh! my friend, do you know 
 what would have happened to me? You shall pen- 
 etrate into the recesses of my soul. I should have 
 said to my father, 'Bring me the son-in-law who 
 will be to your taste, I relinquish my own wishes, 
 marry me to whomsoever you please. ' Had this man 
 been a lawyer, banker, miser, fool or a provincial
 
 140 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 as tiresome as a rainy day, common as a lower 
 class politician, a manufacturer, or some brave 
 soldier without an idea in his head, he would have 
 found in me the most resigned and attentive of 
 servants. But what a terrible suicide for every in- 
 stant of one's life! My heart could never have un- 
 folded itself in the life-giving rays of a beloved sun! 
 Not a murmur would have revealed to my father, 
 my mother or my children, the suicide of the 
 creature, who at this moment is shaking the bars 
 of her prison, darting lightning from her eyes, and 
 flying with open wings toward you, to place herself 
 as a Polyhymnia in the corner of your study, to 
 breathe the air of your presence, and to look with 
 curious eyes upon what is there. Sometimes, when 
 in the fields where my husband might have taken 
 me, I would have gone a little apart from my little 
 ones and shed a few secret and bitter tears at the 
 sight of a glorious morning; and, hidden in my 
 heart and in a corner of my bureau drawer, perhaps 
 I should have kept a little treasure, the comfort of 
 poor girls abused by love, poetic souls drawn to their 
 agony by smiles! But I believe in you, my friend. 
 This belief justifies the most fantastic thoughts of 
 my secret ambition; see how far my sincerity goes, 
 at moments, I would wish to be in the middle of the 
 book we are beginning, so much do I feel the stead- 
 fastness of my sentiments, so much strength of heart 
 to love, so much constancy through reason, so much 
 heroism for the self -created duty if love indeed can 
 ever be called duty.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 141 
 
 "If you could follow me into the magnificent re- 
 treat where I see ourselves happy, if you could know 
 my projects, there would escape from you a terrible 
 phrase in which would be the word folly, and per- 
 haps I should be cruelly punished for having sent so 
 much poetry to a poet. Yes, I wish to be a spring 
 as inexhaustible as a virgin land, during the twenty 
 years in which nature allows us to shine. I would 
 chase away satiety by coquetry and love-making. 
 I will be courageous for my friend, as most women 
 are for the world. I wish to vary happiness, I 
 would put intelligence into tenderness, piquancy 
 into fidelity. lam ambitious to kill the rivals of 
 the past, exorcise the outward sorrows by the 
 lovableness of the wife, by her proud abnegation, 
 and to take, throughout all my life, that care of the 
 nest which birds take only for a short time. This 
 immense dowry belongs, and should be offered, only 
 to some great man before it falls into the degrada- 
 tion of common transactions. Do you now think 
 my first letter a mistake? The wind of a myste- 
 rious will has blown me toward you, as a tempest 
 carries a rose to the heart of a majestic willow, and 
 in the letter which I hold here upon my heart you 
 have written like your ancestor when he set out for 
 the Crusades, 'God wills it.' But you will think 
 me a chatterbox. Everyone about me says : 'Ma- 
 demoiselle is very taciturn.' 
 
 "O. D'ESTE-M."
 
 These letters seemed very original to the persons 
 to whose kindness La Com'edie Humaine is due, but 
 their admiration for this duel with crossing pens, 
 between two minds, while wearing the visor of the 
 most severe incognito, may not be shared by the 
 public. Eighty out of every hundred spectators 
 would have wearied of this fencing match. In all 
 countries of constitutional government, the respect 
 due to the majority, even if it be only felt by pre- 
 sentiment, has led us to suppress eleven other let- 
 ters exchanged between Ernest and Modeste during 
 the month of September. If a complimentary 
 majority should claim them, we hope they will find 
 the means, some day, to restore them here. 
 
 Incited by a mind as aggressive as the heart 
 seemed adorable, the truly heroic sentiments of the 
 poor private secretary gave themselves ample scope 
 in these letters, so that one's imagination may 
 readily make them more beautiful than they are, as 
 the communion of two free souls is always pleasing. 
 Ernest lived only by these sweet morsels of paper, 
 as a miser lives only by bank notes; while with 
 Modeste, a deep love resulted from the pleasure of 
 agitating a famous life and becoming, in spite of 
 distance, its mainspring. The heart of Ernest com- 
 plemented the glory of Canalis. Often, alas! we 
 must take two men to make a perfect lover, as in 
 (143)
 
 144 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 literature a type is composed only by using the 
 peculiarities of many similar characters. How 
 many times has a woman said, after intimate con- 
 versations in a drawing-room, "That man is the 
 beau ideal of my soul, but I fell in love with this 
 one, who is only the dream of my senses." 
 
 The last letter written by Modeste, which fol- 
 lows, allows us to see the enchanted isle whither 
 the meanderings of this correspondence had led 
 these two lovers. 
 
 XII 
 TO MONSIEUR DE CANALIS 
 
 "On Sunday be at Havre. Enter the church, and, 
 after the one-hour mass, go around the nave once or 
 twice and leave without speaking to anyone, with- 
 out asking a question, no matter what it may be- 
 but wear a white rose in your buttonhole. Then 
 return to Paris where you will find a reply. This 
 will not be what you think, for I have told you that 
 the future is no longer mine. But, should I not be 
 very foolish to say 'yes' without having seen 
 you? When I have seen you, I can say 'no' with- 
 out wounding you, and I will be sure that you do 
 not see me." 
 
 This letter had been sent the night before the day 
 on which the useless struggle between Modeste and 
 Dumay had taken place. Therefore, the happy
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 145 
 
 Modeste awaited, with a sickly impatience, the 
 Sunday when her eyes would decide in favor of the 
 right or wrong of her mind and heart, one of the 
 most solemn moments in the life of a girl and which 
 three months of interchange of soul communion ren- 
 dered as romantic as the most exalted maiden could 
 wish. Every one, except her mother, had taken the 
 torpidity of this waiting for the calmness of inno- 
 cence. However powerful the family laws and 
 religious bonds may be, there are always some 
 Julie d'Etanges, some Clarissas, some souls filled 
 like cups which overflow under a divine pressure. 
 Was not Modeste grand in exerting a savage energy 
 to repress her exuberant youth, in remaining 
 demurely quiet? We must acknowledge that the 
 remembrance of her sister was more powerful than 
 all the social obstacles; she had armed her will 
 with iron never to fail her father nor her family. 
 But what tumultuous transports ! No wonder a 
 mother divined them. 
 
 The next day about noon, Modeste and Madame 
 Dumay led Madame Mignon to a seat in the sun- 
 shine in the midst of the flowers. The blind 
 woman turned her wan and faded face toward the 
 ocean, she breathed the air of the sea and held the 
 hand of Modeste, who was near her. The mother 
 struggled between pardon and remonstrance ere she 
 questioned her daughter, for she had recognized her 
 love, and Modeste seemed to her, as to the pretended 
 Canal is, an exception. 
 
 "Oh! that your father may return soon! If he 
 
 IO
 
 146 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 delay much longer he may find only you of those who 
 love him ! Promise me again, Modeste, that you will 
 never leave him," she said, with maternal fondness. 
 
 Modeste lifted her mother's hand to her lips, 
 kissed it gently and replied: 
 
 "Do I need to repeat it?" 
 
 "Ah! my child, I left my father to follow my 
 husband left him all alone too, as I was the only 
 child. Is that why God has so afflicted me ? What 
 I ask of you, is to marry to please your father, to 
 keep him in your heart, not to sacrifice him to your 
 happiness, but to cherish him in the midst of your 
 home. Before losing my sight I wrote him my 
 wishes, he will execute them. I advised him to 
 keep his whole fortune intact, not that I distrust you 
 my child, but who can be sure of a son-in-law? 
 Was I reasonable? A glance of the eye decided my 
 life. Beauty, that so deceitful sign, proved true to 
 me; but should it be the same with you, my poor 
 child, swear to me that if you are attracted by 
 appearance as was your mother you will allow 
 your father to inquire into the behavior, the heart 
 and the previous life of the man you distinguish 
 with your love if there be such a man." 
 
 "1 will never marry without the consent of my 
 father," said Modeste. 
 
 The mother remained silent a long time after 
 receiving this reply, and her pale, deathlike face 
 showed that she thought deeply, weighing, after 
 the manner of the blind, the accent of her daugh- 
 ter's voice.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 147 
 
 "You see, my child, that if I am slowly dying 
 through Caroline's mistake, your father would not 
 survive yours I know it, he would put a bullet 
 through his brain there could be no more life or 
 happiness on earth for him " 
 
 Modeste walked a few steps away from her mother 
 and then returned. 
 
 "Why did you leave me?" asked Madame 
 Mignon. 
 
 "Because you made me weep, mother," replied 
 Modeste. 
 
 "Ah! well my little angel, kiss me. You do not 
 love any one here, do you? you have no lover?" 
 she asked holding her upon her lap, heart to 
 heart 
 
 "No, my dear mama," replied the little Jesuit 
 
 "Can you swear it?" 
 
 "Certainly," cried Modeste. 
 
 Madame Mignon said no more, but she still 
 doubted. 
 
 "And if you choose a husband you will consult 
 your father," she added. 
 
 "I have promised it both to my sister and to you 
 my mother. What indiscretion do you think I could 
 commit while I have this ring on my finger and 
 ever read the inscription: ' Think of Bettina ' Poor 
 sister!" 
 
 At these words, "Poor sister t " uttered by 
 Modeste, a truce of silence governed the mother 
 and daughter. Tears flowed freely over the poor 
 woman's cheeks and Modeste threw herself on her
 
 148 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 knees saying: "Forgive me! oh! forgive me, 
 mother!" 
 
 Just then the excellent Dumay was coming up 
 from Ingouville in great haste, a fact quite abnor- 
 mal in the life of the cashier. 
 
 Three letters had brought them ruin, now, one 
 letter brought them fortune. That very morning, 
 Dumay had received from a sea-captain just in from 
 the China Seas, the first news of his patron and his 
 beloved friend. 
 
 TO MONSIEUR DUMAY, FORMERLY CASHIER OF THE 
 HOUSE OF MIGNON 
 
 "My dear Dumay, 
 
 "I will follow the vessel which brings you this let- 
 ter, as quickly as the chances of navigation will 
 allow. I did not wish to leave my own ship, as I 
 am so accustomed to it.' I told you that no news 
 would be good news. The first words of this letter 
 ought to make you happy, for those words are : 'I am 
 worth at least seven millions.' I am bringing a 
 part of it in indigo, one-third in good London and 
 Paris drafts, and a third in solid gold. The money 
 you sent helped me to attain the sum I had fixed in 
 my mind. I wished two millions for each of my 
 daughters and a sufficiency for myself. I have been 
 engaged in the wholesale opium trade with Canton 
 houses ten times richer than I am. You cannot 
 imagine in Europe what the wealth of these Chinese
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 149 
 
 merchants is. I went from Asia Minor, where I 
 purchased opium at the lowest price, to Canton 
 where I delivered my cargoes to the companies who 
 deal in this commodity. My last expedition was to 
 the Philippine Islands, where I exchanged opium for 
 indigo of the first quality. Indeed I may have five 
 or six thousand francs more than I estimated, as I 
 counted my indigo at what it cost me. I have been 
 in good health all the time, not the slightest illness. 
 That is what comes of working for one's children. 
 Since the second year I have been able to own The 
 Mignon, a pretty little brig of seven hundred tons, 
 built of teak, copper-sheathed and fastened, and 
 whose interior has been made to suit me. That is 
 an additional piece of property. The sea life, the 
 activity necessary to business, my labors to become 
 a long-voyage captain, have kept me in excellent 
 health. To tell you all this is the same as telling 
 it to my two daughters and my dear wife. I hope 
 that the wretch who enticed my Bettina away, left 
 her when he found that I was ruined, and that I 
 shall find the wandering sheep returned to the 
 Chalet. There is something additional necessary 
 in the dot for that 1 ittle one. Ah ! my dear Dumay, 
 and my three loved women, you have all been in 
 my thoughts for the past three years. You are rich 
 now, Dumay. Your share, outside of my fortune, 
 amounts to five hundred and sixty thousand francs, 
 for which I send you a check which can only be paid 
 to you by the Mongenod house, who have been com- 
 municated with from New York. Only a few more
 
 150 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 months, and I will see you all again and, I trust, in 
 good health. Now, my dear Dumay, I have written 
 to you only, because I wish you to keep the secret 
 of my fortune and I leave it to you to prepare my 
 loved ones for the joy of my return. I have had 
 enough of business and I wish to leave Havre. The 
 choice of my sons-in-law is of the utmost importance 
 to me. My intention is to buy back the estate and 
 the castle of La Bastie, to entail it so that it may be 
 worth at least one hundred thousand francs a year, 
 and to ask the king to allow one of my sons-in-law 
 to succeed to the name and title. You will know, 
 Dumay, what a fearful calamity overtook us through 
 the reputation of my great wealth before the ruin 
 of one of my daughters. I went away to Java the 
 most unhappy of fathers. I met there an unhappy 
 Dutch merchant worth nine millions, whose two 
 daughters were tempted away by villains, and we 
 wept together, like two children; so I do not wish 
 anyone to know about my fortune. I shall disem- 
 bark at Marseilles instead of at Havre. My second 
 mate is also a Provencal, an old servant of our fam- 
 ily, and I have made a little fortune for him too. 
 Castagnould will have instructions from me to buy 
 back La Bastie, and 1 will sell my indigo through 
 the Mongenod house. I will place my funds in the 
 Bank of France and will return to you, with an 
 acknowledged fortune in merchandise of only about 
 a million. My daughters will be credited with hav- 
 ing two hundred thousand francs. To choose which 
 of my sons-in-law will be worthy to succeed to my
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 151 
 
 name, my arms, my title, and to live with us, will 
 now be the object of my life ; but both of them must 
 be like you and me, honest, firm, loyal men and 
 absolutely honorable. I have never doubted you, 
 my old friend, for a single moment. I have con- 
 sidered that my good and excellent wife, as well as 
 yours and yourself, have erected an impassable 
 barrier about my daughter, and that I could with 
 full assurance place a kiss on the pure brow of the 
 angel who is left to me. Bettina-Caroline if you 
 have been able to conceal her error shall have a 
 fortune. After having done with war and com- 
 merce, we are going to attempt agriculture and you 
 will be our overseer. How will that suit you? 
 Thus, my old friend, I leave you the master of the 
 situation with my family, to tell them of my suc- 
 cess or to keep silent. I trust to your prudence, 
 you must do as you judge best. In four years there 
 are probably many changes in their characters. I 
 fear the mother's love for her daughters, so I leave 
 it all to you instead. Adieu! my oldDumay. Tell 
 my wife and daughters that I have never failed to 
 kiss them in my heart every day, morning and 
 evening. The second check for forty thousand 
 francs, herewith enclosed, is for my wife and chil- 
 dren. Until we meet 
 
 "Your patron and friend, 
 
 "CHARLES MIGNON." 
 
 "Your father is coming," said Madame Mignon to 
 her daughter.
 
 152 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Why do you think so, mama ?" asked Modeste. 
 
 "Nothing but that news could make Dumay run 
 so." 
 
 Modeste, plunged in meditation, had neither seen 
 nor heard Dumay. 
 
 "Victory!" cried the lieutenant, as he reached the 
 threshold of the gate. "Madame, the colonel has 
 never been sick and he is coming home he is com- 
 ing upon The Mignon, a fine ship belonging to him, 
 and which with the cargo of which he tells me, 
 ought to be worth eight or nine hundred thousand 
 francs. But he recommends secrecy for all of us, 
 his heart is still bruised by the misfortune of our 
 dear little departed." 
 
 "Ah! that has to give place to the news of her 
 death," said Madame Mignon. 
 
 "He attributes this misfortune, and I agree with 
 him, to the greed of young men for great fortunes. 
 My poor colonel expects to find our strayed lamb 
 here in our midst. Let us be happy among our- 
 selves, and speak to no one of it, not even to Latour- 
 nelle, if possible. Mademoiselle," he said in 
 Modeste's ear, "write to your father and tell him of 
 this loss, and also of the frightful consequences 
 which this event has had on his wife, in order that 
 he may be prepared for this terrible spectacle. I 
 will undertake to see that he has this letter before 
 his arrival in Havre, for he is compelled to return 
 by way of Paris write him a long letter, you will 
 have time, and I will take it, without fail, to Paris 
 on Monday."
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 153 
 
 Modeste was so afraid that Canal is and Dumay 
 might meet, that she wished to go at once to her 
 room to write to him postponing the rendezvous. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, tell me," said Dumay very 
 humbly, and barring Modeste's passage, "that your 
 father will find his daughter with no other feeling 
 in her heart than that which she had for him and 
 her mother, before his departure?" 
 
 "I have sworn to my sister, to my mother and to 
 myself, to be the consolation, the happiness and the 
 glory of my father and / will be!" replied 
 Modeste, throwing a proud and disdainful look upon 
 Dumay. "Do not mar the happiness which I have, 
 in soon expecting my father in our midst, by your 
 unjust suspicions. You cannot prevent a girl's 
 heart from beating, do you want to make a mummy 
 of me ? My body belongs to my family, but my heart 
 is my own. If I love anyone, my father and mother 
 shall know it. Are you satisfied, monsieur?" 
 
 "Thank you, mademoiselle," replied Dumay, 
 "you make me breathe again ; but you might call me 
 Dumay, even when you box my ears!" 
 
 "Swear to me," said her mother, "that you have 
 not exchanged a look or word with any young 
 man." 
 
 "I can swear to that, mother dear," said Modeste, 
 smiling and looking at Dumay, who noticed it and 
 smiled like a malicious young girl. 
 
 "She must be false indeed if she is deceiving 
 you!" cried Dumay, when Modeste had gone into 
 the house.
 
 154 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "My daughter may have her faults," replied the 
 mother, "but she is incapable of lying." 
 
 "Ah! well then let us be happy in believing that 
 trouble has closed his account with us," said the 
 lieutenant. 
 
 "God grant it!" replied Madame Mignon. "You 
 will see him, Dumay, but I shall only hear him. 
 There is much sadness in my joy."
 
 At this moment, Modeste, although happy at the 
 return of her father, was like Perrette, bemoaning 
 the breaking of her eggs. She had hoped for more 
 of a fortune than Dumay had announced. Ambitious 
 for her poet, she had hoped for at least a half of the 
 six millions, of which she had spoken in her second 
 letter. A prey to a double joy, and agitated by the 
 chagrin of her comparative poverty, she went to the 
 piano, that confidant of young girls, who tell their 
 griefs and desires to this friend, in expressing them 
 in the varied cadences of the music. Dumay 
 chatted with his wife while walking under the win- 
 dow, confiding to her the secret of their fortune and 
 questioning her upon her inclinations, wishes and 
 plans. 
 
 Madame Dumay, like her husband, had no other 
 family than the family Mignon. They decided to 
 live in Provence, if the Comte de la Bastie went to 
 Provence, and to leave their property to whichever 
 of Modeste's children seemed most to need it. 
 
 "Listen to Modeste," said Madame Mignon, "only 
 a girl in love could compose such melodies without 
 having studied music " 
 
 Houses may burn, fortunes may vanish, fathers 
 
 return from long voyages, empires crumble, cholera 
 
 ravage cities, but the love of a young girl will follow 
 
 its course like nature, like that fearful acid that 
 
 (i55)
 
 1 56 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 chemistry has discovered, which will eat its way 
 through the globe if nothing absorbs it at the 
 centre. 
 
 The romance of the situation had inspired Modeste 
 to compose music to these stanzas, which we must 
 quote here, although they are printed in the second 
 volume of the edition of which Dauriat spoke for, 
 in order to adapt them to her music the young artist 
 had, in interrupting the pauses, made certain modi- 
 fications which may astonish those familiar with the 
 correct, and often too learned, style of this poet 
 
 THE MAIDEN'S SONG. 
 Awake, my heart ! Ere this the soaring lark 
 Thrills the air in songful greeting to the sun. 
 Sleep not ! From violet's dewy couch and dark, 
 Sweet incense rises for the day begun. 
 
 One by one, refreshed, in rare glories new, 
 Each living flower in its pure cup reveals 
 Its image mirrored in a gem of dew 
 A trembling pearl that the sun's ardor steals. 
 
 Soft winds tell that the Angel of Roses 
 
 Has blessed in his flight the slumb'ring flowers. 
 
 His mission divine each bud discloses 
 
 And fresh hues confess his life-giving powers. 
 
 Then rouse thee, my heart ! since the soaring lark 
 Thrills the air in songful greeting to the sun. 
 Naught sleeps ! From violet's dewy couch and dark, 
 Sweet incense rises for the day begun.
 
 PIANO. 
 
 m 
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Allegretto. : ^ 
 
 157 
 
 
 - 
 
 
 3E 
 
 Mon coeur, 16- ve-toi ! 
 
 l'a-lou-et- 
 
 
 
 
 ^Mf 
 
 ** 
 
 te Se- coua en chantant son aile au soleil ; Nc dora 
 
 i 
 
 *=* 
 
 4=* 
 
 1 1 
 
 I 1 
 
 
 
 11 
 
 plus, mon coeur, car la vl-o-let - te -leve a Dieul'en. 
 
 * 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 ^^
 
 158 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 - cens de son rfi-veil. 
 
 Chaque fleur vi - van - te et 
 
 bien re - po - see, Ou-vrant tour & tour les yeux pour 
 
 ^B3|p fT ^fSff=p| f ^B 
 
 voir, A dans son ca - h - ce un peu de ro - s6 - e, Per - le d'un 
 
 jour qui lui sert de mi-roir. On sent dans Tair pur que
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 159 
 
 l'an-ge des ro-ses A pas -86 la nuit & b6 - nir lesfleurejOn 
 
 
 1 -- 
 
 f 
 
 voit que pour lui tou-tes soiit 6 - closes. II vient d'en haut ra - vi - 
 
 - ver leure cou-leure. Ain-si, Ifc-ve-toi, puisque 1'a-louet - 
 
 t=f^=F* 
 
 
 3 
 
 r- 
 
 ^iibi^t^g^^fVc- 
 
 -- 
 
 te So -couc en chantant son aile au so - leil ; Bien ne dort 
 
 1 
 
 3=f
 
 160 
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 
 plus, mou coeur ! la vi - o - let - te E - live & JDieu Ten- 
 
 r^ 
 
 
 j : j- 
 
 PP 
 
 1 
 
 * * 
 
 3=3 
 
 :S=S 
 
 - cens de son rS - veil. Eien ne dort plus, mon coeur ! la vi - o - 
 
 - lette - leve it Dieu Ten - cens de son r6 - veil.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON I6l 
 
 The art of typography permits the reproduction 
 of Modeste's music, but the tender expression which 
 she communicated to it, produced that charm so 
 greatly admired in the songs of great artists, which 
 no typography, hieroglyphic or phonetic, can render. 
 
 "That is pretty," said Madame Dumay. "Mo- 
 deste is a true musician." 
 
 "She is possessed of a devil," exclaimed the 
 cashier, into whose heart the mother's suspicion 
 entered, making him shudder. 
 
 "She loves," repeated Madame Mignon. 
 
 Madame Mignon had succeeded, through the un- 
 questionable testimony of this melody, in making 
 the cashier share her certainty of Modeste's hidden 
 love and had thus disturbed the joy which the return 
 and success of his master caused him. The poor 
 Breton went into Havre to return to his work at 
 Gobenheim's; then before returning to dinner, he 
 went to see the Latournelles to tell them his fears, 
 and again ask their aid and assistance. 
 
 "Yes, my dear friend," said Dumay on the door- 
 steps, as he left the lawyer, "I am of the same 
 opinion as madame. She is in love, that is certain, 
 and the devil knows the rest! You behold me dis- 
 graced!" 
 
 "Don't be disconsolate, Dumay," said the little 
 lawyer. "All of us, together, are surely as strong 
 as that little person, and give them time enough 
 and every girl in love commits some imprudence 
 which betrays her. But we will talk about it this 
 evening." 
 ii
 
 1 62 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Thus, everyone devoted to the Mignon family 
 was a prey to the same anxieties which had pained 
 them the previous evening, before the experiment 
 which the old soldier had believed would be deci- 
 sive. The futility of so much effort piqued the con- 
 science of Dumay so greatly, that he did not wish to 
 go to Paris for his money until he had unriddled 
 the key to this enigma. Those hearts to whom sen- 
 timents were more precious than interests, all felt, 
 at this moment, that without the assurance of the 
 absolute innocence of his daughter, the colonel 
 would die of sorrow to find Bettina dead and his 
 wife blind. The despair of poor Dumay made such 
 an impression upon the Latournelles, that it caused 
 them to forget the departure of Exupere, who that 
 morning had started off for Paris. During the din- 
 ner-hour, when they were alone, Monsieur and 
 Madame Latournelle and Butscha turned this prob- 
 lem on all sides, in discussing every possible sup- 
 position. 
 
 "If Modeste loved anyone at Havre, she would 
 have trembled last evening," said Madame Latour- 
 nelle. "Her lover, then, is somewhere else." 
 
 "She vowed this morning," said the lawyer, 
 "to her mother and before Dumay, that she has 
 exchanged neither look nor word with a living 
 soul" 
 
 "She loves then as I do?" said Butscha. 
 
 "And how do you love, my poor boy?" asked 
 Madame Latournelle. 
 
 "Madame," replied the little hunchback, "I love
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 163 
 
 for myself all alone, at a distance almost as great 
 as from here to the stars " 
 
 "And how do you do it, you big stupid?" asked 
 Madame Latournelle, smiling. 
 
 "Ah, madame," replied Butscha, "that which 
 you think a hump is the case for my wings!" 
 
 "That then is the explanation of your seal !" ex- 
 claimed the lawyer. 
 
 The clerk's seal was a star under which were 
 these words : Fulgens, sequar, Shining One, I fol- 
 low thee, the device of the house of Chastillonest 
 
 "A beautiful creature can have as much mistrust 
 as the ugliest," said Butscha, as if he were talking 
 to himself. "Modeste is intelligent enough to fear 
 being loved only for her beauty." 
 
 Hunchbacks are wonderful creations entirely due, 
 moreover, to society, for in Nature's plan, weak, 
 deformed beings ought to perish. In these men, 
 apparently so unfortunate, the curvature or the 
 twisting of the vertebral column acts as a centre in 
 which the nervous fluids are accumulated in far 
 greater quantities than in other people, and forms a 
 reservoir where the fluids purify themselves and 
 work, and from whence they radiate, like a ray of 
 light, to animate the interior nature. From them 
 there result forces, which though sometimes dis- 
 covered by magnetism, oftener lose themselves 
 across the spaces of the spiritual world. In vain 
 you seek a hunchback who is not gifted with some 
 superior faculty, either of an intelligent cleverness, 
 an entire wickedness, or a sublime goodness. Like
 
 164 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 instruments which the hand of Art will never fully 
 awaken, these beings, privileged without knowing 
 it, live in themselves, as Butscha did, when they 
 have not destroyed their forces, so magnificently 
 concentrated, in the struggle which they have 
 maintained, against fearful odds, to keep alive. 
 Thus may be explained those superstitions, those 
 popular traditions, to which we owe the gnomes, the 
 terrifying dwarfs, the deformed fairies, all that 
 race of bottles, as Rabelais said, containing elixirs 
 and rare balms. Thus Butscha almost divined 
 Modeste. And with his curiosity of a lover without 
 hope, of a servant always ready to die, like those 
 soldiers who, alone and abandoned, cried out in the 
 snows of Russia, "Long live the Emperor!" he de- 
 termined, for himself alone, to detect Modeste's 
 secret. He followed his protectors when they went 
 to the Chalet, with a profoundly thoughtful air, for 
 he intended to hide from all these attentive eyes, 
 all these open ears, the snare in which he would 
 catch the young girl. It must be a look exchanged, 
 some surprised agitation, as when a surgeon puts 
 his finger upon a hidden sore. That evening, Go- 
 benheim did not come and Butscha was Monsieur 
 Dumay's partner against Monsieur and Madame La- 
 tournelle. During the time when Modeste was 
 absent, about nine o'clock, when she was prepar- 
 ing her mother's bed, Madame Mignon and her 
 friends could speak openly. But the poor clerk, 
 weighed down by the conviction which had taken 
 possession of him, appeared almost as much of a
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 165 
 
 stranger to this debate as Gobenheim had the even- 
 ing before. 
 
 "Well, what is the matter, Butscha?" exclaimed 
 Madame Latournelle, astonished. "One would say 
 that you had lost your last friend " 
 
 Tears sprang into the eyes of the child who had 
 been abandoned by a Swedish sailor, and whose 
 mother had died of sorrow in the hospital. 
 
 "I have only you in the world," he replied, with 
 a trembling voice, "and your compassion is too holy 
 for me ever to lose it, for I will never be unworthy 
 of your goodness." 
 
 This reply caused an equally sensitive cord to 
 vibrate in the witnesses of this scene, that of 
 delicacy. 
 
 "We all love you, Monsieur Butscha," said Ma- 
 dame Mignon, whose voice quivered with emotion. 
 
 "I have six hundred thousand francs of my own!" 
 said the good Dumay. "You shall be a lawyer at 
 Havre, and the successor of Latournelle." 
 
 The American lady had taken the poor hunch- 
 back's hand and pressed it 
 
 "You have six hundred thousand francs!" ex- 
 claimed Latournelle, who was looking in astonish- 
 ment at Dumay ever since this speech had escaped 
 him, "and you leave these ladies here! And 
 Modeste has no fine horse ! And she has not con- 
 tinued to have her masters of music, of painting, 
 and" 
 
 "Oh! he only had them a few hours ago!" ex- 
 claimed the American lady.
 
 1 66 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Hush!" said Madame Mignon. 
 
 During these exclamations, the august friend 
 Butscha had posed herself and looked at him. 
 
 "My child, "she said, "I believed you surrounded 
 by so much affection that I did not think of the 
 exact meaning of this proverbial form of speech; 
 but you should thank me for this little fault, for it 
 has served to prove to you what friends your fine 
 qualties have won for you." 
 
 "Then you have had news of Monsieur Mignon ?" 
 asked the lawyer. 
 
 "He is returning," said Madame Mignon, "but 
 let us keep the secret among us. When my husband 
 knows that Butscha has kept us company, that he 
 has shown the keenest and most disinterested friend- 
 ship, when all the world turned its back, he will 
 not allow you alone, Dumay, to reward him. So 
 my friend," she said, turning her face toward But- 
 scha, "you can immediately negotiate with Latour- 
 nelle " 
 
 "Yes, he is old enough; twenty-five and a half," 
 said Latournelle, "and for myself, it would be to 
 acquit myself of a debt, my boy, to facilitate you 
 in acquiring my practice." 
 
 Butscha, who was kissing Madame Mignon's 
 hand while bedewing it with tears, showed his 
 moistened face as Modeste opened the parlor door. 
 
 "Who, then, has wounded my Black Dwarf?" she 
 asked. 
 
 "Ah! Mademoiselle Modeste, do we ever weep 
 for grief, we children cradled by misfortune? I
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 167 
 
 have just been shown so much attachment, that I 
 feel it in the depths of my heart for all those in 
 whom I am pleased to see relations. I will be a 
 lawyer, I may become rich. Ah! Ah! the poor 
 Butscha will one day be, perhaps, the rich Butscha. 
 You do not know all the audacity which there is in 
 this abortive child! " he cried out 
 
 The hunchback gave himself a violent blow of 
 the fist against the hollow of his breast, and placed 
 himself before the fireplace, after having thrown 
 upon Modeste a glance which darted like a gleam of 
 light from between his heavy, half-closed eyelids; 
 for he saw in this unexpected incident the possibility 
 of questioning the heart of his sovereign. Dumay 
 thought, for an instant, that the clerk had dared 
 to offer his addresses to Modeste, and he quickly 
 exchanged with his friends a glance well under- 
 stood by them, and which caused them to regard the 
 little hunchback with a kind of terror mingled with 
 curiosity. 
 
 "I also have dreams, myself!" continued But- 
 scha, whose eyes did not leave Modeste. 
 
 The young girl lowered her eyelids by a move- 
 ment, which for the clerk was already a revelation. 
 
 "You love romances. Let me in my present joy 
 confide my secret to you, and you will tell me if the 
 end of the romance, invented by me for my life, is 
 possible. Otherwise, for what good is my fortune? 
 For me, money is a happiness more than for all 
 others, because it will be happiness for me to enrich 
 a beloved one! You, mademoiselle, who know so
 
 168 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 many things, tell me then, if one can make himself 
 loved, independently of the form, beautiful or ugly, 
 for his soul alone?" 
 
 Modeste raised her eyes to Butscha. This was a 
 terrible interrogation, for then Modeste partook of 
 Dumay's suspicions. 
 
 "Once rich, I will seek some beautiful, poor, 
 young girl, someone abandoned like myself, who has 
 suffered much, who is unfortunate; I will write to 
 her, I will console her ; I will be her good genius. 
 She will read in my heart, in my soul ; she shall 
 have my double wealth; my gold, delicately offered, 
 and my thoughts, adorned with all the splendor 
 which chance at my birth refused to my grotesque 
 person ! I shall remain hidden like the cause which 
 scientists seek. Perhaps God is not handsome. 
 Naturally, this girl becoming curious, will wish to 
 see me; but I will tell her that I am a monster of 
 ugliness; I will paint myself so ugly " 
 
 Here, Modeste regarded Butscha steadfastly, and 
 had she said to him, "What do you know about my 
 love affair?" she could not have been more 
 explicit. 
 
 "If I have the honor to be loved for the poetry of 
 my heart! If some day I should appear to this 
 woman to be only a little deformed, confess that I 
 shall be more happy than the handsomest of men, 
 a man of genius beloved by a creature as heav- 
 enly as you, " 
 
 The blush which colored Modeste's face told the 
 hunchback almost all of the young girl's secret.
 
 M. BUTSCHA AND THE POSTMAN 
 
 "Have you a letter to-day for Mademoiselle 
 Modestc ? " he asked this humble functionary, ivhen 
 he saw him coming. 
 
 "No, sir, no " 
 
 "For some time we have been good customers for 
 the postofficc ! " exclaimed the clerk. 
 
 "All! indeed, yes!" replied the postman. 
 
 Modeste saw and heard this little conversation.
 
 ;, 
 
 ;.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 169 
 
 "Well, to enrich her whom one loves, and to 
 please her morally, without taking account of one's 
 person, is not that a means to being loved ? That 
 is the dream of the poor hunchback, the dream of 
 yesterday, for to-day your adorable mother has just 
 given me the key to my future treasure in promis- 
 ing to facilitate for me the means to purchase a law- 
 yer's practice. But before becoming a Gobenheim, 
 it is necessary to know, first, if this terrible trans- 
 formation is expedient What do you think of it 
 yourself, mademoiselle?" 
 
 Modeste was so surprised that she did not notice 
 that Butscha appealed to her. The lover's snare 
 was better arranged than that of the soldier, for the 
 poor stupefied girl remained speechless, 
 
 "Poor Butscha!" said Madame Latournelle, in a 
 low voice to her husband. "Is he growing foolish ?" 
 
 "You wish to make real the story of Beauty and 
 the Beast," replied Modeste at last, "and you forget 
 that the Beast changes himself into the Prince 
 Charming." 
 
 "Do you think so?" asked the dwarf. "I myself 
 have always imagined that this change indicated 
 the phenomenon of the soul rendered visible, obliter- 
 ating the form under its radiant light If I am not 
 loved, I shall remain hidden ; that is all ! You and 
 yours, madame," he said to his protectress, "in- 
 stead of having a dwarf at your service, will have 
 a life and a fortune." 
 
 Butscha returned to his place, affecting the great- 
 est calmness, and said to the three players:
 
 170 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Whose deal?" But to himself, he said most 
 sorrowfully, "she wishes to be loved for herself; 
 she is corresponding with some deceitful great man, 
 and how far has it gone?" 
 
 "My dear mamma, it has just struck a quarter of 
 ten," said Modeste to her mother. Madame Mignon 
 said good-night to her friends, and retired. 
 
 Those who desire to love in secret may have for 
 spies, Pyrenese dogs, mothers, Dumays and Latour- 
 nelles, they are in no danger. But a lover ? That 
 is diamond cut diamond; fire against fire; intelli- 
 gence against intelligence ; a perfect equation whose 
 terms are reciprocal. 
 
 On Sunday morning, Butscha preceded his patron- 
 ess, who called always to take Modeste to mass, 
 and stationed himself at the intersection of the 
 roads before the Chalet, to await the postman. 
 
 "Have you a letter to-day for Mademoiselle 
 Modeste?" he asked this humble functionary, when 
 he saw him coming. 
 
 "No, sir, no" 
 
 "For some time we have been good customers for 
 the postoffice!" exclaimed the clerk. 
 
 "Ah! indeed, yes!" replied the postman. 
 
 Modeste saw and heard this little conversation 
 from her chamber, where she placed herself always 
 at this hour behind her blind to watch for the post- 
 man. She descended, went into the little garden, 
 where in a changed voice, she called out: 
 
 "Monsieur Butscha!" 
 
 "Here I am, mademoiselle," said the hunchback,
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 171 
 
 as he came to the little gate which Modeste opened 
 herself. 
 
 "Will you tell me if you count among your titles 
 to the affection of a woman, the shameful spying to 
 which you have yielded yourself?" asked the young 
 girl, endeavoring to confound her slave with her 
 glance and by her queenly attitude. 
 
 "Yes, mademoiselle!" he replied, proudly. "Ah! 
 I did not believe," he said in a low voice, "that a 
 worm could render a service to a star ! But so it is. 
 Would you wish that your mother, that Monsieur 
 Dumay or that Madame Latournelle should have 
 found you out, and not a creature, almost an outcast 
 from life, who gives himself to you, like one of the 
 flowers which you cut to use for a moment? They 
 all know that you love; but I alone know how. 
 Take me as you would a faithful dog; I will obey 
 you; I will protect you. I will never bark, and I 
 will not judge. I ask you only to allow me, in 
 some way, to be useful to you. Your father has 
 placed a Dumay in your menagerie ; have a Butscha, 
 you will tell me about it! A poor Butscha, who 
 asks nothing; not even a bone!" 
 
 "Well, I am going to give you a trial," said 
 Modeste, who wished to get rid of such an intelli- 
 gent guardian. "Go at once from hotel to hotel in 
 
 o o 
 
 Graville, in Havre, to ascertain if a Monsieur 
 Arthur has arrived from England " 
 
 "Listen, mademoiselle," said Butscha, respect- 
 fully interrupting Modeste. "I will go most will- 
 ingly to walk on the beach, and that will suffice,
 
 172 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 for you do not wish me to be at church to-day, 
 that's all." 
 
 Modeste looked at the dwarf with an air of stupid 
 surprise. 
 
 "Listen, mademoiselle! Although you have 
 bound up your cheeks with cotton batting and a silk 
 handkerchief, you have no cold, and if you are 
 wearing a double veil upon your hat, it is to see 
 without being seen." 
 
 "How do you possess so much penetration?" 
 exclaimed Modeste, blushing. 
 
 "Ah! mademoiselle, you have no corsets on! An 
 inflammation does not oblige you to disguise your 
 figure by wearing several skirts, hiding your hands 
 in old gloves, and your pretty feet in hideous shoes, 
 in dressing yourself badly, in " 
 
 "Enough!" she said. "Now, how am I sure to 
 be obeyed?" 
 
 "My master has to go to Sainte-Adresse. He is 
 put out about it, but as he is usually good-natured, 
 he did not wish to deprive me of my Sunday. Well, 
 I will propose to go there for him " 
 
 "Go there, and I shall have confidence in you " 
 
 "Are you sure of not needing me in Havre?" 
 
 "No. Listen, mysterious dwarf, look," she said, 
 pointing to the sky without a cloud. "Do you see 
 any trace of the bird which has just flown by? 
 Well, my deeds, pure as the air, will leave no more. 
 Reassure Dumay; reassure the Latournelles; reas- 
 sure my mother and remember that this hand," she 
 said, showing him a fine, pretty hand, with pink
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 173 
 
 tapering fingers which were transparent, "will 
 never be given, it will never even be touched by a 
 kiss from anyone who may be called a lover, before 
 my father's return." 
 
 "But why do you not wish me at church to-day?" 
 
 "You question me after what I have done you the 
 honor to tell you, and to ask you?" 
 
 Butscha saluted her without replying a word, and 
 ran home in raptures at having entered the service 
 of his unrecognized mistress. 
 
 An hour later, Monsieur and Madame Latournelle 
 came for Modeste, who complained of a terrible 
 toothache. 
 
 "I have not had," she said, "the courage to dress 
 myself." 
 
 "Well, do stay at home," replied the lawyer's 
 wife. 
 
 "Oh! no. I wish to pray for my father's happy 
 return," replied Modeste, "and I thought, if I 
 wrapped myself up in this way, going out would do 
 me more good than harm." 
 
 And Mademoiselle Mignon went alone by the side 
 of Latournelle. She refused to give her arm to her 
 escort, fearing to be questioned about the inward 
 trembling which agitated her at the thought of soon 
 seeing her grand poet One look alone, the first, 
 was it not going to decide her future?
 
 Is there in the life of man an hour more delicious 
 than that of the first rendezvous ? Are the sensa- 
 tions hidden in the depths of the heart, which then 
 bloom forth, ever again repeated? Does one ever 
 find again the nameless pleasure that one tastes in 
 seeking, as did Ernest de la Briere, his best razors, 
 his finest shirts, his irreproachable collars, and his 
 most careful attire? The things associated with 
 that hour become deified. He makes to himself 
 alone, secret poetry which is worthy of a woman, 
 and on the day when another guesses it, it all takes 
 flight! Is it not like the flowers of wild fruits, bit- 
 ter and fragrant at the same time, the joy of the 
 sun, no doubt, but lost in the forest's bosom ; or, as 
 Canal is says in The Maiden's Song, the joy of the 
 plant itself, whose own image the angel of the 
 flowers has permitted it to see ? This reminds us 
 that, like many another poor creature, for whom life 
 commenced with labor and the cares of fortune, the 
 modest La Briere had never yet been loved. Having 
 arrived the night before, he had gone to bed at once 
 like a coquettish girl, in order to efface the fatigue 
 of the journey, and he had just made a toilet, pre- 
 meditated to his advantage, after having taken a 
 bath. Here, perhaps, is the place to give his full- 
 length portrait, if only to justify the last letter 
 which Modeste was to write him. 
 (175)
 
 176 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Born of a good family at Toulouse, distantly 
 allied to that of the minister who had taken him 
 under his protection, Ernest possessed that distin- 
 guished air which an education begun in the cradle 
 reveals, to which business habits had given a cer- 
 tain sedateness, but without pedantry, which is the 
 danger of all premature gravity. Of an ordinary 
 height, he was noticeable for a refined, gentle face, 
 of warm coloring without being florid, and which he 
 accentuated by a small moustache and a goatee, a la 
 Mazarin. Without this manly certificate, perhaps 
 he would have resembled too much a young girl in 
 disguise, as the shape of his face and lips was so 
 delicate, and his teeth of such transparent enamel 
 and of such regularity, that they would have been 
 easily attributed to a woman. Add to these femi- 
 nine qualities a voice as gentle as his face was deli- 
 cate, as gentle as were his blue eyes with their 
 drooping eyelids like those of an oriental, and you 
 will easily conceive why the minister had nick- 
 named his young private secretary "Mademoiselle 
 de la Briere." The pure, full forehead, well-framed 
 with abundant black hair, seemed that of a dreamer 
 and did not belie the expression of the face which 
 was thoroughly melancholy. The prominent arch 
 of the upper eyelid, although very elegantly cut, 
 shaded his glance and added still more to that mel- 
 ancholy, by a physical sadness, so to speak, which 
 is produced by eyelids when they are much lowered 
 over the eyes. That innate doubt which we trans- 
 late by the word "modesty," animated both his
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 177 
 
 features and his person. Perhaps his appearance 
 will be better understood, if we make the observa- 
 tion that the harmony of his features required more 
 length in the oval of his head, more space between 
 the chin, which ended abruptly, and the forehead too 
 much shortened by the manner in which his hair 
 grew; therefore his face seemed short. Work had 
 already made its furrows between his eyebrows, 
 which were a little too abundant and close together, 
 like those of jealous persons. Although La Briere 
 was then slender, he belonged to that sort of tem- 
 perament which develops late, and unexpectedly 
 becomes stout after thirty years of age. 
 
 For those to whom the history of France is 
 familiar, this young man would have represented 
 well enough the royal and incomprehensible person- 
 ality of Louis XIII., with its melancholy modesty, 
 without any known cause, pale under its crown, 
 loving the fatigues of hunting, but hating work, 
 timid with his mistress even to the point of keeping 
 away from her, indifferent even to allowing his 
 friend to be beheaded, and which can only be ex- 
 plained by the remorse of having avenged his father 
 upon his mother. Was he a Catholic Hamlet, or 
 the victim of some incurable malady? But the 
 gnawing worm which caused Louis XIII. to grow 
 pale and weakened his strength, was in Ernest, 
 simple mistrust of himself; the timidity of the 
 man to whom no woman had said, "How I love 
 you!" and, above all, his useless devotion. After 
 having heard the knell of a monarchy in the fall of 
 
 12
 
 178 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 a ministry, this poor fellow had found, in Canalis, 
 a rock hidden under beautiful mosses, and he sought 
 then a power to love; and that impatience of a dog 
 seeking a master gave him the appearance of a king 
 who had found his own. These shadows, these 
 sentiments, this tinge of suffering diffused over his 
 face, made it much more beautiful than he himself 
 believed it, angry, as he was, to hear himself 
 classed by the women among the "melancholy 
 beaus;" a genus out of fashion at a time in which 
 everyone wishes to blow his own trumpet 
 
 The distrustful Ernest had, therefore, sought all 
 the prestige which the clothes then fashionable 
 could give. He wore for this interview, when 
 everything depended upon the first glance, black 
 trousers and carefully polished boots; a sulphur- 
 colored waistcoat, which permitted the view of a 
 shirt of wonderful fineness, ornamented with opal 
 studs; a black cravat, a short blue frock-coat, which 
 seemed to be glued to his back and shoulders by 
 some new process, and which was ornamented with 
 a rosette. Wearing fine Florentine bronze-colored 
 kid gloves, he held in his left hand with a gesture 
 quite a la Louis XIV., a little cane and his hat, thus 
 revealing, as the place demanded, his carefully 
 arranged hair, which the light made as brilliant as 
 satin. Stationed under the portico from the com- 
 mencement of the mass, he examined the church, 
 looking at all the religious men, but more especially 
 at the religious women, who dipped their fingers in 
 the holy water.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 179 
 
 An inner voice cried out, "there he is" to Mo- 
 deste, when she arrived. That coat and this make- 
 up, essentially Parisian, that rosette, those gloves, 
 that cane, the perfume of the hair none of them 
 belonged to Havre. Therefore when La Briere 
 turned to look at the tall and proud wife of the law- 
 yer, the little lawyer and the bundle of clothes an 
 expression usual among women under which guise 
 Modeste had put herself, the poor child, although well 
 prepared, suffered a violent disturbance of her heart 
 on seeing this poetical face illumined by the day- 
 light through the doorway. She could not be de- 
 ceived; a little white rose almost hid the rosette. 
 Would Ernest recognize his unknown love dressed 
 in an old hat and a double veil ? Modeste feared the 
 clear-sightedness of love so much that she walked 
 like an old woman. 
 
 "My wife," said the little Latournelle, as he 
 walked to his place, "that gentleman is not from 
 Havre." 
 
 "So many strangers come here!" replied the 
 wife. 
 
 "But do strangers ever come to see our church, 
 which is only two hundred years old?" asked the 
 lawyer. 
 
 Ernest remained at the door throughout the mass, 
 without having seen anyone among the women who 
 realized his hopes. Modeste was not able to master 
 her agitation until the close of the service. She 
 experienced the joys which she alone could depict 
 At last she heard upon the flag-stones the footsteps
 
 180 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 of a gentlemanly man, for the mass being ended, 
 Ernest was making the rounds of the church, where 
 there were to be seen only the especially pious, 
 who became the object of a learned and careful 
 analysis. Ernest noticed the excessive trembling 
 of the prayer book in the hands of the veiled woman 
 as she passed him, and as she was the only one who 
 hid her face, he had his suspicions, which were 
 confirmed by Modeste's make-up, studied as it was 
 with the care of a curious lover. He went out when 
 Madame Latournelle left the church; he followed her 
 at a proper distance and saw her enter the Rue 
 Royal e with Modeste, where, according to her cus- 
 tom, Mademoiselle Mignon waited for vespers. 
 After having eyed from top to bottom the house 
 with escutcheons, Ernest asked the name of the 
 lawyer of a passer-by, who called him with pride 
 "Monsieur Latournelle, the first lawyer of Havre." 
 As he went along the Rue Royale attempting to 
 look into the interior of the house, Modeste noticed 
 her lover, and said that she was too ill to go to ves- 
 pers and Madame Latournelle remained with her. 
 Therefore, poor Ernest had had his journey for 
 nothing. He dared not dawdle about Ingouville, 
 but made it a point of honor to obey, and returned 
 to Paris after having written, while waiting for the 
 coach to start, a letter which Francoise Cochet was 
 to receive the next day, post-marked Havre. 
 
 Every Sunday, Monsieur and Madame Latournelle 
 dined at the Chalet where they went with Modeste 
 after vespers. Therefore, as soon as the sick girl
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 181 
 
 was better, they went up to Ingouville accompanied 
 by Butscha. Happy Modeste made a charming 
 toilet. As she came down for dinner, she forgot 
 her disguise of the morning, her assumed suffering 
 and hummed : 
 
 " Sleep not ! From violet's dewy couch and dark, 
 Sweet incense rises for the day begun." 
 
 Butscha felt a slight thrill at Modeste's appear- 
 ance, she seemed so changed; for Cupid's wings 
 were as if attached to her shoulders. She had the 
 appearance of a sylph, and her cheeks had the 
 heavenly color of joy. 
 
 "By whom then are the words to which you have 
 composed such pretty music?" asked Madame 
 Mignon of her daughter. 
 
 "By Canal is, mama," she replied, becoming, 
 at that instant, the loveliest crimson from her neck 
 to her forehead. 
 
 "Canalis!" exclaimed the dwarf, to whom Mo- 
 deste's accent and her blush showed him the only 
 thing about the secret of which he was ignorant 
 "He, the great poet, the maker of romances?" 
 
 "They are," she said, "only simple verses to 
 which I have dared apply some memories of Ger- 
 man melodies " 
 
 "No, no," replied Madame Mignon, "that is your 
 own music, my child!" 
 
 Modeste, feeling herself grow more and more 
 crimson, went into the little garden, dragging But- 
 scha with her.
 
 1 82 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "You can," she said in a low voice, "render me 
 a great service. Dumay is very close-mouthed 
 with my mother and me about the fortune which 
 my father is bringing home. I wish to know what 
 it is. Has not Dumay, since he left, sent five 
 hundred and some thousand francs to papa? My 
 father is not the man to absent himself for four 
 years, only to double his capital. Now, he is re- 
 turning upon his own vessel and the portion which 
 he has given to Dumay amounts to nearly six hun- 
 dred thousand francs." 
 
 "It is not worth while to question Dumay," said 
 Butscha. "Your father had lost, as you know, four 
 millions at the time of his departure, and without 
 doubt he has regained them ; but he ought to have 
 given Dumay ten per cent of his profits, and from 
 the fortune which the worthy Breton confesses to 
 have, my patron and I suppose that that of the 
 colonel amounts to six or seven millions " 
 
 "Oh, my father!" said Modeste, crossing her 
 arms upon her breast and raising her eyes to 
 Heaven, "you will have doubly given me my 
 life!" 
 
 "Ah! mademoiselle," said Butscha, "you love a 
 poet! That sort of man is more or less of a Nar- 
 cissus! Will he know how to love you well? A 
 worker of phrases, occupied in adjusting words, is 
 very wearisome. A poet, mademoiselle, is no more 
 the poetry than the seed is the flower." 
 
 "Butscha, I have never seen a man so hand- 
 some!"
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 183 
 
 "Beauty, mademoiselle, is a veil which serves 
 oftentimes to hide imperfections " 
 
 "His heart is the most angelic of Heaven! " 
 
 "God grant that you are right," said the dwarf, 
 folding his hands, "and that you may be happy. 
 This man shall have, like yourself, a servant in 
 Jean Butscha. 1 will no longer, then, be a lawyer. 
 I am going to plunge into study, into the sciences " 
 
 "And wherefore? 
 
 "Ah! mademoiselle, to educate your children, if 
 you deign to permit me to be their tutor. Ah ! if 
 you will allow a council ! Stop, let me do it. I 
 can penetrate into the life and morals of this man, 
 find out if he is good, if he is high-tempered or gen- 
 tle; if he possesses the respect which you merit, if 
 he is capable of loving absolutely, preferring you to 
 all else, even to his talent " 
 
 "What goodwill that do if I love him?" she said, 
 archly. 
 
 "Ah! it is true," cried the hunchback. 
 
 At this moment, Madame Mignon was saying to 
 her friends: 
 
 "This morning my daughter has seen him whom 
 she loves." 
 
 "It must be, then, that sulphur-colored waistcoat 
 which troubled you so much, Latournelle," ex- 
 claimed the lawyer's wife. "That young man had 
 a pretty little white rose in his buttonhole." 
 
 "Ah '"said the mother, "the sign of recognition." 
 
 "He had the rosette of an officer of the Legion 
 of Honor," said the lawyer's wife. "He is a
 
 1 84 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 charming man! But we are deceiving ourselves! 
 Modeste did not raise her veil and she was dressed 
 like a pauper and " 
 
 "Eh!" said the lawyer, "she said she was ill, 
 but she has just taken off her disguise and is as 
 well as a charm " 
 
 "It is incomprehensible!" exclaimed Dumay. 
 
 "Ah! It is as clear now as the day!" said the 
 lawyer. 
 
 "My child," said Madame Mignon to Modeste, 
 who entered followed by Butscha, "did you see this 
 morning at church a short young man, well-dressed, 
 who wore a white rose in his buttonhole, deco- 
 rated" 
 
 "I saw him," said Butscha, quickly seeing, by 
 every one's intense attention, that Modeste was 
 likely to fall into a trap, "it was Grindot, the 
 famous architect with whom the city is arranging 
 for the restoration of the church. He has just come 
 from Paris and I found him this morning examining 
 the exterior when I was on my way to Sainte- 
 Adresse. " 
 
 "Ah! so he is an architect. He puzzled me too, " 
 said Modeste whom the dwarf had given time to 
 compose herself. 
 
 Dumay looked askance at Butscha: Modeste had 
 regained her impenetrable composure. Dumay's 
 distrust was now fully aroused, and he determined 
 to go the next day to the mayor to find out if the 
 expected architect had really showed himself in 
 Havre. On the other hand Butscha, very uneasy
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 185 
 
 for Modeste's future, had determined to go to Paris 
 the next day to keep watch on Canal is. 
 
 Gobenheim came to play whist and subdued by 
 his presence all the various fermenting feelings. 
 Modeste waited impatiently for the hour of her 
 mother's bedtime to arrive, for she wished to write. 
 She only wrote at night and here is the letter which 
 her love dictated, when she thought that everyone 
 was asleep. 
 
 TO MONSIEUR DE CANALIS 
 
 Ah ! my friend, my beloved ! what atrocious false- 
 hoods your portraits in the shop-windows are ! And 
 I made that horrible lithograph my joy! I am 
 humbled at the thought of loving so handsome a 
 man. No, I cannot imagine that Parisian women 
 are so stupid as not to find the man of their dreams 
 in you. You neglected! You unloved! I do not 
 believe one word of what you have written of your 
 obscure and laborious life, of your devotion to one 
 idol, sought in vain until now. You have been too 
 much loved, monsieur; your brow, white and smooth 
 as the magnolia flower, tells me so and I shall be 
 unhappy for what am I now ? Ah ! why was I 
 born ! I felt for a moment that this burden of flesh 
 was leaving me. My soul had broken the crystal 
 which held it captive, it coursed in my veins! The 
 cold silence of material things had suddenly ceased 
 for me and all nature spoke to me. The old church 
 seemed luminous to me, its arched roofs, brilliant
 
 186 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 with gold and azure as those of an Italian Cathe- 
 dral, sparkled over my head. Beautiful melodies, 
 such as the angels chanted to the martyrs to make 
 them forget their sufferings, accompanied the organ ! 
 The horribly paved streets of Havre became for me 
 a flowery way. I recognized, in the sound of the 
 sea, the voice of an old friend full of sympathy for 
 me, whose language I had not understood. I saw 
 clearly how the roses in my garden and my conser- 
 vatory had adored me for a longtime and whispered 
 to me of love. They all smiled upon me on my 
 return from church and I have heard your name 
 "Melchior" murmured by the flower-bells; I have 
 read it inscribed on the clouds! Yes, I live, thanks 
 to you! poet more beautiful than that cold, impas- 
 sive Lord Byron whose face is as dull as the English 
 climate. We are wedded by one of your Orient 
 glances which pierced my black veil and sent your 
 blood to my heart. It made me burn from head to 
 foot! Ah! it is not thus that we feel the life which 
 our mothers give us. A blow to you would strike 
 me at the same moment, I exist only by your 
 thought. I understand now the divine harmony of 
 music, it was invented by the angels to express 
 love. To have both genius and beauty, my Mel- 
 chior, is too much! A man ought to be compelled 
 to choose between them at birth. When I think of 
 the treasures of tenderness and love which you have 
 lavished upon me for the past month, I ask myself 
 if I am dreaming. You conceal some mystery from 
 me! What woman could resign you and live? Ah!
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 187 
 
 jealousy has entered into my heart with this love I 
 did not foresee Could I imagine such a conflagra- 
 tion? What new and inconceivable fantasy pos- 
 sesses me! Now, I wish that you were ugly. 
 What follies I committed when I came home! The 
 yellow dahlias recalled your pretty waistcoat, the 
 white roses were my friends and I saluted them 
 with a glance which belonged to you as does all of 
 me! The color of the gloves which mould the 
 hands of my noble one, the sound of his steps on 
 the floor-tiles all, all is so graven on my memory 
 that sixty years hence I shall be able to recall the 
 least thing of this day the very color of the par- 
 ticles of air, the reflection of the sun which danced 
 on a pillar I shall hear the prayer which your step 
 interrupted, I shall breathe the incense of the altar 
 and feel above our heads the hands of the curate 
 who blessed us both at the moment when you 
 passed, giving his last benediction! That good 
 AbbeMarcellin has already married us. The super- 
 human joy of experiencing this new world of unex- 
 pected emotions can only be equaled by the happi- 
 ness of telling it all to you, in sending back my 
 happiness to him who has filled my heart to over- 
 flowing with the liberality of the sun itself. 
 Enough of veils, my well-beloved. Come! oh! 
 come back quickly with joy I will unmask myself. 
 You have no doubt heard of the Mignon house in 
 Havre. Well I am, through an irreparable sorrow, 
 its sole heiress. Do not scorn us, descendant of a 
 Knight of Auvergne! the arms of Mignon de la
 
 1 88 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Bastie will not dishonor those of Canal is. We 
 bear gules, on a bend sable four bezants or; and to 
 each quarter a patriarchal cross or, with a cardinal's 
 hat as crest and thefiocchi for supports. Dear, I will 
 be faithful to our motto: Una fides, unus Dominus 
 one faith, one Lord. 
 
 Perhaps, my friend, you will find some irony in 
 my name, after what I have done and have just 
 avowed here. I am called Modeste. Therefore, I 
 have not deceived you in signing O. d'Este-M. 
 Neither have I deceived you about my fortune ; it 
 will, I believe, amount to that sum which rendered 
 you so estimable. I know so well that fortune is an 
 unimportant consideration for you that I speak of it 
 without reserve. Nevertheless, allow me to tell 
 you how happy I am to be able to give that freedom 
 of action to our happiness which money procures. 
 To be able to say: "Let us go!" when the fancy 
 to see a new country takes us, to fly away, seated 
 side by side in a fine carriage without a care of the 
 means; in fact, happy to be able to give you the 
 right to say to the king : "I have the fortune which 
 you need for your peers!" Thus, Modeste IWignon 
 can be of service to you and her gold will have the 
 noblest destiny. As to your servant you have 
 seen her once, at the window en deshabille yes, 
 your "fairest daughter of Eve the fair," was your 
 unknown correspondent. But how little the 
 Modeste of to-day resembles her of that day ! That 
 one was in her shroud, while this one have I made 
 you understand it? has received from you the life
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 189 
 
 of life. Love pure and permissible, the love which 
 my father, just returning from a voyage rich and 
 prosperous, will sanction, raises me with its pow- 
 erful yet childlike hand from the grave in which I 
 slept You have awakened me as the sun awakens 
 the flowers. The look of your beloved is no longer 
 the glance of your little courageous Modeste! Oh! 
 no, it is disturbed, it has caught glimpses of happi- 
 ness and veils itself under chaste eyelids. I am 
 afraid to-day that I do not merit my good fortune. 
 The king has shown himself in his glory, my lord 
 has now only a subject who humbly asks pardon for 
 the great 1 iberties she has taken 1 ike the gambler who 
 cheated the Chevalier de Grammont with loaded 
 dice. Thus, my loved poet, I will be thy Mignon 
 a Mignon happier than Goethe's, for you will leave 
 me in my country, will you not in thy heart? 
 
 While I trace this vow of the affianced, a nightin- 
 gale in the Vilquin park comes to answer for you. 
 Oh! tell me quickly that his note so pure, so clear, 
 so full, which, like an Annunciation, fills my heart 
 with joy and love, does not deceive me ! 
 
 My father will pass through Paris, on his way 
 from Marseilles. The Mongenod house, with whom 
 he has been in correspondence will know his ad- 
 dress. Go to see him, my beloved Melchior, tell 
 him that you love me, and do not try to tell him 
 how much I love you Let us keep that a secret be- 
 tween ourselves and God. I, dearest, am about to 
 tell everything to my mother. The daughter of the 
 Wallenrod Tustall-Bartenstild will justify me by
 
 icp MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 her affection, she will be perfectly happy through 
 our poem so secret, so romantic, human and divine 
 at the same time. 
 
 You have the confession of the daughter, you 
 must now obtain the consent of the Count de la 
 Bastie, the father of 
 
 Your MODESTE. 
 
 P. S. Above all do not come to Havre without 
 having obtained my father's consent, and if you 
 love me you will be able to find him on his way 
 through Paris. 
 
 "What are you doing at this hour, Mademoiselle 
 Modeste?" asked Dumay. 
 
 "Writing to my father," she replied to the old 
 soldier, "did you not tell me that you would go to 
 Paris to-morrow?" 
 
 Dumay had nothing more to say, so he went to 
 bed, and Modeste began a long letter to her father. 
 
 The next day, Francoise Cochet, frightened on 
 seeing the Havre postmark, came to the Chalet to 
 bring the following letter to her young mistress and 
 to take away the one which Modeste had written : 
 
 TO MADEMOISELLE O. D'ESTE-M. 
 
 My heart has told me that you were the woman 
 so carefully veiled and disguised who sat between 
 Monsieur and Madame Latournelle, who have only 
 one child a son. Ah! my loved one, if only you
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 191 
 
 are in humble circumstances, without distinction, 
 position or even fortune, you do not know what my 
 joy would be ! You ought to know me now, why 
 should you not tell me the truth? I am only a poet 
 by love, by heart, by you. Oh ! what power of 
 affection is necessary to keep me here in this Hotel 
 Normandie instead of going up to Ingouville which I 
 see from my window! Do you love me as I love 
 you? To go from Havre to Paris in this uncer- 
 tainty. Am I not as much punished for loving, as I 
 should be if I had committed a crime? I have 
 obeyed blindly. Oh! that I may have a letter 
 promptly, for if you have been mysterious, I have 
 rendered mystery for mystery, and I must at last 
 throw aside the mask, show you the poet that I am, 
 and abdicate this borrowed glory. 
 
 This letter made Modeste very uneasy, she could 
 not recall the one which Francoise had already put 
 in the mail when she tried to understand the sig- 
 nificance of the last lines by reading them again 
 and again; she then went to her room and wrote a 
 letter demanding an explanation.
 
 During these little events, other little things were 
 happening in Havre which made Modeste forget her 
 uneasiness. Dumay went into the city early in 
 the morning and promptly ascertained that no 
 architect had arrived the previous day. Furious at 
 Butscha's lie, which opened up complications of 
 which he determined to know all, he hastened from 
 the Mayor's office to Latournelle's. 
 
 "And where is your Butscha?" he demanded of 
 his friend the notary, not seeing the head clerk in 
 the room. 
 
 "Butscha, my dear fellow, is on his way to Paris 
 as fast as steam can carry him. He met on the 
 quay very early this morning a sailor who told him 
 that his father, the Swedish sailor, is rich. It seems 
 that Butscha's father is supposed to have gone to 
 the Indies in the service of a Prince of the 
 Mahrattas, and he is now in Paris " 
 
 "Lies! infamies! farces. Oh! I will find that 
 damned dwarf if I have to go on the express to 
 Paris for him !" cried Dumay. "Butscha is deceiv- 
 ing us. He knows something about Modeste and 
 he has not told us. If he meddles in this he shall 
 never be a notary, I'll give him back to his mother, 
 to the dirt, in the" 
 
 "See here, my friend, don't hang a man without 
 a trial," replied Latournelle, frightened at Dumay's 
 rage. 
 
 13 ( X 93)
 
 194 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 After having explained upon what his suspicions 
 were founded, Dumay begged Madame Latournelle 
 to keep Modeste company at the Chalet during his 
 absence. 
 
 "You will find the colonel in Paris," said the 
 notary. "In the shipping news this morning in the 
 Journal of Commerce there is under the head of Mar- 
 seilles here it is, see for yourself," he said pre- 
 senting the paper to Dumay: "Bettina-Mignon, 
 Captain Mignon, arrived October sixth," "and to- 
 day is the seventeenth ; Havre already knows of the 
 arrival of the patron " 
 
 Dumay begged Gobenheim to make shift without 
 him in future; he went immediately up to the 
 Chalet and arrived there just as Modeste was seal- 
 ing her two letters to her father and to Canal is. 
 Except for the address, these two letters were ex- 
 actly alike in size and envelope. Modeste thought 
 she had placed her father's upon that of her Mel- 
 chior, but had, in fact, done just the reverse. This 
 mistake, so common in the trivial things of life, 
 occasioned her secret to be discovered by her mother 
 and Dumay. The lieutenant was speaking with 
 warmth to Madame Mignon in the salon, confiding 
 to her his new fears engendered by the duplicity of 
 Modeste and Butscha's deception. 
 
 "Madame," said he, "he is a serpent that we 
 have warmed in our bosoms. There is no room for 
 a soul in those miserable little dwarfs!" 
 
 Modeste put the letter for her father in the pocket 
 of her apron, believing that it was the one destined
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 195 
 
 for her lover and went down with Canal is's in her 
 hand, hearing Dumay speak of his immediate de- 
 parture for Paris. 
 
 "What have you against my Mysterious Dwarf, 
 and what are you talking so loud about?" said 
 Modeste, showing herself at the door of the salon. 
 
 "Butscha has gone to Paris this morning, made- 
 moiselle, and you doubtless know why perhaps 
 to enter into an intrigue with that so-called little 
 architect in the sulphur-yellow waistcoat, who un- 
 luckily for the hunchback's lies, has never been 
 here." 
 
 Modeste was taken unawares, she believed that 
 the dwarf had gone to institute a search into the 
 morals of Canalis; she turned pale and sat down. 
 
 "1 will join him there, I will find him!" said Du- 
 may. "That is the letter for your father, I sup- 
 pose, mademoiselle," he said extending his hand, 
 "I will send it to Mongenod, provided the colonel 
 and I do not pass each other en route " 
 
 Modeste handed him the letter and the little man 
 who could read without glasses, looked mechan- 
 ically at the address. 
 
 "Monsieur le Baron de Canalis, Rue de Paradis- 
 Poissonniere, No. 29!" cried Dumay. "What does 
 this mean?" 
 
 "Ah! my daughter, that is the name of the man 
 you love!" cried Madame Mignon; "the stanzas to 
 which you put music are by him." 
 
 "And it is his portrait which you have framed 
 upstairs!" said Dumay.
 
 196 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Give me that letter, Monsieur Dumay! " said 
 Modeste, who stood like a young lioness defending 
 her young. 
 
 "There it is, mademoiselle," replied the lieu- 
 tenant. 
 
 Modeste hid the letter in her bodice and held out 
 the one intended for her father, to Dumay. 
 
 "I know what you are capable of, Dumay," she 
 said, "but if you take one step against Monsieur 
 Canal is, I will take one out of this house and never 
 return." 
 
 "You are going to kill your mother, mademoi- 
 selle," replied Dumay, who went out to call his 
 wife. 
 
 The poor mother had indeed fainted, struck to the 
 heart by Modeste's fatal words. 
 
 "Good-bye, wife," said the Breton, kissing the 
 little American. "Save the mother, I am going to 
 save the daughter." 
 
 He left Modeste and Madame Dumay with Ma- 
 dame Mignon ; in a few moments he made his prep- 
 arations to depart, and went into Havre. One hour 
 later, he was traveling by post with that rapidity 
 which passion or speculation alone gives the wheels. 
 
 Soon restored to consciousness by Modeste's care, 
 Madame Mignon went up to her chamber leaning 
 upon her daughter's arm. When they were alone, 
 she said as her only reproach: 
 
 "Unfortunate child, what have you done? Why 
 did you hide anything from me? Am I then so 
 cruel?"
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 197 
 
 "Oh! naturally, I was going to tell you every- 
 thing," replied the young girl, weeping. 
 
 She related all to her mother; she read her the 
 letters and the replies; she stripped off petal by 
 petal the rose of her poem into the heart of the good 
 German. When the confidence, which took half of 
 the day, had been finished, when she noticed almost 
 a smile upon the lips of the too-indulgent blind 
 woman, she threw herself into her arms all in 
 tears. 
 
 "O! my mother!" she said, in the midst of her 
 sobs, "you whose heart, all gold and all poetry, is 
 like a chosen vessel formed by God to contain the 
 pure, unique and heavenly love which fills all life! 
 You, whom I wish to imitate in loving only my 
 husband in the world, you should understand how 
 bitter are the tears which I am shedding at this 
 moment and which fall on your hands. This but- 
 terfly with variegated wings, this double and beau- 
 tiful soul which I have nurtured with maternal solic- 
 itude, my love, my holy love, this living, animated 
 mystery, is falling into vulgar hands, who are 
 going to tear its wings and its veil under the mis- 
 erable pretext of enlightening me, of learning if 
 genius is prudent as a banker, if my Melchior is 
 capable of hoarding his income, if he has some en- 
 tanglement to be unraveled, if he is not guilty in 
 the eyes of the bourgeois of some youthful episode, 
 which is to our love now only as a cloud to the sun. 
 What are they going to do? See, there is my 
 hand; it burns with fever. They will kill me "
 
 198 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Modeste, overcome with a terrible chill, was 
 obliged to go to bed, causing the greatest anxiety to 
 her mother, to Madame Latournelle and to Madame 
 Dumay, who watched her during the journey of the 
 lieutenant to Paris, where the sequence of events 
 takes the drama for an instant. 
 
 Those people who are really modest, as was 
 Ernest de la Briere, but especially those who, 
 knowing their own worth, are neither loved nor ap- 
 preciated, will understand the infinite delight the 
 secretary took in reading Modeste's letter. After 
 having found him spiritual and grand in soul, his 
 artless and cunning young mistress found him 
 handsome. This, indeed, was supreme flattery. 
 Why ? Beauty without doubt is the signature of the 
 master to a work on which he has imprinted his 
 soul ; it is the divinity which manifests itself; and 
 to see it even where it is not, to create it by the 
 power of an enchanted glance, is not this the highest 
 type of love? Therefore the poor secretary ex- 
 claimed to himself with the delight of an applauded 
 author : 
 
 "At last I am loved!" 
 
 When a woman, courtesan or young girl, has 
 allowed this sentence to escape her, "You are hand- 
 some!" even if a falsehood, if a man opens his 
 thick skull to the subtle poison of these words, he 
 is forever attached by eternal bonds to this charm- 
 ing liar, to this woman, true or false; she becomes 
 his world; he thirsts for this declaration, he will 
 never be weary of it, even were he a prince.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 199 
 
 Ernest walked proudly up and down his chamber; 
 he placed himself at three-quarters, in profile, 
 and at full face, before the mirror; he attempted to 
 criticise himself, but a diabolically persuasive voice 
 said to him: "Modeste is right!" He returned to 
 the letter; he re-read it; he saw his heavenly 
 blond, he talked to her! Then in the midst of his 
 ecstasy he was struck with this atrocious thought : 
 "She thinks I am Canal is, and she is the heiress of 
 a million!" All his happiness fell, as a man falls 
 who reaches in a state of somnambulism the ridge 
 of a roof, hears a voice, steps forward, and is 
 dashed to pieces on the sidewalk. 
 
 "Without the aureole of glory, I should be ugly!" 
 he exclaimed. "In what a terrible position I have 
 placed myself!" 
 
 La Briere was too much the man of his letters, he 
 had too noble and pure a heart which he had 
 allowed to be seen, to hesitate at the voice of honor. 
 He decided to go at once and avow all to Modeste's 
 father if he were in Paris, and to acquaint Canal is 
 with the serious ending of their Parisian nonsense. 
 For this refined young man, the enormity of her 
 fortune was the decisive reason. Above all, he did 
 not wish to be suspected of having made the enthu- 
 siasm of this correspondence, so sincere on his part, 
 serve to obtain a dowry by false pretences. Tears 
 came to his eyes as he walked from his house in the 
 Rue Chantereine to the banker Mongenod, whose 
 fortune, alliances and connections were in part the 
 work of the minister, his own protector.
 
 200 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 At the same time that La Briere consulted the 
 head of the house of Mongenod and learned all the 
 information which his strange position necessitated, 
 a scene was taking place with Canalis, which the 
 abrupt departure of the old lieutenant may have 
 foretold. 
 
 As a true soldier of the Imperial school, Dumay, 
 whose Breton blood had boiled during the journey, 
 had pictured to himself a poet as a queer character 
 without consistency, a maker of rhymes, lodged in 
 an attic, dressed in black clothes, threadbare at 
 every seam, whose boots occasionally are soleless, 
 whose linen is doubtful, who blows his nose with 
 his fingers ; in short, who always has the appear- 
 ance of falling from the moon, when he did not 
 scribble, like Butscha. But the ebullition which 
 growled in his heart and brain received something 
 like a dash of cold water, when he entered the fine 
 house inhabited by the poet, when he noticed in the 
 court, a groom cleaning a carriage, when he saw in 
 a magnificent dining-room another servant, dressed 
 like a banker, and to whom the groom had sent him, 
 and who replied to him, as he looked at him from 
 head to foot, that Monsieur le Baron was not to be 
 seen. 
 
 "Monsieur le Baron has a sitting with the Coun- 
 cil of State to-day," he added in finishing. 
 
 "Am I then at Monsieur Canalis's house, the 
 author of poetry?" asked Dumay. 
 
 "Monsieur le Baron de Canalis," replied the 
 valet, "is indeed the grand poet of whom you speak,
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 2OI 
 
 but he is also Master of Requests to the Council of 
 State and attached to the Ministry of Foreign 
 Affairs." 
 
 Dumay, who had come to box the ears of a rascal, 
 according to his scornful expression, found a high 
 officer of state. The salon where he waited, re- 
 markable for its magnificence, offered to his medita- 
 tions the string of decorations which sparkled upon 
 Canal is's black coat left by the valet de chambre 
 upon a chair. Soon his eyes were attracted by the 
 brilliancy and workmanship of a silver-gilt cup 
 where these words "Given by MADAME," struck 
 him. Then, glancing towards a pedestal, he saw a 
 Sevres vase upon which was engraved "Given by 
 Madame the DAUPHINE." 
 
 These silent admonitions recalled Dumay to his 
 good sense, while the valet asked his master if he 
 would receive a stranger, one Dumay, who had 
 come expressly from Havre to see him. 
 
 "Who is he?" asked Canal is. 
 
 "A man well-dressed and wearing the ribbon of 
 the Legion of Honor." 
 
 Upon an assenting sign, the valet went out and 
 returning he announced: 
 
 "Monsieur Dumay." 
 
 When he heard himself announced, when he stood 
 before Canalis in the middle of a study as rich as 
 elegant, his feet upon a carpet as beautiful as the 
 finest in the Mignon house, and when he saw the 
 studied regard of the poet, who was playing with 
 the tassels of his sumptuous morning coat, Dumay
 
 202 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 was so completely nonplussed that he allowed him- 
 self to be questioned by the great man. 
 
 "To what do I owe the honor of your visit, mon- 
 sieur ?" 
 
 "Monsieur , " said Dumay, who remained stand- 
 ing. 
 
 "If you wish to speak for any length of time," 
 said Canalis, interrupting him, "pray be seated;" 
 then Canalis dropped into his chair a la Voltaire, 
 crossed his legs, swinging the upper one which he 
 raised to the level of his eyes, looked at Dumay 
 steadily, who found himself, to use a soldier's ex- 
 pression, utterly bayonetted. "I am listening to 
 you, monsieur," said the poet, "my moments are 
 precious; the ministry expects me " 
 
 "Monsieur," said Dumay, "I will be brief. You 
 have seduced, I do not know how, a young girl at 
 Havre, beautiful and rich, the last, the only hope 
 of two noble families, and I have come to ask you 
 what are your intentions " 
 
 Canalis, who for three months had been occupied 
 with serious matters, who wished to be made Com- 
 mander of the Legion of Honor, and become minis- 
 ter at a German Court, had absolutely forgotten 
 the letter from Havre. 
 
 "I?" he exclaimed. 
 
 "Yes, you," repeated Dumay. 
 
 "Monsieur," replied Canalis, smiling, "I do not 
 know any more what you are talking about than if 
 you were talking Hebrew to me. I seduce a young 
 girl? I who? " A superb smile played upon
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 203 
 
 Canal is's lips. "Mercy, monsieur! I am not enough 
 of a child to amuse myself stealing small wild fruit, 
 when I have good and fine orchards where the most 
 beautiful peaches in the world ripen. All Paris 
 knows where my affections are placed. That there 
 may be at Havre a young girl seized with some 
 admiration of which I am not worthy, for the verses 
 which I have made, my dear monsieur, that would 
 not surprise me! Nothing more common! Here, 
 see! Look at this beautiful ebony box inlaid with 
 mother-of-pearl and ornamented with iron, wrought 
 as fine as lace. This box came from Pope Leo X. 
 It was given to me by the Duchesse de Chaulieu, 
 who received it from the King of Spain. I have 
 destined it to contain all the letters I receive from 
 all parts of Europe, from unknown women or young 
 girls. Oh, I have the most profound respect for 
 these bouquets of flowers gathered direct from the 
 soul and sent in a moment of exaltation, truly 
 worthy of respect. Yes, for me the outburst of a 
 heart is a noble and sublime thing! Others, 
 scoffers, roll up these letters to light their cigars, 
 or give them to their wives for curl-papers; but I 
 who am unmarried, I, monsieur, have too much del- 
 icacy not to preserve in a kind of tabernacle these 
 offerings, so ingenuous, so disinterested. Indeed, I 
 gather them with a sort of veneration, and at my 
 death, I shall cause them to be burned before my 
 eyes. So much the worse for those who find me 
 ridiculous! What do you want! I am grateful, 
 and these testimonies aid me to bear the criticisms
 
 204 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 and the wearisomeness of a literary life. When I 
 receive a shot in my back from an enemy hiding in 
 the ambush of a paper, I look at this casket and say 
 to myself, 'There are here and there some souls 
 whose wounds have been healed, assuaged or 
 dressed by me.' " 
 
 This poetry, thrown off with the talent of a great 
 actor, petrified the little cashier, whose eyes grew 
 big and whose astonishment amused the poet 
 
 "For you," said this peacock, spreading his tail, 
 "and out of regard for a position which I appreciate, 
 I will offer to open this casket You may look to 
 find your young girl there; but I know that I am 
 right; I remember the names and you are in error 
 that" 
 
 "Ah! only see what becomes of a young girl in 
 this whirlpool of Paris!" exclaimed Dumay; "the 
 love of her parents, the joy of her friends, the hope 
 of everybody, caressed by all, the pride of a house, 
 and for whom six devoted persons have made a 
 rampart of their hearts and fortunes against all mis- 
 fortune!" 
 
 After a pause Dumay continued : 
 
 "Monsieur, you are a great poet and I am only a 
 poor soldier. During the fifteen years that I served 
 my country, and in the lowest ranks, I felt the 
 breath of more than one bullet on my face. I have 
 traversed the plains of Siberia where I remained a 
 prisoner ; the Russians threw me in a kibitha, as if 
 I had been a thing. I have suffered everything; 
 and finally, I have seen my comrades die in heaps
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 205 
 
 but you you have frozen the marrow in my 
 bones, as I have never felt before!" 
 
 Dumay thought he had moved the poet, but he 
 had only flattered him, an almost impossible thing 
 to do, for an ambitious man no longer remembers 
 the first phial of sweet perfume which Praise had 
 broken upon his head. 
 
 "Ah! my brave fellow," said the poet, solemnly 
 putting his hand upon Dumay's shoulder and finding 
 it droll to cause a soldier of the Emperor to tremble ; 
 "this young girl is everything to you. But what is 
 that to the great world? Nothing. At this 
 moment, the greatest Mandarin in China rolls up 
 his eyes and puts the Empire in mourning. Does 
 that cause you great sorrow? The English are kill- 
 ing in the Indies thousands of men who are as good 
 as we are, and at the moment in which I speak the 
 most ravishing woman is being burned there; but 
 on account of that you have none the less had your 
 morning cup of coffee. At this moment even, one 
 can count in Paris many mothers of families, who 
 are lying on straw, and who thrust a child into the 
 world without the clothes to cover it! Yes, see this 
 delicious tea in a cup worth five louis, and I am 
 writing verses at which all the Parisians exclaim: 
 Charming! Charming! Divine! Delicious! That 
 touches the soul ! Social nature, even as nature it- 
 self, is a grand forgetter. In ten years you will 
 marvel at your procedure ! You are in a city where 
 one dies, one marries, where people idolize each other 
 in a meeting, where the young girl asphyxiates
 
 206 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 herself, where the man of genius and his cargo 
 of themes, swelling with humanitarian benefits, 
 founder beside each other, often under the same 
 roof, yet ignoring each other's existence! and you 
 come to ask us to die of grief at this everyday 
 affair. A young girl of Havre is, or is not? Oh! 
 but you are " 
 
 "You call yourself a poet," cried Dumay, "but do 
 you feel nothing of that which you depict?" 
 
 "If we felt the miseries or the joys which we 
 sing, we should be used up in a few months like old 
 shoes !" said the poet smiling. "See ! You ought 
 not to come from Havre to Paris and to Canalis, not 
 to carry something back. Soldier!" Canalis had 
 the figure and the gesture of a Homeric hro, 
 "learn this of the poet 'Every great sentiment is 
 with man a poem so individual that his best friend 
 even does not understand it. It is a treasure that is 
 only your own, it is* " 
 
 "Pardon me for interrupting you," said Dumay, 
 who regarded Canalis with horror. "Have you 
 been to Havre?" 
 
 "I passed a night and a day there in the spring of 
 1824 going to London." 
 
 "You are a man of honor," replied Dumay. 
 "Can you give me your word that you do not know 
 Mademoiselle Modeste Mignon?" 
 
 "This is the first time that the name ever struck 
 my ears," replied Canalis. 
 
 "Ah! then, monsieur, into what underhand in- 
 trigue am I going to put my foot? Can I count
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 207 
 
 upon you to help me in my research? for I am sure 
 your name has been misused! You should have 
 received, yesterday, a letter from Havre. " 
 
 "I have received nothing! Be assured that I will 
 do everything in my power to assist you, monsieur," 
 said Canalis. 
 
 Dumay withdrew, sad at heart, believing that the 
 hideous Butscha had put himself into the skin of the 
 great poet in order to seduce Modeste; while on the 
 contrary Butscha, as intelligent and delicate as a 
 prince who revenges himself, cleverer than a spy, 
 rummaged into the life and actions of Canalis, evad- 
 ing all eyes through his diminutive size, as an insect 
 which makes its path through the sap wood of a 
 tree. . 
 
 Hardly had the Breton gone out than La Briere 
 entered his friend's study. Naturally Canalis men- 
 tioned the visit of this man from Havre. 
 
 "Oh!" said Ernest, "Modeste Mignon! I have 
 come expressly on account of that adventure." 
 
 "Ah, bah!" exclaimed Canalis. "Have I then 
 triumphed through a proxy?" 
 
 "Yes ; that is the key to the drama. My friend, I 
 am beloved by the most charming girl in the world, 
 beautiful enough to shine among the most beautiful 
 of Paris, with as much heart and literature as Cla- 
 rissa Harlowe. She has seen me, I please her, and 
 she believes I am the great Canalis! This is not 
 all. Modeste Mignon is of noble birth, and Mon- 
 genod has just told me that her father, the Count de 
 la Bastie, is said to have something like six million
 
 208 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 francs. The father has arrived within three 
 days and I have just asked an interview with him 
 at ten o'clock, through Mongenod, who in a few 
 words told him that it concerns the happiness of his 
 daughter. You understand that before seeking the 
 father, I felt I ought to confess everything to you." 
 
 "Among those innumerable flowers open to the 
 sun of glory," said Canalis emphatically, "there is 
 one which is perfect, bearing like the orange trees, 
 its golden fruit amidst the thousand perfumes of 
 mind and of beauty united! An elegant shrub, a 
 true tenderness, perfect happiness, and it has 
 escaped me!" Canalis looked at the carpet not to 
 allow his eyes to be read. "How," he continued 
 after a pause, in which he had regained his com- 
 posure, "how could I divine through the intoxica- 
 ting odors of these prettily-fashioned sheets, these 
 phrases which mount to the head, the real heart, 
 the young girl, the young woman with whom love 
 takes the livery of flattery and who loves us for 
 ourselves, who offers us real happiness ? It would 
 require an angel or a devil, and I am only an am- 
 bitious Master of Requests. Ah! my friend, fame 
 makes of us an object at which a thousand arrows 
 take aim ! One of us owes his rich marriage to a 
 hydraulic piece of poetry, and I, the more loving 
 man, more a woman's man than he, I shall have 
 lost mine, for you love this poor girl ?" he said 
 looking at La Briere. 
 
 "Oh!" said La Briere. 
 
 "Well," said the poet taking his friend's arm and
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 209 
 
 leaning on it, "be happy, Ernest! As it happens, I 
 shall not have been ungrateful towards you! You 
 will be richly recompensed for your devotion, for I 
 will lend myself generously to your happiness." 
 
 Canal is was enraged, but he could not act other- 
 wise, and then he took advantage of his misfortune 
 by putting himself upon a pedestal. Tears 
 moistened the young secretary's eyes; he threw 
 himself into Canal is's arms and embraced him. 
 
 "Ah! Canalis, I did not know you at all !" 
 
 "What do you want? To make the tour of the 
 world, takes time!" replied the poet with his em- 
 phatic irony. 
 
 "Are you thinking," said La Briere, "of this im- 
 mense fortune? " 
 
 "Will it not be well placed, my friend?" ex- 
 claimed Canalis, accompanying this effusion with a 
 charming gesture. 
 
 "Melchior," said La Briere, "between us it is for 
 life or death." 
 
 He pressed the poet's hands and left him abruptly, 
 as he longed to see Monsieur Mignon.
 
 At this moment, the Count de la Bastie was over- 
 whelmed with the misfortune which awaited him 
 like a prey. He had learned by his daughter's let- 
 ter of the death of Bettina-Caroline, and of his 
 wife's blindness, and Dumay had just related to 
 him the terrible tangle of Modeste's love affair. 
 
 "Leave me alone," he said to his faithful friend. 
 
 When the lieutenant had closed the door, the un- 
 happy father threw himself upon a sofa and 
 remained there with his head in his hands, weep- 
 ing those rare, scanty tears, which roll between the 
 eyelids of people fifty-six years old, which moisten 
 them without falling which dry quickly and which 
 revive as one of the last dews of man's autumn. 
 
 "To have cherished children, to have an adored 
 wife, is to give one's self several hearts and offer 
 them to the dagger!" he exclaimed, springing up 
 like a tiger and walking up and down his room. 
 "To be a father is to deliver one's self to misfor- 
 tune, bound hand and foot. If I meet this d'Estourny 
 I will kill him! Have daughters! One gives 
 her hand to a blackguard, and the other, my Mo- 
 deste, to whom ? To a coward who abuses her under 
 the armor of the gilded paper of a poet Still if it 
 wereCanalis! That would be no great harm. But 
 this Scapin of a lover! I will strangle him with 
 my two hands!" he said to himself, involuntarily 
 
 (211)
 
 212 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 making a gesture of terrible energy. "And after- 
 wards?" he asked himself. "If my daughter 
 should die of sorrow!" 
 
 Mechanically he looked from the windows of the 
 Hotel des Princes, then returned and reseated him- 
 self on the divan where he remained stationary. 
 The fatigues of six voyages to the Indies, the cares 
 of speculation, the dangers run and avoided, and his 
 sorrows, had silvered Charles Mignon's hair. His 
 fine military face of pure contour, had become 
 bronzed by the sun of the Malay Islands, of China and 
 Asia Minor, and it had taken on an imposing charac- 
 ter, which grief at this moment rendered sublime. 
 
 "And Mongenod, who tells me to have confidence 
 in the young man who is coming to talk about my 
 daughter, " 
 
 Here Ernest de la Briere was announced by one 
 of the servants whom the Count de la Bastie had 
 attached to himself during the last four years, and 
 whom he had chosen among the number of his sub- 
 ordinates. 
 
 "You come, monsieur, from my friend Mongenod," 
 he said. 
 
 "Yes," replied Ernest, who timidly regarded this 
 face as sombre as that of Othello. "My name is 
 Ernest de la Briere, allied, monsieur, to the family 
 of the late Prime Minister, and I was his private 
 secretary during his ministry. Upon his fall, his 
 Excellency placed me at the Cour des Comptes, 
 where 1 am an auditor of the first class, and where 
 I may become a Master of Accounts."
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 213 
 
 "In what manner can all this concern Mademoi- 
 selle de la Bastie?" asked Charles Mignon. 
 
 "Monsieur, I love her, and I have the unhoped- 
 for happiness of being loved by her. Listen to me, 
 monsieur," said Ernest, arresting a dreadful move- 
 ment of the irritated father. "I have the strangest 
 confession to make to you, the most shameful for a 
 man of honor; the most terrible punishment for my 
 conduct, natural, perhaps, is not being obliged to 
 reveal it to you. I fear the daughter still more than 
 the father," 
 
 Ernest related simply and with the nobility which 
 sincerity gives, the opening scenes of this little 
 domestic drama, without omitting the twenty or 
 more letters which had been exchanged and which 
 he had brought, nor the interview which he had 
 just had with Canal is. 
 
 When the father had finished reading these letters, 
 the poor lover, pale and supplicating, trembled 
 under the fiery glances with which the Provencal 
 looked at him. 
 
 "Monsieur," said Charles Mignon, "there is 
 only one error in all this, but it is the chief one. 
 My daughter has not six million francs. At the 
 utmost she has a dowry of two hundred thousand 
 francs, and very doubtful hopes of more." 
 
 "Ah! monsieur," said Ernest, rising as he threw 
 himself upon Charles Mignon and pressed him in 
 his arms, "you have removed a weight which op- 
 pressed me! Perhaps my happiness may be possi- 
 ble, now! 1 have protectors; I will be Master of
 
 214 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Accounts. Had she had only ten thousand francs, 
 if it were necessary for me to acknowledge a dowry, 
 Mademoiselle Modeste would still be my wife, and 
 to make her happy as you have made yours, and 
 to be to you a true son yes, monsieur, I have 
 no father, there you see the bottom of my 
 heart" 
 
 Charles Mignon moved back three steps, fixed 
 upon La Briere a look which penetrated into the 
 eyes of this young man as a dagger into its sheath, 
 and remained silent, finding the most entire candor 
 and the purest truth depicted on this brightened 
 countenance, in these delighted eyes. 
 
 "Has fate then grown weary of afflicting me?" 
 he said in a low voice. "And shall I find in this 
 fellow the pearl of sons-in-law?" 
 
 He walked around the room in an agitated man- 
 ner. 
 
 "You owe, monsieur," at last said Charles 
 Mignon, "the most entire submission to the decision 
 which you have come here to seek, for without that 
 you are playing a comedy." 
 
 "Oh, monsieur " 
 
 "Listen to me," said the father, as with a glance 
 he fastened La Briere to his place. "I will be 
 neither severe nor hard nor unjust You shall sub- 
 mit both to the inconveniences and the advantages 
 of the false position in which you have placed your- 
 self. My daughter believes that she loves one of 
 the great poets of the day, whose fame, before all 
 else, has seduced her. Well, I, her father, ought I
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 215 
 
 not to place her in a position to choose between the 
 Celebrity who was like a beacon blaze for her, and 
 the poor Reality which chance has thrown her by 
 one of those jests which it so often permits itself? 
 Must she not be able to choose between Canal is and 
 you ? I count upon your honor to be silent upon 
 what I have just told you relative to the state of my 
 affairs. You will come, you and your friend the 
 Baron de Canal is, to pass the last two weeks of the 
 month of October at Havre. My house will be open 
 to you both, and my daughter will have the oppor- 
 tunity of observing you. Believe me you ought to 
 bring your rival yourself, allowing him to believe 
 all the nonsense that has been said about the mil- 
 lions of the Comte de la Bastie. To-morrow I shall 
 be at Havre, and shall expect you three days after 
 my arrival. Adieu, monsieur. " 
 
 Poor Ernest went back to Canalis at a slow pace. 
 At this moment, being alone, the poet abandoned 
 himself to the torrents of thoughts which caused the 
 outburst of that second impulse so praised by Tal- 
 leyrand. The first impulse is the voice of nature; 
 the second is that of society. 
 
 "A girl with six millions! and my eyes did not 
 see this gold sparkling across the shadows! With 
 such a fortune I could be a peer of France, count, 
 ambassador. I have replied to bourgeois girls, to 
 fools, and to intriguing girls who desired an auto- 
 graph! And I wearied of these masquerade in- 
 trigues, just on the day when God sent me a soul of 
 the choicest, an angel with golden wings Bah! I
 
 2l6 MODESTE M1GNON 
 
 am going to write a sublime poem on the affair, and 
 this chance will come again! But how happy he 
 is, this little simpleton, La Briere, who is strutting 
 around in my halo! What plagiarism! I am the 
 model, I, and he shall be the statue! We have 
 played the fable of Bertrand and Raton! Six mil- 
 lions and an angel! A Mignon de la Bastie! An 
 aristocratic angel loving poetry and the poet And 
 I, who showed the muscles of the athlete, who made 
 the exercises of Hercules to astonish, by moral 
 force, this champion of physical force, this brave 
 soldier full of heart, the friend of this young girl, to 
 whom he will say that I have a soul of brass! I 
 play Napoleon when I should have assumed the 
 attitude of a seraph! Well, perhaps I shall have a 
 friend, but I shall have paid dearly for him. But is 
 friendship so beautiful ? Six millions; that is the 
 price of a friend ! One cannot have many of them 
 at that price !" 
 
 La Briere entered his friend's study at this last 
 point of exclamation. He was sad. 
 
 "Well, what is the matter?" said Canalis to 
 him. 
 
 "The father demands that his daughter shall be 
 in a position to choose for herself between the two 
 Canalises." 
 
 "Poor fellow!" exclaimed the poet smiling. "He 
 is very clever, this father " 
 
 "I am engaged by my honor to take you to 
 Havre," said La Briere piteously. 
 
 "My dear boy," replied Canalis, "from the
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 217 
 
 instant it is a question of your honor, you can count 
 upon me. I will ask a leave of absence for a 
 month" 
 
 "Ah! Modeste is very beautiful !" cried out La 
 Briere in despair, "and you will eclipse me easily! 
 1 was much astonished to see Happiness troubling 
 itself about me, and I said to myself, 'It is mis- 
 taken?'" 
 
 "Bah! We shall see!" said Canal is with atro- 
 cious gaiety. 
 
 That evening, after dinner, Charles Mignon and 
 his cashier flew from Paris to Havre, owing to their 
 having paid the postilions three francs apiece. The 
 father had entirely appeased the watchdog concern- 
 ing Modeste's love affair, in relieving him of his 
 orders and assuring him concerning Butscha. 
 
 "All is for the best, my old Dumay," said 
 Charles, who had made inquiries of Mongenod about 
 Canalis and La Briere. "We shall have two char- 
 acters for one role!" he cried gaily. 
 
 Nevertheless, he recommended to his old com- 
 rade the most absolute discretion concerning the 
 comedy which was about to be enacted at the 
 Chalet, the most gentle revenge, or if you will, 
 the gentlest lesson of a father to a daughter. These 
 two friends had a long talk from Paris to Havre, 
 which made the colonel cognizant of the smallest 
 incidents which had happened in the family during 
 these four years, and Charles told Dumay that 
 Desplein, the great surgeon, was coming, before 
 the end of the month, to examine the cataracts of
 
 218 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 the countess, in order to say if it would be possible 
 to restore her sight. 
 
 A little before the breakfast hour at the Chalet, 
 the cracking of the whip of a postilion reckoning 
 upon a large fee, apprised the families of the return 
 of the soldiers. A father's joy at returning after 
 such a long absence could alone cause such enthusi- 
 asm, and the ladies, therefore, were all assembled 
 at the small door. There are so many fathers, so 
 many children, perhaps more fathers than children, 
 who understand the intoxication of such a fete, 
 that literature happily has no need to describe it! 
 For the most beautiful words, even poetry, are 
 inferior to these emotions. Perhaps, indeed, tender 
 emotions are not very literary. 
 
 Not one word that could trouble the joy of the 
 Mignon family was spoken on this day. There was 
 a truce between the father, mother and the daugh- 
 ter, relative to the mysterious love which had 
 blanched the cheek of Modeste, who had risen for 
 the first time. The colonel, with that admirable 
 delicacy which distinguishes the true soldier, kept 
 all the time by his wife's side, and her hand did not 
 leave his, while he looked at Modeste admiring her 
 fine, elegant and poetical beauty, without tiring. 
 Is it not by these little things that people of heart 
 are recognized ? Modeste, who feared to trouble 
 the melancholy joy of her father and mother, came 
 from time to time to kiss the traveler's forehead, 
 and in kissing him so often, she seemed to desire to 
 kiss him for both daughters.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 2I 9 
 
 "Oh! dear little girl, I understand you !" said the 
 colonel, pressing Modeste's hand at a moment when 
 she assailed him with caresses. 
 
 "Hush!" replied Modeste in his ear, pointing to 
 her mother. 
 
 The somewhat artful silence of Dumay made 
 Modeste anxious about the results of his trip to 
 Paris, and she sometimes looked at the lieutenant 
 unobserved, without being able to penetrate beyond 
 his hard epidermis. The colonel desired, as a pru- 
 dent father, to study the character of his only child, 
 and especially to consult his wife before having a 
 conference upon which the happiness of all the 
 family depended. 
 
 "To-morrow, my dearest child," he said at even- 
 ing, "rise early, and if the weather is fine, we will 
 go together for a walk on the seashore. We have to 
 talk about your poetry, Mademoiselle de laBastie." 
 
 This sentence, accompanied by a fatherly smile 
 which appeared on Dumay's lips like an echo, was 
 all that Modeste could learn. But this was enough 
 both to calm her anxieties and to render her so 
 curious that she could not sleep until late, so many 
 were the suppositions she made. The next day she 
 was dressed and ready before the colonel was. 
 
 "You know all, my dear father," she said as soon 
 as they were on the way to the shore. 
 
 "I know all, and many things that you do not 
 know," he replied. 
 
 At these words the father and daughter walked a 
 few steps in silence.
 
 220 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Explain to me, my child, how a girl adored by 
 her mother, could take so weighty a step as that of 
 writing to an unknown man, without consulting 
 her?" 
 
 "Ah! papa, because mama would not have 
 allowed it." 
 
 "Do you think, my girl, that that is right? If 
 you have fatally gained information all alone, why 
 has not your reason, or your mind, in default of 
 modesty, told you that in acting in this manner you 
 were throwing yourself at a man's head? Is my 
 daughter, my sole and only child, without pride, 
 without delicacy? Oh! Modeste, you caused your 
 father to pass two hours in Hell at Paris, for really, 
 morally, your conduct has been the same as Bet- 
 tina's, without having the excuse of seduction. 
 You have been a coquette in cold blood, and coquetry 
 is the love of the head, the most fearful vice of the 
 Frenchwoman." 
 
 "/without pride," said Modeste weeping, "but 
 he has not yet seen me." 
 
 "He knows your name." 
 
 "I only gave it to him, when after three months 
 of correspondence during which our souls communed, 
 my eyes confirmed the opinion formed of him." 
 
 "Yes, my dear misguided angel, it is true that 
 you have put a kind of reason in a folly which has 
 compromised your happiness and that of your 
 family." 
 
 "After all, papa, happiness is the absolution of my 
 temerity," she said, with a gesture of impatience.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 221 
 
 "Oh! your conduct was temerity, was it?" 
 
 "A temerity which my mother allowed herself," 
 she replied quickly. 
 
 "Rebellious child! after having seen me at a ball 
 your mother said to her father, who adored her, that 
 she believed she could be happy with me. Be 
 honest, Modeste, is there any similarity between a 
 rapidly conceived love, it is true, but one which 
 came under the father's eye, and the foolish action 
 of writing to an unknown man?" 
 
 "Unknown! say, rather, father, one of our 
 greatest poets, whose character and life are exposed 
 to the strongest light of day, to criticism and 
 calumny; a man clothed in fame, and for whom, my 
 dear father, I was only a dramatic and literary char- 
 acter, a woman of Shakspeare, until that moment 
 when I found out that the man was as fine as his 
 soul was beautiful " 
 
 "My God, my poor child, you think marriage is 
 poetry ; but if from all time daughters have been 
 cloistered in the family; if God, if social law, has 
 kept them under the severe yoke of paternal con- 
 sentment, it was precisely to spare you the sorrows 
 which grow out of this very poetry which charms 
 and dazzles you so much that you are not capable of 
 judging of its true worth. Poetry is one of the 
 pleasures of life but it is not all of life." 
 
 "That, papa, is a suit still pending before the tri- 
 bunal of facts, for there is a constant struggle 
 between our hearts and the family claims." 
 
 "Heaven help the child who finds her happiness in
 
 222 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 resisting them," said the colonel gravely. "In 1813 
 I saw one of my comrades, the Marquis d'Aiglemont, 
 marry his cousin, against the wishes of his father, 
 and that household has paid dearly for the obstinacy 
 which the girl took for love. I tell you the family 
 should be sovereign in marriage." 
 
 "My fiance has told me all that," she replied. 
 "He played the part of Orgon for some time, and he 
 even had the courage to deny the personal superi- 
 ority of poets." 
 
 "I have read your letters," said Charles Mignon, 
 with a malicious little smile which made Modeste 
 very uneasy, "and I must say that your last would 
 hardly have been permissible in a seduced girl a 
 Julie d'Etanges! Mon Dieu! what harm novels 
 do!" 
 
 "If they were not written, my dear father, we 
 would live them and it is better to read them. 
 There are fewer adventures now than in the time 
 of Louis XIV., and Louis XV., when there were not so 
 many novels published. Besides, if you have read 
 the letters you must have seen that I have found 
 you the most respectful son-in-law, the most angelic 
 soul of the most scrupulous honor, and that we love 
 each other at least as much as you and mama 
 loved each other. Ah! well I acknowledge that 
 all has not happened exactly according to etiquette; 
 I have, if you like, committed an error " 
 
 "I have read your letters," repeated the father, 
 interrupting his daughter, "so I know how far he 
 has justified you, in your own eyes, for a foible
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 223 
 
 which might have been permissible in some women 
 who understand the world and are led on by a grand 
 passion, but which in a young girl of twenty is a 
 monstrous wrong " 
 
 "A monstrous wrong for common people, for the 
 narrow-minded Gobenheims who measure by a rule, 
 let us keep to the artistic and poetic world, papa. 
 We young girls have only two ways to let a 
 man see that we love him by simpering and affec- 
 tation or to go to him frankly isn't the latter way 
 grander, nobler? We French girls are handed over 
 by our families like so much merchandise, at three 
 months, sometimes at thirty days, like Mademoiselle 
 Vilquin; but in England, Switzerland or Germany 
 it is managed much as I have done What can you 
 say to that Am I not half German ?" 
 
 "Child!" cried the colonel, looking steadily at 
 his daughter, "the superiority of France comes from 
 her good sense, from the logic to which her beautiful 
 language constrains the mind. Thus she is Reason 
 for the whole world! England and Germany are 
 romantic on this point of their customs, and yet 
 their great families follow our laws of marriage. 
 You surely do not think that your parents, who 
 know the world, who are responsible for your soul 
 and your happiness, should not point out to you the 
 dangers of life! My God," he said, "is it their 
 fault? is it ours? Ought we to hold our children 
 under an iron yoke? Are we to be punished for 
 that tenderness wherewith we make them happy, 
 which unfortunately our hearts teach them? "
 
 224 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Modeste watched her father out of the corner of 
 her eye while listening to this kind of invocation 
 spoken with sobs. 
 
 "Is it so wrong for a girl with her heart free, to 
 choose for her husband not only a charming man, 
 but a man of genius, noble of family, holding a 
 splendid position of gentle birth my equal?" she 
 said. 
 
 "You love him?" asked her father. 
 
 "Listen, father," she said, leaning her head upon 
 the colonel's heart, "if you do not wish to see me 
 die" 
 
 "Enough!" said the old soldier, "your passion is, 
 I see, incurable!" 
 
 "Yes, incurable." 
 
 "Nothing can change it?" 
 
 "Nothing in the world." 
 
 "No circumstance, no treachery that you can 
 imagine," repeated the old soldier, "you love him 
 in spite of everything, on account of his personal 
 charm. If he prove himself a d'Estourny will you 
 still love him?" 
 
 "Oh! father you do not know your daughter. 
 Could I love a coward, a man without faith, without 
 honor, a gallows-bird?" 
 
 "And if he had deceived you?" 
 
 "That charming, candid boy with the melancholy 
 look in his eyes? you are joking, father, or you 
 have never seen him." 
 
 "Ah! happily your love is not absolute, as you 
 said. I have shown you circumstances which would
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 225 
 
 modify your poem. Do you see now that fathers 
 are good for something?" 
 
 "You want to give your child a lesson, papa. 
 This is becoming the Morale en Action " 
 
 "Poor misguided girl!" replied the father sternly, 
 "the lesson does not come from me. I am here for 
 nothing, if not to soften the blow." 
 
 "Stop, father, do not play with my life, " said 
 Modeste turning pale. 
 
 "Come, my daughter, summon all your courage. 
 It is you who have played with your life and now 
 life is making sport of you." 
 
 Modeste looked at her father in stupefied astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 "See now, if the young man whom you love, 
 whom you saw in the church at Havre four days 
 ago was a miserable " 
 
 "But he is not!" said she, "that dark, pale face, 
 that noble head full of poetry " 
 
 "Was a lie!" said the colonel interrupting her. 
 "That was no more Monsieur de Canalis than I am 
 that fisherman putting out to sea. " 
 
 "Do you know that you are killing me?" said 
 Modeste. 
 
 "Reassure yourself, my child; if chance has put 
 your punishment in the fault itself, the evil is not 
 irreparable. The fellow you saw, with whom you 
 exchanged your heart in this correspondence, is a 
 loyal fellow, he came and confessed to me his em- 
 barrassment ; he loves you and I do not object to him 
 as a son-in-law." 
 15
 
 226 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "If he is not Canal is, who is he ?"asked Mo- 
 deste in a greatly altered tone. 
 
 "The secretary his name is Ernest de laBriere. 
 He is not of noble birth; but he is one of those 
 plain men of real virtue and sure morality who 
 please parents. Besides what does it matter, you 
 have seen him, nothing can change your heart, you 
 chose him, you know his nature and it is as beauti- 
 ful as he is handsome. " 
 
 The Count de la Bastie's words were interrupted 
 by a sigh from Modeste. The poor girl, pale, with 
 eyes fixed on the sea, rigid as death, was struck as 
 if by a pistol shot with those fatal words, "one of 
 those plain men of real virtue and sure morality 
 who please parents." 
 
 "Deceived! " she said at last 
 
 "Like your poor sister, but less gravely." 
 
 "Let us go home, father," she said, rising from 
 the mound on which they were seated. "Hear me, 
 papa, I swear before God to follow your will, what- 
 ever it may be, in the business of my marriage." 
 
 "Then you love him no longer? " asked the 
 father mockingly. 
 
 "I loved an honest man, with no lie on his face, 
 as honorable as yourself, incapable of disguising 
 himself as an actor and using the paint of another 
 man's glory on his cheeks. " 
 
 "You said that nothing could change you," said 
 the colonel ironically. 
 
 "Oh! do not jest about it, " she said, joining 
 her hands and looking at her father with a dreadful
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 227 
 
 anxiety; "do you not know that you are destroying 
 my heart and my most cherished beliefs by these 
 jests? " 
 
 "God forbid ! I have told you the exact truth. " 
 
 "You are very good, father!" she said, after a 
 pause, with a sort of solemnity. 
 
 "And so he has kept your letters, eh? Suppose 
 those foolish caresses of your soul had fallen into 
 the hands of one of those poets who, according to 
 Dumay, light their cigars with them?" 
 
 "Oh! you are going too far now." 
 
 "Canalistold him so." 
 
 "He has seen Canalis?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the colonel. 
 
 They walked along for a few moments in silence. 
 
 "Ah! that is why this gentleman had so much 
 that is evil to say against poetry and poets ! why 
 did that little secretary speak of But," she said 
 interrupting herself, "his virtues, his qualities, his 
 fine sentiments are only an epistolary costume. 
 He who steals glory and a name might well " 
 
 "Break locks, steal money and assassinate on 
 the public highway! " cried Charles Mignon 
 smiling. "That is just like you young girls with 
 your lofty sentiments and your utter ignorance of 
 life! A man who deceives a woman is, necessarily, 
 a child from the gallows and ought to die on it 
 
 This raillery stopped Modeste's effervescence ; and 
 again silence reigned. 
 
 "My child," began the colonel, "men in society,as 
 elsewhere in nature, must try to win women's hearts.
 
 228 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 and you must defend yourselves. You have inverted 
 the role. Is that right? Everything is false in a false 
 position Yours was the first wrong. No, a man is 
 not a monster because he tries to please a woman, 
 and our right permits to us the aggressive with all 
 its consequences save crime and cowardice. A man 
 may have some virtues and yet have deceived a 
 woman, what is generally said is that he sought 
 some treasure in her which he failed to find. While 
 a queen, an actress or a woman placed so high 
 above a man that she is a queen to him, can go to 
 him herself without blame. But a young girl ! 
 She gives the lie, then, to all that God has given 
 her that is sacred, beautiful or noble no matter 
 with what grace, poetry or precaution the fault is 
 committed." 
 
 "To seek again the master and find the servant 
 To have played again The Games of Love and 
 Chance on my side only!" she said bitterly : "oh! I 
 can never recover from it. " 
 
 "Nonsense! Monsieur Ernest de la Briere is, to 
 my mind, fully equal to the Baron de Canal is. He 
 has been private secretary to a prime minister and 
 he is counsel for the Cour des Comptes ; he has a 
 good heart and he adores you ; but he does not com- 
 pose verses. No, I admit he is not a poet; but he 
 may have a heart full of poetry, for all that At 
 any rate, my poor child," he said, as Modeste made 
 a gesture of disgust, "you shall see them both, the 
 false and the real Canal is. " 
 
 "Oh! papa!"
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 22Q 
 
 "Did you not swear to obey me absolutely in the 
 business of your marriage? Well, you shall choose 
 which of the two you prefer for a husband. You 
 commenced with a poem, you shall finish by a 
 bucolic, and try to weigh the real characters of 
 these gentlemen in some country excursions, hunt- 
 ing and fishing." 
 
 Modeste bowed her head and went back to the 
 Chalet, listening to her father, but replying only in 
 monosyllables.
 
 She had fallen from that Alpine height to which 
 she had climbed in search of her eagle's nest, yes, 
 fallen down deep in the mud, crushed and humili- 
 ated. To employ the poetic expression of an 
 author of that time, "after having felt the soles of 
 her feet too tender to tread upon the fragments of 
 glass of Reality, Fancy, which united all of woman 
 in that frail breast, from the violet-strewn dreams 
 of the modest young girl to the intense passions of 
 the woman of the world, had led her in the midst 
 of enchanted gardens where oh ! cruel surprise she 
 saw, instead of this sublime flower, the hairy, 
 crooked legs of the black mandragora spring from 
 the earth." Modeste found herself let down from 
 the mysterious heights of her love, to the smooth, 
 flat way, bordered with ditches and work, in short, 
 that route paved with the Commonplace. What 
 child of an ardent soul would not have been bruised 
 by such a f al 1 ? At whose feet then had she scattered 
 her words ? 
 
 The Modeste who re-entered the Chalet, no more 
 resembled her who had gone out two hours previ- 
 ously, than the actress on the street resembles the 
 heroine on the stage. She fell into a dazed trance 
 pitiful to see. The sun was obscured, nature 
 veiled itself, the flowers no longer spoke to her. 
 Like all girls of strong character she drank too 
 (231)
 
 232 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 deeply of the cup of disenchantment She fought 
 against reality and was not willing to yield her 
 neck to the yoke of the family and society which 
 she found heavy, hard and crushing. She did not 
 even listen to the sympathies of her father and 
 mother and felt a sort of savage enjoyment in 
 letting her soul suffer its full measure. 
 
 "Poor Butscha is then right," she said one 
 evening. 
 
 This indicates the distance she had progressed, in 
 a short time, under the conduct of a morbid sadness, 
 on the arid plains of the Real. Sadness engendered 
 by the overturning of all one's hopes is a malady 
 often a fatal one. It would be no mean occupation 
 for physiology to find out in what way, by what 
 means a thought can produce the same disorganiza- 
 tion as poison : how despair robs one of appetite, 
 destroys the pylorus and changes all the physical 
 conditions of the strongest life. Thus it was with 
 Modeste. In three days she presented the spectacle 
 of a morbid melancholy, she sang no more, and 
 could not be made to smile she frightened her 
 parents and friends. 
 
 Charles Mignon, becoming uneasy at the non- 
 arrival of the two friends, thought of going to seek 
 them, but the fourth day Latournelle brought him 
 the following intelligence: 
 
 Canalis, delighted at the prospect of so rich a 
 marriage, determined to neglect nothing by which 
 he might supersede La Briere without giving cause 
 to the latter to reproach him for a violation of
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 233 
 
 friendship. The poet judged that nothing brought a 
 lover into more discredit in the eyes of a young girl 
 than to show him to her in a subordinate position, 
 and he proposed in the simplest manner to La Briere 
 that they should keep house together and take a 
 little country house for a month at Ingouville, 
 where they would live under the pretext of ill- 
 health. As soon as La Briere, who, at the first 
 moment, noticed nothing unnatural in this proposi- 
 tion, had consented to it, Canal is took it upon him- 
 self to pay the expenses of his friend, and he alone 
 made the preparations for the journey. He sent his 
 valet to Havre and advised him to ask Monsieur 
 Latournelle about hiring a country house at Ingou- 
 ville, thinking that the lawyer would prattle about 
 it with the Mignon family. Ernest and Canalis, 
 each thinking that he would be successful, had dis- 
 cussed all the circumstances of this adventure, and 
 the talkative La Briere had given his rival a thou- 
 sand items of information. The valet, thoroughly 
 acquainted with the intentions of his master, carried 
 them out to perfection; he trumpeted the arrival 
 of the great poet at Havre, to whom the physi- 
 cians had ordered salt-water bathing to repair his 
 strength, which was exhausted by the double work 
 of politics and literature. This grand personage 
 wished a house composed of very many rooms, for 
 he brought with him his secretary, a cook, two ser- 
 vants and a coachman, without counting Monsieur 
 Germain Bonnet, his valet The open carriage 
 chosen by the poet and hired by the month, was
 
 234 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 pretty enough and would serve for the drives ; there- 
 fore Germain tried to find near Havre two horses 
 suitable for riding or driving, as Monsieur le Baron 
 and his secretary loved horseback riding. Ger- 
 main in visiting the country houses, dwelt much 
 upon the secretary before Monsieur Latournelle, 
 and he refused two houses, objecting that Monsieur 
 de la Briere would not be properly accommodated in 
 them. 
 
 "Monsieur the Baron," he said, "has made his 
 secretary his best friend. Ah! I should be well 
 scolded if Monsieur de la Briere was not as well 
 treated as Monsieur the Baron himself! And after 
 all, Monsieur de la Briere is auditor at the Cour des 
 Comptes. " 
 
 Germain was never seen except clothed all in 
 black, his hands well gloved, well booted, and 
 dressed like a master. Judge what an effect he 
 produced and what an idea one gained of the poet 
 from this sample! The valet of a man of intellect 
 ends by having intellect, for the mind of the master 
 ends by impressing itself upon the servant Ger- 
 main did not overdo his role; he was simple, he was 
 kindly, according to Canalis's advice. Poor La 
 Briere did not suspect the harm which Germain was 
 doing to him, nor the depreciation to which he had 
 consented, for from these lower classes of society 
 there mounted to Modeste some fragments of the 
 public rumor. Therefore Canal is was going to take 
 his friend in his retinue, in his carriage, and 
 Ernest's character did not allow him to recognize
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 235 
 
 the falseness of his position in time to remedy it 
 The delay which fretted Charles Mignon, arose 
 from Canalis having his coat of arms painted upon 
 the panels of his carriage, and from his orders to 
 his tailor, for the poet availed himself of the great 
 number of these details, the least of which may in- 
 fluence a young girl. 
 
 "Be contented," said Latournelle to Charles 
 Mignon on the fifth day. "Monsieur Canal is's 
 valet has concluded a bargain this morning; he has 
 hired, all furnished, the pavilion of Madame Amaury 
 at Sanvic, for seven hundred francs, and he has 
 written to his master that he may start and that he 
 will find everything in readiness upon his arrival. 
 Therefore, these gentlemen will be here on Sunday. 
 I have even received the following letter from But- 
 scha. See, it is not long: 'My dear master. I can- 
 not return before Sunday. I have, between this 
 and then, to learn some very important information 
 concerning the happiness of a person in whom you 
 interest yourself.' " 
 
 The announcement of the arrival of these two 
 personages did not make Modeste less sad ; the idea 
 of her fall and her confusion still dominated her, for 
 she was not the coquette that her father believed. 
 There is a charming coquetry which is permissible: 
 that of the soul, and which may be called the polite- 
 ness of love; but Charles Mignon, in scolding his 
 daughter, had not distinguished between the desire 
 to please, and the love of the head, between the 
 thirst of loving, and that of calculation. As a true
 
 236 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 colonel of the Empire, he had seen in this cor- 
 respondence rapidly read, a daughter who had 
 thrown herself at a poet's head; but in the letters 
 which have been suppressed to shorten the story, a 
 connoisseur would have admired the modest and 
 gracious reserve which Modeste had promptly sub- 
 stituted for the aggressive and light tone of her first 
 letters, by a transition natural enough for a woman. 
 Her father had been cruelly right upon one point 
 Modeste's last letter, impressed with an intense 
 love, had spoken as if the marriage were already 
 arranged; this letter caused her shame; therefore 
 she found her father very hard, very cruel, to force 
 her to receive a man unworthy of her, towards 
 whom her untrammeled soul had flown. She had 
 questioned Dumay about his interview with the 
 poet; ingeniously she had made him tell her its 
 smallest details; and she did not find Canalis as 
 barbarous as the lieutenant had. She smiled at 
 that lovely papal casket which held the letters from 
 the thousand and one admirers of this literary Don 
 Juan. She was several times tempted to say to her 
 father:"! am not the only woman who wrote to 
 him; the best of women send leaves for the poet's 
 laurel wreath!" 
 
 During this week, Modeste's character underwent 
 a transformation. This catastrophe, and it was a 
 great one in a nature so poetical, awakened the 
 clear-sightedness, the malice latent in this young 
 girl, in whom the aspirants for her hand were going 
 to encounter a terrible adversary. In short, when
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 237 
 
 the heart of a woman grows cold, her reason becomes 
 sound ; then she observes everything with a certain 
 rapidity of judgment, with a tone of pleasantry 
 which Shakspeare has depicted so admirably in the 
 person of Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing. 
 Modeste was seized with a profound disgust for 
 men, of whom the most distinguished deceived her 
 hopes. That which a woman takes for disgust, in 
 love, is simply seeing justly; but in the matter of 
 sentiment she is never especially if a young girl 
 able to see clearly. If she does not admire, she 
 despises. Now, after having submitted to the most 
 unheard-of sorrows, Modeste naturally buckled on 
 this armor upon which she had once said was en- 
 graved the word DISDAIN. Henceforth, she could 
 assist as a disinterested person at what she called 
 the farce of lovers, although she was to enact the 
 role of the leading lady in it. She proposed, above 
 all else, constantly to humiliate Monsieur de la 
 Briere. 
 
 "Modeste is saved," said Madame Mignon to her 
 husband, smilingly. "She wishes to avenge her- 
 self upon the false Canalis by trying to love the 
 real one." 
 
 Such was indeed Modeste's plan: It was so vul- 
 gar that her mother to whom she confided her 
 chagrin, advised her to show only the most over- 
 whelming goodness to Monsieur de la Briere.
 
 * 
 
 "Here are two fellows," said Madame Latournelle 
 on Saturday evening, "who do not suspect the 
 number of spies whom they will have at their heels, 
 for there are eight of us to unmask them." 
 
 "What's that you say? Two, my dear?" ex- 
 claimed the little Latournelle. "There are three of 
 them. Gobenheim has not come yet I can speak 
 out" 
 
 Modeste raised her head, and everyone else, imi- 
 tating Modeste, looked at the lawyer. 
 
 "A third lover, and he is one, puts himself in the 
 ranks " 
 
 "Ah, bah! " said Charles Mignon. 
 
 "But it is a question of no less a person," replied 
 the lawyer pompously, "than that of His Lordship, 
 Monsieur le Due d'Herouville, Marquis of Saint- 
 Sever, Due de Nivron, Comte de Bayeux, Viscomte 
 d'Essigny, Grand Equerry of France and a peer, 
 Chevalier of the orders of the Spur and of the 
 Golden Fleece, a Grandee of Spain and the son of 
 the last Governor of Normandy. He saw Made- 
 moiselle Modeste during his visit to the Vilquins, 
 and he regretted then, said his lawyer who came 
 from Bayeux yesterday, that she was not rich 
 enough for him, for his father, upon his return to 
 France, had secured only his chateau of Herouville, 
 and that saddled with a sister. The young duke 
 (239)
 
 240 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 is thirty-three years old. I am positively ordered 
 to make you proposals, Monsieur le Comte," said 
 the lawyer as he turned respectfully towards the 
 count 
 
 "Ask Modeste," replied the father, "if she wishes 
 still another bird in her aviary, for as far as I am 
 concerned, I consent to this Grand Equerry paying 
 his attentions to her." 
 
 Notwithstanding the care which Charles Mignon 
 took to see no one, to remain at the Chalet and not 
 to go out without Modeste, Gobenheim, whom it 
 would have been difficult to receive no longer at the 
 Chalet, had talked of Dumay's fortune, for Dumay, 
 this second father to Modeste, had said to Goben- 
 heim in leaving him: 
 
 "I shall be my colonel's steward, and all my for- 
 tune, outside of that which my wife will keep of it, 
 will be for the children of my little Modeste." 
 
 Everyone at Havre had then asked this very sim- 
 ple question, as Latournelle had already done: 
 
 "Must not Charles Mignon have a colossal for- 
 tune, that Dumay's portion is six hundred thousand 
 francs, and for Dumay to be his steward?" 
 
 "Monsieur Mignon came on his own ship laden 
 with indigo," was said on Change. "This cargo is 
 already worth more, without counting the ship, 
 than he says his fortune amounts to." 
 
 The colonel did not wish to send away his ser- 
 vants, chosen with so much care during his jour- 
 neys, and he was obliged to hire a house for six 
 months out of Ingouville, for he had a valet, a cook
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 241 
 
 and coachman, both negroes, a mulatto woman a^3 
 two mulattoes upon whose fidelity he could depend. 
 The coachman sought for saddle horses for made- 
 moiselle and for his master, and horses for the car- 
 riage in which the colonel and lieutenant had 
 returned. This carriage, bought in Paris, was the 
 latest fashion, and bore the coat of arms of La 
 Bastie surmounted with a count's coronet These 
 things, most trivial to the eyes of a man who dur- 
 ing four years had lived in the midst of the unre- 
 strained luxury of the Indies, of the merchants of 
 Hong Kong and of the English at Canton, were 
 commented upon by the merchants and people of 
 Havre, Graville and Ingouville. In five days a 
 startling rumor had been spread, which in Nor- 
 mandy had the effect of a powder train when it 
 takes fire. 
 
 "Monsieur Mignon has returned from China with 
 millions," they said at Rouen, "and it appears that 
 he became a count on his travels." 
 
 "But he was the Comte de la Bastie before the 
 Revolution," replied a questioner. 
 
 "How? Is a liberal, who for twenty-five years 
 was called Charles Mignon, to be called Monsieur le 
 Comte ? To what are we coming?" 
 
 Modeste was then considered, in spite of the 
 silence of her parents and friends, to be the richest 
 heiress of Normandy, and all eyes, therefore, re- 
 marked her charms. The aunt and the sister of the 
 Due d'Herouville confirmed at Bayeux in a full 
 drawing-room, the right of Monsieur Charles Mignon 
 
 16
 
 242 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 to the title and coat of arms of the count, due to 
 Cardinal Mignon, whose hat and tassel were adopted 
 through gratitude as a crest and supporters. They 
 had caught a glimpse of Mademoiselle de la Bastie 
 from the Vilquins, and their solicitude for the head 
 of their impoverished house had immediately 
 awakened. 
 
 "If Mademoiselle de la Bastie is as rich as she 
 is handsome," said the young duke's aunt, "she 
 would be the finest match in the province; and she 
 belongs to the nobility, at least" 
 
 This last phrase was said against the Vilquins, 
 with whom they had not been able to come to any 
 understanding, after having had the humiliation of 
 visiting them. 
 
 Such are the insignificant events which are to in- 
 troduce one more personage into this domestic scene, 
 contrary to the laws of Aristotle and Horace; but 
 the portrait and biography of this personage, arriv- 
 ing on the scene so late, will not take much time, 
 judged by its diminutiveness. Monsieur le Due will 
 occupy as little place here as he holds in history. 
 His Lordship, Monsieur le Due d'Herouville, the 
 fruit of a late marriage of the last Governor of Nor- 
 mandy, was born at Vienna during a time of emi- 
 gration in 1796. Having returned with the king in 
 1814, the aged marshal, the father of the present 
 duke, died in 1819 without having been able to 
 marry his son, although he was the Due de Nivron. 
 He left him only the immense Chateau of Herouville, 
 the park, some dependencies and a farm which was
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 243 
 
 redeemed at great pains; in all an income of fifteen 
 thousand francs. Louis XVIII. conferred the office 
 of Grand Equerry on the son, who, under Charles 
 X., had the pension of twelve thousand francs, 
 granted to the poor peers of France. But what was 
 the salary of a Grand Equerry and an income of 
 tweny-seven thousand francs for this family? In 
 Paris, it is true, the young duke had the use of the 
 king's carriages, his hotel in the Rue Saint-Thomas 
 du Louvre, a perquisite of the Grand Equerry, 
 but his salary just paid the expenses of his winter 
 and the twenty-seven thousand francs his summer 
 expenses in Normandy. If this great personage still 
 remained unmarried, it was less his fault than that 
 of his aunt, who was not versed in La Fontaine's 
 fables. Mademoiselle d'Herouville had enormous 
 pretensions, not in accord with the spirit of the age, 
 for those with great names and little money could 
 hardly find rich heiresses in the highest French 
 nobility, who were already much embarrassed to 
 provide for their ruined sons through the equal 
 division of property. To marry the young Due 
 d'Herouville advantageously, it would have been 
 necessary to have fawned upon the great banking 
 houses, and, instead, the haughty daughter of the 
 d'Herouvilles wounded them all with cutting 
 speeches. During the first years of the Restoration, 
 from 1817 to 1825, although seeking for millions, 
 Mademoiselle d'Herouville refused Mademoiselle 
 Mongenod, daughter of the banker, whom Mon- 
 sieur de Fontaine was pleased to accept
 
 244 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 At last, after several fine opportunities lost 
 through her fault, she found now that the fortune of 
 the Nucingens was too basely gained to lend her- 
 self to the ambition of Madame de Nucingen, who 
 wished to make her daughter a duchess. The king 
 in his desire to restore the d'Herouvilles to their 
 former splendor, had almost arranged this mar- 
 riage, and he publicly reproached Mademoiselle 
 d'Herouville with foolishness. Thus the aunt made 
 her nephew ridiculous, and the duke lent himself 
 to the ridicule. In short, when great human things 
 dwindle away, they leave behind them crumbs, 
 frusteaux, as Rabelais would say, and the French 
 nobility show us too many such remnants in this 
 century. Certainly, neither the clergy nor the 
 nobility have a right to complain in that long his- 
 tory of manners and customs. The two great and 
 magnificent social necessities have been represented 
 in it; but would it not be well to renounce the fine 
 title of historian if one were not impartial, if one 
 did not show here the degeneration of the race, as 
 you will find elsewhere in the figure of the refugee 
 in the Count of Mortsauf, see The Lily of the Valley, 
 and the flower of the nobility in the Marquis 
 d'Espard, see I' Inter diction. How did the race of 
 the strong and the valorous men of the proud house 
 of Herouville, which gave the famous marshal to 
 royalty, cardinals to the church, captains to the 
 Valois, doughty knights to Louis XIV., how did it 
 end in such a frail being, smaller even than But- 
 scha? That is a question which is asked in many
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 245 
 
 drawing-rooms in Paris, when one hears announced 
 more than one great name of France, and sees enter 
 a little, spare, puny man, who is scarcely able to 
 breathe; or some premature old man; or some odd 
 creation in whom the observer seeks in vain a trace 
 by which the imagination can discover the signs of 
 former grandeur. The dissipations of the reign of 
 Louis XV., the orgies of this selfish and fatal time, 
 have produced this exhausted generation, in which 
 the manners alone survive great vanished qualities, 
 forms which are, indeed, the only heritage that 
 the nobles preserve. Therefore the abandonment 
 in which Louis XVI. was allowed to perish may be 
 explained, with some exceptions, as the result of 
 the wretched reign of Madame de Pompadour. 
 
 Blond, pale and thin, with blue eyes, the Grand 
 Equerry was not wanting in a certain dignity of 
 thought; but his small stature and the mistakes of 
 his aunt, who had induced him to waste his ad- 
 dresses in vain on a Vilquin, gave him excessive 
 timidity. Already the d'Herouville family had 
 almost perished through the fact of an abor- 
 tion. See The Cursed Child. PHILOSOPHICAL 
 STUDIES The Great Marshal for so they called 
 the man whom Louis XIII. had created a duke 
 had married at eighty-two years of age and 
 naturally the family had continued. Although the 
 young duke loved women, he placed them too high ; 
 he admired them too much; he adored them, and he 
 was at his ease only with those whom he could not 
 respect. This characteristic had caused him to lead
 
 246 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 a life that in some respects was double. He took 
 his revenge with the courtesans for the adorations 
 to which he gave himself up in the salons, or, if 
 you will, in the boudoirs of the Faubourg Saint- 
 Germain. These manners and his small- stature, 
 his sickly face and his blue eyes upturned ecstatic- 
 ally, had added very unjustly to the ridicule made 
 about his person, for he was full of delicacy and 
 intelligence; but his wit, which lacked sparkle, 
 manifested itself only when he felt himself at ease. 
 Thus Fanny Beaupre, the actress who, it was said, 
 was his best friend, at the price of gold, said of 
 him: 
 
 "It is good wine, but so well corked that one 
 breaks her corkscrews in opening the bottle." 
 
 The beautiful Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, whom 
 the Grand Equerry could only adore, overwhelmed 
 him with a saying which like all good slanderous 
 things, was unfortunately repeated: 
 
 "He gives me the idea," she said, "of a jewel 
 beautifully cut, which one exhibits far oftener than 
 one wears, and which remains in the jeweler's cot- 
 ton." 
 
 There was nothing even to the name of the office 
 of the Grand Equerry, which did not make the good 
 Charles X. laugh, although the Due d'Herouville 
 was an excellent rider, which justified the appoint- 
 ment Men are like books; they are sometimes 
 appreciated too late. Modeste had caught a glimpse 
 of the Due d'Herouville during the unfruitful stay 
 which he had made at the Vilquins, and as she had
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 247 
 
 seen him pass, all these reflections had come to her 
 mind, almost involuntarily. But, in the circum- 
 stances in which she found herself, she well under- 
 stood that the addresses of the Due d'Herouville 
 were important to her, so as not to be at the mercy 
 of any Canal is. 
 
 "I do not see why," she said to Latournelle, "the 
 Due d'Herouville should not be admitted. I pass, 
 notwithstanding our indigence," she continued, 
 looking at her father mischievously, "for an heiress. 
 Therefore I will finish by publishing a bulletin. 
 Have you not noticed how Gobenheim's glances 
 have changed since a week ago? He is disconsolate 
 at not being able to place his whist parties to the 
 score of a mute adoration for my charms." 
 
 "Hush, my sweetheart," said Madame Latour- 
 nelle. "Here he is!" 
 
 "Father Althor is in despair," said Gobenheim to 
 Monsieur Mignon as he entered. 
 
 "Why?" asked the Comte de la Bastie. 
 
 "Vilquin," he said, "is going to fail, and on the 
 Exchange you are believed to be worth several mil- 
 lions" 
 
 "No one knows," replied Charles Mignon, 
 sharply, "what my liabilities are in India, and I do 
 not care to take the public into my confidence about 
 my affairs. Dumay," he said in his friend's ear, 
 "if Vilquin is embarrassed, we could return to my 
 country house, by giving him the price in ready 
 cash which he paid for it." 
 
 Such was the condition of things, due to chance,
 
 248 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 in the midst of which Canal is and La Briere ar- 
 rived, with a courier in advance, on Sunday morn- 
 ing at Madame Amaury's pavilion. It was learned 
 that the Due d'Herouville, his sister and his aunt, 
 were to arrive on Tuesday, under pretext of ill- 
 health, at a hired house at Graville. This compe- 
 tition caused it to be said on Change that, thanks to 
 Mademoiselle Mignon, rents at Ingouville were 
 going to rise. 
 
 "She will make a hospital of the place, if this 
 continues," said the younger Mademoiselle Vilquin, 
 in despair at not being a duchess. 
 
 The everlasting comedy of The Heiress, which 
 was to be enacted at the Chalet, would surely, in 
 the situation in which Modeste found herself, and 
 after her pleasantry, be named The Program of a 
 Young Girl, for she had positively decided, after 
 losing her illusions, to give her hand only to the 
 man whose qualities satisfied her entirely. 
 
 The day following their arrival, the two rivals, 
 still intimate friends, made their preparations to 
 appear at the Chalet in the evening. They had 
 devoted all of Sunday and Monday morning to 
 their unpacking; to taking possession of Madame 
 Amaury's pavilion, and to those arrangements 
 which a month's sojourn necessitated. Moreover, 
 authorized by his position of a minister's apprentice 
 to allow himself many of the actions of a roue, the 
 poet calculated everything; he desired to profit by 
 the probable noise which his arrival at Havre would 
 make, some echoes of which would reach the
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 249 
 
 Chalet In his character of a man needing rest, 
 Canal is did not go out La Briere went to walk 
 twice before the Chalet, for he loved with a kind of 
 despair, and having a profound terror of having dis- 
 pleased Modeste, his future seemed to him to be 
 covered with thick clouds. The two friends came 
 down to dinner on Monday, both dressed for their 
 first visit, the most important of all. La Briere 
 was dressed as he had been on that famous Sunday 
 at church; but he thought of himself as the satel- 
 lite of a planet, and abandoned himself to the 
 chances of his situation. Canalis had omitted 
 neither his black coat, his decorations, nor that ele- 
 gance of the salon which had been brought to per- 
 fection by his intercourse with the Duchesse de 
 Chaulieu, his protectress, and with the best society 
 of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. Canalis had ob- 
 served every detail of dandyism; while poor La 
 Briere was going to show himself in all the negli- 
 gence of a man without hope. 
 
 In serving his two masters at table, Germain 
 could not help smiling at this contrast At the 
 second course, he entered with a very diplomatic, 
 or to express it better, an anxious air. 
 
 "Does Monsieur le Baron know," he said to Ca- 
 nalis in a low tone, "that the Grand Equerry comes 
 to Graville to cure himself of the same malady 
 which has attacked Monsieur de la Briere and Mon- 
 sieur le Baron?" 
 
 "The little Due d'Herouville?" exclaimed Ca- 
 nalis.
 
 250 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Yes, monsieur." 
 
 "He comes for Mademoiselle de la Bastie?" asked 
 La Briere, blushing. 
 
 "For Mademoiselle Mignon!" replied Germain. 
 
 "We are tricked!" exclaimed Canalis, looking at 
 La Briere. 
 
 "Ah!" replied Ernest quickly, "that is the first 
 time since our departure that you have said we. 
 Until now it has been // " 
 
 "You understand me," replied Melchior, bursting 
 into a peal of laughter. "But we are not in a state 
 to fight against one of the great offices of the crown, 
 against the title of duke and peer, nor against the 
 swamp which the Council of State has just con- 
 ferred, upon my report, on the house of Herouville." 
 
 "His lordship," said La Briere, with a malicious- 
 ness full of seriousness, "will offer you a bit of con- 
 solation in the person of his sister." 
 
 At this moment, Monsieur le Comte de la Bastie 
 was announced. The two young men arose upon 
 hearing it, and La Briere went quickly toward him 
 in order to present Canalis to him. 
 
 "I wish to return the visit which you made me 
 at Paris," said Charles Mignon to the young secre- 
 tary, "and I knew that in coming here I should 
 have the double pleasure of seeing one of the great 
 poets of our day." 
 
 "Great, monsieur?" replied the poet smiling; 
 "there can be nothing great in a century to which 
 the reign of Napoleon served as a preface. In the 
 first place, we are a horde of self-styled great poets I
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 251 
 
 Then secondary talents play at genius so well 
 that they have rendered all great fame impossible." 
 
 "Is it for that reason that you throw yourself into 
 politics?" asked the Comte de la Bastie. 
 
 "It is the same in that sphere," said the poet. 
 "There are no longer great statesmen; there are 
 only men who meddle more or less with events. 
 Look, monsieur, under the government which the 
 Charter has given us, which makes more of the 
 taxes than of a coat of arms, that alone is solid 
 which you went to seek in China, a fortune." 
 
 Satisfied with himself and contented with the 
 impression which he had made upon his future 
 father-in-law, Melchior turned toward Germain. 
 
 "Serve the coffee in the salon," he said as he in- 
 vited the merchant to leave the dining-room. 
 
 "I thank you, Monsieur le Comte," then said 
 La Briere, "for thus saving me the embarrassment 
 which I should have felt in introducing my friend 
 at your home. You have mind as well as a great 
 heart." 
 
 "Bah! The mind of all men of Provence," said 
 Charles Mignon. 
 
 "Ah, you are from Provence?" exclaimed Ca- 
 nal is. 
 
 "Pardon my friend," said La Briere; "he has 
 not, like myself, studied the history of the La 
 Basties." 
 
 At the word friend, Canal is cast a searching look 
 upon Ernest 
 
 "If your health will permit," said the Provencal
 
 252 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 to the grea poet, "I claim the honor of receiving 
 you this evening under my roof, and it will be a 
 day to mark, as the ancient says, albo notanda 
 lapitto. Although we may be somewhat embar- 
 rassed to receive so great a glory in so small a 
 house, you will satisfy the impatience of my daugh- 
 ter, whose admiration for you goes so far even as to 
 set your verses to music." 
 
 "You have more than glory," said Canalis. 
 "You possess beauty there, if I may believe 
 Ernest." 
 
 "Oh! a good girl whom you will find very pro- 
 vincial, " said Charles. 
 
 "A provincial girl sought in marriage by the Due 
 d'Herouville, it is said!" exclaimed Canalis dryly. 
 
 "Oh!" replied Monsieur Mignon with the per- 
 fidious good nature of a Southerner, "I leave my 
 daughter free. Dukes, princes, ordinary indi- 
 viduals, all are the same to me; even a man of 
 genius. I will enter into no engagement, and the 
 man whom Modeste will choose shall be my son-in- 
 law, or rather, my son," he said, looking at La 
 Briere. "What can I do? Madame de la Bastie is 
 a German and she does not believe in our etiquette, 
 and I allow myself to be led by my two women. I 
 have always preferred to be in the carriage than 
 upon the box. We can talk of these serious things 
 with a laugh, for we have not yet seen the Due 
 d'Herouville, and I believe no more in the mar- 
 riages made by proxy than in the lovers arranged 
 by parents."
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 253 
 
 "That is a declaration as desperate as encour- 
 aging for two young men who desire to find the 
 philosopher's stone of happiness in marriage," said 
 Canal is. 
 
 "Do you not believe it is useful, necessary and 
 politic to stipulate the perfect liberty of the parents, 
 the girl and her wooers?" asked Charles Mignon. 
 
 Canal is, at a look from La Briere, was silent, and 
 the conversation became trivial, and after several 
 turns in the garden the father withdrew, calculating 
 upon the visit of the two friends. 
 
 "That is our dismissal!" exclaimed Canal is. 
 "You understood it as well as I did. Besides, were 
 I in his place, I would not hesitate between the 
 Grand Equerry and us, however charming we may 
 be." 
 
 "I do not think so," replied La Briere. "I be- 
 lieve this brave soldier came to satisfy his impa- 
 tience to see you and to declare his neutrality to us, 
 even in opening his house to us. Modeste, capti- 
 vated by your glory and deceived in my person- 
 ality, simply finds herself between poetry and 
 reality. I have the misfortune to be the reality." 
 
 "Germain, "said Canal is to his valet, who came 
 in to take away the coffee cups, "have the horses 
 harnessed. We will start in a half-hour and take a 
 drive before going to the Chalet."
 
 The two young men were equally impatient to 
 see Modeste, but La Briere dreaded the interview 
 and Canal is went to it with a confidence full of self- 
 conceit Ernest's warmth toward the father, and 
 the flattery with which he had just fawned upon the 
 aristocratic pride of the merchant in making Ca- 
 nal is's maladresse noticeable, determined the poet to 
 play a part Melchior resolved, while he displayed 
 his seductions, to play indifference, to appear to 
 disdain Modeste, and thus pique the young girl's 
 self-love. A pupil of the beautiful Duchesse de 
 Chaulieu, he showed himself in this part worthy of 
 the reputation he enjoyed of knowing women well, 
 although he did not understand them, as often hap- 
 pens to those who are the happy victims of an ex- 
 clusive passion. While poor Ernest, sunk in his 
 corner of the carriage, kept a sad silence, over- 
 whelmed by the terrors of true love, and foreseeing 
 the anger, the disdain and contempt, all the thun- 
 derbolts of a young girl who has been wounded and 
 offended, Canalis was preparing himself, not less 
 silently, like an actor ready to play an important 
 r61e in some new piece. Certainly neither of them 
 resembled happy men. For Canalis, also, weighty 
 interests were at stake. For him, the mere desire 
 of marriage would involve the rupture of the serious 
 friendship which had bound him for almost ten 
 (255)
 
 2 $6 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 years to the Duchesse de Chaulieu. Although he 
 had given as a reason for his journey the pretext 
 of his fatigue, which women never believe even 
 when it is true, his conscience tormented him 
 slightly; but the word conscience appeared so Jesu- 
 itical to La Briere that he shrugged his shoulders 
 when the poet made him the confidant of his 
 scruples. 
 
 "Your conscience, my friend, seems to me simply 
 the fear of losing the pleasures of vanity, of very 
 real advantages and of a habit, in losing the affec- 
 tion of Madame de Chaulieu; for if you succeed 
 with Modeste, you will renounce with regret the 
 insipid aftermath of a passion very much harvested 
 for the past eight years. If you say that you trem- 
 ble at displeasing your protectress, if she should 
 learn the reason of your stay here, I shall believe 
 you. To renounce the duchess and not to succeed 
 at the Chalet, will be to play too high. You take 
 the effect of this alternative for remorse." 
 
 "You do not understand the sentiments at all," 
 said Canal is, impatient as a man to whom one tells 
 the truth when he asks for a compliment. 
 
 "That is the reply of a bigamist to a dozen 
 jurors," replied La Briere smiling. 
 
 This epigram made another disagreeable impres- 
 sion upon Canalis; he found La Briere too intelli- 
 gent and free for a secretary. 
 
 The arrival of a splendid carriage, driven by a 
 coachman in the Canalis livery, made the greater 
 sensation at the Chalet inasmuch as they expected
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 257 
 
 the two suitors there, and as all the personages of 
 this story, except the duke and Butscha, were there. 
 
 "Which is the poet?" asked Madame Latournelle 
 of Dumay, from the recess of the window, where 
 she had just posted herself at the noise of the 
 carriage. 
 
 "The one who walks like a drum-major," replied 
 the cashier. 
 
 "Ah!" replied the lawyer's wife, examining 
 Melchior, who swung himself like a man who is 
 aware of being looked at. 
 
 Although too severe, Dumay's estimate, simple 
 man as he always was, had some justice in it 
 Through the fault of the great lady who flattered 
 him excessively and spoiled him, as all women older 
 than their adorers always flatter and spoil them, 
 Canalis was morally a sort of Narcissus. A woman 
 of a certain age who wishes to attach a man to her 
 forever, commences by deifying his faults, in order 
 to render all rivalship impossible; for a rival is not, 
 at first approach, in the secret of that superfine 
 flattery to which the man has become accustomed. 
 Fops are the product of this feminine work, when 
 they are not fops from birth. Canalis, captivated 
 at an early age by the beautiful Duchesse de 
 Chaulieu, thus justified to himself his affectations, 
 saying that they pleased this woman whose taste 
 was law. Although these differences are of an ex- 
 cessive delicacy, it is not impossible to point them 
 out Thus, Melchior possessed a talent for reading 
 aloud, which had been so much admired that the
 
 258 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 overpraise had led him into a line of exaggeration 
 in which neither the poet nor the actor come to a 
 standstill and which caused it to be said of him 
 always by de Marsay that he did not declaim, but 
 that he rang out his verses, so greatly did he prolong 
 the sounds in listening to himself. 
 
 In the slang of the green-room Canalis "took his 
 time rather long." He allowed himself to exchange 
 glances with his audience, assuming poses andtnose 
 resources of the play called by actors balanfoires 
 an expression which is picturesque like everything 
 created by these artistic people. Canalis, besides, 
 was the head of a school and had his imitators. 
 This chanting emphasis had slightly affected his 
 conversation, he had a declamatory tone as we have 
 seen in his interview with Dumay. The moment the 
 mind becomes abnormally capricious, the manner 
 follows suit Thus Canalis ended by studying his 
 walk, inventing attitudes, looking at himself in the 
 mirror on the sly and making his discourse accord 
 with his pose. He was so much occupied in pro- 
 ducing an effect that a famous joker, Blondet, had 
 more than once bet that he could disconcert the poet 
 by looking fixedly at his frizzed hair, or his boots, 
 or the tail of his coat and had won the bet After 
 ten years, these airs and graces, which had com- 
 menced by having a flowery youth as an excuse, 
 had become all the more objectionable because Mel- 
 chior himself was getting on in life. A fashionable, 
 pleasure-fed life is as fatiguing to men as to women, 
 and perhaps the twenty years, by which the
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 259 
 
 duchess was the senior of Canal is, weighed upon 
 him more than her, for to the world she was always 
 beautiful having no wrinkles, no rouge, and no 
 heart Alas! that neither men nor women have 
 friends to warn them when the perfume of their 
 modesty loses its fragrance, when the tenderness 
 in their eyes is but a tradition of the theatre, or the 
 expression of their faces changes to affectation, and 
 when the artifices of their minds allow the adsci- 
 titious ruddy tints of their bodies to be visible. 
 Genius alone can renew itself like the serpent, 
 i and in the matter of charm, like everything else, it 
 is the heart alone which does not age. People of 
 heart are most simple. Now, as you know, Ca- 
 nal is had a dried-up heart He had abused the beauty 
 of his glance by affecting unreasonably that fixity 
 of expression which meditation gives to the eyes. 
 Indeed, for him, applause was a commerce by 
 which he wished to profit largely. His manner of 
 complimenting, charming to superficial people, was 
 insulting to persons of more delicacy, owing to its 
 grossness and directness of flattery which was, but 
 too evidently, a studied effort In fact Melchior 
 lied like a courtier. He had said, without blushing, 
 to the Due de Chaulieu, who had made little or no 
 impression on the deputies, when, as the Minis- 
 ter of Foreign Affairs, he had been obliged to 
 address them from the tribune: 
 
 "Your excellency was sublime." 
 
 How many men have been, like Canalis, cured 
 of their affectations by non-success administered in
 
 260 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 small doses! These defects, light enough in the 
 gilded salons of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where 
 each one brings with exactitude his quota of non- 
 sense, and where this kind of boasting, preparation, 
 of tension if you like is supported by a back- 
 ground of excessive luxury and sumptuous toilettes, 
 which perhaps excuse it, became extravagantly 
 marked in the heart of the country, where the ab- 
 surdities belong to a different order. Canalis, at 
 all times overstrained and full of mannerisms, could 
 not change himself, he had had time to cool in the 
 mould to which the duchess had cast him; more- 
 over, he was thoroughly Parisian or, if you please, 
 thoroughly French. The Parisian is amazed that 
 nothing elsewhere is as it is in Paris; and the 
 Frenchman experiences the same astonishment, 
 that the whole world is not like France! Good 
 taste consists in adapting ourselves to foreign coun- 
 tries without effacing our particular characteristics 
 as did Alcibiades, the model gentleman. Real 
 charm is sympathetic; it lends itself to all circum- 
 stances, is in harmony with all social centres. It 
 can wear a dress of simple stuff, remarkable only 
 for its cut, in the street, instead of the plumes and 
 loud costume which the bourgeois parades there. 
 
 Now Canalis, instigated by a woman who loved 
 herself more than she loved him, wished to make 
 himself a law and to be everywhere the great man 
 he believed himself to be. He believed an error 
 shared by some of the greatest men of Paris that 
 he carried his public with him wherever he went
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 261 
 
 While the poet made a studied entrance into the 
 Chalet, La Briere slipped in like a dog who fears a 
 whipping. 
 
 "Ah! I see my soldier!" exclaimed Canal is on ob- 
 serving Dumay, after having complimented Madame 
 Mignon and bowed to the ladies. "Your anxieties 
 are calmed, are they not?" he asked, extending his 
 hand ostentatiously. "One can readily understand 
 them after seeing mademoiselle. I was speaking of 
 terrestrial creatures, not of angels." 
 
 Each and every one, by his attitude, seemed to 
 demand an explanation of this enigmatical speech. 
 
 "Ah! I shall always count it as a triumph," 
 resumed the poet, understanding that each one de- 
 sired the meaning of his words, "to have moved 
 one of those men of iron whom Napoleon used as the 
 piles upon which he tried to build an empire too 
 colossal to be lasting; for such things time alone 
 can cement But is this indeed a triumph upon 
 which I should pride myself I who count for noth- 
 ing? It was the triumph of the idea over the fact 
 Your battles, rnydear Monsieur Dumay, your heroic 
 charges, Monsieur le Comte, indeed war itself was 
 the form in which Napoleon's thoughts clothed 
 themselves. Of all these things, what remains? 
 The grass which .covers them says nothing, the 
 harvests do not tell of their resting place, and with- 
 out the historian, without our writings, the future 
 would remain in ignorance of those heroic times! 
 Thus your fifteen years of struggle resolve them- 
 selves into ideas, and that which will save the
 
 262 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Empire will be the poems which the poets make of 
 it. A country which can gain such victories ought 
 to know how to sing them." 
 
 Canalis paused and rapidly glanced at his audi- 
 ence, so as to gather the tribute of amazement which 
 he expected provincials would offer. 
 
 "You cannot doubt, monsieur, my regret at not 
 being able to see you," said Madame Mignon, "from 
 the enjoyment I find in listening to you." 
 
 Determined, beforehand, to think Canalis sub- 
 lime, Modeste, seated as she was at the opening of 
 the story, remained wonderstruck, neglecting her 
 embroidery, which had slipped from her fingers and 
 was held only by the threaded needle. 
 
 "Modeste, this is Monsieur de la Briere. Mon- 
 sieur Ernest, my daughter," said Charles, seeing 
 the secretary cast in the shade. 
 
 The young girl bowed coldly to Ernest with a 
 look which might have convinced everyone present 
 that she saw him for the first time. 
 
 "1 beg your pardon, monsieur," she said to him 
 without blushing, "the great admiration which I 
 profess for the greatest of our poets must excuse me 
 in the eyes of my friends for having seen only 
 him." 
 
 This fresh and accented voice, like that of Made- 
 moiselle Mars, which was so celebrated, charmed 
 the poor secretary, already dazzled by Modeste's 
 beauty, and in his surprise he replied by a phrase, 
 sublime if it was true: 
 
 "But he is my friend," he said.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 263 
 
 "Then you have already pardoned me," she 
 replied. 
 
 "He is more than a friend, " cried Canalis, leaning 
 upon Ernest's shoulder like Alexander on Hephass- 
 tion; "we love each other like brothers, " 
 
 Madame Latournelle cut short the great poet's 
 words by pointing out Ernest to her husband and 
 saying: 
 
 "Is not that the gentleman we saw in church?" 
 
 "Why not?" replied Charles Mignon, seeing 
 Ernest blush. 
 
 Modeste remained unmoved and took up her em- 
 broidery. 
 
 "Madame may be right I have been to Havre 
 twice," said La Briere, seating himself by Dumay. 
 
 Canalis, delighted with Modeste's beauty, misun- 
 derstood the admiration which she expressed and 
 flattered himself that he had already Completely 
 succeeded in producing the desired effect 
 
 "I should consider a man of genius to be without 
 heart, if he had not some devoted friend near him," 
 said Modeste, resuming the conversation interrupted 
 by the awkwardness of Madame Latournelle. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, the devotion of Ernest makes me 
 think that I am worth something," said Canalis, 
 "for this dear Pylades is full of talent, he has been 
 the right hand of the greatest minister we have had 
 since peace was established. Although he holds a 
 magnificent position he has consented to be my 
 tutor in politics; he teaches me business principles, 
 he nourishes me from his experience while he could
 
 264 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 aspire to the highest destinies. Ah! he is worth 
 more than I. " 
 
 At a gesture from Modeste, Melchior added grace- 
 fully: 
 
 "Poetry, which I express, he carries in his heart, 
 and if I speak thus frankly before him it is because 
 he has the modesty of a nun." 
 
 "Enough, enough," said La Briere, who did not 
 know which way to look. "My dear fellow, you 
 remind me of a mother who wishes to marry her 
 daughter." 
 
 "And how is it, monsieur," said Charles Mignon, 
 addressing Canal is, "that you can think of becom- 
 ing a politician?" 
 
 "For a poet, it is abdication," said Modeste. 
 "Politics are the resources of ordinary men." 
 
 "Ah! mademoiselle, the tribune is now the great- 
 est theatre in the world; it has taken the place of 
 the tournaments of chivalry; it will be the meeting 
 place of all intellect just as the army has been the 
 acme of all courage." 
 
 Canal is was astride his charger and talked for 
 ten minutes on political life. "Poetry was but the 
 preface to the statesman. To-day the orator has 
 become a sublime reasoner, the shepherd of ideas. 
 When a poet points out the way of the future to his 
 country, does he cease to be himself?" He quoted 
 Chateaubriand and declared that the day would 
 come when he would be more famous in politics 
 than in literature. "The French tribune was going 
 to be the pharos of humanity. Oral struggles
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 265 
 
 would replace those of the battlefield. Some ses- 
 sions of the Chamber were finer than Austerlitz, 
 and orators showed themselves to be the equals of 
 generals, they showed in their lives as much cour- 
 age and strength as those who went to war. Was 
 not speech one of the most tremendous outlets of the 
 vital fluid which man possessed?" etc., etc. 
 
 This improvisation, composed of modern common- 
 places, but clothed anew in sonorous expressions, 
 of new words, and intended to prove that the Baron 
 de Canal is would be, some day, one of the glories 
 of the tribune, produced a profound impression upon 
 the notary, Gobenheim, Madame Latournelle and 
 Madame Mignon. Modeste sat as one at a play 
 with an enthusiasm for the actor, just as Ernest sat 
 looking at her; for if the secretary knew all these 
 phrases by heart, he listened now through the eyes 
 of the young girl and became more and more madly 
 in love. For in the eyes of this true lover, Modeste 
 eclipsed all the different Modestes which he had 
 created in reading her letters and answering them. 
 
 This visit, the duration of which had been pre- 
 determined by Canal is, who knew better than to 
 let his admirers weary of him, ended by an invita- 
 tion to dinner on the following Monday. 
 
 "We shall not then be at the Chalet," said the 
 Comte de la Bastie, "it will become, again, the 
 abode of my friend Dumay. I am going back to the 
 old house under a deed of redemption of six months' 
 duration which I have just signed with Monsieur 
 Vilquin at the office of my friend Latournelle "
 
 266 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "I hope," said Dumay, "that Vilquin cannot re- 
 turn you the sum which you lent him " 
 
 "You will have then an abode in keeping with 
 your fortune," said Canal is. 
 
 "With the fortune which is accredited to me," 
 said Charles Mignon quickly. 
 
 "It would be a pity," said Canalis, turning to 
 Modeste and bowing gracefully, "if this Madonna did 
 not have a frame worthy of her divine perfections." 
 
 This was all that Canalis said to Modeste, for he 
 had hardly seemed to see her and had behaved like 
 a man to whom all idea of marriage was denied. 
 
 "Ah! my dear Madame Mignon, he has a fine 
 intellect," said the notary's wife, as soon as she 
 heard the sound of the gravel of the garden crushed 
 under the feet of the two Parisians. 
 
 "Is he rich? that is the important question," said 
 Gobenheim. 
 
 Modeste was at the window so as not to lose a 
 single movement of the great poet, but having no 
 glance for poor Ernest de la Briere. When Mon- 
 sieur Mignon came in, and when Modeste after hav- 
 ing received the last bow from the two friends as 
 the carriage turned away had come back to her seat, 
 one of those profound discussions took place such as 
 provincials always have about Parisians after a first 
 interview. Gobenheim repeated his inquiry, "Is 
 he rich ?" as a chorus to the praises sung by Madame 
 Latournelle, Modeste, and her mother. 
 
 "Rich!" cried Modeste, "what does that matter? 
 Do you not see that Monsieur de Canalis is one of
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 267 
 
 those men destined to occupy the highest positions 
 of state ? He has more than fortune, he possesses 
 the means of fortune." 
 
 "He will be minister or ambassador," said Mon- 
 sieur Mignon. 
 
 "The taxpayers may nevertheless have to pay for 
 his funeral," said the little Latournelle. 
 
 "And why so?" asked Charles Mignon. 
 
 "It seems to me that he will waste all fortunes 
 with those 'means of fortune' so liberally accorded 
 him by Mademoiselle Modeste. " 
 
 "How can Modeste be other than liberal to a poet 
 who calls her a Madonna?" said Dumay, faithful to 
 the repugnance with which Canal is had inspired 
 him. 
 
 Gobenheim arranged the whist table with all the 
 more interest that since the return of Monsieur 
 Mignon, Latournelle and Dumay allowed themselves 
 to play for ten sous a point 
 
 "Well, my angel," said the father to Modeste, 
 in the embrasure of the window, "admit that papa 
 thinks of everything. If you give your orders this 
 evening to your former dressmaker in Paris and all 
 your other furnishers, you can in eight days appear 
 in all the splendor of an heiress while I shall have 
 time to arrange for our installation in our house. 
 You have a pretty pony, order a habit now, the 
 Grand Equerry merits that attention " 
 
 "All the more because there are people to ride 
 with," said Modeste, on whose cheeks the color of 
 health reappeared.
 
 268 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "The secretary does not amount to much," said 
 Madame Mignon. 
 
 "He is a little stupid," replied Madame Latour- 
 nelle. "The poet played the agreeable to every- 
 one. He remembered to thank Latournelle for 
 helping him to choose his house here, saying to me 
 that he seemed to have consulted the taste of a 
 woman. But the other was as gloomy as a Span- 
 iard, with his eyes fixed on Modeste as if he would 
 like to swallow her. If he had even looked at me I 
 would have been afraid." 
 
 "He has a sweet voice," said Madame Mignon. 
 
 "He came to Havre no doubt to inquire about the 
 Mignon house in the interest of the poet," said 
 Modeste, winking at her father, "for it was certainly 
 he whom we saw in the church." 
 
 Madame Dumay and Monsieur and Madame La- 
 tournelle accepted this explanation of Ernest's visit
 
 "Do you know, Ernest," said Canal is, when 
 twenty feet from the Chalet, "that I do not know 
 anywhere in the world, in Paris, a single mar- 
 riageable woman comparable to that adorable girl !" 
 
 "Ah! then all is said," replied La Briere with 
 concentrated bitterness, "she loves you or if you 
 wish it she will love you. Your fame has fought 
 half the battle. In short, all is at your disposition. 
 You shall go there again alone. Modeste has the 
 most profound contempt for me, she is right, and I 
 do not see why 1 should condemn myself to the suf- 
 fering of admiring, desiring and adoring that which 
 I can never possess." 
 
 After some words of condolence, in which ap- 
 peared the satisfaction of having made a new 
 edition of Caesar's phrase, Canal is allowed his de- 
 sire to break off with the Duchesse de Chaulieu to 
 come to light. La Briere, not being able to bear 
 this conversation, urged the beauty of a charming 
 night, to get out of the carriage, when he ran like a 
 madman towards the shore, where he remained 
 until half-past ten, a prey to a sort of mania. Some- 
 times walking rapidly and talking to himself, some- 
 times sitting or standing, without noticing that two 
 custom-house officers, on duty, anxiously watched 
 him. After having loved the mental attainments 
 (269)
 
 270 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 and the aggressive candor of Modeste, he had just 
 added to it the adoration of beauty that is to say, 
 love without reason and inexpressible to all the 
 other reasons which had led him ten days before to 
 the church in Havre. 
 
 He returned to the Chalet, where the Pyrenese 
 dogs barked at him so ferociously that he could not 
 even give himself the pleasure of looking at Mo- 
 deste's windows. In love, all these things are no 
 more to the lover than the work covered by the 
 last coat of color is to the painter; but they consti- 
 tute love, as the concealed work is the whole of art 
 From these a great painter and a true lover appear, 
 whom the women and the public end, often too 
 late, by adoring. 
 
 "Ah, well," he cried out, "I will remain, I will 
 suffer, I will see her, I will love her for myself 
 alone, selfishly! Modeste shall be my sun, my life, 
 I will breathe her breath, I will enjoy her joys, I 
 will waste away from her sorrows, even if she be 
 the wife of that egotist Canal is. " 
 
 "That is what I call love, monsieur," said a voice 
 which came from a thicket on the edge of the road. 
 "Does then everybody love Mademoiselle de la 
 Bastie?" And Butscha appeared suddenly and 
 looked up at La Briere. La Briere restrained his 
 anger as he looked at the dwarf from head to 
 foot in the moonlight, and took a few steps without 
 replying to him. 
 
 "Between soldiers who are serving in the same 
 company, there ought to be better comradeship than
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 271 
 
 that!" said Butscha. "If you do not love Canal is, 
 I am not passionately fond of him myself." 
 
 "He is my friend," replied Ernest 
 
 "Ah! you are the little secretary," replied the 
 dwarf. 
 
 "Know, sir, that I am secretary to no one; I have 
 the honor of being a counselor in one of the supreme 
 courts of the kingdom." 
 
 "I have the honor then of saluting Monsieur de la 
 Briere," said Butscha, "1 have the honor to be the 
 head clerk of Monsieur Latournelle, the supreme 
 counselor of Havre, and I have certainly a finer 
 position than yours. Yes, I have had the happiness 
 of seeing Mademoiselle de la Bastie almost every 
 evening for four years, and I expect to live near her 
 always, as a servant of the king lives at the Tuile- 
 ries. If the throne of Russia should be offered to 
 me, I should reply, I love the sun too much! Does 
 not this tell you, monsieur, that I am more interested 
 in her than in myself, and with honorable inten- 
 tions? Do you think that the proud Duchesse de 
 Chaulieu regards the happiness of Madame de Ca- 
 nal is in a pleasing manner, when her maid, in love 
 with Monsieur Germain, and already nervous at 
 the stay which this charming valet is making at 
 Havre, complains as she dresses her mistress's hair 
 of" 
 
 "How do you know these things?" said La Briere, 
 interrupting Butscha. 
 
 "First, I am a lawyer's clerk," replied Butscha, 
 "but you have surely noticed my hump, it is full of
 
 272 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 inventions, monsieur; I have made myself a cousin 
 of Mademoiselle Philoxene Jacmin, born at Honfleur, 
 where my mother, a Jacmin, was born, there are 
 twelve branches of the Jacmins at Honfleur. Then 
 my cousin, allured by an improbable inheritance, 
 has told me many things." 
 
 "The duchess is vindictive," said La Briere. 
 
 "As a queen, so Philoxene told me; she has not 
 pardoned Monsieur le Due for being nothing more 
 than her husband," replied Butscha, "she hates as 
 she loves. I know her character, her toilette, her 
 taste, her religion and her limitations, for Philoxene 
 has shown her to me unclothed, both in body and 
 mind. I went to the opera to see Madame de 
 Chaulieu, to say nothing of the play, and I have 
 not regretted my ten francs. If my so-called cousin 
 had not told me that her mistress counted fifty sum- 
 mers, I should have thought myself very generous 
 in giving her thirty; she has not known any win- 
 ters, that duchess!" 
 
 "Yes," replied La Briere, "her face is a cameo 
 preserved by its hardness. Canalis would be much 
 embarrassed if the duchess knew his projects here, 
 and 1 trust, monsieur, that you will refrain from 
 more of this spying, which is unworthy of an hon- 
 est man." 
 
 "Monsieur," replied Butscha, proudly, "for me 
 Modeste is the State ! I do not spy, I foresee. The 
 duchess will come or remain in her tranquillity, as 
 1 see fit" 
 
 "You?"
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 273 
 
 "I, monsieur." 
 
 "And by what means?" said La Briere. 
 
 "Ah! that is it," said the little hunchback, as he 
 took a blade of grass. "Look here! this grass be- 
 lieves that men construct palaces for it to live in, 
 and some day it causes the most solidly-cemented 
 walls to fall, like the people introduced into the 
 structure of Feudalism, who have thrown it to the 
 ground. The power of the weak man who can in- 
 sinuate himself everywhere is greater than that of 
 the strong man, who depends upon the strength of 
 his arms. We are three Swiss guards who have 
 vowed that Modeste shall be happy, and who would 
 sell our honor for her. Adieu, monsieur! If you 
 love Mademoiselle de la Bastie, forget this conver- 
 sation, and shake my hand, for you seem to me to 
 have a heart I was anxious to see the Chalet, and 
 I arrived there just as she blew out her candle. I 
 heard the dogs barking at you, and I heard you 
 raging; therefore I took the liberty of telling you 
 that we are serving in the same company, that of 
 Loyal Devotion." 
 
 "Ah, well," replied La Briere pressing the 
 dwarf's hand, "do me the kindness to tell me if 
 Mademoiselle Modeste has ever loved anyone before 
 her secret correspondence with Canal is. " 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Butscha, in a hollow voice, 
 "even this suspicion is an injustice. And even 
 now who knows if she loves ? Does she know it 
 herself? She became enamored of the mind, the 
 genius, the soul of this dealer in stanzas, this vender 
 18
 
 274 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 of literature; but she will study him, we shall 
 all study him, I know well how to make the real 
 character of this man appear from under the shell 
 of his fine manners, and we shall see his head, less 
 its ambition and its vanity," said Butscha, rubbing 
 his hands. "At least mademoiselle will not be so 
 foolish as to die of " 
 
 "Oh! she remained in admiration before him as 
 before a wonder," exclaimed La Briere, allowing 
 the secret of his jealousy to escape him. 
 
 "If he is a good loyal fellow, if he loves her, if he 
 is worthy of her and if he will renounce the duch- 
 ess," replied Butscha "I will manage the duchess! 
 Here, my dear monsieur, follow this road and you 
 will be home in ten minutes." 
 
 Butscha retraced his steps, and waved to poor 
 Ernest, who, like a true lover, would have stood all 
 night to talk about Modeste. 
 
 "Monsieur," said Butscha. "I have not yet had 
 the honor of seeing our great poet, and I am curious 
 to observe this great phenomenon in the exercise of 
 his functions. Do me the favor to pass the evening 
 of the day after to-morrow at the Chalet, remain 
 there for a long time, for a man does not show him- 
 self in one hour. I shall be the first to know if he 
 loves, if he can love, if he ever will love Mademoi- 
 selle Modeste." 
 
 "You are very young to " 
 
 "Be a professor," interruped Butscha. "Ah! 
 monsieur, abortive persons are born a hundred years 
 old. You know a sick man, who has been long ill,
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 275 
 
 becomes finally more skilful than his physician, he 
 understands his malady, which is not always the 
 case with conscientious doctors. Well, in the same 
 way a man who loves a woman and whom the 
 woman must despise for his ugliness and deformity, 
 ends by becoming so skilful in love that he appears 
 seductive, as the sick man ends by recovering his 
 health. Foolishness alone is incurable. Since I 
 was six years old, and I am now twenty-five, I have 
 had neither father nor mother; public charity has 
 been my mother, and the king's procureur my 
 father. Don't worry," he said in answer to a 
 gesture from Ernest, "I am gayer than my position. 
 Well, for six years, since the insolent look of one 
 of Madame Latournelle's servants told me that I had 
 no right to think of love, I began to love and to study 
 women. I began with the homely ones, for we must 
 always take the bull by the horns. Therefore I 
 selected my master's wife, who surely is an angel 
 to me, for my first study. Perhaps I was wrong, 
 but what could I do? I have passed through the 
 alembic and I have discovered crouching at the bot- 
 tom of her heart, this idea, 'I am not so homely as 
 they think me.' Notwithstanding her deep piety, 
 by taking advantage of this idea, I should have been 
 able to lead her to the edge of the abyss " 
 
 "And have you studied Modeste?" 
 
 "I thought I had told you that my life was hers," 
 replied the hunchback, "as France belongs to the 
 king! Now do you understand my spying at Paris? 
 No one but myself knows all the nobleness, pride,
 
 276 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 devotion, wonderful grace, inexhaustible goodness, 
 true religion, gaiety, education, delicacy, affability 
 of soul, heart and mind, of this adorable child." 
 
 Butscha took out his handkerchief to dry two 
 tears, and La Briere pressed his hand for a long 
 time. 
 
 "I live in her rays! They begin with her and 
 end in me, and thus we are united, almost as nature 
 is to God, by the Light and the Word. Adieu, 
 monsieur, I have never chatted so much in my life 
 before, but when I saw you before her windows, I 
 divined that you love her as I do." 
 
 Without awaiting a reply, Butscha left the poor 
 lover, to whose heart this conversation had been an 
 indescribable balm. Ernest resolved to make a 
 friend of Butscha, without suspecting that the 
 clerk's loquacity had had for its special object the 
 means of engaging information about Canalis. 
 
 In what an ebb and flow of thoughts, resolutions 
 and plans of conduct Ernest was rocked to sleep that 
 night! But his friend Canalis slept the sleep of 
 victory, the sweetest sleep save that of the just 
 
 At breakfast the two friends agreed to go together 
 to pass the following evening at the Chalet and 
 initiate themselves into the joys of provincial 
 whist ; but, in order to use up the day, they had 
 their horses, which were broken to both carriage and 
 saddle, brought around and took a turn on horse- 
 back into the country which was as unknown to 
 them as China, for that which is least known to 
 the French in France is France itself.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 277 
 
 In reflecting upon his position of an unhappy and 
 despised lover, the secretary made a study of him- 
 self almost similar to that caused by the question 
 put by Modeste at the commencement of their cor- 
 respondence. Although misfortune is supposed to 
 develop virtues, it develops them only in virtuous 
 persons; for this kind of purification of the con- 
 science is only possible in people who are naturally 
 clean. La Briere promised himself to conceal his 
 suffering like a Spartan, to remain dignified, and not 
 to allow himself to be betrayed into any cowardice ; 
 while Canal is, fascinated by the enormity of the 
 dowry, pledged himself to neglect nothing to captivate 
 Modeste. Selfishness and devotion were the key- 
 notes of these two characters, though a moral law, 
 strange enough in its effects, brought about results 
 contrary to their natures. The selfish man was 
 going to play the part of abnegation, and the ac- 
 commodating man was going to take refuge under the 
 Aventine mount of Pride. This phenomenon is also 
 observed in politics. A man often turns his char- 
 acter inside out, and it often happens that the pub- 
 lic do not know which is the right side. 
 
 After dinner the two friends learned through Ger- 
 main of the arrival of the Grand Equerry, who was 
 presented at the Chalet in the evening by Monsieur 
 Latournelle. Mademoiselle d'Herouville hurt this 
 worthy man's feelings by sending a footman to ask 
 him to come to her, instead of simply sending her 
 nephew in person ; in which case Latournelle would 
 have talked for the rest of his days of the Grand
 
 278 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Equerry's visit. Therefore, when his Lordship 
 proposed to drive the little lawyer to Ingouville 
 with him in his carriage, Latournelle told him that 
 he was engaged to take Madame Latournelle there. 
 Thinking, from the grave manner of the lawyer, 
 that he had some mistake to repair the duke said to 
 him graciously: 
 
 "If you will permit me, I shall have the honor of 
 taking Madame Latournelle." 
 
 Notwithstanding the haughty mien of the despotic 
 Mademoiselle d'Herouville, the duke went out with 
 the little lawyer. Beside herself with joy at seeing 
 a splendid equipage before her doors, the steps of 
 which were lowered by servants in royal livery, 
 Madame Latournelle, on hearing that the Grand 
 Equerry had come to take her, was too overcome to 
 draw on her gloves, hold her parasol or put on the 
 dignity she imagined the occasion required. Once 
 in the carriage she heaped polite speeches on the 
 duke, but her good-heartedness got the better of her 
 when she exclaimed : 
 
 "Well, and what about Butscha?" 
 
 "Let us take Butscha," said the duke, smiling. 
 
 When the people on the quays, who gathered in 
 groups to watch the magnificence of this equipage, 
 saw the three little men with this tall, lean woman, 
 they laughed. 
 
 "If all the men were welded together lengthwise 
 perhaps there would be one man tall enough for that 
 pole!" said a Bordeaux sailor. 
 
 "Have you anything else which you wish to
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 279 
 
 carry, madame?" asked the duke pleasantly, as the 
 footman awaited orders. 
 
 "No, my lord," replied the lawyer's wife, blush- 
 ing and looking at her husband, as if to ask: 
 "What have I done wrong?" 
 
 "His lordship," said Butscha, "honors me by 
 calling me something. A poor clerk like myself is 
 generally considered a nonentity." 
 
 Although this was said with a smile, the duke 
 reddened and made no reply. Great persons are 
 always wrong to jest with their inferiors. Jesting is 
 a game, and the game presupposes equality. It is to 
 avoid the inconveniences of this passing equality, 
 that when a game of cards is finished, the players 
 have the right not to know one another any longer. 
 
 The ostensible reason for the visit of the Grand 
 Equerry, was a colossal business matter. That is, 
 to make available an immense tract of land left by 
 the sea between the mouths of the rivers, the 
 ownership of which had just been awarded to the 
 d'Herouville family by the Council of State. The 
 question was nothing less than to place tide gates 
 on two bridges, to drain a kilometre of sand three or 
 four hundred acres broad, to cut canals through it 
 and make roads in it When the Due d'Herouville 
 had explained the condition of this piece of land, 
 Charles Mignon observed that it would be necessary 
 to wait until nature had of its own accord consoli- 
 dated it 
 
 "Time, which has providentially enriched your 
 house, monsieur, can alone finish its work," he said
 
 280 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 as he concluded, "it would be prudent to allow fifty 
 years to elapse before commencing the work." 
 
 "I hope this may not be your final opinion, Mon- 
 sieur le Comte, " said the duke. "Come to Herou- 
 ville and see it for yourself." 
 
 Charles Mignon replied that every capitalist 
 should take time to examine this business deliber- 
 ately, thus giving by this remark, a pretext to the 
 Due d'Herouville to come to the Chalet 
 
 The sight of Modeste made a vivid impression 
 upon the duke. He asked for the honor of a call 
 from her, saying that his sister and aunt had heard 
 her spoken of and would be happy to make her 
 acquaintance. Charles Mignon then proposed to 
 present his daughter himself by going to invite the 
 two ladies to dine with them on the day of their re- 
 establishment at the villa, which the duke accepted. 
 The sight of the blue ribbon, the title, and, espe- 
 cially, the ecstatic glances of the gentleman im- 
 pressed Modeste, but she showed herself perfect in 
 speech, bearing and dignity. The duke at last 
 withdrew with reluctance, taking with him an in- 
 vitation to visit the Chalet every evening, which 
 invitation was based upon the recognized impossi- 
 bility of a courtier of Charles X. being able to pass 
 an evening without his whist 
 
 So the next evening Modeste was going to see 
 her three lovers together! Assuredly, whatever 
 young girls may say about it, and whatever the 
 heart's logic may decide as to sacrificing every- 
 thing to preference, it is exceedingly flattering
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 281 
 
 to see around one's self several rival claimants, 
 remarkable or celebrated men, or men of great 
 name, trying to please. Even if Modeste suffer 
 in your estimation, it must be acknowledged 
 that she avowed later that the sentiments expressed 
 in her letters paled before the pleasure of setting by 
 the ears three men of such different minds, either 
 one of whom taken separately would certainly have 
 done honor to the most exacting family. Never- 
 theless this pleasure of self-love was dominated in 
 her by the misanthropic malice caused by the terri- 
 ble wound she had received, which, however, 
 already began to seem like a disappointment only. 
 Therefore, when her father said to her laughingly: 
 
 "Well, Modeste, do you wish to become a duch- 
 ess?" 
 
 "Misfortune has made me a philosopher," she 
 replied, with mock humility. 
 
 "You will be only a baroness?" asked Butscha. 
 
 "Or a viscountess?" added her father. 
 
 "How is that?" asked Modeste quickly. 
 
 "Why, if you accept Monsieur de la Briere, he 
 will surely have influence enough with the king to 
 succeed to my titles and arms." 
 
 "Oh! if it is a question of his disguising himself 
 he will stand on no ceremony about it," replied 
 Modeste bitterly. 
 
 Butscha did not understand this epigrammatic 
 speech, the sense of which could only be guessed at 
 by Monsieur and Madame Mignon and Dumay. 
 
 "As soon as it is a question of marriage, all men
 
 282 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 disguise themselves," said Madame Latournelle, 
 "and women set them the example. I have heard 
 all my life the expression, 'Monsieur or Mademoiselle 
 So-and-so has made a good marriage,' therefore the 
 other must have made a bad one." 
 
 "Marriage," said Butscha, "is like a lawsuit, 
 there is always one discontented party; and if one 
 dupe dupes the other, half the married people play 
 a comedy at the expense of the other half." 
 
 "And you decide, Monsieur Butscha?" said Mo- 
 deste. 
 
 "To pay the strictest attention to the manoeuvres 
 of the enemy," replied the clerk. 
 
 "What did I tell you, my darling?" said Charles 
 Mignon, alluding to the scene with his daughter on 
 the seashore. 
 
 "To marry," said Latournelle, "men play as 
 many parts as mothers make their daughters play, 
 to get rid of them." 
 
 "Then you approve of strategy?" asked Modeste. 
 
 "On both sides," exclaimed Gobenheim, "then 
 the match is equal." 
 
 This conversation, carried on in a desultory way 
 across the whist-table and in the midst of cutting 
 and dealing, turned on Monsieur d'Herouville, who 
 was thought very good-looking by the little lawyer, 
 little Dumay and little Butscha. 
 
 "I see," said Madame Mignon, with a smile, 
 "that Madame Latournelle and my poor husband 
 are monstrosities in size here." 
 
 "Happily for him, the colonel is not so very
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 283 
 
 large," replied Butscha while his master dealt the 
 cards, "for a great and intelligent man is always an 
 exception." 
 
 Without this little discussion upon the legality 
 of matrimonial stratagems, perhaps the account of 
 the evening, awaited with such impatience by But- 
 scha, would be considered too long; but the fortune 
 for which so many secret, cowardly acts had been 
 committed, lends to the details of private life an 
 immense interest, which social sentiment, so frankly 
 defined by Ernest in his reply to Modeste, will 
 always develop. 
 
 The next morning Desplein arrived, but remained 
 only long enough to send to Havre for fresh post- 
 horses and to have them harnessed, which took 
 about an hour. He decided, after having examined 
 Madame Mignon, that she would recover her sight, 
 and he appointed a month later as the opportune 
 moment for the operation. 
 
 Naturally, this important consultation took place 
 before the agitated occupants of the Chalet, who 
 breathlessly awaited the decision of this prince of 
 science. As the illustrious member of the Scientific 
 Academy examined the blind woman's eyes by the 
 full daylight, at the window, he asked her a dozen 
 brief questions. Modeste was astonished at the 
 value of time to so celebrated a man, as she noticed 
 that the traveling carriage was full of books which 
 the savant proposed to read during his return to 
 Paris, for having set out the evening before he had 
 availed of the night for sleeping and traveling. The
 
 282 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 disguise themselves," said Madame Latournelle, 
 "and women set them the example. I have heard 
 all my life the expression, 'Monsieur or Mademoiselle 
 So-and-so has made a good marriage,' therefore the 
 other must have made a bad one." 
 
 "Marriage," said Butscha, "is like a lawsuit, 
 there is always one discontented party; and if one 
 dupe dupes the other, half the married people play 
 a comedy at the expense of the other half." 
 
 "And you decide, Monsieur Butscha?" said Mo- 
 deste. 
 
 "To pay the strictest attention to the manoeuvres 
 of the enemy," replied the clerk. 
 
 "What did I tell you, my darling?" said Charles 
 Mignon, alluding to the scene with his daughter on 
 the seashore. 
 
 "To marry," said Latournelle, "men play as 
 many parts as mothers make their daughters play, 
 to get rid of them." 
 
 "Then you approve of strategy?" asked Modeste. 
 
 "On both sides," exclaimed Gobenheim, "then 
 the match is equal." 
 
 This conversation, carried on in a desultory way 
 across the whist-table and in the midst of cutting 
 and dealing, turned on Monsieur d'Herouville, who 
 was thought very good-looking by the little lawyer, 
 little Dumay and little Butscha. 
 
 "I see," said Madame Mignon, with a smile, 
 "that Madame Latournelle and my poor husband 
 are monstrosities in size here." 
 
 "Happily for him, the colonel is not so very
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 283 
 
 large," replied Butscha while his master dealt the 
 cards, "for a great and intelligent man is always an 
 exception." 
 
 Without this little discussion upon the legality 
 of matrimonial stratagems, perhaps the account of 
 the evening, awaited with such impatience by But- 
 scha, would be considered too long; but the fortune 
 for which so many secret, cowardly acts had been 
 committed, lends to the details of private life an 
 immense interest, which social sentiment, so frankly 
 defined by Ernest in his reply to Modeste, will 
 always develop. 
 
 The next morning Desplein arrived, but remained 
 only long enough to send to Havre for fresh post- 
 horses and to have them harnessed, which took 
 about an hour. He decided, after having examined 
 Madame Mignon, that she would recover her sight, 
 and he appointed a month later as the opportune 
 moment for the operation. 
 
 Naturally, this important consultation took place 
 before the agitated occupants of the Chalet, who 
 breathlessly awaited the decision of this prince of 
 science. As the illustrious member of the Scientific 
 Academy examined the blind woman's eyes by the 
 full daylight, at the window, he asked her a dozen 
 brief questions. Modeste was astonished at the 
 value of time to so celebrated a man, as she noticed 
 that the traveling carriage was full of books which 
 the savant proposed to read during his return to 
 Paris, for having set out the evening before he had 
 availed of the night for sleeping and traveling. The
 
 This visit was the event of the day and left a 
 luminous trace in Modeste's heart The young en- 
 thusiast unaffectedly admired this man, whose life 
 belonged to others and with whom the habit of occu- 
 pying himself with physical sufferings had destroyed 
 the manifestations of egotism. In the evening, 
 when Gobenheim, the Latournelles and Butscha, 
 Canalis, Ernest and the Due d'Herouville were 
 assembled, each congratulated the members of the 
 Mignon family on the good news brought by Des- 
 plein. Then, naturally, the conversation, in which 
 Modeste took the prominent part, as her letters 
 would promise, turned upon this man whose genius, 
 unfortunately for his fame, was valued only by the 
 race of scientific men and doctors. Gobenheim 
 allowed a phrase to escape him, which in our day 
 is the sacred acme of genius, in the conception of 
 economists and bankers: 
 
 "He makes a pile of money!" 
 
 "He is said to be very eager after it," said Ca- 
 nalis. 
 
 The praise given to Desplein by Modeste annoyed 
 the poet Vanity acts like women. Both think 
 they lose something when praise is given to others. 
 Voltaire was jealous of the wit of a roue whom 
 Paris admired for a few days, even as a duchess is 
 offended by the glances cast upon her maid. Such 
 (287)
 
 288 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 is the avarice of these two sentiments that they con- 
 sider themselves robbed of the share given to a poor 
 man. 
 
 "Do you think, monsieur," asked Modeste, smil- 
 ing, "that one should judge genius by ordinary 
 standards?" 
 
 "Perhaps, before all else, we must define the man 
 of genius," replied Canalis, "and one of his con- 
 ditions is invention ; invention of a form, a system 
 or a force. Thus Napoleon was an inventor, apart 
 from his other conditions of genius. He invented 
 his method of making war. Walter Scott is an in- 
 ventor; Geoffrey Saint-Hilaire and Cuvier are in- 
 ventors. Such men are men of genius of the first 
 rank. They renew, increase or modify Science or 
 Art. But Desplein is a man whose immense talent 
 consists in applying exactly the laws already dis- 
 covered, that is to note, by a natural gift, the pecu- 
 liarities of each temperament and the hour intended 
 by nature to perform the operation. He did not 
 found, like Hippocrates, the science itself. He 
 did not discover a system, like Galen, Broussais or 
 Rasori. He has a genius of execution, like Mo- 
 scheles upon the piano, Paganini upon the violin, 
 and Tarinelli upon his own larynx ! people who have 
 developed immense faculties, but who do not create 
 music. Between Beethoven and Catalani, you will 
 allow me to award to the one the immortal crown of 
 a genius and a martyr, and to the other innumerable 
 five-franc pieces; with the one we are quits, while 
 the world remains always the debtor of the other !
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 289 
 
 We grow more in debt every day to Moliere and we 
 have paid Baron too much." 
 
 "I think, my friend, that you make the preroga- 
 tive of ideas too important," said La Briere in a 
 gentle, melodious voice, producing a sudden contrast 
 to the peremptory tone of the poet, whose flexible 
 voice had abandoned the tone of cajolery for the 
 official tone of the rostrum. "Genius should be 
 esteemed, especially on account of its usefulness. 
 Parmentier, Jacquard and Papin, to whom statues 
 will be erected some day, are also men of genius. 
 They have changed, or will change, the aspect of 
 the State in one sense or another. In this connec- 
 tion Desplein will always present himself to the 
 eyes of thinkers accompanied by an entire genera- 
 tion whose tears and sufferings have ceased through 
 the skill of his powerful hand." 
 
 It was enough that Ernest had given this opinion 
 for Modeste to wish to contradict it 
 
 "At this rate, monsieur, the man who discovers 
 the means of mowing wheat without spoiling the 
 straw, by a machine which would do the work of 
 ten reapers, would be a man of genius." 
 
 "Oh! yes, my child," said Madame Mignon, "he 
 would be blessed by the poor whose bread would 
 cost them less, and he who is blessed by the poor is 
 blessed by God." 
 
 "That is making art secondary to utility," replied 
 Modeste, tossing her head. 
 
 "Without utility," said Charles Mignon, "what 
 would become of art? How would it support itself? 
 19
 
 2QO MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 What would it live on, where would it find shelter 
 and who would pay the poet?" 
 
 "Oh! my dear father, that is indeed the opinion 
 of a man who has been away in foreign parts, of a 
 tradesman or an antediluvian. Let Gobenheim 
 and Monsieur La Briere, who are interested in the 
 solution of this social problem, maintain that opinion 
 and I can understand it, but you, whose life has 
 been the most useless poetry of this century, since 
 your blood was shed throughout Europe and your 
 fearful sufferings exacted by a giant, have not pre- 
 vented France from losing ten departments acquired 
 by the Republic; how can you fall into this reason- 
 ing, exceedingly headstrong, as the idealists say ? 
 It is plain that you have just come from China." 
 
 The impertinence of Modeste's speech was aggra- 
 vated by a slight tone of contempt and disdain 
 which she had purposely assumed and which 
 equally astonished Madame Latournelle, Madame 
 Mignon and Dumay. Madame Latournelle could 
 not see through it, though she opened her eyes very 
 wide, and Butscha, whose attention was like that of 
 a spy, looked in a significant manner at Monsieur 
 Mignon as he saw the latter 's face color with a quick 
 and lively indignation. 
 
 "A little more, mademoiselle, and you would have 
 been wanting in respect towards your father," said 
 the colonel, smiling, having been enlightened by 
 Butscha's glance. "See what it is to spoil one's 
 children." 
 
 "I am an only child!" she replied saucily.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 291 
 
 "Only?" repeated the lawyer, accenting the 
 word. 
 
 "Monsieur," replied Modeste sharply to Latour- 
 nelle, "my father is very fortunate in having me 
 for his preceptor. He has given me life, 1 give him 
 knowledge, he still remains in my debt" 
 
 "There seems occasion for it," said Madame 
 Mignon. 
 
 "But mademoiselle is right," continued Canalis, 
 as he rose and leaned against the mantelpiece in 
 one of the most beautiful of his collection of poses. 
 "God in His foresight gave food and clothing to 
 man, and He has not given him art directly ! He 
 said to man, 'to live, you must bend yourself 
 toward the earth ; to think, you must raise yourself to 
 Me! We need the life of the soul as much as the 
 life of the body. Hence these two utilities. Cer- 
 tainly one does not shoe himself with a book, and 
 an epic poem is not of as much value from a utili- 
 tarian point of view as an economical soup from the 
 bureau of public charities. The most beautiful idea 
 would be a poor substitute for the sail of a vessel. 
 It is true that an automatic cotton-gin procures 
 calico for us at thirty cents a metre cheaper than 
 ever before; but this machine and the perfections of 
 industry do not breathe life to a people and will not 
 tell in the future that they have existed; whilst 
 Egyptian, Mexican, Grecian and Roman art with 
 their masterpieces, accused of being useless, have 
 attested the existence of these people during vast 
 epochs of time, in which great intermediate nations,
 
 2Q2 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 stripped of men of genius, have disappeared without 
 leaving on the globe the impressions of their 
 features. All works of genius are the summum of a 
 civilization and presuppose an immense usefulness. 
 Surely a pair of shoes do not outweigh in your eyes 
 a theatrical piece, and you do not prefer a mill to 
 the church of Saint-Ouen? Well, then, a nation 
 is animated by the same sentiments as a man, and 
 man's favorite idea is to survive himself morally, 
 as he reproduces himself physically. The survival 
 of a nation depends on the work of its men of 
 genius. At this moment, France proves emphatic- 
 ally the truth of this theory. England surpasses 
 her in industry, commerce and navigation; and, 
 nevertheless, she stands, I believe, at the head of 
 the world through her artists, her men of talent and 
 the style of her productions. There is not an artist 
 nor an intellect who does not come to ask Paris for 
 his diploma. Just now there is no school of paint- 
 ing, save in France, and we shall, perhaps, reign 
 more surely and longer by the book than by the 
 sword. In Ernest's system, the flowers of luxury 
 would be suppressed, the beauty of women, music, 
 painting and poetry. Society would not be over- 
 thrown, but, I ask you, who would willingly accept 
 such a life? Everything that is useful is frightful 
 and homely. The kitchen is indispensable to a 
 house, but you do not choose to stay there and you 
 live in a salon, which you decorate like this with 
 things entirely superfluous. To what use are these 
 charming pictures and this sculptured wood ? There
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 293 
 
 is beauty only in that which seems useless. We 
 have called the period of Louis XVI. 'the Renais- 
 sance,' with perfect justness of expression. This 
 period was the dawn of a new world. Men will 
 speak of it still when many past centuries will be 
 forgotten, centuries whose only merit will be in 
 having existed, like the millions of beings who are 
 but units in a generation." 
 
 "Rubbish let it be! my rubbish is very dear to 
 me," responded the Due d'Herouville pleasantly, 
 during the silence which followed this pompous 
 prose debate. 
 
 "Does the art, in which according to you, genius 
 is called to make its evolutions, exist at all ?" asked 
 Butscha, attacking Canal is. "Is it not a splendid 
 lie which the social man is deluded enough to 
 believe ? What need have I for a Norman landscape 
 in my room, when I can see one much better done 
 by God ? We have more beautiful poems in our 
 dreams than the Iliad. For a small sum of money 
 I can find at Valogne, at Carentan, in Provence, at 
 Aries, many a Venus just as beautiful as those of 
 Titian. The Gazette des Tribunaux publishes 
 stories, somewhat different from those of Walter 
 Scott, which end terribly in blood and not in ink. 
 Happiness and virtue are above art or genius." 
 
 "Bravo, Butscha!" cried Madame Latournelle. 
 
 "What did he say? asked Canalis of La Briere, 
 failing to gather in the eyes and attitude of Modeste 
 the charming testimony of her artless admiration. 
 
 The scorn which she had showed toward La
 
 294 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Briere, and above all the disrespectful speeches of 
 the girl to her father, had so saddened the poor young 
 man, that he did not reply to Canalis; his eyes 
 were fixed sadly on Modeste in profound thought. 
 The clerk's argument was taken up and cleverly 
 sustained by the Due d'-Herouville, who ended by 
 saying that the ecstasies of Saint Therese were far 
 more noble than any creation of Lord Byron. 
 
 "Oh! Monsieur le Due, that was a personal 
 poetry only, whereas the genius of Byron and 
 Moliere have benefited the world at large," said 
 Modeste. 
 
 "How does that agree with Monsieur le Baron?" 
 interrupted Charles Mignon quickly. "You are now 
 trying to make us believe that genius should be 
 useful as if it were a bale of cotton; but perhaps 
 you think logic as headstrong, as old as your poor, 
 good father." 
 
 Butscha, La Briere and Madame Latournelle ex- 
 changed glances which were more or less mocking, 
 which so irritated Modeste that for a time she was 
 silent 
 
 "Never mind, mademoiselle," said Canalis smil- 
 ing at her, "we are neither beaten nor caught in a 
 contradiction. Every work of art, be it of litera- 
 ture, music, painting, sculpture or architecture, im- 
 plies a positive social utility, equal to that of all 
 other commercial products. Art is pre-eminently 
 commerce, it presupposes it A book to-day is 
 published, which brings its author something like 
 ten thousand francs. The printing of it means the
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 295 
 
 manufactory of paper, a foundry, book binding, in 
 fact, a thousand arms put into action. The execu- 
 tion of a symphony by Beethoven or an opera by 
 Rossini demands the work of just as many arms, 
 machinery and manufactories. The cost of a monu- 
 ment is an almost brutal illustration of this point 
 Indeed we may say that the works of genius have 
 an extremely costly basis, and necessarily are 
 profitable to the workingman. " 
 
 Once started on this theme, Canal is spoke for 
 some minutes with a luxury of images and phrases 
 which greatly delighted him; but like a great many 
 fine talkers, it happened at the conclusion of his 
 remarks, that he found himself at the point from 
 which he began to argue and that he was really in 
 accord with La Briere without himself perceiving it 
 
 "I observe with pleasure, my dear baron," said 
 the little Due d'Herouville slyly, "that you will 
 make a great constitutional minister." 
 
 "Oh!" said Canalis with the gesture of a great 
 man, "what is proved in all these discussions ? The 
 eternal truth of this axiom: all things are true and all 
 things are false. Moral truths, as created beings, 
 change their aspect according to the point of view." 
 
 "However, Society exists through certain decided 
 opinions," said the Due d'Herouville. 
 
 "What lax ideas, " whispered Madame Latournelle 
 to her husband. 
 
 "He is a poet," replied Gobenheim, who had 
 heard the whisper. 
 
 Canalis, who was ten leagues above the heads of
 
 2Q6 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 his audience, and who after all may have been right 
 in his last philosophical remark, took the aspect of 
 the cold indifference depicted on all the faces as 
 symptoms of their ignorance; but seeing that Mo- 
 deste had understood him, he was satisfied, being 
 unaware of the fact that monologue is disagreeable 
 to country folks whose principal occupation is to 
 show Parisians the manner of life, the intelligence 
 and wisdom of the provinces. 
 
 "Is it long since you saw the Duchesse de Chau- 
 lieu?" the duke asked of Canal is, to change the 
 conversation. 
 
 "I left her only six days ago," replied Canalis. 
 
 "She was well ?" 
 
 "Perfectly well." 
 
 "Have the goodness to recall me to her remem- 
 brance when you write to her." 
 
 "They say that she is very charming?" said 
 Modeste addressing the duke. 
 
 "Monsieur le Baron can speak more knowingly 
 on that point than I," replied the Grand Equerry. 
 
 "More than charming," said Canalis, accepting 
 the perfidy of Monsieur d'Herouville; "but then, 
 mademoiselle, I am partial. She has been my 
 friend for ten years; I owe her all that is good in 
 me, she preserved me from the dangers of the world. 
 Indeed, Monsieur le Due de Chaulieu helped me to 
 enter my present position. Without the protection 
 of that family the king, the princesses, would have 
 forgotten a poor poet like me; and my affection for 
 the duchess will always be full of gratitude."
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 297 
 
 This was said in a voice quivering with emotion. 
 
 "How we ought to love her who has inclined you 
 to write those beautiful songs and inspired you with 
 such beautiful feelings," said Modeste dreamily. 
 "Can one conceive of a poet without a Muse?" 
 
 "He would be without heart and would write dry 
 verses like Voltaire, who never loved any one ex- 
 cept Voltaire," replied Canal is. 
 
 "Did you not do me the honor to tell me in Paris, 
 that you never felt the sentiments that you ex- 
 pressed?" asked the Breton of Canal is. 
 
 "The shoe fits, my brave soldier," said the poet, 
 smiling, "but understand that it is possible to have 
 at the same time much heart in the intellectual and 
 in real life. One can express much beautiful senti- 
 ment without feeling it, and feel much without ex- 
 pressing it. La Briere, my friend here, is desper- 
 ately in love," said he with generosity, looking at 
 Modeste, "while I, who certainly love as much as 
 he at least I think so can give my love a literary 
 form in harmony with its intensity. But I do not 
 promise, mademoiselle," he said, turning to Modeste 
 with graceful affectation, "not to be without inspi- 
 ration to-morrow." 
 
 Thus the poet triumphed over all obstacles. In 
 honor of his love, he overcame all difficulties thrown 
 in his way, and Modeste remained dazzled by this 
 Parisian brilliancy which she knew nothing about 
 and which scintillated constantly in this man's con- 
 versation. 
 
 "What an acrobat!" said Butscha in Latournelle's
 
 298 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 ear after having listened to a magnificent tirade upon 
 the Catholic religion and the happiness of having a 
 pious woman for a wife, which was served in re- 
 sponse to a remark made by Madame Mignon. 
 
 Modeste's eyes were blindfolded. The distinc- 
 tion of the debater and the attention which she had 
 prearranged to give Canal is, prevented her from 
 seeing what Butscha easily remarked: the lack of 
 simplicity in declamation, the emphasis substituted 
 for sentiment and all the incoherencies of speech 
 which had caused the clerk to make his almost cruel 
 estimate of him. When Monsieur Mignon, Dumay, 
 Butscha and Latournelle were astonished at the in- 
 consequence of Canal is, even taking into consid- 
 eration the inconsequence of such conversations in 
 France, Modeste admired the poet's suppleness and 
 said to herself, as she led him through the by-ways 
 of her fancy: "He loves me!" Butscha, like all the 
 other spectators of what we must call a stage scene, 
 was struck with the principal defect of all egoists, 
 which Canal is, like all people accustomed to dis- 
 course in salons, allowed to be seen too plainly. 
 Whether he understood in advance what his inter- 
 locutor was going to say, whether he did not listen 
 or whether he had the faculty of listening while 
 thinking of something else, Melchior's face pre- 
 sented an indifferent expression which discouraged 
 the speaker as much as it wounded his vanity. 
 
 Inattention is not only a want of politeness, but 
 is a lack of respect. Now, Canal is carried this 
 habit a little too far, for he often forgot to reply to
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 299 
 
 a speech which required an answer, and passed 
 without any polite transition to the subject which 
 interested him. This impertinence is accepted 
 without protest in a man of high position, although 
 it engenders a leaven of hate and vengeance in 
 the depths of many hearts, and between equals it 
 goes so far as to destroy friendship. When, per- 
 chance, Melchior was forced to listen, he fell into 
 another fault: he only lent his attention and never 
 gave it. 
 
 Although this may not be so rude, this semi-con- 
 cession annoys the listener almost as much and 
 leaves him dissatisfied. Nothing adds more to the 
 pleasure of society than the small change of atten- 
 tion. "He that hath ears to hear, let him hear," is 
 not only a Gospel precept, it is also excellent 
 advice; follow it and nothing else will matter 
 much, not even vice. Canal is took a great deal of 
 pains to please Modeste, and although he was most 
 complaisant with her, he became himself again with 
 the others. 
 
 Modeste, careless of the fact that she was making 
 ten martyrs by the request, begged Canal is to read 
 one of his pieces of verse. She wished, she said, a 
 sample of his talent as reader, of which she had 
 heard so much. 
 
 Canal is took the volume which Modeste handed 
 him and cooed for that is the proper word for 
 it that one of his poems which was considered 
 the finest an imitation of Moore's "Loves of 
 the Angels," entitled VlTALIS, which Madame
 
 300 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Latournelle, Madame Dumay, Gobenheim and the 
 cashier took in with several yawns. 
 
 "If you play whist well, monsieur," said Goben- 
 heim, presenting five cards held like a fan, "I will 
 say that I have never seen a man so accomplished 
 as you." 
 
 This remark was greeted with laughter, for it 
 was the expression of everyone's thought 
 
 "I play it enough to be able to live in the prov- 
 inces the rest of my days," replied Canalis. "That 
 no doubt is enough 1 iterature and conversation for 
 whist players," he added, throwing the volume im- 
 patiently on the table. 
 
 This detail will show the dangers which beset 
 the hero of a salon, when like Canalis, he goes out 
 of his sphere; he then resembles the favored actor 
 of a certain public whose talent is lost in leaving 
 his own boards for those of a higher-class theatre.
 
 The baron and the duke played against Goben- 
 heim and Latournelle. Modeste took a seat near 
 the poet, to the despair of poor Ernest, who followed 
 the progress of the fascination which Canal is ex- 
 erted on the capricious girl. La Briere did not 
 possess this gift of seduction with which Melchior 
 was favored. Nature frequently denies it to gen- 
 uine-hearted people who are usually timid. This 
 gift demands courage, a vivacity of ways and means 
 which might be called the slack-rope of the mind, 
 even a little mimicry, but is there not always, 
 morally speaking, something of the comedian in a 
 poet ? Between expressing sentiments which we do 
 not feel, but of which we can imagine all the varia- 
 tions, and feigning them when we have need of 
 them for success on the stage of private life, there 
 is a great difference. Nevertheless, if the neces- 
 sary hypocrisy of a man of the world may have 
 gangrened a poet, he becomes able to transport the 
 faculties of his talent into the expression of any 
 required sentiment, as a man condemned to solitude 
 ends by transmitting his heart into his mind. 
 
 "He is only working for her millions," said La 
 Briere sadly to himself, "and yet he plays passion 
 so well that Modeste will believe in it" 
 
 Instead of trying to be more amiable and more 
 clever than his rival, La Briere imitated the Due 
 (301)
 
 302 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 d'Herouville and remained gloomy, uneasy and 
 watchful, and, whereas, the courtier studied the 
 freaks of the young heiress, Ernest was a prey to 
 the trials of the direst jealousy. He had not ob- 
 tained a single glance from his idol when he went 
 away for a few moments with Butscha. 
 
 "It is all over," he said, "she is mad over him, 
 I am more than displeasing to her, and, moreover, 
 she is right! Canal is is charming, there is clever- 
 ness even in his silence, passion in his eyes, poetry 
 in his conversation " 
 
 "Is he an honest man?" asked Butscha. 
 
 "Oh! yes," replied La Briere. "He is loyal 
 and chivalrous and capable, under Modeste's influ- 
 ence, of losing those little affectations which Ma- 
 dame de Chaulieu has taught him." 
 
 "You are a brave fellow," said the little hunch- 
 back. "But is he capable of loving will he love 
 her?" 
 
 "I do not know," replied La Briere. "Has she 
 spoken of me ?" he asked after a moment of silence. 
 
 "Yes," said Butscha, who recalled to La Briere 
 what Modeste had said about disguises. 
 
 The secretary threw himself upon a bench and 
 buried his head in his hands; he could not keep 
 back the tears and he did not wish Butscha to see 
 them; but the dwarf was just the man to guess at 
 them. 
 
 "What is the matter, monsieur?" asked Butscha. 
 
 "She is right!" said La Briere, getting up 
 quickly, "I am a wretch!"
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 303 
 
 And he related the deception into which Canal is 
 had led him, but assuring Butscha that he had 
 wanted to undeceive Modeste before she unmasked 
 herself and apostrophizing, in youthful fashion, his 
 unhappy destiny. Butscha sympathetically recog- 
 nized his love in his vigorous, naive language, his 
 genuineness and his profound anxiety. 
 
 "But why don't you show your real self to made- 
 moiselle," said Butscha, "why do you leave every- 
 thing to your rival ?" 
 
 "Ah! then you have never felt your throat 
 tighten when you tried to speak to her. You have 
 not felt something at the roots of your hair and 
 on the surface of your skin as she looks at you 
 for an instant when her eye wanders " cried 
 La Briere. 
 
 "But you had enough judgment to show sadness 
 when she as good as said to her father: 'You are 
 a crank!'" 
 
 "Monsieur, I love her too well not to have felt a 
 dagger enter my heart when I heard her thus belie 
 the perfect ideal I had formed of her." 
 
 "Canal is justified her in it," said Butscha. 
 
 "If she had more self-love than heart, one might 
 lose her without regret," replied La Briere. 
 
 At this moment Modeste, followed by Canal is, 
 who had lost at cards, came out with her father and 
 Madame Dumay to breathe the air of the starlit 
 night While his daughter promenaded with the 
 poet, Charles Mignon left her to join La Briere. 
 
 "Your friend, monsieur, ought to have been a
 
 304 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 lawyer," he said smiling and looking attentively at 
 the young man. 
 
 "You must not judge a poet with the severity 
 which you would an ordinary man like me, for ex- 
 ample," replied La Briere. "The poet has his 
 mission. He is destined by nature to see poetry 
 in questions, just as he expresses it in everything. 
 Even when you think him inconsistent with him- 
 self, he is true to his vocation. He is the painter, 
 copying equally well a Madonna or a courtesan. 
 Moliere was as correct in his characters of old men 
 as in those of young people, and surely Moliere had 
 sound judgment These witticisms, corruptive to 
 inferior men, have no influence upon the character 
 of truly great men." 
 
 Charles Mignon pressed La Briere's hand, saying 
 to him: 
 
 "This facility would, nevertheless, serve to 
 justify diametrically opposed actions, especially in 
 politics." 
 
 "Ah! mademoiselle," replied Canal is at this 
 moment, with a cajoling voice to a mischievous 
 remark by Modeste, "do not believe that the multi- 
 plicity of sensations takes the least strength from 
 the sentiments. Poets, more than other men, ought 
 to love with constancy and faith. To begin with, 
 do not be jealous of that which is called the Muse. 
 Happy the wife of a busy man ! If you could hear 
 the complaints of the women who endure the burden 
 of the idleness of husbands without office, or to 
 whom wealth allows great leisure, you would know
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 305 
 
 that the chief happiness of a Parisian woman is the 
 freedom, the sovereignty at home. But we authors 
 allow the wife to wield the sceptre with us, for it 
 is impossible for us to descend to the tyranny exer- 
 cised by small minds. We have better things to 
 do. If I should ever marry, which I vow to you is 
 a catastrophe far distant from me, I should wish 
 that my wife should have the moral liberty which 
 a mistress keeps and which is, perhaps, the source 
 of all her attractions." 
 
 Canalis thus displayed his spirits and graces in 
 speaking of love, marriage and the adoration of 
 women, in discussion with Modeste, until Monsieur 
 Mignon, who had just joined them, found the occa- 
 sion, in a moment of silence, to take his daughter 
 by the arm and lead her to Ernest, whom the 
 worthy soldier had counseled to attempt an ex- 
 planation with her. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said Ernest in a faltering voice, 
 "it is impossible for me to remain under the weight 
 of your displeasure. I do not defend myelf ; I do 
 not seek to justify myself. I only wish to observe 
 to you that before reading your flattering letter ad- 
 dressed to the person himself, and not to the poet, 
 the last, in short, I wished to dispel the error in 
 which you were, and let you know of it by a word 
 written from Havre. All the sentiments which I 
 had the honor to express to you are sincere. A 
 hope shone for me, when at Paris your father said 
 he was poor; but now, if all is lost, if I have only 
 eternal regrets, why should I remain here, where
 
 306 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 all is agony to me? Allow me then to carry away 
 one smile from you. It will be engraved upon my. 
 heart" 
 
 "Monsieur," replied Modeste, who appeared cold 
 and absent-minded, "I am not mistress here, but 
 surely I should regret to retain here those who find 
 neither pleasure nor happiness." 
 
 She left the auditor as she took Madame Dumay's 
 arm to enter the house. Some moments later, all 
 the personages of this domestic scene, again assem- 
 bled in the salon, were much surprised to see Mo- 
 deste seated at the side of the Due d'Herouville, 
 flirting with him as the most artful Parisian woman 
 would have done. She interested herself in his 
 play, gave him the advice which he asked, and 
 found the opportunity to say flattering things to 
 him, ranking the accident of noble birth as lofty as 
 that of talent or beauty. Canal is knew, or thought 
 he knew, the cause of this change, for he had 
 wished to pique Modeste, in treating marriage as a 
 catastrophe and in showing himself as averse to it; 
 but, like all who play with fire, he had burned him- 
 self. Modeste's pride, her disdain, alarmed the 
 poet, and he returned to her giving the spectacle of 
 a jealousy, all the more visible, as it was assumed. 
 Modeste, implacable as the angels, enjoyed the 
 pleasure which the use of her power gave her and 
 naturally she abused it The Due d'Herouville had 
 never had such an agreeable time! A woman actu- 
 ally smiled at him! At eleven o'clock, an unheard- 
 of hour at the Chalet, the three lovers left, the duke
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 307 
 
 finding Modeste charming, Canalis finding her ex- 
 ceedingly coquettish, and La Briere broken-hearted 
 by her severity. 
 
 For a week, the heiress behaved with her three 
 lovers as she had during this evening, so that the 
 poet appeared to have the ascendency over his 
 rivals, notwithstanding the whims and freaks which 
 from time to time gave the Due d'Herouville hope. 
 Modeste's want of respect toward her father and the 
 great liberties she took with him, her impatience 
 with her blind mother in doing perfunctorily those 
 little services which formerly were the triumph of 
 her fil ial piety, seemed the effect of a fanciful disposi- 
 tion and of a freedom allowed since her childhood. 
 When Modeste went too far, she moralized to her- 
 self and attributed her frivolousness and her pranks 
 to her independent spirit She declared to the duke 
 and to Canalis her distaste for obedience, and 
 regarded it as a real obstacle to her marrying, in 
 this way catechising the moral status of her wooers 
 after the manner of those who dig the earth in order 
 to take from it gold, coal, stone or water. 
 
 "I shall never find," she said, the evening before 
 the installation of the family in the villa was to 
 take place, "a husband who will bear my caprices 
 with the goodness of my father, who has never 
 deviated from it, nor with the indulgence of my 
 adorable mother." 
 
 "They know they are beloved, mademoiselle," 
 said La Briere. 
 
 "Be assured, mademoiselle, that your husband
 
 308 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 will appreciate the value of his treasure," added the 
 duke. 
 
 "You have more spirit and resolution than is 
 necessary to discipline a husband," said Canal is 
 laughing. 
 
 Modeste smiled as Henri IV. ought to have smiled 
 after having revealed to a foreign ambassador, the 
 character of his three principal ministers by three 
 replies to an insidious question. 
 
 The day of the dinner, Modeste, influenced by 
 the preference which she gave to Canal is, walked 
 for a long time alone with him on the gravel plot 
 which was between the house and the lawn, orna- 
 mented with flowers. From the gestures of the 
 poet and from the appearance of the young heiress, 
 it was easy to see that she listened favorably to 
 Canalis. So the two Mesdemoiselles d'Herouville 
 came to interrupt this scandalous te'te-a-te'te, and 
 with the cleverness natural to women on such occa- 
 sions, they led the conversation to court matters, 
 upon the brilliancy of an office of the Crown, in ex- 
 plaining the differences which existed between the 
 offices of the king's household and those of the 
 Crown ; they tried to intoxicate Modeste's mind by 
 touching her pride and showing her one of the 
 highest destinies to which a woman could aspire. 
 
 "To have a duke for a son," exclaimed the elder 
 woman, "is a positive advantage. This title is a 
 fortune, entirely unassailable, which one gives to 
 his children." 
 
 "To what chance," said Canalis, displeased at
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 309 
 
 having his conversation interrupted, "can we attrib- 
 ute the little success which Monsieur the Grand 
 Equerry has had until the present time, in the 
 matter in which this title can best serve a man's 
 pretensions?" 
 
 The two ladies cast a look at Canalis which was 
 as full of poison as the bite of a viper would have 
 been, and they were so disconcerted by Modeste's 
 mocking smile that they could not say a word in 
 reply. 
 
 "Monsieur the Grand Equerry," said Modeste to 
 Canalis, "has never reproached you for the humil- 
 ity which your fame inspires. Why bear him 
 malice for his modesty?" 
 
 "Besides, we have not yet met a woman worthy 
 of my nephew's rank," said the elder lady. "We 
 have met some who had only the fortune for this 
 position ; others, without the fortune, who had only 
 intelligence; and I avow that we have been obliged 
 to wait a long time before God has given us the op- 
 portunity to make the acquaintance of a person in 
 whom nobility, intelligence and the fortune of a 
 Duchesse d'Herouville are to be found. There are, 
 my dear Modeste," said Helene d'Herouville, as she 
 led her new friend a few steps away, "a thousand 
 Barons de Canalis in the kingdom, as there are a 
 hundred poets at Paris his equal, and he is so little 
 a great man, that I, a poor girl destined to take the 
 veil in default of a dowry, would not have him. 
 Besides, you do not know what a young man is who 
 has been taken advantage of for ten years by the
 
 310 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Duchesse de Chaulieu. Really, only an old woman 
 almost sixty, could submit to the little weaknesses 
 with which it is said the great poet is afflicted, and 
 the least of which in Louis XIV. was an insupport- 
 able fault But the duchess does not suffer from 
 them as much, it is true, as a wife would, for she 
 has not always had him with her as a husband 
 would be " and practising one of those manoeuvres 
 peculiar to women between themselves, Helene 
 d'Herouville repeated in a whisper the scandals 
 which women, jealous of Madame de Chaulieu, 
 spread about the poet. This little detail, common 
 enough in young people's conversations, will show 
 with what desperation the fortune of the Comte de 
 la Bastie was already contested. 
 
 In ten days, the opinions at the Chalet had greatly 
 varied about the three personages who aspired to 
 Modeste's hand. This change, which was entirely 
 to Canal is's disadvantage, was based upon consider- 
 ations of a nature which ought to cause the posses- 
 sors of any kind of fame to pause and reflect. It 
 cannot be denied when we remember the passion 
 with which autograph collecting is pursued, that 
 public curiosity is intensely excited by celebrity. 
 Most provincial people evidently do not take an 
 exact account of the way in which illustrious per- 
 sons put on their cravats, walk upon the boulevard, 
 stare into vacancy, or eat a cutlet; for when they 
 see a man dressed fashionably, or shining in a pop- 
 ularity more or less fleeting, but always envied, 
 some say: "Oh! that is he!" or even: "He is
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 311 
 
 a character!" and other strange exclamations. In 
 a word, the strange charm which all kinds of fame 
 cause, even when justly acquired, is not maintained. 
 It is, particularly for superficial persons, mockers, 
 or those who are envious, a sensation fleeting as 
 lightning, and which does not reappear. It seems 
 that glory, like the sun, warm and luminous at a 
 distance, is, if one approaches it, cold as the summit 
 of an Alp. Perhaps man is only great to his peers, 
 and the faults inherent to the human condition dis- 
 appear sooner to their eyes than to those of common 
 admirers. A poet, to please every day, should be 
 bound to display the deceitful graces of people who 
 understand how to make their obscurity pardoned 
 by their pleasing ways and their agreeable conver- 
 sation; for, besides genius, everyone demands of 
 him the weak virtues of the salon and the insipidity 
 of the family. The great poet of the Faubourg 
 Saint-Germain, who did not comply with this social 
 law, saw an insulting indifference succeed the be- 
 wilderment caused by his conversations on the first 
 evenings. Brilliancy, lavished without limit, pro- 
 duces upon the soul the effect of a glassware shop 
 upon the eyes ; it is sufficient to say that the fire, 
 the brilliancy of Canal is soon wearied those peo- 
 ple, who, according to their way of putting it, liked 
 solidity. Soon obliged to show himself an ordinary 
 man, the poet encountered many dangers upon a 
 ground where La Briere conquered the approbation 
 of those who at first had found him sullen. They 
 felt the necessity of avenging themselves upon the
 
 312 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 reputation of Canal is, by preferring his friend to him. 
 The best persons are influenced by these things. 
 The simple and straightforward auditor offended no 
 one's self-love, and in returning to him, each one 
 discovered in him heart, true modesty, safe discre- 
 tion, and an excellent bearing. The Due d'Herou- 
 ville placed Ernest for political worth far above 
 Canal is. The poet, ill-balanced, ambitious and 
 changeable as Tasso, loved luxury and grandeur 
 and he ran into debt; while the young lawyer of 
 an equable disposition, lived prudently, usefully, 
 without noise, waiting for rewards without begging 
 for them, and saving money. Canal is had, besides, 
 to those of the middle-class who watched him, a 
 special reason for distrust. For two or three days 
 past, he had showed movements of impatience, dis- 
 couragement, melancholy without any apparent 
 reason, of changes of temper, the fruits of the ner- 
 vous temperament of poets. These queer ways, 
 the provincial expression, engendered by the 
 anxieties which his wrongs towards the Duchesse 
 de Chaulieu caused him, which had grown greater 
 from day to day, and to whom he should have writ- 
 ten without being able to bring himself to it, all 
 these were carefully remarked by the gentle Amer- 
 ican and by the worthy Madame Latournelle, and 
 were the subject of more than one conversation be- 
 tween them and Madame Mignon. Canal is felt the 
 effects of these conversations without being able to 
 explain them. The attention was not the same, the 
 countenances offered to him no longer that enchanted
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 313 
 
 appearance of the first days; while Ernest com- 
 menced to make himself heard. For two days the 
 poet attempted to captivate Modeste and profited by 
 every instant when he found himself alone with her 
 to surround her with the net of passionate language. 
 Modeste's heightened color had apprised the two 
 ladies with what pleasure the heiress listened to the 
 delicious conceits, deliciously said; and anxious at 
 the progress of affairs, they had just recourse to the 
 ultima ratio of women in like cases, that is, those 
 calumnies which rarely fail of their effect, being 
 directed to the most violent physical repugnances. 
 Therefore, as he placed himself at table, the poet 
 noticed shadows upon his idol's forehead, and he 
 read there the perfidy of Mademoiselle d'Herouville 
 and judged it best to offer himself as a husband as 
 soon as he could talk with Modeste. Hearing some 
 tart but polite speeches exchanged between Canal is 
 and the two noble ladies, Gobenheim jogged his 
 neighbor, Butscha, by the elbow, motioning toward 
 the poet and the Grand Equerry. 
 
 "They will knock each other to pieces," he said 
 in his ear. 
 
 "Canal is has indeed genius enough to knock him- 
 self to pieces by himself alone," replied the dwarf.
 
 During the dinner, which was magnificent and 
 admirably well-served, the duke obtained a great 
 advantage over Canal is. Modeste, who had received 
 her riding-habit the evening before, spoke of places 
 to ride to in the neighborhood. Through a turn which 
 the conversation took, she was led to manifest a 
 desire to see a hunt, a pleasure which was unknown 
 to her. Immediately the duke proposed to give 
 Mademoiselle Mignon the sight of a hunt in one of 
 the forests of the Crown, distant some leagues 
 from Havre. Thanks to his relations with the 
 Prince de Cadignan, Master of the Hounds, he saw 
 the means of displaying before Modeste's eyes a 
 royal pageant, of captivating her by showing her 
 the fascinating court life and of making her desire 
 to enter it through her marriage. The glances 
 which were exchanged between the duke and the 
 two Mesdemoisellesd'Herouville, said plainly, "the 
 heiress is ours," so that the poet who detected them, 
 and who possessed only his personal splendors, 
 hastened to obtain a pledge of affection. Almost 
 frightened at having gone farther than she intended 
 with the d'Herouvilles, Modeste, when she walked 
 in the park after dinner, chose to go with Melchior 
 a little in advance of the company. Through a 
 young girl's curiosity, which was quite legitimate, 
 she permitted Canalis to divine the calumnies 
 (3^5)
 
 316 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 which Helene had told her, and upon an exclamation 
 from him, she asked him the secret which he prom- 
 ised to tell her. 
 
 "These stabs of the tongue," he said, "are fair 
 play in the great world. Your uprightness is 
 shocked by it, and I, I laugh at it I am even 
 happy over it These ladies must believe the in- 
 terests of his lordship are in great danger, to have 
 recourse to such things." 
 
 And profiting at once by the advantage which a 
 communication of this kind gives, Canal is used as 
 his justification, such a spirit of pleasantry, and a 
 passion so ingenuously expressed in thanking 
 Modeste for a confidence in which he ventured to 
 find a little love, that she found herself just as much 
 compromised with the poet as with the Grand 
 Equerry. Canal is, feeling the necessity of being 
 bold, declared himself openly. He made vows to 
 Modeste in which his poetry beamed forth as the 
 moon, cleverly invoked for the occasion, in which 
 shone out the description of the beauty of this lovely 
 blond, who was charmingly dressed for the family 
 fete. This pretended exaltation to which the 
 evening, the foliage, the heavens and the earth, all 
 nature, served as accomplices, carried this covetous 
 lover beyond all reason ; for he spoke of his disin- 
 terestedness and he understood by the charms of his 
 style how to rejuvenate the famous theme by Di- 
 derot of "Sophie and fifteen hundred francs," of 
 "Love in a cottage," like all lovers who well know 
 the father-in-law's pocket-book.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 317 
 
 "Monsieur," said Modeste, after having enjoyed 
 the melody of this concerto, so admirably executed, 
 upon a well-known theme, "the liberty which my 
 parents allow me has permitted me to listen to you; 
 but it is them to whom you must address yourself." 
 
 "Well," exclaimed Canal is, "tell me that if I 
 obtain their consent, you will ask nothing better 
 than to obey them." 
 
 "I know beforehand," she replied, "that my 
 father has some fancies which may annoy the just 
 pride of an old house like your own, for he wishes 
 to see his title and his name borne by his grand- 
 sons. " 
 
 "Ah! dear Modeste, what sacrifices would not 
 one make to confide his life to such a guardian angel 
 as yourself." 
 
 "You will not e-xpect me to decide the fate of all 
 my life in an instant," she said as she joined the 
 d'Herouville ladies again. 
 
 At this moment, these two noblewomen were 
 caressing the vanity of the little Latournelle in 
 order to use him for their interests. Mademoiselle 
 d'Herouville, to whom, in order to distinguish her 
 from her niece Helene, the patrimonial name must 
 be given, was telling the lawyer that the office of 
 the President of the Court at Havre, which Charles 
 X. would dispose of as she desired, was a retreat 
 due to his legal talent and to his probity. Butscha, 
 who walked with La Briere and who was frightened 
 at the progress of the audacious Melchior, found 
 the opportunity to speak with Modeste for a few
 
 318 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 moments at the foot of the flight of steps, at the 
 moment when the party were re-entering the house 
 to give themselves up to the torments of the inev- 
 itable whist 
 
 "Mademoiselle, I hope that you have not yet said 
 'Melchior' to him ?" he said to her in a low voice. 
 
 "Very nearly, my mysterious dwarf !" she replied 
 with a smile that would drive an angel to perdition. 
 
 "Great heavens!" exclaimed the clerk as he let 
 his hands fall and touch the steps. 
 
 "Well, is he not worth more than this hateful 
 and solemn secretary in whom you take such an 
 interest?" she continued, assuming towards Ernest 
 one of those haughty airs, the secret of which 
 belongs only to young girls, as if their virginity 
 lent them wings to fly so high. "Would your little 
 Monsieur de la Briere accept me without a dowry?" 
 she said after a pause. 
 
 "Ask monsieur your father," replied Butscha, 
 who took a few steps in order to lead Modeste a re- 
 spectable distance from the windows. "Listen to 
 me, mademoiselle. You know that he who is 
 speaking to you is ready to give you not only his 
 life but his honor for all time, at any moment 
 Therefore you may believe in him, and you may 
 confide in him what, perhaps, you would not say to 
 your father. Well, has this sublime Canalis spoken 
 to you in a disinterested way, which makes you 
 throw this reproach in poor Ernest's face?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Do you believe it?"
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 319 
 
 "You bad clerk," she replied, giving him one of 
 the ten or twelve nicknames which she had found 
 for him. "That question has the appearance of 
 doubting the power of my self-esteem." 
 
 "You are laughing, my dear mademoiselle; there- 
 fore there is nothing serious and 1 hope then that 
 you are making fun of him." 
 
 "What would you think of me, Monsieur Butscha, 
 if I allow myself to laugh at any of those who do 
 me the honor to wish me for a wife? Understand, 
 Master Jean, that even in appearing to despise the 
 most despicable homage, a young girl is always flat- 
 tered by it" 
 
 "Do I then flatter you?" asked the clerk, show- 
 ing his face illumined as a city for a celebration. 
 
 "You?" she said. "You show me the most pre- 
 cious of all friendships, a sentiment as disinterested 
 as that of a mother for a daughter ! Do not compare 
 yourself to anyone, for even my father is obliged to 
 devote himself to me." 
 
 She paused. 
 
 "I cannot say that I love you in the sense that 
 men give to that word, but that which I grant you 
 is everlasting and will know no change." 
 
 "Well," said Butscha, who pretended to pick up 
 a pebble in order to kiss the tip of Modeste's shoe, 
 leaving on it a tear, "let me then watch over you 
 as a dragon does over a treasure. The poet has just 
 unfolded before you the lace-work of his precious 
 phrases, the tinsel of his promises. He has sung 
 his love upon the string of his lyre, has he not?
 
 320 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 If, as soon as this noble lover should have the cer- 
 tainty of your small fortune, you should see him 
 change his conduct and become embarrassed and 
 cold, would you still make him your husband; 
 would you always give him your esteem?" 
 
 "Would not that be a Francisque Althor ?" she 
 asked, with a gesture in which there was bitter dis- 
 gust 
 
 "Allow me the pleasure of producing this change 
 of decoration," said Butscha. "Not only do I be- 
 lieve that I can do this, but afterwards I do not de- 
 spair of returning your poet to you, again in love, 
 and of making him alternately blow hot and cold 
 upon your heart as graciously as he sustains the for 
 and against in the same evening, without even 
 finding it out" 
 
 "If you are right," she said, "to whom must I 
 trust my self?" 
 
 "To him who truly loves you." 
 
 "To the little duke?" 
 
 Butscha looked at Modeste. They both took a 
 few steps together in silence. The young girl was 
 inscrutable; not even a frown betrayed her. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, allow me to be the translator of 
 the thoughts crouching at the bottom of your heart, 
 like the sea-mosses under the water, and which you 
 do not wish to explain to yourself." 
 
 "So, then, "said Modeste, "my intimate-private- 
 present-counselor would be also a mirror?" 
 
 "No, but an echo," he replied, accompanying 
 these words with a gesture full of sublime humility.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 321 
 
 "The duke loves you, but he loves you too much. 
 If I have understood well, I the dwarf, the infinite 
 delicacy of your heart, it would be repugnant to you 
 to be adored like a holy sacrament in its tabernacle. 
 But as you are eminently a woman, you would no 
 more desire to see a man incessantly at your feet, 
 of whom you would be eternally sure, than you 
 would desire an egotist likeCanalis, who would pre- 
 fer himself to you. Why ? I know nothing about it 
 I will make myself a woman, and an old woman, to 
 know the reason of this plan which 1 have read in 
 your eyes, and which is, perhaps, that of all young 
 girls. Nevertheless, you have in your great soul a 
 yearning for adoration. When a man is at your 
 knees, you could not put yourself at his. 'One cannot 
 go far thus,' said Voltaire. The little duke has too 
 many genuflections in his moral nature, and Ca- 
 nal is not enough; I might say none at all. There- 
 fore, do I divine the maliciousness hidden in your 
 smiles when you address the Grand Equerry, when 
 he talks to you, when you reply to him. You could 
 never be unhappy with the duke. All the world 
 will approve if you choose him for a husband; but 
 you will not love him at all. The coldness of 
 egotism and the excessive warmth of a continual 
 ecstasy produce without doubt a negative in the 
 heart of all women. Evidently it is not this per- 
 petual triumph that will lavish on you the infinite 
 delights of marriage of which you dream, where one 
 meets with obedience that makes one proud, where 
 one makes great and little hidden sacrifices with
 
 322 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 joy, where one feels anxieties without cause, where 
 one hopes for success with madness, where one 
 bows with joy before unexpected greatness, where 
 one is understood even to her secrets, where some- 
 times a woman protects with her love, her protec- 
 tor." 
 
 "You are a sorcerer!" said Modeste. 
 
 "You will not find that tender equality of senti- 
 ments, that continual division of life and that 
 assurance of pleasing which makes marriage accept- 
 able, in marrying Canalis, a man who thinks only 
 of himself, whose / is the sole note, whose attention 
 does not stoop sufficiently to give ear to your father 
 or to the Grand Equerry! An ambitious man of the 
 second order, to whom your dignity and your 
 obedience would be of little importance, who would 
 make of you a thing necessary in his house, and 
 who insults you already by his indifference in the 
 matter of honor. Yes, if you were to slap your 
 mother's face, Canalis would shut his eyes to be 
 able to deny your crime to himself, he is so greedy 
 for your fortune. Therefore, mademoiselle, I am 
 thinking neither of the great poet, who is only a 
 little comedian, nor of his lordship, who could be for 
 you only a fine marriage, and not a husband. " 
 
 "Butscha, my heart is a blank book, where you 
 inscribe yourself what you are reading there," re- 
 plied Modeste. "You are carried away by your 
 provincial hatred against everything which forces 
 you to look higher than your head. You do not 
 pardon the poet for being a man of politics, for
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 323 
 
 possessing a fine eloquence, for having a great 
 future, and you slander his intentions." 
 
 "He, mademoiselle? He would turn his back 
 upon you at daybreak to-morrow, with the cow- 
 ardice of a Vilquin." 
 
 "Oh, make him play this comedy, and " 
 
 "Indeed I will, upon every strain, in three days. 
 Wednesday, remember. Until then, mademoi- 
 selle, amuse yourself listening to all the airs of this 
 mechanical chanter, so that the vile discords of the 
 counterpart may show the better for it" 
 
 Modeste re-entered the drawing-room gaily, where 
 alone of all the men, La Briere, seated in the win- 
 dow recess, where without doubt he had been look- 
 ing at his idol, rose as if some usher had cried out 
 "The Queen!" It was a respectful movement, full 
 of that quick eloquence appropriate to a gesture, 
 and which surpassed that of the finest speech. 
 Love by words is not worth so much as love by 
 actions, and all young girls of twenty years should 
 have the wisdom of fifty to understand this axiom. 
 Therein lies the most seductive argument Instead 
 of looking at Modeste in her full face as did Canal is, 
 who greeted her with public homage, the disdained 
 lover followed her with a long look askance, hum- 
 ble, after the manner of Butscha, almost timorous. 
 The young heiress noticed this look as she went to 
 place herself near Canal is, in whose game she ap- 
 peared to interest herself. During the conversa- 
 tion, La Briere learned by a word from Modeste to 
 her father that on Wednesday she would commence
 
 324 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 her horseback riding; and she observed to him that 
 she needed a whip in keeping with the magnificence 
 of her riding-habit The secretary cast a glance 
 which sparkled like fire, at the dwarf, and some 
 moments later they were both walking upon the 
 terrace. 
 
 "It is nine o'clock," said Ernest to Butscha. "I 
 start for Paris at full speed and I can be there to- 
 morrow morning at ten o'clock. My dear Butscha, 
 from you she will accept a remembrance, for she is 
 friendly to you. Let me give her in your name a 
 whip and know that the reward of this immense 
 kindness will be that in me you will have not only 
 a friend but devotion " 
 
 "Go, you are indeed fortunate," said the clerk. 
 "You have money, you! " 
 
 "Let Canal is know that I shall not return home, 
 and that he must invent a pretext to justify my two 
 days' absence." 
 
 One hour later, Ernest set out in the mail-coach 
 and arrived at Paris in twelve hours, where his 
 first care was to retain a place in the post-wagon 
 for Havre for the following day. Then he went to 
 three of the most celebrated jewelers of Paris to 
 compare whip handles, seeking the most royally 
 beautiful that art could offer. He found a fox-hunt 
 carved in gold and surmounted by a ruby, at an 
 exorbitant price for the income of a secretary, and 
 which had been made by Stidmann for a Russian 
 lady who could not pay for it after having ordered 
 it All his savings went into it, for it was a matter
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 325 
 
 of seven thousand francs. Ernest gave the design 
 of the coat-of-arms of La Bastie instead of that 
 which was already there, and allowed twenty hours 
 for the work. This carved handle, a masterpiece of 
 delicacy, was affixed to a rubber whip and put into 
 a red morocco case lined with velvet, upon which 
 were marked two M's interlaced. La Briere arrived 
 by the post on Wednesday morning in time to 
 breakfast with Canal is. The poet had concealed 
 his secretary's absence, saying that he was busy 
 with some work sent from Paris. Butscha, who 
 was at the post to offer his hand to the auditor on 
 the arrival of the coach, ran to carry to Francoise 
 Cochet this work of art, and asked her to place it 
 upon Modeste's toilet table. 
 
 "You will doubtless accompany Mademoiselle 
 Modeste upon her ride," said the clerk, who went 
 to Canal is's house to announce to Ernest by a wink 
 that the whip had reached its destination satisfac- 
 torily. 
 
 "1?" asked Ernest "No, I am going to bed." 
 
 "Ah, bah!" exclaimed Canalis, looking at his 
 friend. "I do not understand you any longer." 
 
 They went to breakfast and naturally the poet 
 asked the clerk to sit with them. Butscha re- 
 mained, intending to have himself invited, if 
 necessary, by La Briere. He had seen on Ger- 
 main's face the success of a malicious trick which 
 would seem to anticipate his promise to Modeste. 
 
 "Monsieur would indeed do well to keep Monsieur 
 Latournelle's clerk," said Germain in Canal is'sear.
 
 326 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Canal is and Germain went into the salon, at a 
 wink from the servant to his master. 
 
 "This morning, monsieur, I went to see some 
 fishing, with a party proposed yesterday by the 
 master of a bark whose acquaintance I have made." 
 
 Germain did not acknowledge that he had had the 
 bad taste to play billiards in a cafe at Havre where 
 Butscha had surrounded him with his friends to act 
 at will upon him. 
 
 "Well ?"said Canalis. "To the point, quickly." 
 
 "Monsieur le Baron, I heard a discussion about 
 Monsieur Mignon which I pushed to my utmost, as 
 no one knew to whom I belonged. Ah! Monsieur 
 le Baron, the talk of the world is that you have got 
 yourself into a trap. The fortune of Mademoiselle 
 de la Bastie is like her name, very modest. The 
 ship upon which the father returned is not his, but 
 belongs to the Chinese merchants to whom he must 
 faithfully give an account. On this subject some 
 things not very flattering to the colonel's honor are 
 said. Having heard it said that you and Monsieur 
 le Due are disputing for Mademoiselle de la Bastie, 
 I have taken the liberty to forewarn you; for of you 
 two it were better that it should be his lordship to 
 snap her up. As I returned, I made a turn on the 
 quay, before the theatre where the merchants were 
 walking, among whom I could worm myself about 
 boldly. These good fellows, seeing a well-dressed 
 man, began to talk about Havre; from one thing to 
 another I led them upon the subject of Colonel 
 Mignon, and they agreed so well with the fishermen,
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 327 
 
 that I should fail in my duty were I silent That 
 is the reason that I left monsieur to dress himself, 
 to rise alone, " 
 
 "What shall I do?" exclaimed Canal is, finding 
 himself so engaged as to be unable to retract his 
 promises to Modeste. 
 
 "Monsieur knows my attachment, " said Germain, 
 seeing the poet look as if he were thunderstruck, 
 "and he will not be astonished to see me give him 
 some advice. If you could get this clerk intoxi- 
 cated he would tell the very last fact, and if he 
 does not open his heart at the second bottle of cham- 
 pagne, all will be well at the third. It would be 
 strange indeed if monsieur, whom, doubtless, we 
 shall see some day an ambassador, as Philoxene has 
 heard it said to Madame la Duchesse, does not suc- 
 ceed with a clerk of Havre." 
 
 At this moment, Butscha, the unknown author of 
 the fishing party, asked the auditor to be silent 
 upon the subject of his trip to Paris and not to med- 
 dle with his manoeuvres at table.
 
 The clerk had made use of an unfavorable reac- 
 tion against Charles Mignon which had begun to 
 operate in Havre. On these grounds: The Comte 
 de la Bastie had left in complete forgetfulness some 
 of his former friends who, during his absence, had 
 forgotten his wife and daughters. On hearing that 
 he intended to give a grand dinner at the Mignon 
 villa each one flattered himself that he would be 
 invited, but when they learned that only Goben- 
 heim, the Latournelles, the duke, and the two Paris- 
 ians were invited, a clamor arose against the pride 
 of the merchant ; his affectation in not seeing any 
 one and not going down to Havre, was observed 
 and attributed to a feeling of contempt for Havre 
 for having questioned his sudden accession to for- 
 tune. Thus gossip soon went so far as to say that 
 the funds necessary to redeem the property from 
 Vilquin had been furnished by Dumay. This 
 allowed those most bitter against him to say calum- 
 niously that Charles had made over a great deal 
 of his property to Dumay to save it from the claims 
 of his associates in Canton. The few words of 
 Charles, who had always intended to conceal his 
 fortune, the whisperings of the people on what they 
 heard, gave a semblance of truth to these gross 
 fables, which each believed with that spirit of 
 slander which merchants use against each other. 
 (329)
 
 330 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Just in the proportion that half-hearted patriotism 
 toward one of the founders of Havre boasted of 
 his immense fortune, the jealousy of the provincials 
 diminished it. Butscha asked the fishermen, who 
 were indebted to him for many favors, to keep the 
 secret and use their tongues in his service; which 
 they did well. The captain of the bark told Ger- 
 main that one of his cousins, a sailor, had come 
 from Marseilles where he had just left the brig 
 which brought the colonel home. The brig was 
 sold in the name of Castagnould, and the cargo, 
 according to his cousin's statement, was not worth 
 more than three or four hundred thousand francs. 
 
 "Germain," said Canalis, just as the valet was 
 leaving the room, "serve us champagne and Bor- 
 deaux. A member of the bar of Normandy must 
 have a souvenir of a poet's hospitality Besides, he 
 has the wit of Figaro," said Canalis, leaning on the 
 dwarf's shoulder, "and this wit must be sharpened 
 and brightened with champagne. You and I will 
 not spare the wine neither will Ernest. My faith, 
 it has been well-nigh two years since I was drunk," 
 he added, looking at La Briere. 
 
 "With wine? I can believe that," said the clerk. 
 "You must get drunk every day with yourself. 
 You quaff direct the cup of praise. Ah! you are 
 handsome, you are a poet, you are famous in your 
 lifetime, you have the power of conversation as 
 great as your genius, and you please all women, 
 even my master's wife. Beloved by the most 
 beautiful Sultana Valide that I ever saw I never
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 331 
 
 saw but her you can if you wish wed Mademoi- 
 selle de la Bastie. See here, only to enumerate 
 your present advantages, to say nothing of the future 
 a title, peerage, embassy! is enough to intoxi- 
 cate me, like men who bottle other men's wine." 
 
 "All these social distinctions," said Canalis, 
 "count for little without the one thing needful for- 
 tune. We are all men here and can talk freely. 
 Fine sentiments do very well in verse." 
 
 "And depend upon circumstances," said the clerk 
 with a significant gesture. 
 
 "But, you maker of contracts," said the poet, 
 smiling at the interruption, "you know as well as I 
 do, that cottage rhymes with pottage." 
 
 At table, Butscha played the r61e of Rigaudin in 
 the Maison en loterie in a way which almost fright- 
 ened Ernest, as he did not know the frolics of an 
 office, which are equal to those of the studio. The 
 clerk recounted the scandalous stories of Havre, the 
 gossip about fortunes, those of the boudoir and the 
 crimes committed code in hand which are called in 
 Normandy "getting out of a tight place as best you 
 can." He spared no one, and his spirits increased 
 as he poured down his throat torrents of wine, like 
 rain down a gutter. 
 
 "Do you know, La Briere, that this brave fellow 
 would make a famous secretary to the embassy?" 
 said Canalis. 
 
 "And push out his chief," cried the dwarf, throw- 
 ing Canalis a glance, the insolence of which was 
 drowned in the fizzing of carbonic acid gas. "I
 
 332 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 have little enough gratitude and plenty of intrigue 
 to mount by your shoulders. A poet carrying a 
 hunchback ! that has been seen before to-day and 
 very often, too on the bookshelves. Come, you 
 look at me as a sword swal lower. Ah! my dear 
 great genius, you are a superior man, you know 
 very well that gratitude is a silly word, which is 
 put in the dictionary, but is not in the human heart 
 Gratitude is worth nothing except on a certain 
 mount which is neither Pindus nor Parnassus. Do 
 you think I owe anything to my master's wife who 
 brought me up? Of course not; the whole village 
 has evened that account in esteem, praise, and 
 admiration the best of coin. I do not acknowledge 
 any good which is only the reward of self-love. 
 Men make a commerce of their favors, the word 
 gratitude indicates a debit balance that is all. As 
 to schemes, they are my divinity. What!" he said 
 in answer to a gesture of Canal is, "do you not ad- 
 mire the faculty which enables a politic man to get 
 ahead of a man of genius ; when it demands the con- 
 stant observation of his vices, the weaknesses of 
 his superiors and the knowledge of the propitious 
 moment to act? Ask the diplomat if his greatest 
 successes are not the triumph of skill over force ? If 
 I were your secretary, Monsieur le Baron, you 
 would soon be prime minister because it would be 
 to my interest for you to be. See! would you like 
 a proof of my little talents of this kind? Listen! 
 you love desperately Mademoiselle Modeste and you 
 are right That child has my fullest esteem, she is
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 333 
 
 a true Parisian. Sometimes, here and there, you 
 find Parisians in the provinces. Our Modeste is 
 just the woman to push a man along she has it in 
 her," he said with a turn of his finger in the air. 
 "You have a dangerous rival in the duke: what 
 will you give me to make him leave Havre in three 
 days?" 
 
 "Let us finish the bottle," said the poet, filling 
 up Butscha's glass. 
 
 "You are going to make me drunk!" said the 
 clerk, gulping down his ninth glass of champagne. 
 "Have you a bed where I could get an hour's sleep? 
 My master is as sober as the camel that he is, and 
 Madame Latournelle also. One or the other of 
 them would scold me, and rightly, too, if I take more 
 I have some deeds to draw." 
 
 Then, taking up his previous ideas after the 
 fashion of a drunken man, he exclaimed: 
 
 "And such a memory! it is equal to my grati- 
 tude." 
 
 "Butscha," cried the poet, "just now you said 
 that you had no gratitude, now you contradict 
 yourself." 
 
 "Not at all," replied the clerk. "To forget is 
 almost always to remember! Come now! I am 
 just cut out for a famous secretary 
 
 "What means would you take to get rid of the 
 duke?" asked Canal is, charmed to have the con- 
 versation take this turn. 
 
 "That that does not concern you!" said the 
 dwarf, pretending to hiccough.
 
 334 MODESTE M1GNON 
 
 Butscha rolled his head on his shoulders and 
 turned his eyes from Germain to La Briere, from La 
 Briere to Canal is, after the manner of a man who 
 begins to feel himself intoxicated and wishes to 
 know if others have observed it; for, in the ship- 
 wreck of drunkenness it is noticeable that self-love 
 is the only sentiment which floats. 
 
 "I say! my great poet, you are not a bad joker 
 yourself! You take me, then, for one of your 
 readers, you who sent your friend to Paris post 
 haste to inquire into the fortune of the Mignons 
 I trick, thou trickest, we trick Good ! But do me 
 the honor to believe that I am smart enough to 
 always appear to have the necessary amount of 
 conscience in its place. In my vocation of head 
 clerk to master Latournelle my heart is a box, pad- 
 locked! My mouth never lets out anything about a 
 client. I know everything and I know nothing. 
 Besides, my passion is well known. I love Mo- 
 deste, she is my scholar, and she must make a fine 
 marriage. And I will send away the duke if need 
 be and you can marry " 
 
 "Germain, coffee and liqueurs! " said Canal is. 
 
 "Liqueurs?" repeated Butscha, raising his hand 
 like a pretended virgin who resists a seduction. "Ah ! 
 my poor deeds! there was a marriage-contract 
 among them. There! my second clerk is as stupid 
 as a matrimonial provision and is capable of p p 
 putting his penknife through the clause as to the 
 bride's paraphernalia. He thinks he is a handsome 
 man because he is five feet six the idiot!"
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 335 
 
 "Here is some crime de the, a 1 iqueur of the Indies, " 
 said Canalis. "You, whom Mademoiselle Modeste 
 consults " 
 
 "She consults me " 
 
 "Well, do you think that she loves me?" asked 
 the poet. 
 
 "More than she loves the duke," replied the 
 dwarf, arousing himself from a sort of stupor which 
 he acted wonderfully well. "She loves you on ac- 
 count of your disinterestedness. She told me, in 
 speaking of you, that she was prepared to make the 
 greatest sacrifices, to economize in dress, and not to 
 spend more than a thousand crowns a year, and to 
 employ her life in proving to you that you had done 
 well to marry her. She is devilishly good hic- 
 cough bless you! and well-informed, she knows 
 everything, that girl does." 
 
 "And she has three hundred thousand francs," 
 said Canalis. 
 
 "Oh! it is perhaps as much as that," replied the 
 enthusiastic clerk. "Papa Mignon, you see he is 
 mignon as father as well as in name that is why I 
 like him, he would give up anything to marry his 
 only daughter well. The colonel is accustomed 
 since your Restoration (hiccough) to live on half 
 pay, and he would be content to live with Dumay 
 on little or nothing in Havre if he could get together 
 three hundred thousand francs for the little one. 
 But do not let us forget that Dumay's fortune is 
 destined for Modeste. Dumay, you know, is a 
 Breton, and his very origin guarantees a fulfilment
 
 336 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 of his undertaking, he never retracts his word and 
 his fortune equals that of the colonel. Neverthe- 
 less, as they take my advice as much as you, 
 although I do not talk so much or so well, I told 
 them 'You sink too much in that house; if Vilquin 
 goes back on you there are two hundred thousand 
 francs which bring you in nothing. Then there 
 are only one hundred thousand francs left to get 
 along on and that is not enough, take my word for 
 it' Then the colonel and Dumay consulted to- 
 gether. Believe me, though, Modeste is rich. The 
 people on the quay talk a lot of nonsense, but they 
 are jealous. Who else in the department has such 
 a dot?" said Butscha, counting on his fingers. 
 "Two or three hundred thousand francs in ready 
 money," said he bending back the thumb of his left 
 hand with the first finger of his right, "that is one! 
 The property of the Mignon villa," touching the 
 second finger "Tertio, the Dumay fortune!" he 
 added, doubling down the third finger. "Ah! little 
 mother, Modeste will have her six hundred thousand 
 francs when the two soldiers get their marching 
 orders from the Eternal Father." 
 
 This naive and coarse confidence intermingled 
 with glasses of liqueurs, sobered Canal is as much as 
 it seemed to intoxicate Butscha. For the clerk, a 
 young countryman, this fortune was evidently 
 colossal. His head fell into the palm of his right 
 hand and with his elbows placed majestically on 
 the table he blinked his eyes and went on talking 
 to himself.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 337 
 
 "In twenty years to come, according to that Code 
 which piles up the fortunes under the title of ' Suc- 
 cessions/ an heiress of six hundred thousand francs 
 will be as rare as disinterestedness is among 
 usurers. You will say that Modeste can well spend 
 twelve thousand francs a year, the interest on her 
 dot, well she is so sweet so sweet so sweet She 
 is, do you see to a poet metaphors are necessary 
 she is a weasel, as mischievous as a monkey." 
 
 "Why did you tell me, then, that she had six 
 millions?" cried Canalis in a low tone, glancing at 
 La Briere. 
 
 "My friend," said Ernest, "I ought not to say 
 anything, I am bound by an oath, and perhaps, I 
 ought not to say even that " 
 
 "An oath to whom ?" 
 
 "To Monsieur Mignon," 
 
 "How is this, Ernest? You who know how 
 necessary fortune is to me." 
 
 Butscha snored. 
 
 "You who know my position, who know all that 
 I shall lose in the Rue de Crenelle by this attempt 
 to marry, you could coolly let me ruin myself " 
 said Canalis turning pale. "This was an affair of 
 friendship, my dear fellow; a compact entered into 
 long before this one which the crafty Provencal 
 Mignon asked of you." 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Ernest, "I love Modeste 
 too much to " 
 
 "Fool! then take her," cried the poet "Break 
 your oath "
 
 338 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "You swear to me on your word of honor to forget 
 what I am going to tell you and to act toward me, 
 whatever happens, as if this confidence had never 
 been made?" 
 
 "I swear it by the memory of my mother." 
 
 "Well then," said La Briere, "Monsieur Mignon 
 told me at Paris that he was far from having the 
 colossal fortune of which the Mongenods spoke to 
 me. The colonel's intention is to give two hundred 
 thousand francs to his daughter. Now, Melchior, 
 was the father distrustful ? was he sincere ? That 
 question is not for me to answer. If she deigns to 
 choose me, Modeste will be my wife even if she has 
 no dot" 
 
 "A blue stocking! educated enough to ruin her, a 
 girl who has read everything, who knows every- 
 thing in theory that is," exclaimed Canalis at a 
 gesture of La Briere, "a spoiled child raised in the 
 lap of luxury and then deprived of it for five years! 
 Ah! my poor friend, think well of it " 
 
 "Ode and code!" said Butscha waking up, "you 
 make odes, I make codes, and there is only the dif- 
 ference of a C between us. Now, code comes from 
 coda, a tail ! You have refreshed me and I love you 
 do not go to making codes. Here, I will give you 
 a piece of good advice for your wine and your creme 
 de the. Father Mignon is cream too the cream of 
 honest men. All right, get on your horse, he is 
 going to accompany his daughter and you can talk 
 frankly to him of the dot, he will reply candidly 
 and you will get at the truth of the matter as true
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 339 
 
 as I am drunk and you are a great man, but any- 
 way, we are going to leave Havre together, are we 
 not? I will be your secretary, as this little fellow 
 who thinks that I am drunk and is laughing at me, 
 will leave you. Come, let's go! and leave him to 
 marry the girl." 
 
 Canal is got up to go and dress himself. 
 
 "Hush! not a word! he is hastening to commit 
 suicide," said Butscha soberly to La Briere, and as 
 cool as Gobenheim, he made a gesture to Canal is 
 familiar to the Paris gamins. "Adieu! my grand 
 master," cried the clerk at the top of his voice, 
 "will you allow me to sleep off the fumes in that 
 kiosk of Madame Amaury?" 
 
 "Make yourself at home," replied the poet. 
 
 Butscha gained the kiosk, much to the amuse- 
 ment of three of Canal is's servants as he walked 
 over the flower-beds and around the vases of flowers 
 with the curious grace of an insect which describes 
 its interminable zigzags, in trying to go out of a 
 closed window. When he had shut himself in the 
 kiosk and the servants had gone into the house, he 
 sat down on a painted wooden bench and abandoned 
 himself to the delights of his triumph. He had just 
 fooled a great man, he had not only torn away his 
 mask, but he had seen him untie the knots and he 
 laughed as an author over his own piece, that is to 
 say, with a sense of the immense value of his vis 
 comica. 
 
 "Men are like tops," he cried, "you have only 
 to find the string to wind them with. Should
 
 340 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 I not faint away if any one came to me saying: 
 'Mademoiselle Modeste has just fallen from her 
 horse and broken her leg!' " 
 
 Some moments later, Modeste, dressed in a beau- 
 tiful riding-habit of bottle-green cashmere, with a 
 small green hat and veil, buckskin gloves and vel- 
 vet boots, upon which fluttered the lace of her un- 
 dergarments, and mounted on a richly-caparisoned 
 pony, showed to her father and the Due d'Herou- 
 ville the pretty present which she had received; 
 she was delighted with it, as it was one of those 
 attentions which flatter women highly. 
 
 "Is this from you, Monsieur le Due?" she said, 
 extending to him the sparkling end of the whip. A 
 card was with it which read "Guess if you can," 
 and interrogation points. "Francoise and Madame 
 Dumay attribute this charming surprise to Butscha, 
 but my dear Butscha is not rich enough to pay for 
 such beautiful rubies! But my father, to whom I 
 remember saying Sunday evening that I had no 
 whip, has sent to Rouen for this one for me." 
 
 Modeste pointed to a whip in her father's hand, 
 the end of which was studded with turquoises, then 
 the fashion but since become very common. 
 
 "I would give ten years of my old age, mademoi- 
 selle, to have the right to offer you this magnificent 
 jewel," replied the duke, courteously. 
 
 "Ah! here is the audacious man!" exclaimed 
 Modeste, as she saw Canal is approaching on horse- 
 back. "It is only a poet who knows how to find 
 such pretty things Monsieur," she said to
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 341 
 
 Melchior, "my father will scold you, and you give 
 justification to those who reproach you here with 
 extravagance." 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Canal is, artlessly, "that, then, 
 is why La Briere went from Havre to Paris at full 
 speed!" 
 
 "Your secretary has taken such liberties?" said 
 Modeste growing pale and throwing her whip to 
 Francoise Cochet with a gesture in which could be 
 read profound contempt "Return this whip, 
 father, for me." 
 
 "Poor fellow, he is lying on his bed half-dead 
 from fatigue!" replied Melchior as he followed the 
 young girl who had dashed off at a gallop. "You 
 are hard, mademoiselle. 'I,' he said to me, 'have 
 only this chance to recall myself to her memory.' ' 
 
 "And would you esteem a woman who was capa- 
 ble of keeping remembrances from half the 
 parish?" asked Modeste. 
 
 Modeste, surprised at not receiving any reply from 
 Canal is, attributed this inattention to the noise of 
 the horses' feet 
 
 "How you delight to torment those who love 
 you!" said the duke to her. "This nobleness and 
 pride contradict so well your faults, that I begin to 
 suspect you slander yourself in premeditating your 
 naughtiness." 
 
 "Ah! you have just found it out, Monsieur le 
 Due," she said with a laugh. "You have the 
 clear-sightedness of a husband!" 
 
 They went almost a kilometer in silence.
 
 342 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Modeste was astonished not to receive the burning 
 glances of Canal is, who appeared a little too much 
 taken with the beauties of the landscape for this 
 admiration to be natural. The evening before, 
 Modeste pointing out to the poet an admirable effect 
 of the sunset on the sea, had said to him upon find- 
 ing him as stupefied as a deaf person : 
 
 "Well, do you not see it?" 
 
 "I see only your hand," he had replied. 
 
 "Does Monsieur la Briere know how to ride?" 
 asked Modeste of Canal is to tease him. 
 
 "Not very well, but he rides," replied the poet, 
 who had become as cold as Gobenheim before the 
 colonel's return. 
 
 Along the route of a cross-road which Monsieur 
 Mignontookto go by a pretty valley to a hill which 
 crowned the course of the Seine, Canal is allowed 
 Modeste and the duke to pass, restraining his horse's 
 pace in a way to be able to keep company with the 
 colonel. 
 
 "Monsieur le Comte, you are a straightforward 
 military man, so no doubt you will see a claim to 
 your esteem in my frankness. When propositions 
 of marriage, with all their savage, or if you will, 
 too civilized discussions, pass through the mouth of 
 a third party, everyone loses by it. We are both 
 of us gentlemen, one as discreet as the other, and 
 you have, like myself, overcome the age of sur- 
 prises; therefore, let us speak as good comrades. I 
 will give you the example. I am twenty-nine 
 years old, I am without landed fortune, and I am
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 343 
 
 ambitious. Mademoiselle Modeste pleases me ex- 
 ceedingly, you must have noticed it Now, not- 
 withstanding the faults which your dear child gives 
 herself at pleasure " 
 
 "Without counting those which she has," said 
 the colonel smiling. 
 
 "I would very gladly make her my wife, and I 
 believe I could make her happy. The question of 
 fortune is of all importance to my future, which is 
 to-day being agitated. But, in spite of everything, 
 all young girls in marrying expect to be loved. 
 Nevertheless, you are not the man to wish to marry 
 your dear Modeste without a dowry, and my situa- 
 tion would no more permit me to make a so-called 
 marriage of love than to take a wife who would not 
 bring a fortune at least equal to my own. I have 
 salaries from my sinecures, the Academy, and the 
 receipts from my publishers, about thirty thousand 
 francs a year, an enormous fortune for a bachelor. 
 If my wife and I, together, have sixty thousand 
 francs income, I should be in the same condition of 
 life as I am now. Shall you give a million to Ma- 
 demoiselle Modeste?" 
 
 "Ah! monsieur, you are very far from the 
 amount," said the colonel, jesuitically. 
 
 "Let us suppose then," replied Canal is eagerly, 
 "that instead of talking, we have whistled. You 
 will be satisfied with my behavior, Monsieur le 
 Comte; I shall be included among those unfortunate 
 beings whom this charming girl has refused. Give 
 me your word to keep silence to everyone, even to
 
 344 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Mademoiselle Modeste, for," he added as a bit of 
 consolation, "such a change in my position might 
 take place that it would allow me to ask her of you 
 without dowry." 
 
 "I promise you," said the colonel. "You know, 
 monsieur, with what bombast the provincial public, 
 like that of Paris, talks of the fortunes which are 
 made and unmade. Happiness and misfortune are 
 equally magnified; we are never as unhappy nor as 
 happy as we are thought to be. In commerce, there 
 is no security except the capital placed in landed 
 property, after all bills are paid. I await with 
 great impatience the reports of my agents. The 
 sale of my merchandise and of my vessel, and the 
 settling of my accounts in China; nothing is 
 finished. I shall not know my fortune for ten 
 months. Nevertheless, at Paris I guaranteed two 
 hundred thousand francs dowry to Monsieur de la 
 Briere and in ready cash. I wish to establish an 
 entailed estate and assure the future of my grand- 
 children in obtaining for them the transmission of 
 my arms and titles." 
 
 Canal is had not listened to this reply after the 
 opening sentence. The four riders, finding them- 
 selves in a road broad enough, rode abreast and 
 gained the plateau from whence the eye overlooked 
 the rich basin of the Seine, toward Rouen, while on 
 the other horizon the sea could still be seen. 
 
 "Butscha was right, I believe. God is a great 
 landscape painter," said Canalis, as he contem- 
 plated this point of view, unique among those which
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 345 
 
 make the borders of the Seine so justly cele- 
 brated. 
 
 "It is especially true at the hunt, my dear 
 baron," replied the duke, "when Nature is animated 
 by a voice, by a tumult in the silence, that the 
 landscapes seen rapidly then, appear truly sublime 
 in their changing effects." 
 
 "The sun is an inexhaustible palette," said Mo- 
 deste, looking at the poet in a kind of stupefaction. 
 
 At a remark from Modeste upon Canal is's absent- 
 mindedness, he replied that he was absorbed in his 
 own thoughts, an excuse that authors give oftener 
 than other men. 
 
 "Are we, then, very happy in transporting our 
 life to the heart of the world, in aggrandizing there 
 our thousand superficial needs and our over-excited 
 vanities?" said Modeste, at the aspect of this quiet 
 and rich country which counseled a philosophical 
 tranquillity of existence. 
 
 "This bucolic, mademoiselle, is always written 
 upon golden tables," said the poet 
 
 "And perhaps conceived in attics," replied the 
 colonel. 
 
 After having cast a searching glance on Canal is 
 which he could not endure, Modeste heard the 
 sound of bells; she looked solemnly before her and 
 exclaimed in an icy tone: 
 
 "Ah! to-day is Wednesday!" 
 
 "It is not to flatter the passing caprice of made- 
 moiselle," said the Due d'Herouville, solemnly, to 
 whom this scene, so tragic for Modeste, had allowed
 
 346 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 time to think, "but I declare that I am so pro- 
 foundly disgusted with society, with the Court and 
 with Paris, that with a Duchesse d'Herouville 
 gifted with the graces and the mind of mademoi- 
 selle, I would promise to live as a philosopher in 
 my chateau, doing good around me, draining my 
 deltas and educating my children, " 
 
 "That, Monsieur le Due, shall be placed to your 
 account," replied Modeste, as she rested her eyes 
 for a long time on this noble gentleman. "You 
 flatter me," she continued, "you do not think me 
 frivolous, and you give me credit for resources 
 enough in myself to live in solitude. Perhaps that 
 is to be my fate," she added, looking at Canal is 
 with an expression of pity. 
 
 "It is that of all mediocre fortunes," replied the 
 poet. "Paris exacts a Babylonian luxury. At 
 times I ask myself how I have had enough to get 
 along there until now." 
 
 "The king can reply for us both," said the 
 duke candidly, "for we live on his Majesty's 
 bounty. If we had not been allowed since the fall 
 of Monsieur le Grand, who is called Cinq-Mars, 
 to keep his office in our family, we should have 
 been obliged to sell Herouville at auction. Ah! 
 believe me, mademoiselle, it is a great humiliation 
 for me to mix these financial questions with my 
 marriage " 
 
 The simplicity of this avowal coming from the 
 heart, and in which the sorrow was sincere, touched 
 Modeste.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 347 
 
 "To-day," said the poet, "no one in France, 
 Monsieur le Due, is rich enough to be so mad as to 
 marry a wife for her personal worth, for her graces, 
 for her character, or for her beauty " 
 
 The colonel looked at Canal is in a singular way, 
 after having examined Modeste, whose face no 
 longer showed any astonishment 
 
 "For people of honor," then said the colonel, "it 
 is a good employment for their wealth to destine it 
 to repair the ravages of time in the old historical 
 families." 
 
 "Yes, papa," replied the young girl gravely. 
 
 The colonel invited the duke and Canalis to dine 
 with him, without ceremony, in their riding cos- 
 tumes, he, himself, giving them the example of a 
 neglige costume. 
 
 When, upon her return, Modeste went to change 
 her dress, she regarded with curiosity the jewel 
 which had been brought from Paris and which she 
 had so cruelly disdained. 
 
 "How beautifully work is done now!" she said 
 to Francoise Cochet, who had become her maid. 
 
 "And this poor fellow, mademoiselle, who has a 
 fever " 
 
 "Who told you that?" 
 
 "Monsieur Butscha. He came to beg me to make 
 you notice, what you have no doubt already ob- 
 served, that he has kept his word with you on the 
 promised day." 
 
 Modeste descended to the salon in a dress of royal 
 simplicity.
 
 348 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "My dear father," she said in an audible voice, 
 as she took the colonel by the arm, "go and enquire 
 about Monsieur de la Briere, and take him, I beg 
 you, his gift. You may allege that my small for- 
 tune, as well as my tastes, prevent me from carry- 
 ing trifles which belong only to queens or courtesans. 
 Besides, I can only accept gifts from a fiance. Beg 
 this fine fellow to keep the whip until you know if 
 you are rich enough to purchase it of him." 
 
 "My little girl is full of good sense," said the 
 colonel as he kissed Modeste's forehead. 
 
 Canal is took advantage of a conversation between 
 the duke and Madame Mignon, to go on the terrace, 
 where Modeste joined him drawn by curiosity, 
 while he believed her led there by the desire to be 
 Madame Canal is. Frightened by the imprudence 
 with which he had just accomplished what military 
 men call a wheel of the quarter circle, and which, 
 according to the law of the ambitious, all men in 
 his position would have made quite as abruptly, he 
 sought for plausible reasons to give upon seeing the 
 unfortunate Modeste approach. 
 
 "Dear Modeste," he said to her, assuming a 
 wheedling tone, "will you be displeased upon the 
 conditions in which we now stand, if I tell you how 
 painful your replies to the remarks of Monsieur 
 d'Herouville are to a man who loves, but especially 
 to a poet whose soul is like a woman's, nervous and 
 full of the thousand jealousies of true passion? I 
 should indeed be a poor diplomat if I had not di- 
 vined that your first coquetries and your calculated
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 349 
 
 inconsistencies had for their reason, the study of 
 our characters" 
 
 Modeste raised her head with an intelligent move- 
 ment, quick and coquettish, the type of which is 
 perhaps only in animals with whom mistrust pro- 
 duces miracles of grace. 
 
 "Therefore when I returned home, I was no 
 longer its dupe. I marveled at your delicacy, in 
 harmony with your character and face. Be assured 
 I have never supposed but that so much artificial 
 duplicity was the covering of an adorable candor. 
 No, your mind, your education, nothing has stolen 
 that precious innocence that we ask in a wife. You 
 are indeed the wife for a poet, a diplomat, a thinker ; 
 for a man destined to know doubtful situations in 
 life, and I admire you as much as I feel attachment 
 for you. I beg you, if you were not playing a 
 comedy with me yesterday, when you accepted the 
 faith of a man whose vanity will be changed into 
 pride at seeing himself chosen by you, whose faults 
 will become good qualities in the heavenly contact 
 with you, do not wound these sentiments in him 
 which amount almost to a sin 
 
 "In my soul, jealousy is a solvent, and you have 
 revealed to me all its power. It is fearful; it de- 
 stroys everything there. Oh ! it is not a question 
 of the jealousy of Othello," he continued at a ges- 
 ture from Modeste. "No! No! It concerns my- 
 self! I am spoiled upon this point. You know the 
 one affection to which I am indebted for the only 
 happiness that I have enjoyed, incomplete, indeed, as
 
 350 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 it is." He raised his head. "Love is described as 
 a child among all nations, because he does not con- 
 ceive himself unless all life is his Well, this 
 sentiment has its limitation, indicated by nature. 
 It is still-born. The most ingenious maternity has 
 divined, has calmed this sad point in my heart, for 
 a woman who feels, who sees the joys of love die, 
 has angelic tenderness. Therefore the duchess has 
 never caused me the least suffering of this kind. In 
 ten years there has never been a word or look to 
 wound me. I attach to words, to thoughts, to looks, 
 more value than ordinary persons accord to them. 
 If to me a look is an immense treasure, the least 
 suspicion is a deadly poison. It acts instan- 
 taneously. I no longer love. To my mind, and 
 contrary to that of the crowd who love to tremble, 
 hope and wait, love should reside in a perfect, child- 
 like, infinite security. For me the delicious purga- 
 tory that women like to make for us here below 
 with their coquetry, is an atrocious happiness 
 which I refuse; for me love is Heaven or Hell. 
 Hell, I will not have it, and I feel within myself the 
 strength to bear the eternal azure of Paradise. I 
 give myself without reserve. I shall have neither 
 secret, doubt nor deception in the life to come, and 
 I ask reciprocity. I offend you, perhaps, in sus- 
 pecting you! Believe that in this I speak to you 
 only of myself " 
 
 "Much, but it will never be too much," said 
 Modeste, stabbed by all the stings of this discourse 
 in which the Duchesse de Chaulieu served as a
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 351 
 
 dagger. "I am in the habit of admiring you, my 
 dear poet." 
 
 "Well, can you promise me this dog-like fidelity 
 which I offer you ? Is it not beautiful ? Is it not 
 what you wish?" 
 
 "Why, dear poet, do you not seek in marriage a 
 mute who is blind and a little foolish? I do not ask 
 more than to please my husband in everything, but 
 you threaten to deprive a girl of that especial hap- 
 piness which you arrange for her, to take it from 
 her at the slightest gesture, the slightest word, the 
 slightest look! You cut the bird's wings and you 
 wish to see it fly. I know well that poets are ac- 
 cused of inconsistency Oh! unreservedly," she 
 said, at a gesture of denial which Canal is made, 
 "for this so-called fault is due to the fact that vul- 
 gar people do not take into account the rapidity of 
 the actions of their minds. But I did not know 
 that a man of genius would invent the contradic- 
 tory conditions of a like game and would call it 
 life! You ask the impossible in order to have the 
 pleasure of finding me at fault, like the enchanters 
 in fairy tales, who give tasks to persecute young 
 girls whom good fairies succor." 
 
 "Here the fairy would be true love," said 
 Canal is in a sharp tone, as he saw that his reason 
 for being piqued had been divined by this fine 
 and delicate mind which Butscha had guided so 
 well. 
 
 "You resemble at this moment, dear poet, those 
 parents who are anxious about the girl's dowry
 
 352 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 before showing that of their son. You are squeam- 
 ish with me, without knowing if you have the right 
 to be. Love is not established by conventions, 
 dryly discussed. The poor Due d'Herouville allows 
 himself to act with the abandon of Uncle Toby in 
 Sterne, with this difference merely: that I am not 
 the Widow Wadman, although widowed of many 
 illusions about poetry. Yes! we do not wish to 
 believe anything, we young girls, of that which 
 upsets our world of ideas. I was told all this in 
 advance ! Ah ! you are making a bad quarrel with 
 me, unworthy of you. I do not recognize the Mel- 
 chior of yesterday." 
 
 "Because Melchior has recognized in you an am- 
 bition which you count still " 
 
 Modeste looked at Canal is from head to toe with 
 an imperial glance. 
 
 "But I shall some day be ambassador and peer of 
 France, as well as he." 
 
 "You take me for a girl of the middle-class," she 
 replied as she mounted the steps. But she turned 
 quickly and added, losing her dignified air, she was 
 so suffocated: "It is less impertinent than for you 
 to take me for a fool. The change in your manners 
 has its cause in the idle talk which is reported at 
 Havre, and which Francoise, my maid, has just 
 repeated to me." 
 
 "Ah! Modeste, can you believe that?" said 
 Canal is, taking a dramatic pose. "You do not then 
 imagine me capable of marrying you only for your 
 fortune?"
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 353 
 
 "If I have done you that injustice after your edi- 
 fying remarks on the borders of the Seine, you have 
 only to undeceive me, and then I shall be all that 
 you would wish me to be," she said, withering him 
 with her disdain. 
 
 "If you think to catch me in this trap," said the 
 poet to himself as he followed her, "you think me 
 younger than I am. Must one then have so many 
 ceremonies with a sly little person whose esteem is 
 of no more importance to me than that of the King 
 of Borneo? But in ascribing to me an unworthy 
 sentiment, she gives good reason for my new atti- 
 tude. Is she cunning! La Briere will be saddled 
 like a little fool that he is, and in five years we 
 shall laugh well with her about him." 
 
 The coldness which this altercation had put be- 
 tween Canal is and Modeste was noticeable to all 
 eyes in the evening. Canal is withdrew at an early 
 hour, pleading La Briere's indisposition, and he left 
 the field open to the Grand Equerry. Toward 
 eleven o'clock, Butscha, who came for Madame La- 
 tournelle, said with a smile, very softly to Modeste: 
 
 "Was I right?" 
 
 "Alas! yes," she said. 
 
 "But did you, according to our agreement, leave 
 the door partly open so that he would return?" 
 
 "My anger got the better of me," replied Mo- 
 deste. "Such meanness made the blood go to my 
 head and I gave him his dues." 
 
 "Well, so much the better! When you are both 
 so much at variance as not to speak graciously any 
 23
 
 354 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 more, I will take care to make him so in love and so 
 importunate as to deceive even you." 
 
 "Come, now, Butscha, he is a great poet, a gen- 
 tleman and a man of spirit." 
 
 "Your father's eight millions are more than all 
 that." 
 
 "Eight millions?" said Modeste. 
 
 "My master, who is selling his practice, is going 
 to leave for Provence in order to direct the acquisi- 
 tions which Castagnould, your father's head man, 
 proposes. The amount of the contracts to re-acquire 
 the property of La Bastie reaches four millions and 
 your father has consented to all the purchases. You 
 have two millions for dowry and the colonel allows 
 for your establishment at Paris, a house and fur- 
 nishings! Calculate for yourself." 
 
 "Ah! 1 can be the Duchesse d'Herouville," said 
 Modeste looking at Butscha. 
 
 "If it had not been for this comedian, Ca- 
 nal is, you would have kept his whip as coming 
 from me," said the clerk, thus pleading La Briere's 
 cause. 
 
 "Monsieur Butscha, would you then, have me 
 marry, at hazard, to suit you?" said Modeste with 
 a laugh. 
 
 "This worthy fellow loves as much as I do. You 
 have loved him for a week, and he is a man of 
 heart," replied the clerk. 
 
 "And can he then compete with an office of the 
 Crown? There are only six of them: Grand Al- 
 moner, Chancellor, Grand Chamberlain, Grand
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 355 
 
 Master, Constable, Grand Admiral, but the Consta- 
 bles are no longer so named." 
 
 "In six months the people, mademoiselle, who 
 are composed of an infinite number of bad Butschas, 
 may blow down all these grandeurs, and besides, 
 what does nobility signify to-day ? There are not 
 a thousand true gentlemen in France. The Herou- 
 villes spring from a verger of Robert of Normandy. 
 You would, indeed, have many vexations with those 
 two old maids with wrinkled faces! If you insist 
 upon the title of duchess, you are of Avignon and 
 the Pope surely would have as much regard for you 
 as for the merchants, and he will sell you some 
 duchy ending in nia or agno. Do not stake your 
 happiness against an office of the Crown!"
 
 Canal is's reflections during the night were en- 
 tirely positive. He saw nothing in the world worse 
 for a man than to be married without fortune. Still 
 trembling from the danger which his vanity, ex- 
 cited by Modeste, and the desire of snatching her 
 away from the Due d'Herouville, and his belief in 
 Monsieur Mignon's millions, had led him into, he 
 asked himself what the Duchesse deChaulieu must 
 think of his stay at Havre, which had been aggra- 
 vated by an epistolary silence of two weeks, when 
 at Paris they wrote one another four or five letters 
 a week. 
 
 "And the poor woman who is working to obtain 
 for me the ribbon of the Commander of the Legion 
 of Honor and the post of Minister at the court of the 
 Grand Duke of Baden," he exclaimed. 
 
 Immediately with that rapidity of decision which 
 with poets as with speculators, results from a quick 
 intuition of the future, he sat at his table and com- 
 posed the following letter: 
 
 TO THE DUCHESSE DE CHAULIEU 
 
 "My dear Eleonore, 
 
 "Without doubt you are astonished at not having 
 heard from me yet, but the sojourn which I am 
 making here has not had my health alone for a 
 
 (357)
 
 358 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 motive, but it is a question of my repaying in some 
 manner our little La Briere. This poor fellow has 
 become much enamored of a certain Mademoiselle 
 Modeste de la Bastie, a pale, insignificant, stringy 
 little girl, who by the way, has the vice to love 
 literature and calls herself a poetess to justify the 
 caprices, the whims and the changes of a very bad 
 disposition. You know Ernest, and he is so easy to 
 captivate, that I have not wished to let him go 
 alone. Mademoiselle de la Bastie has flirted 
 strangely with your Melchior; she was much dis- 
 posed to become your rival, although she has thin 
 arms and small shoulders, like all young girls; hair 
 more nondescript than that of Madame de Rochefide, 
 and very suspicious little gray eyes. I called a 
 halt, perhaps too cruelly, to the graciousness of this 
 Immodest; but unique love is thus. What are the 
 women of the earth to me beside you ? 
 
 "The people with whom I pass my time and who 
 form the accompaniment of the heiress, are so mid- 
 dle-class that they would make one sick. Pity me ! 
 I pass my evenings with lawyers' clerks, with law- 
 yers' wives, cashiers, and a provincial usurer ; and 
 surely there is a vast difference between these and 
 the evenings at the Rue de Crenelle. The pre- 
 tended fortune of the father, who has returned from 
 China, has obtained for us the presence of the ever- 
 lasting wooer, the Grand Equerry, all the more 
 eager for the millions, as it is said he needs 
 six or seven of them to improve the famous 
 swamp of Herouville. The king does not know
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 359 
 
 how fatal is the present he made to the little duke! 
 His Grace, who does not suspect the small ness of 
 his desired father-in-law's fortune, is jealous only 
 of me. La Briere is making his way near his idol 
 under cover of his friend, who serves as a screen. 
 In spite of Ernest's ecstasies, I, although a poet, 
 think of the essentials; and the information which 
 I have just learned concerning the fortune, darkens 
 our secretary's future, whose fiancee has teeth of 
 an edge disquieting for every kind of fortune. If 
 my angel wishes to compensate for some of our 
 sins, she will try to learn the truth of this matter, 
 by causing Mongenod, his banker, to come to her 
 and question him with the skill which characterizes 
 her. Monsieur Charles Mignon, an old cavalry 
 colonel of the Imperial Guard, has been for seven 
 years a correspondent of the house of Mongenod. 
 The talk is of two hundred thousand francs of dowry 
 at the utmost, and I wish, before making the de- 
 mand for Ernest, to have positive information. 
 Once our friends are in accord, I shall return to 
 Paris. I know how to finish everything to the ad- 
 vantage of our lover; it concerns the transmission 
 of the title of count to Monsieur Mignon's son-in- 
 law, and no one is more able than Ernest, on ac- 
 count of his services, to obtain this favor, especially 
 seconded by us three, you, the duke and I. With 
 his tastes, Ernest, who will readily become Master of 
 Accounts, will be very happy at Paris to see himself 
 at the head of twenty-five thousand francs a year, 
 a permanent place, and a wife, the unhappy man !
 
 360 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Ah! my dear, how I long to see once more the 
 Rue de Crenelle! Two weeks of absence, when 
 they do not destroy love, give it the ardor of its 
 first days, and you know better than I, perhaps, the 
 reasons which render my love eternal. My bones 
 in the tomb will love you still ! 
 
 "Therefore must I not be constant to it here? If 
 I am forced to remain ten days longer, I shall go to 
 Paris for some hours. 
 
 "Has the duke obtained anything with which to 
 hang me? And, my dear life, will you not need to 
 drink the waters at Baden next year ? The cooings 
 of our melancholy lover, compared to the accents of 
 our happy love, always the same at every moment 
 for almost ten years, have given me great contempt 
 for marriage ! And 1 have never seen these matters 
 so closely. Ah! dear, that which is called a fault, 
 unites two beings much more than the law, does it 
 not?" 
 
 This idea served as a text for two pages of mem- 
 ories and hopes, a little too intimate to be allowed 
 to be published. 
 
 The evening of the day before Canal is posted this 
 epistle, Butscha, who replied under the name of 
 Jean Jacmin to a letter from his pretended cousin, 
 Philoxene, sent his reply twelve hours in advance 
 of the poet's letter. 
 
 Most anxious for two weeks and wounded by 
 Melchior's silence, the duchess, who had dictated 
 Philoxene's letter to her cousin, had just learned
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 361 
 
 exact information concerning Colonel Mignon's for- 
 tune, after reading the reply of the clerk, a little 
 too decisive for the self-love of a woman fifty years 
 old. Seeing herself betrayed and abandoned for 
 millions, Eleonore was a prey to a paroxysm of 
 rage, of hatred and of cold wickedness. Philoxene 
 knocked to enter her mistress' sumptuous chamber, 
 and found her with her eyes full of tears, and re- 
 mained stupefied at this phenomenon, without pre- 
 cedent, during the fifteen years she had served her. 
 
 "One expiates in ten minutes the happiness of 
 ten years," exclaimed the duchess. 
 
 "A letter from Havre, madame." 
 
 Eleonore read the prose of Canal is, without notic- 
 ing Philoxene's presence, whose astonishment grew 
 in seeing serenity return to the duchess's face in 
 proportion as she went on with the reading. Hold 
 to a drowning man a stick as big as a cane, and he 
 will see in it a royal highway. Thus the happy 
 Eleonore believed in Canal is's good faith in reading 
 these four pages in which love and business, truth 
 and falsehood elbowed one another. She who, 
 when the banker had left, had just commanded her 
 husband to prevent Melchior's nomination, if there 
 were still time, was taken by a sentiment of gener- 
 osity which rose almost to the sublime. 
 
 "Poor fellow!" she thought, "he has not had the 
 least evil thought. He loves me as at first He 
 has told me everything." 
 
 "Philoxene!" she said, seeing her waiting maid 
 standing, apparently arranging the toilet table.
 
 362 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 "Madame la Duchesse?" 
 
 "My hand-glass, child." 
 
 Eleonore looked at herself and saw the fine lines 
 traced upon her forehead, and which disappeared 
 at a distance. She sighed, and by that sigh she 
 bade farewell to love. Then she conceived one of 
 those strong thoughts outside of the pettinesses of 
 women, a thought which intoxicates for some 
 moments, and whose intoxication can explain the 
 clemency of the Semiramis of the North when she 
 married her young and beautiful rival to Momonoff. 
 
 "Since he has not failed me, I wish him to have 
 the millions and the girl," she thought, "if this lit- 
 tle Mademoiselle Mignon is as homely as he says." 
 
 Three elegantly given blows announced the duke, 
 for whom his wife opened the door herself. 
 
 "Ah! you are better, my dear," he exclaimed, 
 with that feigned joy which courtiers know how to 
 act so well, and at the expression of which silly 
 people are taken. 
 
 "My dear Henri," she replied, "it is really in- 
 conceivable that you have not yet obtained Mel- 
 chior's nomination, you who have sacrificed yourself 
 for the king in accepting a ministry of a year, 
 knowing that it would last hardly that time." 
 
 The duke looked at Philoxene, and the maid 
 designated, by an almost imperceptible sign, the 
 letter from Havre lying on the table. 
 
 "You will grow very weary indeed in Germany, 
 and you will return from there after having quar- 
 reled with Melchior," said the duke ingenuously.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 363 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 "Will you not always be together ?" asked this 
 old ambassador, with comical good nature. 
 
 "Oh! no," she said. "I am going to marry him." 
 
 "If we may believe d'Herouville, my dear, Canal is 
 is not waiting for your kind efforts," replied the 
 duke with a smile. "Yesterday Grandlieu read 
 me some passages of a letter which the Grand 
 Equerry had written to him, and which, no doubt, 
 were directed to your address by the aunt, for Ma- 
 demoiselle d'Herouville, always on the watch for a 
 dowry, knows that we play whist almost every 
 evening, Grandlieu and I. That good little 
 d'Herouville wants the Prince de Cadignan to give 
 a royal hunt in Normandy and begs him to have the 
 king there to turn the head of the damosel when she 
 sees herself the object of such a fete. In fact, two 
 words from Charles X. would settle the whole 
 affair. D'Herouville says that the girl has incom- 
 parable beauty." 
 
 "Henri, let us go to Havre!" cried the duchess 
 interrupting her husband. 
 
 "Under what pretext ?" gravely asked this man 
 who was one of the confidants of Louis XVIII. 
 
 "I have never seen a hunt" 
 
 "That would be all right if the king went, but it 
 would be a nuisance to go so far, and he will not 
 go. I have just been talking to him about it" 
 
 "MADAME may go." 
 
 "That would be better," replied the duke, "and 
 perhaps the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse would help
 
 364 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 me to draw her away from Rosny. The king would 
 then think it proper for us to use his hunting equi- 
 page. Don't go to Havre, my dear," said the duke 
 paternally, "that would give you away. Here, I 
 have thought of a better plan. Gaspard has his 
 chateau of Rosembray on the other side of the forest 
 of Brotonne, why not give him a hint to invite 
 them all?" 
 
 "Through whom?" asked Eleonore. 
 
 "His wife, the duchess, who accompanies Made- 
 moiselle d'Herouville to Communion, might, on the 
 suggestion of this old maid, ask Gaspard. 
 
 "You are an adorable man," said Eleonore. "I 
 will write two words to the old maid and to Diane, 
 at once, for we must have our hunting costumes 
 made. A hunting cap makes one look so young. 
 Did you win yesterday at the English embassy?" 
 
 "Yes," said the duke, "I am ahead now." 
 
 "Above all, Henri, suspend everything else for 
 the two nominations of Melchior." 
 
 After having written ten lines to the beautiful 
 Diane de Maufrigneuse and a word of advice to Ma- 
 demoiselle d'Herouville, Eleonore sent this answer, 
 like the lash of a whip, through Canalis's lies: 
 
 TO MONSIEUR THE BARON DE CANALIS 
 
 "My dear poet, 
 
 "Mademoiselle de la Bastie is very beautiful. 
 Mongenod assures me that her father is worth eight
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 365 
 
 millions. I thought of marrying you to her and 1 
 am much displeased at your lack of confidence. If 
 in going to Havre, you intended marrying La Briere 
 to her, I do not understand why you did not tell me 
 before you started. And why do you let two weeks 
 pass without writing to a friend as easily made 
 anxious as I? Your letter came a little too late, I 
 had already seen the banker. You are a child, Mel- 
 chior, and you are trying to fool us, and it is not 
 wise. The duke himself is outraged at your con- 
 duct, he thinks you less than a gentleman, which 
 casts some doubts on your mother's honor. 
 
 "Now, I intend to see things for myself. I will 
 have, I think, the honor of an invitation to accon> 
 pany MADAME to the hunt which the Due d'Herou- 
 ville gives to Mademoiselle de la Bastie. I will ar- 
 range for you to be invited to Rosembray, for the 
 meet of the hunt will probably be at the estate of 
 the Due de Verneuil. 
 
 "Pray believe, my dear poet, that I am none the 
 less, for life, 
 
 "Your friend 
 
 "ELEONORE." 
 
 "There! Ernest," said Canalis, throwing the 
 letter which he received at breakfast at La Briere's 
 nose across the table, "there is the two thousandth 
 love letter which I have received from that woman 
 and the familiar thou is absent. The illustrious 
 Eleonore has never compromised herself more than
 
 366 MODESTE M1GNON 
 
 this. Go ahead and get married! The worst 
 marriage is better than this sort of a tie. Ah! I am 
 the greatest Nicodemus who ever fell from the moon. 
 Modeste has millions and she is lost to me forever, 
 for we can't get back to the poles from where we 
 are, toward the tropics where we were only three 
 days ago! However, I am all the more interested 
 in your triumph over the Grand Equerry, as I told 
 the duchess I was here only in your interest; there- 
 fore, I intend to work for you." 
 
 "Alas! Melchior, Modeste would have to be so 
 grand, so noble, so firm, to resist the glories of the 
 Court and the splendors so cleverly displayed in 
 her honor and to the glory of the duke that 1 dare 
 not believe that such perfection can exist, and yet 
 if she is still the Modeste of her letters, I will not 
 despair." 
 
 "You are happy, indeed, young Boniface, to see 
 the world and your mistress through green spec- 
 tacles!" cried Canal is as he went out to walk in 
 the garden. 
 
 Caught between two lies, the poet did not know 
 which way to turn. 
 
 "Play according to rule, and you lose," he cried, 
 seated in the kiosk. "Assuredly, any sensible 
 man would have acted as I did four days ago and 
 would have withdrawn from a net in which he saw 
 himself caught, for in such cases people don't untie 
 the nets, they break through them ! Come, I must 
 be cool, calm, dignified, affronted. Honor does not 
 allow me to do otherwise. An English stiffness is
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 367 
 
 the only means to regain Modeste's esteem. After 
 all, if I have to retire from the field, I can go back 
 to my former happiness. A fidelity of ten years 
 must be recompensed. Eleonore will arrange some 
 good marriage for me."
 
 The hunt was to be the rendezvous of all the pas- 
 sions put into play by the colonel's fortune and 
 Modeste's beauty; there seemed to be a truce be- 
 tween the adversaries and during the several days 
 needed in preparation for this sylvan solemnity, the 
 salon of the Mignons offered as tranquil an aspect 
 as though a united family was gathered there. Ca- 
 nalis, thrown back on his r&le of a man wounded by 
 Modeste, wanted to appear courteous; he threw 
 aside his pretensions, gave no more samples of his 
 oratorical talent and became what men of mind are 
 when robbed of their affectations, charming. He 
 talked of finances with Gobenheim, war with the 
 colonel, Germany with Madame Mignon, house- 
 keeping with Madame Latournelle, trying all the 
 time to seduce them for La Briere. The Due 
 d'Herouville left the camp free to the two friends 
 very often, as he was obliged to go to Rosembray to 
 consult with the Due de Verneuil and see that the 
 orders of the Master of the Hunt, the Prince de 
 Cadignan, were executed. However, the comic ele- 
 ment was not lacking. Modeste was between the 
 depreciatory remarks which Canalis suggested 
 against the Grand Equerry and the exaggerated 
 praises given him by the two d'Herouville ladies, 
 who came every evening. Canalis observed to 
 Modeste that instead of being the heroine of the 
 24 (369)
 
 370 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 hunt, she would hardly be noticed. MADAME would 
 be accompanied by the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, 
 daughter-in-law of the Prince de Cadignan, the 
 Duchesse de Chaulieu and several ladies of the 
 Court, among whom a little girl like her would pro- 
 duce no sensation. He thought they would invite 
 the officers in garrison at Rouen, etc. Helene never 
 ceased to repeat to Modeste, whom she already 
 looked upon as a sister-in-law, that she would be 
 presented to MADAME; that the Due de Verneuil 
 would be sure to invite her and her father to stay 
 at Rosembray ; if the colonel wished to obtain a 
 favor of the king, the peerage, for instance, this 
 occasion would be unique, for they did not despair 
 of the king's presence on the third day; that she 
 would be surprised at the charming welcome which 
 the most beautiful ladies of the court, the Duchesses 
 de Chaulieu, De Maufrigneuse, De Lenoncourt- 
 Chaulieu, etc., would accord her, Modeste's preju- 
 dices against the Faubourg Saint-Germain will all 
 be dissipated, etc., etc. It was indeed an exceed- 
 ingly amusing little warfare, with its marches, its 
 counter-marches, and its stratagems which the Du- 
 mays, the Latournelles, Gobenheim and Butscha 
 much enjoyed in their private confabulations when 
 they criticized these nobles frightfully, noting with 
 cruel minuteness their cowardices. 
 
 The words of the d'Herouville party were con- 
 firmed by an invitation expressed in flattering terms 
 from the Due de Verneuil and the Master of the 
 Hunt of France to the Count de la Bastie and his
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 371 
 
 daughter to assist at a grand hunt at Rosembray the 
 seventh, eighth, ninth and tenth days of November 
 next. 
 
 La Briere, full of dark presentiments, enjoyed Mo- 
 deste's presence with that sentiment of concentrated 
 avidity whose pleasures are only known to lovers sep- 
 arated fatally from those they love. Flashes of hap- 
 piness came to him, intermingled with melancholy 
 meditations on this theme: "She is lost to me!" 
 which rendered this young man a spectacle all the 
 more touching that his expression and person were 
 in harmony with this profound feeling. There is 
 nothing more poetic than an animated elegy with 
 restless eyes and whose sighs have no rhymes. 
 
 Finally the Due d'Herouville came to arrange for 
 Modeste's departure, who, after she crossed the 
 Seine, was to go in the duke's carriage with the 
 d'Herouville ladies. The duke was more than 
 courteous; he invited Canal is and La Briere saying 
 to them, as to Monsieur Mignon, that he had taken 
 care to procure hunting horses for them. The colo- 
 nel asked the three lovers of his daughter to break- 
 fast the morning of their departure. Canal is then 
 began to put into execution a plan which had 
 ripened for several days; that of reconquering 
 Modeste secretly and to throw over the duchess, the 
 Grand Equerry and La Briere. A proficient in 
 diplomacy would hardly allow himself to remain in 
 his present position. On his side, La Briere had 
 determined to bid an eternal farewell to Modeste. 
 Thus each suitor appreciating that the end of the
 
 372 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 struggle, which had lasted three weeks, had come, 
 thought of slipping in a last word as the counsel in 
 a case desires a last word with the judge before 
 sentence is pronounced. After dinner that evening, 
 the colonel took his daughter by the arm and made 
 her understand the necessity of a decision one way 
 or the other. 
 
 "Our position with the d'Herouville family will 
 be intolerable at Rosembray," he said. "Tell me, 
 do you intend to become a duchess?" 
 
 "No, father," she replied. 
 
 "Do you love Canal is then?" 
 
 "Certainly not, father, a thousand times no," she 
 said with childish impatience. 
 
 The colonel looked at Modeste with a kind of joy. 
 
 "Ah! I have not influenced you," said this good 
 father, "but I can now confess that I chose my son- 
 in-law in Paris, when, having made him believe that 
 I had little fortune, he embraced me, saying that I 
 had lifted a weight of one hundred pounds from his 
 heart" 
 
 "Of whom are you speaking?" asked Modeste 
 blushing. 
 
 "Of the man of positive virtues and sure moral- 
 ity," he said, laughingly repeating the phrase 
 which, the morning after his return, had dissipated 
 Modeste's dreams. 
 
 "Ah! I was not thinking of him, papa! Leave 
 me free to refuse the duke myself. I understand 
 him, I know how to flatter him " 
 
 "Your choice is not then made?"
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 373 
 
 "Not yet There are still several syllables in the 
 charade of my future to be guessed. After I have 
 seen the Court life at Rosembray, I promise to tell 
 you my secret." 
 
 "You will go to the hunt, I suppose?" cried the 
 colonel, seeing La Briere from afar coming into the 
 lane where he was walking with Modeste. 
 
 "No, colonel," replied Ernest "I have come to 
 take leave of you and of mademoiselle, I return to 
 Paris" 
 
 "You have no curiosity," said Modeste interrupt- 
 ing him and looking timidly at Ernest 
 
 "A desire which I dare not hope for would be 
 sufficient to make me remain," he said. 
 
 "If that is all, you must stay to please me," said 
 the colonel going forward to join Canal is and leav- 
 ing his daughter and poor La Briere together for a 
 few moments. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," he said raising his eyes to hers 
 with the courage of despair, "1 have a favor to ask 
 of you." 
 
 "Of me?" 
 
 "It is that I may take away with me your for- 
 giveness! My life will never be happy and I have 
 the remorse of having lost my happiness through 
 my own fault; but at least " 
 
 "Before leaving us forever," said Modeste inter- 
 rupting a la Canal is in a voice of emotion, "I wish 
 to ask you one thing, and if you once practised dis- 
 guising yourself, I do not think you base enough to 
 deceive me "
 
 374 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 The word base made Ernest -turn pale. 
 
 "Ah! you are pitiless!" he cried. 
 
 "Will you be frank?" 
 
 "You have the right to ask me so degrading a 
 question," he said in a voice weakened by the 
 violent palpitation of his heart 
 
 "Well then, have you read my letters to Monsieur 
 de Canal is?" 
 
 "No, mademoiselle, and I only showed them to the 
 colonel in order to justify my attachment by show- 
 ing him how it was born and how sincere had been 
 my attempts to cure you of your mistaken idea." 
 
 "But how did the idea of this ignoble masquer- 
 ading come about?" she asked impatiently. 
 
 La Briere related truthfully the scene occasioned 
 by the first of Modeste's letters, and how he had 
 been challenged on expressing a good opinion of a 
 young girl, who was attracted toward fame as a 
 flower toward the sun. 
 
 "Enough," said Modeste restraining her emotion. 
 "If you have not my heart, monsieur, you have 
 at least my esteem." 
 
 This simple phrase caused the most violent 
 emotion in La Briere. He felt himself tottering, 
 and leaned against a tree, like a man deprived of 
 reason. Modeste had turned away, but seeing him 
 she came back quickly. 
 
 "What is the matter?" she asked, taking his 
 hand to prevent his fall ing. His hand was icy cold 
 and his face as pale as a lily, all his blood had gone 
 to his heart.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 375 
 
 "Forgive me, mademoiselle but I thought you 
 despised me " 
 
 "But," she replied with haughty disdain, "I 
 have not said that I loved you." 
 
 And she again left La Briere, who in spite of the 
 harshness of her last speech, thought that he walked 
 on air. The earth softened under his feet, the trees 
 seemed to blossom with flowers, the sky became 
 rose color and the air cerulean, as in the hymen 
 temples, in those fairytales which end happily. In 
 such cases, women are like Janus. They see what 
 takes place behind them without turning around, 
 and Modeste saw in the countenance of this lover 
 the unmistakable symptoms of a love like Butscha's, 
 which is certainly the ne plus ultra of a woman's 
 desires. The high estimate which La Briere at- 
 tached to her esteem caused Modeste an infinitely 
 sweet emotion. 
 
 "Mademoiselle," said Canal is, leaving the colo- 
 nel, and joining Modeste, "in spite of the small 
 value which you attach to my feelings, my honor 
 demands that I efface a blemish under which it has 
 suffered too long. Five days after my arrival here, 
 see what the Duchesse de Chaulieu wrote me." 
 
 He let Modeste read the first lines of the letter in 
 which the duchess said that she had seen Mongenod 
 and wished Melchior to marry Modeste; then he 
 tore up the rest of the letter, leaving her that frag- 
 ment. 
 
 "I cannot allow you to see the rest," he said, 
 putting the paper into his pocket, "but I trust these
 
 376 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 few lines to your delicacy in order that you may 
 verify the handwriting. The young girl who has 
 supposed me to have unworthy sentiments is also 
 capable of believing some collusion or stratagem. 
 This may prove how much I desire to convince you 
 that the quarrel which exists between us has not 
 had, with me, a selfish interest for basis. Ah! 
 Modeste, " he said in a choking voice, "your poet, 
 the poet of Madame de Chaulieu, has not less 
 poetry in his heart than in his mind. You will see 
 the duchess; suspend your judgment of me until 
 then." And he left Modeste bewildered. 
 
 "Ah, yes! they are all angels," she said to her- 
 self, "but they are not marriageable! the duke 
 alone seems to belong to humanity." 
 
 "Mademoiselle Modeste, this hunting party 
 makes me nervous," said Butscha, who appeared 
 carrying a package under his arm. "I dreamed 
 that your horse ran away with you, so I went to 
 Rouen to find a Spanish bit, as I am told a horse can 
 never take it between his teeth. I implore you to 
 use it. I have shown it to the colonel, who has 
 already thanked me more than it is worth." 
 
 "Poor, dear Butscha!" exclaimed Modeste, moved 
 to tears by this motherly care. 
 
 Butscha went away skipping joyously, like a man 
 who has just learned of the death of an old uncle 
 whose heir he will be. 
 
 "My dear father," said Modeste as she returned 
 to the drawing-room, "I wish very much to have 
 that beautiful whip. Suppose you ask Monsieur
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 377 
 
 de la Briere to exchange it for your picture by Van 
 Ostade?" 
 
 Modeste looked at Ernest slyly while the colonel 
 made him the proposition before this picture; the 
 only thing which he had as souvenir of his cam- 
 paigns and which he had purchased of a citizen of 
 Ratisbonne. She said to herself, as she saw with 
 what precipitation La Briere left the salon, "He 
 will be of the hunting-party!" 
 
 It was a strange thing that each of the three 
 lovers of Modeste should go to Rosembray with a 
 heart full of hope and enraptured with her adorable 
 qualities. 
 
 Rosembray, an estate lately bought by the Due 
 de Verneuil with the sum which gave him his por- 
 tion of the thousand millions of francs voted to 
 legitimize the sale of national estates, is remarka- 
 ble for a chateau of a magnificence comparable to 
 that of Mesniere and Balleroy. This imposing and 
 noble edifice is reached by an immense avenue of 
 four rows of venerable elms, and through a very 
 large sloping Court of Honor like that of Versailles 
 with magnificent gates, two lodges for the con- 
 cierge, and ornamented with large orange trees in 
 boxes. The chateau looks out upon the court be- 
 tween two buildings at each side; two rows of nine- 
 teen tall arched sculptured windows, with small 
 panes of glass, separated by a series of fluted 
 columns. An entablature with balustrade hides an 
 Italian roof, from which rise chimneys of cut stone 
 concealed by trophies of arms. Rosembray was
 
 378 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 built under Louis XIV. by a farmer-general named 
 Cottin. Upon the park the facade is distinguished 
 from that on the court by a projection of five win- 
 dows with columns, above which a magnificent 
 pediment rises. The family of Marigny, to whom 
 the property of this Cottin was brought by Made- 
 moiselle Cottin, sole heiress of her father, ordered 
 a sunrise to be carved there by Coysevox. Under- 
 neath two angels are unrolling a ribbon upon which 
 may be read this device, substituted for the old one 
 in honor of the great King: Sol nobis benignus. The 
 great king had conferred a dukedom on the Marquis 
 de Marigny, though he was one of the least of his 
 favorites. 
 
 From the landing of the grand circular steps with 
 balustrade, the view extends over an immense pond, 
 as long and broad as the grand canal at Versailles; 
 which begins at the end of a lawn worthy of the 
 most English greensward, bordered with baskets in 
 which the autumnal flowers were then brilliant. 
 At each side, two gardens in the French style dis- 
 played their squares and paths, their beautiful pages 
 written in the most majestic style of Le Notre. 
 These two gardens are framed their entire length 
 by a grove of trees of about thirty acres, in which, 
 under Louis XV., English parks were laid out. 
 From the terrace the view is finished at the bot- 
 tom by a forest, a dependency of Rosembray, and 
 adjoining two forests, one belonging to the state, 
 the other to the crown. It would be difficult to find 
 a more beautiful landscape.
 
 The arrival of Modeste made a certain sensation 
 in the avenue, where a carriage with the livery of 
 France was seen approaching, accompanied by the 
 Grand Equerry, the colonel, Canal is and LaBriere, 
 all on horseback, preceded by an outrider in grand 
 livery, followed by ten servants, among whom were 
 noticed the mulatto, the negro, and the elegant 
 britzka of the colonel for the two maids and the 
 baggage. The carriage with four horses was driven 
 by tigers dressed with a splendor ordered by the 
 Grand Equerry, who was often better served than 
 the king. As she entered and saw this little Ver- 
 sailles, Modeste, dazzled by the magnificence of 
 these grand lords, suddenly thought of her interview 
 with the celebrated duchesses, and feared that she 
 would appear embarrassed, provincial or parvenu; 
 indeed she lost her head completely and repented of 
 having desired this hunting-party. 
 
 When the carriage stopped, most fortunately Mo- 
 deste noticed her host, an old man with white wig 
 curled in little ringlets, whose calm, full, smooth 
 face presented a fatherly smile and expressed a 
 monastic sprightliness which was made almost 
 noble by his half-veiled glance. The duchess, a 
 woman of the greatest devoutness, the only daugh- 
 ter of an extremely rich man, a first president of a 
 law court who died in 1800, was lean and straight, 
 
 (379)
 
 380 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 the mother of four children, and resembled Madame 
 Latournelle, if the imagination will consent to em- 
 bellish the notary's wife with all the graces of a 
 manner which was truly that of an abbess. 
 
 "Ah! good-morning, dear Hortense," said Made- 
 moiselle d'Herouville, who embraced the duchess 
 with all the sympathy which united these two 
 haughty characters; "allow me to present to you, 
 also to our dear duke, this little angel, Mademoiselle 
 de la Bastie." 
 
 "We have heard so much said about you, made- 
 moiselle," said the duchess, "that we have been 
 very eager to have you here." 
 
 "We regret the lost time," said the Due de Ver- 
 neuil, as he bowed with gallant admiration. 
 
 "Monsieur le Comte de la Bastie," said the Grand 
 Equerry, as he took the colonel by the arm and 
 presented him to the duke and duchess with respect- 
 ful tone and gesture. 
 
 The colonel saluted the duchess, the duke ex- 
 tended his hand to him. "Welcome, Monsieur 
 le Comte," said Monsieur de Verneuil. "You 
 possess many treasures," he added, looking at Mo- 
 deste. 
 
 The duchess took Modeste by the arm and led her 
 into an immense salon where a dozen women were 
 grouped before the chimney-piece. The men, led 
 by the duke, were promenading upon the terrace, 
 with the exception of Canal is, who surrendered 
 himself respectfully to the superb Eleonore. The 
 duchess, seated at a tapestry frame, was giving
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 381 
 
 advice about shading the colors to Mademoiselle 
 de Verneuil. 
 
 If Modeste had pricked her finger with a needle in 
 handling a pincushion, she could not have been 
 more deeply hurt than she was by the icy, haughty, 
 disdainful glance which the Duchesse de Chaulieu 
 cast upon her. From the first moment, she saw 
 only this woman and she fathomed her. To under- 
 stand to what point the cruelty of these charming 
 beings, whom our passions deify, may extend, we 
 must see women among themselves. Modeste 
 would have disarmed any other than Eleonore by 
 her unrestrained and involuntary admiration for 
 her, for without knowing her age, she would have 
 thought she was looking at a woman of thirty-six 
 but many other astonishing things were reserved for 
 her. 
 
 The poet came under the anger of the great lady. 
 Such anger is like the most fearful sphinx; the 
 face being radiant, all the rest threatening. The 
 exquisite, cold politeness which a mistress hides 
 under her steel armor kings themselves cannot make 
 capitulate. The exquisite head of the woman 
 smiles, and at the same time she becomes steel ; 
 the hand, the arms, the body, all is of steel. 
 Canal is endeavored to cling to this steel, but his 
 fingers slipped on it as his words upon her heart. 
 And the gracious head, the gracious speech, and the 
 gracious bearing of the duchess disguised from all 
 the steel of her temper, which had descended to 
 twenty-five degrees below zero. The aspect of the
 
 382 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 sublime beauty of Modeste heightened by the jour- 
 ney, and the sight of this young girl dressed as well 
 as Diane de Maufrigneuse, had ignited the powder 
 heaped up in Eleonore's mind. 
 
 All the women had gone to the window to see 
 alight from her carriage the wonder of the day, ac- 
 companied by her three lovers. 
 
 "Do not let us appear too curious," Madame de 
 Chaulieu had said, cut to the heart by Diane's ex- 
 clamation, "She is divine! Where did she come 
 from?" 
 
 And they flew back into the salon, where each 
 one recovered her usual expression, and where the 
 Duchesse de Chaulieu felt a thousand vipers in her 
 heart which all demanded to be fed at the same 
 time. 
 
 Mademoiselle d'Herouville said meaningly in a 
 low voice to the Duchesse de Verneuil : 
 
 "Eleonore receives her great Melchior very 
 badly." 
 
 "The Duchesse de Maufrigneuse believes that 
 there is a coldness between them," replied Laure 
 de Verneuil simply. 
 
 This phrase, spoken so often in society, is indeed 
 very expressive. The wind of the North Pole is felt 
 in it. 
 
 "And why so?" asked Modeste of that charming 
 young girl who had come out of the Sacred Heart 
 only two months before. 
 
 "The great man," replied the devout duchess, 
 who made a sign to her daughter to be silent, "left
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 383 
 
 her without one word for two weeks after his depar- 
 ture for Havre, after having told her that he had 
 gone there for his health." 
 
 Modeste made a hasty movement, which struck 
 Laure, Helene, and Mademoiselle d'Herouville. 
 
 "And during this time," continued the devout 
 duchess, "she procured for him the nomination of 
 Commander and Minister at Baden." 
 
 "Oh, it was wicked in Canalis, for he owes 
 everything to her," said Mademoiselle d'Herouville. 
 
 "Why did not Madame de Chaulieu come to 
 Havre?" asked Modeste naively of Helene. 
 
 "My little one," said the Duchesse de Verneuil, 
 "she would allow herself to be cut to pieces without 
 saying a word. Look at her ! What a queen ! Her 
 head on the block, she would smile as Mary Stuart 
 did; and our beautiful Eleonore has, moreover, 
 some of that blood in her veins." 
 
 "Did she not write to him?" asked Modeste. 
 
 "Diane," replied the duchess, encouraged in 
 these confidences by a nudge on the elbow by Made- 
 moiselle d'Herouville, "tells me that she made a 
 very stinging reply to the first letter that Canalis 
 wrote her, about ten days ago." 
 
 This explanation made Modeste blush with shame 
 for Canalis; she longed, not to crush him under her 
 feet, but to avenge herself by one of those malicious 
 acts more cruel than a dagger's blow. She looked 
 haughtily at the Duchesse de Chaulieu. It was a 
 look gilded by eight millions. 
 
 "Monsieur Melchior!" she said.
 
 384 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Every woman raised her head and cast her eyes 
 alternately upon the duchess, who was talking in a 
 low voice with Canal is at the frame, and upon this 
 young girl so badly brought up as to interrupt two 
 lovers engaged in a quarrel, a thing not done in any 
 society. Diane de Maufrigneuse tossed her head as 
 if saying, "The child is in the right" 
 
 The dozen women ended by smiling among them- 
 selves, for they were all jealous of a woman fifty- 
 six years old, still beautiful enough to be able to 
 filch from the common treasury the share due to 
 youth. 
 
 Melchior looked at Modeste with a feverish impa- 
 tience and with the gesture of a master to a ser- 
 vant, while the duchess lowered her head with a 
 movement like a lioness, disturbed at her feast; 
 but her eyes looking at the canvas darted almost red 
 flames at the poet, while seeking in her heart some 
 epigrammatic blows, for each word revealed a triple 
 insult. 
 
 "Monsieur Melchior," repeated Modeste in a 
 voice which had the right to make itself heard. 
 
 "What, mademoiselle?" asked the poet 
 
 Obliged to rise, he remained standing midway 
 between the frame, which was near a window, and 
 the chimney-piece, near which Modeste was seated 
 on a sofa by the Duchesse de Verneuil. What 
 poignant reflections this ambitious man made as he 
 received the fixed look of Eleonore ! If he obeyed 
 Modeste, all was over forever between the poet and 
 his protectress. Not to listen to the young girl,
 
 CANALIS BETWEEN MODESTE AND 
 THE DUCHESSE 
 
 The beauty and the fortune of Modeste, placed in 
 juxtaposition with the influence and the rights of 
 Eleonore, made this hesitation between the man and 
 his honor as terrible to witness as the peril of a 
 matador in the arena. A man rarely experiences 
 sucJi palpitations as tJiose which almost gave Canalis 
 an aneurism, except before the green cloth, when his 
 ruin or his fortune is decided in five minutes.
 
 tM^r '!>
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 385 
 
 would be for Canal is to declare his servitude, he 
 would annul the profit of his twenty-five days of 
 trickery, and he would be wanting in the simplest 
 laws of civility. The greater the folly, the more 
 imperiously the duchess exacted it The beauty 
 and the fortune of Modeste, placed in juxtaposition 
 with the influence and the rights of Eleonore, made 
 this hesitation between the man and his honor as 
 terrible to witness as the peril of a matador in the 
 arena. A man rarely experiences such palpitations 
 as those which almost gave Canalis an aneurism, 
 except before the green cloth, when his ruin or his 
 fortune is decided in five minutes. 
 
 "Mademoiselle d'Herouville hurried me from the 
 carriage so quickly that I have left my handkerchief 
 there," said Modeste to Canalis. 
 
 Canalis shrugged his shoulders significantly. 
 
 "And," said Modeste, continuing in spite of this 
 impatient gesture, "1 have tied up in it the key of 
 a portfolio which contains a piece of an important 
 letter ; have the kindness, Melchior,to get it for me " 
 
 Between an angel and a tigress, equally irritated, 
 Canalis became pallid, but he hesitated no longer, 
 the tigress appeared to him less dangerous; he was 
 going to show his intentions when La Briere ap- 
 peared at the drawing-room door, and he seemed to 
 him like the archangel Michael falling from 
 Heaven. 
 
 "Ernest, stop, Mademoiselle de la Bastie wants 
 you," said the poet, who quickly regained his chair 
 near the duchess. 
 25
 
 386 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Ernest ran to Modeste without bowing to any 
 one, he saw only her; he received this commission 
 with noticeable happiness, and rushed from the 
 room with the secret approbation of all the women. 
 
 "What an occupation for a poet," said Modeste to 
 Helene, pointing out the tapestry frame at which 
 the duchess was working furiously. 
 
 "If you speak to her, if you look at her once, all 
 is over between us forever," said Eleonore to Mel- 
 chior in a low voice, as she was not satisfied with 
 the compromise of Ernest 
 
 "Think well of it When I am not by, I shall 
 leave eyes which will observe you." 
 
 At these words the duchess, a woman of medium 
 height, but a little too stout, as are all women past 
 fifty who remain handsome, rose and walked, step- 
 ping daintily on small and sinewy feet like those of 
 a roe, toward the group in which Diane de Maufrign- 
 euse was. Beneath her plumpness was revealed 
 the exquisite delicacy with which this sort of 
 woman is endowed, and which gives her the 
 vigor of her nervous system which dominates 
 and invigorates the development of the flesh. 
 Otherwise her light step, which was of an incom- 
 parable nobleness, could not be explained. 
 
 Only the women whose quarterings begin with 
 Noah, know how, like Eleonore, to be queenly in 
 spite of being as plump as a farmer's wife. A 
 philosopher, perhaps, would have pitied Philoxene 
 in admiring the fortunate distribution of the corsage 
 and the careful details of a morning costume, carried
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 387 
 
 off with the elegance of a queen and the ease of a 
 young woman. With hair, daringly dressed with 
 abundant curls, without any dye, and braided high 
 upon her head, Eleonore proudly displayed her 
 snowy neck, her breast and beautifully modeled 
 shoulders, her dazzlingly brilliant bare arms, and 
 celebrated hands. Modeste, like all the antagonists 
 of the duchess, recognized in her one of those 
 women of whom one naturally says: "She is our 
 superior." And, indeed, Eleonore was one of those 
 grand women who have now become so rare in 
 France. It would be like trying to analyze the sub- 
 lime, to attempt to describe the stateliness in the 
 carriage of her head, the fineness and delicacy in 
 such and such a bending of her neck, the harmony 
 in her movements, the dignity in her bearing, the 
 nobility in the perfect accord of the details with the 
 whole, and in those artifices which finally become 
 natural and which make of a woman something 
 grand and sacred. This poetry is enjoyed like that 
 of Paganini, without being able to explain to one's 
 self its medium, for the cause is always the soul, 
 which is manifesting itself. 
 
 The duchess inclined her head to salute Helene 
 and her aunt, then she said to Diane in a sprightly, 
 pure voice, without a sign of emotion : 
 "Is it not time for us to dress, duchess?" 
 And she went out, accompanied by her daugh- 
 ter-in-law and Mademoiselle d'Herouville, both of 
 whom gave her an arm. She talked low, in going 
 out, with the elderly lady, who pressed her against
 
 388 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 her heart saying: "How charming you are!" 
 which signified, "I am indebted to you for the ser- 
 vice which you have just done us." 
 
 Mademoiselle d'Herouville returned to play the 
 spy and her first glance apprised Canal is that the 
 last word of the duchess had not been a vain threat. 
 The diplomatic apprentice found he had too little 
 science for such a terrible struggle, but his intelli- 
 gence at least enabled him to put himself into a true, 
 if not worthy position. When Ernest reappeared 
 bringing Modeste's handkerchief, he took him by 
 the arm and led him out upon the lawn. 
 
 "My dear friend," he said to him, "I am not only 
 the most unhappy, but the most ridiculous man in 
 the world; therefore, I have recourse to you to draw 
 me out of the wasp's nest into which I have thrust 
 myself. Modeste is a demon; she has seen my 
 embarrassment, she is laughing at it, and she has 
 just spoken of two lines from one of Madame de 
 Chaulieu's letters, which I was so foolish as to 
 trust to her. Should she show them, I shall never 
 be able to make up with Eleonore. Therefore, ask 
 Modeste at once for this paper and tell her from me, 
 that I have no views respecting her, no pretensions. 
 I count upon her delicacy, upon the honor of a 
 young girl, to conduct herself toward me as if we 
 had never seen one another. I beg her not to speak 
 to me, and I entreat her to treat me with sternness, 
 without daring to ask from her a sort of jealous 
 anger which would serve my interests marvelously 
 well. Go! 1 will await you here."
 
 Ernest de la Briere noticed, as he returned to the 
 drawing-room, a young officer of the company of 
 the Guards of Havre, the Vicomte de Serizy, who 
 had just arrived from Rosny to announce that MA- 
 DAME was obliged to attend at the opening of the 
 session. One knows how important this constitu- 
 tional solemnity was when Charles X. pronounced 
 his discourse, surrounded by all his family, Madame 
 la Dauphine and MADAME being there in their trib- 
 une. The choice of ambassador charged to ex- 
 press the regrets of the princess was an attention 
 to Diane. It was said she was adored by this 
 charming young man, son of a Minister of State, 
 gentleman of the king's bed-chamber, with the pros- 
 pect of a high destiny in his quality of only son and 
 the heir of an immense fortune. The Duchesse 
 de Maufrigneuse allowed the attentions of the vis- 
 count only for the purpose of better calling attention 
 to the age of Madame de Serizy, his mother, who 
 according to the chronicle published sub rosa, had 
 stolen away from her the heart of the handsome 
 Lucien de Rubempre. 
 
 "You will do us the pleasure, I hope, of remain- 
 ing at Rosembray," said the severe duchess to the 
 young officer. 
 
 In opening her ears widely to scandal, the devout 
 woman closed her eyes to the levity of her guests, 
 (389)
 
 3QO MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 carefully paired off by the duke; for one does not 
 know all that these excellent women will tolerate 
 under the pretext of leading back to the fold, 
 through their indulgence, the erring sheep. 
 
 "We reckoned," said the Grand Equerry, "with- 
 out our constitutional government, and Rosembray 
 and Madame la Duchesse will lose a great honor by 
 it" 
 
 "We shall only be more at our ease by it," said 
 a tall, lean old man, of about seventy-five years old, 
 dressed in blue cloth, and keeping on his hunting 
 cap with the ladies' permission. 
 
 This personage, who greatly resembled the Due 
 de Bourbon, was no less than the Prince de Cadig- 
 nan, Master of the Hounds, one of the last great 
 French lords. 
 
 At the instant when La Briere tried to pass be- 
 hind the sofa to ask for a moment's conversation 
 with Modeste, a man thirty-eight years old, short, 
 fat, and vulgar, entered. 
 
 "My son, the Prince de Loudon," said the Duch- 
 esse de Verneuil to Modeste, who could not repress 
 an expression of astonishment at seeing by whom 
 the name was borne which the general of the Ven- 
 dean cavalry had made so celebrated, both by his 
 boldness and by the martyrdom of his sufferings. 
 
 The present Due de Verneuil was a third son 
 taken by his father with him when he emigrated 
 and the sole survivor of four children. 
 
 "Gaspard!" said the duchess calling her son to 
 her.
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 391 
 
 The young prince came at his mother's command, 
 who continued as she pointed to Modeste: 
 
 "Mademoiselle de la Bastie, my friend." 
 
 The heir presumptive, whose marriage had been 
 arranged with the only daughter of Desplein, bowed 
 to the young girl, without appearing to be struck 
 with wonder at her beauty as his father had been. 
 Modeste could then compare the youth of to-day 
 with the old age of former times, for the old Prince 
 de Cadignan had already said to her two or three 
 charming things, thus proving to her that he ren- 
 dered as much homage to woman as to royalty. 
 The Due de Rhetore, the eldest son of Madame de 
 Chaulieu, chiefly noticeable for that tone which 
 unites impertinence and unceremoniousness, had, 
 like the Prince de Loudon, bowed to Modeste 
 almost cavalierly. The reason of this contrast 
 between the sons and fathers comes, perhaps, from 
 the fact that the heirs do not feel themselves 
 of great importance like their grandfathers, and 
 rid themselves of the burden of power when they 
 find that they possess only the shadow of it 
 The fathers have still the politeness inherent to 
 their vanished grandeur, like the summits still 
 gilded by the sun when everything is in shadow 
 around. 
 
 At last Ernest could whisper two words to Mo- 
 deste, who arose. 
 
 "My little dear," said the duchess thinking 
 Modeste was going to dress, as she drew the bell- 
 rope, "you shall be conducted to your room."
 
 392 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 Ernest went with Modeste to the grand staircase, 
 repeating to her the unfortunate Canal is's request, 
 and he tried to touch her by painting Melchior's 
 agonies. 
 
 "He loves, you see! He is a captive who 
 thought he could break his chain." 
 
 "That fierce, fortune calculator in love?" laughed 
 Modeste. 
 
 "Mademoiselle, you are entering life, you do not 
 know its windings. You must pardon a man all his 
 inconsistencies, who puts himself under the domin- 
 ion of a woman older than himself, for he is power- 
 less. Think of the sacrifices Canal is has made for 
 his divinity ! Now he has sown too many seeds to 
 disdain the harvest, the duchess represents ten years 
 of care and happiness. You have made this poet 
 forget all, who unfortunately has more vanity than 
 pride; he has known what he was losing only when 
 he again saw Madame de Chaulieu. If you knew 
 Canalis you would aid him. He is a child who is 
 always upsetting his life! You call him a calculator ; 
 but he calculates very badly. Besides, like all poets 
 and people of sentiment, he is full of childish actions, 
 dazzled like children by that which sparkles, and 
 running after it. He loved horses and pictures, 
 then he cherished fame; he sold his pictures to 
 have armor, and furniture of the Renaissance and of 
 Louis XV. Now he wants power. Acknowledge 
 at least that his playthings are noble." 
 
 "Enough!" said Modeste. "Come," she said, as 
 she saw her father, whom she called by a sign of her
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 393 
 
 head, to ask for his arm, "I am going to give you 
 the two lines; you will carry them to the great man, 
 and assure him of an entire compliance with his 
 wishes on my part, but on one condition. I wish 
 you to give him my thanks for the pleasure I have 
 had in seeing played, for myself alone, one of the 
 most beautiful of German theatrical plays. I know 
 now that the masterpiece of Goethe is neither Faust 
 nor the Count of Egmont." 
 
 And as Ernest looked with a puzzled air at the 
 mischievous girl, she continued: "It is Torquato 
 Tasso. Tell Monsieur de Canal is to read it over 
 again," she added with a smile. "I insist that you 
 repeat this word for word to your friend, for this is 
 not an epigram, but the justification of his conduct, 
 with this difference, that he will become, I hope, 
 very reasonable, thanks to Eleonore's folly." 
 
 The first lady in waiting of the duchess led the 
 way for Modeste and her father to their rooms, 
 where Franchise Cochet had already put everything 
 in order, the elegance and refinement of which as- 
 tonished the colonel, when Francoise said that there 
 were thirty apartments of this style in the chateau. 
 
 "This is what I understand by a landed estate," 
 said Modeste. 
 
 "The Comte de la Bastie must build a similar 
 chateau for you," replied the colonel. 
 
 "Here, monsieur, "said Modeste, giving the little 
 paper to Ernest, "go and reassure our friend." 
 
 This expression "our friend" struck the auditor. 
 He looked at Modeste to know if there was anything
 
 394 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 serious in the community of sentiments which she 
 appeared to accept, and the young girl understand- 
 ing this interrogation, said to him : 
 
 "Well, hurry! Your friend awaits you." 
 
 La Briere blushed exceedingly and went out in a 
 state of doubt, anxiety, and of trouble more cruel 
 than despair. The approaches to happiness are, 
 for true lovers, comparable to that which Catholic 
 poetry has so well called the entrance to Paradise. 
 It expresses a shadowy, difficult, and narrow place 
 where the last cries of the supreme agony resound. 
 
 One hour later, the illustrious company, in full 
 complement, was reunited in the salon, some play- 
 ing whist, others talking, and the ladies busy with 
 some trifling work while waiting for the announce- 
 ment of dinner. The Master of the Hounds was 
 talking with Monsieur Mignon about China, his 
 campaigns, about the families of Portenduere, the 
 1'Estorades, and the Maucombes of Provence. He 
 reproached him for not having asked for service, in 
 assuring him that nothing was easier than to restore 
 him to his rank of colonel in the Guard. 
 
 "A man of your birth and fortune ought not to 
 wed the opinions of the present opposition," said 
 the prince with a smile. 
 
 This society, of the best, not only pleased 
 Modeste, but she acquired there, during her stay, a 
 perfection of manner which without this revelation 
 would have been wanting all her life. Show a 
 clock to an embryo mechanic and it will reveal to 
 him the mechanism in its entirety, as it immediately
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 395 
 
 develops the germs of a faculty which sleeps 
 within him. In the same way, Modeste knew how 
 to appropriate for herself all that made the Duch- 
 esses de Maufrigneuse and de Chaulieu distin- 
 guished. All this was for her an education, although 
 one of the middle-class would have brought away 
 only the ridiculousness of an imitation of these 
 manners. A young girl well-born, educated and in- 
 clined as Modeste, naturally put herself in sym- 
 pathy with her surroundings and discovered the 
 differences which separate the aristocratic world 
 from that of the middle-class, the province from the 
 Faubourg Saint-Germain. She seized these almost 
 undiscernible shades, and recognized the grace of 
 the great lady without despairing of acquiring it 
 She found that her father and La Briere appeared 
 infinitely better than Canal is in the bosom of this 
 Olympus. The great poet, abdicating his real and 
 incontestable power, that of the mind, was only a 
 Master of Requests desiring the office of Minister, 
 pursuing the collar of Commander, and obliged to 
 please all these constellations. Ernest de la Briere, 
 without ambition remained himself; while Mel- 
 chior, having become a toady, to make use of a 
 vulgar expression, courted the Prince de Loudon, 
 the Due de Rhetore, the Vicomte de Serizy, and 
 the Due de Maufrigneuse, as a man who did not 
 dare to speak his mind like Colonel Mignon, Comte 
 de la Bastie, proud of his services and the esteem of 
 the Emperor Napoleon. Modeste remarked the con- 
 tinual preoccupation of the man of mind seeking an
 
 396 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 opportunity for a witticism, a brilliant speech to 
 cause laughter or a compliment to flatter these 
 mighty powers with whom Melchior wished to re- 
 main on good terms. Thus, at last, this peacock 
 lost his plumage. 
 
 In the middle of the evening, Modeste seated her- 
 self with the Grand Equerry in a corner of the 
 drawing-room. She had led him there to end a 
 struggle which she could no longer encourage 
 without despising herself. 
 
 "Monsieur le Due, if you knew me," she said to 
 him, "you would know how much I am touched by 
 your attentions. Precisely on account of the deep 
 esteem which I have conceived for your character, 
 and of the friendship which a soul like yours in- 
 spires, I would not wish to wound your self-love 
 in the slightest degree. Before your arrival at 
 Havre, I loved sincerely, deeply, and forever, a 
 person worthy of being loved, and for whom my 
 affection is still a secret; but know and here I am 
 more sincere than most young girls that if I had 
 not had this voluntary attachment you would have 
 been my choice, so greatly do I recognize noble and 
 fine qualities in you. The few words spoken by 
 your sister and aunt oblige me to speak with you 
 thus. If you deem it advisable to-morrow before 
 the departure of the hunting party, my mother will 
 have recalled me to her by a message under the pre- 
 text of severe indisposition. I do not wish, with- 
 out your consent, to take part at a fte which I owe 
 to your kindness, and where my secret, should it
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 397 
 
 escape me, would pain you by clashing with your 
 legitimate claims. Why did I come here? Will 
 you tell me ? I could not refuse to accept the invi- 
 tation. Be generous enough to excuse me from an 
 almost necessary curiosity. This is not the most 
 delicate part of that which I have to say to you. 
 You have in my father and me truer friends than 
 you think ; and as my fortune was the first motive 
 in your thoughts when you came to me, without 
 wishing to make use of this as a balm to your sor- 
 row which you have gallantly testified, know that 
 my father is busying himself about the matter of 
 Herouville. His friend Dumay thinks it feasible, 
 and he has already taken steps to form a company. 
 Gobenheim, Dumay, and my father offer fifteen 
 hundred thousand francs, and take upon themselves 
 to acquire the remainder by the confidence which 
 they inspire in capitalists by taking this serious in- 
 terest in the business. If I have not the honor of 
 being the Duchesse d'Herouville, I am almost sure 
 of placing you in a position to choose her some day 
 at pleasure, in all freedom, in the high circle where 
 she is. Oh! allow me to finish," she said at a 
 gesture from the duke 
 
 "Judging from your brother's emotion," said Ma- 
 demoiselle d'Herouville to her niece, "it is easy to 
 see that you have a sister." 
 
 "Monsieur le Due, this was decided by me the 
 day of our first horseback ride when I heard you 
 deplore your situation. That is what I wished to 
 reveal to you. That day my fate was fixed. If you
 
 398 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 have not found a wife, you have found friends at 
 Ingouville, if you deign to accept us by that title." 
 
 This little speech, premeditated by Modeste, was 
 said with such a charm of soul, that tears came to 
 the eyes of the Grand Equerry, who seized Modeste's 
 hand and kissed it 
 
 "Stay here during the hunt," replied the duke, 
 "my lack of merit has accustomed me to these re- 
 fusals; but, while accepting your friendship and 
 that of the colonel, you must allow me to assure 
 myself through the judgment of competent scientific 
 men that the draining of the Herouville marshes will 
 add no risk, in fact, that they will yield profits to 
 the company of which you speak, before I can agree 
 to accept this offer of your friends. You are a 
 noble girl, however much I may suffer in being only 
 a friend to you, I will glory in the title and will 
 prove myself worthy to bear it at all times and in 
 all places." 
 
 "In any case, Monsieur le Due, let us keep our 
 secret My choice will not be known, unless I de- 
 ceive myself, until my mother's complete recovery, 
 for I wish that my future husband and I should be 
 blessed by her first glance."
 
 "Ladies," said the Prince de Cadignan just be- 
 fore retiring, "I hear that several of you intend to 
 follow the chase to-morrow with us. Now I believe 
 it my duty to warn you that if you intend to emu- 
 late Diana you must rise like Diana at daybreak. 
 The meet is fixed for half-past eight I have seen 
 women, in the course of my life, show more courage 
 than men, but for a short time only, and you will 
 need all your strength to stay on horseback all day, 
 except a short halt which we will make for break- 
 fast, like true hunters and huntresses 'on the nail.' 
 Are you still determined to show yourselves finished 
 horsewomen?" 
 
 "For myself, prince, I must," said Modeste 
 adroitly. 
 
 "I will answer for myself," said the Duchesse de 
 Chaulieu. 
 
 "I know that my daughter, Diane, is worthy of 
 her name," replied the prince. "So you are all 
 resolute Nevertheless, I shall arrange for the sake 
 of Madame and Mademoiselle de Verneuil and those 
 who stay here to drive the stag to the bottom of the 
 pond." 
 
 "Rest assured, ladies," said the Prince de Loudon, 
 when the Prince de Cadignan had left the room, 
 "that the breakfast 'on the nail* will take place in 
 a magnificent tent" 
 
 The next day, at dawn, there was every reason 
 
 (399)
 
 400 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 to predict a beautiful day. The skies veiled by a 
 slight gray vapor showed spaces of pure blue and 
 the northwest winds which already played with 
 these fleecy clouds, promised to sweep them all 
 away by midday. In setting out from the chateau, 
 the Master of the Hunt, the Prince de Loudon and 
 the Due de Rhetore, who were accompanied by 
 ladies, started in advance. They noticed and ad- 
 mired the white mass of the chateau with its many 
 chimneys rising through the cloud of mists, against 
 a background of red-brown foliage, which the trees 
 of Normandy preserve at the close of autumn. 
 
 "The ladies are favored in having fine weather," 
 said the Due de Rhetore to the prince. 
 
 "Oh! in spite of their boastings of yesterday, I 
 believe they will allow us to go to the chase with- 
 out them," replied the prince. 
 
 "That might be if each had not an escort," said 
 the duke. 
 
 At this moment, these two determined huntsmen 
 for the Prince de Loudon and the Due de Rhetore 
 were of the race of Nimrod and had the reputation 
 of being the finest shots of the Faubourg Saint-Ger- 
 main heard the noise of an altercation and they 
 put spurs to their horses and galloped toward the 
 round point chosen for the meet, which was at one 
 of the entrances of the Rosembray woods, and 
 famous for its mossy turf. The quarrel arose from 
 the fact that the Prince de Loudon, who was an 
 anglomaniac, had placed under the orders of the 
 Master of the Hunt, a hunting arrangement entirely
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 401 
 
 Britannic. Now, a young Englishman of small 
 build, blond, pale, with an indifferent, phlegmatic 
 air, speaking hardly a word of French, and dressed 
 with a neatness which distinguishes all English- 
 men, even those of the middle-class, had put him- 
 self at one side of the round point John Barry 
 wore a short frock coat, close fitting, of scarlet cloth 
 with silk buttons, on which were the De Verneuil 
 arms, white leather breeches, top boots, a striped 
 waistcoat and a cape and collar of black velvet He 
 held in his hand a small hunting whip, and had on 
 his left side a brass horn attached by a silk cord. 
 This first whipper-in was accompanied by two large 
 thoroughbred hounds, veritable foxhounds, with 
 white and liver-colored skins, long hind legs, deli- 
 cate noses, small heads and little high-placed ears. 
 This whipper-in, one of the most celebrated of the 
 country from which the prince had brought him at 
 great expense, commanded a hunting establishment 
 of fifteen horses and sixty English thoroughbred 
 dogs, which cost the Due de Verneuil an enormous 
 amount of money. He really cared little for hunt- 
 ing, but indulged his son in this essentially royal 
 taste. The subordinates, men and horses, stood at 
 a respectful distance in perfect silence. 
 
 Now, upon arriving on the ground, John saw that 
 three whippers-in, at the head of two royal packs, 
 had arrived before him. They had come in car- 
 riages and were the three best whippers-in of the 
 Prince de Cadignan and their appearance on account 
 of their manners and French costumes formed a 
 26
 
 402 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 marked contrast to the representative of insolent 
 Albion. These favorites of the prince, all wearing 
 their three-cornered laced hats, very flat and broad, 
 under which grinned their sun-burnt furrowed faces, 
 illuminated by sparkling eyes, were remarkably 
 lean, thin and nervous, like persons consumed by 
 the passion for hunting. Each one was provided 
 with three great hunting horns a la Dampierre, 
 which were ornamented with heavy green cord 
 which only allowed the brass mouthpiece to be visi- 
 ble. They controlled their dogs by the eye and 
 voice. These noble beasts formed an assembly of 
 subjects more faithful than those whom the king 
 was then addressing. They were all spotted with 
 white, brown or black, each having a face as intelli- 
 gent as the soldiers of Napoleon ; the slightest sound 
 illumined the pupils of their eyes with a fire which 
 made them resemble diamonds. One of them from 
 Poitou, with short haunches, large shoulders, low 
 joints and long ears; another from England, white, 
 like a greyhound with small belly, little ears and 
 modeled for running; all the young ones impatient 
 and nervous to start, while the old ones, marked 
 with wounds, lay flat and quiet with their heads 
 on their front paws and listening, like savages, at 
 the ground. 
 
 Seeing the Englishman approach, the dogs and the 
 king's followers looked at one another as much as to 
 say: 
 
 "Are we then not to hunt alone? will not the 
 service of His Majesty be compromised?"
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 403 
 
 After commencing by pleasantries, the discussion 
 became heated between Monsieur Jacquin la 
 Roulie, the old chief of the French whippers-in, and 
 John Barry, the young Islander. 
 
 From afar off the two princes divined the subject 
 of this altercation, and, urging his horse, the Master 
 of the Hounds quieted everything by asking in an 
 imperative voice : 
 
 "Who has beaten the woods?" 
 
 "I, my lord," said the Englishman. 
 
 "Good," said the Prince de Cadignan as he 
 listened to John Barry's report 
 
 Horses, dogs, everyone became respectful to the 
 Master of the Hounds as if all equally recognized 
 his supreme authority. The prince arranged the 
 day. For a hunt is like a battle and the Master of 
 the Hounds of Charles X. was the Napoleon of the 
 forest. Thanks to the admirable order introduced 
 into the hunting train by him the master could oc- 
 cupy himself exclusively with the strategy and 
 high science of it He understood how to assign 
 its place in the disposition of the day's work to the 
 hunting party of the Prince de Loudon by reserving 
 it, like a cavalry corps, to beat up the stag toward 
 the pond ; if as he expected, the royal pack suc- 
 ceeded in driving him into the Crown forest which 
 bordered the horizon in front of the chateau. The 
 Master of the Hounds knew how to treat with con- 
 sideration the self-love of his old servants by con- 
 fiding to them the hardest work; and that of the 
 Englishman, whom he made use of in his specialty,
 
 404 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 by giving him an opportunity to show the prowess 
 of his dogs' and horses' legs. The two systems 
 would thus be in competition and do wonders in 
 emulation of each other. 
 
 "Does Monseigneur still order us to wait?" asked 
 La Roulie respectfully. 
 
 "I understand you, old fellow!" replied the 
 prince, "it is late, but " 
 
 "Here are the ladies, for Jupiter scents the odors of 
 the fetiches /'said the second whipper-in, as he noticed 
 the way that his favorite dog was taking to the scent 
 
 "Fetiches?" said the Prince de Loudon with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Perhaps he wanted to say fetid," said the Due 
 de Rhetore. 
 
 "That is it indeed, for everything which does not 
 smell of the kennels, is infectious according to 
 Monsieur Laravine," replied the Master of the 
 Hounds. 
 
 The three lords did indeed see afar off a squadron 
 composed of sixteen horses, at the head of which 
 floated the green veils of the four ladies. Modeste, 
 accompanied by her father, the Grand Equerry and 
 the little La Briere, was in advance at the side of 
 the Duchesse de Maufrigneuse, who was escorted 
 by the Vicomte de Serizy. Then came the Duch- 
 esse de Chaulieu flanked by Canal is upon whom 
 she was smiling, without a trace of rancor. Upon 
 arriving at the cross-roads, where the huntsmen, 
 dressed in red and armed with their hunting horns, 
 surrounded by dogs and whippers-in, formed a
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 405 
 
 picture worthy of the brush of a Van der Meulen; 
 the Duchesse de Chaulieu, who sat admirably well 
 on her horse, in spite of her plumpness, approached 
 Modeste as she found it inconsistent with her dignity 
 to sulk any longer with this young person, to whom 
 she had not spoken a word the evening before. 
 
 Just as the Master of the Hounds finished compli- 
 menting the ladies upon their fabulous punctuality, 
 Eleonore deigned to notice the magnificent whip- 
 handle which sparkled in Modeste's tiny hand and 
 graciously asked permission to inspect it 
 
 "This is the most magnificent of its kind that I 
 have ever seen," she said as she showed this mas- 
 terpiece to Diane de Maufrigneuse, "and besides, it 
 is in harmony with the entire person," she added, 
 as she handed it back to Modeste. 
 
 "You must own, Madame la Duchesse," replied 
 Mademoiselle de la Bastie, as she cast a tender and 
 mischievous glance at La Briere, in which the lover 
 read an avowal, "that it is a very singular gift from 
 one's future husband." 
 
 "But," said Madame de Maufrigneuse, "I should 
 take it as a declaration of my rights in remembrance 
 of Louis XIV." 
 
 Tears came into La Briere's eyes and hedropped his 
 horse's rein, and seemed about to fall ; but a second 
 glance from Modeste gave him back his strength in 
 commanding him not to betray his happiness. 
 
 As they started off the Due d'Herouville said in 
 a low voice to the young auditor : 
 
 "I hope, monsieur, you will make your wife
 
 406 MODESTE MIGNON 
 
 happy and if I can be useful to you in anything, 
 command me, for I would like to be able to contrib- 
 ute to the happiness of so charming a pair." 
 
 This great day, in which such tremendous inter- 
 ests of heart and fortune were decided, offered to the 
 Master of the Hounds only one problem. That of 
 knowing if the stag would traverse the pond to die 
 on the lawn in front of the chateau ; for celebrated 
 huntsmen are like chess-players, who predict the 
 checkmate on a particular square. This fortunate 
 old man succeeded beyond his hopes; he made a 
 magnificent chase and the ladies released him from 
 his attendance upon them the following day which, 
 however, was rainy. 
 
 The Due de Verneuil's guests remained five days 
 at Rosembray. The last day, the Gazette de France 
 contained the announcement of the nomination of 
 Monsieur le Baron de Canal is to the rank of Com- 
 mander of the Legion of Honor and to the post of 
 Minister at Carlsruhe. 
 
 When, during the first days of December, Madame 
 the Comtesse de la Bastie, having been operated 
 upon by Desplein, could at last see Ernest de la 
 Briere, she pressed Modeste's hand and said in her 
 ear: 
 
 "I should have chosen him myself." 
 
 Toward the end of February, all the deeds of 
 purchase were signed by the worthy and excellent 
 Latournelle, the attorney of Monsieur Mignon in 
 Provence. The family of La Bastie obtained from 
 the king the distinguished honor of his signature to
 
 MODESTE MIGNON 407 
 
 the contract of marriage and the transmission of the 
 title and the arms of La Bastie to Ernest de la 
 Briere, who was authorized to call himself the Vi- 
 comte de la Bastie la Briere. The estate of La Bas- 
 tie, raised again to an income of more than one 
 hundred thousand francs, was converted into an 
 entailed estate through letters patent which the 
 Royal Court registered toward the end of April. 
 The witnesses for La Briere were Canal is and the 
 Minister for whom he had been private secretary 
 for five years. Those for the bride were the Due 
 d'Herouville and Desplein, to whom the Mignons 
 were deeply grateful, after having given him mag- 
 nificent testimonials. 
 
 Later, perhaps, we shall see again in the course 
 of this long history of our manners and customs, 
 Monsieur and Madame de la Briere la Bastie. Good 
 judges will then remark, how sweet is married life 
 and how easy its yoke, with an intelligent and 
 educated wife. For Modeste, who knew how to 
 avoid, according to her promise, the follies of 
 pedantry, is still the pride and joy of her husband, 
 as of her family and all who compose her world. 
 
 Paris, March July, 1844.
 
 LIST OF ETCHINGS 
 
 VOLUME XIV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 COLONEL MIGNON AND DUMAY Fronts. 
 
 MODESTE MIGNON TO CANALIS 80 
 
 CANALIS, LA BR1ERE AND MODESTE'S LETTER . . . * 88 
 
 M. BUTSCHA AND THE POSTMAN 168 
 
 CANALIS BETWEEN MODESTE AND THE DUCHESSE . 384 
 
 14 N. & R., Mig. 409
 
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