GIFT OF John H. Mee r :^M '■^■i \ THE COMEDY OF HUMAN LIFE Bv H. DE BALZAC SCENES FROM PROVINCIAL LIFE LOST ILLUSIONS The Two Poets Eve and David BALZAC'S NOVELS. 'I'ranslatcd by Miss K. P. WoRMELEY. .tlrrndt/ I'lihlishetl: PERE GORIOT. DUCHESSE DE LANGEAIS. RISE AND FALL OF CESAR BIROTTEAU. EUGENIE GRANDET. COUSIN PONS. THE COUNTRY DOCTOR. THE TWO BROTHERS. THE ALKAHEST. MODESTE MIGNON. THE MAGIC SKIN (Peau de Chagrin). COUSIN BETTE. LOUIS LAMBERT. BUREAUCRACY (Les Employes). SERAPHITA. SONS OP THE SOIL. FAME AND SORROW. THE LILY OP THE VALLEY, URSULA. AN HISTORICAL MYSTERY. ALBERT SAVARUS. BALZAC : A MEMOIR. PIERRETTE. THE CHOUANS. LOST ILLUSIONS. — ■• KOBKRTS HROTHKRS, Puhllsheus, BOSTON. HONORE DF. BALZAC TKANoLATh') B^' KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY LOST ILLUSIONS -\ The Two Poets Eve and David ROBERTS BROTHERS 3 SOMERSET STREET BOSTON 1893 GIFT OF ^Aa Copyright, 1893, By Roberts Brothers. All rights reserved. Clnibrroitn JiTfOB : John Wilson and Son, Camhkiugk, U.S.A. "D, NOTE. '' Illusions Perdues " is in three parts, of which the first and third ('' Les Deux Pontes" and "Eve et David") belong consecutively together; while the second part ( " Un Grand Homme de Province a Paris") is, comparatively, an independent histor}-. For the convenience and uniformit}' of this series of trans- lations the first and third parts are here jilaced to- gether ; the second part will follow under the title : *' A Great Man of the Provinces in Paris." 796250 CONTENTS. Part first. THE TWO POETS. PAGE I. A PRI^'TING-H0USE IN THE PROVINCES ... 1 II. Madame de Bargetox 28 III. An Evening in Society 60 IV. Ax Evening by the Riverside 118 V. Catastrophes of Provixcial Love . . . 146 ?Part ^mnti. EVE AND DAVID. I. A Brave "Woman 179 II. The First Thunderclap 202 III. Lecture, public axd gratuitous, on Bills OF Costs, for the Benefit of Young Men who cannot meet their Notes . . 222 IV. Eureka 238 V. Why Arrest for Debt is extremely rare IN THE Provinces 262 Vlll Lost Illusions. PAGE VI. A Ckisis, whkn tin-: Dous stand and look AT EACH OTIIEi: 279 VII. 'J'lii: RiiTUUN OF THE Tkodigal Bkotiiei; . 293 \ili. TuE Machineky of an Ovation .... 30G IX. Lucien's Kepkisals at the Hotel de Baugeton 336 X. A SUI'KEME FaUEWELL, FOLLOWED BY A Lecture on Histouy and another on Morality 351 XI. A Day too Late 384 XII. An Illusion Uejjigned 406 LOST ILLUSIONS. PART FIRST. THE TWO POETS. I. A PRINTING-HOUSE IN THE PROVINCES. At the period when this history begins, Stanhope's press and cylinders for the distribntion of ink were nil- known to provincial printing-houses. In spite of the specialt}' which brought Angouleine into close relations with Parisian typography, that town was still making use of wooden presses, — from which the term, now meaningless, a '' groaning press," was derived. The antiquated leathern pads, daubed with ink, with which ihe pressmen stamped the type, were still in use. The movable frame where they now place the form, filled with letters on which the paper is applied, was then of stone, and justified its technical name of "" marble." The ravenous mechanical presses of our day have made us forget so completely this old-time mechanism (to which, in spite of its imperfections, we owe the noble work of Elzevir, of Plantin, Aldiui, Didot, and others) that it is necessary to mention these old tools for which 1 2 ' ■ ' .LoW Illusions. their owner, Jer6me-Nieolas Sechard, felt a supersti- tious affection ; the^' have a part to play in this great little histor}'. Sechard was formorh" a journeyman printer, of the kind which the workmen whose duty it was to collect the letters called, in typographic slang, a "bear." The incessant coming and going and turning, ver}- like that of a bear in bis cage, with which the pressmen moved from the ink to tlie press, and from the press to the ink, was no doubt the origin of the nickname. In return, the bears called the compositors " monkeys," on account of the agilit}' with which those gentr}' were obliged to catch up the letters from the hundred and fiftj' little cases which contained them. At the dis- astrous period of the Revolution, Sechard, then about fifty years old, was lately married. His age and his marriage saved him from the great draft which swept nearly all the workmen of France into the army. The old pressman was left alone in the printing-onice, the master of which (otherwise termed the "naif) had just died, leaving a widow and two children. The establishment seemed threatened with immediate col- lapse. The solitar}' bear could not be transformed into a monkey for the reason that, in his capacity as a press- man, he had not knowu how to read or write. At this juncture a representative of the people, eager to dis- tribute the noble decrees of the Convention, bestowed upon the pressman, without paying any heed to his incapacity, tlie license of a master-})rinter, and gave him the work to do. Having accepted this perilous license, citizen Si'rhard bouiiht out the widow of his master with the savings of Lost Illusions. 3 his own wife, paying for the establishment about half its actual value. But that was nothing. He was now constrained to print, without error or dela}', all the Republican decrees. At this ditlicult juncture JerOme- Nicolas Sechard, luckily for him, met a Marseilles nobleman who was anxious to neither emigrate (and lose his property), nor be noticed (and lose his head), but who was forced to earn his living b}' some form of toil. Accordingl}' he, Monsieur le Comte de Maucombe donned the humble jacket of a foreman of a provincial printing-office. He set up in type and corrected the proofs of the very decrees which condemned to death all citizens who harbored and hid the nobles ; the bear (now become a '•'naif") struck them off and posted them ; and the pair, thus employed, remained safe and sound. In 1795, when the whirlwind of the Terror was over, Nicolas Sechard was obliged to look out for another foreman. An abbe, afterwards bishop under the Resto- ration, who had refused the oath, took the place of the Comte de Maucombe until Napoleon restored the Catholic worship. The count and the bishop met later on the same bench in the Chamber of peers. Though Jerome-Nicolas Sechard knew no more about reading and writing in 1802 than he did in 1793, he had, nevertheless, accumulated enough of this world's goods to hire a foreman. The journeyman once so careless of his future had now become extremely terri- f3'ing to his monke3'S and his bears. Avarice begins where poverty ends. The day on which the printer perceived that he might possibly make his fortune, self- interest developed in him a material intelligence, keen 4 Lost Illusions. as to his trade, greed}', suspicious, and penetrating. His practice set theory at defiance. He learned to estimate at a single glance the cost of a page or a sheet, ac- cording to the type employed. He proved to ignorant customers that large letters cost more to handle than small ones, — unless it were a question of the small ones, for then they became the more difficult of the two to manage. Composition being a part of typography of which he knew nothing, he was so afraid of making mistakes that he never trusted himself on any but sure ground. If his compositors worked by the hour, his e3'e never left them. If a paper-dealer were in diiii- culties, he bought up his stock at a low price and stored the paper. By this time he owned the house in which the printing business had been carried on b}' his prede- cessors from time immemorial. He had all sorts of good luck. He became a widower, and had but one son ; whom he sent to the town lyceum, less for the sake of benefiting the youth than to get himself a suc- cessor. He treated his son sternly, to prolong the period of parental power ; he made him spend his holi- days at the cases, telling him to learn how to make his living, and some day reward his poor father, who was using his life's blood to bring him up. When the abbe left the office Sechard chose a fore- man from among the four compositors whom the future bishop assured him were as honest as they were intelli- gent. In this way he managed to carry on his estab- lishment until his son was old enough to direct it. David Sc'chard niade brilliant progress at the Lyceum of Angouleme. Thougli old Si'chard — as a bear who had made his wa}' in life without knowledge or educa- Lust lUusions. 5 tiou — despised learning, he sent his son to Paris to study the best typography ; but he gave him such vehe- ment orders to amass a good round sum in a city which he called the "■ workman's paradise " (telling him not to expect a penny from the parental purse) that he must have seen a means to his secret ends in this sojourn of the lad in the " land of ivnowledge." While learning the trade David finished his educa- tion. The Didot's foreman became a man of science. Toward the close of the year 1819 he returned from Paris without having cost his father a single peun}-. The old man had recalled him to put the helm of the business into his liands. The printing-house of Nicolas SJchard published the only journal of legal advertise- ments which existed in the department ; it had also the custom of the prefecture, and that of the bisliopric, — three sources of prosperity which ought to bring fortune to an active 3'oung man. Just at this ver\' time the Cointet Brothers, paper- maivers, bought up the second printing license in An- gouleme, which Sechard had hitherto managed to re- duce to inaction, thanlis to the various military crises which, under tlie Empire, repressed all industrial enter- prise. For this reason he had neglected to bu}' it ; and this parsimony was one cause of the ultimate rain of the old printing-house. When he heard of the purchase old Sachard complacently reflected that the struggle with the Cointets would now be carried on by his son and not by himself. '• I should have brokeii down," thought he; " but a young man trained by tlie Didots will pull through it.'' The old man was long- ing for the time when he couid live as he pleased. He Lost llhmons. had, it is true, little acquaiutaiice with the upper walks ol" typography, but he was thought very able iu the art which workmen have called iu jest aoalograplde^ an art highl3' esteemed by the marvellous author of " Pau- tagruel ; " the culture of which, persecuted by what are termed temperauce societies, is now, we may almost say, abandoned. Jer6me->«icolas Sechard, true to the destiny which his name bestowed, was gifted with an in- extinguishable thirst. His wife had managed for a long time to keep within due limits this passion for grape-juice, — so natural to a bear that Monsieur de Chateaubriand observed it among the real bears of America. But philosophers have recorded that the habits of youth are wont to return with added strength in old age. Sechard was an example of tliis moral law ; the older he grew, the more he loved drink. This passion left upon his ursine countenance certain marks which gave it origi- nality ; his nose had taken the form and development of a capital A ; his veiny cheeks, like vine-leaves covered with pui'ple gibbosities and streaked with various colors, gave to his head the appearance of a monstrous trullie clasped by the shoots of autumn. Hiding behind thick e3'ebrows, which resembled bushes covered with snow, his small gra}" eyes, glittering with the avarice which had killed every other emotion within him, even that oi paternit}', kept their intelligence when he himself was drunk. His bald head, fringed with grizzly hair tliat curled at the points, recalled to the imagination the friars of La Fontaine. He was short and corpulent like tlie old-fashioned church lamps which consume more oil than wick ; for excess in anything forces the body in the direction of its own tendencies ; drunken- Lout Illusions. 7 ness, like stiulv, makes a fat man fatter and a thin man tliinner. For the hist thirty years Jerome-Nicolas Sechard had worn the famous three-cornered municipal hat, which in some of the provinces may still be seen on the head of the drum-majors of the neighborhood. His waist- coat and trousers were of greenish velveteen, and he wore an old brown coat, blue and white cotton stockings, and shoes with silver buckles. This costume, in which the workman and the tradesman were combined, was so well suited to his habits, it expressed his being so admirabl}', that he seemed to have been born ready dressed : you could no more imagine him without his clothes than you could see an onion without its layers of skin. If the blind and besotted greed of the old printer were not already well known, his method of getting rid of his printing business would suffice to show his char- acter. In defiance of the better knowledge which his son was certain to bring back from the great house of the Didots, old Sechard intended to strike the hard bar- gain he had long meditated, — a bargain of which he was to make a good thing and his son a bad one. But to his mind there was no such thing as father or son in business matters. He may at first have considered David in the light of an only child, but he now saw him only as a purchaser, whose natural interests were op- posed to his own. He meant to sell dear ; David, of course, would wish to buy cheap : his son became, therefore, an enemy to conquer. This transformation of feeling into selfish interest, which is ordinarily slow, tortuous, and hypocritical in educated persons, was 8 Lost Ilb(sio)is. rapid and undisguised in the old bear, who lost no time in showing how wary grogginess could get the better of educated t3'pograph3-. When liis son arrived he re- ceived him with the commercial tenderness which all clever dealers show to their dupes ; he showed as much solicitude as a lover for his mistress ; gave him his arm, told him where to walk out of the mud, had his bed warmed, a fire lighted, and a supper made ready. The next da\% after trj'ing to intoxicate his son at a copious dinner, Jerome Sechard (himself verj- drunk) said sud- denh', *^Now we '11 talk business," — a proposal emitted between two hiccoughs in so singular a manner that David at once proposed to put off the matter till the next morning. But the old bear knew too well how to make use of his drunkenness to give up the battle he had long been planning. Besides, having carried his ball and chain for fifty years he was determined not to bear it an hour longer ; his son should be its victim on the morrow. Here we must sa\' a word about the printing-office. It stood at the corner of the rue de Beauliou nnd the place du Murier, in a house it had occupied since the close of the reign of Louis XIV. All parts of the building had long been arranged for the different departments of a printer's trade. The giound-fioor mad6 one enormous room, lighted towards the street ))y an old casement, and by a very large window open- ing on an inner court. Tlie master's private office could be reached by a small alle\'-way ; but the various processes of typography are the ol)jects of such liveh' curiosity in tlio provinces that tlie clients and custom- ers preferred to enter by a glass d(^or which opened on Lout Ilhiaions, 9 the street, although the}' were obliged to go down some steps, tlie floor of the prinling-room being below the level of the roadway. Inquisitive visitors, who were al- ways bewildered by the scene, paid little or no atten- tion to the intricacies of tlie place. While they gazed at the vault of paper, stretched on ropes, hanging from the ceiling, the}" stumbled against the rows of cases, or had their hats knocked off b}- the iron bars which held up the presses. If they watched the active motions of a compositor, picking his letters from the hundred and fifty-two compartments of his case, readuig his cop}', rereading liis composed line, then slipping in the lead, they would blunder into reams of damp paper, pressed by weights, or catch their hips against the angles of a form, to the great delight of bear and monkeys. Xo one had ever reached, without some such accident, the two large cages at the farther end of this cavern, which formed two dismal pavilions looking on the courtyard, in one of which the foreman had liis desk, while the other was the master's office. The walls of the courtyard were agreeably decorated with trellises covered with vines, which, in keeping with the reputation of the owner, had an appetizing local color. At the farther end, backing on the division wall, was a shed where the paper was damped and cut. There, too, was the sink in which they washed the forms, or, to use the conimon term, the type-boards ; a decoc- tion of ink flowed from this sink and mingled with the household drainage, making the peasants who came to town on the market days imagine that the devil had been cleaning himself in that house. This shed was flanked on one side by the kitchen, on the other by the 10 Lost Illusions, wood-pile. The first floor of the house, above which there were only two attic chambers, contained three rooms. Tlie first, lighted towards tlie street by a small oblong window and on the courtyard by a circular one, served as antechamber and dining-room in one. The cynical simplicity of commercial stinginess was shown b}' the whitewashed walls ; the tiles of the floor were never washed ; the furniture consisted of three ricket}' chairs, a round table, a sideboard placed between two doors, which opened, one into a bedroom, the other into the salon. Doors and windows were dingy with dirt. White or printed paper usually choked up this room, and Nicolas Sechard's bottles and dinner dishes might often be seen on the bales and reams. The bedroom, tlie window of which, with its leaded panes, looked on the courtyard, was hung with old tapestry, such as we often see draping the walls of pro- vincial houses on the occasion of the Fete-Dieu. In it was a four-post bedstead with curtains, valance, ami coverlet of red serge, two worm-eaten armchairs, two other chairs covered with tapestiy, an old desk, and a clock on the chimney-piece. The salon, modernized by the late Madame Se'chard, presented a horril)le combination of woodwork, painted a vivid blue ; panels, papered with Oriental landscapes, and colored willi sepia on a white ground ; and six chairs, covered willi sheep-skin, dyed blue, the backs of wliicli represented lyres. The two windows were chnnsily arciicd and looked out, curtainless, on the phice du IMurier. Tlie chimney-piece liad no ornament, neither clock, candle- sticks, nor mirror. jMadame Scchard died in the midst of her projects of cmbcllislunent, and the bear, seeing Lost Illusions. 11 no use ill adornments which brought him nothing, dis- continued his wife's plans. It was to this room that Jerome-Nicolas Sechard, pede titubante^hvought his son to show him, on a round table, the inventor}' of the establishment, made out un- der his directions b}- the foreman. '' Read that, my lad,'' said he, rolling his tips}- eyes from the paper to his son, and from his son to the paper. "You'll see what a jewel of a business I'm going to let you have." David began to read : — " ' Three wooden presses held together by iron bars, with beds of marble in iron frames — ' " " That's an improvement of mine," said old Sechard, Interrupting his son. " ' With all their utensils, — ink-pots, balls, banks, etc., sixteen hundred francs' — But, father," said David, letting fall the inventor}', " 3'our presses are old-fashioned things, not worth three hundred — in fact, the}' are only fit for firewood." " Old-fashioned ! " cried his father. " Old-fashioned ! Take the inventory, and let's go down and look at them. You shall see that your trumpery mechanical inventions can't work like these long-tried tools. AVhen you've seen them, you won't have the heart to villify honest presses which roll like mail-coaches, and can go a lifetime without repairs. Old-fashioned, indeed ! Yes, old fashions, which will give you porridge ; old fashions, which your father has handled these twenty years, and which served him to make you what you are now." So saying he shambled down the rickety, trembling 12 Loiit Illusions. staircase without trijiping, rushed at the firf^t press, which had just been craf'tih' oiled and cleaned, and pointed to its strong oaken sides freshh' polished In* an apprentice. " Is n't that a love of a press?" he cried. A marriage invitation happened to be on it. The old bear lowered the frisket on the tympan, and the tvmpan on the slab, which he rolled beneath the press ; then he pulled the bar, unrolled the rope to draw back the slab, and raised the frisket and the t^'mpan with the agilit}' which a 3'oung bear might have given to it. The press thus handled emitted a cry like that of a bird which strikes against a window-pane and flies awa3\ " Where 's there a single English press able to work as fast as that?" he said to his amazed son. The old fellow hurried to the second press, then to the third, on both of which he performed the same ma- noeuvre with the same agility. Tiie last betrayed to his vinous eye a spot neglected by his apprentice, and the old drunkard with edifying oaths took the tail of his coat and rubbed it clean, as a jocke}' polishes the hide of a horse he wants to sell. " With those three presses you can earn nine thou- sand francs a j'ear without a foreman, David. As your future partner, I oppose your replacing them with those cursed cast-iron things wliich wear out the ty[)e. You all cried miracle in Paris over the invention of that damne ties of tliis college fricMidshij) thus renewed were soon drawn closer by the similnrity of their fate and the dilference of their natures. Both of Lost lUuHions. 25 them, triiined b}' vicissitudes, possessed that superior intelligence which puts a man on the level of all heights, and yet they were each flung by fate to the lower depths of societ}'. This injustice in their destin}- was a power- ful bond. Moreover the}' had both attained to the poetic spirit, though by different ascents. Lucien had been destined by his father to the speculations of natu- ral science, but he himself longed ardently for literar}- fame ; whereas David, whose reflective nature predis- posed him to poes}', inclined b}' taste to the exact sciences. This interchange of parts led to a sort of spiritual brotherhood. Lucien communicated to David the grand ideas he had derived from his father as to the application of science to industrv, and David taught Lucien to understand the new wa3's in which to enter literature and make both fame and fortune. The friend- ship of these 3'oung men became before long one of those passions which come to men onh' as they issue from adolescence. Soon after their meeting David saw Eve and loved her, as melancholy and meditative souls do love a woman. The et mmc et semper et in secida seculormn of tlie liturgy is the motto of the sublime but unfamed poets whose works are glorious epics, born and buried within two hearts. When this lover had perceived the secret hopes which mother and sister placed upon the beautiful brow of their idol, when their blind devotion became known to him, he took delight in drawing nearer to his mistress by sharing her hopes and sacri- fices. Lucien was to David the chosen brother of his heart. Like the ultras who desire to be more royalist than ro3'alty itself, David exaggerated the faith which 26 Lost Illusions. the mother and sister felt in Lucien's genius ; he spoilt him as a mother spoils a child. During one of the con- versations, in which, harassed b}- the want of mone}^ which tied their hands, they discussed, like all 3'oung men, the chances of making their fortune quickly by shaking the trees already despoiled of fruit b}' the first- comers, Lucien bethought himself of two ideas which emanated from his father. Monsieur Chardon had on one occasion spoken of reducing the cost of sugar b}^ the use of some novel chemical agent, and also of di- minishing the price of paper b}- importing certain vege- table products from America analagous to those used in China, the cost of which would be very small. David, who knew the importance of the latter question, which had been much discussed at the Didots, seized upon the idea, believing he saw a fortune in it, and he henceforth regarded Lucien as a benefactor for whom he could never do enough. It is easy to see how such inner lives and leading ideas unfitted these young men to manage a printing- office. Far from bringing in from fifteen to twenty thousand francs, like that of the Coiutets, the establish- ment of Sechard Son yielded a profit of scarcely* three hundred francs a month, out of which the salar}^ of tlie foreman, the wages of Marion and the workmen, taxes, and rent were all to be paid, leaving David less tiian a hundred francs a month on wliich to live. Active and industrious men would have bought new type, and changed their wooden presses for iron ones ; but master and foreman, lost in absorbing mental occupations, contented themselves witli jirinting tlie work their few remainuiji customers brought to tliem. The Cointets Lost Illusions. 27 had fathomed David's character and ha1)its and no longer attacked him ; on the contrary, a wise policy led them to encourage the feeble existence of the establish- ment and help its honest mediocrit}', lest it might fall into the hands of some formidable antagonist ; they even sent it some local work. Thus, without being aware of it, David Sechard only existed, commercially speaking, by the shrewd calcu- lation of his competitors. Delighted with what they considered his idioc}', the Cointets treated him, to all appearance, honestl}' and loyally ; in reality the}' were acting like the Messageries Royales when they set up a sham rival coach to avoid a real one. 28 Lost Illusions. 11. MADAME DE BARGETON. The exterior of the Secliard establishment was in keeping with the crass meanness of its interior, where the old bear made no repau'S. Rain and sun and the inclemency' of all the seasons had furrowed the door on the alley with uneven cracks till it looked like the trunk of an old tree. The front of the building, badly constructed of stone and brick, ])ut together without S3'mmetr3^, seemed to bend beneatli the weight of a mould}' roof covered with those hollow tiles which are used for all the roofs of Southern France. To the rotten window-casings were fastened the enormous shutters, held b}' transverse bars, -which the heat of that climate requires. It would have been hard to find in all Angouleme as cracked a building ; it was held together solely b}^ cement. Imagine the press-room, lighted at both ends and dark in the middle, the walls (covered witli posters) blackened at' the bottom by the rubbing of man}' workmen for the last thirty years ; an apparatus of ropes overhead, piles of paper, tlic old presses, heaps of cobblestones to weight the dampened sheets, lines of cases, and, at the farther end, the cages or offices in which the master and foreman sat ; imagine all this and you will get an idea of the daily life of the two friends. Lost Illusions, 29 Early in May, 1821, David and Lucien were near tlie window looking on the courtyard about two in the afternoon, just as their four or five workmen left the pressroom to go to dinner. When the master saw the apprentice close the door which opened on the street he carried Lucien off into the courtyard, as if the very smell of the papers, inkpots, presses, and old wood was intolerable to him. The\' both sat down under an arbor from which the}' could see if an}* one entered the pressroom. The sunlight, which was danc- ing among the vine-shoots, played on their heads and circled them as it were with a halo. The contrast of the two natures and the two faces was so vigorously brought out that a painter would have yielded to the seduction. David had the frame that Nature gives to those who are destined for great struggles, whether secret or illustrious. His stalwart chest was flanked with strong shoulders in keeping with the amplitude of his whole figure. His face, bronzed in tone, high- colored, fat, borne on a stout neck and topped with a thicket of black hair, seemed at first sight like those of Boileau's friars ; but a closer examination would have shown 3'ou in the curves of the thick lips, in the dimple of the chin, in the cut of the square nose cleft at the point, but above -all in the eyes, the undying fire of a single love, the sagacity of a thinker, the ardent melan- choly of a soul which could see both extremities of the horizon and penetrate all labyrinths, — a soul that soon palled of ideal enjoyments, bringing the lights of analy- sis to bear upon them. If the flashes of aspiring genius were to be seen in that face, the ashes of a volcano were there also ; hope was submerged beneath a deep 30 Lost Illusions. consciousness of the social nothingness to -which a lowly birth and want of means condemn so man}' su- perior natures. Beside the poor printer, whose trade, although so closely allied to intellect, was nauseating to him, beside this Silenus, heavily withdrawn within himself and drinking long draughts of science and poesy in order to forget in such intoxication the miseries of his narrow sphere, Lucien was sitting in the graceful attitude w^hich sculptors bestow upon their Indian Bacchus. His face had the clear-cut lines of antique beauty ; the foreliead and ^nose were Greek, the skin of a dew}- whiteness like a woman's ; his eyes were so deep a blue that they seemed black, — eyes full of love, the balls of which were pure and fresh as those of childhood. These beautiful eyes were surmounted b}' brows that were surel}' traced In' a Chinese pencil and fringed with lashes that were long and dark. On his cheeks lay a silken down which matched in color the fair hair curl- ing naturalh'. A divine suavit}' was on that brow of a golden white. Inborn nobilit}- was depicted by a chin that was short and raised, but without assumption. The smile of a saddened angel flickered on his coral lips and showed the contrast of his beautiful teeth. He had the hands of a man of birth, — elegant hands, which men obey and women love to kiss. Lucien was slender and of middle height. On seeing his feet a man might have thought him a girl in disguise, all the more because like many subtle, not to say tricky men, his hips were formed like those of a woman. That in- dication, which is seldom misleading, was verified in Lucien ; thp tendency of whose restless mind often led Lost Illusions. 31 him, when analyzing the actual condition of societ\', to the immoral ground of diplomatists who believe that all means, however shameful, are justified bj^ success. One of the trials to which great intellects are subjected is to be forced to know all things, evil as well as good, vice as well as virtue. These two 3'oung men judged society the more loftily because their own position was so low ; for those who are neglected and unknown counterbalance their hu- miliation bv the height of their stand-point. But their despair was all the more bitter because they felt them- selves going rapidly ni the direction of their actual destiny. Lucien had read much and compared much ; David had thought much and meditated deeply. Not- withstanding his appearance of robust health, the bent of the printer's nature was melancholy and even mor- bid ; he doubted himself. AVhereas Lucien, gifted with an enterprising, restless spirit, had an audacity ■which was out of keeping with his soft, almost feeble physique and tender feminine graces. Lucien's nature was in the highest degree gascon, — bold, brave, and adventurous ; a nature which magnifies good and glosses evil ; which recoils from no wrong-doing if there is profit in it, and laughs at vice while making it a stepping-stone. Such ambitious tendencies were at the present time repressed in Lucien b}- the beautiful illusions of youth, by the ardent impulses which led him to noble means, such as all ambitious men amorous of fame, seek first. He was, as yet, only grappling with his desires, and not with the difficulties of life ; with his own forces, not with the baseness of other men — which sets a fatal example to impulsive spirits. 32 Lo8t Illusio7i8. David, keenl}' fascinated b}- the brillianc}' of Lucien's mind, admired him, and at the same time corrected some of the errors into which t\\Q furle fran^aise flung him. Upright as he was, Sechard's character was timid and out of keeping with his powerful frame. He was not, however, devoid of the stead}' persistence of a Northern man. If he foresaw all difficulties he at least resolved on mastering them without giving wa}' ; and though in this respect his virtue had a firmness that was truly apostolic, he tempered it with the mercT of inexhausti- ble indulgence. In this friendship, which seemed al- read}' old, David was the one who loved with idolatrv ; Lucien ruled him like a woman who feels herself be- loved. David obeyed with delight. The physical beaut}' of his friend carried with it to liis mind a su- periority which he accepted, recognizing his own per- sonality to be heavy and common. "Farming for the patient ox, a life of airy freedom for the bird," thought he. " I will be the ox, Lucien shall be the eagle." For tlie last three years these friends had mingled their existence. They read the great works which had appeared on the literary and scientific horizon since the Peace, — the works of Schiller, Goethe, Byron, Walter Scott, Jean -Paul, Berzelius, Davy, Cuvier, etc. They heated themselves at those great fires, attempting works, which tliey pursued, abandoned, and again took up with equal ardor. They worked continually without fatiguiug the incxhaustihle powers of youth. Equally poor, yet passionately in love with art and science, the}' foigot their present misery in laying the foundations for their future fame. LoHt Illusions. 33 **Lucien, what do you think I have just received from Paris?" said David, puUing from his pocket a little 18mo volume. "Listen!" And David read, as only poets read, the idyl of Andre Chenier, entitled " Neere ; " next "La Jeune Malade," and then the elegy on suicide, and the last two iambics. "So that's Andre Che'nier ! " Lucien kept exclaim- ing. " It is enough to make one despair," he said for the third time, when David, too agitated to read on, let him take the volume. "A poet rediscovered by a poet!" said Lucien, noticing the signature to the preface — that of Henri de la Touche. "After producing what that volume contains," said David, "Chenier thought he had written nothing worthy of publication." Lucien read aloud the epic fragment of the " Aveugle " and several elegies. When he chanced upon the line — " If (hey have no joy, is there joy upon earth? " he laid down the book, and the}" both wept, for each loved to idolatry-. The vine-leaves glowed, the fissures of the old stone walls, cracked, battered, and split, took to their eyes the semblance of carvings and mouldings and bas-reliefs of some unknown or fairy architecture. Fancy scattered her roses and her rubies into the dark little court. Andre Chenier's Camille was to David his adored Eve, and to Lucien a great lady with whom he was in love. Poesy had swept the majestic folds of her starry robe through the empt}' press-room, whither the monkeys and the bears were about returning. Five 3 34 Lost Illusions. o'clock struck ; but neither Lucien nor David was hungiy. Tiie golden dream was their life ; the treas- ures of earth were at their feet. They saw the glitter- ing spot on the horizon to which Hope points, as her siren voice saA's to those whose life is troublous, " Fly thither ! you shall escape your miser}- through that little space of gold, of silver, or of azure." Just then a young apprentice, a Paris gamin whom David had brought to Angouleme, opened the glass door which led from the press-room to the courtyard, and pointed out the two friends to a stranger who advanced to meet them, bowing. " Monsieur," he said to David, pulling an enormous manuscript from his pocket, ''here is a pamphlet which I am anxious to have printed ; will you please estimate the cost?" "Monsieur, we do not print such voluminous manu- scripts," replied David, without examinhig the package. "You had better go to the Messrs. Cointet." "But we have a ver}- pretty type which would just suit it," remarked Lucien, taking the manuscript. " Will 3-ou have the kindness to leave us your work for an estimate, and return to-morrow?" " Have I the honor of speaking to Monsieur Lucien Chardon?" "Yes, monsieur." " Then I am fortunate," said the author, " in meeting a young poet with a noble destiny before liim. I am sent here by Madame de Bargeton." Lucien colored at the name and stammered a few words expressive of his gratitude for the interest Ma- dame de Bargeton had shown in him. David noticed Lo^t Illusions. 35 the embarrassment of his friend, and lie left him alone with the country-gentleman, whose manuscript was a monograph on the culture of silk-worms, which vanit}' had prompted the writer to i)rint that it might be read by his colleagues in the Agricultural Societ}'. "Lucien," said David, when the gentleman had de- parted, ''are 3'ou in love with Madame de Bargeton?" *' Deeply." "But you are more separated from her by the pre- judices of social life than if she were at Pekin and you in Greenland." *' The will of lovers can triumph over everything," said Lueien, dropping his eyes. '' You will forget us," said Eve's timid lover. " On the contrary-, I ma}' have sacrificed my mistress to my friendship for you, David/" cried Lucieu. "What do you mean?" "In spite of my love, and all the divers interests which urge me to become of consequence in her house, I have told her that I cannot return there if a man whose talents are superior to mine, whose future ought to be glorious, if David Sechard. m}' friend and brother, is not received by her. I shall find her answer when I go home. But though she has invited all the aristo- crats in town to hear me read my verses to-night, I am resolved never to set foot in Madame de Bargeton's house again if the answer is in the negative." David pressed his friend's hand violently and wiped his eyes. Six o'clock struck. " Eve will be uneasy ; good-by," said Lueien. hastily. He rushed off, leaving David in the grasp of one of those emotions which are felt in all their completeness 36 Lost Illusions. at his age, and more particular!}' in the position of these J'oung swans whose wings were as yet not clipped hy the experiences of their provincial life. " Heart of gold ! " cried David, following Lucien with his ej'e as he crossed the press-room. Lucien made his wa^' down to I'Houmeau by the beautiful promenade of Beaulieu and the Porte Saint- Pierre. If he took the longest road you may be quite sure that Madame de Bargeton's house was on the way. He felt such pleasure in mereh^ passing her win- dows, even without her knowing it, that for the last two months he had dail}' taken that circuitous route. When he reached the trees of the Avenue Beaulieu he stopped and contemplated the distance between An- gouleme and I'Houmeau. The manners and customs of the region had set up moral barriers between the inhabitants of the two places which were far harder to cross than the flights of steps wliich Lucien was about to descend. The ambitious 3'oung fellow, who had lately succeeded ^in entering the hotel de Barge ton on the strength of a poetic fame which he cast like a draw- bridge between the town and its suburb, was, in truth, ver}' uneasN' about his mistress's decision, — like a cour- tier who fears disgrace for having attempted to extend his power. It is not difficult to explain why the spirit of caste should liave great influence on the feelings which divide AngoulGme from the suburb of I'lloumcau. The busi- ness communit}' is rich ; the nobiUty is mostl}' poor. One revenges itself upon the other by a contempt which is equal on l)oth sides. The bourgeoisie of AngoulCMne espouse the quarrel. The merchant of the town re- Lost IlIi{,sions. 37 marks of the shop-keeper of the suburb: ''Oh! he is a rilouiiieau man." The Restoration increased the raoral distance between the suburb and the town hy hokling out hopes to the nobilit}- of France which could / be realized onl^' by a general overthrow. The aristo-^ cratic societ}', once more united with the government, became even more exckisive in Angouleme than in other parts of France. The dwellers in I'Houmeau were made to resemble pariahs. Thence those deep and secret ha- treds which gave such terrible unanimity to the insurrec- tion of 1830, and destroyed the elements of a lasting social order in France. Tlie haughty pride of the court nobilitv alienated the loyalty' of the provincial nobility, just as the latter alienated the bourgeoisie by affronting all its vanities. That a man from I'Houmeau, the son of an apothe- car}', should be admitted to Madame de Bargeton's house constituted a small revolution. Who were the authors of \ it? None other than Lamartiue and Victor Hugo, Casi- | mir Delavigne and Jouy, Beranger and Chateaubriand, Villemain and M. Aignan, Soumet and Tissot, Etienne and Davrigny, Benjamin Constant and Lamennais, Cousin and Michaud ; in short, all the old as well as the new glories of literature, — liberals and royalists both. Madame de Bargeton liked art and letters, — an extravagant taste, a mania much deplored in Angou- leme, but one which it is necessarv to remember in sketching the life of a woman born to be distinguished, 3'et condemned to obscurity b}' fatal circumstances ; a woman whose influence determined the fate of Lucien C harden. Monsieur de Baroreton was the great grandson of an £8 Lost Illusions. alderman of Bordeaux, named Mirault, ennobled "by Louis XIII. for his long civic services. Under Louis XIV. his son, then Mirault of Bargeton, was an officer of the Household Guard, and made so great a marriage that, under Louis XV. his son was called Monsieur de Bargeton. This descendant of the alderman was so bent *on behaving like a perfect gentleman that he wasted the substance of the famil}' and cut short its career. Two of his brothers, great-uncles of the present Bargeton, re- turned to business, and as the estate of Bargeton as well as the house in Angouleme, called the hotel de Bargeton, was entailed, the grandson of Bargeton the spendthrift inherited them. In 1789 he lost his territorial rights, retaining only the rental of the propert}^, which amounted to six thousand francs a year. If his grandfather had followed the example of his progenitors the present Bargeton (surnamed ''the Mute") might have made a great marriage and ended as duke and peer of France ; as it w^as, he was extremely flattered to be able to marr}', in 1805, Mademoiselle Marie-Louise- Anais de Negrepelisse, daughter of a gentleman of rank long forgotten in his countr}' home, though he belonged to the younger branch of one of the oldest families in the south of France. There was a Negrepe- lisse among the hostages of Louis XI. ; but the head of the eldest branch bore the illustrious name of d'JLspard, acquired under Henry IV., through a mar- riage witli the heiress of that family. Circumstances that were somewhat rare in the depths of the provinces had inspired Madame de Bargeton with a taste for music and literature. During the Kevolution a certain Abbe iSiollant, the best pupil of the Abb6 LoHt Illusions. 39 Boze, hid himself awa}' in the neighboring little castle of P3scnibas, belonging to her fatiier. lie repaid the hospitality shown to him by tlie old gentleman In- edn- cating his danghtcr Anais (abbreviated to Xais) who, but for this accident, would have been left to herself, or worse still, to some ignorant chamber-maid. Not only was the abbe a musician, but he possessed a wide knowl- edge of literature and also knew Italian and German. He taught those languages and counterpoint to Mademoi- , selle de Xegrepelisse ; explained the great literary works of France, Ital}'. and Germany, and practised with her the music of the chief composers. Besides this, he taught her Greek and Latin, as a resource against the weary inoccupation of solitude to which political events con- demned him, and he gave her a fair inkling of natural science. A mother's presence was not there to modify the masculine tendencies of such an education on a young girl who was already too inclined to independence by the freedom of her country life. The Abbe Xiollant, with a poetic soul full of enthusiasm, was remarkable for the sort of mind peculiar to artists, which, while possessing many other precious qualities, rises above the bourgeois and philistine ideas by the breadth of its perceptions and its freedom of judgment. Though the world may pardon the temerity of such minds in virtue of their original profundity-, it is often harmful in pri- vate life b}- the unconventionalities of thought and con- duct which it inspires. The abbe was brimful of ardor ; his ideas were therefore contagious to a girl in whom the natural enthusiasm of her youth and sex was greatly increased b}' the solitude of her country life. Monsieur NioUant inoculated his pupil with his own 40 Lost Illusions, boldness of discussion and facility of judgment, Tvitli- ' out reflecting that those qualities so necessary to a man become defects in a woman whose destiu}' is that of a mother to her famil3\ Though the abbe was constantly recommending his pupil to be all the more modest and and graceful because her knowledge was extensive, Mademoiselle de Negrepelisse acquired a very good opinion of herself, and a very robust contempt for hu- manit}'. Seeing no one about her but inferiors and persons who hastened to obey her will, she assumed the haughtiness of a great lad}^ without the soothing craft of a great lady's politeness. Flattered in ever}' fibre of her vanit}^ by a poor abbe, who admired himself in her as an author is proud of his work, she was unfor- tunate enough to meet with no point of comparison by which to judge herself. The lack of companionship is one of tlie greatest drawbacks to country life. For want of practising the little sacrifices of dress and be- havior due to others, we lose the habit of constraining ourselves in their service. Habits and thoughts become vitiated. The boldness of the young girl's thoughts graduallv passed into her manners and into her 'e3'es ; she acquired the cavalier air which seems at first sight original, but which really belongs only to women of loose lives. Thus her education, the sharp points of which might have been rubbed off in higher social regions, was likely to make her simply ridiculous in Angoul3me wlienever her admirers should cease to deif)' peculiarities which were charming and graceful only so long as her youtli lasted. As for Monsieur de Negrepelisse, he would have given away all his daughter's books to save tiie life of Lost Illusions. 41 a sick cow ; he was so niggardl}- that under no circum- stances would he have allowed her two farthings above her actual rights, not even for the purchase of some trifle for her education. The abbe died in 1802, three years before the marriage of his dear child, — a marriage he would doubtless have opposed. The old gentleman felt himself hampered by his daughter after the abbe's death. He was too feeble for the struggle he knew must break forth between his avarice and her independent will. Like other 3'oung women who have turned out of the beaten track on whicli women are expected to walk, Na'is had judged of marriage and felt little desire for it. It was repugnant to her to submit her mind and her person to the men of small worth and no personal dignity with whom she was acquainted. She wished to rule, and marriage would force her to obey. Between obeying the coarse caprices of minds which had no understanding of her tastes, and flight with a lover who pleased her, siie would not have hesi- tated. Monsieur de Negrepelisse was enough of a gentleman to dread a mesalliance. Like many other fathers, he resolved to marrj- his daughter for his own comfort. What he wished to find was a man of rank without much sense ; one who would not haggle over the guardianship account of his daughter's fortune from her mother ; a man sufficiently wanting in mind and will to enable Nais to rule him as she pleased, 3'et dis- interested enough to marry her without a dowry. But how find such a man, who would please both father and daughter? a son-in-law with those qualities would be a phffinix. With this idea in his mind, the old gentleman studied all the marriageable men in the province, and 42 Lost Illusions. Monsieur de Bargeton seemed to him the only one who answered his requirements. Monsieur de Bargeton, a man in the forties, much dilapidated by the amorous dissipations of his youth, was held to be remarkabh' inferior in mind ; but he had enough sense to manage his property and sufficientl}^ good manners to maintain his position in the society of Angouleme without committing either follies or sole- cisms. Monsieur de Negrepelisse bluntlj' explained to his daughter the negative value of the model husband he proposed to her, and made her see the manner in which he might be made to conduce to her individual happiness. He reminded her that she would marry arms that w6re two centuries old ; — for the Bargetons bear : quarterl}', or, three deer's-heads erased gules ; per chev- ron gules, three bull's-heads caboched sable ; third and second party per fesse of six pieces, azure and ar- gent, the azure charged with six cockles or. Introduced to the world b}" some woman of distinction, she might, he told her, manage her fortune as she pleased, and obtain a social rank in Paris through the intimacies which her mind and her beaut}' would be certain to obtain for her. Nais was taken by this perspective of future libert}'. Monsieur de Bargeton felt he was making a brilliant marriage, believing that his father- in-law would soon depart this life and leave him the estate, tliough the old gentleman was unwillhig to charge it with a dowry ; the real fact being, however, that at that moment, Monsieur de Negrepelisse was more likely to write the epitaph of his son-in-law. At the time of which we speak Madame de Bargeton was about thirty-six, and her husband lilty -eight. This Lost Illusions. 43 disparity was tne more unpleasant because Monsieur de Bargeton seemed at least sevent}', whereas his wife could very well pass as a girl, dress in pink, and wear her hair down her back. Though their income was not much more than twelve thousand francs a year, it was classed among the six largest fortunes in Angouleme, — those of the merchants and municipal officers excepted. The necessity of conciliating their father, on whose inheritance Madame de Bargeton's future career in Paris depended, obliged them to live for the present in Angouleme, where the brilliant qualities of mind and the unused riches of Nais's heart were wasting fruit- lessl}', and even, as time w^ent on, drifting into absurd- it}^ The truth is, our absurdities are often, in a, great measure, caused b}' some noble feeling or virtue or faculty carried to extremes. For instance, pride, if it is not modified b}' the usages of good society, becomes stiff and starched, and is occupied with little things in- stead of ennobling itself b}' great ones. Enthusiasm, that virtue within a virtue, which inspires secret devo- tions and dazzling or poetic deeds, turns to exaggeration when expended on the nothings of provincial life. Far from the centre w^here great minds light the horizon,- where the atmosphere is charged with thought, where all things renew their life and make progress, education grows stale and taste corrupt, like stagnant water. For want of exercise the passions are belittled by the ver}^ fact of their magnifying petty things. In that lies the secret of the avarice and the slander which poison pro- vincial life. It is not long before the most distin- guished minds are led to share the narrow ideas and imitate the mean social customs of countrj' places. 44 Lo&t Illusions. Men born to greatness, and women who might be charming if trained to a better life hy superior minds, perish in this wa}'. Madame de Bargeton seized the lyre on all occasions, without knowing how to distin- guish between the poetrj' which ought to be sacred to her own heart and that which could be offered publicly. There are various sensations, incomprehensible to many, which should be kept to ourselves. A sunset is certainly a grand poem, but a woman who depicts it in grand words to material minds is absurd. There are delights which can be reall}' felt only when two souls meet, poet to poet, heart to heart. She made the mis- take of using long sentences larded with magniloquent words, and was prodigal of superlatives, which over- weighted her conversation so that trifling things as- sumed gigantic proportions. At about this period of her life she began to analyze, synthesize, individualize, poetize, dramatize, angelicize, and tragicize, — for we must for a moment violate language to express the extravagance of which some women are capable. Her mind was full}- as excitable as her language. Dith)^- rambics were in her heart as well as on her lips. She palpitated, turned faint, or grew wildly enthusiastic over all events, — over the devotion of a sister of charity", or the execution of the Faucher brothers ; over the "Ipsiboe" of Monsieur d'Arlincourt, or Lewis's "Anaconda ;" over the escape of La Valette, as ardontl}^ as over the braver}' of a friend who had put burglai's to flight by pretending to be a man. For INLidanie de Bargeton all things were sublime, cxtraordinar}-, amaz- ing, divine, marvellous. She was animated, angered, or depressed ; taking a fresh spring, she would fall Lost Illusions. 45 back upon herself, gazing at earth and heaven witli eyes full of tears. 81ie spent her life in perpetual admiration, and wasted her strength in curious disHkes. Siie envied Lady Hester Stanhope, the blue-stocking of the desert. She longed to be a sister of Sainte- Camille, and die of yellow fever in Barcelona, while nursing the sick ; that indeed was a noble, a grand fate ! In short, she thirsted for all that was not the clear water of life flowing in hidden ways. She adored Lord Byron, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and other poetic and dramatic beings. She had tears for all misfortunes, and trumpets for all victories. She sympathized with Napoleon vanquished, and she sympatliized with Me- hemet All massacring the tyrants of Kgypt. She encircled genius with a halo and believed that those who were gifted with it lived on light and perfume. Some persons thought her harmlessly craz}', but a true observer would have seen in these things the fragments of a great emotion destroyed as soon as it existed, the ruins of a celestial Jerusalem, — in short, a love with- out a lover. This was, indeed, the truth. The first eighteen years of Madame de Bargeton's married life can be told in few words. For a time she lived on her own nature and her distant hopes. Then, after recognizing that the Parisian life for which she longed was beyond her limited means, she took to ex- amining the persons among whom she had to live, and she trembled at her solitude. There was no man within the cn-cle of her knowledge who could inspire her wdth one of those devotions to which women are prone when driven to despair by a life without object, events, or interest. She could look to nothing, not 46 Lost Illusions. even to chance, — for there are lives to which chance never comes. At the time when the Empire shone in all its glory after Na[)oleon's passage into Spain, whilher the jflower of his arm}' went, Madame de Bargeton's hopes revived. Natural curiosit}' led her to regard with interest the heroes who were conquering Europe on the inspiration of a few imperial words added to the orders of the day ; renewing, to her mind, tlie fabu- lous exploits of chivahy. All the towns on the route of the army, niggardly or refractory as they might be, were compelled to entertain the Imperial Guard ; the mayor and prefects were required to meet them at the gates with an harangue on their lips as if for royalty. Madame de Bargeton was present at a fete given by a passing regiment to the town of AngoulOme and there she s*aw and admired a young nobleman, a sub-lieu- tenant to whom the baton of a marshal of France was a hope in perspective. This restrained passion, noble and grand in itself and contrasting strongl}- with the facile passions of the time, so quickly bound and un- bound, was consecrated b}' death. The only portrait which existed of Madame de Bargeton was shivered by a shot through the heart of the Marquis de Cante-Croix at Wagram. She long mourned the fine young man, who, eager for fame and love, had become a colonel, and regarded a letter from Nais as far above all im- perial distinctions. Grief henceforth cast its veil of sadness on her face, which was never lifted until the terrijile day when a woman begins to perceive that her best years are gone without enjoyment, that lier roses are faded, while the yearning for love revives in a passionate desire to Lost Illusions. 47 prolong the last memories of youth. All her superior qualities made, as it were, wounds in her heart when the cold chill of this condition seized her. Like the ermine, she would have died of" grief had she stained herself by contact with men whose only thought was their whist and a good dinner. Her pride preserved her from such miserable provincial loves. Between the nonentit}' of the men who surrounded her and absolute nothingness of life, so superior a woman would naturally choose the latter. Marriage and societ\- were therefore to her like a nunner}'. She lived in their midst by poetry, as a Carmelite lives by religion. The works of distinguished foreigners, till then untranslated and unknown, which were published from 1815 to 1821, the great essays of Monsieur de Bonald and Monsieur de Maistre, those eagles of thought, and the lighter works of French lit- erature which were beginning to put forth vigorouslj', occupied and embellished her solitude, but they did not give plianc}' to either her mind or her person. She re- mained erect as a tree which has been struck by light- ning and survived the shock. Her dignity grew rigid, and it made her affected and over-critical. Such was Madame de Bargeton's past life, — a chill- ing history, which it is necessary to know in order to understand her relations with Lucien, who was rather singularly introduced into her house. During the pre- ceding winter a gentleman had come to live in An- gouleme as revenue director, whose adventurous career brought the interest of curiosity' into the monotonous life of Madame de Bargeton. Monsieur du Chatelet, born plain Sixte Chatelet, though after 1806 he had the sense to orive himself a 48 Lost Illusions. title, was one of those agreeable men who, under Napo- leon, contrived to escape conscriptions by keeping in the light of the imperial sun. He began his career as secretar}' to the caprices of an imperial princess. Mon- sieur du Chatelet possessed all the incapacities re- quired for that position. Well-made, handsome, a good dancer, clever billiard -player, an adept at all bodih' exercises, a rather poor amateur actor, a singer of ballads, applauder of other people's witticisms, read}' for anything, wil}' and envious, he knew and w'as igno- rant of most things. Ignorant of music, he accom- panied on the piano, after a fashion, any woman who was pressed to sing impromptu a song practised for a month. Incapable of a feeling for poetr}', he would boldl}' ask permission to retire for ten minutes while he composed a couplet or a quatrain, flat as a pancake, in which rhyme was made to stand for ideas. Mon- sieur du Chatelet was further gifted with a talent for filling up in worsted work the flowers which his prin- cess had begun ; he held her skeins of silk with infinite grace, while she wound them, and told her gossip of which the smuttiness could be seen through rents in the veiling. Ignorant of art, he could copy a land- scape, sketch a profile or a costume, and even color it. In short he had all those little talents which proved such vehicles to fortune in the days of the Empire, when women had more influence than we admit in public affairs. He claimed to be clever in diplomacy, the science of those who have no other, and whose depth seems the greater because the}' are empty, — a science extremely convenient because, while professing to bo discreet, it allows an ignorant man t>o say nothing, to Lost Illusions. 49 confine himself to mysterious becks and nods ; in fact the ablest man in the science of diplomac}' is he who swims with his head well up above the current of events which lie thus appears to lead, — a question of specific levity. Here, as in the arts, we find a thousand com- monplace talents for one man of genius. Notwithstandinof his resfular and his irret(ular service to the imperial princess, the influence of his protectress was insufficient to place him in the Council of State. But he was made a biiron and sent to Cassel as envoy extraordinar}', where the effect he produced was truly extraordinar}'. At the moment of the fall of the Em- pire Baron du Chatelet was expecting the appointment of minister to Westphalia, Jerome's court. Losing what he called his famil}- post, despair seized upon him. He made a journe}' to Egypt with General Armand de Montriveau. There he became separated from his companion b}' singular events, and wandered for two years from desert to desert and tribe to tribe, a captive among the Arabs, who sold and resold him to one an- other. Fate at last brought him to the coast about the time that Montriveau was at Tangier, and he was luck}' enough to get on board an English brig, and so return to Paris, one year before the general. These misfortunes and a few services rendered in earlier days to persons now in power, brought him to the notice of Monsieur de Barante, who gave him his present post in Angouleme. The position he had held towards the imperial princess, his reputation for gallantr\', the sin- gular adventures of his journey, and the tale of his suf- ferings, excited the curiosity of the women of Angou- leme. After studying the manners and customs of 4 50 Lost Illusions, that provincial high life, Monsieur le Baron Sixte du Chatelet conducted himself according^. He pretended ill-healtli, and played the part of a blase man of the world. He was fond of seizing his head as if his sufferings gave him no respite, a little performance which re- minded others of his travels and made him interesting. He visited among the chief authorities of the place, the general, the prefect, the receiver-general, and the bishop ; but he was everywhere cold, polite, and slightl}' disdainful, as a man out of place and awaiting the time when the government should bestow its favors. He allowed the society of Angouleme to guess at his tal- ents, which gained rather than lost by this reticence ; then, after making himself an object of interest without wearying or satisfying curiosit3% and having himself recognized the commonplaceness of the men, and know- ingly examined the beauty of the women for several Sundays in the cathedral, he came to the conclusion that Madame de Bargeton was the person with whom an intimac}^ would be most profitable to him. The old beau (for he was forty-five years old) saw in this woman a youth that might be revived, treasures to put to use ; possibly the chance of a rich widowhood, which would enable him to marry into a family connected with the Mar(]uis d'Espard, whose influence would open to him a political career in Paris. In spite of the gloom and solitude of this line tree he resolved to take hold of it, prune it, cultivate it, and obtain fine fruits. The aris- tocracy of Angouleme cried out at first against the in- troduction of a Giaour into the Kasba, for Madame de Bargeton's salon was a centre of societ}' kept pure of Lo»t Illusions. 51 alio}'. The bishop alone went there habituall}' ; the prefect was received only two or three times a year ; the receiver-general had never been invited there at all. Madame de Bargeton went to his public parties and concerts but never dined at his house. Not to receive an oflicial of his rank, and then to admit a mere director of taxes was an upsetting of the hierarchy which seemed incomprehensible to the affronted authorities. Those who can bring their mind to imagine such pettiness, which may be found, by the bye, in all social spheres, will understand how imposing the hotel de Bargeton was to the bourgeoisie of Angouleme. As for the dwellers in the suburb of I'Houmeau, the grand- eurs of this little Louvre, the fame of this Hotel de Ram- bouillet shone like a distant galaxy*. Those who there assembled were, in truth, a pitiable company of inferior minds, the poorest intellects to be found in a circum- ference of sixty miles. Politics were discussed with wordy and virulent commonplaces, the '•' Quotidienne '* was thought lukewarm, Louis XVIII. a Jacobin. As for the women, the greater part of them were awkward, silly, and ill-dressed ; all had some defect which de- tracted from their merit ; nothing was complete or perfect about them ; neither their dress nor their con- versation, their flesh nor their spirit. Chatelet would never have endured this society were it not for his designs on the mistress of the house. And yet the manners and tone of caste, the atmosphere of breedmg, the haughtiness of a small nobility, and a thorough practice of the rules of politeness covered this void as with a veil. The sentiment of nobility was also more genuine than it is in the sphere of Parisian grandeur : 52 Lost Illusions. and at times a true attachment to the Bourbons qiiand ineme showed itself. This societ}' can be compared (if we may use the simile) to a silver service of antique form, tarnished, but solid and weight}'. The immova- bleness of its political opinions had a character of fidelity. The distance maintained between itself and the bourgeoisie, the difficulty of entering its borders, gave it an appearance of elevation and a certain con- ventional value. Du Chatelet began his siege of Madame de Bargeton by lending her all the new books, and reading to her the poems of the da3^ Together the}' went into ecsta- cies over the new school of poets, she in good faith, he with inward weariness, though patiently enduring the romanticists, who, as a man of the Empire, he was wholly unable to comprehend. Madame de Bargeton, enthusiastic over the renaissance which the Eestoration had brought about, loved Monsieur de Chateaubriand because he had called Victor Hugo " a sublime youth." Saddened at the thought that she should only know genius from afar, she longed for Paris, the centre of great minds. Du Chatelet, initiated into these feelings, thought he did a marvellous stroke of polic}' b}- telling her that another "sublime 3'outh " was buried in An- gouleme, — a young poet who, without knowing it, sur- passed in brilHancy the Parisian galaxy. This future great man was born and lived in the suburb of THou- meau ! He, du Chatelet, had been shown a Xq^ of his poems by the head of the college. Poor and modest, the lad was another Chatterton, but without political baseness, without the ferocious hatred against social grandeur which drove the Englishman into writing pam- Lost lUusions. 53 phlets to insult his benefactors. Nothing could describe Madame de Bargeton's joy at the news. She must see this poet, this angel ; she went distracted about him, and tallied for hours enthusiastically. Two days later du Chatelet arranged, through the principal of the col- lege, to meet Lucieu the following evening and present him in Madame de Bargeton's salon. Xoue but the poor provincial helots to whom social distances are so vast, and to whom the iron railings through which the different classes anathematize and call each other Raca seem so forbidding, can fully un- derstand the upheaval of brain and soul in Lucien Chardou when his late imposing head-master informed him that the doors of the hotel de Bargeton were about to open to him ! his fame had swung their hinges ! he was welcomed to a great house, the ancient gables of which attracted his gaze when he walked with David in the evenings towards Beaulieu, each telling the other that their names would never reach the ears that were deaf to talent when it came from below. He told no one but his sister of this great event. In her capacity as good housewife, a divine diviner. Eve produced sev- eral louis from a secret hoard to furnish Lucien with the handsomest shoes made by the best bootmaker in Angouleme, and a dress suit from a celebrated tailor. She trimmed his best shirt with a ruffle which she washed and pleated herself. What J03' to see him thus attired ! how proud she was of him ! what advice she gave him ! Siie foresaw little ignorant absurdities ; for instance, Lucien had a habit of leaning on his elbows whenever he sat down ; he would even draw a table to his side for that purpose. Eve forbade him to 54 Lost Illusions, give way to such actions in the sacred aristocratic pre- cincts he was about to enter. She accompanied him to the Porte de Saint-Pierre almost in front of the cathe- dral, and thence she watched him following the rue de Beaulieu to the avenue on which Monsieur du Chatelet was to meet him. The poor girl was as much over- come with emotion as if some great event were taking place. Lucien in Madame de Bargeton's salon seemed to Eve in the dawn of his future fame. The pure young creature was unaware that when ambition begins single-hearted feelings end. When he reached the house in the rue de Minage, Lucien found nothing astonishing in its exterior. The palace so magnified b}' his expectations was onl^' a house built of a freestone peculiar to the region and gilded b}' time. The front on the street was gloom}-, that on the courtyard was verj' simple, — cold and neat like all provincial houses, plain, almost monastic, archi- tecturally, and well preserved. Lucien passed up an old-fashioned staircase, with chestnut balusters, the steps of which ceased to be of stone after the first flight. Crossing a mean little antechamber and a large, ill-lighted salon, he found the sovereign of Angouleme in a little room panelled with carved woodwork, in the style of the last centur}', and painted gra}'. The designs above the doorways were in imitation of cameo. An old red damask, scantih' trimmed, filled the spaces between the panels. Furniture of antique shape was rather pitil'iilly hidden b}- loose covers of a red-and- white check. The poet beheld IMadame de Bargeton seated on a sort of sofa covered with a tliin mattress, before a round table with a green cloth, on which Lost Illusions. 55 stood fi candelabrum of ancient shape, holdinir two candles, that were covered with a shade. The sover- eign did not rise, but twisted herself gracefuU}' on her seat, smiling at the poet, who was much moved by the serpentine motion, which he thought extremely distin- guished. Lucien's beaut}', the timidit}' of his manner, his voice, everything about him, instantly attracted Madame de Bargeton. The poet proved to be poetic. The young man, on his part, ventured to examine, with discreet glances, the woman who seemed to him to justify her renown ; she suited all his ideas of what a great lad}* might be. Madame de Bargeton wore, as the fashion then was, a head-dress of black velvet which suggested recollec- tions of the middle-ages, and to Lucien's eyes gave a certain stateliness to her head. From beneath it fell a wealth of hair of a reddish auburn, gold in the sun- shine, ruddy in the curve of its waves. Her skin was of that dazzling purity which consoles a woman nnder the mistaken prejudice against red hair. Her gray eyes sparkled ; her brow, which was beginning to show wrinkles, surmounted them finel}" with its white mass boldly modelled ; the e3'es themselves were circled b}* a pearly margin, in which, on either side of the nose, two blue veins brought out vividly the whiteness of this delicate complexion. Tlie nose had a Bourbon curve which increased the fire of the rather long face. The hair did not altogether hide the neck. Her gown, negligently crossed, revealed a white throat and allowed the eye to trace a well-formed bust that was rightly placed. With her tapered and delicatel}' kept fingers (which were a little too thin), Madame de Bargeton 56 Lost Illusions, made a friendly sign to the young poet, bidding him take a chair that was placed beside her. Monsieur du Chateiet took another. Lucien then noticed that no one else was present. Madame de Bargeton's conver- sation completel}- intoxicated him. The three hours passed beside her were to him one of those dreams which we would fain make eternal. He thought her slender rather than thin, loving without passion, deli- cate in spite of her vigor. Her defects, which her manners exaggerated, pleased him ; for young men begin by liking exaggeration, — the falsehood of fine souls. He did not notice that the slightl}' blotched cheeks, to which ennui and some physical sufferings had given a brick-dust tone, were withering. His imagination seized upon those eyes of fire, those grace- ful curls rippling with light, that dazzling whiteness, — luminous spots to which he flew like a moth to candles. Besides, her soul spoke to his too urgently to let him judge her as a woman. The warmth of her feminine enthusiasm, the ardor of the speeches (somewhat hack- neyed) whicli she was in the habit of uttering (though the}' were new to Lucien), fascinated him all the more because he wished to be charmed. He had brought no poetry with him, but there was no mention of it; he had purpose!}' forgotten liis verses that he might be asked to bring them later ; Madame de Bargeton, on lier part, avoided asking for them, that she miglit invite him to read them on anotlicr occasion. Surel}' this was a first understanding between the two! INIonsieur du Chateiet was not over-pleased by this reception. He saw too late a possible rival in tlie handsome young man, whom he accompanied part of the way home for Lost Illusions. 57 the purpose of subjecting him to his cliplomacy. Lucien was not a little astonished to hear this Mentor la}' claim to the credit of presenting him, and offer him advice on the strength of this service. " It was to be hoped Monsieur Chardon would be better treated than himself," said Monsieur du Chatelet. ''The king's court was less pretentious than this society of blockheads. There was nothing but scorn and morti- fication to be got in it. The revolution of 1789 would have to be done over again if such persons were ever to be reformed. As for himself, if he continued to go into societ}' at all, it was onlv for the sake of Ma- dame de Bargeton, the one woman in Angouleme who had any real merit ; he had paid court to her out of mere idleness, but now he was desperatel}' in love. She would soon be his ; she loved hira. The conquest of this haughty lad}* was the revenge he meant to take on the fools of her wretched societ}'." Chatelet expressed himself in terms which implied that he would kill a rival if he ever had one. The old imperial flutterer fell with his whole weight upon the luckless poet, trying to crush him with his, du Chate- let's, importance, and so frighten him awa}'. He did succeed in impressing the imagination of the poet, but he could not check the lover. Since that evening, and in spite of du Chatelet's threats and glances, Lucien had frequentl}' visited Madame de Bargeton ; at first with the modesty of a man from the suburbs ; but after he became accus- tomed to what at first he had thought a great favor, he went oftener and oftener. The son of an apothecary was held by the persons of her societ}- to be of no ac- 58 Lost Illusions, count. If some of them at the beginning of the inti- mac3' chanced to meet him when they visited Nais, thej^ treated him with the overwhehning politeness which per- sons of quality employ toward their inferiors. Lucien at first thought them gracious and charming, but later he perceived the sentiment that \^y at the bottom of their specious courtesy. He detected a tone of supe- riorit}^, which stirred his bile and confirmed him in the republican hatred with which many future patricians begin their intercourse with the upper classes. But by this time he was willing to endure that, and all other sufferings, for Nais, as he heard her called ; for among the intimates of this clan, as among the Span- ish grandees and the cream of Viennese societj*, men and women are known by their Christian names, — a de- vice invented to procure exclusiveness, and the prac- tice of which gave distinction to the inner circles of the Angouleme aristocracy. Nais was loved as all young men love the first woman who flatters them ; and she did this b}' prophesying a great future and vast fame for his talents. Madame de Bargeton put all her natural cleverness to use in giving her 3'oung poet a foothold in her house. Not only did she place him intellectually ver}^ high, but she repre- sented him as a youth without fortune whose future she desired to secure. She made him her reader and secre- tar3% but she loved him more than she had thought herself capable of loving after the great catastro[)he of her life. She arraigned herself mentally ; declaring in her own mind that it was folly to love a bo}' of twenty, whose social position was far beneath her. Their familiar re- lations were often capriciously hampered by the haughti- Lost Illusions. 59 ness which her scruples prompted. She was proud or protecting, tender or distant, as the feeling took her. Lucien, who was intimidated b}- her rank, went through all the terrors, hopes, and despairs which torture a first love, and give it such power over the heart b}- alternate blows of pain and pleasure. For two months he re- garded her as a benefactress who took a motherl}^ interest in his concerns. Then confidences began. Madame de Bargeton called her poet " dear Lucien ; " then •'•' dear " alone. The poet, thus emboldened, called the great lad}' " Xais.'' Hearing this, she was angrj, with the anger so bewitching to 3-outh ; she reproached him for employing a name which all the world used, and she offered her handsome genius the name by which no one called her ; to him she would be Louise, — Loiiise de Negrepelisse. Lucien was in the third heaven. One evening he entered the room unexpectedly while Louise was gazing at a portrait, which she hastily put away. He asked to see it. To calm this first attack of jealous}', Louise showed him the portrait of young Cante- Croix, and told him, not without tears, the mournful history of her love, so pure and so cruelly extinguished. Was she considering an infidelity to her departed lover, or merely prqposing to give Lucien a rival in his picture? Lucien was too young to analyze his mistress ; he fell naively into despair at this opening of a campaign in which women defend their scruples at the breach. Their discussions on duty, on conventions, on religion, are redoubts which they like their lovers to take by assault. But the innocent Lucien did not need such coquetries ; he would have fought the battle of love quite naturally. 60 Lost Illusions, "I will not die, i" will live for 3'ou," said Lucien, aiulaciouslj", resolving one evening to make an end of Monsieur de Cante-Croix, and casting a look at Louise which proved to her that his passion had reached its height. Frightened at the progress the new love had made, not onl}- in her poet but in herself, she asked him for the verses he had promised for the first page of her album, and tried to make a quarrel of his delay in writing them, declaring that it proved she was incapable of inspiring him. This doubt, prompted by the coquetry of a woman who took pleasure in thus playing with fire, brought tears to Lucien's ej'es ; she calmed him and kissed his forehead for the first time. Lucien was a great man, whom it was her mission to train ; she would teach him German and Italian, and improve his manners. All these, of course, were pretexts to keep him constantly b^' her side, under the noses of her wearisome admir- ers. What an interest in her dull life ! She took up her music to reveal a world of harmou}' to her poet, whom she ravished with Beethoven. Happy in his delight she said one day, hypocritically, seeing him as it were transported, " Is not this happiness enough for us?" To which the poor poet had the , stupid it}' to answer, " Yes." At last matters reached a point when Louise invited Lucien to dine with her alone with Monsieur de Barge- ton. In spite of this latter precaution the whole town heard of the event, and thought it so extraordinary that every one asked everybody else if it could be true. The uproar was immense. Some thought societ}^ was on the eve of disruption. Others cried out, *'See the Lost Illusions, 01 fruit of radical opinions ! " At this crisis dii Chatelot learned that Madame Charlotte, the monthly nurse, was no other than INIadame Chardon, mother of tlie suburban Chateaubriand. Thus worded, the informa- tion passed for wit. Madame de Chandour rushed in haste to Madame de Bargeton. " Do ,you know, m\' dear Nais, what all Angouleme is saying? •' she cried. '• That little rhymester is the son of Madame Charlotte who took care of my sister-in-law in her last confinement." ''My dear," replied Madame de Bargeton, with a regal air, " what is there in that? she is the widow of an apothecary, a hard fate for a Demoiselle de Rubempre. Suppose you and I had n't a penny in the world, what could we do to make a living? how would you feed 3'our children ? " Madame de Bargeton's coolness nipped in the bud the lamentations of her friends ; the}^ made a virtue out of the misfortune ; in fact they presently saw only good in a thing the}' had begun by incriminating ; the}' even found invincible attractions in it — innocence does sometimes have the piquancy of vice. At first Madame de Bargeton's salon was filled with friends who intended to remonstrate ; but she met them with caustic rejoin- ders ; she said that if noblemen were unable to become Molieres, Racines, Rousseaus, Voltaires, Massillons, or Diderots, the least the}^ could do was to w^elcome among them the sons of tradesmen after they had proved them- selves great men. She declared that genius was nobility. She sneered at the countr}' squires for not perceiving their true interests. In short, she talked a great deal of nonsense which might have enhghtened a ^ 62 Lost Illusions. set of people who were not ninnies ; her friends, how- ever, set them all down to the score of her great origi- nality. In short, she averted the storm b}' firing cannon. When Lucien, on her invitation, first entered the faded old salon where the company were playing whist at four tables, she welcomed him graciousl}', and presented him to her friends, like a queen who expects to be obeyed. She called du Chatelet " Monsieur Cbatelet," and petrified that personage by making him understand she was aware of his illegal assumption of the particle. But in spite of this triumph Nais did lose her su- premacy ; certain disaffected persons proposed to emi- grate. By du Chatelet's advice Amelie (who was Madame de Chandour) determined to raise altar against altar and receive every Wednesday. But Madame de Bargeton's salon was open every evening, and the guests who frequented it were such creatures of routine, so used to looking at the same carpets, pla}^- ing with the same chequers, seeing the same servants, the same torches, putting on their cloaks, overshoes, and hats in the same antechamber, that the}" loved the ver}- steps of the stairway as much as the}' did the mis- tress of the house. Consequentl}' the}' resigned them- selves to endure the goldfinch thus thrust upon them. The sedition was finally quelled by an authoritative remark of the president of the Society of Agriculture. "Before the Revolution," he said, ''the highest per- sonages received Duclos, Grimm, Crebillon, all men of no consequence like this little poet of the suburbs ; but they never admitted a tax-collector, and that, after all, is what Chatelet is." Lost Illusions. 63 Du Chfitelet was made the scape-goat for Chardon ; eveiy one gave him the cold shoulder. Finding him- self thus attacked, du Chritelet, who, from the day Madame de Bargeton called him Chatelet, had vot\'ed to bring her under his thumb, acquiesced in all the views of the mistress of the house. He openl}* declared him- self a friend of the 3'oung poet. This great diplomatist, whom the Emperor had foolishly neglected, began by introducing Lucien. He gave a dinner for the poet, at wliich were present the prefect, the receiver-general, the colonel of the regiment in garrison, the director of the naval school, the chief-justice, and other distin- guished men. They flattered the poor poet to such a pitch that any one but a youth of twenty-two would have suspected that some hoax was being plaj'ed upon him. At dessert he was made to recite his ode on the "Dying Sardanapalus," his latest masterpiece. The head-master of the college, a phlegmatic Individual, clapped his hands and said that Jean-Jacques Rousseau could not have done better. Baron Sixte du Chatelet flattered himself that the little rhymester would sooner or later wilt in this hot-house of praise, or else, intoxi- cated with the idea of coming fame, he would be guilty of some impertinence which would send him back to his original obscurity. While thus awaiting the fall of genius he seemed to be immolating his own desires to those of Madame de Bargeton ; but, with the clever- ness of all scamps, he had formed a plan and was fol- lowing with strategic attention the conduct of the two lovers, watching for an occasion to exterminate Lucien. From this time forth there was heard in Angouleme and its environs a murmured rumor of a great man in 64 Lost Illusions. their midst. Madame de Bargeton was praised for her discernment and the attentions slie lavished on tlie young eagle. Finding her conduct approved by many, she went further to obtain a universal sanction. She announced throughout the department a soiree with ices, cakes, and tea, — an immense innovation in a town where tea was sold at the apothecaries' as a drug for indigestion. The flower of the aristocracy was invited to hear a great work which Lucie n was to read aloud. Louise concealed her conquered difficulties from her poet ; but she gave him a few hints as to the cabal formed against him by societj' ; for, she said, she did not wish him to be ignorant of the dangers which beset the career of all men of genius, and the obstacles which are insurmountable to inferior minds. She made her victor3' the text of a lesson. She talked of the pyre of martyrdom and the glory won by con- tinual suffering ; she larded her sermon with pompous expressions, emulating those fine improvisations which disfigure the novel of '' Corinne." Louise felt so glorious in her eloquence that she loved the Benjamin who inspired it all the more. She now advised him to boldl}' repudiate his father, and take his motlier's noble name of de Rubempre, and pay no attention to the outer}' excited b}' a change which the king would certainh' legalize. Being related to the Marquise d'Es- pard, a demoiselle de Beaumont-Chauvry who was held in great esteem at court, she promised to obtain this regal favor for him. The very words, "king," "Mar- quise d'P^spard," "court," dazzled Lucien like a dis- play of fireworks, and proved to him the necessity of another baptism. LoHt Illusions. G5 *' Dear one," said Louise, in a tenderly persnasive voice, *• the sooner it is done, the sooner it will be sanctioned." She sliowed him, one after the other, the snccessive strata of the social world, and made her poet count how many steps of the ladder he would mount at once through this brilliant determination. Under this influ- ence Lucien abjured in an instant his democratic ideas of the delusive equality of 1793. Louise awoke in his soul a thirst for distinctions, which David's cool reason- ing had quieted ; she pointed out to him that the high- est society in the land was the onh^ stage on which he could displa}' his gifts. The bitter radical now became monarchical in petto ; Lucien ate of the apple of aristocratic luxury and fame. He swore to lay a crown, were it even of thorns, at his lady's feet ; he would win it at any price, quibiiscumque viis. To prove his courage, he revealed to Louise the real suffer- ings he had hitherto hidden from her with the instinct- ive reserve attached to our first sentiments, — a reserve which is based on a longing to have our souls appreci- ated while yet incognito. He described to her the pinch- ings of poverty proudly endured, his work in David's printing-house, his nights emplo3'ed in study. This youthful ardor reminded Madame de Bargeton of her late colonel, and softened still further the expression of her e3'es. Seeing that his proud mistress was visibl}^ relaxing, Lucien clasped the hand he was allowed to take, and kissed it with the fervor of a poet, a young man, and a lover. Louise even went so far as to allow the son of the apothecar}- to touch her forehead and apply his palpitating lips to it. 5 QQ Lost Illusions. " Child ! child ! " she exclaimed, awaking from an ec- static torpor, " if any one were to see us, how ridiculous I should seem." During this evening Madame de Bargeton's wit made great inroads into what she was pleased to call Lucien's prejudices. To hear her, one would suppose that men of genius had never had either fathers or mothers or brothers or sisters ; the great works they were supposed to put forth imposed an apparent egotism upon them which demanded the sacrifice of all things to their intrinsic grandeur. If their family suffered at first from the all-absorbing exactions of their gigantic brains, later it would receive back a hundred-fold the cost of the sacrifices made in the first struggles of thwarted royalty b}- sharing in the fruits of the regal victory. Genius could rise only in and through itself ; it alone was the judge of its own methods, for it alone could judge of its ends. It was therefore right in placing itself above all laws, appointed as it w^as to reform them. Besides, whosoever grasps his own period, must seize all, hold all, risk all, for all is his. She cited the opening lives of Bernard Palissy, Louis XI., Fox, Bona- parte, Christopher Columbus, Caesar, and other illus- trious gamblers in fortune, — men, in the first instance, crippled with debt or povertj'-stricken, misunderstood, considered fools, madmen, bad sons, bad fathers, bad brothers, but who afterwards turned out the pride of their famil}', their country-, and the world. Such argu- ments found their abettors in Lucien's inward vices ; tliey promoted tlie corruption of his heart ; for, in the ardor of his desires, he admitted all means a priori. Not to succeed is a crime of social lesc-majeste. A Lost Illusions. 67 beaten man has throttled to no purpose all the common- place virtues on which society rests, repudiating with horror the Marius who sits before his ruins. Lucien, unaware tliat he was placed between the infamy of the galleys and the laurel crown of genius, hovered above the Sinai of the Prophets without perceiving the Dead Sea below him and the shroud of his Gomorrha. Louise loosened the mind and heart of her poet from their provincial swaddling-clothes so completel}' that Lucien determined to put her to the proof and discover, without the shame of a refusal, whether this fine prize were actuall}' his. The projected party was to give him his opportunity. Ambition mingled with his love. He did love, but he wished to raise himself; a double desire natural to 30ung men who have a heart to satisf}^ and indigence to escape. Society-, which in these days bids all her children to the same table, awakens all ambitions in the dawn of life. It deprives 5'outh of its graces, it vitiates generous sentiments, mingling selfish calculation with all things. Poesy would fain have it otherwise ; but the fact remains, and denies so often the fiction we desire to believe that the historian cannot represent the 3'oung man of the nine- teenth centur}^ other than what he is. Lucien's selfish calculation, however, seemed to him tributary' to a fine sentiment, — his friendship for David. He wrote a long letter to his Louise, for he was bolder with a pen in his hand than by word of mouth. In twelve pages, thrice copied, he told her of his father's genius, his thwarted hopes, and the horrible povert}' to which he was a victim. He pictured his beloved sister as an angel, and David as a future Cuvier, 68 Lost Illusions, who was father, brother, friend to him. lie should be, he said, unworth3' of the love of his own Louise if he did not ask her to do for David what she was read}' to do for him ; na}-, he would renounce all rather than desert David, — David must be a sharer in his success. In sliort, he wrote one of those absurd letters in which young men point a pistol at refusal ; juvenile in their casuistr}' and filled with the inconsequent logic of noble sonls ; delightful verbiage dashed with ingenuous de- clarations of love escaping unconsciousl}' from the heart of the writer, and precious to that of the woman who receives them. Having delivered this letter to Bladame de Barge- ton's maid, Lucien went to the printing-office and spent the day in correcting proof, directing certain work and putting in order various small matters of the business, saying nothing of his own affairs to David. Wiiile the heart is still childlike 3'oung men preserve this reti- cence. Besides, Lucien had begun to dread Pliocion's axe, which David knew well how to wield ; perhaps, too, he feared the clearness of an eye which could look to the depths of his soul. But reading with David those poems of Chenier, his secret passed from his heart to his lips, stung by a reproach which he felt as a patient feels the finger a surgeon lays upon his wound. Lost Illusions, 69 III. AN EVEXING IN SOCIETY. Imagine now the thoughts which assailed Lucien as he went from the office to his suburban home. Would the great lady be angr}- with him? AVould she receive David? Had he not doomed himself forever to obscu- rity by that letter ? Though Lucien, before reaching the point of kissing Louise on the forehead, had had full opportunity to judge of the distance between a queen and her favorite, it did not occur to him that David could not jump in a moment over a social distance it had taken him five months to cross. Ignorant of the ostracism enforced against persons of no account, he did not see that a second attempt to introduce such persons would end in the loss to Madame de Barge- ton of her own position. Accused and convicted of preferring low companv, Louise would have to leave the town, where her caste would avoid her as in the middle- ages men fled from a leper. The clan of aris- tocracy, and the clerg}' themselves would protect Nais from and against all attack were she guilty of conjugal infidelity, but the crime of receiving her social inferiors would never be forgiven ; for it is a maxim that if the faults of one in power may be excused, they are pun- ished in case of abdication. Now to receive David was virtually to abdicate. 70 Lost Illusions. Although Lucien did not see this side of the question, his aristocratic instinct made him conscious of certain other difficulties which alarmed him. Nobilit}' of soul does not alwa3s carrj' with it nobility of manners. If Racine had the air of a finished courtier, Corneille was more like a cattle-dealer. Descartes' appearance was that of a stolid Dutch merchant, and visitors to Breda, meeting Montesquieu with a rake on his shoulder, often took him for a gardener. The manners of good societ}', when they are not a gift of birth, an acquisition sucked in with the milk, or transmitted in the blood, are the result of education, which accident often seconds hy na- tive elegance of form, distinction of feature, or tones of the voice. Such great little accessories were lacking in David, while nature had endowed Lucien with all of them. Born a gentleman through his mother, he had the signs of breeding, even to the arched instep of a Frank ; whereas David Sechard was flat-footed as a Gaul, and clumsy as his father the pressman. Lucien foresaw the ridicule that would rain upon David ; he even fancied he could see the smile which Madame de Bargeton would repress. Without being actually ashamed of his friend he resolved not to let this first impulse defeat him, but to leave it for future discus- sion. Thus, after an hour of poetry and devotion, after reading Andre Chenier and beholding with his friend new fields of literary possil)ilities lighted b}' a new sun, Lucien dropped back into social policy and calculation. As he walked back to 1' Hon mean he repented his letter and wished he could recover it ; the })itiless laws of so- ciety came in a flash before his mind. Kemembering how acquired fortune would promote even a poet's ambition, Lost lllusio7i8. 71 he could not endure to take his foot from the first rung of the ladder b}' which he was to mount to greatness. But soon the recollections of a simple, tranquil life, made beautiful with the flowers of feeling ; of David, that soul of genius, who had nobly succored him and would, if need be, give him his very life ; of his mother, a true great lady in her humble condition, who thought him as good as he was brilliant ; of his sister, so graceful in her sacrifice ; of his own pure childhood, his spotless conscience, his hopes that no keen wind had yet de- flowered, — all these tilings blossomed in his memor}'. Then, indeed, he told himself it was finer to" break the serried ranks of the social herd b}' the force of his own success than owe his entrance to a woman. The light of his genius would shine, sooner or later, like that of other men, his predecessors in the path of fame, who had conquered society. \Yomen woukl love him then ! The example of Napoleon, fatal in the earl}' part of the nineteenth century to commonplace minds by inspiring them with pretensions they could not fulfiL appeared in all its glor}' to Lucien, who flung his "calculations to the wind and blamed himself for making them. Such was Lucien, going from evil to good and from good to evil with equal facilit}'. For the last month he had felt a sort of shame in reading over the door of the shop above which he lived : " Postel, apothecary', successor to Chardon," painted in yellow letters on a green ground. The name of his father thus exposed in a thoroughfare traversed by all the carriages of Angouleme distressed him. On the evening when he left the door of his house (ornamented with an iron grating in the worst taste), to appear at 72 Lost Illusions. Beaulieu among the c4egant 3'oung men of the town with Madame de Bargeton on his arm, he was particu- larl}' anno3'ed by the obvious discrepancy between his dwelhng and his new prospects. " To love Madame de Bargeton, to win her love, and live in such a rat-hole ! " he thought, issuing from the alley into a little yard where scraps of vegetables were scattered about, where the office-boy was cleaning the laborator}' utensils, where Monsieur Postel, girt with his working apron, retort in hand, was examining some chemical product, keeping watch meanwhile upon the shop ; for if his e3'es were fixed upon the drugs, his ears were attentive to the bell. The odor of camomile, peppermint, and other distiUed herbs filled the court- yard and penetrated to the modest apartment above the shop, which was reached by one of those straight, nar- row stairways called millers' stairs, without other balus- ters than a couple of ropes. Above this apartment was a single attic room, where Lucien slept. " Good-morning, my lad," said Monsieur Postel, the true type of a country' shopkeeper; "how are you feeling? As for me, 1 have been making experiments with treacle ; but it would take ^our father to find what I've been looking for. He was a wonderful man, he was ! If I had known his secret against gout, we miglit both be rolling in our carriages now." There was never a week that the apothecary, as stupid as he was kind, did not stab Lucien to the heart with some remark about the fatal discretion with which his father had kept the secret of his discovery. "Yes, it is a great misfortune," replied Lucien, curtl}', for he was beginning to think his father's pupil Lost Illusions, 73 extremely vulgar, after manj' a time blessing him ; for the worth}' Postel had succored more than once the widow and children of his late master. '' What's the matter?" asked Monsieur Postel, la}*- ing his gauge on the laborator}' table. " Has any letter come for me?" " Yes, and it smells like balm. It is there on the counter, near m\' desk." Madame de Bargeton's letter to be lying in a chemical mess ! Lueien sprang into the shop. "Make haste, Lueien, your dinner has been ready some time ; it is getting cold," cried a sweet voice, which Lueien did not heed, through a half-opened window. "Your brother is a bit crazed, mademoiselle," said Postel, looking up at the window. This bachelor, who closely resembled a small keg of brandy above which an artist had painted a large face pitted with the small-pox and ver}- crimson, gazed at Eve with a polite and ceremonious air, which showed that he thought of marrying the daughter of his prede- cessor, though a struggle of love and self-interest was still going on within him. He often remarked to Lueien, with a smile, and he now repeated the observation as Lueien passed him with his letter: "Your sister is mighty prettj' ! you are not bad-looking yourself; your father did things well.*' Eve was a tall, dark girl, with black hair and blue e3'es. Although she showed several signs of a virile character she was personally gentle, tender, and devoted. Her frankness, her naivete, her tranquil resignation to a hard-working life, the propriety of her conduct, which 74 Lost Illusions. no gossip ever slaudered, had won the heart of David Sechard. From their ver}' lirst interview a secret natural passion had stirred their souls, as it does among Germans, without manifestation or importunate declaration. Each thought secretly of the otlier, as though the}' were separated by the existence of a hus- band whom such sentiments might offend. Both hid their feelings from Lucien ; and it is not unlikely that the}' thought their regard for each other was a wrong done to him. David was afraid of not pleasing Eve, who, on her side, had many of the timidities of poverty. A born working-woman, a grisette, would have been bolder, but a girl brought up in other circumstances and now deprived of them had taught herself to conform to her fate. Humble apparently, proud in realit}', Eve would not allow herself to attract the son of a rich man. Those who were knowing in the rise of values estimated old Se'chard's domain of Marsac at eight}' thousand francs, not counting other property which the old man, rich by saving, lucky in acquiring, and clever at buying, added from time to time as occasion offered. David was, perhaps, the only man who knew nothing about his father's wealth. To him, Marsac was a poor place, bought in 1810 for fifteen thousand francs, where he went once a year during the harvest, on which occa- sions his father marched liim up and down among the vines and boasted of their profits, which the printer did not see and as to which he never concerned himself. The love of a man accustomed to solitude and with- drawn into habits of study needs encouragement, for such a life only deepens sentiment and exaggerates Lost Ilhmons. 75 difficult3\ To David, Eve was a far more imposing woman than the greatest lad}' to a simple clerk. Awk- ward and uneasj' in her presence, as eager to get away as he had been to come there, the printer was repress- ing his passion instead of expressing it. Often, after inventing some pretext of consulting Lncien, he would go down to THoumeau in the evening ; but no sooner had he reached the house with the green door than he turned and fled awa}', fearing to have come too late, or to seem to importune his love, who was, perhaps, alread}' in bed. Although this great love was shown in small ways onl}', Eve had full}' understood it. She was gratified, but not exalted, by feeling herself the object of the deep respect conveyed in the looks, the words, the manners of her lover ; but David's strongest attrac- tion was his fanaticism for Lucien ; instinctivel}', he had guessed the means of pleasing Eve. If we must say in what the mute delights of their love differed from the tumultuous jo3's of passion, we must compare them to the flowers of the field contrasted with the dazzling beds of a garden. Soft, shy glances, like the blue lotos floating on a lake ; expressions murmured, like the fitful fragrance of the eglantine ; tender sadness, soft as the velvet of the mosses ; the native flowers of two fine souls born in rich soil, fruitful, perennial, — such were their joys of love. Eve had so often felt the power beneath this seeming weakness, she knew so well the hopes that David dared not as yet express, that the slightest incident might now produce a closer union of their hearts. Lucien found the door opened for him by Eve, and he sat down, without a word to her, at a httle table 76 Lost Illusions. where his knife and fork were laid. There was no tablecloth, and the poor little household owned but three silver forks. Eve emploj'ed them all in the ser- vice of this dear brother. " What are you reading?" she said, after setting on the table a dish she had taken from a heater and put- ting out the flame with an extinguislier. Lucien did not answer. Eve brought a little plate daintil}' arranged with vine-leaves and placed it on the table with a jug of cream. " See, Lucien, I have got 3'ou some strawberries." Lucien was so absorbed in his letter that he did not hear her. Eve then sat down beside him without a murmur ; for in the feeling of a sister for her brother there is a powerful element of pleasure in being treated without consideration. "But what troubles 3'Ou ? " she cried suddenh', as the tears glittered in his ej'es. "Nothing, nothing. Eve," he said, taking her round the waist and drawing her close to him as he kissed her forehead and hair and then her neck with surprising effusion. " You are hiding something from me." " Well, then, she loves me ! " "I knew you were not kissing me," she said, \\\ a pouting tone, and coloring. " Wc shall all be happy," cried Lucien, swallowing his soup in great gulps. "We?" queried Eve. Tiien inspired by the same presentiment which liad seized upon David, she added, " You will love us loss." " How can 3'ou think so — you who know me? " Lost Illusions. 77 Eve stretched out her hand and pressed Lucien's. Then she removed his empt}- plate and the earthenware tureen, and put before him the dish she had cooked for his dinner. Instead of eating it Lucien reread Madame de Bargeton's letter, which the discreet Eve did not ask to see, so great was her deference to her brother ; if he wished her to see it she could wait ; if he did hot wish it, wliy should she require it? So she waited. Here is the letter : — My Friend, — How can I deny to your brother in science the assistance that I have given to you ? In my eyes, all tal- ents have equal rights. But you are not aware of the preju- dices of those who form my society. We cannot make nobility of mind acceptable to those who are the aristocracy of igno- rance. But if I am not powerful enough to force them to receive Monsieur David Sechard I will gladly make you the sacrifice of their acquaintance. It shall be like a hecatomb of antiquity. But, dear friend, you will not, of course, require me to accept the acquaintance of a man whose mind and manners may not please me personally. Your flatteries have long taught me that yom- friendship may be bhnd. You will not, I am sure, be angiy if I add a condition to my consent. I wish to see your friend, to judge him, and know for myself, in the interests of your future, whether or not you can rely upon him. This is one of those maternal precautions which ought to be taken for you, my dear poet, by Louise de Xegrepelisse. Lucien was utterly ignorant of the art with which the great world uses "3-es" when it means "no" and vice versa. He regarded this letter as a triumph. David would go to Madame de Bargeton's salon, and shine in all the majesty of genius. In the intoxication of a vie- 78 Lost Illusions. tory which made him believe in the power of his ascend- ency over others, he took, unconsciously, so prouti an attitude, his face reflected so many hopes with so daz- zling a radiance that his sister could not help exclaim- ing that he was beautiful. "If she has any mind at all, — that woman, — she must love 3'ou ; and to-night she will be made unhappj- enough, for I am sure all the other women will court 3'Ou. How handsome you will look when you read them your * Saint John at Patmos.' I wish I were a mouse and could slip in after you. Come, I have your evening clothes all read}' in mother's room." This room was one of decent povert}'. It contained a walnut bedstead with white curtains, and a strip of green carpet beside it. On the bureau was a mirror ; and a few chairs, also of walnut, completed the furni- ture. On the mantelshelf was a clock which recalled the days of departed comfort. The window had white curtains. The walls were hung with a gra}- paper, gra}'- flowered. The floor tiles, colored and rubbed by Eve, shone with cleanliness. In the middle of the room stood a round table, where, on a red traj' with gilt rosettes, were three cups and saucers and a sugar basin of Limoges ware. Eve slept in a small adjoining room or closet, which contained a narrow bed, an old sofa, and a work-table near the window. The narrowness of this ship's cabin, as it might be called, required that the door should stand open in order to give it air. Though povert}' was visible in everything, the modest}' of a studious life was in the atmosphere. To those ^ho knew the mother and her two children, the scene was full of tender harmonies. Lout Illusions. 79 Lncien was putting on his cravat when David's step w-as heard in the little courtyard, and the printer pres- ently appeared with the manner of a man who had come in haste. " AVell, David," cried Lucien, " we have triumphed ; she loves me ; 3'ou are to go." '' No," said the printer, with an embarrassed air ; "I have come to thank you for that proof of friendship, about which I have reflected seriously. My life, Lu- cien is settled. I am David Sechard, printer to the king in Angouleme ; the name is read on the walls and posters and advertisements. To persons of IMadame de Bargeton's caste I am an artisan, a merchant if 3'OU prefer it, but at any rate, a working-man, with a shop, rue de Beaulieu, at the corner of the place du Miirier. I have n't the fortune of a Keller, nor the fame of a Desplein, — two sorts of powers which the nobles still endeavor to ignore and which (I agree with the nobles here) are of no account without the manners and knowl- edge of life of a gentleman. What would justify me in stepping up in this wa}'? I should simph'be laughed at, b}' the bourgeois as well as by the nobles. Your position is different. As a clerk you are committed to nothing. You can make acquaintances and choose some other way of life to-morrow ; you can stud}' law, or diplomac}', or enter a government office. Profit by your social virginity, walk alone and lay your grip upon honors. Enjo}" all pleasures joyousl}', even those of gratified vanit}'. Be happ}', and I shall be happ}' in your success, — you will be to me a second self. Yes, m}' thought will make me live in 3'our career. To you the banquets of life, the glory of this world, and the rapid 80 Lost Illusions, results of its strateg}- ; to me the sober, laborious life of a tradesman, and the slow occupations of science. You shall be our aristocrac}'," he added, with a smile, looking at Eve. " AVhen 3'ou totter my arm shall be read}' to support you. If you meet with treachery- take refuge in our hearts ; their love is unchangeable. Should you try to divide between yourself and me the protection, favor, and good-will of these great persons, you ma}' weary them, and we shall simply have injured each other. No, go your way, — it is before you; we will not be a drag upon you. Far from envying your ca- reer, I devote myself to it. What you have just done for me — I mean in risking the favor of your benefac- tress rather than leave me or seem to turn your back upon me — just that simple thing, Lucien, is so grand that it would bind me to you for life if we were not al- ready brothers. Have no remorse or doubt in taking the higher place. Even if you cause me anxiety, per- haps I shall still be your debtor." As he said these words he glanced timidly at Eve, whose eyes were full of tears, for she guessed all. " Besides," he added to Lucien, who was much surprised, " you are handsome and well made, your figure is fine, you wear your clothes with an air, you look like a gentleman in that blue coat with brass buttons and those nankeen trousers. As for me, I should look like a workman among all those fine people. I should be awkward, embarrassed, and say eitlier foolish things or nothing at all. If you choose to yield to the prejudice of nnmes and take that of your mother you can call yourself Lu- cien de Rubempro ; but I am and ever shall be David S^chard. lOverything will serve you and everything Lost Illusions, 81 would injure me in tlie world where 3-011 are going. You are born to succeed in it. For one thing, the women will adore that angelic face of yours — won't they, Eve?" Lucien fell on David's neck and kissed him. His friend's modesty solved all doubts, all difficulties. How could he help showing a redoubled love for the man who made, out of friendship, the same reflections he had just made out of ambition. The ambitious lover felt that the road was levelled for him, and his heart glowed. It was one of those rare moments in life when the cords of being are gently stretched, and rich sounds come from their vibration. But the loyal wisdom of this noble soul increased in Lucien a tendency that exists, more or less, in all men to centre every- thing upon himself. We all feel as Louis XIV. said : "The State, it is I." The exclusive tenderness of his mother and sister, David's devotion, the habit of seeing himself the one object of these three persons, gave him the vices of an elder son and produced in him the selfish egotism which ruins a young noble, and which Madame de Bargeton fostered by inciting him to resign his name and his obligations towards his mother, sister, and David. This point, was not yet reached, however ; but it was to be feared that the widening of the circle of his ambition, promoted by his friends, soon would constrain him to think only of himself. AYhen their emotion had passed off, David remarked to Lucien that his poem of " Saint John at Patmos " was rather too Biblical to be read before a company who probably knew little of apocalyptic poetiy. Lucien, who feared his audience, grew uneasy. David ad- 6 82 Lost Illusions. vised him to take the volume of Andre Chenier with him and change a doubtful pleasure into a certain one ; Lucien read admirably ; he could not help delighting an audience, and his modesty in choosing another poet would be put to his credit. Like most 3'oung men he believed in the intelligence and virtue of persons of rank. If 3'outh which has never sinned is without mere}' for the known sins of others it also attributes to others its own magnificent faiths. We must experience life before we recognize that, as Raffaelle fineh' said, comprehension alone makes us equal to it. As a gen- eral thing, the sense of poes}' required for a full under- standing of the art is rare in France, where wit and intellect dvy up the sacred sources of the tears of ecstasy, where none will take the pains of deciphering the sublime, of sounding sublimity in search of the infinite. Lucien was about to meet his first experience of the ignorance and coldness of social life. He took the volume of Andre' Chenier with him. When Eve and David were alone together the lover became more embarrassed than at an}' previous mo- ment of his life. Oppressed b}- many fears, he desired and dreaded approval ; he longed to get away, for shy- ness has a coquetry of its own. The poor lover dared not sa}' a word which might seem to ask for thanks ; all words appeared to him compromising, and therefore he kept silence with the air of a criminal. Eve, who instinctively understood the tortures of his shyness, found pleasure in this silence ; but when David twisted his hat as if to go, she smiled. " Monsieur David," she said ; "as you are not going to pass the evening at Madame de Bargeton's, we might Lost Illusions. 83 spend it together. It is so fine, suppose we take a walk along the Charente ; we coukl talk of Lucien." David had a momentaiy idea of prostrating himself before that enchanting girl, ^vho had put into her voice certain tones of hope rewarded. By the tenderness of those tones she meant to solve the difficulties of the situation. Her proposal was more than a flatter}', it was love's first favor. *' But," she said, seeing David's gesture, " give me time to dress." David, who never in his life had known what it was to turn a tune, went out into the court3-ard singing, which greatly surprised the worth}' Postel and gave him dark suspicions as to the relations between Eve and the printer. The slightest circumstances of this momentous even- ing acted powerfully upon Lucien, whose character was greatly influenced b}" first impressions. Like all inex- perienced lovers he arrived so earlv that Louise was not yet in the salon. Monsieur de Bargeton was there alone. Lucien had already begun his apprenticeship in the pett}' meannesses by which the lover of a married woman buys his happiness (which give a woman the measure of those she may exact) but he had never yet been alone with Monsieur de Bargeton. That gentleman had one of those small minds that are mildly interposed between an offensive nullity which understands to some extent, and an arrogant stupidity which receives nothing and returns nothing. Full of his duties to society, and striving to make himself agreeable in it, he had adopted the smile of a dancer 84 Lost Ilhisions. before the footlights as his onW language. Pleased or displeased, he smiled, — smiled at disastrous news as he smiled at good news. That smile answered all pur- poses through the expressions that Monsieur de Barge- ton gave to it. If direct approbation was absolutel}- required he added a complacent laugh, using language onl}' in the last extremit}'. A tete-a-tete was the onl}' situation of his vegetable life which caused him embar- rassment, for he was then obliged to search in the im- mensity of his inward vacuum for something to say. Generally he escaped this difficulty by having recourse to the naive ways of his childhood ; he thought aloud ; he revealed every detail of his life, and expressed all his wants and sensations, which, to him, took the place of ideas. He never talked of the weather, or the usual commonplaces of conversation in which fools take refuge, he went straight to the most private affairs of life. " To please Madame de Bargeton," he would sa}', "I ate veal this morning for breakfast; she likes it, but m}' stomach aches in consequence. I knew how it would be, I am always taken so ; can you explain it?" Or he would remark. " I shall ring for a glass of eau sucree, will you have one?" or, "I shall ride out on horseback to-morrow ; I want to see my father-in-law." These little remarks, which involved no discussion, required only a yes or no, and the conversation dropped. Monsieur de Bargeton would then implore assistance, turning his nose to you like a wlioozy pug, and gazing in your face with his prominent blear\- eyes in a way that seem to query, "What did you say?" lie cher- ished the bores who talked of themselves, and listened to them with a loyal, delicate attention which made him Lost Illusions. 85 so dear to the gabblers of Angouleme that they vaunted his intellect and declared it was underrated. When they could find no other listeners these folk would fall back on Monsieur de Bargeton and tell him their tales or pursue their arguments, sure of receiving his approv- ing smile. His wife's salon being always full, he liked to be there, and was usually at his ease. He busied himself in the smallest details ; watched who came in, bowed, smiled, and presented all strangers to his wife. He met those who were leaving, conducted them to the door, and received their parting words with the same eternal smile. When the party was ga}' and he saw every one well employed, he would stand mutel}', planted on his two long legs like a stork, apparently listening to a political conversation (of which he heard not a word), or studying the cards of a player without understanding the game (for he knew none), or else he walked about snuflSng tobacco, and trying to work off his indigestion. Anais was the one happiness of his life ; she gave him infinite" enjoyment. When she played her part as mistress of the house he lay back in his easy chair and admired her — she was talking for him. He took pleasure in searching out the meaning of her sentences, and as it frequenth' came to him long after they were uttered, his smiles would often explode unexpectedly, like torpedoes that have been buried in the ground. His respect for his wife amounted to ado- ration ; and, we may ask, is not adoration, of whatever kind it be, suflScient to make the happiness of a life? Anais, who was generous and intelligent, had not abused her power, recognizing in her husband the facile nature of a child, which asks nothing better than to be gov- 86 Lost Illusions, ernecl. She had taken care of him as she would of a mantle ; she had brushed liim, kept him clean, wrapped him up, and used him carefullj'. Finding himself thus looked after and brushed and cared for, Monsieur de Bargeton had acquired an almost canine affection for his wife ; it is so eas}' to give one's self a happiness that costs nothing ! Madame de Bargeton, knowing that her husband's greatest pleasure was good living, pro- vided him with excellent dinners. She pitied him, and never did she complain of him ; so that some persons, misunderstanding her proud silence, supposed Monsieur de Bargeton to be possessed of hidden merits. His wife had long brought him under militarj^ rule, and he obeyed her passivel}'. She would sa}', " Pa}* a visit to Monsieur or Madame Such-a-one," and he went like a soldier to his post. In her presence he stood as it were at attention, motionless. At this particular time there was some question of nominating this mute being as deput}'. Lucien had been an intimate of the house too short a time to have lifted the veil which hid this un- imaginable character. Monsieur de Bargeton, buried in his armchair, apparentl}' seeing all and understand- ing everything, and making a dignit}' of his silence, seemed to Lucien a most imposing personage. Instead of taking him for a granite post, he regarded him as a formidable sphinx, after the manner of imaginative men whose tendenc}' it is to magnify and give a soul to forms. He thought it neccssar}' to court his host. "I am the first to arrive," he said, bowing to the master of the liouse with more deference than was usuall}' accorded to him. *' That is natural," replied Monsieur de Bargeton. Lost Illusions. 87 Lucien took tlie remark as the sarcasm of a jealous husband ; he turned red and looked in a mirror, trying to recover himself. "You live in the suburbs," said Monsieur de Barge- ton ; " people who live far off always come earlier than those near by."' *' Why is that?" asked Lucien, with an ingratiating air. "I don't know," replied Monsieur de Bargeton, re- lapsing into his usual immobility. '' You don't seek to know," said Lucien. "A man who could make that observation can certainly find the cause of it." *' Yes," said Monsieur de Bargeton, " the final cause, bey, hey ! " Lucien cracked his brains to continue the conversa- tion, which had now dropped. "Madame de Bargeton is dressing, I suppose?" he said, shuddering at the silliness of his question. "Yes, she is dressing," responded the husband, naturally. Lucien, unable to invent a single sentence, raised his e3-es to the two great beams of the ceiling, painted gra}', the space between them being plastered, and he then noticed with dismay that the glass chandelier with its numerous pendants was freed from its usual gauze and filled with wax candles. The covers of the furni- ture had been taken off, and the faded patterns of the red damask exhibited. These preparations announced an unusual festivity. The poet doubted the propriety of his dress, for he was wearing boots. He walked to a Japanese vase which was placed on a console of the 88 Lost Illusions. Louis XV. period, and looked at it in a stupor of fear ; then he was alarmed lest he should displease the hus- band by ceasing to court him, and he returned to the charge, determined to discover some hobbj' on which he could flatter him. *' You seldom leave town, monsieur? " he began. " Seldom." Silence fell again. Monsieur de Bargeton watched Lucien's movements, which disturbed him, like a sus- picious cat. Each was afraid of the other. " Can he suspect m}' attentions to his wife?" thought Lucien ; '' he is certainl}' hostile." Happil}' for Lucien, who was much embarrassed by the uneasy glances which Monsieur de Bargeton cast at him as he moved about the room, the old servant, who had donned a liver}', announced du Chatelet. The bnron entered with much ease of manner, greeted his friend Bargeton, and gave Lucien the little nod which was then the fashion, but which the poet, ignorant of this fact, considered financially impertinent. Sixte du Cliatelet wore trousers of dazzling whiteness, with straps which held their plaits in place, thin shoes, and stockings of Scotch tiiread. Over his white waistcoat floated the black ribbon of an eyeglass. The cut of his coat was Parisian. He was quite the buck which his antecedents proclaimed him, but ^ears had suppHcd him with a little round stomach wliich he found some- what diflicult to restrain within the lines of elegance. He d^ed his hair and his wliiskers, whitened by the sufferings of his exile, and it gave him a liard look. His complexion, whicli had once been delicate, now showed the copper tinge of those who return from east- Lost Illusions. 89 ern climes ; nevertheless, his whole bearing, though rather ridiculous on account of its pretensions, did un- doubtedlj' recall the fascinating secretary of her Imperial Highness. The baron took up his eyeglass and surveyed Lucien's nankeen trousers, waistcoat, boots, and blue coat, made in Angoulerae, — in short, the whole of his rival from top to toe. Then he returned the eyeglass to his waist- coat pocket, as if he would say, "I am satisfied." Cruslied at first by the baron's elegance, Lucien soon reflected that his turn would come when he showed his face, instinct with poetry, to the compan}' ; but none the less he felt a keen annoyance, added to the inward discomfort which Monsieur de Bargeton's imagi- nary hostility had caused him. The baron seemed to Lucien to bear with all the weight of his prosperity upon him to humiliate his poverty. Monsieur de Bargeton, having nothing to sa}', was in consternation at the si- lence maintained b}' the rivals, who were e3'eing each other ; but when he found himself in a crisis of this kind, he had one question which he reserved, like a pear for a thirsty moment, and he now thought the time had come to launch it with a businesslike air. " Well, monsieur," he said to du Chatelet, " what is the news? what do people say? " '•The news?" replied the baron, mischievously, "Why the news is, Monsieur Chardon. Ask him. Have 3'ou brought us a charming poem?"' added the sparkling baron, correcting a curl which was a little out of place. " I ought to consult you as to that,'' replied Lucien. " You practised poetry long before me." 90 Lost Illusions, '' Pooh ! a few vaudevilles ; well enough for an occa- sion, ballads to which the music gave charm, a lyric to a sister of Bonaparte (ungrateful fellow!) — the}' are no claim to posterit}'." At this moment Madame de Bargeton entered in all the brillianc}' of a studied toilet. She wore a turban fastened with an oriental buckle. A gauze scarf, be- neath which could be seen a cameo necklace, was grace- fully twined about her throat. The short sleeves of her painted muslin gown enabled her to wear several tiers of bracelets on her beautiful white arms. This theatrical attire enchanted Lucien. Monsieur du Chate- let gallantly addressed a number of fulsome compli- ments to the queen, which made her smile with pleasure, so delighted was she to be praised before Lucien. She exchanged but one look with her dear poet, and replied to the baron with a politeness which mortified him by excluding him from her intimacy. The invited guests began to arrive. The first to enter were the bishop and his grand-vicar, two solemn and dignified figures, forming, however, a violent con- trast to each other. Monseigneur was tall and thin ; his acolyte was fat and short. Both had brilliant eyes, but the bishop was pale, while the vicar was crimson with abounding health. In each — and here there was no difference between them — gesture and movement were extremely rare. Both seemed prudence itself; their reserve and their silence intimidated others, and they passed for being very intellectual. The priests were followed by Madame de Chandour and her husband, two extraordinary personages whom those who are ignorant of the provinces will declare to Lost Illusions, 91 be iraaginaiy. The husband of Amelie (the woman who was posing as Madame de Bargeton's antagonist), Mon- sieiirde Chandoiir, called Stanislas, was a would-be ^oung man, still slender at foi*t>'-five years of age, with a face like a sieve. His cravat was always tied in a way that presented two threatening points ; one at the level of his right ear, the other lower down towards the red rib- bon of his cross. The sides of his coat were flung back ; a wide-open waistcoat disclosed a swelling shirt, fastened and weighted with pins of elaborate jewehy. His whole apparel had an exaggerated air, which gave him so great a likeness to caricatures that even strangers laughed when the}' saw him. Stanislas viewed himself with continual satisfaction ; he looked himself over from head to foot and verified the buttons on his waist- coat, smoothed the undulating line of liis tight trousers, and caressed his legs with a loving glance which ended at the toes of his boots. When he ceased to thus gaze upon himself he looked for a mirror, in which to see if his hair were still in curl ; he challenged the notice of women with a contented eye, sticking his thumbs into the pockets of his waistcoat, and leaning backward to throw himself into a three-quarter position, — allure- ments of a cock, which had brought him much success in the aristocratic circles of which he was the beau. His talk was for the most part in the smutty style of the eighteenth centur}'. This odious form of conversa- tion gave him some success with women ; he made them laugh. He was beginning to get uneas}" about Monsieur du Chatelet. In fact, the women in society, puzzled by the implied contempt of that dand}', stimu- lated by his affectation, and piqued by his tone of a 92 Los^t Illusions. satiated sultan, had begun to pa}' him much more atten- tion since Madame de Bargeton had taken up the Byron of Angouleme than they did on his first arrival. Amelie was a little woman, clumsil}' comic, fat, white, with black hair ; overdoing everything, talking loud and twirling her head, which was laden with feathers in summer and flowers in winter, — a lively talker, but quite unable to finish a sentence w^ithout the accom- paniment of an asthmatic whistle. Monsieur de Saintot, called Astolphe, president of the Agricultural Society, was a tall, stout man with a high color, w^ho seemed to be led b}' his wife, called Lilt (an abbreviation of Eliza), a sort of figure not unlilve a withered fern. Her name, which implies something childlike in its owner, contrasted absurdly' with the character and manners of Madame de Saintot, a solemn woman, extremely pious, very quarrelsome and exact- ing at cards. Astolphe was held to be a scholar of the first water. Ignorant as a carp, he had nevertheless written the articles on sugar and brandy in the " Agri- cultural Dictionar}' ; " two works for which he had pil- fered his facts here and there from newspapers and old manuals relating to those productions. The depart- ment believed he was now occupied in writing a trea- tise on modern culture. Though he shut himself up in his study all the morning he had not written a page for the last twelve 3'ears. If any one called to see him the}' found him sorting papers, searching for a missing note, or mending a pen ; his whole time when alone in his study was spent in idling. He read the {)ai)ers slowly, carved corks with his i)cnknife, drew^ fantastic figures in his blotting-book, turned over Cicero in search of a Lost Illusions. 93 sentence or passage applicable to some event of the day, so that he might lead the conversation in the even- ing to a topic which enabled him to sa}' : "There is a passage in Cicero which seems actually to have been written for these days." Then he would recite it to the great edification of his hearers, who remarked to each other : " Astolphe is really a wellspring of knowledge." This interesting fact would then be told all over town, and it maintained the faith which society bestowed on Monsieur de Saintot's acquirements. After this couple, came Monsieur de Bartas, called Adrien, a man who sang bass and had immense pre- tensions to be musical. Self-conceit had set him astride of the solfeggio. He began by admiring himself as he sang ; then he talked music, till at last he ended in being musical exclusiveh'. The art of music became to him a monomania ; he never brightened unless the sub- ject were talked of ; he was miserable the whole even- ing until asked to sing. But as soon as he had bellowed a tune, life began for him ; his chest swelled, he rose from his heels to receive compliments ; he pretended modesty though he went from group to group to gather flattery; then, when there was no more to be had, he would open a discussion on the piece he had just sung and praise the composer. Monsieur Alexandre de Brebian, a sepia hero, a sketcher who infested the houses of his friends with ri- diculous drawings and spoiled all the albums of the department, came with Monsieur de Bartas. Each gave his arm to the wife of the other. Gossip said that the exchange was permanent. These women, Lolotte (Madame Charlotte de Brebian) and Fifine (Madame 94 Lost Illusions. Josephine de Bartas), both equally interested in chiffons, trimmings, and the matching of heterogeneous colors, were eaten up with a desire to appear Parisian. They neglected their houseliolds, where mattei's went ill. But if the two women were squeezed like dolls into gowns that were scantily constructed and presented on their own persons an assortment of excruciating colors, the husbands, in their capacit}' as artists, allowed them- selves a provincial freedom of apparel which made them wonderful to behold. Tlieir creased coats gave them the look of supernumeraries who figure as guests at a wedding on the boards of a pett^' theatre. Among the personages whom fate landed in the salon the most original was undoubtedly Monsieur le Comte de Senonches, aristocratically called Jacques, — a great huntsman, haughty, lean, sunburnt, amiable as a wild boar, distrustful as a Venetian, jealous as a Moor, and living on ver}' good terms with Monsieur du Hautoy, otherwise called Francis, the friend of the household. Madame de Senonches (Zephirine) was tall and hand- some, but unfortunatel}' blotched in complexion owing to an affection of the liver which made people take her for a fretful woman. Her slender waist and delicate proportions allowed her to assume a languor of manner which seemed affectation, but was really expressive of the emotions and constantly gratified caprices of a woman beloved. Francis was a man of some distinction, who had abandoned a consulate at Valence and all his hopes in diplomacy to come to Angouleme and live near Zephi- rine, — called also Zizine. The former consul took Lost Illnsions. 95 charge of the honsehokl and the education of the chil- dren, taught the hitter foreign languages, and managed the property of Monsieur and Madame de Senonches with absohite devotion. AngoultMne, noble, adminis- trative, and bourgeois, had long gossiped over the perfect unity of this household of three persons ; but in the long run, this mystery of conjugal trinity had seemed so rare and so charming that Monsieur du Hautoy would have been regarded as outrageously immoral had he thought of marrying. Besides, the communit}' was beginning to suspect in the attachment of Madame de Senonches to a goddaughter named Mademoiselle de la Haye, who lived with her as companion, another and more disquieting mystery ; and in spite of certain absolute impossibilities of date a strong likeness was said to exist between Francoise de la Haye and Francis du Hautoy. When Jacques hunted the countr}', per- sons would ask him news of Francis, to which he would reply with information about the latter's health, appar- ently considering his welfare before that of his wife. This blindness seemed so remarkable in a jealous man that his best friends would sometimes pla}^ upon it. Monsieur du Hautoy was a scrupulous dand}', whose personal solicitudes had turned to the finical and fuss}'. He was always thinking of his cough, or his want of sleep, of his digestion, and of what he ate. Zephirine had coddled her factotum into thinking himself a man in poor health ; she wadded and muffled and physicked him ; she stuffed him with tidbits like the pug of a countess ; she ordered or forbade him to take such and such food ; she embroidered his waistcoats, the ends of his cravats, and his handkerchiefs, and ended b}' making 96 Lost Illusions. liim wear so man}- of her prett}^ constructions that he looked like a Japanese idol. Their understanding of each other was flawless. Zizine looked to Francis for everything and Francis seemed to take his ideas from Zizine's ej'es. They smiled and thought and blamed as one being ; they even seemed to consult each other as to saying the simplest good-day. The richest landowner of the neighborhood, a man envied hy all, the Marquis de Pimentel and his wife, who together possessed forty thousand francs a year, and passed the winters in Paris, came in from the country in their caleche, bringing with them their neighbors, the Baron and Baroness de Rastignac and their daughters, two charming young women, well brought up, poor, but dressed with the simplicit3'' which enhances natural beaut}'. These persons, who were certainly the elite of the company-, were received in cold silence, with a respect full of jealous}', especially when those present saw the distinguished greeting which Madame de Bargeton gave to them. The two families belonged to the small number of those who, in the provinces, hold themselves above local gossip and mix in no general society ; they lived quietly in retreat and maintained an imposing dignitj;. Monsieur de Pimentel and Monsieur de Rastignac were called bj^ their titles ; no familiarities connected their wives and daughters with the upper clique of Angouleme ; they were too nearl}' allied to the court nobilit}' to share the pettiness of provincial high-life. The prefect and the general were the last to arrive, accompanied by the country gentleman who had carried his treatise on silk-worms to David's printing-oflice in Lost Illusions. 97 the morning. He was no doubt the maj'or of some dis- trict, chosen for his landed property ; but his behavior and clothes betrayed rustiness in society ; he never knew where to put his hands, turned around the per- son who spoke to him, rose or sat down to reply xo whoever addressed him, was obsequious, uneasy, and solemn b\' turns, hastened to laugh at a joke, listened with servile attention, and wore at times a surly look when he thought others were laughing at him. Several times during the evening, feeling oppressed b\' his trea- tise, he tried to talk silk-worms, but the unfortunate man (his name was de Severac) fell into the hands of Monsieur de Bartas, who answered music, and Mon- sieur de Saintot, who quoted Cicero. Towards the mid- dle of the evening the luckless mayor managed to find auditors in a widow and her daughter, Madame and Mademoiselle de Brossard, who were not the least in- teresting of the personages of this societ}'. One word will tell all : they were as poor as they were noble. Their dress showed the effort at adornment which be- tra\'s secret penur}'. Madame de Brossard was con- tinually praising, in season and out of season, her tall, stout daughter, twentN'-seven years of age, ^\ho was supposed to be proficient on the piano. In her desire to marry her dear Camille she proclaimed her as shar- ing the tastes of all marriageable men, and had been known to declare in the coarse of a single evening that Camille loved the wandering life of garrisons, and the tranquil life of country gentlemen cultivating their own lands. Both women had the pinched, sour dignity of persons whom others are delighted to pity and in whom they take an interest through egotism ; the}' 7 98 Lost Illusions, had sounded the liollowness of the consolatory words which societ}' finds pleasure in bestowing on the unfor- tunate. Monsieur de Severac was fift3'-nine years of age, a widower without children ; mother and daughter listened with admiring devotion to the details which he gave them about his mulberries. " My daughter has always been fond of animals," said the mother, " and as the silk these little creatures make is particularh' interesting to women, I shall ask permission to go to Severac and show Camille how you manage them. Camille has so much intelligence that she will seize your ideas in a moment. On one occa- sion she learned the inverse ratio of the square of distances." This phrase was the glorious termination of a long conversation between Monsieur de Severac and Ma- dame de Brossard after Lucien had finished his reading. A few habitues slipped familiarly- into the salon ; also two or three young men, scions of nobility, shy, silent, faultlessl}- dressed, pleased at being invited to this lit- erar}' solemnity, though only one was daring enough to emancipate himself to the extent of speaking to Made- moiselle de la Ilaye. All the women ranged themselves solemnly in a circle, behind which stood the men. This assemblage of queer personages, anomalous garments, and wrinkled faces, was extremel}' imposing to Lucien, whose heart began to palpitate as he felt himself the object of all those eyes. Bold as he tried to be, he could not endnre this first social trial, thongh encour- aged by his mistress, who made a great display of curtseys and all her most finished graces in receiving the illustrious personages of Angouleme society. The Lost Illusions. 99 discomfort to which Lucien now fell a prey was in- creased b}' a circumstance eas}^ to have foreseen, but which frightened a youth who was still unused to the tactics of the world. Being all eyes and ears, he heard himself called Monsieur de Rubempr6 hy Louise, b}^ Monsieur de Bargeton, by the bishop, and b}' several flatterers of the mistress of the house, and Monsieur Chardon by the majority of the formidable compan}-. Intimidated by the inquisitive glances of those about him, he knew the}- were saying his bourgeois name by the mere motion of their lips ; he anticipated the judg- ments they would form about him, with the provincial frankness that is often akin to brutality. These con- tinual pin-pricks put him out of sorts with himself. He waited impatiently for the moment when he should be asked to read, and could take an attitude which would put an end to his inward torture. But Jacques was relating his last hunting feat to Madame de Pimentel ; Adrien was talking of the new musical -star, Rossini, to Laure de Rastignac ; Astolphe, who had committed to memory the description given in a news- paper of a novel kind of plough, was describing it to the baron. Lucien, poor poet, was not aware that none of these minds, except that of Madame de Bargeton, could understand poetry. All these persons, hungering for emotions, had eagerly accepted the invitation, deceiv- ing themselves completely as to the nature of the show that awaited them. There are words which always attract the public as trumpets, the clash of C3'mbals, or the booth of acrobats attract them. The words " beauty," " glory," " poesy," have a witchcraft about them which fascinates the commonest mind. 100 Lost Illusions. When the compan}' had all assembled, and conversa- tion was hushed, — not without man}' hints given to the interrupters b}- Monsieur de Bargeton, who was sent about by his wife like a beadle in a church who taps his staff on the pavement, — Lucien placed himself at a round table beside Madame de Bargeton, violently shaken up in soul. He announced, in an agitated voice, that, in order not to disappoint the expectations of his audience, he was about to read to them the master- pieces, latel}^ rediscovered, of a great but unknown poet, Andre Chenier. Though Chenier's poems were first published in 1819 no one in Angouleme had ever heard of him. The audience, therefore, imagined that Lucien's announcement was an evasion suggested by Madame de Bargeton to save the modesty of her poet and put his hearers at their ease. Lucien then read " Le Jeune Malade," which was received with flattering murmurs; then " L'Aveugle," a poem which these empt}- minds thought long. While he read, Lucien was a victim to those infernal suffer- ings which cannot be understood by anj' but great artists, or those whose enthusiasm and lofty intellect put them on that level. To render poetrj' by the voice and seize it by the ear, exacts an almost sacred at- tention. There must exist between the reader and his hearers the closest bond, without which the electric communication of feelings cannot take place. If this cohesion of souls is lacking, the poet is like an angel trying to sing the hymns of heaven amid the sneers of hell. Now, in circumstances which develop their facul- ties, persons of intellect have the circumferential sight of snails, the nose of dogs, the ear of moles ; they see Lost llhsims. 101 scent, and bear everything- fvbcut thcra. . Tlie mr.-slcij.n and the poet know as quickly whether tber art ad-mired or misunderstood as a pL^nt wilts or freshens in a suit- able 01' unsuitable atmosphere. The muttering of the men who had only come there to bring their wives and were whispering among themselves echoed in Lucien's ear by tie laws of these special acoustics; his q\q caught the sympathetic hiatus of jaws parted b}' a yawn, and the teeth thus exposed seemed to mock him. When, like Noalrs dove, he looked for a spot on which to rest, he encountered the impatient eyes of those who were waiting ai opportunity to recommence their talk. With the exception of Laure de Rastignac and two or three young mei^, and the bishop, all present were bored. Those who understand poetry tr}^ to develop in their own souls 'hat which the poet has put in its germ into his verse. But these icy hearers, far from aspiring to share the poet's soul, could not even listen to his accents. Lucien was so deeph' discouraged that a cold sweat moistened h;s shirt ; but a burning glance from Louise, to whom he turned, gave him courage to read on, though his poet's heart was bleeding at every pore. " Do you call that amusing, Fifine?" said the gaunt Lili to her neighbor. "Don't ask me, my dear; I go to sleep as soon as any one reads aloud." " I hope Nais won't give us verses every night," said Francis. " If I listen to anything after dinner, the attention I am forced to pay hinders ni}' digestion." " Poor dear ! " said Zephirine, in a low voice, " take some eau sucree." 102 LoH Illusions. "It' v-as very ;vell declaimed," said Alexandre; "but I'prefei' whist." Hearing this remark, which passed for witt\' because an English word was used, a few devoted card-players suggested that the reader ought to rest. Und.er this pretext a few couples escaped into the boudoir. Lu- cien, entreated by Louise, b}' the charming Laure de Rastignac, and by the bishop, roused fresh attention by rendering the anti-revolutionary fire of the '' lambes," which several persons, carried away by the roll of the language, applauded without comprehending. Such persons are excited b}^ vociferation, as v'ulgar palates are by strong drink. During an interval, when ices were served, Zephirine sent Francis, to examine the volume, and reported to her neigiibor Amelie that Lucien was really reading printed poems. " Well," said Amelie, contentcdl}', "that's natural enough ; Monsieur de Kubempr^ works for a printer. It is just as if a prett}' won an," with a malicious glance at Lolotte, "should n:ake her own clothes." " He has printed his poeu's himself," said all the women. "Then why does he call himself de Rubempre?" asked Jacques. " When a noble works with his hands, he ought to relinquish his name." " He has done so," said Zizine ; "his real name is bourgeois, and he has taken that of his mother, which is noble." " If liis verses are printed, we can read them for ourselves," said Astolphe. Tiiis stupid mistake complicated matters until Sixtc du Chatclet deigned to inform the ignorant company- Lost Illusions. 103 that the announcement was not an oratorical precau- tion, but that these beautiful poems were actually written b}' a royalist brother of the revolutioniso Marie-Joseph Chenier. The audience, with the exception of the bishop and Madame de Rastignac and her daughters, chose to be affronted at this announcement, and to consider they had been cheated through their own mistake. A low murmur of opposition arose ; but Lu- cien did not hear it. Isolated for the moment from this odious company by the intoxication of inward melody, he continued his reading, and saw his audience, as it were, through a mist. He read the solemn elegy on Suicide, written in the antique vein, and full of a sublime melancholy* ; and next the poem in which occurs the line, — " Thy poems are sweet ; I love to repeat them." Then he ended his recitation with that beautiful idyl entitled " Xe'ere." Plunged in a delightful revery, one hand in her curls which had broken loose, the other hanging down, her eyes wandering, her mind solitar}' in the midst of her salon, Madame de Bargeton felt, for the first time, that her life had entered its proper sphere. She was un- pleasantly aroused by Amelie, who had taken upon her- self to inform the mistress of the house of the general opinion. " Nals, we came here to listen to Monsieur Chardon's poems, and you have given us printed verses. They may be very pretty, but these ladies would prefer, lor the credit of Angouleme, the poetry of our own vintao:e." 104 Lost Illusions, " Don't you think that the French language is very unsuitable for poetry?" said Astolphe to Sixte du Chatelet. "For my part, I think Cicero's prose far more poetic." "The true French poetry is lyric," replied du Cha- telet, " songs — " "Ah, 3'es, songs prove how musical our language is," said Adrien. " I should like to hear some of the verses which made a conquest of Nais,'" said Zephirine ; "but I judge from the way she received Amelie's remark that she won't give us a specimen of them." " She owes it to herself to let us hear them," re- marked Francis ; "for the genius of her little poet was the reason of her inviting us here to-night." " You have been a diplomat," said Amelie, address- ing du Chatelet. " Can't you manage it for us?" " Nothing easier," said the baron. The former secretar}' of her Imperial Highness be- ing used to such little manoeuvres, went to find the bishop, and persuaded him to come forward. Ee- quested by Monseigneur himself, Nais was forced to ask Lucien to repeat something of his own which he knew by heart. Du Chatelet's prompt success in the negotiation won him a smile from Amelie. "Tlie baron is certainly ver}' clev^er," she whispered to Lolotte. Lolotte, bearing in mind Amdlie's slur on women who made their own gowns, replied with a smile : " Since when have you recognized the barons of the Empire?" Lucien had deilied his mistress in an ode to which he Lout Illusions. 105 had given a title invented by ever}' young man on leav- ing college. This ode, complacently cherished and beau- tified with all the love his heart contained, seemed to him the only one of his poems that was fit to compete with those of Chenier. Giving Madame de Bargeton a look that was not a little conceited, he said : "To Her ! " Then he proudly assumed an attitude in which to deliver his masterpiece, for his vanity as an author felt at ease behind Madame de Bargeton's petti- coat. This was the moment when Nais unguardedly let all the women present into her secret. Notwith- standing her habit of ruling the social world around her b}' the strength of her intellect, she could not help trembling for Lucien. Her face was troubled, her eyes seemed to ask some forbearance ; then she lowered them, and hid her feelings as best she could while the following stanzas were recited : — TO HER. Within that radiance of light and glory, "Where listening angels tune their golden lyres, Repeating at the feet of great Jehovah The prayer of plaintive stars, Behold, a cherubin with golden hair, Veiling her brow from God's effulgent light. Leaves in the courts of heaven her silvery wings, And comes to us on earth. With her she brings God's merciful compassion, Quiets the anguish of a soul at bay, Wreathes girlhood's beauty, cradles wintry age, With flowers of purity. 106 Lost Illusions. Inspires repentance to the sinning soul, Whispers to anxious mothers, " Hope! " Counts with glad heart the sighs of those Wlio pity misery. One of these messengers is here among us; A loving earth arrests her course; And yet she weeps and looks up, longing, Toward the Father's bliss. 'Tis not the dazzling whiteness of that brow. Which tells the secret of a noble birth, Nor that the fruitful ardor of that soul Reveals divinest worth. It is that when my awe-struck love Strives to unite with that pure nature, It finds the impenetrable shield opposed Of God's archangel. Ah ! keep her, keep her, let her not revisit The skies to which she longs to rise; Soon she may learn the magic language Of human love and sighs. Then shall we see two souls rending the veils Of night, rising like dawn, attaining heaven In one fraternal flight. The watching mariner, expecting signs, Shall see the track of their illumined feet, Eternal beacon-light! *' Can you make anything out of that?" said Auit'lie to Monsieur du Chutelet, with a coquettish gianee. " The}' are verses such as we all make when we leave college," replied the baron with a bored air, carrying Lost Illusions. 107 put his role of critic who must naught admire. "In ni}- day we all went in for Ossianic mists — Malvinas, Fingals, cloudy apparitions, warriors issuing from their tombs with stars above their heads. To da}', these poetic fripperies are replaced by Jehovah, lyres, angels, wings of seraphim, the whole wardrobe of Paradise made over new with the words ' immense,' ' intellec- tual,' ' solitary,' ' infinite ; ' it is all a species of Chris- tianized pantheism, enriched with a few chance rhymes found with difficult}- and seldom correct. In short, poe- try has changed latitudes ; instead of being in the North, as it once was, it is now in the East ; but the clouds and darkness are as thick as evei\" " If the ode is obscure," said Zephirine, " the dec- laration seems clear enough." '• The shield of the archangel is evidently a thin mus- lin gown," remarked Francis. Though politeness required that the audience should cstensibl}^ consider an ode to Madame de Bargeton admirable, the women, furious at not having a poet of their own to call them seraphs, rose as if bored to death, murmuring in icy tones : " Verj' good indeed," " Very pretty," " Perfect." " If you love me, you will not compliment either the the poet or his angel," said Lolotte to her dear Adrien, with the despotic air he was wont to obe\'. "After all, they are only phrases," said Zephirine to Francis ; " love is poetry in action." " There, Zizine, you have said a thing I have often thought, but I could never have expressed it so deli- cately," remarked Stanislas, looking himself over from head to foot with a loving air. 108 Lost Illusions. " I don't know what I wouldn't give," said Amelie to du Chatelet, " if I could see Nais' pride brought low ; the idea of allowing herself to be called an archangel, as if she were better than the rest of us, when really and truly she is dragging us down to the level of the son of an apothecar}' and a monthly nurse, with a grisette for a sister, and himself a journe3'man printer." Everybod}^ seeemed to have agreed to mortif}' Lu- cien. Lili, the pious, said it would be charitable to warn Nais, who was evidentl}' very near committing a false step. Francis, the di[)lomatist, undertook the management of this foolish conspirac}', in which all these pett}' minds became eagerl}' interested as if it were the conclusion of a drama, and in which the}' fore- saw man}' a tale to be gossiped over on the morrow. Francis, not at all desirous of fighting the young poet, who, under the eyes of his mistress, would surelj'resent an insulting word, saw plainl}' that he must murder Lucien with some weapon against which vengeance was impossible. He imitated the example of du Chatelet when it was a question of making Lucien recite his own poetry ; he went to the bishop, pretending to share his enthusiasm for the ode ; then he told him that Lucien's mother was a most superior woman, of extreme modest}', who inspired her son with all his compositions. Lu- cien's greatest pleasure, he said, was to see justice done to his mother whom he adored. This idea once in- serted into the prelate's mind, Francis left the rest to accident and the chances of conversation. When he returned, followed by the bishop, to the circle surround- ing Lucien, tlioy found him still being compelled to drink the hemlock in little sips. The poor poet, who Lost Illusions. 109 was totally ignorant of the ways of societ}', could only look at Madame de Bargeton and answer awkwardly the stupid questions which were put to him. lie was ignorant of both the names and the qualities of the persons present ; he did not know how to repl}' to women whose sill}' remarks gave him a sense of shame ; he could onl}' feel himself a thousand miles away from those social divinities, who addressed him sometimes as Monsieur Cliardon, and sometimes as Monsieur de Ru- bempre, while they called each other Lolotte, Adrien, Astolphe, Lili, Fifine. His confusion was extreme when, having mistaken Lili for a man's name, he called the brutal Monsieur de Senonches, Monsieur Lili. " Nais must be blinded indeed to bring that little fellow here and introduce him to us," said Fifine, in a whisper. *' Madame la marquise," said Ze'phirine, addressing Madame de Pimentel in a low voice, but contriving that others should hear her, " don't you see a strong like- ness between Monsieur Chardon and Monsieur de Cante- Croix?" "The resemblance is ideal," replied Madame de Pimentel, smiling. " Genius has seductions whicH we can openly ac- knowledge," remarked Madame de Bargeton to the mar- quise. " Some women fall in love with grandeur of soul as others do with pettiness," she added, letting her eyes rest on Francis. Zephirine did not understand the malice of this speech, for she thought her hero a great man, but the marquise ranged herself on Nais* side by laughing at it. 110 Lost Illusio7is. "You are fortunate, monsieur — " said the Marquis de Pimentel to Lucien, catching himself up after saying Chardon, and substituting de Rubempre, " fortunate in never being bored." " Do 3-ou work quickl}- ? " asked Lolotte, as if she had asked a cabinet-maker, " Does it take 30U long to make a box? " Lucien was completel}' dumfounded b}' this crushing question ; but he raised his head when he heard Ma- dame de Bargeton answer, with a laugh: "My dear, poetry does not grow in Monsieur de Rubempre's head like the grass in the courtyard." " Madame," said the bishop to Lolotte, " we can hardly feel too much respect for the noble spirits into which God casts his rays. Yes, poesy is a hoh' thing. To speak of poes}' is to speak of suffering. How many wakeful nights were the cost of those stanzas you have just admired ! Let us bow in love before a poet who leads, I ma}' sa}^, always, a troubled life, but for whom God lias reserved a place in heaven among his prophets. This 3'oung man is a poet," he added, laying his hand on Lucien's head ; " can you not see his fate upon that noble brow ? " Happ3^ in being thus gloriousl}' upheld, Lucien bowed to the bishop with his sweetest smile, little think- ing that the worthy prelate was about to strike him a fatal blow. Madame de Bargeton glanced round the hostile circle with triumphant looks, which burned them- selves like arrows into the hearts of her rivals. " Ah, monseigneur,'' replied the poet, hoping to smite those imbecile heads with his golden scei)tre, "the vulgar herd has not your mind nor 3-et your charit}'. Lost Illusions. Ill Our pains are ignored ; no one comprehends our labor. The miner, extracting gold from the bowels of the earth, does not toil as we do, to tear our images from the most refractor}' of languages. If the end of poesy be to bring ideas to the precise point where all the world can see them and can feel them, the poet must inces- santh* run the gamut of all human intellects, so that he ma}' meet and satisfy them all ; he must cover with glowing colors both sentiment and logic, — two powers antagonistic to each other ; he must inclose a world of thoughts in a line, sum up philosophies in a picture ; his poems are seeds which must fructify in hearts, find- ing tlieir soil in personal experience. Must he not have felt all, to give all? and to feel all, is not that to suffer everything? Poems are born after painful jour- neys through vast regions of thought and solitude. Surely those works are immortal which have created beings whose life is more living than that of other be- ings who have lived and died, — Richardson's Clarissa, Chenier's Camille, the Deha of Tibullus, the Angelica of Ariosto, the Francesca of Dante, Moliere's Alceste, Beaumarchais's Figaro, the Rebecca of Walter Scott, the Don Quixote of Cervantes.'* " And what will you create for us? " asked Monsieur du Chatelet. " Were I to lay claim to such conceptions I should give myself a brevet rank of genius," replied Lucien. " Such glorious travail needs long gestation, much expe- rience of the world, the study of passions and human interests which I cannot yet have made. But I am beginning," he added bitterly, with a revengeful look around the circle. <• The brain gives birth — " 112 Lost Illusions. " I fear 3'our travail will be laborious," said Francis, interrupting him. " Your excellent mother will assist 3'ou," said the bishop. This unexpected turn of vengeance brought flashes of joy into the e3'es of all present. Smiles of aristo- cratic satisfaction ran from mouth to mouth, increased b}' the imbecilit}' of Monsieur de Bargeton, who laughed aloud. " Monseigneur, 3'ou are too wittj- ; these ladies can- not understand you," interposed Madame de Bargeton, who stopped the laughing by that remark, and drew all e3'es upon herself. " A poet who finds his inspiration in the Bible must regard the Church as his mother. Mon- sieur de Rubempre, repeat to us your ' Saint John at Patmos/ or 'Belshazzar's feast,' to show Monseigneur that Rome is, as ever, the Magna parens of Virgil." The women exchanged smiles when they heard Nais speaking Latin. At the opening of life the bravest hearts are not exempt from discouragement. Tlie blow sent Lucien to the bottom of the sea, but he struck on his feet and returned to the surface, swearing to dominate tliis clique. Like a bull pierced with darts, he sprang up furious, and was about to obe3' Louise b3' declaiming his " Saint John at Patmos, " when he saw that the card-tables had drawn awa3^ his audience, who fell back into tlieir usual ruts, finding a pleasure there w'hich poe- tr3^ could not give them. Tiic vengeance of so many mortified self-loves would not have been complete with- out the exhibition of negative contempt for indigenous poetry shown in this desertion of Lucien and Madame Loi^t lUusions. 113 de Bargeton. They all put on a preoccupied air ; one talked to the prefect of a new district road ; another proposed to vary the amusement of the evening with music. The highest society iu Angouleme, feeling it- self a poor judge in the matter of poetry, was particu- larly anxious to obtain the opinions of the Pimentels and Rastignacs on Lucien's merits, and several put questions to them. The influence which the two fami- lies exercised in the department was always recognized on great occasions ; they were envied, but thev were also courted, for every one foresaw the possibility of needing their protection. " "What do you think of our poet and his poetry?'^ said Jacques to the Marquise de Pimentel, to whom he was paying attentions. *' AYell, for provincial verses they are not so bad," she replied, smiling; "' besides, such a handsome poet can do nothing ill.'' Every one thought the verdict admirable, and went about repeating it with an infusion of more malice than the marquise had put into it. Du Chatelet was called upon to accompan}^ Monsieur de Bartas, who murdered Figaro's grand air. The wa}' once opened for music, the company was obliged to listen to a chivalric song, written under the Empire by Chateaubriand, and sung by du Chatelet. Then came duets on the piano, played by young girls, suggested by Madame de Brossard, who wished to put the talent of her dear Camille in a shining light before the eyes of Monsieur de Severac. Madame de Bargeton, wounded by the indifference shown to her poet, returned disdajn for disdain by retu'ing to her boudoir while the music went on. She 114 Lost Illusions, was followed b}' the bishop, to whom the grand vicar had explained the unintentional sarcasm of his speech, and who was now very anxious to recall it. Made- moiselle de Eastignac, who had been really charmed with the poetrj', slipped in after them without her moth- er's knowledge. As Louise seated herself on the sofa, to which she drew Lucien, she was able to whisper in his ear, without being overheard : " Dear angel, the}' have not understood you, but ^Th\' verses are sweet; I love to repeat them.' " Lucien, comforted by this flatter^-, forgot his troubles for the time being. "There is no glory to be had without cost," said Madame de Bargeton, taking his hand and pressing it. " Suffer, yes, 3'ou must suffer, m}' friend, to be great, and sufferings will be the price of your inimortalit}'. Would that I too had a struggle to endure ! God keep 3'ou from an enervated, sterile life without contests, where the wings of the eagle find no space to spread. I envy your trials, for at least you live ! you exercise 3'our strength! you aspire to victory! Your struggle will end in fame. AVhen you reach the imperial sphere where great minds sit enthroned, remember those poor souls whom fate has disinherited, whose intellect is annihilated, suffocated, b}' moral nitrogen; who have to die knowing what life is, but never having lived it ; whose eyes are keen, and yet see nothing ; whose sense of smell is delicate, and knows no fragrance but that of poisoned flowers. When you are famous, my friend, sing of the plant that is wilting in the dei)ths of a foi-est, chok(!d by. lichen, by rank vegetations, never loved l)y the sun, dying without having flowered ! Ah ! Lost Illusions. 115 it will be a poem full of dreadful melanchoh', a subject for all imaginations. What a sublime conception would be the picture of a girl born beneath the skies of Asia, or, better still, a girl of the desert, transferred to a cold Western land, calling to her beloved sun, dying of in- communicable anguish, oppressed alike b}' cold and love! That would be the type of many an existence." "It is the type of a soul that remembers heaven," said the bishop ; •' a poem that exists for ages ; I find a fragment of it in the Song of Songs." "Undertake it," said Laure de Rastignac, with art- less belief in Lucien's genius. " France is in need of a great sacred poem," said the bishop. "Believe me, fame and fortune are waiting for the man of talent who shall give his labor to religion." "He will undertake it, monseigneur," said Madame de Bargeton, emphatically. " Do you not see the idea of that poem already dawning with auroral flashes in his eye ? " " Nais is ver}- rude to us," Fifine remarked; ^'what is she doing in there ? " "Can't you hear her?" replied Stanislas; "she is astride of her big words which have neither head nor tail to them." Amelie, Fifine, Adrien, and Francis appeared at the door of the boudoir accompanied by Madame de Ras- tignac, who was searching for her daughter to take leave. " Nais," said the two women, delighted to break up the little conclave, "do please be so kind as to come and play us something." 116 Lost Illusions. *' M3' clear child," replied Madame de Bargeton, '' Monsieur de Rubeinpre is going to read us his ' Saint John at Patmos/ a magnificent Biblical poem.'' *' Biblical ! " repeated Fifine, amazed. Amelie and Fifine returned to the salon bearing the word as food for sarcasm. Lucien, however, excused himself from repeating the poem on the ground of want of memorj'. When he re-entered the salon no one showed the slightest interest in him. The compan}' were talking or playing cards. Tlie poet was shorn of all his rays ; the landowners saw nothing to be made of him ; the men of pretensions feared him as a power hostile to their ignorance ; the women, jealous of Ma- dame de Bargeton, the Beatrice of this new Dante (as the vicar-general called him), gave him cold, disdainful glances. " So that is society ! " thought Lucien, as he returned to his suburban abode, circuitously, b}^ the steps of Beaulieu ; for there are moments in life when we choose to take a roundabout way and encourage by motion a rush of ideas on the current of which we desire to float. Far from feeling discouraged, the anger of his rejected ambition gave Lucien fresh strength. Like all persons led by their instincts into a higher sphere which they reach before they know how to sustain themselves in it, he resolved to sacrifice everything to secure his foot- ing in society. As he walked along he pulled out one by one the poisoned darts which had stabbed liim ; he talked to himself aloud ; he abused the ninnies with whom he liad to do ; he invented clever answers to the foolish speeches which had been made to him, and was furious with himself for having thought of them too Lost Illusions. 117 late. "When he reached the Bordeaux road which winds around the base of the mountain and follows the bank of the Chareute, he thought he saw by the moonlight Eve and David sitting on a log beside the river, and he ran down a side path towards them. 118 Lost Illusions. IV. AN EVENING BY THE RIVERSIDE. While Lucien was making his way to bis torture at Madame de Bargeton's, his sister was putting on her pink cambric dress and her white straw hat and little silk shawl, a simple apparel which made her seem charmingl}^ dressed — as often happens to persons in whom natural dignit}' adds value to the shghtest acces- sor}'. So it happened that whenever she changed from her working-dress to these simple clothes, she greatly intimidated David. Though the printer was resolved to speak to her of himself and his wishes, he found nothing to sa}- to his beautiful Eve as he gave her his arm through the suburb of I'Houmeau. The two lovers walked silentl}- to the bridge of Sainte-Anue, in order to reach the left bank of the river. Eve, who felt the silence to be awkward, stopped at the middle of the bridge to look at the river, which from that point to where the powder-mills stand forms a long broad sheet of water, on which the setting sun was just then cast- ing a joyous trail of light. " It is a beautiful evening ! " she said, seeking a sub- ject of conversation ; '^ the air is so warm and yet so fresh ; the flowers smell so sweet, and what a sky ! " "It speaks to the heart," replied David, trying to arrive at his love by analogy. ''There is iulinite pleas- Lost Illusions, 119 yre for hearts tliat love when tlie accidents of a land- scape, the transparency of the atmosphere, the perfumes of the earth echo the poetr}' in their souls. Natiue speaks for them." "And loosens their tongues," said Eve, laughing. " You were \Qvy silent as we crossed I'Houmeau ; you embarrassed me." " I thought you so beautiful I could find no words," said David, naively. " Am I less beautiful now?" she asked. "No; but I am so happy in being allowed to walk alone with you that — " He stopped, quite confounded, and looked at the hills beyond them. "If 3-0U find pleasure in this walk I am very glad," said Eve. " I felt bound to give 3'ou a pleasure in ex- change for the one you have sacrificed for me. In refusing to go to Madame de Bargeton's you were as generous as Lucien, when he risked the loss of her favor by his request." "I was not generous," said David, "I was onI\' wise. As we are alone under the skies, with none to hear us but the reeds and rushes, let me tell you, dear Eve, a fe^ of the anxieties I feel as to Lucien's career. After what I have just said to him m}^ fears may strike 3'ou, and I hope the}' will, as an excess of friendh' soli- citude. You and your mother have done 3'our best to raise him above his position ; but in exciting his ambi- tion have you not imprudently involved him in great suffering? How can he maintain himself in the great world for which you have encouraged his tastes? I know him ; his is a nature that loves the harvests with- 120 Lost Illusions. out the toil. The duties of societ}' will take up his time, aud time is the capital of men who have no for- tune but their intellect. He loves to shine ; the world will excite desires which he will find it hard to satisf}' ; he will spend mone}', and earn none. You have taught him to think himself a great man, but before society admits any man's greatness he must attain to some marked success. Now literary success cannot be won except in solitude and b}' arduous toil. What can Madame de Bargeton give your brother in return for all the hours which he spends at her feet? Lucien is too proud to accept support from her, and we know him too poor to continue to live in her society, the cost of which is ruinous. Sooner or later that woman will aban- don our dear brother, after making him lose the habit of work, after developing in him a taste for luxurv, a contempt for our sober life, the love of enjoyment, and his natural tendency to idleness, — that debaucher}- of poetic minds. Yes, I tremble lest his great lad}' make a plaything of him. Either she loves him sin- cereh', and will make him forget everything and so ruin his career, or she does not love him, and will make him wretched ; for he is madly devoted to her." *' You chill me to the heart," said P2ve, standing still beside the river. *'But so long as my mother has strength for her hard business, and so long as I live, the proceeds of our work may be enough for Lucien's expenses, and will enable him to wait the time when his success will begin. I shall never fail in courage, for the thought of working for one I love takes all the bitterness and all the weariness out of toil," added Eve, brightening. '' I am happy when I think who it is for Lost Illusions. 121 whom I work so hard — if indeed it is hard. Yes, don't be afraid ; we can earn enough money to keep Lucien in the great workl. His chances are all there." " And his destruction," said David. " Listen to me, dear Eve. The slow execution of works of genius re- quires either the possession of a considerable fortune, or the sublime C3'nicism of a life of povert}'. Believe me, Lucien has so great a horror of the privations of povertv, he has smelt the aroma of feasts and the fumes of success with such satisfaction, his self-love has been so fostered in Madame de Bargeton's boudoir, that he will risk all rather than fail ; and the products of 3'our labor will never meet his needs." " Oh, you must be a false friend!" cried Eve, de- spairingly. " Otherwise, how can you so discourage me?" '* Eve ! Eve ! " replied David, " I want to be Lucien's brother. You alone can make me that. Then he could accept everything from me ; I should have the right to devote myself to him with the saintly- love you put into your sacrifices, but with more discernment. Eve, dear love, do that which shall give Lucien a support of which he need not be ashamed. A brothers purse will be like liis own. If 3'ou only knew the thoughts which Lucien's new position suggests to me ! Should he in- sist on going to Madame de Bargeton's the poor lad must cease to be m}' foreman ; he cannot live here in the suburbs ; you must not be a working-girl ; your mother must give up her business. If you will consent to be my wife all these difficulties will be overcome. Lucien can occupy the second story over us while I build him an apartment of his own above the shed in the court- 122 Lost Illusions. yard, unless my father could be persuaded to raise the house. We should thus enable him to lead a life free of care, an independent life. My desire to further Lu- cien's prospects will give me a courage to make m}' for- tune which I might not have had for myself ; but it all depends on 3'ou, you must authorize my devotion. Per- haps he will one day go to Paris, the onl}^ place where success for him is to be had, and where his talents will certainly be appreciated and rewarded. But life in Paris is dear, and it will take the efforts of all three of us to support him there. Besides, jon need, and so does your mother, some one to rely on. Dear Eve, marry me out of love to Lucien. Later 3'ou will love me, perhaps, when you see my efforts to serve him and make you happy. We are both simple in our tastes, — we need but little ; Lucien's welfare will be our chief concern, and his heart the treasure-house where we will put fortune, feelings, sensations, everything ! " "But conventions separate us," said P^ve, deeply moved by the great love which counted itself for so lit- tle. "You are rich, and I am poor. It needs much love to overcome so great a difficult}'." ''And you don't love me enough to face it?" said David, sadl}'. " But your father would oppose it," she began. "Good, good!" cried David; " if there is onl}' m}' father to consider, you are my wife. Eve, dear Eve, you make life easy for me to bear from this moment. My heart has been heavy enough with feelings I could not express. Tell me only that you will love me a little, and I will find the necessary courage to speak to you of certain matters." Lost Illusions, 123 .*' You make me ashamed," she said ; " but since we are now speaking our real feelings I will tell you that I never in my life thought of anyone but you. You have alwa3's seemed to me a man to whom a woman might be proud of belonging ; but how could I think that I, a poor work-girl without a future, should have such a future given to me ? '' " Oh, enough, enough," he said suddenl}', sitting down on the cross-piece of the weir near which they were standing. "What is the matter?" she asked, expressing for the first time the tender solicitude women feel for those who belong to them. " Nothing but good," he replied. '^ Seeing m}' whole life made happ}', m}' head seemed to turn, my soul was overwhelmed. Ah! why should I be the happiest?" he said half sadh'. '* But I know." Eve looked at David with a coquettish air of doubt which asked an explanation. "Dear Eve, I receive more than I give. I shall al- ways love you more than you love me, for I shall have more reason to love you, — you are an angel, I am a man." " I am not so learned in the matter," repHed Eve, smiling ; " but I love you truly — " "As much as you love Lucien?" he asked, interrupt- ing her. " Enough to be 3'our wife, to consecrate myself to you and try to give you no pain in the life — often a little hard — which we shall live together." " Did 3'ou know, dear Eve, that I loved 3'ou from the day we first saw each other ? " 124 Lost Illusions. "What woman does not know when she is loved?" Eve answered. *' Now I must remove 3'our scruples about my wealth. Eve, I am poor. Yes, my father took pleasure in ruin- ing me ; he speculated on my work, like many other pretended benefactors. If I ever become rich it will be through you. That is not a lover's speech, it is the re- flection of a thinker. I ought to let you know m}' defects, which are great in a man obliged to make his own fortune. My character, my habits, the occupations which give me pleasure unfit me for everything which is business and speculation, and j'et we can become prosperous only by applying ourselves to some form of industr3\ I might perhaps discover a gold mine, but I should be singularly incapable of working it. But you, who have learned, out of love for your brother, to attend to small details, who have a genius for manage- ment and econom}', and the patient attention of a true merchant, you will gather the harvest that I shall sow. Our situation — for you know, dear, I have long found a home in the bosom of 3'our family — fills my heart with such anxiety that I spend days and nights in think- ing how to make a fortune for us all. M}' knowledge of chemistry, and my observation of the needs of com- merce have put me on the track of a lucrative discover}'. We may be pinched for a few years, perhaps, but I shall end by finding the practical means of using that dis- covery which will bring us. a great fortune. I have said nothing about it to Lucien ; his eager nature might spoil all ; he would convert m}' hopes into realities, and live as a great lord and perhaps run in debt to do so. Therefore keep my secret. Your dear and sweet com- Lost Illusions. 125 jjanionship can alone comfort me under the trials I see before me, just as the hope of enriching you and Lucien will give me constanc\- and a firm will.*' "I was certain,'' said Eve, interrupting him, "that you were one of those inventors to whom a wife is necessary — as in the case of my poor father." "Then you love me ! Ah, say it to me fearlessly, — to me who see in your name the s^-mbol of my love. Eve was the onh* woman in the world, and what was materialh- true for Adam is morally true for me. My God ! do 3'ou love me? " " Yes," she said, lengthening the simple syllable by the way she pronounced it, as if to picture the extent of her feelings. " Then let us sit down here," he said, leading her to a large log lying near the wheel of a paper-mill. ''Let me breathe the evening air and listen to the tree-frogs, and watch the moonlight trembling on the water ; let me grasp the nature in which I see m}' happiness as in a book ; it appears to me to-night for the first time in all its splendor, lighted by love, mads beautiful b}' you. Eve, my dear love, this is the first moment of happi- ness, unalWed, which fate has given me. I doubt if Lucien can ever be as happy as I am." Feeling Eve's moist and trembling hand in his, a tear fell from David's eyes. " Am I to know the great secret? " asked Eve in a coaxing tone. " You have a right to, for your father busied himself with the same question, which is now becoming a serious one ; and I will tell you whj*. The fall of the Empire will make the use of cotton in place of linen almost uni- 126 Lost Illusions. versal on account of its cheaper price. At the present moment paper is made with rags of flax and linen, but these are dear, and their cost checks the great impetus which the French printing-press must inevitabl}- feel. Now the production of rags cannot be forced. Kags depend on the use of linen, and the population of a coun- try will use onl}' a certain quantity. This quantity will increase onl}^ through an increase in the number of births. If, therefore, the need of paper is greater than the supply of rags produced b}^ France, it becomes ne- cessar}^, in order to keep paper at a low price, to find a means of manufacturing it from some other product than linen rags. This reasoning rests on a fact that is now occurring here. The paper manufacturers of Angou- leme, the last who are making paper from linen rags, see that the use of cotton cloth is taking the place of that of linen with alarming rapiditj'." In reply to a question of Eve, who knew but little of the subject, David gave her much information on the subject of paper-making, which ma}' not be out of place in a work the material existence of which owes as much to paper as it does to print. But this long parenthesis between a lover and his mistress will not lose by being slightl}' abridged. Paper, a product not less marvellous than the printed impression of which it is the base, had long been fabri- cated in China at a time when, b}- the subterranean paths of commerce, it reached Asia Minor, where, tra- dition says, a paper made of cotton, soaked and reduced to pulp, was in use about the year 750. The necessity' for finding a substitute for parchment, the cost of which was excessive, led to the discovery, through an imita- Loit Illusions. 127 tion of the " bonibycian paper" (the name given to this cotton paper of the East), of the linen-rag paper, some say at Bale in 1170 by Greek refugees ; others think at Padua in 1301 by an Italian named Pax. This paper was brought to perfection slowly and obscurely ; but it is certain that under Charles VI. a pulp for playing- cards was manufactured in Paris. After the Immortals, Faust, Coster, and Guttenberg had invented The Book, artisans, forever unknown like so many of the great artists of that period, adapted paper-making to the needs of typograph}'. In the vigorous and simple- minded fifteenth centur}-, the names of the different sizes of papers, like the names given to types, bore the impress of the naivete of the times. The Raisin, Jesus, Colombier, the ''papier Pot," the Ecu, Coquille, and Crown, took their respective names from the grape, the image of our Lord, the dove, crown, and pot, — in short, from the water-mark in the centre of each sheet ; where, in Napoleon's time, they stamped an eagle and called the paper b}' that name. In like manner the types were named Cicero, Augustine, Gros-Canon, from the liturgical and theological works and the treatises of Cicero, for which those types were first used. lUlics were invented b}^ the Aldini in Venice ; hence thtv name. Before the invention of machine-made paper, the length of which is unlimited, the largest sizes were the " Grand-Je'sus " and the " Grand-Colombier," the latter being used only for maps and engravings. In fact, dimensions of printing-paper were regulated bj- that of the bed of the press. At the time when David was telling Eve these facts the manufacture of paper of continuous length was still problematical in France, 128 Lost Illusions. though Denis Robert of Essonne had invented, in 1799, a machine for making it, which Didot-Saint-Leger after- wards perfected. Glazed white paper, invented hv Ambroise Didot, onh' dates back to 1780. This rapid glance at paper-making shows incontestable' that all the greatest acquisitions of indiistr}' and intellect are made with extreme slowness and b}' imperceptible accretions, as in the processes of nature. To attain perfection, writing, and also language, have groped their wa}' with as man}^ delays as tj'pography and paper-making. " Rag-pickers have collected throughout Europe old linen and the fragments of ever}' kind of tissue," said David, ending his account. *' These remnants, care- full}^ sorted, are stored b}'' the wholesale rag-dealers, who suppl}' the paper-makers. To give 3'ou an idea of this business, mademoiselle, I must tell you that in 1814 the banker Cardon (owner of the mills at Biiges and Langlee, where Leorier de ITsle tried in 177G to solve the problem wh^ch your father studied so long) had a lawsuit with a man named Proust about an error of two millions of pounds of rags in a matter of ten mil- lions,, itepresenting four millions of francs. The manu- facWrer cleanses the rags and reduces them to a clear 'pulp, which is made to pass, exactly as a cook passes her sauces tiu-ough a sieve, over an iron frame, the inside of which is filled with a metallic sheet, in the middle of which is the stamp of the mark which gives its name to the paper. The size of the * form ' de- pends on the size of the paper. When I was an ap- prentice with the Didots, they were much concerned with this very matter, and so they are still ; for the perfection at which your father aimed has become in Lost Illusions. 129 our daj' an imperious necessiU'. And I will tell you wh}'. Though the lasting qualities of linen, compared to those of cotton, make linen in the long run as cheap, or clieaper, than cotton, yet, as the difliculty with the poor is to draw the immediate price from their pockets, they prefer to pay less rather than more, and so lose enormoush' in virtue of the vce victis. The bourgeois class follow the poorer classes in this. Consequently, the supply of linen rags is beginning to fail. In England, where cotton has taken the place of linen among three fourths of the population, they now make onl}' cotton paper. This paper, which had, at first, the defect of tearing and splitting, is so easily' dissolved in water that a pound of it, put to soak, would turn into liquid in a quarter of an hour, whereas a pound of the linen paper might stay in water two hours without change. The latter could be dried and ironed, and though rather yellowed, the text would still be readable and the work not destroyed. We have come to a period where fortunes are greatl}^ diminished by equalization ; every one is poorer ; we now demand cheaper linen and cheaper books, just as we now want small pictures for want of space for larger ones. The result is that shirts and books doi)'t last. Solidit}' and strength in manu- factured products are disappearing everywhere. There- fore the problem now to be solved is of the greatest importance to literature and to science and politics. A livelj* discussion, at which I was present, took place one da}' in the Didot office as to the ingredients used in China for making paper. There, thanks to the supply of raw material, paper-making has from its earliest stages attained a perfection which ours has never reached. A 9 130 Lost Illusions. great deal was said on this occasion about Chinese paper, and how our own could n't compare with it for lightness and delicacy, — precious qualities which do not binder it from having substance, for, thin as it is, it is never transparent. A corrector of the press, — there are man}^ learned correctors in Paris ; Fourier and Pierre Leroux are at this moment correcting in the printing- offices of Lachevardiere, but this was the Comte de Saint-Simon, a proof-reader for the time being, — he happened to come to the Didot office in the midst of the discussion. He told us that, according to Kempfer and du Halde, brushwood supplied the Chinese with the vegetable matter of their paper. Another corrector de- clared that the material of Chinese paper was chiefly animal, made from silk, which is very abundant in China. A bet was made in m}' presence. As the Didots are printers to the Institute, the matter was naturally referred by them to certain members of that learned assembly. Monsieur Marcel, formerly director of the Imperial printing-office, was chosen umpire, and he sent our two proof-readers to the Abbe Grozier, librarian of the Arsenal. The latter decided that both sides had lost the bet. Chinese paper, the abb^ said, was not made of either silk or brushwood ; its sub- stance came from the fibres of the bamboo. The Abbe Grozier owned a Chinese book iconographic and also technological, in which were numerous sketches exhibit- ing the manufacture of paper in all its phases ; and lie showed us strips of bamboo piled in a heap in one of these drawings. When Lucien told me that your father, with the sort of intuition which belongs to men of genius, had foreseen a means of substituting for linen Lost Illusions. 131 rags a vegetable-matter that was extremely common and could be used in the form of raw material, I began to classify all the tentatives of m}' predecessors, and to study the question seriousl}'. The bamboo is a reed ; I naturally thought of our own native reeds. Hand- labor costs nothing in China, only three sous a da3\ Therefore the Chinese are able, when the}' take tlieir paper from the ' form,' to la}- it, sheet by sheet, be- tween white porcelain slabs, well-heated, b}' means of which they press it and give it the lustre, substance, lightness, and satin}' texture, which make it the best paper in the world. Well, the thing to do was to dis- cover a way of mechanically replacing the hand-labor of the Chinese ; it can be done by machinery so as to bring down the price to the same cheap cost. If we succeed in producing a paper of the Chinese quality at a low price, we shall diminish by more than half the bulk and weight of books. A bound Voltaire, which now weighs, in our heavy white paper, two hundred and fifty pounds, will then weigh about fifty. That is cer- tainly a great gain. The space required for libraries is becoming a question of difficulty, especially in these days when the tendency of men and things is to reduce all compass, even in architecture. All the great man- sions in Paris are gradually being demolished ; there are no longer any fortunes in keeping with the fine old dwellings of our forefathers. What a shame for our century to be manufacturing books that will not last. Another ten years and Holland paper, that is to say, paper made of linen thread, will be a thing unknown ! Now, your brother communicated to me your father's idea of using certain fibrous plants in the manufacture 132 Lost Illusions. of paper, and therefore, 3'ou see, if I succeed, you have a right to — " At this point, Lucien, having seen them from the road, ran down to join them and silenced David's gener- ous proposal. " I don't know whether j'ou have had a pleasant evening," he said ; "to me it has been a dreadful one." " My poor Lucien, what has happened? " asked Eve, noticing the excitement in her brother's face. The angr}' poet related his grievances, pouring into these loving hearts the flood of thoughts that assailed his own. Eve and David listened in silence, grieved at the torrent of distress, which showed an equal amount of grandeur and of pettiness in the sufferer. " Monsieur de Bargeton," said Lucien, concluding his tale, " is an old man likel}* to be taken oflTany day by an indigestion. I will bring those proud persons to submis- sion b}' marrying Madame de Bargeton. I saw in her ej'es to-night a love that is equal to my own. Yes, she felt my wounds, she calmed my sufferings ; she is as grand and noble as she is beautiful and gracious. No, she will never betray me! " '' Is not this the moment to promise him an easier life?" whispered David to his love. Eve pressed his arm silently, and David, understand- ing her thoughts, hastened to tell Lucien all their plans. The lovers were as full of their hopes as Lucien was of his ; so eager were they to make their dear brother a sharer in their happiness that Eve and David did not notice the start of surprise with which the lover of Ma- dame de Bargeton received the news of his sister's betrothal to David. Lucien, who had been dreaminjr of Lost Illusions. 133 a fine alliance for Eve, when he himself had attained a position (meaning thereby to prop his ambition by the help of some powerful family), was shocked at the idea of a marriage which, it seemed to him, would put one more obstacle in the way of his social success. " Madame de Bargeton might consent to be Madame de Rubempr6, but she will never agree to be the sister- in-law of David Sechard ! '' That sentence is a net formula of the thoughts that now tortured Lucien's heart. " Yes, Louise was right," he said to himself, bitterl}- ; "men with a great future before them are never understood by their own families." If the news of the betrothal had reached him at any- other moment than this, when he had killed off Monsieur de Bargeton with so much ease, it would have made him jump for J03'. He would then have reflected on his actual situation and seen the probable fate of a beauti- ful and portionless girl, and the marriage would have seemed to him an unhoped-for good fortune. But he was now in the world of golden dreams, where youthful heroes astride of an "if" can jump all barriers. He had just beheld himself in fancy, mastering that inso- lent societ}', and to fall so soon into realit}' was cruel in- deed. Eve and David only thought that their brother, overwhelmed by generosit}', was unable to speak. To these noble hearts a silent acceptance showed the truest friendship. The printer began to picture with cordial, tender eloquence the happiness in store for all four of them. In spite of Eve's interjections, he furnished the new home with a lover's luxury' ; with ingenuous good faith he built his second story for Lucien's benefit, and kept the room over tlie shed for Madame Chardon, to 134 Lost Illusions, whom he intended to give a son's support. In short, he made ever}^ one so happy and his brother so inde- pendent that Lucien, charmed by his voice and by Eve's caresses, forgot, in that balmy atmosphere beside the calm and moonlit river, and beneath the starry skies, the wounding crown of thorns which society had thrust upon his head. Monsieur de Rubempre returned to his natural thoughts of David. The mobilit}' of his character threw him back into the sentiment of the pure, work-day, bourgeois life of the family. He saw it beautified by the coming marriage, and himself released of cares. The echoes of the aristocratic world receded from him, so that when the trio reached the suburb the ambitious poet pressed his brother's hand and announced himself in unison with the happy lovers. "Provided j'our father does not object to the mar- riage," he said to David. "As if he cared one wa}^ or the other about me ! The old man lives for himself. But I shall go to Mar- sac to-morrow and see him, if onlv to get him to make the improvements we want to the house." David accompanied the brother and sister to their home, where they found Madame Chardon, from whom he asked the hand of Eve with the eagerness of a man who could bear no delay. The mother took her daughter's hand and placed it in tliat of David J03'- fully, and the lover thus emboldened kissed the fore- head of his beautiful Eve, who smiled at him and blushed. " This is the betrothal of poor people," said tlie mother, raising her eyes as if to implore the blessing of God. "You have plenty of courage, my son," she Loit Illusions, 135 said to David ; "for misfortune is with us, and I trem- ble lest it be contagious." '' We shall be rich and happy," said David, gravel}'. "For one thing, 3'ou shall no longer go out nursing; you must come and live with your daughter and son in Angouleme." The three 3'oung people hastened to tell their aston- ished mother of their charming plans, giving free rein to one of those ga}* family talks in which 3'oung hearts delight in gathering every seed, and in tasting, by an- ticipation, every jo}'. It was necessar\' at last to turn David out of doors ; he would fain have made that evening eternal. It was striking one in the morning when Lucien accompanied his future brother-in-law as far as the Porte Palet. The worth}' Postel, uneasy at these extraordinary doings, was standing behind his blinds ; he had opened his window and when he saw the lights at this late hour in Eve's apartment, he said to himself, •' Something strange is happening at the Chardons'." " My lad," he said when Lucien returned, " is any- thing the matter ? Can I be useful ? " "No, monsieur," answered the poet, "but as you are such a friend I will tell you the secret ; my mother has just granted my sister's hand to David Sechard." For all answer Postel shut his window violently, in despair at not having already asked for Mademoiselle Chardon himself. Instead of returning to Angouleme, David took the road to Marsac. He walked along on his way to see his father and reached the enclosed field adjoining 136 Lost Illusions. the house just as the sun was rising. The lover pres- entl}' saw on the other side of the hedge beneath an aUnoud tree the head of the old bear. *' Good morning, father," said David. "Dear me! is that you, bo}'? What chance has brought you here at this hour? Come in that way," said the old man, pointing to a little iron gate. ''My vines are all through flowering, not a shoot frozen ! There'll be twenty puncheons to the acre this 3'ear; but then, just see how it was manured." " Father, I came to speak of an important matter," "Did you? well, how go the presses? 3'ou ought to be earning loads of mone3\" " I shall earn it, father ; but for the present at least I am not rich." '' They tell me here I put too much manure," said the father. "These bourgeois, or rather Monsieur le marquis, Monsieur le comte, and Monsieur this, that, and the other, insist that I spoil the quality of the wine. What's the good of education? onh' to muddle 3'our brains. Just listen : those gentlemen get eight or ten puncheons to the acre, and sell them at sixty francs a puncheon ; which comes, at the most, to four hundred francs an acre in the good 3'ears. I get twenty pun- cheons, and sell at thirt3' francs. Who 's the silly there, I 'd like to know ? Quality ! quality ! what do I care about quality? They can keep their quality to them- selves ; as for me quality is francs. What were you going to say ? " " I am going to be married, father, and I came to ask you — " *' Ask me ! for what? nothing at all, my lad. Marry Lost Illusions. 137 if you like ; I consent. But as for giving 3'ou anything, I have n't a penn}' for myself. F(n- the last two years farming and taxes and expenses of all kinds have ruined me ; the government takes all. For the last two years we poor vineyard-owners have made nothing. This isn't a bad year so far, and yet m}* rascalh' pun- cheons won't bring more than eleven francs ; it is reall}- working for the caskmakers. Wh}' do you marry before the harvest ? " *' Father, I only came to ask 3-our consent." ''Oh, ver}' good, that's another matter. Who is it that you are going to marr}-, if I maj' ask ? " " Mademoiselle Eve Chardon." "Who is she?" " The daughter of the late Monsieur Chardon, the apothecar}' at THoumeau." "And so 3'ou marr}' a girl of the suburbs, — you, a bourgeois, printer to the king in Angouleme ! This comes of education ! Yes, yes, send our sons to school, indeed ! I suppose she 's rich, my boy I " said the old fellow, with a sh* look at his son. •'• If you marr}' a girl from the suburbs she ought to have hundreds and thousands. So much the better, she '11 pay my rent. Do you know, m}' lad, that it is now two years and three months since you have paid it, and that 's two thousand seven hundred francs that you owe me ; it will come in handy to pay for my puncheons. If 3'ou were not my son I should make you pa}- interest on it, for, after all, business is business. But I '11 let 3'ou off this time. "Well, how much has she?'* " The same that my mother had." The old man was about to say : " She had only ten 138 Lost Illusions. thousand francs ! " But remembering that he had re- fused all accounts to his son, he exclaimed : " Then she has nothing ! " "My mother's fortune was her beautj'." "Go to the market and see what you'll get for them ! Heavens ! what misery fathers do la}' up for themselves in sons. David, when I married I had a paper cap on m}" head and two arms with which to make my fortune. I was a poor bear ; while you, with the fine printing-office I gave 3'ou, and your chances and acquaintances, you ought to marrj- a town bour- geoise with thirty or fort}' thousand francs. Give up this nonsense, and I '11 marr}^ you well. There 's a widow here, about thirt^'-two 3'ears old, keeps a flour- mill, with* a hundred thousand francs if she has a penny ; that's what you want. Her property and Marsac join each other ; we shall have a fine domain, and I '11 man- age the whole. They do say she is going to marry Comtois, her head man, but j'ou are better worth hav- ing. I '11 look after the mill while she shows oflf at Angouleme." " Father, I am pledged." " David, you don't understand business, and you'll be ruined ; 3'Ou are very near it now. If you marry that girl from FHoumeau 3-our accounts with me must be settled ; I shall summon 3'ou to pa}- up the rent, for I see no prospect of your doing better. Ah ! mv poor presses ! m}' poor presses ! Nothing but a good 3'ear with the vines can console me for this." " Wli3', father, I have never given you any cause of annoyance." "You have never paid any rent," said his father. Lost Illusions. 139 ^' I came to ask 3'ou," said David, " not onl}* to con- sent to the marriage, but to help me to raise the second story of your house, and put a room over the shed." *' Not a bit of it ! I have n't a sou, and 3*00 know that very well. Besides, it would be throwing mone}' into the sea; what interest would it pa}- me? Ha, ha! so you got up at cock-crow to come out here and ask me to undertake buildings that would ruin a king. Though I did name }'0u David, I haven't the treasures of Solo- mon. You 're craz}' ! or else they changed my son at nurse — There 's one that will bear well," he said, interrupting himself to show a vine-shoot to David ; 'that's a child that won't betray the hopes of its parents ; manure it, and you get your profits. Now look at me ; I put you at the lyceum ; I have paid enor- mous sums to have you educated ; I apprenticed you to the Didots ; and all this fine show ends in 3'our giving me for a daughter-in-law a girl from the suburbs without a penny to clothe herself. If 3'OU had never studied, if you had stayed here under m3' own eye, you 'd have beha^^ed to please me, and you 'd marr3' the widow with a hundred thousand francs besides the mill. Ha ! and all your cleverness is worth is to make you believe I shall reward 3'Our fine feelings b3' building a palace for 3-ou ! One would suppose, to hear 3-ou, that none but pigs had lived in that house for two hundred years, and that your girl from the suburbs was too fine to sleep in it. Hey, hey, the queen of France, is she?" ''Well, father, then I shall build the second floor at my own cost, and it will be the son who enriches his father," said David. '" It seems to upset the order of things, but it does happen sometimes." 140 Lo8t Illusions. "How's that, my lad? Do yon mean to say that you have got the mone}- to build when you can't pay 3'our rent? You scamp, 3'ou are cheating your father." The question thus presented was difficult to answer, for the good man was delighted to get his son into a position which enabled him to give no help, and yet ap- pear fatherl3\ David got nothing out of him except his consent to the marriage and permission to make the improvements he wanted to the house. The old bear, a type of the old-fashioned fatlier, made it a favor not to exact the rent, and not to take from his son every penn}- he had managed to la}' by, the existence of which he was foolish enough to let his father know. The poor fellow returned home sad enough ; he saw plainly that if misfortune ever happened to him he could not count upon his father's help. Society in Angouleme rang with the bishop's speech and Madame de Bargeton's reply. The slightest events in that gossiping world were so distorted, exaggerated, and embellished that the poet became a hero for the time being. A few echoes from the upper sphere where the storm w^s raging reached the bourgeoisie. "When Lucien passed through Beaulieu, on his way to Madame de Bargeton's, he could see the envious observation with which certain of the 3'oung men watched him, and he overheard a few sentences which puffed him up with pride. " There 's a fortunate 3'Oung man," said a lawyer's clerk named Petit-Claud, Lucien's former schoolmate, towards whom he was in the habit of taking a patron- izing air, and who was very ugly. Lost Ubisions. 141 ^'Yes, that's true," said a young sprig of famil}' who had been present at the reading; ''he's a hand- some fellow and talented, and Madame de Bargeton is quite crazy about him." "The handsomest woman in Angouleme is his," was another speech which stirred his vanit}' to its depths. He impatiently awaited the hour when, as he knew, he could see Louise alone. He felt that he must make that woman, whom he now regarded as the arbiter of his fate, accept Eve's marriage. After what had taken place the evening before, Louise, he believed, would be more tender, and her tenderness might lead to his per- fect happiness. He was not mistaken ; Madame de Bargeton received him with a gush of feeling which seemed to this novice in love a touching proof of the progress of passion. She allowed her poet, who had suffered so deeply the night before, to kiss her beautiful golden hair, her hands, her eyelids. " If you could but have seen your face while j^ou were reading ! " she said to him. " Sparks were emitted b}^ those beautiful ej'es ! I saw the golden chains b}' which all hearts are hung to poet lips issuing from that dear mouth. You will read me the whole of Chenier, will you not? he is the poet of lovers. Ah! 3'ou shall suffer no more, I will not let 3'ou ! Yes, dear angel, I am the oasis in which you shall live 3'our poet life, — active, inert, indolent, laborious, meditative, — all in turn. Never forget that if j'our laurels are due to me the}" are to me the noblest indemnit}' for the sorrows of my life, past and to come. Poor dear! the world will not spare you any more than it has spared me ; it takes its revenge for the joys it cannot share. My world is 142 Lost Illusions. jealous, it envies me ; did 3'ou not see that yesterday? Those flies thirsting for blood hastened to suck it from the stings the^^ gave. But I was happy, I lived at last ! It is a long, long time since my heart-strings sounded." Tears ran down her cheeks. Lucien took her hand, and for all answer kissed it repeatedl}'. The vanit}' of the poet was flattered and coaxed by this woman as it liad long been by his mother and sister and David. Every one who came about him assisted in heightening the imaginar}^ pedestal on which he placed himself. Encouraged in his proud beliefs b}' all, b}' the jealousy of enemies as much as b}^ the flatter}' of friends, he walked in an atmosphere of mirage. Youthful imagina- tions are so naturally influenced by praise and the sound of their own glorj', all things do so concur and hasten to serve a handsome 3'outh with a future shining before him, that it takes more than one cold and bitter lesson to dissipate such illusions. " M3' beautiful Louise, you will be my Beatrice, — but a Beatrice who will let me love her?" he said, passionately'. She raised her beautiful eyes which she had kept lowered and said, contradicting her words with an angeUc smile, "If you deserve it — later. Are you not happ3'? To obtain a heart that is all your own, to be able to feel yourself utterly understood — is not that happiness?" *' Yes," he answered, in the tone of a baffled lover. *' Child ! " she said, laughing at him. '' Come, what were you going to tell me? you came in quite absorbed about something, my Lucien." Lost Illusions. 143 .Liicien timidl}' confided to her David's love for his sister, that of his sister lor David, and the projected marriage. "Poor Lucien ! " she said; "did he fear to be whipped and scolded as though it were he who was marrying? Wliat do I care for your family, to whom you are an exception. If m}' father married his ser- vant-woman you would not be unhappy. My dear child, lovers are alone, apart ; their families are nothing to them. Have I an}' other interest in the world than my Lucien ? Become great ; win fame ; that is your busi- ness — and mine." Lucien was made the happiest man in the world by this selfish answer. Just as he was listening to the highflown reasons with which Louise was proving to him that the}' were alone together in the world ^Monsieur de Bargeton entered. Lucien frowned and seemed em- barrassed ; Louise made him a sign and begged him to sta}' to dinner and read Andre Chenier to her after- wards, till the usual guests and card-players arrived. "You will give pleasure not only to Madame de Bargeton but to me," said her husband. " Nothing suits me better than to hear reading after dinner." Flattered by Monsieur de Bargeton, cajoled by Louise, served by the servants with the respect they show to those who are in favor with their masters, Lucien re- mained at the Hotel de Bargeton in all the enjoyment of the life-interest of a fortune. By the time the salon became full of guests he felt so secure in the crass stu- piditj' of Monsieur de Bargeton and in the love of his beautiful mistress that he assumed an all-conquering air, which Louise encouraged. He tasted the delights 144 Lost Illusions. of Nais' own despotism, •which she made him share. In short, during this evening he succeeded in playing tlie part of tlie hero of a small town. Observing this new attitude on Lucien's part several persons supposed that he was, as the}' sa}', on the closest terms with the mis- tress of the house. Amelie, who had come with Mon- sieur du Chatelet, corroborated these suspicions in a corner of the salon where the envious and the jealous had congregated. " Pra}' don't make Nais responsible for the vanity of a little young man who is puffed up with pride at find- ing himself in a society he could never have expected to enter," said du Chatelet. "Don't you see how that young fool mistakes the gracious speeches of a woman of the world for advances. He does n't know how to distinguish the silence which covers a passion from the encouraging language which his beaut}', youth, and talent have naturally won for him. It would be too hard on women if they were counted guilty of all the desires tliey inspire. He is certainly in love, but as for Nais — " "Oh, Nais ! " said the treacherous Amelie. *'Nais is dcliglited with his passion. At her age the love of a young man is bewitching ! a woman becomes a girl agnin, and puts on moral scruples and shy manners, and nobody calls it ridiculous. But just see how the son of an apothecary gives himself airs in Madame de Bargeton's house." *' Love knows no distance," sang Adrien. The next day there was not a single house in Angou- leme where the question of the exact amount of inti- macy between Monsieur Chardon, alias de Kubcmprt^, Lost Illusions. 145 and Madame de Bargeton was not discussed. Guilty at the most of a few kisses, societ\- accused them ah'eady of criminal happiness. Madame de Bargeton paid the pen- alt}' of her royal position. Among the oddities of social life have you never remarked the caprice of its judgments and the whimsicalitj' of its requirements ? There are per- sons to whom societ}' grants the utmost license ; the}' may do the most unreasonable things ; in them everything is considered becoming, and that is what really justifies their actions. But there are others whom society com- bines to treat with extraordinary severity ; they are required to do right in everything ; never to be mis- taken, never to fail, never to commit the smallest folly; one might liken them to those admired statues which are taken from their pedestals and put away in winter lest the frost should crack a finger or chip a nose ; they are not allowed to be human ; they are expected to be perpetually perfect and divine. A single glance from Madame de Bargeton to Lucien counted for more than a dozen years of mutual happiness between Zizine and Francis. A pressure of the hand between the two lovers was about, as we shall presently see, to draw all the thunderbolts of the department on their heads. 10 146 . Lout Illusions, V. CATASTROPHES OF PROVINCIAL LOVE. David had brought from Paris a few savings, which he now proposed to use for the expenses of his mar- riage and the costs of building a second floor to his father's house. To enlarge tliat house was realh', he thought, to benefit himself; sooner or later the house must come to him, and his father was then over sixtj'- eight 3'ears of age. He accordingl}' set to w^ork on the apartment, building it of wood so as not to overweight the present w^alls of the old house. He took delight in decorating and furnishing the rooms on the first floor, where his beautiful Eve was to spend her life. It was a time of mirth and happiness without alloy to the tw^o friends. Lucien, though disgusted with the mean pro- portions of provincial life, and wear}' of the sordid econom}' which made a five-franc piece a matter of im- mense importance, nevertheless endured without one complaint the close calculations of povert}' and its pri- vations. His gloom}' melanchol}' was changed into a radiant expression of hope. He saw a star glittering above his head ; he dreamed of a noble existence, basing his happiness on IMonsieur de Bargeton's grave, — that gentleman having at times great difficulty with his digestion, and the happy mania of considering that an undigested dinner could be cured b}- a supper. Lost Illusiims. 147 ■ About the beginning of September Liicien ceased to be David's foreman ; he was Monsieur de Rubeinpre, lodged magnificently in comparison with the wretched garret in which "that little Chardon" had lived at rHoumeau. He was a man of the suburbs no longer ; he lived in the upper part of Angouleme and dined three or four times a week with Madame de Bargeton. The bishop had taken a fancy to him, and he was often invited to the palace. His occupations now classed him among personages of the upper sphere ; in short, he was considered in a fair way to take his place among the distinguished men of France. Certainl}', as he walked about his pretty salon and charming bedroom and study, arranged with so much taste, he might com- fort himself for drawing thirty francs a month from the hard-earned wages of his mother and sister ; for he now saw every prospect that the historical romance at which he had been working for two years (" The Archer of Charles IX.'-) and a volume of poetr}' (entitled " Dai- sies") would spread his name through the literary world and bring him sutficient money to pay back his indebted- ness to his mother and sister and David. So, finding himself actualh^ elevated, and listening lor the echo of his name in the future, he accepted all their present sac- rifices with superb confidence ; he smiled at his straits, and even enjoyed these last throes of poverty. Eve and David had made their brother's happiness take precedence of theirs. Their marriage was dela^-ed by the time the workmen took to finish the second floor ; in ever}^ respect Lucien's affairs were their first con- sideration. Any one who knew Lucien would not have been surprised at this devotion ; he was so fascinating, 148 Lost Illusions. his manners were so winning, he expressed his de- sires so charmingl}^ that he won his cause before he even spoke of it. This fatal gift has been the ruin of more young men than it ever benefited. Accustomed to the consideration their sweet 30uth wins, relying on the protection which societ^^ selfishly grants to those who please it, just as it gives alms to a beggar who awakens a sentiment, many of these children of a larger growth enjoj^ their privilege and gain no advantage from it. Deceived as to the real meaning and value of these social relations, the}^ fancy that the same smiles will follow them through life ; and they find themselves bare, bald, ragged, without worth or fortune, when, like old coquettes and worn-out clothes, society leaves them in the lurch at the door of a salon or consigns them to the dust-hole. Eve had advocated the dela}', parti}' be- cause she wanted to prepare as economicallj^ as she could the supplies necessar}' for the young household. What could two lovers refuse to a brother who, seeing his sister hard at work would sa}-, in accents that came from his heart : " Would that I could sew ! " The grave, observing David was a sharer in this devotion. Nevertheless, ever since Lucien's success with Ma- dame de Bargeton he was uneasy at the transformation which was taking place in the poet ; he saw that he was in danger of despising a middle-class life. Wish- ing to test him, David would occasionally contrive to put him between the famil}' joys of home and the plea- sures of the great world, and when it happened that Lii- cien sacrificed the enjoyments of his vanit}' David would cry out joyfully : " There, they have not corrupted him ! " Several times the three friends and Madame Lost IIhisio7is. 149 .Chardon made pleasure excursions, as the}' do in the provinces ; the}' went to walk in the woods which sur- round Angouleme and border the Charente ; they dined on the grass with provisions which David's apprentice brought to a certain place at a certain hour ; they came home at night, a little weary perhaps, and having spent but three francs. On great occasions when they dined at what was called a '-restaurat" (a sort of country restaurant between the tavern of the provinces and the '' guinguette," of Paris) they went to the extravagance of five francs, equally divided between David and the Chardons. David was infinitely grateful to Lucien for forgetting during these country holidays the gratifications he had at Madame de Bargeton's and the sumptuous dinners he enjoyed in her world ; for by this time every one was inviting the gi'eat man of Angouleme. It was at this conjunction of aff'airs, when almost nothing was wanting to the establishment of the new household, and while Da\id had gone to Marsac to in- vite his father to the wedding, hoping that when the old man saw his daughter-in-law he would contribute to the cost of arranging the house, that an event oc- curred which, as it happened in a small town, com- pletely changed the face of things. Lucien and Louise had a close spy in du Chatelet, who watched with the persistence of hatred mingled with passion and avarice for an occasion to expose them. Sixte wanted to make Madame de Bai-geton commit her- self. He took the part of her humble confidant ; but though he pretended to be Lucien's friend in her pre- sence, he undermined him elsewhere. He obtained familiar entrance to Xais' house, for she no longer 150 Lost Illusions. distrusted her old admirer. But du Chatelet expected too much of the lovers, who continued to be strictly Platonic. There are, in fact, passions which start out well or ill, as it happens. Two persons plunge into sentimental tactics and talk instead of acting, and ma- ncBuvre in the open without ever coming to a siege. The}' contrive to surfeit both themselves and their desires with nothingness. Before long the}' reflect, and they judge. Often passions which have taken the field bravely ac- coutred, flags flying, and ardent for conquest, end by coming back without a victory, disarmed, ashamed, and altogether foolish at so much vain displa}*. These mis- haps are sometimes caused b}' the timidit}' of 3'outh, and by the temporizations indulged in b}' women in their first love affairs ; for such deceptions are never practised b}^ either coxcombs who know the business or co- quettes accustomed to the manoeuvres of allurement. Provincial life is singularly' antagonistic to the con- tentments of love, but it favors the intellectual dis- cussion of passion ; moreover, the obstacles which it opposes to the tender intercourse of lovers are liable to drive ardent souls into extremes. The life is based on such minute and constant observation and such abso- lute transparency in all private affairs, it allows so little consoling intimacy- without its virtue making an outer}', the purest relations are so unreasonably criticised that many women are held in provincial circles to be guilty who are really innocent. Some of them then regret that they never enjoyed the pleasures of a wrong the penalties of which are [)ut ui)on them. Society, which blames or criticises witiiont s^tIous examination the facts which end a long and secret struggle, is often the original Lost Illusions. 151 cause of the crime ; but most persons who declaim against the so-called scandals provoked b}' women un- justly calumniated never think what the actual cause of their final determination may have been. Madame de Bargeton was about to find herself in the singular posi- tion of such women, who are not lost until after society has unjustly accused them. The obstacles that are met with at the beginning of a passion alarm inexperienced persons ; and those that our present lovers encountered were very like the threads with which the Lilliputians shackled Gulliver. A multiplicity of nothings made all movement impossible and checked all violent desires. Madame de Bargeton, for instance, was always visible. If she had simph* closed her doors at the hours when Lucien was with her she might as well have fled with him at once. It is true that she received him in a boudoir, to which he was now so used that he thought himself its master, but the doors were scrupulously left open. All was virtuous to the last degree. Monsieur de Bargeton roamed about the rooms hke a beetle, without the least idea that his wife would prefer to be alone with Lucien. If he had been the only obstacle Nais could easily have sent him away or otherwise occu- pied him ; but she was always overwhelmed with visi- tors, and thej' swarmed all the more now that their curiosit}' was awakened. Provincials are naturally fond of teasing ; the}- like to annoy a dawning emotion. The servants went and came about the house without being summoned, a habit acquired at a time when their mistress had nothing to conceal. To change the habits of her household would be to admit a passion of which Angouleme was still in doubt. Madame de Bargeton 152 Lost Illusions. could not set foot outside her own door without the whole town knowing where she went. To walk alone with Lucien in the environs would have been a decisive mea- sure ; on the whole it was less dangerous to shut herself up with him at home. If Lucien had stayed one mo- ment after midnight in the salon without other company all Angouleme w^ould have chattered of it the next day. Therefore, within and without her own doors Madame de Bargeton lived in public. These details are repre- sentative of provincial life ; sins are either known or impossible. Louise, like other women, led awa}^ b}' a passion without experience of such matters, saw one hy one the difficulties of her position, and was frightened b}' them. Her alarm reacted on the amorous discussions which occupied the few delightful hours when she and Lucien were alone. Madame de Bargeton had no country- house to which she could carr}' her beloved poet, as man}' women, under various clever pretexts, huvy them- selves for a time. Tired of living in public, driven to extremities In- the t3'ranny of societ}', the 3'oke of which was harder than her love was sweet, she bethought her- self of Escarbas, and was meditating a visit to her old father, so irritated was she b}' the many annoyances in her way. Chatelet did not believe in so much innocence. He discovered the hours at which Lucien went to the house, and would follow in a few minutes, usually accompanied by Monsieur de Chandour, the most indiscreet man of the coterie, whom he would send into tiie room before him, hoping that his eyes would see and his tongue report some questionable situation. His own role was Lout lUuiiions. 153 thp more difficult, because he wished to remain neuter and make others phw the drama. In order to hood- wink Lucien, whom he flattered, and Madame de Barge- ton, who did not hack perception, he attached himself apparently to the jealous Amelie. The better to spy on Louise and Lucien he set up an argument with Mon- sieur de Chandour on the nature of tlieir relations. Du Chatelet insisted that Madame de Bargeton was merely amusing herself; that she was much too proud and too well-born to condescend to the son of a chemist. This show of incredulity belonged to his part, which was that of a defender. Stanislas, on the other hand, maintained that Lucien was a successful lover. Amelie spurred on the discussion because she reall}- wanted to know the truth. Each side gave his reasons. As often happens in little towns, the intimates of the house of Chandour would break in upon these conversations. The adversaries would then seek partisans, asking opin- ions of the new-comers. Thus Madame de Bargeton and Lucien were constantly before the minds of the coterie. One day du Chatelet made the remark that whenever he and Monsieur de Chandour called on Madame de Bargeton and found Lucien there there was nothing at all suspicious in their conduct to each other ; the door of the room was always open, the servants were going and coming, there was nothing that mysteriously inti- mated the charming crime of love. Stanislas, who was not without a certain quantum of stupidit}', fell into the trap, and resolved to enter the next da}' on the points of his toes, and Amelie encouraged him. The next day Lucien happened to be in one of those moods when vouns: men tear their hair and swear to 154 Lost Illusions. themselves that thej^ will not continue any longer in the mortifying position of a supplicant. B3' this time he had grown used to his privileges. The poet who had timidly taken a chair in the sacred boudoir of the queen of Angouleme was now metamorphosed into an exacting lover. It had taken six months to make him feel himself her equal ; he was now determined to be her master. Accordingly he left home, resolved to be perfectl}^ unreasonable, even to the point of risking his future ; he meant to employ all the resources of in- flammatory eloquence ; to say that his mind was leaving him, that he was growing incapable of thinking a thought or writing a verse. Some women have a horror of doing anything deliberately which does honor to their delicacy ; they ma}' yield to sudden temptation, but not to agreement. As a general thing, no one likes a regulated pleasure. Madame de Bargeton noticed on Lucien's brow, in his eyes, in his whole countenance, and in his manners, the excited air which betrays the formation of a resolution ; and she resolved, parth' in a spirit of contradiction, and parti}' out of a really noble sense of love, to baffle him. Exaggerating everything as she did, she exaggerated the value of her own favors. To her eyes, Madame de Bargeton was a sovereign, a Beatrice, a Laura. She took her seat, as in the middle- ages, under the dais of a literar}' tournament, and Lu- cien was only to win her after multiplied victories ; he was to emulate and excel " I'enfant sublime,'' Lamar- tine, Walter Scott, Byron. As a noble woman, she considered her love a vital principle ; the desires with whicii she inspired" Lucien were to be the incentive which should lead him to fame. This female Don (Quixotism Lost Illusions. 155 is a sentiment which gives to love its consecration ; it utilizes, it magnifies, it honors it. Firmly resolved to play the part of Dulcinea to Lucien's life for half a dozen years or more, Madame de Bargeton wished, like a good many other provincial women, to subject her lover to a species of servitude, during which time she could judge of his constancy. When Lucien had opened the battle by one of those sulky exhibitions of temper at which a woman who is still free laughs, and none but those who are deeply in love are grieved, Louise assumed an air of dignit\' and began one of her long speeches, larded with pompous words. "Is this what yon have promised me, Lucien?" she said, in conclusion. " Do not put into so sweet a present a remorse which would poison m}' future life. Do not spoil that future. And — I sa}- it with pride — do not spoil the present. Have you not my heart? What else do you need? Can it be that your love is influenced b}' the senses, when the noblest privilege of a beloved woman is to silence them? For whom do 3-ou take me? Am I no longer 3'our Beatrice? If I am not more to you than a mere woman, then I am less than one." "You could not say anything else to a man whom you did not love," cried Lucien, angrih'. "If 3'ou do not feel how much of deep, true love there is in m}^ ideas, you are not worthy of me," she replied. " You pretend to doubt my love to avoid replying to me," said Lucien, flinging himself at her feet in tears. The poor lad really wept at seeing himself outside 156 Lost Illusions. the gates of Paradise. They were the tears of a poet who feels his power humiliated, the tears of a child to whom the to}" it longs for is refused. " You have never loved me ! " he cried. "You do not beheve what you say," she replied, flattered b}' his violence. " Then prove to me that you are mine," said Lucien, beside himself Just then Stanislas arrived without being heard, saw Lucien half-kneeling, half-lying, the tears in his ej'es, and his head on Nais' knees. The tableau was satis- factory and sufficientl}^ suspicious ; Stanislas turned hastily back to du Chatelet, who stood at the door. Madame de Bargeton sprang forward, but not in time to reach the spies, who retired precipitatel}', as if ashamed of their indiscretion. " Who came in just now? " she called to the servants. " Monsieur de Chandour and Monsieur du Chatelet," said Gentil, her old footman. She returned to the boudoir, pale and trembling. " If the}' saw 3'ou as you were I am lost," she said to Lucien. " So much the better ! " cried the poet. Louise smiled at this selfish exhibition of his love. In the provinces, such an adventure is certain to be magnified in the telling. In the twinkling of an eye ever}' one knew that Lucien had been caught at Nais' knees. Monsieur de Chandour, delighted with the im- portance such an affair was sure to give him, went first to the club with the great news and then on a round of visits. Du Chatelet hastened to say that, for his part, he had seen nothing ; but by putting himself thus aside Lost Illusions. 157 he -onl}' incited Stanislas to talk the more, and to en- large on details, adding something new at each relation. l\\ the evening the whole social world of Angoiileine tlocked to Amc'lie's salon ; for by that time the most exaggerated versions were circulating through the aristo- cratic portion of the town, where each narrator had fol- lowed the example of Stanislas. Men and women were impatient to know the truth. The women who veiled their faces and cried shame were preciseh* Amelie, Zephirine, Fifine, and Lolotte, who were themselves more or less smirched with illicit loves. The theme was varied in man}- keys. '' Well," said one, '• that poor Nais, you have heard about it? For m\' part, I don't believe the story ; she has an irreproachable life before her ; she is much too proud to be anything but Monsieur Chardon's patron- ess. But if it is really true, I do pity her with all my heart.'' " She is all the more to be pitied," said another, "because the thing is so frightfully ridiculous; she might be Monsieur Chardon's mother ; he can't be more than twenty-two, and Xais, between ourselves, is n't a day less than fort}'." " For my part," said du Chatelet. " I think the ver}' situation in which Monsieur de Rubempre was seen proves Nais' innocence. We don't go down on our knees to get that we have alread}^ had." '• That's as it may be ! " said Francis, with a frisky look, which earned him a reproving glance from Zephirine. ••But tell us all about it," they said to Stanislas, forminsf a conclave in a corner of the room. 158 Lost Illusions. Stanislas had ended b}- composing a little tale full of improprieties accompanied by gestures and attitudes which fatally incriminated the pair. " It is inconceivable ! *' said one. " At twelve o'clock in the day ! " said another. " Nais was the last woman I should have suspected." " What will she do now? " Then followed commentaries and suppositions with- out number. Du Chatelet defended Madame de Barge- ton, but so clumsily that he fanned the fire of gossip instead of extinguishing it. Lili, full of pious grief at the fall of the Angouleme angel, went in tears to re- port the affair to the bishop. When the whole town was undeniably in an uproar, the successful du Chate- let went to the Bargetons' and found onty one table of whist. He asked Nais, diplomatically, if she would not rather sit in the boudoir, where, accordingl}', the}' took possession of the sofa. " Of course you know," he said in a low voice, " what all Angouleme is talking of ? " ''No, I do not," she said. "Well, then," he rejoined, "I am too much your friend to leave j'ou in ignorance. I must give you an opportunity to den}^ these calumnies, invented, no doubt, by Amelie, who has the presumption to consider her- self your rival. 1 came to see you this morning with that ape Stanislas, who was a few feet in front of me when he reached the door," pointing to that of the bou- doir ; " and he insists that he saic you with INIonsieur de Rubempre in a situation which prevented his entering the room. He turned back to me quite alarmed and dragged me away, without giving me time to think. Lost Illusions. 159 We had reached Bcaulieii before he told me the reason of his hast}' retreat. If I had known it in time I should not have left the house, and the matter could have been cleared up on the spot; but to come back later would have proved nothing in your defence. Now, whether Stanislas saw wrong, or whether he is right, is not the question ; he must be put in the wrong. Dear Nais, don't let your life, your future, your honor be at that fool's merc\\ Silence him instantly. You know my situation here. Though I need the support of ever}- body, I am solelj' yours. Dispose of a life which be- longs to you. Though you have repulsed m}' wishes my heart is ever 3'ours ; and on all occasions I only seek to prove to you how I love you. Yes, I watch over 3-ou like a faithful servant, without hope of recompense, solely for the pleasure I find in serving 3'ou, even with- out your knowing it. This morning I have said ever\'- where that I, too, was at the door of 3'our salon and saw nothing. If an3' one asks 3'ou who told 3'ou of this gossip, make use of my name. I shall be onl3' too proud to be your public defender, but, between our- selves, Monsieur de Bargeton is the onl3' man who ought to demand an explanation from Stanislas. That little Rubempre ma3' have committed some foll3', but if so the honor of a w^oman ought not to be at the merc3' of any heedless young fellow who flings himself at her knees." Nais thanked du Chatelet with an inclination of her head, but was silent and pensive. She was wearv and disgusted with provincial life. At du Chatelet's first words her thoughts turned to Paris. The silence be- came embarrassing to her wilv adorer. 160 Lost Illusions. *' Dispose of me as 3'ou will, — I repeat it," he said. " Thank you," she answered. '^AVhat shall you do?" "I will think about it." Long silence. " Do you reall}' love that little Rubempre ? " She smiled a superb smile, crossed her arms and looked at the curtains of her boudoir. Du Chatelet took his leave without being able to decipher the heart of the haught}' woman. When Lucien and the four old gentlemen who had come to play their whist, regardless of the problematic gossip, had departed, ]Madame de Bargeton stopped her husband as he bade her good- night before going to bed. " Come here, m}- dear, I want to speak to you," she said, with a sort of solemnity. Monsieur de Bargeton followed his wife into the boudoir. ''Perhaps I am wrong," she said, ''to liave put such warmth into m^' protection of Monsieur de Ru- bempre, for it has been as ill-understood b}' the foolish people of this town as b}' Lucien himself. This morn- ing he flung himself at m}' feet and made me a declara- tion of love. Stanislas came in at the moment when I was raising the foolish lad. Disregarding the dutN' of courtesy which a gentleman owes to a woman under all circumstances, he declares that he found me in an equivocal situation with that young man, whom I was really treating as he deserved. If the rash youth were to hear the cnhunnies to Avhich his folly has given rise, he would, I am convinced, insult Stanislas and force him to light a duel. Such mu action would be a public Lost Ilhmons. 161 avowal of his love. I need not tell you that your wife is pure ; but you can easih* see there would be something ver}^ dishonoring both for you and for me in Monsieur de Riibempre undertalving to defend me. Go yourself to Stanislas and ask him seriously for an explanation of the insulting things lie has said about me ; and do not let the affair be smoothed over until he retracts wjiat he has said in presence of numerous and important wit- nesses. You will thus obtain for yourself and for me the respect of all decent people ; you will behave like a man of intelligence and a gallant man ; you will have every right to my esteem. I will send Geutil on horse- back to TEscarbas and summon m\' father, who must be 3'our second. Xotwithstanding his age, I know him to be a man who would trample under foot the puppet who dares to blacken my reputation. You will have the choice of arms ; take pistols, for I am told you are an excellent shot." '' I will go," said Monsieur de Bargeton, taking his hat and cane. '•Ah, my friend," said his wife, much moved, " vou are what men should be, what I love in a man, — you are a gentleman." She offered him her brow, and the old man kissed it, proud of the privilege. This woman, who felt a sort of maternal sentiment for that grown child, could not re- press her tears as she heard the 2^'^^'^^-coche)-e close behind him. "How he loves me I " she said. "The poor man clings to life, and yet he would lose it without regret for my sake." Monsieur de Bargeton did not trouble himself about 11 162 Lost Illusions. meeting his adversaiy on the morrow and coldl}' facing the muzzle of a pistol ; no, he was harassed by only one thing ; he trembled as he went his wa^' to Monsieur de Chandour at the thought, " What shall I say to him? Nais ought to have told me what to say : " and he puz- zled his brains to construct a speech which should not be ridiculous. But those who live, like Monsieur de Bargeton, in a silence imposed b}' the narrowness of their minds and their want of outlook, do possess in the great crises of life a solenniity made to hand. Speaking seldom, they seldom say foolish things ; reflecting much on what the}' ought to saj', their extreme self-distrust leads them to study their words so carefully that the}' often express themselves as aptl}' as Balaam's ass. Mon- sieur de Bargeton now behaved himself like a ver}- superior man. He justified the opinion of those who regarded him as a philosopher of the school of Pythag- oras. He went to see Stanislas at eleven o'clock that night, and found a large party assembled at his house. He bowed silentl}' to Amelie, and bestowed on the rest of the company, his vacant smile, which, under exist- ing circumstances, seemed to them profoundly ironical. Then came a hushed silence, as in nature before a storm. Chatelet, who had gone there after leaving Nais, looked significantly from Monsieur de Bargeton to Stanislas, whom the offended husband treated in the first instance politelj'. Du Chatelet fully understood the meaning of a visit made at an hour when the old man was usually in bed. Nais was evidently moving that feeble arm ; and as du Chatelct's position in the Chandour household gave him Lost Illusions. 163 n \'vy\\t to meddle in its affairs he rose, took Monsieur de Bargeton aside, and said, '' Do you wisb to speak to Stanislas?" "Yes," said the worth)- man, glad of an interme- diary who would perhaps do the talking for him. *' Well, then, go into Amelie's bedroom, and I will send him to you," said du Chalelet, excited at the prospect of a duel, which might make Maxlame do Bargeton a widow, and prevent her from marrying Lucien, the cause of it. "Stanislas," he said to de Chandour, "Bargeton has no doubt come here to ask you to give him satis- faction for the things you have been saying about Nais. Come into your wife's room and behave, both of you, like gentlemen. Don't have an}- loud talking, affect politeness, — in short, assume the coldness of Britannic dignity." Stanislas and du Chatelet went together into the room. "Monsieur," said the offended husband, ''if you do not retract your offensive speeches in presence of the compan}- now assembled in your house I shall request 3'ou to choose your second. M}' father-in-law. Mon- sieur de Negrepelisse, will call npon you to-morrow morning. The affair can only be settled in the manner I have just indicated. I am the offended party, and I choose pistols." On his way thither Monsieur de Bargeton had rumi- nated over this speech, the longest he had ever made in the whole course of his life, and he made it without passion and in the simplest manner. Stanislas turned pale, and thought to himself, "What did I see, after all?" But between the shame of den vine: his words 164 Lost Illusions. before all the world in presence of this dumb man ulio could not See a joke, and fear, the hideous fear which took him by the throat with scorching hands, he chose the danger which seemed at the moment farthest off. '* Ver}' good," he said. "To-morrow we will settle it," hoping in this wa}- that something might turn up to arrange matters peacefull3% The three men returned to the salon, wliere the whole compan}^ studied their faces ; du Chatelet smiled, Mon- sieur de Bargeton was absoluteh' the same as usual, but Stanislas had turned hvid. Seeing this, several women guessed the upshot of the conference. The words " The}' will fight ! " ran from ear to ear. Half the company thought Stanislas to blame, his pallor and the discomposure of his face seemed indicative of false- hood ; the other half admired Monsieur de Bargcton's demeanor. Du Chatelet played the grave and the m3'Sterious. After remaining a few moments and ex- amining the faces of the compan}- Monsieur de Barge- ton withdrew. '' Have 3'ou any pistols?" whispered du Chatelet to Stanislas, vrho trembled from head to foot. Amelie understood the whole matter and was taken ill ; the women present took her to her bedroom. Great excitement prevailed ; everybod}' talked at once. The men sta3'ed in the salon and declared with unanimous voice that Monsieur de Bargeton liad the right of it. " Who would have thought him capable of behaving thus?" said Monsieur de Saintot. "But in his youtli," said the pitiless Jacques, ''he was one of the best men of his day witli weapons. M3' father has often told me (^f his ex[)l()iis." Lost Illusions. 165 *'Pooh! put them at twenty paces and the}' are certain to miss each other it' you give them cavahy pistols," said Francis to du Chtitelet. When the company had dispersed, du Chatelet reas- sured Stanislas and his wife by explaining how all could be made to go well, and that a duel between a man of sixt\' and one of thirty -six was certain to end in favor of the latter. The next morning, while Lucien was breakfasting with David, who had returned from Marsac without his father, Madame Chardon came in quite terrified. '^ Lucien! do you know what has happened? the news is all over the market. Monsieur de Bargeton al- most killed Monsieur de Chandour this morning at five o'clock in Monsieur Tulloye's field. It seems that Monsieur de Chandour said he surprised 3'ou yesterday with Madame de Bargeton." "It is false! Madame de Bargeton is innocent," cried Lucien. " A countr3'man whom I heard giving the details saw the affair from his cart. Monsieur de Negrepelisse was there as Monsieur de Bargeton's second ; he told Monsieur de Chandour that if anything happened to his son-in-law he must fight him next. An officer in a cavalry regiment lent his pistols, and Monsieur de Negrepelisse tried them several times. Monsieur du Chatelet wanted to prevent his trN'ing them, but the officer whom they chose as umpire said that unless the}' meant to behave like children the weapons they used ought to be in good condition. The seconds placed the two adversaries twentj'-five paces apart. Monsieur de Bargeton, who was walking about quite unconcerned, 166 Lost Illusions. fired first and put a ball in Monsieur de Chandour's throat, who fell without being able to return the fire. The surgeon of the hospital has since declared that Monsieur de Chandour will have his neck awr^' for the rest of his da3's. I came to tell 3'ou the result of the duel so that 3'ou may not go to Madame de Bargeton's, or show yourself in Angouleme, for the friends of Mon- sieur de Chandour will certainh' try to pick a quarrel with 3'ou." Just then Gentil, Monsieur de Bargeton's footman, brought the following note to Lucien, who read it hastily and slipped it into his pocket : — '^You have doubtless heard, m3' dear friend, the issue of the duel between m3^ husband and Monsieur de Chandour. We receive no company to-day ; be pru- dent, do not show yourself in society ; I ask this in the name of the affection which you bear to me. Do you not feel that the best use 3'Ou can make of this sad da3' is to come and listen to 3'our Beatrice, whose life is completely changed b3" this event, and who has man3' things to say to you? " "How fortunate," remarked David, "that my mar- riage is fixed for the da3^ after to-morrow ; this will give you a reason for not going to Madame de Bargeton's." " Dear David," replied Lucien, "she wishes me to go to her to-day ; I think I ouglit to obe3' her, for she must know better than we can how I ought to behave under existing circumstances." " Is the house quite ready? " asked Madame Chanlon. " Come and look at it," cried David, delighted to show his mother-in-law the transformation he had made of the apartnjent on the first Hoor, where all was new Lost Illusions. 167 and fresh. The ver}' air gave forth the sweetness that fills a new-made home, where orange wreath and bridal veil still crown domestic life, where the springtide of love is reflected into things, and all is white, and fresh, and flowery. "Eve will live like a princess," said the mother, "but you have spent too much money; you are ver}" extravagant." David smiled without answering, for Madame Chardon had unwittingly put her finger into a secret wound which made the poor lover suflTer cruelly. The cost of his im- provements had gone so far beyond his expectations that he had no money left with which to build the room above the shed. He could not therefore give his mother-in- law the apartment he had destined for her. Generous souls do suffer deeply when the\' cannot keep such prom- ises which are, in a wa}*, the little vanities of tender- ness. But David was careful to hide his embarrassments so as to spare Lucien's feelings, thinking he might feel oppressed by the sacrifices his friend had made for him. " Eve and her friends have been working too," said Madame Chardon. "The wedding clothes and the household linen are all readv. Her companions at the shop are so fond of her that without her knowledge they have covered all the mattresses in white fustian, edged with pink. It is very pretty ! and makes one long to be married." The mother and daughter had used their savings in supplying David's house with the things that 3'oung men do not think of. Knowing that he was buying luxuries (for there had been some question of a Limoges dinner- 1G8 Lost Illusions. set) the two women had tried to make the things that the}^ contributed in keeping with those that David bought. This little emulation of love and generosit\' had the result of involving the newh* married pair and pinching them for want of means from the ver}' begin- ning of their marriage, although the3' had all the out- ward appearance of middle-class competence, which might even pass for opulence in so backward a place as Angouleme. No sooner did Lucien see his mother and David enter the bedroom, with its blue and white paper and the prett\' furniture now well-known to him, than he slipped out of the house and hastened to Louise. He found her break- fasting with her husband, who, having gained an unusual appetite from his morning excursion, was eating his meal without a thought of what had happened. The old countr3'-magnate, Monsieur de Negrepelisse, an impos- ing figure, a relic of the French noblesse, was beside his daughter. When Gentil announced Monsieur de Ru- bempre the old man gave the latter the inquisitive glance of a father anxious to judge of a person his daughter patronized. Lucien's extreme beauty* struck him forcibly, and he could not refrain from a look of approbation ; he seemed to regard the intimacy in the light of a fancy rather than a passion, — a caprice, not a lasting attachment. Breakfast was over and Louise, rising, loft her fatlicr with Monsieur de Bargeton, and signed to Lucien to f(jllow her. " M}^ friend," she said, in a voice that wns sad and also joyous, " I am going to Paris; and my father is to take ni}' husband to Ksoarbas, where he will stay during my absence. JMadame d'Espard, a Demoiselle Lost Illusions. 169 de Blamont-Chauvrv, who is a relation of mine through the d'Espards, the elder branch of the Kegrepelisse, is ver\' influential in society at the present time. If she deigns to recognize us at all, I intend to cultivate her ; she can easil>' obtain a government position for Barge- ton if she chooses. I think the court might be induced to express a wish for him as deput}' ; if so, it would help his nomination here. It is you, my dear child, who have unconsciously* brought about this change in my existence. The duel of this morning obliges us to close our house here for a time, because some persons will side withChandour against us^ Under our present circumstances, and living as we do in a little town, an absence is alwavs useful in living time for hatreds and prejudices to die out. Either I shall succeed in these plans, and never return to Angouleme, or else I shall not succeed ; in which case I should prefer to remain in Paris during the winters, and go to Escarbas ever}' summer. It is the only life that is suitable for a woman of character and position, and I ought to have taken it before. To-daj' will suffice for m}- preparations, and to- morrow I start after night-fall. You will accompany me, will you not? I would rather 3'ou left Angouleme before me. I will pick you up between Mansle and Ruffec, and we shall soon be in Paris. There, dear Lu- cien, is the only true life for superior minds. We shall feel at ease among our equals ; here we can only suffer. Paris, the capital of the intellectual world, will be the theatre of your success. Spring boldly across the inter- vening space ; do not suffer your ideas to turn rancid in the provinces ; seek communion now, at once, with the great men of the nineteenth century. Come nearer 170 Lost Illusions. to the throne and to power. Distinctions and dignities never seek the genius that stagnates in the provinces. Name me any truly noble work that provincial life has nurtured. On the contrarj-, behold that poor, sublime Jean-Jacques, irresistibly drawn by the moral sun which creates all fame and awakens intellect by the friction of rivalries. Ought you not to hasten to take your i)lace among the Pleiades of your day? You hardly realize as yet how useful it is for a youth of genius to be brought into the light of the highest society. I will introduce you to Madame d'Espard ; it is difficult to obtain an entrance to her salon. You will meet there all the greatest personages of the dav, ministers, am- bassadors, orators of the Chamber, distinguished peers, and man}' rich and influential persons. A man must be awkward indeed if he fails to obtain their interest and good-will when he is handsome and young and full of genius. Great talents have no littleness about them ; they will give you their support. AVhen you personally attain a high position, your works will acquire enor- mous value. For all artists, the great secret to solve is how to get into the public eye. Paris, Lucien. under these circumstances, offers you a thousand opportunities for making your fortune, obtaining a sinecure, or a pen- sion from the Privy-purse. The IJourbons wish to en- courage letters and the arts ; therefore make yourself the religious poet and the royalist poet whom they want. Not only is it rigJit that you should be that, but it will make your fortune. Does the Opposition, does liberal- ism give i)laces, pensions, rewards? have they ever been known to make the Ibrtune of a writer? There- fore choose the wise })ath and come with me to Paris, Lost Illusions. 171 where all men of genius gather. T have told you m}' secret ; but be silent about it, and get read\- at once to accompan}' me — Do you not wish it? " she added, presently, astounded at the silence of her lover. Lucien, bewildered by the rapid glance he had thrown towards Paris as he listened to her persuasive words, thought he had never until that moment used more than half of his brain ; it seemed to him that he was suddenly developing another half, so immensely were his ideas magnifj-ing themselves ; he saw himself in Angouleme like a frog under a stone in the middle of a bog. Paris and its splendors — Paris, which is to provincial imaginations an P^ldorado — stood before him with her robe of gold, a circlet of roj'al jewels in her hair, her arms wide open to embrace all talent. Illus- trious men would hail him as a brother. In the great city all things smiled on genius. No jealous sprigs of countrified nobilit}' would humiliate a writer with sting- ing words or dull indifference to poesy. After reading a few pages of his ''Archer of Charles IX." publishers would open their cash-box, and sa}' to him: ''How much do 3'ou want for it?" Moreover, the thought came into his mind that after such a journey, when circumstances seemed to marry them, Madame de Barge- ton would certainh' be his and they would live together. To the words, " Do you not wish it?" he answered b}' a tear, caught Louise round the waist, pressed her to his heart, and crimsoned her neck by the violence of his kisses. Then he stopped short suddenly, struck b}' a thought, and exclaimed : "Good God! m}' sister is to be married that ver}' da}'." That cry was the last utterance of his pure and noble 172 Lost Illusions, 3'outh. The powerful ties which bind young hearts to their famil}', to their earliest friend, to all their primi- tive emotions, were now to be cut through as b}- an axe. '' Will you tell me," said the haughty woman, "what the marriage of 3'our sister has to do with the progress of our love ? Are you so desirous of dancing at a work- man's wedding that 3'ou cannot sacrifice such noble J03S? A fine sacrifice!" she said, contemptuousl3\ "I sent my husband to fight a duel on your account, and these are your sacrifices for me ! Leave me ; I am deceived in 3'ou." She fell half-fainting on the sofa. Lucien followed her, entreating pardon, inwardly cursing David, his sister, his family. "I believed in you!" she said. "Monsieur de Cante-Croix had a mother whom he idolized, yet to obtain a letter from me in which I said, ' I am content with you,' he died under fire. And you, when I ask you to travel with me, you cannot forego a wedding feast ! " Lucien was read}^ to kill himself, and his despair was so genuine, so profound, that Louise forgave him, mak- ing him feel, however, that he would have to atone for his crime. "Well, well," she said at last, "be very discreet, and wait for me to-morrow at midnight a short distance beyond Mansle." Lucien walked on air ; he returned to David's house followed by his hopes as Orestes by the Furies, for he foresaw a crowd of diniculties, all of which might be summed up in the one word " money." David's clear- sightedness alarmed him so nuu-h that he shut himself Lost Illusions. 173 iip in his prett}' study to recover from the giddiness his new prospects gave him. Must he leave these rooms arranged for him at such a cost? should he let the sac- rifice be useless? Perhaps his mother could live there, and David would thus economize the building he pro- posed to make above the shed. His departure would certainly benefit liis family. In short, he found a hun- dred reasons to encourage his flight, for there is noth- ing so Jesuitical as a wish. Having reached this point in his mental discussion he rushed to I'Houmeau to find his sister and tell her of his prospects, and arrange his l^lans with her. As he passed Postel's shop the thought occurred to him that if he could not otherwise find means he would borrow from his father's successor the sum he needed. " If I live with Louise," he said to himself, "five francs a daj' will be a fortune to me, and that is only a thousand francs a year. 2sow in six months I shall be rich." Eve and her mother listened, under promise of se- crecy, to Lucien's confidences. The}' both wept as they did so, and when the ambitious 3'outh asked why the\' were so distressed thej' told him that all their sav- ings were absorbed in the household linen and Eve's trousseau and other expenses, which they had been glad to pav, because David had settled upon Eve a promised dower of ten thousand francs. Lucien then told them his idea of borrowing from Postel, and Madame Char- don agreed to go and ask the apothecary for a thousand francs. " But, Lucien," said Eve, with a tightening of the heart, " if you go you can't be at my wedding. Oh! 174 Lost Illusions, come back ; I '11 wait a few days. She will let yon come back in a fortnight after yon have taken her there. She can surely let us have you for a week or so. I know the marriage won't turn out well unless ^•ou are here — But will a thousand francs be enough ? " she said, interrupting herself suddenly. '* Though that coat of yours fits you divinely-, it is the only one you have ! You have only two fine shirts, the rest are all coarse linen ; you 've only three cambric cravats, the other three are common jaconet ; and your handker- chiefs are not nice. You won't have a sister in Paris to wash your linen in the morning when yow want it at night, and therefore you ought to have more changes. You have only had one new pair of nankeen trousers this year ; those of last year have shrunk. You must get some new clothes in Paris, and Paiis prices are not those of Angouleme. You have only two waistcoats that are fit to wear — I have mended all the others. I advise you to take two thousand francs if you can.'' David came in just then and seemed to have heard Eve's last words, for he looked at the brother and sister, who stopped speaking. '' Don't hide anything from me," he said. *' Well," said Eve, '^ he is going to Paris with Madame de Bargeton." " Postel," said Madame Chardon, coming in at the moment without seeiug David, " agrees to lend us one thousand francs, but for six months only, and he wants a note indorsed b}' your brother-in law, for he says you have no security." She turned at the moment and saw David, and nil four persons were silent. Tiie Chardon laniily knew Lost llludons. 175 "how much they had imposed on David's generosity'; the\' felt ashamed of it. "•Then you cannot be at m\' marriage," said David, *' and 3'ou will not live with us ! and I have spent every penny I had ! Ah, Lucien, I was bringing Eve her poor little wedding jewels, little dreaming that I should regret having bought them ; " and he pulled the cases covered with morocco from his pocket and placed them on the table before his mother-in-law, " AVhy do you do so much for me?" said Eve, with a smile that corrected her words. "Dear mamma," said David, "go and tell Postel that I will indorse the note, for I see by your face, Lucien, that 3'ou are resolved to go." Lucien bent his head softly and sadl}', saying a mo- ment later, "Don't think hardly of me, dear angels." He put his arms round Eve and David, drew them close to his heart, kissed them, and added, " Wait results, and you will then know how I love you. David, what would be the good of all our great thoughts if we were not above the conventional laws which hamper senti- ment? Mv soul will be with you wherever I am; thought will unite us. I have a destin}" to accomplish. Publishers will certainl3^ take m}^' Archer of Charles IX.' and the 'Daisies.' Sooner or later I must have done what I am going to do now ; could I have done it under more favorable circumstances ? Am I not making my fortune b}^ the mere fact of entering Paris under the auspices of the Marquise d'Espard?" " He is right," said Eve. ''You 3-0 urself told me he ought to go to Paris." David took Eve bv the hand and led her into the 176 Lost Illusions. narrow little closet in which she had slept for the last seven 3'ears. " You say he needs two thousand francs, dear love," he whispered, "and Postel will onl}' lend him one thousand." Eve looked at her lover with an expression of pain that told her inward suffering. '' Listen to me, my own Eve ; we are going to begin life in a poor way. Yes, m}' expenses have eaten up nearly all I owned. I have but two tliousand francs left, and half of that sum is absolutel}' necessary to cany on the printing office. To give a thousand francs to your brother is to give away our own bread and risk our peace and comfort. If I were alone I know what I should do, but we are now two ; you must decide." Eve, overcome, flung herself into her lover's arms, kissed him tenderly, and whispered, as her tears flowed : '' Do as if 3-ou were alone ; I can w^oik to make it up." In spite of the warmest kiss the lovers had ever yet exchanged, David *left Eve deepl}' depressed, and re- turned to find Lucien. " You shall have the two thousand francs," he said. " Go and see Postel," said Madame Chardon, " for 3'ou must both sign the paper." AVhen the two friends returned they found Eve and hor mother on their knees praying. Tliougii they knew liow man}' hopes this departure might realize, they could only feel at such a moment what they lost in this farewell ; happiness to come was dearly paid for by an absence which would l)reak into their lives and fill their minds with j)erpetual anxiet}' about Lucien. " If you ever f()rLi,ot this scene," said David in Lii- cicn's ear, '' you will be the most unworthv of men." Lost Illusions. 177 ■ The printer felt, no doubt, tliat solemn words were necessary'. He dreaded the influence of Madame de Bargeton as much as he feared the fatal mobility of nature, which was quite as likely to cast Lucien into evil as into good. Eve soon made ready Lucien's baggage. This lit- erary Fernando Cortes took little with him. He wore his best surtout and best waistcoat and one of his two fine shirts. All his linen and the famous dress-coat, his other property and his manuscripts made such a small package that, in order to hide it from Madame de Bargeton's eyes, David offered to send it b}' diligence to his correspondent, a paper-maker, to whom he wrote, requesting him to keep the package till Lucien called for it. Notwithstanding Madame de Bargeton's precautions and her efforts to conceal her departure, Monsieur du Chatelet heard of it, and was determined to find out whether she was going alone or whether Lucien accom- panied her. He sent his valet to Ruffec to examine all carriages which stopped there to change horses. " If she carries off her poet,'' thought he, "she is mine." Lucien started the following morning at daybreak, accompanied by David, who hired a horse and cabriolet on pretence of driving out to do some business with his father, — a trifling fib, which, under existing circum- stances, was likelj' enough to be true. The two friends did go to Marsac, where they spent a part of the day with the old bear. In the evening the}' drove on be- yond Mansle, where they awaited Madame de Bargeton, who arrived towards morning. When Lucien saw the 12 178 Lost Illusions. antiquated sexagenaiy carriage he had often noticed in the coachhouse, he experienced one of the keenest emotions of his life. He flung himself into David's arms ; the printer pressed him to his heart and said ; '* God grant that this may be for your good." David got back into the old cabriolet and drove awa^' with an aching heart ; for he had horrible presentiments as to Lucien's fate in Paris. Note. — The next part of "Illusions Perdues" gives the his- tory of Lucien's lite in Paris. This, as aheaJy explained, will form the second volume of the translation. It is enough to say here that Lucien and Aladame de Bargeton no sooner reached Paris than they were disillusioned of each other. In the glamour of the great city, Lucien thought Louise old and dowdy ; Louise perceived that an intimacy with Lucien would hinder her social success. They parted immediately. Lucien then plunged into various phases of literary and journalistic life in Paris, the history of which, under the title of "A Great j\lan in the Provinces in Paris," will be the second volume of "Lost Illusions." 'm Lost Illusions. 179 PART 11. EVE AND DAVID. I. A BRATE TVOMAN. After Lncieii's departure David Sechard — that ox, courageous and intelligent as tlie one which painters give to the EvangeUst — set to work to make the great and rapid fortune which he had desired, less for himself than for Eve and for Lucien, that evening when he sat with Eve beside the river and she gave him her hand and heart. To put his wife into the sphere of comfort and elegance in which she was formed to live, to sup- port with a powerful arm her brother's ambition, such was the programme written before his eves in letters of fire. The newspapers, politics, the immense develop- ment of book-making and literature and science, the tendency to public discussion of all the interests of the nation, the whole social movement which took place as soon as the Restoration was firmly established, would, he was confident, create a demand for paper tenfold greater than the celebrated Ouvrard estimated," on a like basis, at the beginning of the Revolution. But in 1821 the paper-makers had become too numerous in France for any one man to hope for a monopoly of the 180 Lost Illusions. trade, such as Oiivrard bad when he bought up the prhicipal factories and all their output. Besides, David had neither the boldness nor the capital for such speculation. Just at this time the machinery required to manufacture paper of all lengths was coming into use in England. Nothing, therefore, was more desirable than the discover}- of some means of adapting the manufacture of paper to the needs of French civilization, which threatened to carrj' discus- sion into everything, and to rest on the perpetual mani- festation of individual thought, — a great misfortune ; for the peoples that deliberate most, act the least. Therefore, strange to say, while Lucien was being caught into the great machine of journalism at the risk of tearing into shreds his honor and his intellect, David Sechard, in the depths of his provincial printing-office, was becoming connected with the movement of the periodical press in its material aspects. He wished to put the means of printing on a level with the ends towards which the spirit of the age was tending. In this his judgment was good, he saw clearly that a for- tune was to be made by the manufacture of paper at a low price, and subsequent events have justified his foresight. During the last fifteen years the patent office has received more than a hundred applications from persons claiming to have discovered a substance for the manufacture of cheap paper. More certain than ever of the utility of his discovery (inglorious as it was, but promising vast profits), he became, after his brother-in- law started for Paris, entirely absorbed in the problem be wanted to solve. As his resources were exhausted by the preparations Lost Illusions. 181 for his marriage and the monc}' he had given to Lucien for his journey to Paris, David found himself, from the day he became a married man, in actual distress, lie had kept a thousand francs for the needs of the printing- oflice, and he owed the note of a thousand francs to Postel, the apothecary. To this profound thinker, the problem was a two-fold one. He must invent, and in- vent quickly ; he must adapt the profits of his discovery to the needs of his household and his business. Now, how shall we characterize a brain capable of shaking off the painful preoccupations which arose from a poverty that must be concealed, from the wants of a famil}' lack- ing bread, from the daily requirements of a business as minuteh' exacting as that of printing, all the while searching the realms of the unknown with the ardor of a scientist in pursuit of a secret which, day after day, escapes the most subtle researches ? Alas ! as we shall see, inventors have man}- ills to bear, not counting the ingratitude of the masses, the idlers, and the inca- pables, who sa}' of a man of genius : " He was born to be an inventor, for he can't do anything else. He is not to be thanked for his discover}' an}' more than a man should be thanked for being born a prince ; he merely exercises his natural faculties, and he finds his reward in the work itself. " Marriage is a cause of great perturbations both moral and physical to a young girl, but when she marries in tlie bourgeois conditions of the middle classes she has, in addition, to study new interests, and to initiate her- self in the management of affairs ; hence comes a phase in her life when she necessarily is on the watch to learn before she can act. David's love for his wife unhappily 182 LoHt Illusions. retarded tliis education ; he dared not tell her the state of things, neither on the morrow of their marriage, nor on the following days. In spite of the great distress to which his father's avarice condemned him, the poor printer could not bring himself to spoil his honeymoon by teaching Eve a sad apprenticeship to his laborious trade, or b}- training her to the duties of a business man's wife. Consequently, the thousand francs, their only means, which ought to have carried on the printing- office, went chiefl}' to support the household. David's recklessness and his wife's ignorance lasted three months ! The awakening was terrible. When Lucien's note to Postel, which David had indorsed, fell due, there was. no money to meet it, and the cause of this debt was so well known to Eve that she insisted on sacrificing her wedding jewels and all her plate. On the evening of the day when the note was paid b}' these proceeds Eve tried to make David talk to her about his affairs. Since the second month of their mar- riage David had spent the greater part of his time under the shed in the courtyard, in a little room which was used to cast his rollers. Three months after he had taken the printing-office from his lather, he had substituted for the pads then in use ink-tables, with cylinders, which distribute the ink by means of rollers made of thick glue and molasses. This first improve- ment was so undeniably' good that as soon as the Brothers Cointet saw the result they adoi)ted it. Davitl had built against the party-wall whieli formed t1>o back of this species of kitchen a fiu-nace, with a Avide copi)er pan or boiler, under i)rotence of burning less cdmI in rc-castin"' his rollers, the rustv moulds for which Lost IlIusioni<. 18-5 were ranged along the walls and were never used twice. Then he not only put a thick oaken door, lined inside with sheet iron, to this room, but he took out the dirty panes of the sashes and replaced them with fluted glass, which let in the light, but prevented those outside from observing his occupations. The moment Eve spoke to her husband about their future, he looked at her uneasih', and stopped her with these words : — " My dearest, I know what you must think at the sight of that empty workroom and the sort of conmier- cial annihilation which has come over the business ; but look there," he added, drawing her to the window of their bedroom and showing her his mysterious retreat ; "our fortune is there. ^Ye shall have to suffer for a few months, but let us bear it patienth* ; leave me to solve the industrial problem I told you about, which will put an end to all our troubles." David was so good, his unselfish devotion so well deserved to be trusted on his word, that the poor wife, anxious, like all women, about the dail}- costs of the household and the expenses of the printing-house, re- solved to save her husband from all such cares. The next day she left the pretty blue and white room, where she was in the habit of sitting at work on some femi- nine occupation, and went down into one of the two wooden cages in the press-room, determined to study the commercial system of typography. Was not this true heroism in a woman alread}' pregnant? During the last few months David's stagnant press-room was gradually emptied of workmen required until then for the business, but who had now departed, one after the 184 Lost Illusions. other. Overwhelmed with custom, the Cointet Brothers employed, not onh' the workmen of the department, attracted to their establishment by the prospect of full days' w^ork, but also printers from Bordeaux, among them apprentices who thought themselves clever enough to shirlv the conditions of apprenticeship. When Eve began to examine into the resources of the firm of Sechard she found onh' three persons em- ployed there : first, Ce'rizet, tlie apprentice whom David had brought from Paris ; then Marion, attached to the house like a watch-dog ; and Kolb, an Alsacian, formerly man-of-all-work at the Didots'. Drafted into the arm}', Kolb liad turned up in Angouleme, where David saw him at a review about the time his military service was ending. Kolb went to see David and took a fancy to the stout Marion, finding that slie possessed all tlie qualities a man of his class wants in a wife, — the vigorous healtli that colored her clieeks, the mascu- line strength wliich enabled her to lift a form of type easil}', the religious honesty of which Alsacians think so much, the devotion to her masters which revealed a natural goodness, and lastly, tliat spirit of economy to which slie owed the possession of a thousand francs besides houseliold linen, gowns, and clothes of provin- cial nicety. Marion, tall and stout and tiiirty-six years old, was flattered b}- tlie attentions of a cuirassier nearly six feet tall, well-made, strong as a bastion ; and she naturally advised him to become a printer. By the time the Alsacian received his final discharge, Marion and David between thorn had made him a respectable " bear," who was, however, unable to read or write. The work which cunie to the ollice was not so abun- Lost Illusioris. 185 dant during the last three months but that Cerizet sufficed to set it up. Compositor, cHeker, and foreman, Cerizet reaUzed in his own person what Kant calls a plienomenal triplicit}' ; he composed, corrected his com- position, wrote down tiie orders, made out the bills ; but, as he usuall}' had little to do, he spent most of his time reading novels in his cage, awaiting customers w^ho brought in advertisements, posters, or wedding- cards. Marion, trained b}' old Sechard, made up the paper, damped it, helped Kolb to print it, stretched it, pared it, all the while minding her cooking and going b}' daybreak to market. When Eve obtained from Cerizet the accounts for the last six months, she found that the receipts had been six hundred francs. The expenses, reckoning the wages of Cerizet at two francs a day and those of Kolb at one franc, amounted also to about six hundred. Now, as the cost of material required for the work done amounted to over a hundred francs, it was clear to Eve that during the first six months of their married life David had lost the interest on the property, due to his father in rent ; also that of the value of his material and his license ; also the wages of Marion, and the cost of the ink, and of the mass of things expressed in a jDrinting-office b}' the word "stuff," — a term derived from the cloths and silks used to make the pressure of the screw less severe on the t3'pe, by inserting a square of some stuff, called the " blanket," between the plate of the press and the paper. After getting a general idea of the means of the establishment and its proceeds, Eve discovered how few resources and how little chance it had, sucked dr}' 186 Lost Illusions, as it was by the competitive activit}' of the Brothers Cointet, who had gradiialh' made themselves paper- makers as well as journalists, licensed printers to the bishopric, and suppliers to the town and the prefecture. The " Journal of Advertisements " which the Sechards, father and son, had sold to the Cointets for twenty-two thousand francs, was now returning eighteen thousand a year. Eve saw plainly enough the scheme hidden under the apparent generosit}- of the Cointets, who left the Sechard printing-office just enough work to keep it alive, and not enough to injure them. She now took the management of its affairs into her own hands, and began by making an exact inventory of all its property. Then she set Kolb and Marion and Ce'rizet to work to clear up the press-room, clean it, and put it in perfect order. One evening, when David returned from an excursion into the fields, followed by an old woman bearing an immense bundle wrapped in cloths, Eve asked his ad- vice as to what she should do with a quantity of rubbish accumulated and left on their hands by his father ; promising to attend to all the affairs of the printing- office herself, and not to trouble him. By his advice, Madame Sechard took all the remnants of paper she had found, and sorted and printed on them, in two columns and on single sheets, a variety of those popular legends which the peasants delight in pasting on the walls of their huts; such, for instance, as the '' Wandering Jew," "Robert-le-Diable," "La Belle-Maguelonno,'* and the narrative of certain miracles. Eve turned Kolb into a peddler. Ccri/et went to work at once and set up the type of these artless sheets and their coarse Lost Illusions, 187 illustrations, from morning till night. Marion printed them off. Madame Chardon took charge of the house- hold, for Eve was bus}- coloring tlie illustrations. In two months' time, thanks to Kolb's activity and honesty, Madame Sechard sold, in a circuit of tliirty miles around Angouleme, three thousand sheets, which cost her thirty francs to make, and brought her in, at two sous a sheet, three hundred francs. But when all the cottages and taverns were papered with these legends, some other speculation had to be thought of, for Kolb was unable to leave the depart- ment. Eve, who had fairlj' rummaged the printing- house, found a collection of figures used in printing an almanac, called the '' Shepherds' Almanac," in which things are represented b}" signs, figures, images, en- graved in red, black, or blue. Old Sechard, who him- self was unable to read or write, had formerly earned a great deal of money out of this work, which was in- tended for persons who could not read. It was sold at a sou, and consisted of one sheet folded sixty-four times, making one hundred and twent3--eight pages. Delighted with the success of her legends, Madame Sechard undertook the -'Shepherds' Almanac" on a larger scale, putting her profits into it. The paper of this almanac, of which many millions of copies are sold aunuall}^ in France, is coarser than that of the " Alma- nac Liegois," and costs about four francs the ream. AVhen printed, this ream, which contains five hundred sheets, brings in, at a sou a sheet, twenty-five francs. Madame Sechard resolved on using one hundred reams for a first edition, which made fifty thousand almanacs to sell, and a profit of two thousand francs to earn. 188 Lost Illusions. However absorbed an inventor ma}' be, David was surprised, as he glanced at his press-room, to hear the presses groaning, and to see Ce'rizet al\va3-s standing and composing under Madame Se'chard's direction. The da}- when he entered the room to give an eye to Eve's enterprises was one of triumph for the 3'oung wife, for he fulh' approved of everything and thought the idea of the almanac excellent. He promised his advice in the employment of inks of various colors, necessitated by the designs of the almanac, which spoke onl}' to the e3'e. In fact, he offered to recast the rollers himself in his mysterious workshop, so as to help his wife as much as he could in her great little enterprise. About this time letters began to arrive from Lucien describing his disappointments and distress in Paris, and the three hundred francs which Eve, Madame Chardon, and David combined to send him were a pure offering of their life's blood. Overcome b}- this news and distressed at earning so little in return for such labor and courage. Eve looked forward, with some dread, to an event which crowns with happiness a new-made home. Knowing herself on the point of be- coming a mother, her mind was full of the one thought : '' If m}^ dear David does not succeed in his search before m^- confinement, what will become of us? who will manage the new business of the poor printing- ofRee?" Tlie "Shepherds' Almanac" ought to have been read}^ before the first of January ; but C<^rizet, on whom the whole business of the composition depcMided, was extraordinarily slow, and this was the more annoy- ing because Madame S^chard did not know enough of Lost Illusions. 189 the mechanical process of printing to reprimand him ; she could only watch his proceedings. He was an or- phan from the great hospital of the ''Enfant-Troiives" in Paris, b}' which he had been apprenticed to the Didots. From the age of fourteen to seventeen he was devoted to David, who put him under the direction of the best workman, and made him his typographic page ; for he was naturally interested in the lad's intelligence and soon won his affection b}' giving him pleasures and amusements which the bo}' was too poor to get other- wise. Cerizet had a rather pretty but pinched little face, with red hair, and eyes of a cloud}' blue ; he had brought the habits and ways of a gamin de Paris into the provinces. His sharp, sarcastic maliciousness made him feared. David did not look after him in Angouleme as he had done in Paris, partly because the lad was older and his mentor felt more confidence in him, and partly because he counted on provincial in- fluence. The consequence was that Cerizet had be- come, unknown to his master, the Don Juan of three or four little grisettes, and was utterly depraved. His moralit}', obtained originally in Parisian wineshops, held that personal advantage was the only law. More- over, he knew that in the coming year he should be drafted for militarj' service and drop his present career ; consequently, he ran in debt, reflecting that in six months he should be a Soldier and his creditors could not follow him. David still had some hold over the lad, not as his master, nor yet because he had been kind to him, but because the ex-gamin felt him to be a man of high intellect. After a time Cerizet fraternized with the workmen at 190 Lost Illusions. the Cointets', and there he lost what few good principles David had instilled into him. Nevertheless, when they laughed at him for the " sabots'' of his master, — mean- ing the old wooden presses of the Sechards, — and showed him the fine iron presses, twelve in number, which did the work at the Cointets' (where the only wooden press was used for proofs), he still took David's part, and proudly declared in the faces of his tormen- tors : " With his old wooden presses my master will do greater things than yours with all their iron concerns, which turn out nothing but prayer-books. He is search- ing for a secret which wuU make every printing-house in France and Navarre bow down to him." "You miserable little foreman at forty sous a da}'," the men would answer; "you've got a washerwoman for your mistress." "Well, she's pretty," retorted Ccrizet, ''and that's better to look at than the black muzzles of your masters." Such speeches as these reached in time the ears of the Brothers Cointet ; they discovered the situation of the Sechard business, learned of Eve's speculation, and judged it wise to nip in the bud an enterprise which might put the poor woman in the way of prosperity. "Let's rap her fingers well and disgust her with busi- ness," said the brothers to each other. Tlie one who managed the pressroom met C^rizet and proposed to him to read proofs for them at so much a proof, to re- lieve their corrector who found the work too heavy. By working several hours at night Cerizet earned more from the Cointets than he did from David for his day's work. Hence followed certain relations between Lost lUnsions. 191 the Cointets and Cerizet, in whom the brothers saw good faculties, and they openly pitied him for being in a posi- tion so unfavoraV)le to his interests. •'You might,'' said one of the Cointets, "be foreman to a large establishment, where you would earn your six francs a da}' ; and with 3'our intelligence you could soon get a share in the business." " What good would it do me to be foreman?" said Cerizet. '' I 'm an orphan, I am part of the contingent for next year, and if I am drawn who will pa}' for my substitute? " "If you made j'ourself very useful," replied the pros- perous printer, "why shouldn't some one advance the money to free j'ou? " " It would n't be my master who did that," answered Cerizet. This remark was made in a way that raised the worst thoughts in the mind of the hearer ; moreover, Cerizet threw a glance at the printer which was full of ver}" searching inquir}'. "I don't know what he is about," he went on cau- tiousl}', finding the other silent; ''but he is not a man to look for capitals in the lower case." "Look here, m}' friend," said Cointet, taking six sheets of the Diocesan pra^'er book, "if you can correct that for us before to-morrow you shall have eighteen francs. We are not ill-natured ; we are quite wilhng to let our rival's foreman earn a little of our mone\'. We might let Madame Sechard ruin herself on that almanac, but it is kinder to let her know that we are just bring- ing out a ' Shepherds' Almanac ' of our own ; you can tell her so, and warn her she won't be first in the field.'* 192 Lost lUusiona. This explains wh}' Cerizet was so slow in setting up the almanac. * Hearing that the Cointets were interfering with her poor little speculation, Eve was seized with terror ; she tried to see a proof of Cerizet's attachment in the warn- ing he had given her h3'poeritically ; but she now detected in her onl}- compositor the signs of a keen curiosity. "Cerizet," she said to him one morning, "you are alwa3's watching at the door and wa3iaying IMonsieur Sechard in the passage, to find out what he is conceal- ing ; I have seen you looking about the courtyard when he leaves the workshop where he casts the rollers, in- stead of attending to your own work. All that is not right, especially when you see that I, his wife, respect his secrets, and put myself to a great deal of trouble to leave him free to give himself up to his occupations. If 5'ou had not wasted so much time the almanac would now be finished, Kolb would have sold a large number, and the Cointets could not harm us." " Eh! madame," replied Cerizet, " for the forty sous a da}' which I earn here you get a hundred sous' worth of composition ; is n't that enough ? If I had n't proofs to read at night for the Messieurs Cointet I should have to live on bran." " You have learned to be ungrateful early ; you will make your way in life ! '^ replied Eve, less hurt by Cerizet's rei)roaches than by the rudeness of his tone and his threatening and aggressive look and attitude. " I sha'n't make it with a woman over me," he said, insolently, " for then there 's more than thirty days to a month." Thus insulted in her digm'ty as a woman, Eve gave Lost Illusions. 193 Cerizet a severe look and returned to her apaiiments. When David came to dinner she said to him, ''Are you quite sure, my dear, of that little scamp Cerizet?" " Cerizet? " he answered ; " why, he "s my own gamin ; I made him myself; I taught him all he knows ; he owes everything he is to me. You might as well ask a father if he is sure of his child." Eve told her husband that Cerizet was reading proof for the Cointets in the evening. "Poor boy! he has to live," answered David, with the humility of a master who feels himself to blame. '' Yes, but, m}' friend, just see the difference between Kolb and Cerizet. Kolb does fifty miles every day, spends fifteen or twenty- sous, and brings us back seven, eight, sometimes nine francs for the leaves he sells, and never asks me more than one franc over and above his expenses. Kolb would cut off his hand sooner than pull a single bar of the Cointets' presses ; he would never rummage among the scraps you throw into the court- yard if you were to oflfer him a thousand francs ; whereas Cerizet picks them up and examines them." Noble souls find it difficult to believe in evil, in in- gratitude ; it takes more than one harsh lesson to teach them the extent of human unworthiness ; and when their education in this line is completed the}' often show an indulgence which betrays the very last degree of con- tempt. "Pooh!" cried David; "nothing more than a ga- min's curiosity." "Then, my dear friend, do me the kindness to go down into the press-room and see the amount of work which your gamin has done during the last month, and 13 194 Lost Illusions. - tell me whether he ought not during that month to have finished our almanac." After dinner David went down and did admit that the almanac ought to have been finished in eight days. Hearing from Eve that the Cointets were preparing one lilve it, he came to the help of his wife, stopped Kolb's peddling of the legends, and directed the press- room himself. He got ever3'thing in readiness for one form, which Kolb and Marion were to work off, while he himself, with Cerizet, did the other, carefully over- looking the impressions, that were in inks of diverse colors. Each color required a separate impression. Four different inks took four impressions. Printed four times for one, the " Shepherds' Almanac " costs so much to bring out that it is made in provincial printing-houses only, where hand-work and the interest of capital used in the printing-business are of little account. This production, coarse as it is, is impos- sible for the great printing-houses which bring out fine works. For the first time since old Sechard's retirement two presses were steadil}' at work in the old press-room. Though the almanac was, in its way, a masterpiece, Eve felt obliged to sell it for two farthings, because the Cointets were selling theirs to the peddlers at three centimes ; she paid for the peddling, and earned on the sales made by Kolb ; but the speculation was a failure. Cerizet, seenig that his mistress distrusted him, be- came in his heart her enemy. He said to himself, ''You susi)ect me J I will revenge myself." That is the ganiin of Paris. He therefore accepted emoluments from the Cointet Brothers which were evidently larger Lost Illusions. 195 than his proper pa}- for correcting the proofs, which he fetched ever}' evening from tlieir office and returned in the morning. By talking with the brothers daily, he grew familiar with them, and ended by perceiving his chance, which was held out to him as a bait, of escaping military service. Instead of having to corrupt him, the Cointets did, in fact, receive from him the first suggestion as to spying for the secret of which David was in search. Uneasy at seeing how little she could rely on Cerizet, and unable to find another Kolb, Eve resolved to dismiss her only compositor, in whom her second sight, that of a loving woman, detected treach- ery ; but as such an act would be the death of the establishment, she determined to take an heroic course. She sent to Metivier, David's correspondent in Paris, also that of the Cointets and of other paper-makers in the department, the following notice, requesting him to insert it in the " PubUshers' Journal " of Paris : — *' For sale, a printing-house, in active operation, with material and license, situated in Angoulerae. Address, for terms of sale, Monsieur Me'tivier, rue Serpente." When the Cointets read the number of the Journal which contained this notice, they said to each other : "That little woman has got a head; we had better now get possession of her printing-house, and give her enough to live on ; otherwise, we shall have some competitor in Sechard's place who will give us trouble." Prompted by that thought, the Cointets went to talk with David Sechard and his wife. Eve, whom they first met, felt the keenest joy as she saw the instanta- neous eff'ect of her ruse, for they made no secret of their 196 Lost Illusions, wish that Monsieur Sechard should carry on the busi- ness for them ; the}' were overrun with work, they suid ; their own presses did not suffice ; they had workmen coming from Bordeaux, and could manage David's three presses as well as their own. '^ Gentlemen," said Eve, while Cerizet had gone to summon David, "1113' husband knew excellent work- men when he was at the Didots', and he can no doubt find a successor among the best of them. It would be better for us to sell the establishment for twenty thou- sand francs, which would give us an income of a thou- sand fi'ancs to live on, than to lose a thousand a year through you. Why did you envy us that poor little speculation of the almanac, which, after all, belonged b}^ right to this office ? " " Ah, madame, why did you not let us know that? *We would certainly not have interfered with you," said the brother who was known as •' the tall Cointet," graciously. " Excuse me, gentlemen, but you did not undertake 3'our almanac until after Cerizet told you I was making mine." Uttering the words sharply, she looked straight at the tall Cointet, and made him lower his eyes. She thus obtained good proof of Cerizet's treachery. The tall Cointet, the manager of the paper-making department and the financial alTairs of the house, was a far more able man of business than liis brother Jean, who, however, managed the printing-office with much intelligen(!e, though his capacity might be compared to that of a colonel, while the tail Cointet, named Boni- face, was the general in whom Jean recognized his Lost Illusions. 197 commander-in-chief. Boniface, lean and lank, with a ■wax-like, 3'ellow face marbled with red splashes, pinched lips, and eyes like those of a cat, was never angry ; he could listen with the calmness of a saint to the worst insults, and reply to them in gentle tones. He went to mass, confessed, and took the sacrament. Beneath his ingratiating manner and his outward man, which was almost effeminate, lay the tenacit}' and the ambition of a priest, and the greed of a merchant thirsting for riches and honors. From the 3-ear 1820 the tall Cointet sought what the bourgeoisie obtained in 1830. Filled with hatred to the aristocracy, indifferent in matters of religion, he was pious precisely as Bonaparte was demo- cratic. His spinal column bent with marvellous flexi- bility before the nobility and the governing powers, to whom he made himself humble, complying, and of no account. To picture this man b}' a single stroke, the* meaning of which will be appreciated b}' those who are in the habit of doing business, he always wore blue spectacles, behind which he hid his glances, under pre- tence of saving his e3'es from the glare of a town where all the buildings are white and the intensity of light is increased by the great elevation of the ground. Though his height was not much above the medium, he seemed very tall because of his leanness, which told of a pli}-- sical condition worn down b}' fatigue and a mental state of continual fermentation. The Jesuitical expres- sion of his countenance was made complete by long, gra}' hair, straight and flattened down and cut after the fashion of an ecclesiastic's, and by his clothing, which for the last seven years had consisted of black trousers, black stockings, black waistcoat, and a " levite " (the 198 Lost Illusions. name given in the south of France to a frock-coat) of brown cloth. He was called " the tall Cointet," to dis- tinguish him from his brother, who was called "the stout Cointet," thus expressing the difference of the shapes and capacities of the two brothers, who, in other respects, were equally matched. Jean Cointet, a good-natured, stout fellow with a Flemish face, browned by a southern sun, short and paunchy like Sancho, broad-shouldered, and with a smile upon his lips, produced a striking contrast to his elder brother. Jean differed from Boniface not only in ap- pearance and mind, but he also professed opinions that were almost radical, belonged to the " Left-centre," never went to mass except on Sundays, and was on the best of terms with all the Liberal merchants. The tali Cointet made clever use of the apparent good-humor of his brother ; he made a club of him. Jean was charged with all the hard words, injunctions, and distrainings, which were repugnant to the effeminate mildness of his brother. Jean had the department of temper ; he got angry, blurted out impossible proposals which made those of his brother seem more acceptable ; and thus they attained, sooner or later, their own ends. Eve, with the natural tact of a woman, had perceived the role of the two brothers, and she stood on her guard in presence of such dangerous adversaries. David, who knew of the -whole matter from his wife, listened with an abstracted air to tlie proposals of his enemies. *' Settle it with my wife," he s^id after a while, to the two Cointets, leaving the ollice to return to his little laboratoiy. '' She knows more about the printing- house than 1 do myself; 1 am busy with something Lost Illusions. 199 which will turn out far more lucrative than this poor business, b}' means of which I shall recover out of you the losses T have met with." " How so? " said the stout Cointet, laughing. Eve looked at her husband as if warning him to be cautious. "You will be my dependants, — you and all others who want paper," replied David. *' What do you expect to discover? " asked Boniface. When he asked the question in his soft, insinuating tones, Eve again looked at her husband to advise him not to answer, or to answer something that told nothing. " I expect to discover a way to manufacture paper at fift}' per cent below the present price." So saving David went off, without observing the glance exchanged by the two brothers. "The man must be an inventor ; he could n't have his build and be idle ! Let us get this secret out of him," said the glance of Boniface. " How? " said that of Jean. "David treats you as he does me," said Madame Sechard. " When I am inquisitive he is afraid of my name, and gives me some such reply as that, which is onl}' evasion." " If 3'our husband can carry out that scheme he will certainh' make his fortune more rapidly than he could by a printing house, and I am not surprised that he neglects his business," said Boniface, looking into the press-room, where Kolb, seated on a wetting-board, was rubbing his dry bread with a clove of garlic ; " but it won't suit us to see this estabhshment in the hands of an active, busy, ambitious competitor, and therefore, madame, perhaps we can come to some agreement. For 200 Lost Illusions. instance, would yon lease your plant for a certain sum to one of our men, who would do the work for us in your name, as is often the case in Paris? We would give this man sufficient work to enable him to pa}' you a good rent and make some little profit for himself." "That would depend on the sum offered," said Eve. " What will you give ?" she added, looking at Boniface, in a manner which let him know that she saw through his scheme. "What do you want? '^ said Jean, quickly. "Three thousand francs for six months," replied Eve. " M}' dear lady, 30U talked just now of selling the whole place for twenty thousand francs," said Boniface, gentl}'. "The interest of twenty thousand francs is only twelve hundred." P>e was confounded for a moment, and saw the im- portance of discretion in business. "But you will use our presses and type, with which, as I have proved, a good deal can be made," she said ; " and we have the rent to pay to old Monsieur Sechard, who does not burden us with gifts." After a struggle of two hours Eve obtained a rental of two thousand francs for six montlis, of which one thousand was to be paid in advance. After the agree- ment was made the brothers informed her that it was their intention to give Cerizet the lease of the utensils, pjve could not restrain a movement of surprise. "It IS much better to put in some one who under- stands your presses," said the stout Cointet. Eve bowed, but made no answer, resolving to watch Cerizet carefully. Lost Illusions. 201 *' Well, so our enemies step into our shoes ! " said David, laughing, when she gave him at dinner-time the deeds to sign. " Bah! " she said; " I '11 answer for the devotion of Kolb and Marion ; they two will watcli our interests. Besides, we are getting four thousand francs a year for a plant wiiich was only costing us mone}-, and I see a whole year before 30U in which to realize your hopes." " You were born to be, as you told me that night by the river, the wife of an inventor," said David, pressing his wife's hand tenderl}'. Though the inventor now had a sum of money suffi- cient to carry him through the winter, he soon found himself closel}' watched by Cerizet ; and he was, although he did not know it, at the mercy of the Cointets. "We've got them!" said the tall Cointet to his brother, as the}' left the establishment. " Those foolish people will get accustomed to receiving rent ; the}' will advance on it and make debts. In six months we '11 re- fuse to continue the lease, and then we "11 see what that genius has got in his pouch. If it is worth anything we will propose to help him out of his difficulties, on condi- tion that he agrees to make us partners in the sale of his discovery." If any clever dealer had seen the tall Cointet as he uttered the words " make us jycirtners^'' he would have felt that the dangers of marriage are less before the mayor than before the courts of commerce. Was it not enough, and too much, that these ferocious hunters were scenting their game? Were David and his wife, witli tlie sole help of Kolb and Marion, in a position to resist tlie schemes of a Boniface Cointet? 202 Lost Illusions. 11. . THE FIRST THUNDER- CLAP. About the time of Madame Sechard's confinement came a note of five hundred francs from Lucien, which, added to Cerizet's second pa3'ment, suflSced for all ex- penses. Eve and her mother and David, who had thought themselves forgotten b}' Lucien, were filled with jo}' on receiving his letters confirming his first successes in journalism, the reports of which made as much noise in Angouleme as the}' had in Paris. Lulled into false security, David shook in every limb when he received from his brother-in-law the following cruel letter : — My dear David, — I have negotiated with ]Metivier three notes for a thousand francs each, which I signed in your name to my order. They fall due at one, two, and three months' sight. I had no choice between that and suicide ; I was forced to choose this horrible resource, which I know will hamper you terribly. I will explain to you later the position in which I am ; and I will try to send you funds to meet the notes when due. Burn my letter, and say nothing to my sister or my mother ; I own to having counted on your heroism, which 1 know so well. Your despairing brother, Ll'CIKX I)K Kl HKMI'Kl';. Lost Illusions. 203 "Your poor brother," said David to his wife, who was just getting up from her confinement, " is in great straits ; I have sent iiim three notes of a thousand francs each, payable in one, two, and three months. Write it down." Then he left the room to avoid the explanations his wife was about to ask. But Eve, who had been made ver}' anxious by Lucien's previous silence of more than six months, felt such painful presentiments after talk- ing with her mother about David's speech, that she resolved to take one of those steps which are often prompted by extreme anxiety. Monsieur Eugene de Rastignac was then in the neighborhood of Angouleme, spending a few days with his family, and he had spoken of Lucien in sufficient!}' ill terms for his remarks, carried from mouth to mouth, to reach the ears of the mother and sister of the new journalist. Eve went to Madame de Rastignac and asked the favor of an interview with her son, to whom she told her fears, asking him to tell her the exact truth as to Lucien's situation in Paris. From him she heard the circumstances of Lucien's life, exaggerated b}' the witt\' dandy, who gave a covering of pity to his dislike and env}', taking a tone of friendl}' alarm about the future of a compatriot whose talents he said he admired sincerelv, and who was now so pain- fully compromised. He spoke of the great faults Lucien had committed ; faults which had cost him the protec- tion of great personages and the gift of a royal ordi- nance conferring upon him the right to take the arms and name of de Ruhompre. "Madame," said Eugene de Rastignac, "if your brother had listened to good advice he would to-day 204 Lost Illusions. have been on the high road to fortune and the husband of Madame de Bargeton, who is now a widow. But instead of that, he chose to insult and desert her. She loved Lucien, but she will now become Madame Sixte du Chatelet, to her great regret." " Is it possible?" exclaimed Madame Sechard. '' Your brother, madame, is an eaglet, blinded b}' the first ra3-s of luxury- and fame that have dazzled him. When an eagle falls, who knows the depths to which he sinks? The fall of a great man is always in proportion to the height he has attained." Eve returned home terrified b}' this last sentence which went to her heart like an arrow. Wounded in the tenderest part of her soul, she nevertheless kept silence ; but more than one tear rolled silentlj' on the cheeks and forehead of the child she was nursing at her breast. It is so difficult to renounce the illusions which familj' love justifies, and which are a part of life itself, that Eve distrusted Eugene de Rastignac ; she wanted the opinion of a true friend. In one of his earh' letters Lucien had given her the address of Daniel d'Arthez, of whom he spoke with groat enthusiasm. To him Eve wrote a touching letter, and this is the an- swer she received : — Madame, — You ask me to tell you the truth about the life which your brother is leading in Paris ; you wish to be enlightened as to his prospects ; and in order to induce me to answer you frankly, you tell me what M. de Kastignac has said to you, and you ask nie if such and such thuigs are true. In all that relates to myself, niadanie, I must in justice to Lucien rectify some of M. de Ilastignac's statements. Your Lost Illusions. 205 brother expressed to me great remorse for his conduct. I accepted his regrets and understood his position. You ask me if Lucien still retains my friendship and esteem. There indeed, the answer is more difficult to make. Your brother is entering a career in which he will be ruined. At the pres- ent moment I pity him sincerely ; before long I shall wil- lingly forget him, — not so much for what he has done as for that which he will then do. Lucien is a poetical being, but not a poet ; he dreams, and does not think; he is emotional, not creative. In short, if you will allow me to say so, he is effeminate, he likes to pose — the vice of Frenchmen. Lucien will always sacrifice his best friend for the pleasure of exhibiting his wit. He would willingly sign a compact with the devil if it would give him a few years of a brilliant and luxurious existence. He has already done so by bartering his future for the passing de- lights of his life with an actress. Just now, the youth and beauty and devotion of that woman, who really loves him, prevents him from seeing the dangers of his situation, which neither fame, nor success, nor fortune, will make the world accept. No, at every fresh temptation your brother will only see, as he does to-day, the pleasures of the moment. But there is one thing about which you may rest assured : Lucien will never commit crime ; he has not the force ; but he will accept a crime that has been committed, and share its profits, though he did not share its dangers. This seems horrible to every one, even to scoundrels. He will despise himself, he will re- pent, but whenever the occasion returns he will do the same thing over again, — for will is lacking to him ; he is without strength against the allurements of pleasure, or against the satisfaction of his minor ambitions. Lazy, like all poetic natures, he thinks himself clever in shu'king difficulties in- stead of facing them. He might have courage at one mo- ment, at the next he would be a coward ; and he deserves as little praise for his courage as blame for his cowardice. 206 Lost Illusions. Lucien is a harp, the strings of which tighten or stretch ac- cording to the variations of his atmosphere. He. might write a fine book in a phase of happiness or anger, and not be con- scious afterwards of its success, much as he desired it. When Lucien first arrived in Paris he fell into the hands of a young man without any morality whatever, but whose success and experience in the difficulties of a literary life daz- zled him. This juggler has completely seduced Lucien; he has led him into an unmanly life, over which, unfortunately for him, love has cast its glamour. To bestow admiration too readily is a sign of weakness ; the poet and the acrobat should not be paid in the same coin. We have all been wounded by the preference Lucien has shown for literary intrigue and knavery over the courage and morality of those who advised him to face the struggle rather than filch suc- cess ; to fling himself into the arena instead of becoming a mere trumpet in the orchestra. Society, madame, is, oddly enough, extremely indulgent to young men of this nature ; it likes them ; it is won by the noble semblance of their outward gifts ; from them, society asks nothing ; it excuses all their faults, grants them the merit of matured natures, and treats them, in short, like petted darlings. By such conduct society, so violently unjust in appearance, is perhaps righteous. It finds amusement in buffoons ; asks them for pleasm'e only, and then forgets them ; whereas, before it bows the knee to greatness it demands divine credentials. To all things their own law : the inde- structible diamond must be without a flaw; the ephemeral creation of a fashion has a riglit to be flimsy, fanciful, and without consistence. Therefore, in spite of his mistakes, Lucien may succeed in his own way; he may put to profit some happy vein, or find himself among good connections. But if he sliould fall into the hands of an evil angel he will go to the dej)ths of hell. lie is a brilliant assemblage of splendid qualities embroidered on too thin a material; time will wear away the flowers, the tissue alone will remain ; if Lost Illusions. 207 worthless, it is nougiit but rags. As long as Lucien is young he will please ; but when he is thirty what position will he hold ? That is the question which all those who sincerely love him ought to consider. If I were alone in judging thus of Lucien I might, per- haps, have refrained from grieving you by my sincerity ; but not only do I think it unfaithful to you (whose letter is a cry of anguish) to evade your questions by mere common- places, but all my friends who have known Lucien are unan- imous in this judgment on him. I have therefore regarded it in the light of "a duty to tell the truth, however terrible it may seem to you. Anything and ever\i;hing may be ex- pected of Lucien, either for good or for evil. Such is our opinion ; and I give it to you thus formulated in a single sentence. If the chances of his life, which is now very miserable, very uncertain, should bring him back to you, use all your influence to keep him in the bosom of his family ; for until his character has acquired some firmness Paris will always be dangerous for him. He called you — your husband and yom'self — his guardian angels, and yet he has doubtless forgotten you; but he will bethink himseK of you whenever, battered by the storm, he has no other shelter than his fam- ily. Keep him, therefore, in your heart, for he will need that haven. Accept, madame, the sincere esteem of a man to whom your precious qualities are know^n, and who respects your sisterly anxiety too much not to render prompt obedience to your wishes, subscribing himself Youi' devoted servant, D'Arthes. Two days after reading this letter Eve was obliged to take a wet-nurse ; her milk dried up. After making a demigod of her brother, she saw him depraved through the exercise of his noblest faculties. To her 208 Lost Illusio7is. mind, he was wallowing in the mire. This noble creature knew not how to compromise with integrity, with delicac}', with all the domestic faiths of the family hearth, which shine with so pure a lustre in the depths of the provinces. David had been right in his fore- bodings. When this grief, which cast its leaden shadows on that white brow, was confided by Eve to her husband in one of those limpid conversations in which two married lovers sa}- all things to each other, David replied to her with comforting words. Though the tears came into his eyes when he knew that his wife's sweet breast was dried with grief and when he saw her despair in no longer being able to nurse her child, he reassured her mind and gave her several grounds of hope. " Don't you see, dear, that your brother has gone wrong through his imagination? It is so natural to a poet to long for his mantle of purple and azure ; he seeks the games with such eagerness. Tiiis bird of ours is caught by glitter, b^- luxury, in such simple good faith that God will pardon where society con- demns." " But he will ruin us ! " cried the poor wife. "To-day he does, but a few months ago he sent us the first fruits of his earnings," replied the good David, who had the sense to know that despair was leading liis wife beyond reason, and that her love for Lucien would soon rea[)pear. " Mercier said about fifty years ago, in his •• Tableau dc Paris ' that literature, poesy, lett<>rs, and science, in short, the creations of the brain, could not support a man ; and Lucien, in his capacity as a poet, has chosen to disbelieve in the experience of five Lost Illusions. 209 centuries. The harvests irrigated by ink are never gathered for ten or a dozen years after sowing, if indeed they ever are gathered ; Lucien has mistaken the herb for the sheaf. He will at an}' rate have learned life. After being the dupe of a woman, he has now been the dupe of society and false friendships. The experience he has earned has been dearly paid for, that 's all. Our ancestors used to say: 'Provided our son comes back with both ears and his honor safe all is well.' " ^' Honor ! " cried poor Eve. *' Alas, how man}^ vir- tues Lucien has lost ! To write against his conscience ! to attack his best friend ! to accept the money of an actress ! To be seen in public with her ! to wring our last penny from us ! — " "Ah! that is nothing!" cried David; then he checked himself; the secret of Lucien's forgery was about to escape him. Unfortunately Eve, who noticed his manner, was seized with vague anxiet}'. "Nothing!" she exclaimed. "How shall we ever pay that three thousand francs ? " " In the first place,'^ replied David, •' we shall renew the lease for the printing-room with Cerizet. For the last six months the fifteen per cent profit which the Cointets allowed him on the work done for them has given him six hundred francs, and he has earned five hundred b}" outside work he obtained from others." " If the Cointets find that out they may not be wil- ling to renew the lease ; they will be afraid of him," said Eve ; " for Cerizet is a dangerous man." "Well, what does it signify?" said David. "In a few weeks we shall be rich ! and as soon as Lucien is rich, mv dear love, he will be virtuous." 14 210 Lost Illusions. "Ah! David, my friend, m}- friend, what a saving you have allowed to escape you ! You mean that Lucien in the depths of poverty has no will or strength against evil ! You think of him as Monsieur d' Arthez thinks of him. There is no superiority without force of character, and Lucien is weak, — an angel who must not be tempted ; is not that ^our idea of him ? " *' Well, his nature is fine in its own sphere onh', its own heaven. Lucien is not made to struggle — I will spare him a struggle. My dear Eve, see I I am too near mj' great result not to show you this." He pulled from his pocket several sheets of paper of the size called in-octavo, waved them triumphantly over his head, and laid them on his wife's knee. " See ! a ream of paper, royal form, won't cost more than five francs," he said, making Eve finger his samples, which she did with childhke surprise. "Dear, dear! how did 3'ou succeed in making it?" she said. " With an old hair sieve I got from Marion," he answered. "Are not 3'ou satisfied yet?" she asked. " The question now is not the means of manufacture, but the net cost of the pulp. Alas ! ni}- child, I have only just entered upon that diflicult matter. In 1794 Madame Masson tried to convert printed paper into white paper, and she succeeded — at a monstrous cost. In England, about the year 1800, the Marquis of Salis- bury' attempted, as Seguin did in France in 1801, to use straw in the manufacture of paper. Our native reed, the arundo phrcuimltis^ furnished the paper you hold in your hand. But I am going to try nettles, and Lost Illusions. 211 thistles ; for in order to keep down the cost of the fundamental material I must relj' on vegetai)le sub- stances which grow in marshes and waste lands ; the}-, of course, cost little. M3' whole secret lies in a prepar- ation which I appl}- to these substances. At present, the process is not enough simplified. However, in spite of this difficult}', I am certain to confer a benefit on the manufacture of paper in France by which all literature will profit ; I shall make it a monopoly of our countr}', as iron, pit-coal, and earthenware are monopolies of England. I mean to be the Jacquart of paper-making." Eve rose, moved to enthusiasm and admiration by David's single-heartedness ; she opened her arms to him and pressed him to her heart, laying her head upon his shoulder. " You reward me as though I had really succeeded," he said. For all answer, Eve showed her sweet face wet with tears, and was silent for a moment, unable to speak. " I am not kissing the man of genius,'' she ^aid, '' but my comforter. In place of a fallen glory 3'ou show me a rising one. You soften the grief I feel at my brother's degradation by the knowledge of my hus- band's grandeur. Yes, you will be great I — great as the Graindorges, the Rouvets, the van Robais ; as the Persian who discovered madder ; as all those men of whom 3'ou have told me, whose names remain obscure because in bringing an industry to perfection they did great benefit to the world without displa}'." "What can they be about at this time of night?" Boniface Cointet was saying. 212 Lost Illusions. The tall Cointet was walking about the place du Murier with Cerizet, and he saw, as he spoke, the shadows of the husband and wife on the muslin window- curtains. Cointet was in the habit of coming there at midnight to talk business with Cerizet, who was charged with the dut}' of watching everj* action of his late employer. "He is showing her, no doubt, the paper he manu- factured this morning," replied Cerizet. '^ What substance did he use for it?" asked the paper-maker. "Impossible to guess!" replied Cerizet. "I clam- bered on the roof and made a hole through it ; I watched Se'chard all night boiling his pulp in a copper pan ; I looked in vain at a heap of something he keeps piled up in a corner ; all I could find out was that the original material looked like a mass of tow." " Don't go an}' farther," said Boniface to his sp}', in a virtuous tone; "it would be improper. Madame Sechard will probably propose to you to renew your lease. When she does so, tell her that you want to be" come a master printer ; offer her half the value of the license and the plant. If thev accept, come and tell me. In any case, drag matters along ; they are now without monc}'." " Not a sou ! " said Cerizet. " Not a sou," repeated Cointet. " They are mine ! " he added softly to iiimself. The firm of MtHivier in Paris and that of the Cointets at Angouleme combined the business of banking with their otlier vocations, the one as agent for paper- makers, the other as paper-making printers. The Treas- Lost Illusions. 213 my has not yet found a way to control commercial business so as to force those who practise surreptitious banking to take out a banking license, which costs, in Paris for example, five hundred francs. But the brothers Cointet and Metivier, though they were what is called at the Bourse " marrons " (from the old word marronner : AnglicC', to maroon, — play the part of pirates and corsairs), did a business of their own, amounting to several hundred thousand francs quarterly, in the mone\^ markets of Paris, Bordeaux, and Angou- leme. It happened that this ver3' night the Cointet brothers had received from Metivier, in Paris, the three notes of a thousand francs each to which Lucien had signed his brother-in-law's name. The tall Cointet at once constructed, on the basis of this debt, a formidable scheme, directed, as we shall see, against the poor and patient inventor. The next da}', at seven in the morning, Boniface Cointet was walking up and down by the conduit which fed his paper-mill, the noise of which covered the words of those who were near it. He was waiting for a 3'oung man about twent3'-nine 3'ears of age, who for the last six weeks had been practising as a law3'er in the courts Y of Angouleme ; the name of this man was Pierre Petit- Claud. " You were in college at Angouleme at the same time as David Sechard, I think?" said the tall Cointet to the 3'oung lawver, who had taken care not to miss bis appointment with the rich merchant. "Yes, monsieur," replied Petit-Claud, keeping step with Cointet. " Have you kept up the acquaintance?" 214 Lost Illusions, *'We have met only two or three times since his return. It could not be otherwise ; I am buried in m}- office or engaged in the courtroom on common days, and on Sundays and feast days I study ; for I have had to rely wholl}' on myself" Cointet nodded his head in token of approval. " When David and I did meet, he asked me what I had been doing. I told him I had studied law in Poi- tiers, and was afterwards head-clerk to Maitre Olivet ; and that I hoped to be able to bu}' that practice some day. I was much more intimate with Lucien Chardon, who now calls himself de Rubempre, the lover of Ma- dame de Bargeton, our great poet, and now David Sechard's brother-in-law." " You can, therefore, go to Sechard and tell him vou have now bought the practice, and offer him your ser- vices," said Cointet. '* That is never done," said the young man. " He has had no suit ; he has never employed a law- yer ; it can be done," insisted Cointet, who was closely examining the little practitioner under shelter of his spectacles. Son of a tailor at I'lloumeau and despised by his schoolmates, Pierre Petit-Claud seemed to have had a certain amount of gall infused into his blood. His face ' had the dirty, muddy tints which indicate former ill- nesses, privations, nights of anxiety, and, nearly always, evil feelings. The fellow can be described by two words that are used in common parlance. — he was sharp and snnp[)lsh. His cracked voice harmonized with his sour face, his pinched appearance, and the undecided color of his furtive eve, which was that of Lost Illusions. 215 a magpie. Napoleon declared that a magpie eye was an unfailing indication of dishonest}': *' Look at such a one," he said to Las-Cases at Saint Helena (speaking of one of his confidants whom he was forced to dismiss for dishonesty) ; " I don't see how I could have trusted him so long, for he has the eye of a lufigi^te." So, when the tall Cointet had fully e:!Mmined the puny little lawyer with scanty hair and a^ace pitted with the small-pox, whose forehead and skull were becoming one, when he had observed him resting his hand on his hip wearily, he said to himself, ''He is m}* man." And, in fact, Petit-Claud, soaked in bitterness, filled with scorn, eaten up b}' a corrosive desire to force his wa}', had alread\' had the audacity' to bu}' the practice of his employer for thirt}* thousand francs, without the means to pa}' for it, trusting to a rich marriage to pay it off, and relying also on his late employer to find him a wife, — for the predecessor has always a personal interest in marrying a successor, when the latter owes for his practice. Petit-Claud, however, relied still more upon himself; for he was not without a certain superi- ority, rare in the provinces, the mainspring of which was his vindictiveness. Great hatred, great eflforts. There is a vast difference between city lawyers and provincial lawyers, and the tall Cointet was much too clever not to profit by the little passions which move these little men. In Paris, a lawyer, if he is remarkable, — and there are many such, — has several of the quali- ties which distinguish a diplomatist ; the number of his cases, the magnitude of the interests and the breadth of the questions that are brought before him, prevent his regarding bis business solely as a means of making a 216 Lost Illusions. fortune. Whether he is for or against, armed offen- sively or defensively, a lawsuit is no longer to him, as it once was, an object of lucre. In the provinces, on the contrar}', law3'ers cultivate what they call, in the legal regions of Paris, '' kindling,'' — that is, a crowd of little deeds and legal papers which swell the bill of costs, use much stamped paper, and keep the pot a- boiling. These trifles are valuable to the country law- yer ; he sees a charge to be made, where the Parisian lawyer thinks only of a fee. The fee is what the client owes to his lawyer over and above the costs for conduct- ing, more or less ably, his case. The Treasury' gets half the costs, while the fees belong solely to the law- 3'er. Let us say it boldly : the fees paid are rarely in keeping with the fees asked and justlj* due for the ser- vices of a good lawyer. The barristers, physicians, and attornej's of Paris are, like courtesans with their tran- sient lovers, constantly on their guard against the grati- tude of their clients. The client before, and the client after the suit is brought, might make two admirable genre pictures worthy of Meissonnier, which would be precious no doubt to many a feed lawyer. There is another difference between the Paris law- yers and the provincial law3'ers. The Parisian solicitor seldom pleads ; he speaks sometimes before the judge in chambers; but in most of the departments in 1822 (since then barristers have swarmed) the solicitors were barristers and pled their own causes. This double life produced double work, which gave the country solicitor the intellectual vices of a barrister, with- out relieving him of the weighty obligations of a solicitor. The provincial solicitor became garrulous. Lost Illusions. 217 and lost that lucidit}' of judgment which is so impor- tant in the management of legal business. By thus doubling liimself a superior man will sometimes make of himself two inferior men. In Paris a solicitor never wastes his faculties in words before the court, he sel- dom pleads for or against ; consequenth' he retains the balance of his ideas. If the ballista of the law is under his control, if he ransacks the arsenal for methods which the contradictions of jurisprudence will put into his hands, he keeps his own counsel on the matter in behalf of which he is straining ever}' nerve to prepare a triumph. Thought is much less intoxicating than speech. B3' dint of talking a man comes to believe what he says ; whereas he who is silent can act against his thought without impairing it, and win a bad case without declaring it to be a good one, as the solicitor who pleads is forced to do frequenth'. An experienced Parisian solicitor makes a better judge than an experi- enced Parisian barrister. It will be seen, therefore, that a provincial solicitor has manj^ causes for being a second-rate man ; he es- pouses the cause of pett}' passions, he manages petty affairs, he lives b}' bills of costs ; he misuses the Code of proceedings, and — he pleads ! In a word, he has a number of infirmities. Consequently, when we meet with a remarkable man among provincial lawyers we ma}' set him down as realh' superior. •' Monsieur, I thought that 3'ou sent for me to talk business," replied Petit-Claud, making an epigram of his speech by the look which he darted at the impene- trable spectacles of the tall Cointet. " Without circumlocution," replied Boniface Cointet, ** I have this to say — " 218 Lost Illuaions, After these words, big with confidences, Cointet sat down on a bench, and invited Petit-Claud to do the same. " When Monsieur du Hauto\' passed through Angou- leme in 1804 to go to Valence as consul, he made the acquaintance of Madame de Seno.:5ches, then Mademoi- selle Zephirine — by whom he had a daughter," went on Cointet, speaking in a low voice. '* Yes," he continued, as Petit-Claud started, " and the marriage of Monsieur de Senonches and Mademoiselle Zephirine followed this clandestine birth almost immediatel}'. This daughter, brought up in the country by mj' mother, is IMademoi- selle FranQoise de la Haj'e, now living with Madame de Senonches who is, according to custom, her god- mother. As m}' mother, who was wife to the farmer of old Madame de Cardanet, grandmother of Mademoiselle Zephirine, knew the secret of the only heiress of the Cardanets and the Senonches of the elder branch, I was intrusted with the small sums whicli Monsieur Francis du Hauto}' sent from time to time towards the support of his daughter. Her fortune was made by investing these small sums, which to-day amount to over thirt}' thousand francs. Madame de Senonches will certainly give the trousseau, the silver, and "some furniture. I can get the girl for you, m}- lad," added Cointet, strik- ing Petit-Claud on the knee. " By marrying Franqoise de la Haye you will obtain the greater part of the aris- tocracy of Angouleme as clients. This alliance, in spite of the bar sinister, will open a splendid future to you. The position of a barrister and solicitor would, I suppose, be thouglit sutlicient ; in fact, I know that they expect no better." Lost Illusions. 219 ''What can be done?" said Petit-Claud, eagerl3\ " You have Maitre Cachan for your lawyer — " "Yes, and I shall not leave Cachan abruptly for you ; 3'ou will onl}^ get m}^ custom later," said Cointet, significantly. *' You ask what can be done — why, David Sechard's business. The poor devil has three thousand francs to paj' us, and he can't pay them. You must defend him ; run up a huge bill of costs, and don't be afraid ; go on, and pile up the items. Dou- blon, the sheriff, who will proceed against him under Cachan's direction, won't fail to strike hard. A word to the wise, 3'ou know? Now, 3'oung man ? — " He made an eloquent pause, during which the pair looked at each other. " We have never seen each other, you and I," re- sumed Cointet. " I have never spoken to 5'ou ; you know nothing of Monsieur du Hauto}^, nor of Madame de Senonches, nor of Mademoiselle de la Haye ; onl}', when the time comes, say two months hence, you can ask for the hand of that young woman in marriage. When it is necessary that we should see each other, come here at night. We cannot write." " You wish to ruin Sechard ? " '' No, not wholly ; but he must be kept in prison for some time.'' "For what object?" " Do you think me such a fool as to tell you? if you have sense enough to guess it you have enough to hold your tongue." " Old Sechard is rich," said Petit-Claud, entering at once into Cointet's idea, and perceiving a cause of failure. 220 Lost Illusions. " As long as the father Hves he won't give a penny to his son ; and that old ex-typographer is a long way yet from printing liis funeral cards — " " I agree ! " said Petit-Claud, deciding promptly ; *' I ask you for no guarantees ; I 'm a lawyer ; if I am tricked I shall know how to bring you to accounty " That scamp will go far," thought Cointet, as he parted from Petit- Claud. The day after this conference, April 3, the brothers Cointet caused the first of Lucien's forged notes to be presented. Unfortunately it was brought to poor Madame Sechard, who, seeing at once the imitation of her husband's handwriting, called David and said to him plainly, " You never signed that note? " "No," he said, "your brother was so pressed he signed it for me." Eve gave back the note to the Cointets' office-bo}-, saying, " We are not able to pay it." Then, feeling that her strength was giving way, she went up to her room, where David followed her. " My husband," said Eve in a faint voice, " go to the Cointets' ; they will surely have some consideration for you. Beg them to wait ; and besides, point out to them that by renewing Cerizet's lease they will owe you a thousand francs." David went at once to his enemies. A foreman can always become a master-printer, but a clever printer is not always a business man. Consequently David, who knew little of business, was silent in i)resence of the tall Cointet when, having made his excuses awkwardly and preferred his re(iuest with a parched throat and a beating heart, he received the following reply : "This Lost Illusions. 221 does not concern us ; we have taken the note from Metivier, and he will pay us. Address yourself to Metivier.'' ''Oh!" said Eve, when David returned with this answer, " if the note belongs to Monsieur Metivier we need not be troubled.'' 222 Lost Illusions. III. A LECTURE, PUBLIC AND GRATUITOUS, ON BILLS OP COSTS, FOR THE BENEFIT OF YOUNG MEN WHO CANNOT MEET THEIR NOTES. The next day Victor- Ange-Hermenegilde Doublon, the sheriff, gave notice of the protest of the bill at two o'clock, an hour when the place du Murier is full of people : and in spite of the care he took to speak to Marion and Kolb at the side-door on the lane, the pro- test was none the less known to the whole business community of Angouleme before night. Besides, how could these hj^pocritical precautions of Doublon, who had been cautioned b^- the tall Cointet to show the utmost consideration, save Eve and David from the commercial disgrace of a suspension of paj'ment ? The following prosaic details will for once in a way seem only too short. Ninety-nine readers out of a hundred will be enticed along by them as they are by some piquant novelty in the shops. This will prove once more the truth of the axiom that there is nothing less known than that which everybody ought to know, namely. The Law. Certainly to the vast majority of Frenchmen the mechanism of a wheel of the Bank of France, if prop- erly described, would afford all the interest of a journey into a foreign country. When a merchant sends froi'i Lost Illusions. 223 the town where he lives, a note of hand pa3'able to a person in another cit}', as David was supposed to have done to oblige Lucien, he changes the simple transaction of a payment made between merchants of the same town for purposes of business into something which resembles a letter of exchange drawn by one place on another place. Therefore when Metivier accepted the three notes from Lucien he was obliged, in order to touch their amount, to send them to his correspondents in Angouleme, the Cointet Brothers. That meant a loss for Lucien of so much per cent mulcted from each note, beside the dis- count, under the name of " commission for change of place." The Sechard notes had now passed into the categor}' of banking affairs. You could hardl}' believe how the quality of banker joined to the august title of creditor changes the condition of a debtor. Therefore, ill hanking (pa}' attention to that expression) whenever a note, transmitted from the Paris mone}' market to the Angouleme money market, is unpaid the bankers owe it to themselves to have recourse to what are termed in law " bills of costs." As soon as Doublon had registered his protest he took it himself to the Cointets'. The sheriff kept an account with these h'nxes of Angouleme, and gave them a credit of six months, which the tall Cointet pro- longed into a year b}- his system of payment, all the while saying from month to month to the sub lynx, "Doublon, do you want any money?" Boniface Comtet now seated himself tranquilly at his desk, took out a slip of paper stamped with thirtj'-five centimes, all the while talking with Doublon on the real condition of their various debtors. 224 Lost Illusions. " Well, are you satisfied with that little Ganncrac? " "• He is not doing well ; there 's a leak somewhere." *' Ah! the fact is he has too man}- drawing on him. They tell me his wife is expensive." " His wife ! " cried Doublon in a sarcastic tone. The master-lynx, who had ruled his paper by this time, now wrote off in a round hand the following account, which is given verbatim : — Account Rendered and Bill of Costs. To one note of One Thousand Francs, dated at Angou- leme the tenth of February, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-two, drawn by Sechard Fils to the order of Lucien Chardon (otherwise called de Rubempre), passed to the order of Metivier and to our order, falling due on the thirtieth of April last, and protested on the first of May, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-two. Principal 1,000 00 Serving notice of protest 12 35 Commission at one half per cent ... 5 00 Commission on brokerage one quarter per cent 2 50 Stamps, return draft, and present account 1 35 Interest and postage 3 00 1,024 20 Exchange at one and one quarter per cent 13 45 1,037 45 One thousand and thirty-seven francs, sixty-five centimes, for which sum we have drawn at sight on ^lonsieur ]\Ictivier, rue Serpente, Paris, to the order of IMonsieur Gannerac of rHoumeau. CoiNTET Brothers. Angoulunic, May 2, 1822. Lost Illusions. 225 At the foot of this little bill, made out with the ease of a practised hand (all the while talking with Doublon), Cointet added the following declaration : — We, the undersigned, Postal, master apothecary at I'Hou- meau, and Ganuerac, carrier, inhabitants of the town of Angouleme, do hereby certify that exchange between the said town and Paris is one and one quarter per cent. Angouleme, May 3, 1822. " There, Doublon, be so good as to carry that to Postel and to Gannerac, and ask them to sign the declaration, and bring it back to me to-morrow morn- ing." Doublon, well versed in these instruments of torture, went off as if employed in the simplest ever3'-da3^ matter ; and all Angouleme was soon well aware of the unhappy condition of poor David Sechard's affairs. And what animadversions were then made against his apathy and incompetence ! some said his ruin was caused by his excessive love for his wife ; otliers by his blind affection for his brother-in-law. What folly to take other people's burdens upon him. Old Sechard was right in treatino- him harshl}' ; the}^ admired his wisdom. Now, all you who for any reason forget or are unable to keep your money engagements, examine carefully the strictly legal proceedings by which in ten minutes the bank exacts twenly-eight francs interest on a capital of one thousand francs. The first item of the above account is the onlj- incon- testable one. The second item concerns the Treasury and the sheriff. The six francs mulcted by the former (for registerino- 15 226 Lost Illusions. the debtor's miser}- and furnishing stamped paper) will prolong the life of this abuse for some time j'et. You know, moreover, that this item covers a profit of one franc and fifty centimes to the banker for brokerage. The commission of one half per cent which forms tlie third item is exacted under the ingenious pretext that not to receive a payment is equivalent, in banking, to discounting a note. Though it is precisely the reverse, giving a thousand francs seems to be considered the same as not receiving them cash in hand. Whoever has presented bills to be discounted knows that besides the six francs legally due, the broker deducts, under the humble name of commission, a percentage, which per- centage being over and above the legal rate of interest enables him to make a further sum, which he loans at a profit. The more he earns, the more he demands. Therefore, do your discounting with fools ; it is cheaper. But are there any fools in a bank ? The law obliges the banker to furnish the certificate of a mone3'-changer as to the current rate of interest. In places so unfortunate as not to have a Bourse, that is, an Exchange, this duty of the mone3'-changer is per- formed by two merchants. The commission for broker- age due to this agent is fixed at one quarter per cent of the sum for which the note is drawn. It is custom- ary to consider that this commission has been paid to the merchants who take the place of the money-changer, and the banker simpl}' puts the percentage in his own cash-box. 80 much tor the third article of this charm- ing account. The fourth item includes the cost of the stamped paper on which the various accounts and bills are written, and Lost Illusions. 227 that of the stamp on what is so ingeniously called " la retraite;" that is to sa\-, the new draft drawn b}' the banker on his brother banker to reimburse himself. The fifth item includes the postage of letters and the legal interest on the sum in question during the time that elapses before it comes into the banker's hands. And, finall}', the change in the market, the verj' ob- ject of a bank, is made the reason of another payment. Now, sift this account in which (as Polichinello com- putes in the Neapolitan song so delightfulh' sung by Lablache) " fifteen and five make twenty-two." Evi- dently the signature of Messrs. Postel and Gannerac was a matter of courtes}', and the Cointets certified for them in return when required ; no charge either wa}'. It was merely putting in practice the well-known prov- erb " Pass me the rhubarb, and I '11 pass 3'ou the senna." The Cointets, having a current account with Metivier, were not obliged to draw a " retraite," that is, anew draft ; a returned bill onh' required one line more to the credit or debit side. This absurd account reduces itself in reality to the thousand francs due, the costs of the protest, and one half per cent interest for one month's delayed payment. If a banking-house has an average of one unpaid note dail}" of the value of a thousand francs, it earns twent}'- eight francs daih', by the grace of God and the consti- tutions of the bank, a formidable sovereignt}' invented by the Jews of the twelfth century, which to-day holds thrones and peoples in the hollow of its hand. In other words, one thousand francs brins^ in to one banking- house twentj'-eight francs a day, or ten thousand two hundred and twenty francs a year. Triple that number 228 Lout Illusions. of bills of costs, and 3-011 have a revenue of thivt}' thou- sand francs on fictitious capital. Consequent!}', noth- ing in banking is more lovingly cultivated than such accounts. If David Sechard had gone to pay his note on the 3d of Ma}^, or even on the very day it was pro- tested, the Cointet Brothers would have said to him, "We have returned j-our note to Monsieur Metivier," though the paper might be still in their desk. This, in the language of the provincial banks, is called " making the francs sweat." Postage alone brings in twent}- thousand francs a year to the Kellers, who correspond with the whole world ; and the proceeds of bills of costs ' pay for the opera-box, carriage, and dress of Madame la Baronne de Nucingen. Postage is an abuse which is all the more flagrant because bankers dispose of a dozen matters of the same nature in a dozen lines of one letter. It is strange but true that the Treasury takes its share of this premium wrung from miser}' ; its coffers are swelled b}' commercial misfortunes. As to the bank, it flings to the debtor from the recesses of its counting- room this reasonable question: " Wh}' are you not prepared to pay ? " to which, alas ! the unhappy victim has no answer. Thus the bill of costs is full of terrible fictions, for which debtors, if they do but reflect on this instructive history, will feel in future a salutary horror. On the 4th of May Metivier received the return note and bill of costs from the Messrs. Cointet, with an order to prosecute to the utmost in Paris INIonsieur Lucieu Chardon, otherwise called de Rubempre. Some days later Eve received in answer to tlie letter slie had written to INL'tivier the following brief reply, which set her mind conipletel}' at ease : — Lost Illusions. 229 To Monsieur Sechard Fils, Printer, Angouleme. I received in due course your esteemed favor of the 5th instant. I understand from your explanations relating to the unpaid note of the 30th of April last, that you have obliged your brother-in-law. Monsieur de Rubempre, who has spent so much money that it would be doing you a service to compel him to pay this note. His position is such that he will probably not delay doing so. Should your honored brother-in-law not take up this note, I shall rely on the credit of your long established house, and remain as before, Your servant to command, Metivier. "Well," said Eve to David, " Lucien will know by this summons that we were unable to meet the note." What a change in Eve's feelings was shown by this remark ! The increasing love inspired by David's na- ture, as she came more and more to nnderstand it, was superseding in her heart the old fraternal love. But, alas! to how many illusions was she forced to bid adieu. Let us now follow the coarse of that returned note and bill of costs in Paris. A " third-holder " (the com- mercial name of one who holds a note transmissibly),is permitted by law to sue whichever of the divers debtors of the note offers the best or quickest chance of pay- ment. In virtue of this legal right Lucien was sum- moned to pay by Metivler's sheriff. Here follow the different phases of this action. Me'tivier, behind whom were the Cointets, knew ver}- well that Lucien was in- solvent ; but in the eye of the law insolvency de facto does not exist until it is legally declared. It was now in the following manner legally declared impossible to obtain payment of the protested note from Lucien. 230 Lost Illusions, Metivier's sheriff notified Lucien, May 5, that the note was protested in Angouleme and the return papers in his hands, and he summoned the poet before the Court of Commerce in Paris to hear a vast number of things, among others that he was liable to imprisonment as a merchant. When, at last, in the midst of his life as a stag at ba^', Lucien read this scrawl, he also re- ceived notice that judgment had gone against him by default. He saw the meaning of it all, and the injury he had done to his famil3\ Tears came to his ej^es ; hp pitied David ; he felt ashamed of his forgery and wished to pay the note. Naturally he consulted his friends ; but by the time Lousteau, Blondet, Bixiou, and Nathan had told him that poets ought to snap their fingers at courts of commerce, legal inventions meant oxAy for shopkeepers, Lucien was alread}' in the grasp of the law. His door bore the yellow poster which has such a stringent effect upon credit, carrying alarm to the mind of every tradesman, and freezing the very blood in the veins of a poet who has feeling enough to care for the bits of wood, the silken rags, the colored woollen stuffs, and the other knick-knackery which goes by the name of furniture. The author of "The Daisies" rushed to a friend of Bixiou, a lawyer named Desroches, who laughed at Lucien for being in such a fright about, as he called it, notliing at all. ''It is nothing^ my dear fellow ; but I suppose you want to gain time ? " " Yes, as much as possible." " Well, then, you must apply for a sta}' of execution. Go and see a friend of mine, Masson, an attorney in the commercial courts. It can all be managed easily ; Lost Illusions. 231 3'ou are a journalist of some note, you know. If you are summoned before the civil courts come to me; that's m}' affair." On May 28 Lucien, summoned before the civil court, was condemned much more quickl}' than Desroches ex- pected, for the creditors were urgent. Wlien the new execution was put in and the yellow posters again ap- peared on the door, Desroches, who felt rather foolish at getting ' ' pinched " as he said, in that way, moved a stay of proceedings, declaring with perfect truth that the furniture belonged to Mademoiselle Coralie (the actress with whom Lucien lived) , and he referred the question to the judge, who rendered a decision that the property belonged to the actress. Metivier appealed, but his claim was overruled by a judgment rendered on the 30th of July. August 7, Maitre Cachan received b}* coach an enor- mous package of papers entitled, " Metivier against Sechard and Chardon." The first document was the following little bill, the correctness of which is hereb}^ guaranteed, for it is copied from the original : — Xote of April 30 last, drawn by Sechard Fils, to the order of Lucien de Rubempre, and bill of costs. L037 fr. 45 c. May 5. N'otification of protest and return of note ; with summons before the Court of Com- merce in Paris for May 7 8 75 " 7. Judgment, condemnation by default with arrest for debt 35 00 " 10. Notification of judgment 8 50 " 14. Proces-verbal of distraint 16 00 232 Lost Illusions, " 18. Proces-verbal of application of placards . 15 25 " 19. Insertion in newspaper 4 00 " 24. Proces-verbal of reading judgment to de- fendant ; containing appeal for stay of pro- ceedings by the Sieur Lucien de Rubempre 12 00 " 27. Judgment of tlie court which, on ap2:)eal duly repeated, sends the parties to the civil courts 35 00 " 28. Summons without delay by IMetivier, before the civil court • 6 50 June 2. Judgment after hearing, condemning Lucien Chardon to pay the note, and bill of costs, and the plaintiffs the costs before the Com't of Commerce 150 00 " 6. Notification of the above ...... 10 00 " 15. Injunction 5 50 " 19. Proces-verbal of seizure, containing demur- rer to seizure, by the Demoiselle Coralie, who declares that the furniture belongs to her, and demands to go before the judge in chambers at once, in case the execution must proceed 20 00 " 19. Order of the President sending the parties into court 40 00 " 19. Judgment affirming that the property be- longs to the said Demoiselle Coralie . . . 250 00 " 20. Appeal by Metivier 17 00 " 30. Decree confirming judgment 230 00 Total . 8S9~00 Note of May 31, and bill of costs . . . 1037 fr. 45 c. Notification to Lucien Chardon .... 8 75 1,04G 20 Note of June 30, and bill of costs .... 1,037 45 Notification to Lucien Chardon .... 8 75 1,04(1 20 Lout Illusions. 233 This account was accompanied by a letter in which Metivier instructed Cachan, the lawyer at Angouleiue, to compel David Sechard to pay b}* every means of law. Maitre Uoublon accordingly summoned Sechard before the Court of Commerce of Angouleme for the payment of the sum total of the three notes and the costs already incurred on the first ; namely, a sum total of four thousand and eighteen francs, eighty- five cen- times, 4018 frs. 85c. The day on which Doublon brought to Madame Sechard the order compelling her to pa}' this enormous sum, Eve had received earl\' in the morning this annihilating letter from Metivier : — To Monsieur David Sechard, Printer, Angouleme : Your brother-in-law, Liicien Chardon, is a man ot shame- ful dishonesty, who has put his property in the name of an actress, with whom he lives. You ought, monsieur, to have honorably informed me of these circumstances, and not have allowed me to sue him uselessly, for you did not reply to my letter of ]\lay 10th last. You must not feel affronted if I demand of you im- mediate payment of the three notes and my expenses m- curred thereon. Accept, etc., etc., Metivier. Having heard nothing more on the subject since Metivier's letter of May 10th, P2ve, understanding noth- ing of commercial law, supposed that her brother had repaired his crime by paying the forged notes. '• David," she said to her husband, '• go first of all to Petit-Claud ; explain to him our position and ask his advice." '' My dear friend," said the poor printer, hastily enter- ing the private office of his comrade, '• I little thought, 234 Lost Illusions, when 3'ou came to tell me of your appointment and to offer me your services, that I should need them so soon." Petit-Claud studied the fine face of the thinker as he sat opposite to him, for he did not need to listen to the details of an affair which he knew a great deal better than the man who was explaining ]them. Seeing that Sechard was anxious, he said to himself, " The trick works." This kind of scene often takes place in a lawyer's office. '' Why should the Cointets persecute him?" thought Petit-Claud. Lawyers are as desirous of penetrating the minds of their clients as those of their adversaries ; they feel the need of knowing the wrong side as well as the right side of the legal plot. " You must gain time," said Petit-Claud, when Sechard had finished his tale. " How much do you want ? Will three or four months do ? " "Oh! four months will save me! " cried David, to whose eyes Petit-Claud seemed a deliverer. *' Well, they can be prevented from touching your furniture or arresting you for three or four months ; but it will cost you dear," said Petit- Claud. '' Well, that won't signify," cried Sechard. " Do you expect remittances ? are you sure of them ? " asked the lawyer, somewhat surprised at the ease with which his client fell into the trap. " In three months I shall be a rich man," said the in- ventor, with an inventor's confidence. " Your father is still above ground," said Petit- Claud ; "he clings to his vines." " Do you suppose I am counting on ni}' father's death?" said David. " I am on the track of an Indus- Lost Illusions, 235 trial secret which will enable me to manufacture paper without a thread of cotton, but quite as firm as Holland paper, at fift}' per cent below the present net cost of the cotton pulp/' '^ There's a fortune in it!" exclaimed Petit-Claud, understanding at once the Cointets' scheme. " A great fortune, m}' dear friend, for ten 3-ears from now ten times the amount of paper that is used to-da}* will be wanted. Journalism is going to be the craze of our times." • '' Does any one know your secret? " *' No one but my wife." ' ' You have not told your plan — your prospects — to any one? to the Cointets, for example?" "I think I did speak of it to the Cointets, but vaguely." A flash of generosity passed through the embittered soul of Petit-Claud, and he tried to combine the inter- ests of the Cointets and his own with that of Sechard. ''Listen to me, David," he said. " We are school- mates ; I will defend 3-ou ; but remember, this defence against obvious law will cost you five or six thousand francs. Don't compromise 3'our future. I think you will be obliged to share the profits of your invention with some manufacturer. You would think twice, I am sure, before you would attempt to manufacture paper yourself ; besides, you will have to get a patent. All that will take time and money. The sheriff will be down upon you meanwhile, sooner or later, in spite of all our efforts to escape him." " I hold to my secret ! " replied David, with the sim- plicity of a student. 236 Lost Illusions. '' Well, keep j'our secret ; it will be 3'our sheet anchor," returned Petit-Claud, repulsed in his first and loyal intention to avoid a lawsuit b}' a compromise. " I don't want to know it. But listen to what I sa}- : work in the bowels of the earth, if you can ; let no one see or suspect ^'our methods of execution, or 3'Our anchor will be stolen from 3'ou. An inventor is often a simpleton ; 3'Ou think too much of 30ur secrets to think of anything else. Before long some one will suspect the object of your researches ; and remember, you are surrounded b3' manufacturers. So inan3' paper-makers, so man3" enemies ! You are like a beaver in the midst of the trappers, — don't let them get your skin." " Thank you, my dear comrade, I have thought of all that m3'self," said David ; ',' but I am just as much obliged to 3^ou for showing me such forethought and solicitude. It is not reall3' a question of myself in this matter. I could be satisfied with twelve hundred francs a year, and my father will certainly leave me three times as much some da3' ; I live by love and in my thoughts — a divine life ! But the question is for Lucien and for my wife ; it is for them I work." "Well, sign me this power of attorney; and think of nothing but your discovery. Wiien the time comes for you to hide yourself to escape arrest, I will warn you the night before. And let me tell you again not to allow an3* one to come into your house whom you cannot trust as you would 3'ourself." *' Cerizet does not wish to renew his lease, and that is wh3" we are pressed for mone3' to meet our daily expenses," said David. " There is no one now about the premises but Marion and Kolb, an Alsacian wiio is Lost Illusions. 237 like a spaniel in his devotion to me and my wife and mother-in-law." " Distrust that spaniel ! " said Petit-Claud. "You don't know him/' cried David; " Kolb is another myself." " May I test him?" " Yes," said Sechard. " Well, good-bye ; but send Madame Sechard to me ; I must have a power of attorney from your wife as well. And, my friend," added Petit-Claud, warning him thus of the legal disasters which were about to overtake him, " remember that jour aflfairs are all on fire." " Well, here I am, one foot in Burgundy, the other in Champagne," thought Petit-Claud, after accompany- ing his friend David to the door of the office. 238 Lost Illusions. IV, EUREKA. Harassed by the anno3'ances caused by loss of money, distressed at the condition of his wife, who was overcome hy Lucien's infam}*, David still worked on at his problem. As he walked back to his own house from Petit-Claud's office, he was abstractedly chewing a stalk of the nettles he had been steeping in water in his attempts to discover a suitable material for his pulp. His desire was to find some equivalent to the various processes of maceration and webbing of all that becomes thread, linen, muslin. As he went along the streets, rather pleased at his conference with his schoolmate, he felt a wad of something sticking upon his teeth. He took it in his hand, smoothed it out, and found a pulp superior to any of the compositions he had hitherto obtained, — for the great difficulty with pulps made from vegetable matter is a want of cohe- sion ; straw, for instance, gives a brittle paper, that is almost metallic and sonorous. Such luck as this fulls only to the boldest searchers after natural causes. " I must now," he said, " contrive to do by machinery and some chemical agency what I have just done with my jaws." He appeared before his wife in all the joy of his belief in a victory. Lost lUmions. 239 *' Oh ! my angel, don't be uneas_y," he cried, seeing that his wife had been crying. " Petit-Claud guaran- tees us several months of tranquillit}'. It will cost me something ; but, as he said when we parted, all French- men have the right to make their creditors wait, pro- vided the}' end b}' paying capital, interest, and costs in full. Well, that is just what I shall do." ^' And live meantime?" said poor Eve, who thought of everything. "Ah! true," responded David, putting his hand to his ear, with an inexplicable gesture common to per- sons who are nonplussed. "My mother can take care of little Lucien," said his wife, "and I will work." "Eve! oh, m}' Eve!" cried David, taking his wife in his arms and pressing her to his heart. "Eve, a iew miles away from here, at Saintes, in the sixteenth centur}', one of the greatest men of France — for he was not only the inventor of glaze, he was also the glorious precursor of Buffon and Cuvier and a geolo- gist before them, the simple-minded soul ! — Bernard Palissy suffered the passion of inventors ; but he had his wife, his children, and the whole neighborhood against him. His wife sold his tools. He wandered about the countrj', misunderstood, hunted, sneered at. But I — I am loved!" "Deeply loved," said Eve, with the placid expression of a love sure of itself. " Then I can suffer all the sufferings of poor Bernard Palissy, the maker of the Ecouen porcelains, whom Charles IX. exempted from the massacre of Saint Bar- tholomew. That man gave at last, in the presence of 240 Lost Illusions. all Europe, wlien he was old, rich, and honored, lectures on what he called the ' Science of P^arths.' " " As long as ni}' fingers can liold an iron you shall want for notliing ! " cried, the poor wife, in tones of the deepest devotion. " When I was forewoman at Madame Prieur's I had a good little friend, Postel's cousin. Her name is Basine Clerget. AVell, Basine, who does our washing, told me just now, when she brought it home, that she is to take Madame Prieur's business ; I will go and work for her." "Ah! but not for long," replied Sechard. " I have discovered — '* For the first time Eve listened to that sublime faith in success which sustains inventors and gives them strength to push forward into the virgin forests of dis- covery with a smile that was almost sad. David dropped his head with a disheartened motion. " Oh ! my friend, I do not ridicule ; I am not laughing at you ; I do not doubt," cried his beautiful Eve, throw- ing herself on her knees beside her husband. " But I see how riglit 30U are to keep silence about your hopes, 3our experiments. Yes, inventors ought to hide the painful travail of their glory from every one, even from their wives, — a wife is always a woman. Your Eve could not help smiling when she heard you say for the twentietli time within a month, ' I have discovered.' '* David began to laugh so heartily himself that Eve took his hand and kissed it sacredly. Her husband's grandeur of soul, the simplicit}' of the inventor, the tears she sometimes surprised in the eves of that man of feeling and of poesy, developed in her a force of un- speakable endurance. She had recourse once more to Lost Illusions. 241 a means which had already been successful. She wrote to Monsieur Metivier advertising the sale of the print- ing-ottice, offering to pay him out of the proceeds, and entreating him not to ruin David b}' useless costs. To this letter Metivier, as they say, played dead ; his head- clerk answered that in the absence of Monsieur Meti- vier he could not take upon himself to arrest the course of law, for it was not his employer's custom to do so. Eve then proposed to renew the notes and pa}' all the accrued costs. This the Jiead-clerk consented to, pro- vided David's father would be his son's security. On this Eve walked out to Marsac, accompanied by her mother and Kolb. She braved the old man in his vine3'ard and was charming to him ; she even succeeded in smoothing Ins frowning brow ; but when, with a trembling heart, she spoke of the security, she saw a sudden and complete change come over that vinous countenance. " If I allowed my son to lay a finger at the edge of mj- mone3--box he would soon turn it inside out, and grab ever}' penny I have," cried the old man. '*• Children always prey upon a father. But I did n't ; I never cost mine a farthing. Your printing-room is deserted, — the rats and mice do the printing. You are handsome, you, and I like you ; you are a hard-working, careful woman ; but m}' son! Do you know what David is? "Well, he's a do-nothing of a student. If I had drilled him as thev drilled me, and not let him learn his letters, and made a bear of him like his father, he 'd own propert}' now. Oh ! that bo}', I tell 3'ou, he 's my cross ! And unhappily, he 's my only one, for I can't have another to take his place. He makes you unhappy." (Here Eve 16 242 Lost Illusions, protested with a vehement gesture of denial.) *' Yas," he said, rei)lying to her gesture, " you were obHged to take a wet-nurse, for your milk dried up. I know every- thing, mind that ; you are up before the courts, and all the town rings with it. I was nothing but a bear, I wasn't a learned man, nor foreman to the Didots, the glor}' of typography, — no, I was n't any of that, but never did I receive a bit of stamped paper. Do 3'ou know what I keep saying as I walk about my vines, trimming them and attending to my little matters? I say to myself: ' Poor old fellow, you give yourself lots of trouble ; you la}- by crown after crown, and you '11 leave a fine property, but it will all go to sheriffs and lawyers, or to rubbish, delusions, ideas ! ' Look here, my dear, you are mother of that little boy who looked to me to have his grandfather's nose when I held him at the font with Madame Chardon ; well now, I want you to think less of David, and more of that little scamp. I have no confidence except in 3'ou. You can, some da}' or other, prevent the waste of mj' propert}', — my poor property ! " '' But, dear papa Sechard, jour son will be j'our glorj' ; you will see him rich by his own efforts with the cross of the Legion of honor in his buttonhole." " What will he do to get it? " demanded the old man. '* You will see. But, meanwhile, how could three thousand francs ruin you? For that sum you could prevent his arrest. Well, if you have no confidence in him lend the money to me ; I will return it ; you can put a lien on my dowr\' or my work." " David Sechard in danger of arrest! " cried tlio old man, amazed to learn that what he supposed to be a Lost Illusions. 243 calumn}' was true. '* This comes of knowing how to sign his name! And m}- rent? Oh! I must go into Angouleme, ni}' girl, and see after m}'' own safety, and consult Cachan, the lawyer. You did well to come here ; a man warned is forearmed." After a struggle of two hours Eve was obliged to come awa\^ defeated by this unanswerable argument : "Women know nothing about business." Having gone with a vague hope of succeeding, the poor soul walked back to Angouleme almost fainting. She reached home just in time to receive the notification of the decree condemning Sechard to pay the whole sum to Metivier. In the provinces the sight of a sheriff at a man's door is an event ; and Doublon had been too often at David's house for the neighborhood not to talk of it. Before long, Eve was afraid to leave the premises, for she dreaded the whisperings she heard as she passed along. "Oh, brother! brother!" cried poor Eve, rushing into the alley and upstairs into her bedroom. " I never can forgive you, unless — " " Alas, yes! " said David, who met her; " he did it to avoid suicide." " Never let us speak of him again," she answered, gent]3\ "The woman who led him into that gulf of Paris was very criminal, — and your father, David, is very pitiless. Let us suffer in silence." A discreet knock at the door stopped the tender words on David's lips and Marion presented herself, having in tow the tall, stout Kolb. " Madame," she said, "Kolb and I see xery well that monsieur and madame are troubled ; and as we own between us eleven hundred francs of savings, we 244 Lost Illusions. thought they couldn 't be ])etter placed than in nia- dame's hands — " " Madame's hands!" echoed Kolb, enthusiastically. " Kolb," cried David, " 3'ou and I will never part. Take a thousand francs on account to Cachan, the lawyer, and ask for a receipt; we will keep the rest. Kolb, let no human power get out of you one word as to what I am doing, or about my absence from home, or what you ma}" see me bring back ; and when I send you to look for herbs — you know? — don't let any hu- man eye watch you. . They will try, m}- good Kolb, to make you betray me ; the}' may offer you a thousand, perhaps ten thousand francs — " " They may offer me millions and I sha'n't say one word," replied Kolb. " Don't I know army regula- tions?" *'I have warned you ; now go and ask Monsieur Petit-Claud to assist in making the payment to Mon- sieur Cachan." '' Yes," said the Alsacian, " and I hope I '11 some day be rich enough to punch his head for him, that man of law. I don't like his looks." " Kolb is a good man, madame," said the stout Marion. "He is strong as a Turk, and quiet as 11 lamb. He 's one to make a woman happy. It was he who first thought of investing our savings this way ; he calls thoni his ' cache.' Poor man ! if he speaks ill, he thinks well ; and I know what he means all the same. He thinks he had better go and work for others, so as not to cost you anything." " I would like; to be rich if only to reward such faith- ful hearts," said David to his wife. Lost Illusions. 245 Eve thought it all simple enough ; she was not sur- prised to meet with souls that were on the level of her own. Her way of taking this service would have ex- plained the nobilit}' of her character to the dullest and even to the most indifferent mind. " You will be rich some da}', monsieur ; your bread is baked," cried Marion. " Your father has just bought a farm, and that will be a good income for you, sooner or later." Under existing circumstances, this speech made by Marion to lessen the merit of her action shows an exquisite delicac}'. Like all things human, French legal procedure has its vices ; nevertheless, the sword of justice being two- edged, it serves for defence as well as for attack. Be- sides, it has this advantage ; if two lawyers come to an understanding (and the}' can do that without words, simply by their comprehension of each other's method of proceeding in a given case), a suit may be made to resemble the warfare of the first Marshal Biron, the nature of which he defined when his son proposed, at the siege of Rouen, a plan by which the city could be taken in two days. " Why are 3'ou in such a hurry to go and plant 3'our cabbages," said the marshal. Two generals can prolong a war indefinitely b}' bringing nothing to a crisis and sparing their troops ; like the Austrian generals whom the Aulic council never repri- manded for missing an important junction in order to let the soldiers eat their soup. Maitre Cachan, Petit- Claud, and Doublou now behaved even better than the Austrian generals ; the}' followed the example of an Austrian of antiquity, — Fabius Cunctator. 246 Lost Illusions. Petit-Claud, spiteful as a mule, had soon seen all the advantages of his position. After the payment of costs was secured to him b}' the tall Cointet, he determined to double on Cachan and make his own genius shine in the e3'es of the paper-maker by creating incidents and items which should fall to the account of Metivier. Unhappily for the fame of this young Figaro of the buskin, the historian must pass over the ground of his exploits as though he were stepping on live coals. A single bill of costs, such as that alread}' made in Paris, must suffice for this historj' of contemporaneous man- ners and customs. We must imitate the style of the bulletins of the Grand Army ; for the more rapidh' Petit-Claud's performances are enumerated, the better this exclusivelj' legal page will be. Summoned, July 3, before the Court of Commerce of Angouleme, David did not appear. Judgment by de- fault was notified to him on the 8th. On the 10th Doublon issued a writ, and on the 12th he attempted to put in an execution ; which Petit-Claud, on David's be- half, resisted, summoning in turn Metivier. On the other hand, Metivier, thinking the dela}' too great, summoned David again and obtained, on the 19th, a judgment which overruled David's opposition. This judgment, served on the 21st, authorized an injunction on the 22d, a notice of arrest on the 23d, and a proces- verbal of the execution on the 24th. This hasty execu- tion was arrested b}- Petit-Claud, who lodged an appeal to the Royal Court. This appeal, renewed on the 25th, brought ]M('tivicr to Poitiers. *' Well," said Petit-Claud to himself, '' here we shall stick for some time." Lost Illusions. 247 The storm having passed over to Poitiers into the hands of a solicitor of the Royal Court to whom Petit- Claud gave private instructions, this new defender with a double face made Madame Sechard summon David Sechard for a separation of propert}'. To use an ex- pression of the law courts he " diligented " the process of obtaining this decree of separation ; on the 28th of Jul}' he inserted it in the ''Courrier de Charente," and on the 1st of August an affidavit was made before a notary of a schedule of Madame Sechard's accounts, which made her the creditor of her husband in the small sum of ten thousand francs, which David on his mar- riage had settled upon her, and for the payment of which he now made over to her the contents of his printing-room and the furniture of his house. While Petit-Claud was thus protecting the family be- longings he was putting forward successfull}' in Poitiers the claim on which he based his appeal. According to him, David was the less liable for the costs made in Paris on Lucien de Rubempre's account because the court there had put them on Metivier. This view, adopted by the court at Poitiers, was followed bj' a judgment reaffirming that of the court in Paris, by which David Sechard was condemned to pay all, less the six hundred francs of costs laid to Metivier. Petit-Claud opposed this judg- ment in the name of Madame Sechard, claimino: the personal property and furniture as belonging to the wife, who was duly separated in estate from her husband. Moreover, Petit- Claud called as witness the elder Se- chard, who had b}' that time become his client, -as we shall now see. The day after the visit of his daughter-in-law the old 248 Lost Illusions. man went to his lawyer in Angoulerae, Maitre Cachan, and demanded to know what means he should take to recover his rents, which he was in danger of losing through the difficulties his son had got into. " I can't appear for the father while suing the son," said Cachan ; "go and see Petit-Claud ; he is very clever ; he will probably serve you better than I coukl." When Cachan met Petit-Claud in the courtroom he said to him: "I have sent you old Sechard ; take charge of the case for me in exchange." Law3^ers often render such services to each other, both in Paris and the provinces. The da}- after old Sechard had explained himself to Petit-Claud, Boniface Cointet came to see his accom- plice, and hearing of the old man's visit remarked, " Try to teach that old Sechard a lesson. He is a man who will never forgive his son for costing him a thou- sand francs ; this outla}- will dr}' up an}- generous feel- ing in his heart — if he ever has any ! " " Go back to 3'our vines, '^ said Petit-Claud to his new client the next day ; " your son is badly pinched — don't be too eager to eat from his plate. I '11 send for you when the time comes." Petit-Claud now claimed in the name of old Sechard that the presses themselves were fixtures, on the ground that the house had been used as a printing-office from tlie time of Louis XIV. Cachan denied the claim on behalf of Metivier, who, after finding in Paris that Lu- cien's furniture belonged to his mistress, now found in Angouir-me that David's property bolongcnl to his wife and fathei". Caclian then summoned thi' father and son before the court to settle such pretensions. Lost Illusions. 249 "We are resolved," he cried, "to unmask the frauds of these men who entrench tliemselves behind dishonest ramparts ; who turn the simplest and plainest aitioles of the Code into spiked walls, and for what? — to avoid paying three thousand francs ; how obtained ? — stolen from Metivier ! And jet the\' dare to blame the bro- kers ! Such are the times we live in ! Let me hope that you will not by jour judgment sanction a claim which would make the law immoral to the core ! " The court of Angouleme, moved by Cachan's fine ora- tor}', rendered a divided judgment, giving the ownership of the actual furniture to Madame Se'chard, but denying the claim of the elder Sechard, and condemning him to pa}' four hundred and thirty-four francs sixty-five cen- times costs. "Old Sechard," said the lawyers to each other, laugh- ing, " insisted on putting his finger into the pie, and he'll have to pay for it." August 26 the notice of this judgment was served so that the presses and other implements of the printing- office might be seized on the 28th. Placards were affixed, and an order issued to sell the property on the prem- ises. The announcement of the sale was inserted in the newspapers, and Doublon flattered himself he could proceed to the examination and auction on September 2. B}' that time David Sechard owed, legally, for notes and and costs, a sum total of five thousand two hundred and sixt3'-five francs and twent^'-five centimes — not in- cluding interest. He owed besides to Petit-Claud twelve hundred francs and the fees, which were left to David's generosit}', — with the noble confidence of cabmen who drive you briskly on expectation. Madame Sechard owed Petit-Claud three hiindi-ed and fiftv francs and 250 Lo^t Illusions. bis fees. Old Se'chard owed him four linndred and thirty -four francs for costs, and Petit-Claud asked him three hundred francs more for fees. Thus the whole sum o,wed b}- the Sechards amounted by this time to about ten thousand francs. Apart from the utilit}' of these details to foreign nations, who ma}' here see how the artillery of French law is brought to bear, it is useful that the legislator (if indeed legislators have the time to read), should know the extent of these abuses. A law ought to l)e passed which should, in certain cases, forbid solicitors to run up bills of costs which often exceed the sum that is the object of the suit. The reader will compre- hend, from this dry statement of the phases through "which such cases pass, the meaning and value of the wovds^ /arm, legal justice^ costs, of which the majority of Frenchmen have little or no idea. The following will serve to show what in legal slang is called set- ting fire to a man's atlairs. The ty[)e in the printing- room, weighing about live thousand pounds, was worth for recasting about two thousand francs. The three presses might bring six hundred francs. The rest of the utensils could only be sold for old iron or old wood. The household furniture would produce at the utmost a thousand francs. Therefore, on property- belonging to David Sechard and amounting to about four thousand francs, Cachan and Petit-Claud claimed seven thousand, witliout estimating the futui-e which promised tine fruits in bills of costs, as we shall [)resentl3' see. Certaiuh' the legal practitioners of France and Navarre, and even tliose of Normandy, ouglit to bestow their esteem and admiration on Petit-Claud ; thougli persons of better feel- ing may drop a tear of sympathy for Kolb and Marion. Lost Illusions. 251 During this legal warfare Kolb conlcl be found when- ever David did not want him, seated on a chair in the alley-way, fulfilling the duties of a watch-dog. He re- ceived the legal papers, which were always exajmined besides by a clerk of Petit-Claud's. When the placards were aflixed to the house announcing the sale of the material of the printing-office Kolb pulled them down as soon as the bill-sticker's back was turned, exclaim- ing : ''The scoundrels! tormenting such a good man! And they call that law and justice ! " Marion earned ten sous during the morning bj' turning the crank in a neighboring paper-mill and she spent them on the daily expenses of the family. Madame Chardon returned without a murmur to the hard life of a monthly nurse and brought her daughter her earnings at the end of every week. She had made two neuvaines, and was amazed to find God deaf to her praj'ers and blind to the light of the candles she burned to him, September 2 Eve received the only letter which Lucien wrote after the one in which he announced hav- ing put into circulation the three forged notes. — a letter which David Sechard never showed to his wife. '' This IS onl}' the third letter I have had from him since he left us," thought the poor sister, hesitating be- fore she opened the fatal paper. At the moment she was feeding her child, whom she was now bringing np on a bottle, being forced to dismiss her wet-nurse on account of the expense. We can judge of the state into which the following letter threw her, and also David, whom she roused from his sleep ; for after pass- ing the night in making paper, the inventor had gone to bed at davbreak. 252 Lost Illusions. Paris, August 20. My dear Sister, — Two days ago, at five in the morning, I received the last sigh of one of God's most beautiful creations, — the only woman who could love me as you love me, as David and my mother loved me; joining to those disinterested feelings that which a mother and a sister cannot give, the joys of love. After sacrificing everything for my sake my poor Coralie may perhaps have died for me — for me who have not at this moment enough to bury her. She consoled me in life ; you alone, my dear angels, can console me for her death. This innocent girl was, I believe, forgiven by God, for she died a Christian death. Oh, Paris ! — Eve, Paris is the glory but also the infamy of France ; I have lost many of my illusions here ; and I shall lose many more in begging for the paltry sum I need to lay the body of that angel in holy ground. Your wretched brother, LrciEN. P. S. I have caused you much unhappiness by my con- duct : you will know all some day, and you will forgive me. You may feel easy about those notes ; a worthy man to whom I have caused much cruel suffering, seeing Coralie and me so troubled, has promised to arrange everything. " The letter is still moist with his tears," she said to David, looking at it with such pity that some of her old aflfection for Lucien shone in her eyes. " Poor lad ! he must indeed siitTer if he was loved as he says he was," said the happy husband. Plusband and wife forgot their own troubles before that cry of anguish. Just tlien Marion rushed into the room exclaiming, "Madame! here the^' are ! here they are ! " "Who?" Lost Illusions. 253 " Doublon and his men, the devils ! Kolb is fighting them ; the}' have come to sell everything." " Xo, no, they will not sell; don't be anxious," said Petit-Claud, calling from the adjoining room. '' I have given notice of an appeal. AVe must not remain pas- sive under a judgment which convicts us of dishonest}-. I thouglit best not to defend you in court here in An- gouleme. To gain time I allowed Cachan to speechify ; but I am certain of success at Poitiers." ''But how much will that success cost?" asked Madame Sechard. "Fees if you win, and a thousand francs in costs if we lose." "Good God I " cried poor Eve, "the remed}' is worse than the disease." Hearing this cr}' of innocence suddenly alive to judicial wrong, Petit-Claud stood confused. Eve seemed to him very beautiful. Old Sechard, for whom Petit-Claud had sent, now arrived. The presence of the old man in the bedroom of his children, where his grandson in the cradle was smiling at disaster, made the scene complete. "Papa Sechard," said the young law\'er, " you owe me seven hundred francs for that demurrer, but j-ou m^y claim them from your son and add them to the amount of the rent now due." The old man caught the keen irony which Petit-Claud put into his tone and manner as he said the words. " It would have cost you less had you given that security for your son wlien I asked you for it," said Eve, leaving the cradle of her child to come and kiss the old man. 254 Lost Illusions. David, overcome at the sight of the crowd collecting before the house, drawn there by the struggle between Kolb and the sheriff's men, held out his hand to his father without a word. " How is it possible for me to owe 3-ou seven hun- dred francs? " said the old man to Petit-Claud. " In the first place, because I appeared for 3-ou. As the matter concerns your rents you are conjointly liable with your son in paying me. If 3'our son does not pay these costs you must paj^ them. But that 's nothing ; in a few hours David will be arrested and put in prison ; will you allow that? " "How much does he owe? " " Something like five or six thousand francs ; with- out counting w^hat he owes to 3'ou, and what he owes to his wife." The old man instantly became distrustful ; he looked round on the scene before him in the blue and white room, — a beautiful woman weeping beside a cradle, David bending beneath the weight of his troubles, the law3'er, who had probably drawn him into a trap ; and he felt convinced that his ftitherly feelings were being- worked upon ; he believed they were taking advantage of his paternity. " He3' ! let David get out of his scrape as best he can. As for me, I think only of that child," cried the old grandfather, " and his mother will approve of that. David is so learned he ought to know how to pa3' his del)ts." "I'll put the meaning of that into good French," said the lawyer, sarcastically. *' Papa Sechard, you are jealous of your son. Listen to the truth : you have Lost Illusions. 255 brought David into his present position b}- selHng him your printing-house for three times what it was worth, and by ruining him to get that usurious price. Oh yes, you ma}' shake your head, but the journal which you sold to the Cointets, the money for which you pocketed entire, was more than the whole value of the printing- house. You hate 3'our son not onl}' because you have despoiled him, but because you have made him a man far above j-ourself. You pretend to love 3'our grandson to mask your unkindness to j'our son and daughter-in- law, who would cost you something hie et nunc, whereas your grandson only needs your post-mortem affection. You love the little lad solel}' to appear to love some one in your family and avoid being called unfeeling. That sifts you out, Papa Sechard.'^ " Did you bring me here to listen to all that? " said old Sechard in a threatening tone, looking at the lawj'er and his son and daughter-in law in turn. ''Oh, monsieur!" cried poor Eve, addressing Petit- Claud ; " have you sworn our ruin? My husband has never, never complained of his father." The old man looked at her askance. " He has told me a hundred times that you loved him, after your own fashion,'' she said to old Sechard, understanding his distrust. Following Cointet's directions, Petit-Claud had man- aged to anger the father against the son in order to prevent the old man from helping David out of the cruel position in which he was. " On the day when we get David into prison," Boni- face Cointet had said to Petit-Claud, "you shall be presented to Madame de Senonches." The instinctive intelligence which comes of deep 256 Lost Illusions. affection enlightened Madame Sechard about Petit- Claud's treachery as it did, once before, about Cerizet. We can imagine David's surprise at Petit-Claud's speech ; he could not understand how the law3'er knew his fathei and his affairs so well. The honest printer knew nothing of his counsel's intercourse with the Cointets ; and he was also ignorant that the Cointets were proceeding against him in the skin of Metivier. His son's silence was an offence to the old man. Under cover of his client's astonishment Petit-Claud took leave. ''Adieu! m}' dear David," he said. "An arrest won't be delayed b}- the appeal ; it is the only course open to 3'our creditors, and the}' will take it. There- fore, get awa}' at once. Or rather, if you will take m}' advice, go and see the Cointets ; they have capital, and if 3'our discover^' is really made, if 3'ou are quite sure about it, the}' are, after all, kindly men — '* '' What discovery?" asked old Sechard. '' Do you think your son fool enough to neglect the printing business unless he was thinking of something else?" cried the lawyer. " He is on the high-road, so he tells me, to make paper for three francs a ream which is now costing ten." *' Another scheme to take me in ! " cried the old man. "You are all banded together like tliievcs at a fair. If David has discovered tliat, he has no need of me. He 's a millionnaire. Adieu, my young friends, and good-day to you." So saying the old man departed down the stairs. " Put yourself in hiding," said Petit-Claud to David, as he started to overtake old Sechard and exasperate him still further. Lost Illusions. 257 The little lawTer found him grumbling on the place du Murier, and walked with him as far as I'lloumeau, where he left him witli the threat of putting in an execu- tion on the old man's property if the costs were not paid within a week. " I will pa}' you, if you will show me the legal means of disinheriting my son without injuring my grandson and daughter-in-law," said old Sechard, as they parted. "How well Cointet knows people! Ha! he was right enough ; those seven hundred francs will keep that old man from helping his son," said the little law- yer, as he climbed back to Angouleme. " Nevertheless I don't mean to be outwitted b}* that slyboots of a paper-maker ; it is time to make him give me some- thing more than words." "Well, David, dear friend, what do 3-ou think of doing?'' said Eve to her husband, when the old man and Petit-Claud had left them. " Put 3-our biggest pot on the fire, my girl," cried David, nodding to Marion; "I have my discovery in hand at last." Hearing these words Eve put on her bonnet and shawl and shoes with feverish haste. "Get ready," she said to Kolb, "and go with me; for I must and will find some escape from this hell." "Monsieur," said Marion, when Eve had gone, ''do be reasonable, or madame will die of grief. Earn enough money to paj' what you owe, and then you can search for treasure at 3'our ease." "Hold your tongue, Marion; the last difficulty is just about to be overcome. I shall be able to get both a patent for invention and a patent for improvements." 17 258 Lo§t Illusions. The cross of French inventors is the patent for im- provements. A man passes ten jears of his life in seeking some industrial secret, — a machine, or some other discovery ; he takes out a patent, and thinks himself master of his invention, whatever it is ; he is followed by a competitor who, if he has not foreseen everything, will improve his invention with some screw or bolt, and get the whole value of the discovery out of his hands. Therefore, to invent a new pulp for making paper cheaply was far from being all that was necessary. Others could improve the process. David Sechard wished to foresee ever3'thing in order that a fortune pursued under so many difficulties might not be torn from his grasp. Holland paper (this name is still given to paper made of linen, though Holland no longer manufactures it) is slightly sized ; but the size is applied, sheet by sheet, b}' manual labor, which of course increases the cost of the paper. If it could be made possible to size the pulp in the vat with some in- expensive size (such as that we now use, though that is still imperfect) there need be no fear of improvement- For a month past David had been seeking a method to size his paste. Two had occurred to him. Eve had gone to see her mother. Madame Cliardon was then nursing the wife of a deputy -magistrate who had just given an heir presumptive to the Minards of Nevers. Eve determined to consult this legal defender of widows and ori)hans on her position, and ask him whether she could free David from his embarrassments by taking them upon herself and selling her dower rights ; she iilso liopcd to discover the truth as to Petit- Claud's ambiguous conduct. Lost Illusions. 259 The magistrate, surprised by Madame Sechard's beauty, received her not only with the respect due to a woman, but with a sort of courtesy to which poor P2ve was not accustomed. She saw in the eyes of this official an expression which, since her marriage, she had found in none but those of Kolb ; an expression that, to women as beautiful as Eve, is the criterium by which they judge of men. When a passion, or self-interest, or age dims in the e3'es of a man the sparkle of devotion which flames there in youth, a woman begins to distrust that man and to watch him. The Cointets, Petit- ClaudjCerizet, all men whom Eve had felt to be enemies, looked at her with cold, hard eyes ; but now she sud- denly felt at ease with this magistrate, though after re- ceiving her courteoush' he destroyed in a few words all her hopes. " It is not certain, madame," he said, '* that the Ro\al Court will sustain the judgment confirming the transfer your husband made to 3'ou of his goods and chattels to pay your dower. Your privileges will not be allowed to cover a fraud. But as you will then be admitted under the head of creditor to share in the proceeds of the seizure, and as your father-in-law will have the same rights in view of the rent due. there will be matter for further litigation about what we call in legal terms a Contribution — in other words, the sche- dule by which the creditors are paid." "Then Monsieur Petit-Claud is ruining us?*' she said. " The conduct of Petit-Claud," said the magistrate, *' carries out your husband's desire to gain time. To my thinking, it would be better to desist from appeal- 260 Lost Illusions. ing, and to buy in, you and your father-in law, when- ever the sale takes place, the necessary utensils to carry on your business, — 3'ou, to the extent of what is legally yours, he for the amount of his rent. But your law- yers will think this bringing matters to an end too soon. They are running you up a bill of costs." " I should then be in the hands of Monsieur Sechard, the elder, to whom I should owe a rent for the utensils as well as for the house ; m}' husband would still be sued by Monsieur Metivier, who will have received nothing." " That is true, raadame." " Then our position would be worse than it is now." " The law sustains the creditor. You received three thousand francs ; it obliges 3'ou to return them." " Oh ! monsieur, do not think that w^e — " She stopped short, seeing the danger that her self- justification might bring upon her brother. "I know verv well," said the magistrate, " that this affair is obscure, both on the side of the debtors, who are honorable, scrupulous, I may say grand, and on the" side of the creditor who is only a cat's-paw." Eve looked at the magistrate in bewilderment. " You must know," he went on, with a look of kindly shrewd- ness, "that we deputies have plenty of time to reflect on what is passing before our eyes, while hstenmg to the pleadings of the law3'ers." Eve came home in despair at the uselcssness of all efforts. At seven o'clock that evening Doublon brought the notification of imprisonment for debt. The persecution had reached its heiijfht. LoH Illusions. 261 ^' After to-morrow,*' said David, *' I can go out onl}' at night." Eve and her mother burst into tears. To them it seemed dishonor to be in hiding. Kolb and Marion, learning of their master's danger, were all the more alarmed because the}' had long understood his guileless nature ; and they trembled for his safety so much that the}' went together to find Madame Chardon, Eve, and David, under pretence of asking whether the}' could do anything to assist him. They came into the room just as the wife and the mother, to whom life had hitherto been so simple, were weeping at the necessity of hiding David. How escape the invisible spies who, from this time forth, would watch every movement of this man, unhappily so absent-minded? " If madame will wait one little quarter of an hour," said Kolb, "I'll make a reconnaissance into the enemy's camp. She shall see what I can do ; for though I look like a German, I 'm a true Frenchman for tricks." ''Oh! madame," said Marion, "let him do what he wants : his only thought is to save monsieur ; he has no other ideas in his head. Kolb is not an Alsacian, he is — well, there ! he 's a Newfoundlander." "Go, my good Kolb," said David, "do what you like ; we have time enough before us to decide on a course." 262 Lost Illusions, WHY ARREST FOR DEBT IS EXTREMELY RARE IN THE PROVINCES. Imprisonment for debt is, in the provinces, an extraor- dinaiy, abnormal fact, if there ever was one. In the first place all persons know each other too well to em- ploj' such odious means. Creditors and debtors have to see each other daih' all their lives. When a bank- rupt — to use the name given to the insolvent debtor in the provinces, where the}' do not mince matters about such legal theft — expects to fail heavily he takes refuge in Paris. Paris is the Belgium of the provinces ; men can find impenetrable hiding-places there, and a sheriffs warrant expires at the limit of his jurisdiction. Besides there are other hindrances equalh' invalidating. The law which maintains the inviolability of the domicile rules, without exception, in the provinces. The sheritf cannot, as he does in Paris, enter a house to seize a debtor. This law excepts Paris because of the number of families living in one house. But in the provinces a sheriff can enter the debtor's own house only after call- ing in the assistance of a justice of the })eace. Now, as the justice holds the sheriff in his power, he usually gives his presence or withholds it as he pleasi^s. To the ho'ior of these justices it must be said that they dislike the office and will not i)ander to blind passions or re- venge. There aie other dillicullies, not less real, which Lost Illusions. 263 tend to rnodify the perfectly iinnecessar}' criielt}' of im- prisonment for debt ; for instance, social customs, which often change the laws to the point of annulling them. In great cities there are always enough depraved and miserable creatures without restraint or faith who will act as spies, but in little towns every one is too well- known to hire himself to the sheriff. Thus the arrest of a debtor, not being, as in Paris and in other large centres of population, an object of individual interest to the guardians of commerce, becomes an exceedingh' difficult proceeding, a combat of craft against craft be- tween the debtor and the sheriff, which often furnishes amusing items to the newspapers. The tall Cointet did not choose to show himself in the affair, but the stout Cointet, who said openly- that Metivier had put the aflfair in his hands, went to Dou- blon's house with Cerizet, now the Cointets' foreman, and held a conference in the sheriff's private room, which was at the back of the front office, on the ground-floor of the house. The office was entered from a broad, paved passage which formed a sort of alle}'. The house had a single front-door, on each side of which were the official gilt scutcheons bearing in black letters the word '• Sheriff." The two windows of the office looking on the street were protected by strong iron bars. Doublon's private room looked upon the garden, where the sheriff, a votary of Pomona, cultivated his wall-fruit with success. The kitchen was opposite to the office. This house was on a little street behind the new Law Courts then building and not finished till after 1830. These details are not useless to an undcr- standino: of what now befell Kolb. 264 Lost Illusions. The Alsacian had gone to Doublon's office with the intention of seeming to betra}' his master to the shei'iff, in order to learn what traps were to be set for him, and thus thwart the arrest. The cook opened the door. Kolb told her that he wished to speak to Monsieur Doublon on business. Annoyed at being disturbed when bus}', the woman merelj' opened the office door and told Kolb to wait there ; then she went to the inner door and told her master that " a man " wanted to speak to him. That expression, " a man," implied a peasant, and Doublon called out, " Let him wait." Kolb sat down near the door of the office. *' Well, how do 3'ou mean to proceed? " said the voice of the stout Cointet. " If we could la}- hold of him to-morrow morning it is so much time gained." "He is so absent-minded that you'll find it easy enough to take him," cried Cerizet. Recognizing Cointet's voice, but, above all, enlight- ened b}' the two speeches, Kolb was immediately certain that the}' were talking of his master ; liis astonishment was great on distinguishing the voice of Cerizet. " A fellow who ate his bread ! " he muttered, horrified. "My friends," said Doublon, "the thing to do is this. I will station men at intervals between the rue de Beaulieu and the place du Murier with orders to fol- low him if he comes out of his house. We shall thus, without letting him perceive it, track him to whatever house he hides in. If we leave him there in fancied security for some days we shall be sure to catch him out before long between sunrise and sunset." " But what is he doing now? " said the stout Cointet. " Perhai)s he will escape before to-morrow morning." Lost Illusions, 265 *' He is at home," said Doublon ; " if he goes out I shall know it. I have one of m}- men on the place du Murier, another at the corner b\' the Law Courts, and a third within thirt}' feet of this house. If he comes out they will whistle, and he won't have gone ten steps be- fore I know it b}' that telegraphic communication." Kolb had not expected such luck. He stepped softl\' from the office and said to the cook : '' Monsieur Dou- blon is bus}' ; I '11 come back to-morrow morning early." The Alsacian, an old cavahy-man, was seized with an idea which he put in execution at once. He went to a livery-man of his acquaintance, chose a horse, had it saddled, and returned in all haste to his master s house, where he found Madame Eve in a state of despair. " What is it, Kolb? " said David, noticing the joyful yet half-alarmed look on his follower's face. '•You are surrounded by scoundrels. Has madame thought of any place to hide monsieur? '* When the honest Kolb had explained Cerizet's treach- ery, the line of watchers about the house, the part taken by the stout Cointet, and the schemes that these men were plotting against his master, David was fatalh' en- lightened as to his position. '•It is the Cointets who are persecuting you," ex- claimed poor Eve ; '' and that is why Metivier has been so hard. The}' are paper-makers, they want your secret." "But how can he escape them?" cried Madame Chard on. '♦If madame can find a little place in which to put monsieur," said Kolb, '•' I will promise to take him there safely without. their knowing it." 266 Lost Illusions. " Wait till night and take him to Rasine Clei^et/* re- plied Eve. " I will go and arrange with her. Basine is another m^-self." "The spies will follow you," said David, recovering his presence of mind. " We must find some wa}' of communicating with Basine without any of us going there." "Madame wishes to go there," said Kolb. "This is my idea : monsieur and I will go out together ; the spies will all follow us ; then madame can go to Mam- selle Clerget, she won't be noticed. I've got a horse ; I take monsieur up behind, and the devil take me if they catch us." "Well then, farewell, dear friend," cried the poor wife, throwing herself into her husband's arms. " None of us can go and see you, for fear they should find us out. We must saj' good-by for all the time this volun- tary imprisonment lasts. We can correspond by post. Basine will mail your letters and 1 will write to you in her name." When David and Kolb left the house they heard three whistles, and they led the spies as lar as the Porte Palet, near which was the stable. There Kolb took his master behind him, exhorting him to hold fast. " Whistle, oh yes, whistle away, n)y good friends I laugh at you," shouted Kolb. " Do you expect to catch a trooper?" And the late calvary- man spurred his horse out into the countr3' with a rapidit}' that not only made it im- possible to follow them, but also impossible to discover where they were going. Eve went to rilouinoau to see Postel, under i)retence Lost Illusions. 267 of consulting him. After enduring the mortification of a pit}' tliat took no form but that of words, she left the apothecary's shop and reached, without being noticed, Basine's house ; to this faithful friend she told her troubles and asked her for help and protection. Ba- sine, who b}' wa}' of precaution had taken Eve into her bedroom, opened the door of a small adjoining room lighted by a skylight through which no human eye could look. The two friends opened a little fireplace the flue of which went up beside that of the ironing- room, where the workwomen kept a fire to heat their irons. Eve and Basine spread old coverlets over the floor to dull all sounds if David made any. Then they put in a flock bed, a furnace for his experiments, a table and a chair, etc. Basine promised to carry food to him eveiy night, and, as no one could possibly enter the room or know that any one was in it, David could defy all enemies and even the police. " At last," said Eve, " I can feel that he is safe." Eve went back to Postel to clear up some doubt which, she said, had brought her back to consult so good a judge of commercial matters ; and she induced him to walk back with her to her own home. " If you had married me, you would not be where you are now," was the burden of Postel's remarks. On his return he found his wife jealous of Madame Sechard's beaut}' and furious with her husband for his politeness. But he pacified her with an opinion that fair little women were far superior to tall darli ones, who were, he said, like fine horses, always in the stable. He no doubt gave some proof of the sincerity of this opinion, for the next day Madame Postel was very loving to him. 268 Lost Illusions. " We can be eas}- in mind now," said Eve to her mother and Marion, whom she found (to use an expres- sion of Marion's) " all of a quiver." " Oh ! the}' 've gone," said Marion, when Eve looked mechanically into her bedroom. " Which way shall we go?" said Kolb to his master, when they were three miles out on the road to Paris. '' To Marsac," answered David, " and as we have happened upon this road 1 will make one more attempt on my father's feelings." " I'd rather assault a battery any da}' — he has no heart, your father." The old bear had no confidence in his son. He judged him, as the uneducated lower classes always judge, by results. In the first place, he did not admit he had robbed David ; then, without considering the dif- ference of the times, he kept saying : '• 1 put him astride of a fine printing-house, just the position I had myself, and he, who knew a thousand times more than 1 did, couldn't make it go," Incapable of understanding his son, lie condemned him, and claimed a sort of superiority over his intelligence by thinking, " I am saving bread for him." Moralists will never succeed in laying bare all the influence which feelings exercise over self- inter- est. Every law of nature works two ways and in oppo- site directions. David, on his side, understanding his father, had the sublime charity to excuse him. Reaching Marsac at eight o'clock David and Kolb found the old man in the act of finishing his dinner, which came of necessity very near his bed time. " 1 didn't expect to see you again," said the father to the son with a crabbed smile. Lost Illusions. 269 " IIow should you meet, my master and yon-' " cried Kolb, indignantly ; " he travels in the skies, and 3'ou are always among the vines. Pay what he needs, pay it — that 's your dut}* as a father." " Come, Kolb, be otl" with you : put up the horse at Madame Courtois's, so as not to trouble m}- father ; and remember that fathers are alwa3's in the right." Kolb went off growling like a dog who, being scolded by his master for his watchfulness; protests while he obeys. David, without revealing his secret, now offered to give his father visible proof of his discover^', proposing to him a share in its profits in return for the sums that he required, first for his immediate liberation from debt, and next for the perfection of his invention. ^' Hey ! how do you expect to prove that 3'OU can make fine paper for nothing?" said the old bear, casting a vinous but shrewd, inquisitive, covetous look at his son. It seemed like a flash of lightning from a rainy cloud, for the old man, faithful to his traditions, never went to bed without a night-cap ; and that night-cap consisted of two bottles of excellent old wine which, according to custom, he sat and sipped. "Nothing is easier," replied David. "I have no paper with me, for I came off in haste, to escape Doublon ; but finding myself on the road to Marsac, I thought it was better to come to 3'ou than go to a money-lender. I have nothing with me but the clothes I stand in. But shut me up in some retired place, where no one can enter and where no one can see me, and — " "What!" exclaimed the old man, with an angrj- 270 Lv8t Illusions. look at his son, '' do you mean to say that I am not to see what you do ? " "Father," said David, "you have alreadj' proved to me that there is no fatherhood in business." " Ha ! you distrust the parent who gave you life." "No, but I distrust him who has taken from me the means of living." " Ever}^ man for himself; you are right enough there," said the old man. " Well, I '11 put you in m}- distillery." "Very good; I'll live there with Kolb. Let me have a caldron for my pulp," said David, not observ- ing the glance his father gave him ; " then, if you will seiid out and get me stems of artichokes, asparagus, nettles, and the reeds you cut on the banks of your little river, I will show you a magnificent paper to-morrow morning." " If that is really so," said the bear, with a hic- cough, '' I will give you — perhaps — well, I '11 see if I can give you twenty-five thousand fi-ancs, on condition that 3'ou earn that sum for me ever3' year." " Give me the cliance, and I accept it," cried David. "Kolb, take the horse and go to Mansle ; buy me a large horse-hair sieve, and some size at the grocer's, and get back as fast as you can." " Here, drink something," said the old man. putting a bottle of wine, some bread, and tlie remnants of cold meat before his son. " Keep up your strength. I '11 attend to your stock of green rubbish, — for Ihey are green, tliose rags of yours ; too green, I *m thinking! " Two liours hiter, about eleven at night, the old man locked up his son and Kolb in a little apartment back- Lost Illusions. 271 ing on his storeroom, roofed with hollow tiles, in which were stored ail the utensils necessar}- for distilling the wines of the province of Angoumois, which, as ever}'- body knows, furnish the brandies which are called Cognac. *'0h, here's a manufactor}* made to hand!" cried David. " Plenty of pans and fuel." *' Well, then, I bid you good-bye till to-morrow," said old Sechard. '* I shall lock you in and let loose m^- two dogs, so as to make sure that no one brings 3'ou any paper. Show me the sheets to-morrow, and I promise I will be your partner, and then things will be well-managed." Kolb and David let him lock them up ; then they spent two hours in breaking and preparing the stalks, using two pieces of joist. The fire burned, the water boiled. Towards two in the morning Kolb, less pre- occupied than David, heard a sigh suspiciously like a hiccough. He took one of the two candles and looked about. Presently he perceived the purple face of the old man filling a little square opening cut in the wall above the door of communication between the store- room and the distillery, which was usually blocked b}' empty casks. The crafty old fellow had put his sou into the distillery by the outer door. This inner door enabled him to roll his casks into the storeroom from the distillery without going round b}' the courtyard. "Oh, father!'' cried David, looking up at Kolb's exclamation. '• I came to see if you wanted anything," said the bear, half-sobered. " And 3'ouj- interest in us made you bring a ladder ! '' 272 Lost Illusions. said Kolb, pushing aside an empLy cask and opening the door, which revealed the old man. in his night-shirt, perched on a short ladder. " How can 3'ou risk yonr health? " said David. " I walk in my sleep," said his father, getting down. " Yonr distrust of me has made me dream ; I fancied you had dealings with the devil, who showed you how to do impossible things." "The devil, indeed!" cried Kolb. "It was 3'our greed for gold that brought 3'Ou." "Go to bed, father," said David; "lock that door if 3'ou like, but spare 3'ourself the trouble of coming back. Kolb will stand sentinel." The next da3', at four in the afternoon, David issued from the distiller3^, after destroying all traces of his operations, bringing with him a dozen or more sheets of paper, the fineness, whiteness, texture, and strength of which left nothing to be desired ; they bore as a water-mark the threads of the sieve, some being heavier than others. The old man took the specimens in his hand and applied his tongue to them, as a well- trained bear, accustomed from early youth to make his tongue the test of paper, should do. lie felt them, rubbed them, folded them, submitted them to everv test to which printers subject paper, but though he found nothing to find fault with, he would not admit that he was vanquished. " I must first see how that works in the press," he said, to avoid praising his son. " Queer old man ! " ejaculated Kolb. "I will not deceive you, father," said Dnvid. "I consider that that paper is still too dear, and I nuist Lost Illusions. 21 -J solve the problem of sizing the pulp, — that is the only improvement to be maile/' '■'• Pla ! you are only trying to trick me.'' ''No: let me tell you! I can size the pulp in the caldron, but so far the size does not permeate the pulp evenl}' ; I have to give the paper a touch of the brush.'' " Well, discover how to size it in the caldron and you shall have the mone}'.'* " My master will never see the color of your mone}'," growled Kolb. The old man was evidently determined to make David feel the mortification he had himself been made to feel in the night. "Father," said David, sending Kolb awa}', "I have never felt hardl}' to you for selling me 3-our printing- house at an exorbitant price, and one of your own appraising. I have alwaj'S looked upon you as a father. I have said to myself: 'He is an old man, who has worked hard, and brought me up better than I had any right to expect ; let him enjo}' in peace, and in his own wa}', the fruit of his labor.' I have even allowed you to keep mv inheritance from m}' mother ; I have borne without a murmur the embarrassments 3'ou saddled upon me. I vowed I would make my wa}' to fortune without asking any help from you. Well, this secret of mine, I have discovered it in the midst of want, without bread to feed mv family, and tortured b}' debts which are not my own. Yes, I have struggled patientl}' until now, when ray means are all exhausted. Perhaps it might be said that you owe me help, — but do not think of me ; think only of that woman and child " (David could not re- strain his tears), " — help them, protect them ! Would 18 27-1 Lost Illusions. 3"0u be less to them than Kolb and Marion, who gave me their savings?" cried tlie son, seeing that his father was as cold as the slab of his press. " And even that didn't suffice 3-ou ! " cried the old man, lost to all sense of shame ; '' why, you would soon la}' waste all France ! Good-bj'e to you ; I 'm too igno- rant to dabble in schemes in which I 'm the one who is schemed against. The monkey' can't devour the bear " (using the press-room terms). "I'm a farmer, not a banker. Besides, business between father and son al- ways turns out ill. Eat your dinner here ; you sha'n't sa}' that I let 3-ou go without giving you anything." David's nature was one of those profoundly deep ones which drive back their sufferings to the depths and keep them a secret from their nearest and dearest. With such natures, when their anguish forces its way to the surface and makes an appeal, the effort is a mightv and supreme one. Eve had thoroughly understood the noble character of the man. But the father saw in this wave of anguisli rising from the depths die common trick of children who want " to work upon " their fathers, and he took the excessive depression which overcame his son for 'the shame of failure. They parted on bad terms. David and Kolb returned about mid- night to the neighborhood of Angouleme, where they dismounted and entered the town on foot, witli as man}' precautions as thieves would take for their robberies. About one in the morning David was safely inducted by INIademoiselle Basine Clerget into the imi»enelral)le hiding-place selected by his wife. Tiiere the pooi' man was now to be watched and tended by the most ingen- uous and simple-hearted of all pities, that of a grisette. Lost Illusions. 275 The next da}* Kolb openly boasted of having saved his master on horseback, and of not leaving him nntil he saw him safely in the suburbs of Limoges. A great provision of David's raw material was already stored in Basine's cellar, so tliat Kolb, Marion, Madame Sechard, and her mother had no need to communicate with Made- moiselle Clerget. Two days after this scene with his son, old Sechard, who had three weeks to spare before the business of the vintage began, went to live in his daughter-in-law's house, led there b}- greed. He could not sleep for thinking and wondering if this discover}' had really an}' chances of profit in it. He must watch the grapes, he said. Ac- cordingh' he betook himself to the apartment of two rooms which he had reserved for himself in the attic of David's house ; and there he lived, shutting his e3-es to the bareness and poverty which now afflicted his son's household. The}- owed him rent, consequently they were bound to feed him, and he took no notice of the pewter forks and spoons with which the meals were served. "I began that way myself," he replied, when his daughter-in-law excused herself for having no silver. Marion was obliged to run in debt for the food the old man consumed. Kolb was employed by a mason at twenty sous a day. Before long only ten francs re- mained to poor Eve, who, in the interests of her child and David, sacrificed one by one her last resources to make the old man comfortable. She hoped by her pretty ways, her respectful attentions, her quiet resigna- tion, to touch the old miser's feelings ; but she found him always the same, utterly insensible. She tried to 276 Lost Illusions. stud}' his character and divine his intentions, but it was labor lost. Old Sechard made himself impenetrable by keeping, as the saying is, between two wines. Intoxi- cation is a good veil. Under cover of his drunkenness, often more pretended than real, the old man tried to w^orm David's secret from Eve. Sometimes he cajoled her, sometimes he frightened her. When Eve assured hira that she w\as wholly' ignorant, he would answer, " I '11 use up my whole propert}' ; I '11 buy an annuity." These humiliating struggles wore out the poor victim, who, not to seem wanting in respect to her father-in-law, ended at last in saying nothing. But one day, driven to extremities, she made answer, " Father^ there is a very easy wa}' to find out everything. Pa}* David's debts, let him come home, and you will soon come to an understanding together." " Ha ! that 's what you want to get out of me! " he cried ; " I'm glad to know it." Old Sechard, who would not believe in his son, be- lieved in the Cointets. He went to consult them, and they purposely dazzled liim, telling him there might be millions in his son's discover}'. ^' If David can prove that he has succeeded I should not hesitate to take your son into the partnership of my paper factory on equal terms, counting his discovery as of equal value with the property," said the tall Cointet. But the suspicious old bear made so many inquiries while drinking with the workmen, he asked so many questions of Petit-Claud, pretending stui)idity, tliat he ended by suspecting that the Cointets were tlie real movers in the matter, behind INIetivier, and tluit their object was to ruin the Sechard printing-house, and Lost Illusions. 277 decoy bim into paying the notes by this talk of a dis- covery ; for the old peasant suspected nothing of Petit- Claud's complicity, nor of the deep plot laid to get possession, sooner or later, of this valuable industrial secret. Finally, one morning, the old man, exasperated at not being able to conquer his daughter-in-law's silence, nor even to discover from her where David was hiding, resolved to force the door of the foundry in the shed, after discovering the fact that his son was in the habit of working there. He got up very earh' in the morning and began to pick the lock. *' What are you doing there, papa Sechard?" cried Marion, who got up at da3'break to go to her factory, and now bounded to the door of the workshop when she saw the old man. '•I am in my own house, Marion," said Sechard, confused. '• Ha ! do you mean to be a thief in your old days? You won't get anything by it, however. I shall go and tell all this to madame, red-hot." '• Xo, don't do that, Marion. See here ; " and the old man pulled two crowns of six francs each from his pocket. '' I '11 say nothing," said Marion, pocketing the money ; '• but don't trv it again," shaking her finger at him, '• or I '11 tell it to all Angouleme." As soon as old Sechard had gone out Marion rushed up to her mistress. '' See here, madame! I have got twelve francs out of 3'our father-in-law ; there thej' are." '' How did you do it? " " He wanted to have a look into the shed and see 278 Lost Illusions. what tools and provisions monsieur had there. I knew there was nothing there ; but I frightened him well, and told him he wanted to rob his son, and he gave me those crowns to hold my tongue." Just then Basine came in joyously with a letter from David, written on magnificent paper, which she gave to her friend secretl}. My adored Eve, — I write to you first, on the first sheet of paper obtained by my process. I have succeeded in solv- ing the problem of sizing the pulp in the vat. A pound of pulp will cost (eA^en supposing the products I employ to be cultivated on good ground) five sous.- Thus the ream of twelve pounds takes three francs* worth of sized pulp. I am certain to lessen the weight of books by at least one half. The envelope, letter, and samples enclosed ar(^ all different fabrications. I kiss you, dear wife ; m'b shall now be happy in riches, the only thing lacking to us. " See," said Eve to her father-in-law, holding up the samples. ''Give your son the profits of your vintage and let him make his fortune ; he will return you ten- fold what you give him, for he has succeeded at last ! " Lost Illusions. 279 YI. A CRISIS, WHEN THE DOGS STAND AND LOOK AT EACH OTHER. Old Sechard had no sooner got the paper into his own hands than he hurried to the Cointets. There each sample was assa3-ed and examined miniiteh*. Some were sized, others unsized ; the price was ticketed on each, from three to ten francs a ream ; some were of almost metallic pnrit}-, others soft as Chinese paper ; all possible shades of white were among them. The e3'es of Jews appraising diamonds never gleamed with a keener light than those of the Cointets and old Sechard. "Your son is on the right road," said the stout Cointet. "Very good ; then pa}- his debts," said the bear. " Willingh', if he will take us for partners," replied the tall Cointet. " You are thumb-screwers," cried the old man. " You are persecuting m}- son under the name of Metivier, and you want me to bu}' you off. Thank j'ou, I'm not such a fool as that ! " The brothers looked at each other, but the}' managed to conceal their surprise at the perspicacitj' of the old miser. 280 Lost Illusions, *' We are not yet millionnaires enougli to dabble in discounts," replied the stout Cointet. '' We think our- selves lucky if we can pay our current bills, and we still give notes to our dealers." *^The experiment must be tested on a larger scale,"' said the tall Cointet, coldh\ " A thing that succeeds in a saucepan may fail when it comes to a vat. Free your son, and let him try it." " Yes. but will my son allow me to be his partner if I set him at liberty? " *' That is not our affair," said the stout Cointet. " Do you suppose, my good friend, that when you have paid ten thousand francs for 30ur son, that 's the whole of it? A patent of invention costs two thousand francs, and involves journeys to Paris in order to get it. Then, before making any outlay it will be prudent, as m}- brother says, to manufacture a thousand reams, and risk the loss of whole batches so as to know what can be counted on. There 's nothing more to be distrusted than inventors." " As for me," said the tall Cointet, " I want my bread all baked." The old man passed the night in turning over and over in his mind the following dilemma: ''If I pay David's debts he is at liberty, and once at liberty he is not forced to make me a partner in his enterprise. He knows that I got the better of him in that first transac- tion, and he won't tr}' a second. It is my interest, there- fore, to keep him in prison." The Cointets knew old Sechard well enough to be certain they could hunt in couples. The three men said in words: "Before we form a company on this Lost Illusions. 281 discover}' we must have larger experiments ; to make these experiments David Sechard must be at Uberty." But all concerned had private thoughts of their own. Petit-Claud said to himself: " After I am married I '11 take m}' neck out of the Cointet 3'oke ; but till then I hold them." The tall Cointet was thinking : '* I would rather see David under lock and ke}' ; I should then be master of the situation." Old Sechard was saying to himself: " If I pa}' his debts my son will just give me a nod of thanks and that 's all." Eve, harassed by the old man, who threatened to turn her out of the house, still refused either to reveal her husband's refuge or propose to David to return under promise of safety. She was not certain of being able to hide him so successfully a second tiaie, and she therefore replied to all her father-in-law's requests : '* Liberate your son, and you will know all." None of these four interested men, standing, as it were, before a festive table, dared to touch the food, so fearful were they of having it snatched from them ; they all watched each other with keen distrust. Some days after David Sechard's concealment Petit- Claud went to see the tall Cointet at his paper factory, " I have done my best,'* he said. " David has vol- untarily made himself a prisoner, we don't know where, and he is no doubt quietly improving his process. If you have not obtained your object the fault is not mine. Do you intend to keep your promise to me ?" ''Yes, if we succeed," replied Cointet. "Old Se- chard has been here several times ; he asks questions about the manufacturing of paper; the old miser has scented his son's invention, and he wants to profit by it. 282 Lpat Illusions. There is, therefore, some hope of forming a compan}-. You are the law3'er of father and son — " " And you want the H0I3' Spirit to get the better of them?" said Petit-Claud, smiling. " Yes," said Cointet. " If you succeed either in put- ting David in prison, or in our hands tlirough a deed of partnership, you shall be the husband of Mademoiselle de la Haye." " Is that your ultimatum? " '' Yes," rephed Cointet. " And this is mine," rejoined Petit-Claud, in a curt tone: " Give me something positive to rel}' upon ; in other words, keep 3'our promise, or I will pay David's debts and make myself his partner by selling my prac- tice. I will not be cheated. You have spoken plainly, and I use the same language. I have kept my word to you ; do you keep 3'ours to me. You have got ever}'- thing out of me, I have nothing out of you. If I do not at once have proofs of your sincerity I check-mate you." The tall Cointet took his hat and umbrella and put on his Jesuit air ; then he left the house and signed to Petit-Cland to follow him, saying : — " You shall see, my dear friend, whether or not I have prepared the way for 3'ou." The shrewd and wil3^ merchant had instantl3' seen his danger ; he saw too that Petit-Claud was one of those men with whom it was wisest to pla3' above- board. He had already, by way of preparation or to acquit his conscience, said a few words in jSIonsieur du Ilautoy's car under pretence of giving an account of Mademoiselle de la llaye's financial position. Lost Illusions. 283 *' I have found an excellent marriage for Frangoise,'' he said. " Of course with a dot of onl}- thirt}' thousand francs a girl can't be exacting in these da3's." " We will talk it over," replied Francis du Hautoy. " Since Madame de Bargeton's departure the posi- tion of Madame de Senonches has changed very much. We might now be able to marry Francoise to some old countr}^ noble." " If you do she will disgrace herself," said Cointet, coolh*. " Better marr}' her to a young man ambitious and capable, whose future you could help, and who would put his wife in a good position." " We will see about it," Francis had replied ; " the godmother must be consulted first of all." On the death of Monsieur de Bargeton his wife had sold his propert}' in Angouleme. Madame de Se- nonches, who was poorh' housed, persuaded her husband to bu}' the Bargeton mansion, — the cradle of Lucien's ambition, where this history began. Zephirine de Senonches had formed a plan to succeed Madame de Bargeton in the sort of sovereignt}' the latter had once exercised, — to "hold a salon," as it is called ; to be, in short, the great lady of the place. A schism had taken place in the upper ranks of Angouleme society at the time of the duel between Monsieur de Bargeton and Monsieur de Chandour ; some declaring for the inno- cence of Louise de N^grepelisse, others for the calum- nies of Stanislas de Chandour. Madame de Senonches declared for the Bargetons and made an immediate conquest of all the adherents of that party. Then, after she was fairl}' installed in her new house, she profited by the old habits of those who had come there 284 Lost Illusions. so man}' years, to win them back again. She received ever}' evening, and soon carried the day over Amelie de Chandour, who posed as her rival. The hopes of Francis du Hantoy, now at the heart of Angouleme society, went so far that he thought of marrying Fran9oise to Monsieur de Severac, wliom Madame du Brossard had not been able to capture for her daughter. The tall Cointet, who had his Angouleme at his fingers' ends, appreciated this difficulty, but he resolved to get round it by one of those audacities which a Tartufe alone can venture on. The little lawyer, a good deal surprised at the loyalty of his pai'tner in quibbling, left him to his own thoughts as they walked from the factory to the house in the rue du Minage, where, on the landing, the importunate pair were stopped by the words: "Monsieur and Madame are breakfasting." " Announce us all the same," said the tall Cointet. They were at once admitted, and the merchant pre- sented the lawyer to the affected Zephirine, who was breakfasting with M. Francis du Hautoy and Made- moiselle de la Haye ; Monsieur de Senonches having gone, as usual, to a meet at Monsieur de Pimentcl's. *' This, madame, is the young lawyer who will take charge of the arrangements on the coming of age of 3'our beautiful ward." Francis du Ilautoy examined Petit-Chiud, who, on his side, ghinccd furtively at the '' beautiful ward." Zei)hirinc's surprise at tliis acklress — for Francis had not said a word to her on tlie subject — was so great that the fork dropped from her hand. Mademoiselle de la Ilaye, a shrewish-looking girl with a glum face, Lost Illusions. 285 a thin, ungraceful figure, and dull, fair hair, was, in spite of a rather aristocratic air and manner, ver}- difficult to marr}'. The words "father and mother unknown " in her certificate of birth forbade her the sphere where the affection of her godmother and Francis du Hautoy would fain have placed her. Mademoiselle de la Haye, who was herself ignorant of her position, was difficult to please ; she had rejected more than one rich merchant of I'Houmeau. The significant grimace which she made at the pun}' aspect of the little lawyer was re- flected on the latter's lips, and Cointet saw it. Madame de Senonches and Francis seemed to be consulting each other with their eyes as to how they could get rid of Cointet and his protege. Cointet, who saw everything, begged Monsieur du Hautoy to give him a few moments' private conversation, and the pair then passed into the salon. "Monsieur," said Cointet plainh', "don't let pater- nity blind you. You will have difficult}' in marrying your daughter, and in the interest of all concerned I have committed you irrevocably to this marriage ; for I love Francoise as though she were my own ward. Petit- Claud knows all. His extreme ambition will guarantee the happiness and comfort of your dear girl. Besides, Francoise can make anything she likes of her husband ; with your influence he will soon be procureiir die roi. Petit-Claud will sell his practice ; you can easily obtain for him at once the position of second assistant- procureur ; after that he will soon make himself prO' cureur, president of the court, and deputy." When they returned to the dining-room Francis was very polite to his daughter's suitor. He looked at 286 Lost Illusions. Madame de Senonches in a certain way, and ended the scene by invitinj^ Petit-Claud to dinner on the foUowins: day to talk business. Then he went with them as far as the courtyard, saying to Petit-Claud that he was disposed, on the recommendation of Cointet, and so was Madame de Senonches, to confirm all that the guardian of Mademoiselle de la Haye's fortune had arranged for the happiness of that dear angel. '' Heavens ! how ugly she is ! " cried Petit-Claud, when the}' were off the premises, " and I am caught ! " " She has a ver}' distinguished air," said Cointet ; " and if she were handsome do you suppose they would give her to you f He}' ! my dear fellow, there 's more than one small land-owner to whom thirt}' thousand francs and the influence of Madame de Senonches would be very acceptable ; all the more because Mon- sieur Francis du Hautoy will never marr}' and this girl is his heir. Your marriage is settled." "Settled! how so?" "This is what I have just told Monsieur du Hauto}'," replied Cointet, who now related his audacious proceed- ing. " M}' dear fellow, Monsieur Milaud is, the}' say, about to be made procureur du roi. Sell your prac- tice, and in ten years from now you '11 be Keeper of the Seals. You are bold enough not to shrink from any service the court may ask of you." ^' Well, I '11 meet you to-morrow at half-past four on the place du Murier," replied the lawyer almost beside liimself at the probability of such a future. "I shall then have seen old Sechard and planned a partnership in which both father and son shall belong to the Holy Spirit of the Cointcts." Lost Illusions. 287 On the following clay three men, each remarkable in his wa}', bearing with their whole weight upon the fu- ture of the poor voluntar}- prisoner, namel}', old Se- chard, the tall Cointet, and the pun}- little lawyer, were standing on the place du Murier. Three men ! three greeds ! each greed as different as the men themselves. One was conspiring against his son, another against his client, and Cointet was buying these infamies, resolved, in his own mind, not to pa}' for them. It was about five o'clock and many of those who were on their way home to dinner stopped to look for a moment at the three men. ^' What the devil can old Sechard and the tall Coin- tet have to say to each otiier?" thought the most in- quisitive. " There is probably something between them about that wretched David, who has left his wife and child and mother-in-law without bread," replied some one. " See what it is to send your sons to Paris to learn a trade ! " remarked a wise man of the provinces. Just then old Sechard caught sight of the venerable priest of his own parish of Marsac, who was making his way across the place du Murier. " Hey ! monsieur le cure, what are you doing here? " he cried in astonishment. "Ah! Monsieur Sechard, is that you?" replied the Abbe Marron. '' I have come on business to your family." " Something about my son," thought Sechard. " It will not cost you much to make everybody happy," said the priest, pointing to a window^ where INIadame Sechard's beautiful face had just appeared between the 288 LoBt Illusions. curtains. Eve was hushing the child's cries b}' tossing him in her arms and singing to him. "Have you brought news of m}' son ?" said the father, '' or money? — for that's what he wants most." "No," said the Abbe Marron. "I bring news to Madame Eve Sechard of her brother." " Lucien ! " exclaimed Petit-Claud. " Yes. That poor young man has come from Paris on foot. I found him at Courtois's, dying of fatigue and starvation," replied the priest. " He is very un- fortunate." Petit-Claud took Cointet b}- the arm, saying aloud: " We dine with Madame de Senonches ; it is time to dress." Then when they had reached a little distance he added in a low voice, " Catch the cub, and you have the mother. We have David." "I've married you, do you marr}' me," returned Cointet, with a treacherous smile. "Lucien was my schoolmate ; we were churns. In a week I shall get eventhing out of him. See that my banns are published and I will promise to put David in prison. M}' mission ends when the bolt is drawn on him." " Ah ! " said the tall Cointet, softly. " The best thing to do would be to take out the patent in our own name." Hearing those words the puny little lawyer shuddered. At tliis moment Eve saw her fiither-in-law entering the house with the Abbe Marron. "Here, Madame Secliard," said the old boar, '' here 's our vicar who has fine news to tell you of your brother." "Oh!" cried poor Eve, struck to the heart, "what has happened to him now?" Lost Illusions. 289 This exclamation showed so man}' sufferings already borne, so much anxiet\- of so many kinds, that the abbe hastened to say: "Do not be alarmed, madame, he is living ! " '^ Would you be kind enough, father,'^ said Eve, ad- dressing old Sechard, "to call my mother; she must hear what monsieur has to tell us about Lucien." The old man went to find Madame Chardon, to whom he said : " You are to go down and have a scene about your son with the Abbe Marron ; he is a good man, though he is a priest. Dinner will no doubt be late. I shall be back in an hour." And the old bear, indifferent to all that did not ring or glitter gold, left the poor mother without paying any heed to the effect of the blow he had given her. The misfortunes which weighed on her two children, the fail- ure of the hopes she had set on Lucien, the change she had so little foreseen in a character she had always be- lieved to be upright and energetic, — in short, all the events which had happened during the last eighteen months had made Madame Chardon almost unrecogniz- able. She was not onh^ noble by birth, but she was noble in heart, and she worshipped her children ; con- sequentl}' she had suffered more during the last six months than ever before during her widowhood. Lucien she knew had had the chance to become a Rubempre by letters- patent from the king, to revive her famih-, the title, the arms, to become a noble ! — and he had lost it ; he had fallen into the mire ! More severe than his sis- ter, she had considered Lucien as lost from the da}' she first heard of the forged notes. Mothers sometimes choose to deceive themselves ; but they know well the 19 290 ^Lost Illusions. children they have suckled, from whom they are never reall}' parted even by distance ; and in the man}' dis- cussions between David and his wife as to Lucien's chances in Paris Madame Chardon, while apparently sharing her daughter's illusions, trembled lest David were right, for he spoke that which her mother's con- science told her was true. She knew too well the sen- sitiveness of her daughter's sympatic- to burden her with her own distress ; she had therefore borne it in that silence which only mothers who love their children are capable of preserving. Eve, on the other hand, saw with terror the ravages which grief was making in her mother ; she saw her going from old age to decrepitude and threatening to pass awa}' forever. Mother and daughter were acting towards each other one of those noble lies that do not deceive. In the life of this mother the brutal speech of the old miser was the drop that overflowed the cup of her afllictions ; Madame Chardon was heart-struck. Therefore, when Eve said to the priest; *' Monsieur, this is m}' mother," and when the abbe looked in that worn face, pallid as that of a nun, framed with hair that was wholly white and yet made beautiful by the calm and tender air of a woman piously resigned, who walked, as the}' say, by the will of God, he understood the whole life of these two beings. The priest felt no more pit}' for tlie executioner, for Lucien ; he shuddered as he became aware of the tortures his victims had evidently endured. " Mother," s;iid Eve, " my poor brother is very near us ; he is at Marsac." ** Why is he not here?" asked Madame Chardon. Lost Illusions. 291 The Abbe Marron related the circumstances which had brought Lucien from Paris, and the misery of his last days there. He described the anguish of the poet when he discovered the effects of his conduct on his un- fortunate family, and his fears as to the greeting he might receive in Angouleme. '' Has he reached the point of doubting us?" said Madame Chardon. "The unfortunate young man came all the way on foot," said the abbe, "enduring the utmost privations; be returns to his home disposed to enter upon the humblest wa}' of Hfe ; he desires to repair his faults." "Monsieur," said the sister, " in spite of the harm he has done us I love my brother as we love the body of a friend who is dead ; and in loving him thus, I still love him better than many sisters love their brothers. He has made us \Qxy poor ; but let him come, and we will share with him the morsel of bread that he has left us. Ah ! if he had never left us, monsieur, we should not have lost our dearest possessions." " Can I in any way be useful to you in 3'our painful situation? " said the worth}' abbe, wishing to take leave with a suitable speech. "Ah! monsieur," said Madame Chardon, "the wounds of money are not mortal, they sa}', but wounds of that sort can have no other remedy than the disease." " If you had enough influence over ni}' father-in-law to induce him to help his son," said Eve, " you. would save a whole family." "He does not believe in you; he seemed to me greatl}^ exasperated against your husband," said the 292 ^ Lost IUusio7is. abbe, who had been made to feel b}- the paraphrases of the old miser that the Sechard affairs were a wasp's- nest into which he had better not set his feet. The priest's mission accomplished, he went to dine with his grand nephew Postel, who dispelled the small amount of good-will felt bj' his uncle towards Eve and David by taking, as did all Angouleme, the part of the father against the son. " You ma}' do something to reform a spendthrift," said Postel, " but those who make inventions and ex- periments are certain to ruin themselves." The abbe's curiosity was completely satisfied ; and curiosity is, in all the provinces of France, the principal cause of the excessive interest the inhabitants take in one another. That evening when he returned to Mar- sac and saw Lucien, he told him what was happen- ing at the Sechards', and let him know that his errand there was dictated bj^ the purest charity. " You have saddled your sister and her husband with a debt of ten or twelve thousand francs," lie said in conclusion, " and no one, my good sir, has that amount of money to lend to a friend. We are not rich in An- goumois ; I had no idea when you spoke to me of those notes that the sum was so large." Thanking the abbe for his efforts, the poet added : "The word of pardon which you bring is, to me, the real treasure." Lost Illusions. 293 VII. THE RETURN OF THE PRODIGAL BROTHER. The next da}' Lucien started at daylight for Angou- leme, which he entered at nine in the morning, carry- ing a cane in his hand and wearing a small frock-coat rather damaged \)y his journe}', and trousers with black and white lines. His worn-out boots told plainly enough that he belonged to the hapless class of foot-passen- gers. He did not conceal from himself the effect that would certainly be produced on his townsmen by the contrast between his return and his departure. But, his heart still panting with remorse caused by the abbe's picture of his home, he accepted at the moment his punishment, resolving to face the e3'es of his former acquaintance. He said to himself, " I am heroic ! " All such poetic natures begin by first dup- ing themselves. As he walked through I'Houmeau his soul struggled between the shame of his return and the poesy of his recollections. His heart beat as he passed by Postel's shop, where, fortunatel}' for him, the apothecary's wife was alone with her infant. He saw with pleasure that his father's name had been effaced. Since Postel's marriage the shop had been repainted, and above the door, as in Paris, was the word " Pharmacj*." As Lucien climbed the stairway of the Porte Palet he 294 Lost Illusions. felt the influence of his native air ; the burden of his misfortunes fell from him, and he said in his heart jo}*- full}', " I shall see them once more ! " He reached the place du Murier without having met a single person whom he knew ; a happiness he hardly expected, — he who had once like a conquering hero walked about his town. Kolb and Marion, standing sentinels at the door rushed up the stairs crying out : "He is coming!" Lucien saw once more the old press-room, the old courtyard ; on the stairs he met his sister and his mother, and the}^ kissed each other, for- getting for a moment in that close clasp the sorrows that were upon them. In family life we almost always compound w^ith sorrow ; we make our bed, and hope enables us to bear its hardness. Though Lucien was the image of despair, he was also the embodiment of its poes}'. The sun had browned his skin during his long and weary journey ; the deepest melanchoh', stamped on every feature, cast its shadows on that poetic brow. This change in his bearing told of so much suffering that the onl}' feeling possible in those who saw the traces left b}^ miser}- on his countenance, was pit3^ The ardent imagination w^iich had let him go in hope found on his return a sad real it}'. In the midst of her joy. Eve's smile was that of a mar- tyred saint. Grief often renders the face of a very beautiful woman sublime. The gravity which Lucien saw on his sister's features, in place of the tranquil in- nocence they had worn when he left her, spoke too eloquently to his heart not to pain it. So, the first effu- sion of their feelings, keen and natural as the}' were, was followed on botli sides by reaction ; each feared to Lost Illusions. 295 speak. Lucien's eyes could not help seeking the one who was missing from the meeting. The look was un- derstood by Eve, and she burst into tears, as did Lu- cien. Madame Chardon continued as before, pallid and apparenth' impassible. Eve rose, to spare her brother the painful answer to his look, and went to find Marion and say to her: " Lucien likes strawbemes — can we get some?" "Oh! don't trouble. I thought you would want to welcome Monsieur Lucien, and I 've got a nice little breakfast for him, and a good dinner, too." " Lucien," said Madame Chardon to her son, " you have much to repent of here. Pledged to be an ob- ject of pride to 3'our family, aou have plunged it into the worst distress. You have almost destroyed the opportunity your brother had to make a fortune for his new famih'. And that is not all you have destroyed," added the mother. A painful pause succeeded ; Lucien's silence seemed to imph' accept- ance of his mother's blame. '^You entered a career of toil,'' went on Madame Chardon, more gently. " I do not blame you for wishing to revive the old family from which I came ; but such an enterprise needed both fortune and noble principles ; you had neither. Our belief in you is changed by 3-our own actions to distrust. You have destroyed the peace of this hard- working, patient family, whose way was already diffi- cult. But the first wrong-doing should receive forgive- ness. Do not do wrong again. We are now in very difficult circumstances ; be prudent ; listen to 3'our sister's advice ; misfortune is a teacher whose lessons, harshly given, have borne their fruit in her ; she has 296 ^ Lost Illusions. become serious, she is a mother, she bears the whole burden of the home and its affairs out of devotion to our dear David ; and she has now become, through your wroug-doing, m}" only comfort."' " You might be more severe," said Lucien, kissing his mother. " I accept 3'our forgiveness, because it is the last I shall ever receive." Eve returned ; seeing her brother's humiliated atti- tude, she knew that Madame Chardon had spoken. Her loving-kindness put a smile upon her lips, to which Lucien answered b}' repressed tears. The bodih' pres- ence has a charm ; it changes the most hostile feelings of those who love, whether as lovers or with famil}" affection, however strong may be the causes of discon- tent. Is it that affection lays a path in the heart which we love to re-enter? Can it be that this phenomenon belongs to the domain of magnetism? Does reason tell us we must either never meet again, or we must forgive each other? Whether it be reason, or a physi- cal cause, or an action of the soul that produces this effect, certain it is that every one's experience will tell him that the motions, gesture, and look of a beloved being revive in those he has most ill-used, grieved, or offended, the vestiges of tenderness. The mind ma}' have difficult}' in forgetting, self-interest may still suffer, but tlie heart, in spite of everything, returns to its alle- giance. 80 the poor sister, listening until bivakfast-time to her brother's confidences, was no longer mistress of her eyes as she looked at him, nor of her tones when she suffered her heart to speak. lV\tiinning to understand the elements of literary life in Taris. sho also understood how it was that Lucien had succumbed in the struggle. Lost Illusions. 297 The poet's joy in fondling his sister's chikl, his own childlike ways, the happiness he showed at returning to his land and his people, mingled with his bitter grief at David's disaster, the melanchol}' which sometimes over- shadowed him, his emotion when he noticed that his sister had remembered his love for strawberries, — all these things, even to the difficulty of lodging the prodi- gal brother, made this da}' a festive one. It was like a pause in the midst of misery. Old Sechard did his best to drive back the feelings of these poor women b}' saying to them: "You welcome him as if he brought 3'ou hundreds and thousands." " What has Lucien done that he should not be wel- comed?" cried Madame Sechard, anxious to conceal her brother's shame. Nevertheless, after the first flow of tenderness had passed, shadows of the truth reappeared. Lucien soon perceived in Eve a difference between her old afl'ec- tion and that she now bore him ; David was deeply honored, while Lucien was loved in spite of all, as we love a mistress notwithstanding the disasters she has caused. Esteem, the necessary basis of all true sentiments, and the solid material which gives them the securit}' bj' which the}' live, was now felt to be wanting between the mother and son, the sister and brother. Lucien felt himself deprived of the perfect confidence they would have had in him but for his lapse in honor. D'Arthez' opinion of him had become that of his sister, and unconsciously it showed itself in her looks and tones and gestures. Lucien was pitied ; but as to being the glory, the honor of the famih', the hero of the hearth, all such fine hopes were gone without re- 298 . Lost Illusions. call. His instability was such that they even feared to tell him the place of David's refuge. Eve, unmoved by his caresses, — for he wanted to see his brother, — was no longer the Eve of I'Houmeau, to whom, in former days, a mere glance from Lucien was an irresistible command. Lucien talked of repairing the wrongs he had done, and boasted of being soon able to rescue his brother. To this Eve replied: "Don't meddle in the matter ; our adversaries are the ablest and most per- fidious men in town." Lucien threw up his head, as if to say : " I have battled with Parisians ; " to which his sister replied with a look which meant, ' ' And you were worsted." " I am no longer loved," thought Lucien ; " for my famil3% as well as for the world, I ought to have succeeded." After the second day, when he thus explained to himself the evident want of confidence in his mother and sister, the poet was seized with a feeling that was not anger, but grief, — he was hurt. He api)lied the axioms of Parisian life to the restrained provincial life of his family, forgetting that the patient mediocrity of the ,home, sublime in its resignation, was his work. "They are only tradespeople, they cannot understand me," he thought ; thus separating himself from his sister and mother and David, being unconsciously aware that he could no longer deceive them as to his character, or his future. Eve and Madame Chardon, in whom the divining sense had ])een awakened by so many shocks, so many misfortunes, were aware of Lucien's secret thouglits ; they felt themselves misjudged, and saw him gradually Lost Illusions. 299 withdrawing from them: "Paris has changed him towards us," they said to each other. They gathered the fruits of the selfishness the}' themselves had cul- tivated. On both sides this first leaven of estrange- ment was certain to ferment ; and it did ferment, but chiefl}' on Lucien's side, for on that la}' the wrong. As for Eve, she was one of those sisters who can say to faulty brothers : '• Forgive me thi/ sins." But, when any union of souls has been perfect, as it was at the dawn of life between Eve and Lucien, all that injures that ideal feeling kills it. Where ordinar}' humanity recovers from the thrust of a dagger, the hearts that love are parted irrevocabh' by a word, a look. The secret of inexplicable separations may be found in the memory of some perfection lost to the life of the soul. We can live with distrust in our hearts when the past offers no memory of a pure and cloudless love ; but, to two be- ings once absolutely united life becomes, when look and word are guarded, intolerable. Thus the great poets kill their Paul and Virginia in adolescence. Conceive of a Paul and a Virginia estranged ! Let us here remark, to the honor of Eve and Lucien, that self-interests, harshly wounded as they were, did not aggravate this estrangement. In the faultless sister as in the faulty brother all was feeling, unalloyed ; therefore, the least misunderstanding, the slightest quarrel, any new disappointment in Lucien, might at once disunite them, or lead to one of those partings which are irrevocable. Matters of money can be settled ; feelings are unrelenting. A few days after his arrival Lucien received a copy of the ''Journal d'Angouleme," and turned pale with 300 . Lost Illusions. pleasure on seeing himself made the subject of a leading article in that estimable paper, whicli resembled the well-brought-up young lad}' mentioned by Voltaire, who never got herself talked about. We give the entire article : — " Let Franche-Comte take pride in having given birth to Victor Hugo, Charles Nodier, and Cuvier ; Brittany, for possessing Chateaubriand and Lammenais ; Normandy, as the parent of Casimir Delavigne ; Touraine, of the author of * Eloa/ To-day our own Angouleme (where, in the days of Louis XIII. , the illustrious Guez, better known under the name of Balzac, became our compatriot), Angouleme, we say, has no need to envy those provinces, nor Limousin which has produced Dupuytren ; nor Auvergne, the country of Montlosier ; nor Bordeaux, wiich may boast of giving birth to so many great men ; for we ourselves now have our poet ! The author of the noble sonnets entitled ' Daisies,' unites with the glory of a poet that of a prose writer ; for to him is due that fine romance of ' The Archer of Charles IX.' The day will come when our sons will be proud of having for their compatriot Lucien Chardon, a rival of Petrarch ! ! ! [In the provincial newspaper of this period notes of excla- mation were like the ' hurrahs ' which greet the speeches at an English public meeting.] In spite of his dazzling success in Paris our young poet did not forget that the Hotel de Bargeton in his native town was the cradle of his triumphs, and that the Angouleme aristocracy were the first to applaud his poems ; he remembered that the wife of our present pre- fect. Monsieur le Comte du Chatelet, encouraged his first steps in the career of the Muses, and he has returned to us ! All ITIouineau was agitated when early yesterday morning our Lucien de Kubempre presented himself. The news of his return has produced the liveliest sensation. It is certain that the town of Angouldme will not allow her suburb to i Lost Illusions, 301 surpass her in the honors paid to one who has so gloriously, both in the press and in literatui-e, represented our town in Paris. Lucien has dared to brave the fury of faction as a religious poet and a royalist. He has come, we are told, to rest, after the fatigues of a struggle which might well weary stronger atliletes than men of poetry and imagination. " With an eminently wise political forethought, which we applaud (it is said that the Comtesse du Chatelet was the first to whom the idea occurred), it is proposed to restore to our poet the title and name of the illustrious family of Ku- bempre, the only heiress of which is Madame Chardon, his mother. To revive thus, by means of genius and fresh fame, the names of ancient families about to become extinct, is another pledge from the immortal author of the Charter of his constant desire, expressed in the two words, Union and Oblivion ! " Our poet is staying with his sister, Madame Sechard." An " item " in another part of the paper was as follows : " Our prefect, Monsieur le Comte du Chatelet, lately ap- pointed Gentleman of the Bedchamber in ordinary to his Majesty, has just been made Councillor of State, for special service. "Yesterday all the municipal authorities called on the prefect. " Madame la Comtesse Sixte du Chatelet will receive every Thursday. " The mayor of Escarbas, M. de Negrepelisse, representing the younger branch of the d'Espard family, the father of ]\Iadame du Chatelet, who was recently made a count and Peer of France and Commander of the royal order of Saint- Louis, is, they say, selected to preside over the electoral Col- lege of Angouleme at the coming elections." " There ! " said Lucien to his sister, giving her the paper. 802 - Lost Illusions. After reading the article attentive!}', Eve gave the sheet back to Lucien with a thoughtful air. " What do you think of it?" asked Lucien, amazed at a caution which seemed to him coldness. "Brother," she answered, "that newspaper belongs to the Cointets ; they control absolute!}' everything that goes into it ; they cannot be forced to insert anything, unless b}' the prefect or the bishop. Do 3'ou suppose that your former rival, now prefect, is generous enough to sing your praises? Have you forgotten that the Cointets are suing us under the name of Mctivier, hoping, no doubt, to force David to let them profit by his discoveries ? From whatever • quarter that article comes, I think it alarming. When you were here 3'ou excited only dislike and jealousy ; they calumniated 3'ou on the principle of the proverb that ' a prophet is of no honor in his own country ; ' and yet everything is now changed in the twinkling of an eye ! " "You don't know the self-love of towns, of prov- inces," replied Lucien. " In one of the small southern towns the inhabitants went to the gates to receive in triumph a 3'oung man who had won the prize of honor at the 'grand concours,' for the3' saw in him the germ of a great man." "Listen to me, m3' dear Lucien; I don't want to preach to 3'ou, but let me sa3' it all in one word : dis- trust everything, even the smallest things, here." "You are right," said Lucien, surprised to find his sister so little enthusiastic. The poet himself was at the summit of happiness at finding liis mean and humiliating return to Angoulfime transformed into a triuiii[)h. Lost lUusions. 303 *' Yon do not choose to believe in the sh'frht amount of fame which has cost us so dear ! " cried Lucien, after an hours silence, during which time a storm had been gathering in his heart. For all answer Eve looked at him, and the look made him ashamed of his accusation. A few minutes before the dinner hour a servant from the Prefecture brought a note addressed to Monsieur Lucien Chardon which seemed tojustif)' the self-satis- faction of the poet whom, as it now appeared, society desired to welcome. The note contained the following invitation : — Monsiem* le Comte Sixte du Chatelet and Madame la Com- tesse du Chatelet request the honor of Monsieur Lucien Char- don's company at dinner on the 15th of September next. R. s. V. p. With this note came a card bearing the words : " Le Comte Sixte du Chatelet, Gentleman of the Bedchamber in ordinarv to the King, Prefect of the Charente, Coun- cillor of State." "■You are in favor," said old Sechard ; " I hear peo- ple talking about you as if you were a great person- age. The}' say I'Houmeau and Angonleme are wrang- ling over the honor of twisting wreaths for your head ! " '^ M}' dear Eve," said Lucien, in a low voice, " I am absolntel}' as I was that day at I'Honmeau when I was invited to Madame de Bargeton's — I have no clothes in which to dine at the prefect's." " Do j-ou mean to accept his invitation? " cried Eve, terrified. 304 Lost Illusions. On this an argument began between the brother and sister as to the expedienc}' of going or not going to the Prefecture. The common-sense of the provincial woman told Eve that Lucien ought not to appear in societ}' unless with a smiling face and a perfectly- irre- proachable dress ; but the real anxiet}' that filled her mind she kept to herself; it was this : " What will be the result to Lucien of this dinner? What can the great world of Angouleme want of him ? May it not be some plot against him ? '* Lucien finalh- said to his sister before he went to bed, " You do not know what m}' influence is. The wife of the prefect is afraid of the journalist ; besides, in the Comtesse du Chatelet I can alwa3's find Louise de Negrepelisse. A woman who has just attained so high a position can save David. I will tell her of the great discovery m}' brother has made, and it will be notliing for her to obtain a succor of ten thousand francs from the ministry." At eleven o'clock that night the whole household were aroused by music in the streets ; the place du Murier was crowded with people. A serenade was given to Lucien Chardon de Rubempre b}' the young men of Angouleme. Lucien went to his sister's win- dow and said, after the last piece and in tlie midst of the deepest silence: "I thank my townsmen for the honor they have done me ; I shall endeavor to make myself wortliy of it ; they will forgive me for not saying more ; m}' emotion is so great that I cannot continue." *' Long live the author of ' The Arclier of Ciiarles IX. ! '" " Long live the autlior of ' The Daisies ! ' " **Long live Lucien de Ivubempiv ! " Lost Illusions. 305 After three salvos of cheers, shouted bj many voices, three crowns and bouquets were adroitly flung througli the open window of the room. Ten minutes later the square was empt}' and silence reigned. ''I'd rather have ten thousand francs," growled old Sechard, fingering the bouquets with a very contemptu- ous air. " You gave them daisies, and they give you nosegays. You appear to deal in flowers ! " " So that's your estimate oTf the honors my fellow- citizens bestow upon me?" cried Lucien, whose coun- tenance now wore an expression of radiant satisfaction, without a trace of melancholy. " If 3'ou knew men, papa Sechard, 3'ou would know that there are not two moments like these to be met with in a lifetime. Noth- ing but true enthusiasm can bestow such triumphs ! This, my dear mother and ni}' good sister, will efface all griefs." Lucien kissed his mother and Eve as people kiss in those rare moments when J03' wells up in waves so mighty that we feel impelled to fling ourselves upon the hearts of friends. (In default of friends, said Bixiou one day, an author drunk with success em- braces his porter.) "My dear sister," cried Lucien suddenly, " why do you weep? Ah ! I see, — for joy." " Alas," said Eve to her mother when they were alone before going to bed, "I do believe there is, in a poet, a pretty woman of the worst kind." " You are right," said the mother, shaking her head, "Lucien has already' forgotten not only his mis- fortunes, but ours." The mother and daughter separated without daring to put their whole thought into words. 20 306 Lost Illusions, VIII. THE MACHIX^RY OF AN OVATION. In countries consumed b}* that spirit of social insub- ordination which underlies the word equality, any triumph is one of those miracles which, like certain miracles of past times, will not work without a manipu- lator. Out of ten ovations obtained b\' ten men and awarded in the midst of their fellows, nine are the result of causes entireh' foreign to the man glorified. The triumph of Voltaire on the boards of the Theatre- FranQais was that of the philosoph}' of his period. No one can triumph in France unless the crown fits the heads of all who acclaim him. Tims the two poor women had cause for their presentiments. This ovation to the great man of the province was too antipathetic to the stagnant ways of Angouleme not to have been put in motion either by self-interests or by the hand of some eager admirer^X^ve, like most women, was distrustful through instinct, without being able to explain to her- self the causes of her distrust. She was still thinking as she went to sleep that night, — " Who in Angouleme admires Lucien enough to have stirred tlie whole town in tliis way! He has not yet published ' Tlie Daisies ; * wh^' is he congratulated on a success he has not obtained?" Lost Illusions. 307 This excitement was in fact the doing of Petit-CIaiul. On the day when the abbe tx)ld him of Lucien's arrival at Marsac, tlie law3'er dined for the first time with Ma- dame de Senonclies, who was then to receive his formal demand for the hand of her goddaughter. It was one of those family dinners the solemnity of which is shown by the style of the gowns rather than by the number of the guests ; it may be domestic, but it has a purpose, the meaning of which can be discerned on the faces of all present. Fran^oise was dressed for exhibition. Ma- dame de Senonches flew the flag of her most elegant toilet. Monsieur du Hautoy wore a black coat. Mon- sieur de Senonches, to whom his wife had written of the arrival of Madame du Chatelet (who was to dine with her on this occasion) and of the formal reception of a suitor for Francoise, had returned to town from Monsieur de Pimentel's preserves. Cointet dressed in his best brown coat, ecclesiastically cut, presented to the eyes of all a six-thousand- franc diamond in his shirt-frill, — the revenge of a rich merchant on these poor aristocrats. Petit-Claud, though brushed and combed and well-soaped, had not been able to get rid of his dried-up look. It was impossible to avoid com- paring the skinny little lawyer squeezed into his clothes to a torpid viper ; but hope had so increased the sharp- ness of his magpie eyes, he aflTected such indifference, he curbed himself so tightly, that he attained to all the dignity of an ambitious \\it\e prociireur du roi. Madame de Senonches had requested her intimates not to speak of this first meeting of her goddaughter and the suitor, nor of the fact that Madame du Chatelet would be present, so that she had everv reason to ex- 308 Lost Illusions. pect that her rooms would be filled. The prefect and his wife had alread}' made tlieir official visit b}- means of cards, reserving the honor of a personal one for this occasion. The aristocracy of Angouleme were so de- voured with curiositj' on the subject that several persons in the Chandour camp proposed to spend the evening at the hotel Bargeton, — for they persisted in not call- ing it the hotel de Senonches. The rumor of Madame du Chatelet's position in Pai'isian society woke man}' ambitions ; moreover, it was said that she had changed for the better wonderful!}', and every one wished to judge of this improvement for themselves. Learning from Cointet that Zephirine had obtained permission to present him to Madame du Chatelet as the future Ims- band of her dear Frangoise, Petit-Claud determined to get some profit out of the embarrassing position in which Lucien's return had placed the late Madame de Bargeton. Monsieur and Madame de Senonches had taken so much upon them by the mere purchase of the house that, like true provincials, they refrained from the ex- pense of altering it. So the first words of Zephirine, as she advanced to meet Madame du Cliatelet, were : "My dear Nais, see! you are once more at home!" pointing, as she spoke, to the little chandelier, with the glass pendants, the panelled walls, and the furniture which had once so fiiscinated Lucien. " That, dear, is what I least care to remember," said the prefect's wife graciously, casting a glance about her to examine the company. Every one agreed that Louise de N^grepelisse was no longer like her former self Parisian society, in which Ln^t Illusions. 309 she had spent the last eighteen months, the first pleas- ures of her marriage which had transformed the woman as much as Paris had transformed the provincial, and the sort of dignit}' which power gives, made Madame du Chatelet a woman who resembled Madame de Bargeton as a girl of twenty resembles her mother. IShe wore a charming little head-dress of lace and flowers, carelessly fastened on her head by a diamond pin. Her hair was in curls, which suited her face and rejuvenated it by masking its outlines. She had a foulard gown, made with a pointed waist gracefully fringed, the cut of which (due to the famous Victorine) became her figure. Her shoulders, covered with a blonde fichu, were scarceh' visible beneath a gauze scarf cunningly wound about her throat, which was too long. She toyed with one of those pretty trifles the manipulation of which is a rock of disaster to provincial women ; a crj'stal scent- bottle was fastened to her bracelet by a chain, and in one hand she held her fan and her handkerchief without appearing to be the least embarrassed by them. The taste displayed in ever3' detail of her dress, her pose and manners (copied from Madame d'Espard) proved that Louise had been an apt pupil of the faubourg Saint-Germain. As to her husband, the old beau of the Empire, marriage had ripened him like those melons which are green one dav and turn vellow in a sing-le night. Finding on the glowing face of the wife the freshness which Sixte had lost, man}' provincial sar- casms went round from ear to ear ; all the more because the women, furious at the new superiorit}' of the former queen of Angouleme, made the husband the scape-goat of the wife. 310 Lost Illusions. Except for the absence of Monsieur de Chandour and his wife, Monsieur de Pimentel, and the Rastignacs, the salon was filled with about the same persons as on the day when Lucien read there for the first time ; even the bishop arrived, followed b}' his grand-vicars. Petit- Claud, much impressed by his first sight of the Angou- lerae aristocracy, to the heart of which he had never ex- pected to penetrate, felt his hatred against the upper classes getting much subdued. He thought the Com- tesse du Chatelet ravishing as he said to himself: ''There's the woman who can get me appointed assistant-procureur ! " Towards the middle of the evening, after talking for about the same length of time to all the women present, varying the tone of the interviews according to the im- portance of the individual and the course she had taken at the time of the flight with Lucien, Louise retired into the boudoir with the bishop. Madame de Senonches then took the arm of the suitor, whose heart beat violently, and led him into the boudoir where Lucien's troubles had begun, and where the}' were now to be consummated. " This is Monsieur Petit-Claud, my dear," said Zeph- irine to Nais. " I commend him to you all the more warmlj' because whatever you can do for him will bene- fit my goddaughter." "Are you a lawyer. Monsieur?" said the daughter of the Negrepejisse, looking at the little man as if from a height. " Alas, yes, Madame la comtesse." (Never before had the tailor's son had the opportunity of uttering those last three words, and his mouth seemed full of them.) Lost Illusio7i8. 311 " But," he continued, " it depends on Madame la com- tesse to advance me. Monsieur Milaud is, they say, goin^ to Xevers — " ''But,*' said the countess, ''are you not required to be second assistant before 3'ou are made first? 1 should be very happ}' to see you first assistant at once if it could be done. But before I do anything to obtain this favor for you I should like some assurance of your devotion to legitimac}', to religion, and above all to Monsieur de Villele." " Ah, madame," said Petit-Claud, approaching her and whispering in her ear, "I am a man who is rever- ently obedient to the king." " That is what ice need in these days," she replied, drawing back to let him know he was not to whisper in her ear again. " If you and Madame de Senonches are agreed, you may count on me,'' she added, making a regal gesture with her fan. '' Madame," said Petit-Claud, who saw Cointet at the door making a sign to him. " Lucien is here." " Monsieur I " said the countess, in a tone which would have stopped the words in the throat of an ordi- nary man. "Madame la comtesse does not understand me," con- tinued Petit-Claud, speaking in his most respectful man- ner. " I desire to ofler her a proof of my devotion to her person. How does Madame la comtesse wish that the great man she herself has made should be received in Angouleme? " Louise de N^grepelisse had never thought of this dilemma, in which she was evidently more interested on account of the past than of the present. 312 Lost Illusions. " Monsieur Petit-Claud," she said, with a statel}- and dignified manner, "you wish to belong to the govern- ment. Remember that its first principle is never to be in the wrong ; women have, even more than gov- ernments, the instinct of power and the sentiment of dignity." " So I supposed, madame," he answered eager!}-, all the while watching the countess with an attention which though deep, was scarcelj' visible. '• Lucien has re- turned in a state of abject misery. If he should receive an ovation I can oblige him, for that ver}' reason, to leave Angouleme, where his sister and brother-in-law, David Sechard, are just now harassed by a law-suit." Madame du Chatelet's proud face showed a slight emotion produced b}' the repression of lier satisfaction. Surprised at being understood, she looked at Petit- Claud and opened her fan. Francoise de la IIa3'e coming into the room at the moment gave her time to choose her answer. "Monsieur," she said, with a smile, "3'ou will soon be procureur du roi.^' Surely that was saying all, without compromising herself. " Oh, madame ! " cried Francoise, " I shall owe you the happiness of all my life." Then she stooped to Madame du Chatelet's ear and whispered, with a girlish gesture, " I should die b}' inches as the wife of a pro- vincial lawyer." If Zephirine tlius threw herself upon Nais it was because Francis, who was not without a certain knowl- edge of bureaucracy, urged lior. '* Remember," he said, '' tbat in the first days of an Lost Illusions. 313 accession to power, whether it is that of a prefect, a dynast}', or a specuhition, men are eager to render ser- vices ; but they soon find out the annoyances of patron- age and freeze over. To-da}' Madame du Chatelet will make an effort for Petit-Claud which three months hence she would not make for your husband." "But has Madame la comtesse thought of what an ovation to our poet involves ? He will have to be re- ceived at the Prefecture during the nine days the won- der lasts." Louise made a sign with her head dismissing the lit- tle law3'er ; then she rose and went to the door of the boudoir to speak to Madame de Piraentel who was just arriving. Astonished at the elevation of old Monsieur de Negrepelisse to the peerage, the marquise felt that she had better court a woman who was clever enough to have increased her influence b}' making a sort of quasi false step. " Do tell me, m}- dear, w^hy 3'ou took the pains to put your father in the Upper Chamber," said the mar- quise, in the midst of a confidential conversation, in which she was figurativel}- on her knees before the supe- riorit}^ of her " dear Nais." '* My dear, they bestowed that favor because m}' father has no children and will alwaj'S vote for the crown ; but if I have sons I count on getting the title and arms and peerage transferred to the eldest." Madame de Pimentel sadl}^ perceived that she could never persuade a woman whose ambition extended to her unborn children, to help her to realize her ardent desire of getting Monsieur de Pimentel raised to the peerage. 314 Lost Illusions. *' I have won the prefect's wife," said Petit-Claud to Cointet as they left the house, " and I promise you that partnership. In a month I shall be first assistant-pro- cureur and you — you will be David Sechard's master. Tr}^ to find me a purchaser for my practice, which I have made, in five months, the best in Angouleme." " It only needed to put you on horseback," said Cointet, half jealous of his own work. We can now understand the cause of Lucien's trium- phant reception in his own town. Like the King of France, who would not avenge the Duke of Orleans, Louise would not remember the wrongs done in Paris to Madame de Bargeton. She resolved to patronize Lucien, to crush him with her protection, and get him out of the place honorably. Petit-Claud, who knew in part what had happened in Paris, relied on the peren- nial hatred women bear to men who have not had the wit to love them at the moment when the}' wanted to be loved. The day of the ovation (which was also to justify the past of Madame de Bargeton) Petit-Claud, for tlie pur- pose of turning Lucien's head still more, arrived at Madame S^^chard's with six young men of the town, all old schoolmates of Lucien. This was a deputation sent by the rest of the schoolmates to the author of '' The Archer of Charles IX." and " The Daisies," re- questing him to be present at the banquet they wished to give to a great man who had issued from their ranks. ''That's you, Petit-Claud," cried Lucien. "Your return here," said Petit-Clnud, '^ lias stimu- lated our vanity ; it is a point of honor. We have clubbed together and we are preparing a magnificent Lost Illusions. 315 feast for 3-011 ; the bead of the college and all the pro- fessors are coming, and as things look now, we shall have some of the authorities." '' What day is it? " asked Lucien. '' Xext Sunday." *'Then I can't l)e present," replied the poet. "I can't accept anything for the next ten days ; but after that I will, gladly."' '' Well, just as you say," said Petit-Claud. " So be it, — in tea days." Lucien was charming to his comrades, who treated him with an admiration that was almost reverential. He talked for half an hour with much brilliancy, for he felt himself on a pedestal, and he wished to justify the opinion of the communit}'. He put his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat, and talked like a man who saw things from the eminence on which his fellow-citi- zens had placed him. He was modest, and a good fellow, as became a genius in his off moments. His tone was that of an athlete fatigued with the arena of Paris, above all, disenchanted, disillusioned ; he con- gratulated his comrades on never having left their worthy provinces. The}' departed one and all delighted with him. Then he called to Petit-Claud and detained him to ask the truth about David's affairs, reproaching him for ever letting things come to the pass of obliging his brother-in-law to conceal himself. Lucien intended to be deeper than Petit-Claud. Petit-Claud endeavored to make his former schoolmate think him a little provin- cial lawyer without either faculty or shrewdness. The constitution of modern society, which is infinitely more complicated in its running-gear than the societies of 316 Lr)st Illusions. ancient times, has had the effect of sub-dividing the faculties of mankind. In the olden time eminent men, forced to be universal, appeared in small numbers, like torches among the nations of antiquit}*. Later, though faculties were specialized, their application vras still to the general whole. Thus a man " rich in cunning," as Louis XI. called it, applied his cunning generall}'. But to-day the quality itself is sub-divided. For example : so man}' professions mean so man}' different forms of cunning. A wil}' diplomatist ma}' be tricked in the provinces by a very common lawyer or by a peasant. The most crafty of journalists can be fooled in a matter of commercial interests, and Lucien was fitted to be and did become the plaything and tool of Petit-Claud. That malicious little lawyer had himself written the article which announced that the town of Angouleme felt it due to its own dignity to receive its great man. Lucien's fellow-citizens who assembled on the place du Murier were the workmen in the printing-house and paper fac- tory of the Cointets, accompanied by the clerks in the oflices of Petit-Claud and Cachan, together with a num- ber of their schoolmates. By making himself at once Lucien's intimate, Petit-Claud thought, with good reason, that sooner or later he should get from him the secret of David's retreat. If David were betrayed through Lucien the latter could certainly not remain in Angouleme. " What would n't I have done to assist David," said the lawyer, in reply to Lucien's reproaches, " if only for the sister of my old friend? but in law, you understand, there are positions to which every thing must be sacri- ficed. David asked me on the 1st of June to guarantee him three months tranquillity ; he is not in any danger Lost Illusions. 317 till September, and, moreover, I have managed to se- cure all his property from his creditors, — for I shall certainl}' gain the suit before the Koyal Court ; I shall get a judgment that the rights of the wife are absolute, and that in this case they cover no fraud. As to you, m}' dear friend, you have come back poor, but you are a man of genius/' (Lucieu made a gesture as if the incense were swung too near his nose.) "Yes, dear Lucien," continued Petit-Claud, •' I have read ' The Archer of Charles IX.,' and it is more than a book, it is a work of genius. There are but two men in France who could have written that preface, — Chateaubriand and you ! " Lucien accepted the compliment and refrained from saj'ing that the preface was written by Daniel d'Arthez. Out of one hundred French authors, ninety-nine would have done the same. *' Well, here in your native town no one seemed to knowj'ou," continued Petit-Claud, pretending indigna- tion. " When I saw the general indifference, I took it into m\' head to revolutionize opinion. I wrote the article you read — " " You I did you write it? " cried Lucien. "I, m3'self. Angouleme and I'Houmeau were made rivals ; I collected those young men, your old school- mates, and organized the serenade last night ; then, once launched into enthusiasm, we subscribed for the dinner. I said to myself, ' Never mind whether David is still in hiding, Lucien shall be crowned at any rate.' Besides this, I have done my best in other ways," con- tinued Petit-Claud. "I have seen the Comtesse du Chatelet, and I have made her understand that she owes it to herself to pull David out of danger ; she can do it, 318 Lest Illusions. and she ought to do it. If David has reall}- made the discovery he told me about, the authorities ought to sus- tain him ; and what a thing it would be for the new prefect to share in the honor of so great an invention by affording protection to its discoverer. Everybod}' w^ould taliv of him as an enlightened administrator. Your sister is afraid of our judicial musketr}' ; she is fright- ened by the smoke. Legal warfare costs as much as that on the battlefield ; but David has maintained his position, — he is master of his secret ; he can't be arrested, and he will not be arrested." " Thank 3'ou, my dear fellow," said Lucien, " I see I can trust you with my plan, and you will help me to carry it out." (Petit-Claud locked at Lucien, giving to his gimlet nose the appearance of an interrogation mark.) " I wish to save David," continued Lucien, with an air of importance. " I am the cause of his misfortunes ; I shall repair all ; I have more influence over Louise — '' '' Louise ! who is she? " "The Comtesse du Chatelet." (Petit-Claud gave a start.) " I have more influence over her than she herself is aware of," continued Lucien ; " onl}', m}- dear fellow, though I may have a secret power in your government, I have no clothes — " Petit-Claud made a movement as if to ofler his purse. "Thank you, no,'" said Lucien, pressing his friends hand, " In ten days from now I shall call on Madame du Chatelet, and then I will return your visit." The}' se])arated with a hearty shake of the hand like comrades. " He ought to be a poet," thought Petit-Claud, " for he is crazy." Lost Illusions. 319 "They ma}' say what thc}^ like," thought Lucien, '' but in the matter of friends there are none to com- pare with old schoolmates." " Dear Lucien," said Eve when he talked to her of his friend, " what has Petit-Claud been saying to make you feel thus? Beware of him ! " "Of him?" cried Lucien. " Listen, Eve," he went on, apparentl}^ following out some reflection, " 3'ou no longer believe in me ; you distrust me ; you also dis- trust Petit-Claud unjustl}' ; but in twelve or fifteen daj^s 3'ou will change your opinion," he added, with a con- ceited smile. Then he retired to his room and wrote the following letter to one of his journalistic friends in Paris : — My dear Lousteau, — Of us two, I am probably the only one who remembers that I lent you a thousand francs. But I know, alas too well, the situation in which you are sure to be when you open this letter not to say at once that I don't ask for them back in gold and silver, — no, simply in credit. You and I have the same tailor, you can therefore order for me, on your credit and with the briefest delay, a complete fit-out. ^Yithout being precisely in the dress of Adam, I can- not show myself. Here, the honors of the department due to a distinguished Parisian await me — to my great sur- prise. I am the hero of a banquet, for all the world as though I were a deputy. Xow you see the absolute necessity for a black coat. Promise payment ; have the things charged to you; invent some new Don Juanism, for I must have clothes at any price — I am in rags ! Hei-e it is September ; weather magnificent ; ergo be sure that I receive, by the end of this week, a charming morning suit, to wit : small frock coat, green-bronze, dark ; three waistcoats, — one, sulphur color; another, fancy material, Scotch pattern; third, all 320 Lost Illusions. white ; next, three pairs of trousers to kill the loomen, — one, English stuff, white ; the second, nankeen ; the third, thin black cassimere ; and finally, a black coat and a black satin waistcoat for evening wear. If you have replaced Florine by another of her kind, I petition her for two cravats. But all this is nothing ; I know I can rely on you, or your cleverness ; I am not uneasy about the tailor. But there is something else ! My dear friend, how many times have you and I deplored that the intellect of poverty (which certainly is the most active poison that destroys the man of men, the Parisian !), — that our intellect, the activity of which surprises Satan himself, has, so far, been unable to find a way to get a hat on credit. When fashion gives to the world hats that are worth a thousand francs we shall be able to get them on credit, but till then, we must have enough money in our pockets to pay for them. I feel, I profoundly feel the diffi- culties I put upon you by this request. Add a pair of boots, a pair of pumps, six pairs of gloves to be sent by the tailor. It is requiring the impossible, I know that. But is n't lit- eraiy life itself the impossible? May I suggest one thing ? Perform this prodigy by writing some great article or doing some small infamy, and I will re- lease you from that thousand francs and discharge the debt. Remember, it was a debt of honor, and has been running now twelve months ; you would blush, I know, if you could blush! My dear Lousteau, joking apart, I am in serious circum- stances. You will understand this when I tell you that the Cuttle-fish has grown fat, and has married the Heron, and the Heron is now prefect of Angouleme. This dreadful couple can do much for my brother-in-law, whom I have placed in a frightful position ; the sheriff is trying to arrest him ; he is in hiding ; it is all about those notes of hand. I must reap- pear to the eyes of the prefect's zvife, and recover my influ- ence over her at any price. Is n't it frightful to tliink that David Sechard's future depends on a handsome pair of Loist Illusions. 321 boots, gray silk stockings (mind you don't forget them), and a new hat ? I shall give out that I am ill, and stay in bed to dispense, as Duvicquet says, with responding to the at- tentions of my fellow-citizens. My fellow-citizens, by the bye, have given me a charming serenade. I am beginning to ask myself how many fools go to the composition of those three words ' my fellow-citizens,' now that I know the enthusiasm of Angouleme was set a-going by some of my schoolmates. If you could manage to insert among your items a few lines about my reception here you would make me taller by several boot-heels. Moreover, it would teach the Cuttle-fish that I have, if not friends, at least some power over the Parisian press. As I have lost none of my hopes and ex- pectations I will retui-n you this service in kind. If you want a fine article of some depth for any of your publica- tions I have time now to think it up. ]My last word is, dear friend — I count on you as you may count on Yours ever, LUCIEN DE R. P. S. Address the packages to me, by diligence, Coach Ofl&ce, to be left till called for. This letter, in which Lucien resumed the tone of su- periority which his success had produced in bis inner man, recalled Paris to him. Existing for the last week in the dead calm of provincial life, his thoughts went to the gay days of his misery, and he began to have vague regrets and longings for them. He gave himself up for the next week to thoughts of Madame du Chatelet. He attached so much importance to his reappearance in her society that as he ran down to I'Houmeau after dark, to inquire at the coach-ofBce for the parcels he expected from Paris, he suffered as many agonies of 21 322 " Lost Illusions. uncertain t}' as a woman who sets her last hope upon a dress which she despairs of receiving. '• All, LoListean ! I forgive you all your treachery!" he said to himself as he caught sight of the packages and knew by their shapes that they contained all he had asked for. He found the following letter in the hat-box : — From Florine's Salon. My dear Boy, — The tailor behaved very well ; but (as your sagacious retrospective glance enabled you to surmise) the cravats, the hat, the silk stockings brought trouble to our souls — for there was nothing to trouble in our purses. We all agree with Blondet that there is a fortune to be made by setting up a shop where young men could get the things which cost next to nothing. Besides, did not the great Napoleon when stopped on his way to India by the want of a pair of boots, remark that '• easy things are never done ? " This means that all went well, except the footgear and — the hat ! I saw you dressed to perfection but minus a hat, waistcoated without shoes, and I thought of sending you a pair of moccasins which an American gave to Florine as a curiosity. Florine gave us a capital-stock of forty francs with which to, play for your minor things. Nathan, Blondet and I had such luck (just because we were not play- ing for ourselves) that we were able to take La Torpille, des Lupeaulx's former ballet-girl, to supper. Frascati owed us that, at any rate. Florine took charge of the purchases, and she has added three fine linen shirts on her own account. Nathan sends you a cane ; Blondet (who won three hundred francs), a gold chain; and La Torpille, a gold watch, big as a forty-franc piece, which some fool gave her, and which does 'nt go. Bixiou, who joined us at the Rocher de Cancale, insisted on adding a bottle of eau de Portugal to these various gifts Lost lUusions. 323 uhich all Paris sends you. Our first comedian remarked, with that deep bass voice and bouri^eois pomposity he takes off so well, *' If such be his happiness let him be happy." All this, my dear fellow, ought to prove to you that we love our friends in misfortune. Florine, whom I have been weak enough to forgive, begs you to send us an article on Nathan's last book. Adieu, my son. I can't help pitying you for being forced to return to the region you had just escaped when you made a comrade of Your friend, Etienxe Lousteau. "Poor fellows! the}* played for me I " thought Lu- cien, quite affected. There come sometimes from poisonous localities, or from places where men have greatl}- suffered, wafts of an odor that seems of Paradise. Eve was amazed when her brother came down in his new clothes. She did not recognize him. '' Now I can go and walk in Beaulieu," he cried. " Nobody can say of me, ' He came back in rags.' See, here is a watch I'll give yon, for it is really mine, — besides, it is like me ; it is all out of order and does n't go." " TVhat a child you are ! " said Eve ; " one can't be angry with you."' ''Do you believe, my dear girl, that I have got all these fine things for the silly purpose of dazzling the eyes of Angouleme. for which I don't care that f " he said, striking the air with his cane, which had a chased gold knob. '• I want to repair the harm I have done, and I have put myself underarms; you'll know why soon." 324 . Lost Illusions. Lncien's success as a fop was the onl}- real triumph he obtained ; but that was immense. Env}' thaws as man}' tongues as admiration freezes. The women raved about him, the men sneered ; he could well exclaim, in the words of the song : ' Oh, my coat, I thank thee ! ' He left two cards at the Prefecture, and paid a visit to Petit-Claud, who was not at home. The next da}', which was the da}- of the banquet, the Paris journals all contained, under the heading of " Angou- ieme," the following remarks : — Angouleme : The return of a young poet whose debut has been most brilliant — the author, we mean, of " The Archer of Charles IX.," the sole historic novel written in France which is not an imitation of Walter Scott, and the preface to which is a literary event — has been marked by an ova- tion as flattering to the town itseK as it is to Monsieur Lucien de Rubempre. The new prefect, who is hardly yet installed, has joined in this public manifestation by showing attentions to the author of " The Daisies," whose genius was so warmly encouraged from the first by Madame la Comtesse du Chatelet." In France, when an impulse of this kind is once given there is no stopping it. The colonel of the regiment in garrison offered his band. The steward of the Cloche hotel, whose exportations of truflled turkey go as far as China, sent his contribution in magnificent porcelain dishes ; the famous innkeeper of riloumeau, in whose establishment the banquet was served, decorated his large hall with flags, on which crowns of laurel interspersed with bouquets made a fine eflfect. By five o'clock forty persons were as- sembled, all in evening dress. A hundred or more ol ■ Lost Illu8io7is. 325 * the inhabitants, attracted principally b}* the band which was stationed in the courtyard, represented the fellow- citizens. •• All Angoulenae is here ! " said Petit-Claud, station- ing himself at a window. ••I can't understand a bit about it," said Ppstel to his wife, who had come to hear the music. "Good- ness ! here 's the prefect, the receiver-general, the colonel, the director of the powder-magazine ! and there 's our deputy, and the mayor, the judge, the head- master, and Monsieur Milaud the procureur da roi — why, all the authorities have come ! " As the company sat down to table, the militar}' band began, with variations on the air: ''Vive le roi, vive la France ! " which by the bye, never became popular. This was at five o'clock. At eight, a dessert of sist}'- five dishes, remarkable for an Olympus in sugar-cand}' surmounted by a France in chocolate, was the signal for the toasts. " Gentlemen," said the prefect, rising. " The King! the Legitimacy ! Do we not owe to the peace which the Bourbons have restored to us the generation of poets and thinkers who maintain in the hands of France the sceptre of our literature? " " Vive le roi ! " cried the guests, among whom the ministerials were in full force. The venerable head of the college rose. "Let us drink,'' he said, " to the young poet, the hero of the day ; who has known how to add to the grace and poesy of Petrarch the talent of a prose-writer, — and that in a style which Boileau declared so difficult." ** Bravo ! bravo I "" 326 , Lost Illusions, The colonel rose. " Gentlemen, to the Royalist! for the hero of this fes- tival has had the courage to defend right principles." ''Bravo!" said the prefect, giving a tone to the applause. Petit-Claud rose. "In the name of all Lucien's comrades, I call upon you to drink to the health of the glory of the College of Angouleme — our venerable Head-Master ; who is so dear to all of us, and to whom we owe whatever suc- cess in life we ma}* obtain." The old head-master, who did not expect the toast, wiped his eyes. Lucieu rose ; the deepest silence prevailed ; the poet turned white. At that moment the old head-master laid a crown of laurel on his head. Everybody clapped their hands. Lucien had tears in his eyes and in his voice. ''He is drunk," whispered Petit-Claud's neighbor. " Yes, but not with wine," replied the lawyer. *' My dear townsmen, my dear comrades," said Lucien at last, " I would that all France were witness of this scene. It is thus that men are lifted into great- ness — thus that noble works and splendid actions are obtained in this land of ours. But, seeing the little that I have done and the great honors that I receive, I cannot be otherwise than confused ; I look to the future to justify the greeting you bestow upon me to-day. The memory of tliis hour will give me courage to meet new dilliculties. Permit me to offer to your homage the name of the lady who was m^' first inspira- tion and my patroness, and also to drink the health of Lost Illusions. 327 my native town. I give you, therefore, the beautiful Conitesse Sixte du Chatelet, and the noble town of Angouleme ! " " He did tliat prettj' well," said i\\Q procureur du roi, nodding his head in token of approval ; '' for our toasts were prepared, but his was improvised." At ten o'clock the guests departed in groups. David Sechard, hearing the unusual sounds of music, said to Basine : "What is going on in THoumeau?" " A banquet to your brother-in-law," she replied. " I know he must be sorry not to have me there," said David. B}' midnight Petit-Claud and Lucien had returned to- gether to the place du Murier. There, Lucien said to the law3'er, as the}" parted,' " My dear fellow, between ourselves, I will admit to you that this is a matter of life or death." "To-morrow," said the lawyer, " my marriage con- tract is to be signed at Madame de Senonches' house ; I am to marry her goddaughter. Mademoiselle Fran- coise de la Have. Do me the pleasure of being pres- ent. Madame de Senonches asked me to bring you, and you will there see Madame du Chatelet, who will no doubt be extremely flattered by your toast, for they will certainly tell her of it." " I have mv own ideas," said Lucien. " Oh, you'll save David ! " said the lawyer, smiling. " I'm sure of it," replied the poet. At this instant David suddenl}' appeared as if by magic ; and this is how it happened. He had been placed in a very difficult position ; his wife forbade him absolutely' to see Lucien or even to 328 - Lost Illusions. let her brother know where he wfis. Lucien, on the other hand, was writing him the most affectionate let- ters, assuring him that in a few clays he should have undone all the harm he had done him. Mademoiselle Clerget had given David the following letters, when she told him the cause of the music, the sound of which had reached his ears : — My dear Husband, — Continue to act as if Lucien were not here. Do not be uneasy at anything ; and get into your dear head this one assurance : our safety depends entirely on the impossibility of your enemies finding out where you are. It is my misfortune that I have more confidence in Kolb, in Marion, in Basine, than in my brother. Alas I my poor Lucien is no longer the open-hearted, tender poet that he once was. It is precisely because he wants to meddle in your affairs and professes (out of vanity, dear David) to be able to pay our debts, that I fear him. He has received some handsome clothes from Paris, and five gold louis in a pretty pm'se. He gave me the money, and that is what we are now living on. We have now one enemy the less, for your father has left us ; we owe that to Petit-Claud, who discovered his inten- tions and cut them short at once by telling him you would take no steps without first consulting him, Petit-Claud, and that he would not allow you to part with any share in your invention unless for an indemnity, paid in advance, of thirty thousand francs, — fifteen thousand to clear yourself, and fifteen thousand more to be paid in any case, success or no success. Petit-Claud is inexplicable to me. I kiss you, dear, as a wife kisses a troul)led husband. Our little Lucien is well. AVhat a sight it is to see that tender blossom opening and coloring in the midst of our storm 1 My mother, as usual prays to (iod and sends you her tender love. Your Eve. Lost Illusions. 329 Petit-Claud and the Cointets, alarmed at old Se- chaid's peasant wiiiness, had, as this letter tells us, got rid of him, — all the more easil}', however, because his vintage required him in Marsac. Luciea's letter, inclosed in that of Eve, was as fol- lows : — My dear David, — All goes well. I am armed from head to foot; I enter upon the campaign to-day ; in a couple more days I shall have made great strides. With what de- light shall T put my arms around you when you are once more at liberty and released from mij debts ! But I am wounded to the heart, and for life, by the distrust my sister and my mother still show to me. As if I did not know that you were at Basine's ! Every time Basine conies to the house I am told news of you and I get your answers to my letters. Besides, it is evident that my sister has no one else to trust than that friend of hers. To-day I shall be close to you, and cruelly distressed that you are not present at a banquet they give me in I'Houmeau. I owe to the self-love of An- gouleme a little triumph which will be forgotten in a few days ; your joy, could you be present, would have been to me the one true thing about it. " Well, a few days more, and you will have reason to for- give him who counts it more than all the fame in the world to be Yom- brother, LUCIEN. David's heart was sharply tugged on both sides by these two forces, although they were unequal ; for he adored his wife and his atfection for Lucien was dimin- ished by the loss of some esteem. But in solitude the power of feelings undergoes a change. A lonely man, in the grasp of preoccupations such as now pos- 330 -Lost Illusions. sessed David, yields to thoughts against which he would find support in the ordinary course of life. Reading Lucien's letter within sound of the music of his unex- pected triumph, David was deeply moved to find ex- pressed therein the regret at his absence on which his heart had counted. Tender souls are not proof against such touches of feeling, which they think as true in others as they would be in themselves. Surely they are the drops of water which fall from the overflowing cup? So, about midnight, all Basine's entreaties were powerless to keep David from going to see Lucien. '^No one," he said, "is in the streets at this hour; I shall not be seen ; besides, they can't arrest me at night, and in case they do see me I can alwa3's use Kolb's method of getting awa}'. It is too long a time since I have kissed m}^ wife and child." Basine yielded to these rather plausible reasons and let David out. He reached the place du Muricr and cried out, "Lucien!" just as Lucien and Petit-Claud were bidding each other good night. The two brothers flung themselves into each other's arms, with tears in their eyes. There are not many such moments in life. Lucien felt the effusion of one of those attachments beyond perad venture with which we never reckon, and which we bitterl}' reproach ourselves for deceiving. David, on the other hand, felt the need of forgiving; the noble, generous inventor was above all things anx- ious to correct Lucien's error and brush away the clouds which obscured the alfection of brother and sister. Be- fore such considerations of feeling, the dangers caused b}'' want of money vanished. Petit-Claud said to his client, ''Go in at once ; profit, Lost Illusions. 331 at any rate, by your imprudence ; embrace your wife and child, but let no one see you." '' What a misfortune ! '' he added, when he was left alone on the place du Mfirier. '-Ah! if Cerizet were only here ! " As the lawyer said these words half aloud to himself, he was walking along beside the boarding which con- cealed a building then in process of construction, and now called majestically the Palace of Justice. As he passed he heard a noise from within, like the tapping of a finger on a door. " It is I," said Cerizet, whose voice came through a gap between two planks. " I saw David leaving I'Hou- meau. I was beginning to suspect his hiding-place, and now I am sure of it ; 1 can catch him any da}'. But before I can set my trap I must know something of Lucien's plans ; and here you have let them go into the house ! Do stay here on some pretence or other, and when David and Lucien come out get them to walk this way. They will think themselves alone and I shall hear their last words." " You are a master-devil ! " said Petit-Claud, in a low voice. ''Heavens and earth!" cried Ce'rizet. "What would n't a man be to get what you have promised me? " Petit-Claud left the boarding and walked about the place du Miirier, looking at the windows of the room where the family were reunited, and thinking of his own future to give himself courage — for Cerizet's cleverness enabled him to play his last stroke. Petit-Claud was one of those profoundh' artful and treacherously double- faced men, who, having observed the changes of the 332 ' Lost Illusions. human heart and the strateg}' of self-interests, are never caught b}- the promises of tlie present or the mere baits of an}' alliance. Consequently, at the outset of this business he had relied ver^' little upon Cointet. In case the project of his marriage fell through without his be- ing able to accuse the tall Cointet of treachery, he had laid a plan to vex him ; but since his reception b}' Ma- dame de Senonches as the suitor of her ward, Petit- Claud was playing fairlj- with him. His secret plot, now useless, would be dangerous in the political situa- tion to which he aspired. The basis on which he had meant to build his future importance was as follows : Several of the leading merchants in Flloumeau were about to form a Liberal committee, which attached itself, from business considerations, to the Opposition part}'. The accession of the Villele ministry, accepted by Louis XVIIL, then on his death-bed, was the signal for a change of conduct on the part of the Opposition, which, since the death of Napoleon, had renounced the perilous means of conspirac}'. The Liberal party now organized in the provinces a system of legal resistance ; it endeavored to make itself master of the electoral business so as to reach its ends by convincing the masses. Petit-Claud, being a frantic Liberal and son of I'Houmeau, was the promoter, soul, and secret coun- sellor of the Opposition of the Lower town oppressed by tlie aristocracy of the Upper. He was the first to see the danger of leaving to the Cointets the sole disposal of the press in the department of the Charcnte, where the Opposition ought certainly to have an organ, so as not to be behind the other towns. "If we all contribute five hundred francs," Petit- Lo^t Illusions. 333 Claud had saitl, '• we should have over twent}' thousand francs, enough to buy the Sechard printing-house." The hiwyer worived secretly for the adoption of this idea, which seems to explain in a way his double posi- tion towards the Cointets and David Se'chard ; and his cA'es naturally turned to a rascal of Cerizet's make as a man who could be bought for the part}'. "If you can unearth your old master and give him into m}' hands," he said to the former gamin, "some one will lend you twenty thousand francs with which to buy his printing-otHce, and you will probably be placed at the head of a newspaper. Therefore, go to work." Far more sure of a man like Cerizet than he was of all the Doublons in the world, Petit-Claud confidently assured Cointet that David would be arrested. But, since Petit-Claud had reason to hug the hope of enter- ing the magistracy, he foresaw the necessity of turning his back on the Liberals. B}' this time, however, he had stirred up the mJnds of I'Houmeau so successfully that the money for the purchase of the printing-house was all subscribed. Under these circumstances, Petit- Claud resolved to let matters follow their natural course. "Pooh!" he said to himself, "Cerizet will soon commit some press misdemeanor, and I shall profit by that to show my talents." He now went to the door of the printing-room, where Kolb was standing sentry, and said to him, " Go up and tell David he had better take advantage of the hour to get awa}', and to be ver}- cautious ; I can't wait any longer; it is one o'clock," When Kolb left his station Marion took his place. Lucien and David soon came down ; Kolb preceded 33-4 * Los^t Illusions. them by a hundred feet, Marion brought up the rear at the same distance. When the two brothers reached the boarding Lucien was speaking eagerl}'. " M}^ dear friend," he was saying, " my plan is sim- plicity itself; but I could n't speak of it before Eve,, who can't understand such means. I am certain that Louise has a feeling for me at the bottom of her heart, which I know how to awaken. I simply want to avenge myself on that imbecile of a prefect. If I succeed I shall get her to ask the ministrj- to give you a subsid}' of twenty thousand francs for 3'our invention. I am to see that woman to-morrow in the ver}" boudoir where our love for each other first began. Petit-Claud tells me it is quite unchanged. I mean to pla}' a comed}' ! So the day after to-morrow morning I '11 send you a little note b3^Basine to tell you whether or no I have been hissed. Who knows? perhaps you will be free at once. Now don't you understand why I wanted those clothes from Paris? You can't play the part of the leading gentle- man in rags." At six in the morning Cerizet went to see Petit- Claud. " To-morrow at twelve o'clock Doublon must be read}^ to make the arrest ; he can capture him, I '11 answer for it. I control one of Mademoiselle Clerget's work-girls — you understand." After listening to Cerizet's plan Petit-Claud went off to find Cointet. " If you make Monsieur du llautoy decide this very evening to give Franqoise the reversion of his property you sliall, within th(^ next two days, sign a deed of [)art- nership with S^'ciiard. I shall not be married for eight Lost Illusions. 335 days after the contract ; therefore, we shall still keep to the terms of our little agreement, — give and take, you know. We must both watch to-night what takes place at Madame de Senonches' house between Lucien and Madame du Chatelet, for it is all there. If Lucien succeeds in persuading the countess, I hold David." "You will certainly be Keeper of the Seals," said Cointet. " Why not ? Monsieur de Peyronnet is," replied Petit- Claud, who had not quite pulled off his Liberal skin. 336 - Lost Illusions. IX. lucien's reprisals at the hotel de bargeton. The anomalous position of Mademoiselle de la Haye was the reason why almost all the nobles of Angouleme were present at the signmg of her marriage contract. 'The poverty of the future household, starting without the benefits of a " corbeille/' excited the sort of interest that society enjoys bestowing ; for benevolence is like ovations, we love the forms of charity which gratif}' our self-love.'^^Consequently the Marquise de Pimentel, the Comtesse du Chatelet, Monsieur de Senonches and several of the habitues of the house made Fran^oise some handsome wedding-presents, which were talked of throughout the town. These pretty trinkets, added to the trousseau which Zephirine had been preparing for over a year, the jewels given b}' the godfatlier, and the customary' formal wedding-presents, reconciled Fran- coise to the marriage, and piqued the curiosity of several mothers who brought their daughters on this occnsion. Petit-Claud and Coiutct had already had occasion to remark that the nobles of Angouleme only tolerated them in their Olympus as a necessity ; one was the manager and legal guardian of FranQoise's fortune ; the other was as indispensable to the signing of the con- tract as the condemned man is to an execution. But if, on the morrow of her marrinire, IMadame Petit-Claud Lost Illusions. 337 claimed the right to return to her godmother's house the husband felt it would be difficult to make good his footing there, and he promised liimself to make these proud peoi)le fear him. Blushing for his humble par- entage he had made his mother staj- in Mansle, where she had gone to live ; he requested her to say she was ill, and to send him lier consent in writing. Humiliated to feel liimself without friends or protectors or famil}", in short with no one to sign the contract on his behalf, Petit-Claud was onl}' too happ}- to present himself with the poet, the celebrated man, whom the Comtesse du Chatelet desired to see again. He called for Lucien in a carriage. The great man had dressed for this memor- able evening in a way that was certain to give him an indisputable superiority over the other men. Madame de Seuonches had taken care to announce the presence of the hero of the moment, and the meeting of the es- tranged lovers was one of those scenes which are par- ticularh- tootlisome to provincial palates. Moreover, Lucien had passed into the condition of a Lion ; it w^as said he was so handsome, so changed, such an exqui- site, that all the women of the Angouleme aristocracy had a desire to see him. In accordance with the fasliion of that period, which marked the transition from the ancient ball breeches to the ignoble trousers of the present day, Lucien had put on a pair of close-fitting pantaloons. Men still"-^ exhibited their shapes, to the great despair of ill-made, skinny beings ; but Lucien's proportions were Apollo- nian. His open-worked gray silk stockings, his low shoes, his black satin waistcoat, his cravat, all were rCarefuUj' put on ; in fact, one might say they were glued 22 338 ' Lost Illusions. upon him. His abundant fair hair set off the white forehead, around which the light wavy curls were ar- ranged with studied grace. His eyes, full of pride, were sparkling. His feminine httle hands, handsome in gloves, ought never to have been seen gloveless. He copied his demeanor from that of de Marsay, the famous Parisian dandy, holding his cane and hat (which he never laid aside) in one hand, and using the other for tlie few gestures with which he emphasized his words. Lu- cien would much have preferred to have glided elegantly into the salon, like those celebrated men who, it is re- corded, bent their heads out of modesty as they passed beneath the Porte Saint-Denis. But Petit-Claud, who had but this one friend, used and abused the privilege. He led him almost pompouslj^ to Madame de Senonches, who was standing in the centre of the room. As they passed along the poet heard murmurs that would for- merly have turned his head, but to which he now listened coldly-, for he felt that he could meet on equal terms the whole Olympus of Angouleme. "Madame," he said to Madame de Senonches, "I have already congratulated m}' friend Petit-Claud, who is of the stuff that Keepers of the Seals are made of; I rejoice in his great good-fortune in being allied to you — though the tie between a godmother and a god- daughter is but a shght one." (This was said with an epigranniiatic air well understood b}' the women present, who were listening, though the}" affected not to be.) " For my part, I am grateful for an event which enables me to offer you my homage." All this was said Avithout embarrassmenc, and in the attitude and manner of a "grand seigneur" who was Loiit Illusions. 339 paying a visit among lesser folk. Lncien listened to Zepliirine's involved answer, casting looks all the while round the salon to get his bearings and prepare effects. Consequently he was presently able to bow with grace, graduating his smiles, to Francis du Hauto}* and the prefect, who bowed to him ; then he moved nearer to Madame da Chatelet, feigning to notice her for the first time. This meeting was so clearly the event of the evening, that the signing of the contract in the adjoining room, to which the notary was endeavoring to pilot the principal personages, was forgotten. Lucien made a few steps towards Louise de Negrepelisse, and then he said with Parisian grace to the woman whose mind, since his entrance, had been filled with recollections : — "Is it to you, madame, that I owe the invitation which procures me the pleasure of dining at the Prefecture? "' " You owe it onl}'' to your fame, monsieur," replied Louise, curtl}', shocked at the turn of a sentence in- tended b}- Lucien to wound the pride of his former patroness. "Ah! madame la comtesse," he said with an air that was subtle and foppish both, " I shall be unable to bring that guest to you if he has incurred your disap- proval." Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned aside and, seeing the bishop, bowed to him in a statel}' manner. " Your Eminence was almost a prophet," he said in a charming tone of voice, " and I shall do my best to make you wholly one. I think my- self very happ}' to have come here this evening, since it gives me the opportunity to offer you my respects." Lucien then led the prelate into a conversation which SttO Lost Illusions. lasted ten minutes. All the women looked upon Lucien as a phenomenon. His unexpected impertinence had literally left Madame du Chatelet voiceless. Seeing her former lover admired b}' all the women present, perceiv- ing how from group to group the tale went round of the speech in which he had, as it were, laid her flat with an air of disdain, Louise was gripped to the heart with a spasm of vanit}'. " If he does not come to dinner to-morrow after that speech, what a scandal it will make," she thought. " What is the meaning of such pride? Can Mademoi- selle des Touches have fallen in love with him ? He is so handsome ! The}' saj' she went to his house the very day that actress died ! " A myriad of such thoughts rushed into her mind, and, unfortunately for her, she was looking all the while at Lucien, who stood talking to the bishop as though he were king of the salon. He bowed to no one, but simply waited until others came up and bowed to him, looking about him with a vai-iety of expressions, and an ease that was worth}- of de Marsay, his model. He did not even leave the bishop to bow to Monsieur de Senonches who appeared at a little distance. At the end of ten minutes Louise could bear it no longer. She rose, went up to the bishop, and said, '' May I know, monseigneur, what it is that makes you smile so often ? " Lucien discreetl}' drew back a few steps to leave Ma- dame du Chatelet with the prelate. "Ah! madanic la comtesse, this young man has great intelligence ; lie has been telling me that he owes all his real strength to you." \ Lost Illusioyis. 341 *' And / am not ungiatefiil, raadame," said Lucien, with a reproachful glance at the countess which de- lighted her. " Let us have an understanding/' she said, beckoning Lucien to her with a motion of her fan ; " come into this room with monseigneur, and he shall judge between us." She pointed to the boudoir, and took the bishop's arm to lead the way. *' A curious business for Monseigneur ! " said a woman from the camp of the Chandours, loud enough to be overheard. " Our judge ! " said Lucien, looking first at Madame du Chatelet and then at the bishop. '' Is either of us in fault? " Louise de Xegrepelisse seated herself on the sofa of her former boudoir. Having made Lucien sit on one side of her and the bishop on the other, she began to speak. Lucien did his former love the 'honor, the sur- prise, and the happiness of not listening to her. . He assumed the attitude and gestures of Pasta in Tancredi wlien she is about to sa}' patria ! He produced on his face the famous cavatina del Rizzo. He even found means to force a few tears to his e3'es. " Ah, Louise, how I loved you ! " he whispered, with- out regard to the bishop or to what she was saying, as soon as he saw that the countess had seen his tears. " Dry your eyes, or you will ruin me again/' she said, in an aside which displeased the bishop. "And once was enough, you think!" cried Lucien. " What a remark ! it would dry up the tears of a Ma- deline ! Good God ! I had returned for an instant to my hopes, my illusions, my twenty years, and you — " 342 Lost Illusions. Here Monseigneur retreated hastily to the salon, perceiving that his dignitj' might be compromised by these former lovers. Everybody- affected to leave Lucien and Madame du Chatelet to themselves. But a quarter of an hour later Sixte, to whom the smiles and nods and promenades to the door of the boudoir were far from pleasing, went in with an air that was more than uneasj*, and found Lucien and Louise in very animated conver- sation. ''Madame," said Sixte, in his wife's ear, "you who know Angouleme even better than I do ought to think of your position as wife of the prefect." " M}' dear," replied Louise, looking at her responsible editor with a haughty air which made him tremble, " I am talking with Monsieur de Rubempre on matters that are ver}' important to 3'ou. It is a question of saving a great inventor who is on the point of becoming a victim to the basest machinations, and you can prevent it. As to what those ladies think of me, you shall see how I conduct myself to ice the venom on their tongues." So saying she left the boudoir, leaning on Lucien's arm, and took him to sign the contract, parading her act with all the audacity of a great lady. " Let us sign together," she said, offering him a pen. Lucien made her show him the place where she had just written her name, so that their two signatures should be side by side. *' Monsieur de Senonches, would you ever have recog- nized Monsieur de RubL'n4)re?'' said the countess, thus compelling the insolent huntsman to bow to Lucien. She carried Lucien back to the salon and placed him between herself and Zephirinc on the formidable sofa in > Lost Illusions. 343 the middle of tlie room. Then, a,s if she were a queen on her throne, she began, at first in a low voice, a con- versation that was evidentl}- epigrammatic, in which a number of her old friends and several women who wished to court her joined. Lucien, who was the hero of the circle, was prompted by the countess to talk of Parisian life, which he did with a ready satire and vim, interspersing the whole with anecdotes of celebrated persons, veritable tid-bits of conversation for which all provincial societies are greedy. The company now ad- mired the wit as much as they had previousl}* admired the beauty of the man. Madame la Comtesse Sixte was so complacent at Lucien's triumph, she played so well the part of a woman delighted with her instrument, she helped him so cleverly with appropriate remarks, and solicited applause with so compromising a look that several women began to suspect collusion in the simul- taneous return of the pair. ''Well!" said, Louise, about one in the morning, speaking to Lucien in a low voice before rising from her seat, " day after to-morrow, remember, and do me the favor to be punctual." She then left him with a little motion of the head that was only too amicable, and' went to say a few words to Comte Sixte, who immediately looked for his hat. '' If what Madame du Chatelet tells me is so, my dear Lucien, you may count on me," said the prefect, start- ing in pursuit of his wife, who was going away without him, as they do in Paris. "Your brother-in-law may feel perfectly secure." " Monsieur le comte owes me that much," replied Lucien, with a smile. 344 Lost Illusions. "Well! here we are, knocked in the head," said Cointet to Petit-Claud, who had witnessed the parting. Petit-Claud, thunderstruck at Lucien's success, and dazzled b}' the sparkle of his wit and the eas}' display of his graces, looked at Francoise de la Ha3'e, whose face, full of admiration for Lucien, seemed to sa}' to her suitor: "Why are not 3'ou like 3'our friend?" A gleam of jo}- passed over Petit-Claud's features. " The prefect's dinner is not till da\' after to-morrow," he replied to Cointet's remark. " We have another day before us. I answer for our success." " Well, my dear fellow," said Lucien to Petit-Claud at two in the morning as the}' went home on foot. " I came, I saw, I conquered! David will be happ}' in a few liours." "That's all I want to know," said Petit-Claud to himself " I thought you only a poet," he said aloud, " but 3'ou are also a Lauzun, — in other words, twice a poet," he added, giving his friend a shake of the hand which was destined to be the last. " M3' dear Eve," said Lucien, waking up his sister when he got home. "Good news! In less than a month David can pa}' his debts." "How?" " Well, under Madame du Chatelet's petticoat I have found my former Louise. She is fonder of mc than ever, and she is going to make her husband send a re- port to the minister of the interior in favor of our dis- cover}'. Therefore you have only one month more to suffer." (Eve thought she was still dreaming as she listened to her brother.) " When I entered the little gray salon where I used to tremble like a child two years Lost Illusions. 345 ago, and looked at the furniture, the pictures, and the faces, the scales fell from m}' eyes ! How Paris does change one's ideas ! " •' Is that a good?" asked Eve, who now understood her brother. '* Come, go to sleep again, and to-morrow after break- fast we '11 talk it over," said Lucien. Cerizet's plan was estrerael}' simple. Though it be- longed to the category of wiles which provincial sheriffs employ to trap their victims, the success of which is often problematical, it was fated to succeed, for it rested on an accurate knowledge of the characters of Lucien and David, as well as on these new hopes. Among the little workwomen of whom Cerizet was the Don Juan, and whom he governed by cleverly pitting one against the other, was an ironer in Basine Clerget's laundr}-, a girl almost as handsome as Madame Sechard, named Henriette Signol, whose parents were small vineyard owners living on their little property about six miles from Angouleme on the road to Salutes. The Signols, like all countr3--folk of their condition, were not rich enough to keep their only child at home, and they in- tended her to ''enter a house," which means in other words to become a lady's maid. In the provinces, a lady's maid must know how to wash and get-up fine linen. The reputation of Madame Prieur, whom Basine succeeded, was such that the Signols apprenticed their daughter to her, paying a certain sum for the girl's board and lodging. Madame Prieur belonged to the race of employers who, in the provinces, consider themselves in the place of parents. She lived with her 346 Lost Illusions. apprentices, took them to church, and looked after them conscientiously. Henriette Signol, a handsome brunette with a fine figure, bold e3'e, and strong, dark hair, had a dead- white skin, like a true daughter of the South, a complexion of the whiteness of a magnolia flower. She was one of the first grisettes on whom Cerizet cast his eye; but as she belonged to ''honest vine-growers" she did not 3'ield until vanquished hy jealous}', b}' evil example, and by Cerizet's promise, " I will marry you." Learning that the Signols owned a little vineyard worth about twelve thousand francs, and a house that was quite inhabitable, Cerizet hastened to make it impossible that Henriette should marry an}' one else. Matters were in this state when Petit-Claud first talked of making him the owner of the Sechard printing-house and the pub- lisher of the Liberal paper. Such a prospect dazzled the foreman, his head was turned ; Mademoiselle Signol seemed to him an obstacle to his ambition, and he neg- lected the poor girl. Henriette in despair clung to him all the more because he was evidently deserting her. But when Cerizet suspected that David was in hiding at Mademoiselle Clerget's, his ideas as to Henri- ette changed, though not his conduct ; he resolved to use to his own advantage the sort of madness which takes possession of a poor girl who hopes to hide her shame by marrying her seducer. During the morning of the da}' when Lucien re-appeared at the Hotel de Bargeton, Cerizet imparted to Henriette Basine's secret, and told her that their fortune and their marriage de- pended on the discover}; of the exact place where David was hiding. Once informed of this, Henriette had no dilficulty in making sure that the printer was living in Lost Illusions. 347 Mademoiselle Clergct's dressing-room. She saw no harm in that amount of spying. But Ccrizet used it as a first step toward other treaeher}-. Lucien was asleep when Cerizet, who came to Petit- Claud's office to know the result of the evening, listened to the law3'er's recital of the great little events which were rousing all Angouleme. '' Has Lucien written j'ou anything since his re- turn? " asked Cerizet, nodding his head in sign of satis- faction at what Petit-Claud told him. " Nothing more than that," replied the law3'er, hold- out a letter of a few lines which Lucien had written on his sister's note-paper. *' Ver}' good," said Cerizet. " Tell Doublon to hide himself and his gendarmes behind the Porte-Palet ten minutes before sunset, and 3'ou shall have 3-our man." " Are 3-ou sure of \'Our plan? " said Petit-Claud, eye- ing Cerizet doubtfully. ''I trust to luck — the hussy! " said the ex-gamin, " she 's always against honest folk/' "You must succeed," said the lawyer, sharpl}'. " I shall succeed," replied Cerizet. " You who have shoved me into this mudhole had better give me a few bank-bills to wipe off the slime. Monsieur," he added, detecting a look which displeased him on the lawyer's face, " if you are deceiving me, if you don't buy me that printing-office within a week — well ! you shall leave a3'oung widow to mourn your loss ; " and the late gamin cast a deadly glance at Petit-Claud. " If David is under lock and kej' at six o'clock this evening, come to Monsieur Gannerac^s at nine, and your affair shall be concluded," replied the lawyer. 348 Lost Illusions. " So be it : 3'ou shall be satisfied, master," said Cerizet. Cerizct was an adept at the trick of washing paper, which in these da3S threatens such loss to the Treasurj'. He washed out the four lines written b}- Lucien above his signature and substituted the following, imitating the handwriting with a perfection fraught with danger for his social future : — My dear David, — You can come mthout fear to see the prefect. Your affair is settled. Besides, at this hour there is no danger ; I will meet you outside to explain what you ought to say to the prefect. Your brother, Lucien. When Lucien waked, about mid-da}', he wrote to David telling him of the success of the evening, and assuring him of the prefect's assistance ; Monsieur du Chatelet, he said, was to write a report to the minister that very day on David's invention, about which he was veiy enthusiastic. Marion took the letter to Mademoiselle Basine on pretext of carrying Lucien's shirts to the wash. Mean- time Cerizet, informed by Petit-Claud that this letter would be sent, contrived to see Henriette. No doubt there was a struggle in the girl's mind, in which her con- science acted ; but not only were the interests of her child at stake, but her whole future, her ha[)piness, her fortune ; and, after all, what Cerizet asked was a mere nothing, for he had taken good care not to tell lier the consequences. Nevertheless the price he otfercd for that "mere nothing" did startle Henriette. However, Cerizet ended by persuading the girl to cany out his Lost Illusion.^. 349 stratagera. At five o'clock Ilonriette was to toll Mademoiselle Clerget that Madame Scchard wanted her immediateh'. Then, a quarter of an hour after Basine had gone she was to knock at the door of the dressing- room and give the false letter to David. After that, Cerizet, as he had said, trusted to luck. For the first time within a year Eve felt the iron bands in which her direful necessities had held her re- laxing. Hope returned to her at last. She, too — she wanted to enjoy her brother ; to be seen on the arm of the man acclaimed b}^ bis townsmen, adored by women, admired by the haught\' Comtesse du Chatelet. Eve dressed herself charmingly and proposed, after dinner, to walk to Beaulien on her brother's arm. At that hour in September all Angouleme appears on the Promenade. "There's the beautiful Madame Sechard," said several voices when Eve appeared. " I never should have believed it of her,'' said one woman. "The husband hides, but the wife exhibits herself,'' said Madame Postel, loud enough for the poor woman to hear. " Oh ! let us go home ; I have done wrong," said Eve to her brother. It was just before sunset, and the noise of a crowd coming up the steps which lead from I'Houmeau was heard. Lucien and his sister, feeling some curiosity, turned in that direction, for the}- heard several persons who had come up from I'Houmeau talking among them- selves as if a crime had been committed. 350 Lost Illusions. "It is probabl}' some thief i\ic\ have arrested — the man is as pale as death," said a passer to the brother and sister, seeing them follow the increasing crowd. Neither Lucien nor his sister felt the slightest appre- hension. The}' looked at the thirty or more children and the old women and workmen returning from their work who preceded the gendarmes, the silver lace of whose hats shone bright!}' in the principal group. That group, which was followed by a crowd of about a hun- dred persons, advanced rapidly like a thunder-cloud. " Ah ! " cried Eve, " it is my husband ! " " David ! '* exclaimed Lucien. " That 's his wife ! " said the crowd, making way for her. " What induced you to come out?" asked Lucien. " Your letter," replied David, white and livid. " I was sure of it ! " said Eve, fainting dead awa}'. Lucien raised his sister, and two persons helped him to carrj' her home, where Marion put her to bed. Kolb rushed for the doctor. When the latter came Eve was still unconscious. Lucien was forced to admit to his mother that he was the cause of David's arrest — although he did not know of the substitution of the false letter. Annihilated bv his mother's look, which was almost a curse, he went up to his room and locked him- self in. Lout Illusions. 351 X. A SUPREME FAREWELL, FOLLOWED BY A LECTURE ON HISTORY AND ANOTHER ON MORALITY. The following letter, written in the middle of the night, interru[)ted by man}' pauses, will show b}' its sentences, flung out as it were one by one, the agitation of Lucien's mind : — My Beloved Sister, — We have seen each other for the last time. My resolution is beyond recall. This is why : In many families there is a fatal being who is to his family a disease. I am that being to you. This assertion is not mine, it is that of a man who has seeu much of the world. He and I were supping one night with friends at the Rocher de Cancale. Among other jests and tales that we all exchanged, this diplomatist told us that a certain young girl, whom so- ciety was surprised to see unmarried, was ill of her father. On that he developed his theory of family diseases. He explained how, without such a mother, such a family would have prospered; how such a son had ruined his father ; how such a father had ruined the future and the respectability of his children. Though he propounded all this with a laugh, he supported his social theory by so many facts that I was greatly struck by it. This truth was worth all the foolish paradoxes cleverly maintained with which journalists amuse themselves when there is no one by to impose upon. Well, I am that fatal bein£: in our familv. With a heart full of 352 Lost lUusio)ift. tenderness I act as your enemy. I return your devotion by injuries. This last blow, though involuntary, is the cruelest of all. While I was leading in Paris an unworthy life, full of pleasures, and of misery, mistaking comrades for friends, letting true friends go for the sake of men whose object was to use me, neglecting you, and only thinking of my family when the time came to injure it — while this was my life you were following the humble path of toil, painfully but surely lead- ing to that fortune which I was trying to snatch. AVhile you were growing better I was growing worse ; I was putting into my life a fatal element. Yes, my ambitions are bound- less ; they will forever hinder me from accepting a humble life. I have tastes, I have had pleasures, the recollection of which will always poison the enjoyments now within my reach, which would formerly have satisfied me. Oh ! my dear Eve, I judge myself more severely than any one can judge me, no matter who ; for I condemn myself absolutely and without self-pity. The strnggle of life in Paris exacts incessant strength, and my will works only spas- modically ; my brain is intermittent. The future terrifies me so much that I will not have a future, and the present is unbearable. I came here wishing to see you again, but I had better have left my country forever. And yet, expatria- tion without the means of living would be folly ; no, I will not add that folly to all the rest. Death is preferable to an aborted life ; for in any situation in which I might find my- self I know that my excessive vanity will force me to commit mistakes. Some beings are like naughts ; they need a figure to precede them, and then their nothingness becomes of tenfold value. I cannot acquire value except by marriage with a strong, unyielding will. Madame de Bargeton might have been my wife ; I lost my future by not abandoning Coralie for her. David and you might have been my pilots ; but neither of you was strong enough to master my weakness, which evades, as it were, all rule. I love an easy life, with- out annoyance ; and to escape opposition I can be guilty of Lost Illusions. 363 nieaimesses whicli have terrible results. I was born a prince. I have more dexterity of mind than I need for success, but it only conies to me by fits and starts ; and tlie prizes of a career thi'onged by ambitious rivals are won by him only who husbands his powers and so has strength to reach an end. It is my fate to do evil, as I have done it here, with the best intentions in the world. There are men of oak ; I am, perhaps, but a graceful shrub, and I have tried to be a cedar. Tliere you have my summary written down. This discre- pancy between my means and my desires, this lack of equilib- rium will forever neutralize all my efforts. There are many such natures among men of letters, the result of a perpetual disproportion between the intellect and the character, the will and the desire. What w^ould be my fate ? I can fore- see it by remembering many men who once were famous and are now submerged and forgotten jn Paris. If I reached the threshold of old age I should be older than my years, with- out fortune, without dignity. My whole being repels the thought of such an end. I will not be a social ruin. Dear sister, adored for your late severity as much as for your former tenderness, though we have all paid dear for the happiness I have had in seeing you and David once again, later, perhaps, you will think that no price was too high for the last greetings of a poor heart that loved you. INIake no search, either for me or to know my fate ; my will will at least be strong enough to execute my desire. Resignation, dear angel, is a daily suicide. I have only resignation enough for one day, and I shall profit by it. Two o'clock. Yes, I am resolved. Farew^ell forever, my dear Eve. I find some comfort in thinking that henceforth I shall live only in your hearts. There is my gi-ave. I ask no other. Farewell, again ! Your brother, LUCIEN. 23 354 Lost Illusions. Having written this letter Lucien went downstairs without making any noise and laid it on his nephew's cradle ; he looked at his sleeping sister with tears in his eyes and left the room. The dawn was breaking ; lie put out his candle, and gazed about him at the old house for the last time. Then he opened the door leading to the alley very softly ; but in spite of his precautions he woke Kolb, who slept on a mattress on the floor of the press-room. " Who is there?" cried Kolb. " I," said Lucien. " I am going awa}', Kolb." " You had better never have come," growled Kolb to himself, but loud enough for Lucien to hear. " I had better never have come into the world," said Lucien. " Good-bye, Kolb, I don't blame 3'ou for think- ing what I think myself. Tell David that m}' last regret is that I could not press his hand once more." By the time Kolb was up and dressed Lucien was on his way to the river b}" the Beaulieu promenade, dressed as if for a ball ; he had chosen for his shroud his Paris- ian clothes and his foppish trappings. Struck with the tone of Lucien's last words Kolb thought he would go and ask his mistress if she knew her brother had gone, and whether he bad said good-b^-e to her ; but finding the house all quiet he concluded this departure was agreed on the night before, and he lay down again. Very little has been written about suicide, if we con- sider the gravit}' of the subject ; it has not been studied. Perhaps this disease cannot be sufiiciently observed. Suicide results from a sentiment which we will call, if 3'ou please, the esteem of self in order tliat we may not confound it with the word honor. The da}' when a man Lo%t Illusiom. 355 If „l,pn he sees himself despised by despises h.mself, . e he ee ^.^^^ ^.^ r^'%:e Ui"ls H^s" U; clot Uon.,e in tUatway to '"' ' u ore nee of which he will not remain when sockets , in pesence ^^.^ ^ ^^^^^^ ^.^ ^^^^^, irvnav b sa niong atheists (for exception n.ust 7 TJZ Christian's suicide) none but cowards :;": p a Jisbolred Ufe. Suicide is of tjiree kinds -. ;'t the suicide which is only the climax of a long - fi.st, tnes jijerefore. to pathology; next, the :::re"'fdC'^-;y, thesuicideof reason Li.^^ T ^ tn kill himself from despair and reason both- fo th^ only irrevocal^le suicide is the pathological ; r„ The three causes are combined, as in the case of •'TlS^'riler taken his resolution than he f?^Soi=---::ra:-dS:: had noS not far from a m,U, one of those round "is such as are often found in small water-courses, C teldepth of which ,s shown by their tranqud sur- face The water of such pools is ne.ther green, nor Sue, nor yellow, nor transparent; it is like a pohshed 356 Lout Illusions. steel mirror. On the shores of this mere were neither iris, nor reeds, nor even the broad leaves of the water- lily ; the grass on its banks was short and close, the willows wept as they grouped picturesquely around it. It was a little gulf brimming with water. "Whoever had the courage to fill his pockets with stones and spring into that pool would find an inevitable death and never return to the surface. "There's a spot," thought the poet, as he admired the peaceful scene, '' which might make one in love with drowning." The recollection of the place came to him as he reached I'Houmeau. He walked on therefore to Mar- sac, his mind full of his last funereal thoughts, with the firm intention of concealing thus the secret of his death and escaping an inquest and a funeral, but, above all, an exhibition of his bod}' in the horrible state of drowned persons when they come to the surface of the water. He soon reached the foot of a hill, of which there are many between Angouleme and Poitiers. The diligence from Bordeaux to Paris was overtaking him rapidly, and the ])assengers would no doubt get out of the coach to mount the long hill on foot. Lucien, who did not wish to be seen, stepped aside into a little path below the road and began to gather flowers ni a vine- yard. When he returned he had a large bunch of sedum in his hand (a yellow flower, found on the stony soil of vineyards), and as he issued upon the high-road he found himself exactly behind a traveller dressed in black, with powdered iiair, wearing shoes of Orleans leather with silver buckles, — brown of face and scarred as though he had fallen into the fire in his childhood. This traveller, whose appearance was evidently ecclesi- Lost Illusions. 357 astical. was walking slowly and smoking a cigar. Hear- ing Lucien as the latter jumped from the vine3'ard to trie road he turned round, was apparently' struck by the melancholy beauty of the poet, his symbolic bouquet, and tne extraordinary elegance of his attire. At that mo- ment the traveller resembled a huntsman who sees the game he has long and fruitlessh' stalked. He allowed Lucien to overtake him and watched his step, though he seemed to be looking at something at the foot of the hill. Lucien turned and looked there, too, and then observed a little travelling-carriage drawn by two horses, the postilion walking beside them. *' You have allowed the diligence to outstrip 3-ou, monsieur ; jou will lose your place — unless indeed 3'ou will accept a seat in my carriage to overtake it ; for post-horses go faster than those of a public convey- ance," said the traveller, speaking with a strongly marked Spanish accent, and giving to his offer a tone of exquisite politeness. Without waiting for Lucien's reply the Spaniard drew a case of cigars from his pocket, and offered it open to the young man that he might take one. '' I am not a traveller," said Lucien, " and I am too near the end of m}' wa\' to allow myself to smoke." ''You are very rigid with yourself," said the Span- iard. " Though I am the honorary canon of the cathe- dral of Toledo, I allow myself, now and then, a bit of a cigar. God gave us tobacco to soothe our passions and our sorrows. Y"ou seem to be in trouble ; at an}' rate 3'ou have the emblem of it in your hand, like the sad god Hymen. Come, take a cigar ; all 3-our griefs will end in smoke." 358 Lost Illusions, The priest again offered his straw case in a seductive manner, looking at Lucien with benevolent eyes. "Pardon me, father," replied Lucien, shortly, ''no cigars can relieve m}- grief." So saying, his eyes filled with tears. "Ah! young man; was it Divine providence which made me wish to mount this hill on foot that I might, by consoling 3'ou, obey m}" mission here below ? What great griefs can you have at your age?" " Your consolations, father, will be useless ; 3'ou are Spanish, I am a Frenchman ; 3'ou believe in the com- mandments of the Church, I am an atheist — " '"'/Santa Virgen del Pilar! you are an atheist!" cried the priest, passing his arm through that of Lucien with an almost maternal tenderness. " Ah ! here is one of the curiosities I am going to Paris to studj-. In Spain we do not believe there is such a thing as an atheist. It is only in France, and at nineteen years of age, that a man can hold such opinions." " I am an utter atheist. I believe neither in God nor in society, nor in happiness. Look at me well, father, for in a few hours I shall cease to exist. This is my last sun ! " said Lucien, with a sort of solemnity, point- ing to the sky. "Ah, ha! and what have 3'ou done that requires death? who has condemned 3'ou to die?" " A sovereign judge — myself." " Child ! " cried the priest, " have you killed a man — is the scaffold before you? Let us argue this matter. If you wish to return, as you sa3' you do, to nothing- ness, all is indiirerent to you here below." Lucien bowed his head in token of assent. " Well, then, if vou are Lost Illusions. 359 indifferent you can tell me what the trouble is. Love affairs, perhaps, which have gone amiss?" Lucien made a very significant gesture with his shoulders. " You want to kill yourself to escape dishonor, or be- cause 3"0u despair of life? Well, you can kill j'ourself just as well at Poitiers as 3'ou can at Angouleme, at Tours as well as at Poitiers — the quicksands of the Loire don't give up their prey — " "No, ftither," replied Lucien, " I have made my plan. Three weeks ago I saw a charming raft on which a man disgusted with this world can ferry himself to another.'' " Another world? then you are not an atheist?" "Oh! what I mean by another world is my future transformation into an animal or a plant.'* " Have you any incurable disease? " "Yes, father." " Ah ; now we come to it ! " said the priest. " "What is your disease ? " " Poverty/' The priest looked at Lucien and said, with infinite grace and a smile that was almost ironical, "The diamond is ignorant of its value." "None but a priest could flatter a poor man who is about to die ! " cried Lucien. " You will not die," said the priest, with authority. " I have often hoard of men being robbed on the high-road," returned Lucien, •• but I never knew of their being enriched." " You will know of it," said the priest, looking back to see if the carriage was still at such a distance that thev mii2fht walk a little farther alone. " Listen to me," 360 Lost Illusions. he said, biting off the end of a cigar, " your poverty is not a reason for dying. I want a secretar3\ Mine has lateh' died at Barcelona. I am in the position of Baron Goertz, the famous minister of Charles XII. who ar- rived without a secretary at a little town on his wa}' to Sweden, just as I have come here on m}' wa}' to Paris. The baron met the son of a jeweller, remarkable for a beauty that was certainlj' not greater than 3'ours. Goertz saw intellect on the 3'oung man's face, just as I see poes}' in 3'ours ; he took him into his carriage, as I shall presently take 3^ou into mine, and out of that 3'outb, condemned to burnish silver and manufacture trinkets, he made a favorite follower, as I shall make 3'ou mine. When the3" reached Stockholm he inducted his secretar3' into office and overwhelmed him with work. The young man spent his nights in writing, and, like all great workers, he contracted a habit, a trick — he chewed paper. The late Monsieur de Malesherbes himself puffed smoke into the e3'es of those he talked with, and he did it, I ma3' add, to one whose support he depended on. Well, our handsome 3'oung man be- gan b3' chewing clean paper ; but he soon grew accus- tomed to that and took to written sheets, which he found more toothsome. The3- did n't smoke in those days as they do now. The little secretar3^ finall3' passed from one savory morsel to another until he chewed parch- ments and swallowed them. There was a question at that time between Russia and Sweden of a treat3' of peace which the Parliament was desirous of imposing on Charles XII. just as in 1814 they tried to force Napoleon to make peace. The basis of the negotia- tions was an agreement made between the two powers Lost Illusions, 361 on the subject of Finland. Goertz confided the original document of this agreement to the care of his secretar}- ; but when it was necessar}' to submit it to Parha- ment a trifling difficult}- arose — the document was nowhere to be found. Parliament imagined that the minister, to pander to the passions of the king had caused the disappearance of the paper ; Baron Goertz was accused, and his secretary was compelled to ac- knowledge having eaten the treat}'. A trial was had, the fact was proved, and the secretarj- condemned to death. But, as you have not got as far as that, take a cigar while we wait for the carriage to overtake us." Lucien took a cigar and lighted it, as they do in Spain, by that of the priest, thinking to himself: '' He is right ; I have time enough to kill myself.'' "It often happens, said the Spaniard, "that the very moment when young men despair the most of their future is the one when their prosperit}' begins. That is what I want to show you, and I prefer to show it b}- an example. That handsome young secretary, condemned to death, was in a desperate condition ; all the more be- cause the King of Sweden could not pardon him. for the sentence had been pronounced by the Swedish Par- liament ; but the king shut his ej'es to an escape. The little secretar\' did escape in a boat, with a few thalers in his pocket, and reached the Court of Courlande, fur- nished with a letter of introduction from Baron Goertz to the duke, to whom the Swedish minister explained the mishap and also the mania of his protege. The duke made the youth secretary to his steward. The duke was a spendthrift, he had a pretty wife, and he kept a steward, — three distinct causes of ruin. If you 362 Lost Illusions. suppose that the young man thus condemned to death for eating up the Treaty of Finland corrected his de- praA^ed taste you know nothing of the power of vice over a man ; a sentence of death won't stop him from any enjoyment which he creates for himself. What is the secret of this power ? whence comes it ? is it a force inherent in vice, or is it the outcome of human weak- ness ? Are there tastes which must be considered on the verge of madness? I cannot help laughing at moralists who tr}^ to fight such diseases with fine phrases ! There came a time when the duke, alarmed at a refusal given b}' his steward to a demand for money, asked to see the accounts — absurdit}' ! There is nothing easier than to write out an account ; the diffi- culty is never there ! The steward gave his secretary the items and instructed him to make out the schedule of the civil list of Courlande. In the middle of the night, as the secretary was about to finish his work, he perceived that he was munching up a receipt from the duke for a considerable sum ; fear seized upon him ; he ran to fling himself at the feet of the duchess, ex- plained his mania, implored the protection of his sovereign lady, — imploring it too, in the dead of night. The beauty of the young clerk made such an impression on her that she married him soon after on becoming a widow. Thus, in the middle of the^ eighteenth centurj', in a land where heraldr\' is king, the son of a jeweller became a sovereign prince. He be- came something better still ! He was made regent oji the deatli of the first Catherine, he governed the Em- press Anne, and he tried to be the Richelieu of Russia. Now, young man, let me tell you one thing : you are Lost Illusions. 363 handsomer than Biron, and I, a simple canon, am worth more than Buron Goertz. Therefore, jump into the carriage and we '11 find j-ou a Duch}' of Courlande in Paris — if there is no duchy there is certain to be a duchess." The Spaniard slipped his hand under Lucien's arm and literally forced him to get into the vehicle ; the postilion closed the door. '•Now speak; I will listen to you," said the canon of Toledo to the bewildered Lucien. ''I am an old priest to whom you can say anything without the slight- est danger. You have no doubt squandered 3-our patri- mony or mamma's money? We have had our little escapades, but our honor is intact down to the soles of those prett}' little boots ? Come, confess boldl}' ; it will be absoluteh' as though 3'ou were speaking to yourself." Lucien found himself in the position of the fisher- man in the Arabian tale (I forget which) who, wishing to drown himself in the broad ocean, fell into a sub- marine country and there became a king. The Spanish priest seemed so truly interested that the poet opened his heart to him. He told him his whole life as they drove from Angouleme to Ruffec. omitting none of his misdeeds, and concluding with the last catastrophe of which he was the cause. As he ended his tale, which was all the more poeticall}' told because Lucien had alread}' narrated it three times in the course of the last fortnight, the carriage reached a part of the road near Ruffec which bordered the estate of the Rastignacs. "There!" he said, "Eugene de Rastignac, who is certainl}' not my equal, came from there ; and he has had more luck than I have." 364 Lost Illusions, " Ah ! " said the Spaniard, with a start. *' Yes, that queer little building is his father's house. He became the lover of Madame de Nucingen, wife of the famous banker. I gave myself up to poes}' ; he, shrewder than I, took to the practical." The priest stopped the carriage ; he wished, out of curi- osit}', he said, to walk up the little avenue which led to the house ; and he looked at everything with more interest than Lucien expected in a Spanish ecclesiastic. *■' Then 3'ou know the Rastignacs? " said Lucien. "I know all Paris/' said the Spaniard, getting into the carriage. "And so for the want of ten or twelve thousand francs 3'ou were going to kill 3ourself ! You are a child ; 3^ou know neither men nor things. A man's destin3' is what he rates it, and you value your future at twelve thousand francs ; well, I '11 buv it of you for more than that. As to the imprisonment of your brother-in-law, that 's a mere trifle. If your dear Mon- sieur Sechard has reall3^ invented something he '11 be a rich man. Rich men are never put in prison for debt. You don't seem to me ver3' strong in histor3'. There are two kinds of histor3' : official histor3', lying history, that which the3' teach in colleges, — histor3^ ad usum deliJhini ; and secret histor3% in which are the true causes of events, — shameful histor3'. Allow me to tell 3'ou in three words another little story which 3'OU do not know. An ambitious man, a priest and a young one, made himself the spaniel of a favorite, the favorite of a queen. Tlie favorite took an interest in the i)iiest and made him a minister with a place in the council. On a certain evening one of those officious men who think they are doing a service (remember never to do a ser- Lost Illusions. 365 vice unless it is asked of 3-011) wrote to the ambitious young priest to tell him that the life of his benefactor "was in danger. The king was angry at being super- seded, and the next da}' the favorite was to be stabbed as he went to the palace. Well, young man, what would you have done on receiving that letter?" '^ I should have warned my benefactor instantly," cried Lucien, eagerlv. *' You are even more of a child than your account of your life told me," said the priest. "No, he said to himself, ' If the king has resolved on crime nothing will stop him ; my benefactor is a lost man. I had better not receive that letter till too late ; ' and he turned over and went to sleep until the favorite was killed." "Then he was a monster," said Lucien, who sus- pected the priest of wishing to test him. "All great men are monsters; that particular one was called Cardinal Eichelieu," replied the canon ; " his benefactor was Marshal d'Ancre. You see that you really do not know your French history. Was I not right in saying that History, as taught in schools and colleges, is a collection of dates and facts, doubtful in an}' case, and without the sHghtest signification as to actual conditions. What is the good of merely knowing that Joan of Arc existed? Did it ever lead you to think that if France had then accepted the Angevine dynasty of the Plantagenets the two peoples thus united would to-day be masters of the world ; and that the two islands where the political troubles of the continent of Europe are brewed would be French provinces ? Did you never study the means by which the Medici, simple merchants, came to be grand dukes of Tuscany ? " 366 Lost Illusions. " lu France a poet is not expected to be as learned as a Benedictine," said Lucien. ''Then I will tell 3'ou, young man; the}" became grand dukes precisely as Richelieu became minister. If you had searched into the history of events instead of merely reading the headings, you would have found pre- cepts by which to guide your conduct. From these, which I have taken at random from my collection of true facts, you may deduce this axiom : Regard men, above all regard women, as instruments onl}' ; but never let them see that 3'ou do so. Adore as a god the man who, being higher in station than yourself, may be useful to you ; and do not leave him till he has paid a full price for your servilit}'. In your dealings with the world be as grasping as a Jew, and as base ; do for power that which the Jew does for pelf. Pay no more heed to a fallen man than if he did not exist. Do you know why you should guide 3'our conduct in this way? You wish to master the world, don't you ? Very good ; then begin by obeying it and studying it. Learned men study books ; statesmen study men, their interests, the gener- ating causes of their actions. Now the world, societ}-, men taken as a whole, are fatalists ; they await what happens. Do you know wh}' I have given you a lecture on history? Because I think your ambition is un- bounded." "Yes, it is, father." "I see it is," resumed the canon. " But just at this moment you are saying to yourself, ' This Spanish priest invents these anecdotes and twists histor}' to prove to me that I have too much virtue.' " (Lucien smiled at seeing his thoughts so well translated.) " Well, Lost Illusions. 3G7 young man ; let us take certain facts that are the tritest ones of history. Once upon a time France was almost conquered by England ; the king had only one province left. From the heart of the people arose two beings ; one a poor young girl, that Joan of Arc of whom I have spoken ; tiie other a burgher named Jacques Coeur. One gave her arm and the spell of her virginit}', the other gave his gold. The kingdom was saved. But the maid was captured. The king, who could have ransomed her, allowed her to be burned alive. As to the gener- ous burgher, the king permitted his courtiers to accuse him of capital crimes ; the}'' divided his property among them. The spoils of that innocent man, hunted, hemmed in, hounded down bj* justice, enriched five noble houses — and the father of the archbishop of Bourges left the kingdom, never to return, without one penny of all his property in France, and no money but a little that he had lent to the Arabs. Perhaps you will say that that is ancient history, and that all this ingratitude has been dul}' taught in the public schools for three hundred years, and besides, that the skeletons of that period are doubtful. Well then, 3'oung man, do you believe in the last demigod of France, Napoleon ? He regarded one of his generals with displeasure ; he onl}' made him marshal against his will ; and he never voluntarily em- ployed him. That was Marshal Kellerman. Do you know why this was? Kellerman saved France and the First Consul at Marengo by a daring charge which won applause in the midst of the fire and carnage. That heroic deed was never even mentioned in the bulletin. The cause of Napoleon's coldness to Kellerman was also the cause of Fouche's disgrace and that of Prince 368 Lost Illusions. Talleyrand, — ingratitude, the ingratitude of Charles VII., of Richelieu ! " " But, father, supposing it possible that you should preserve my life and secure m^^ fortune," said Lucien, " do you not make the burden of gratitude a very light one?" '* Little scamp ! " said the abbe, smiling, and twist- ing Lucien's ear with a familiarit}' that was almost royal. '' If you are ungrateful to me you will prove yourself a strong man, and I will bow down to 3'ou. But 3'ou have not got so far as that ! though, schoolboy that 3'OU are, 3'Ou have attempted to be a master before 3"0ur time. That 's the defect of the Frenchmen of your da3^ They have all been spoilt hy the example of Na- poleon. You are sending in your resignation because you have n't got the epaulet that you want. But have 3'OU as 3'et concentrated 3'our will and all 3'our actions on one idea ? " '' Alas, no," said Lucien. " You have been what the English call ^ inconsist- ent,' " said the abbe, smiling. *' What matters it what I have been if I am to be nothing more?" answered Lucien. " If there be a force behind your fine qualities of person and mind that is semper vire?is,^' said the priest, apparentl3' desirous of airing his Latin, " nothing can resist 3'ou. I like 3'Ou already — " (Lucien smiled in- credulousl3'.) ''Yes," continued the priest, replying to Lucien's smile, " 3'ou excite m3' interest as thocigh you were mj'' son, and I am sufBcientlv powerful to speak to you frankly, as 3'ou have just spoken to mc. Do 30U know what it is that I like in you? You have made Lout Illusions. 369 yourself a blank page, and you can now listen to a lec- ture on morality such as you camiot hear elsewhere ; for men, when assembled together, are even more hypo- critical than when their interests force them to play a part. We pass the latter part of our lives in mowing down what we grew in our hearts when young. AVe call that operation ' acquiring experience.' " Lucien, as he listened, was thinking to himself: "He is an old politician who is glad to find amusement on his journev. He thinks it entertaining to change the opinions of a poor fellow he finds on the brink of sui- cide ; he '11 drop me when he has had his fun out. But he certainh' is a master of paradox ; as clever at it as Blondet or Lousteau." In spite of this sage reflection, the corruption now poured into Lucien's ears entered deeply into a soul that was only too ready to receive it ; making its rav- ages with the greater certainty because it was enforced by great examples. Caught by the charm of this cyni- cal conversation, Lucien once more attached himself to life, and all the more willingl}' because he felt that the arm which was dragging him from suicide was a power- ful one. As for that, the priest had evidently triumphed ; and, from time to time he accompanied his historical sar- casms with a sh* smile. " If 3'our method of treating morality is like your manner of considering history," said Lucien, " I should really like to know wliat is, at this moment, the motive of your apparent charity ? " " That, young man, is the last point of my discourse, and you must permit me to reserve it for a time — for 24 370 Lost Illusions. we shall not part to-da}-," he repUecl, with the shrewd- ness of a priest who sees his wiles succeeding. " Well, then, propound to me moralit}-," said Lucien, thinking to himself: " That will make him pose." "Moralit}', 3'oung man," said the priest, '' begins at the law. If it were merely a question of religion laws would be useless ; religious nations have few laws. Above civil law is political law. Well, then, do you wish to know what, to the e3'e of a politician, is written on the forehead of your nineteenth century? French- men invented m 1793 a popular sovereignt}' which has ended in a despotic empire. So much for your national histor}'. As to morals : Madame Tallien and Madame de Beauharnais were precisely the same in conduct. Na- poleon married one and made her 3'our empress, and he never received the other at his court, although she was a princess. A sans-culotte in 1793, Napoleon donned the iron crown in 1804. The ferocious lovers of ' Equalit^^ or Death,' in 1792 became in 1806 the accomplices of an aristocrac}^ which Louis XVIII. legit- imatized. In foreign lands the aristocracy which now lords it in the faubourg Saint-Germain did even worse ; it drove the trade of usurers, shopkeepers, made pies, cooked, farmed, and kept sheep. In France, therefore, political law as well as moral law, each and all, have forsworn their promise by their results, their opinions b}' their conduct, or their conduct b}- opinions. There has been no logic either in governments or in private life. Consequently', France now has no morality. Suc- cess is the sole motive of all 3'our actions, no matter what thej' be. An act is no longer anything in itself, it is wholl3' in the idea that others ma3' form of it. Hence, Lost Illusions. 371 young man, another precept : Present a fine exterior ; hide the inside of your life, and make a brilliant show of 3'our externals. Discretion, that motto of ambitious minds, is that of my cloth — make it 30urs. Great men commit almost as man}' vile acts as poor men. but the}' commit them in the dark, they parade their virtues in the sunshine, and remain great men. Small men dis- play tlieir virtue in the dark and expose their baseness to the light of day, and are despised. You have hidden your greatness, and exhibited jour sores. You took an actress for j'our mistress and lived with her, in her house publicly. That was not reprehensible, for you were, both of 3'ou, absoluteh' free ; but you ran a tilt against the ideas of the world, and you lost the respect which the w^orld gives onlv to those who obey its laws. If you had left Coralie with that old man, if you had hidden your relations to her. you could have married Madame de Bargeton. and you would now be prefect of Angouleme and Marquis de Rubempre. Alter your conduct ; exhibit only your beauty, your grace, your wit, your poesy. If you allow yourself a few little ignominies keep them within four walls. Follow this precept and you will never again be guilty of soiling the decorations of that great theatre which we name the world. Napoleon called that ' washing our dirty linen at home,' From this, my second precept, issues a corollary : All depends on form. Understand what I mean b}- form. There are uneducated persons who, being pressed by want, take something by violence which belongs to another. These are called criminals, and they are forced to reckon with the law. But a poor man of genius discovers a secret, the application of 372 Lost Illusions. which is equivalent to enormous wealth ; he owes yow three thousand francs (just the sum the Cointets hold of 3'ours and which enables them to despoil 3'our brother- in-law) ; \o\x torment that poor man with the law until you make him give 3'ou the whole or part of his secret ; tliere is nothing to hinder 3'ou but 3'our conscience, and 3'our conscience doesn't accuse 3'ou of anything. The enemies of social order make use of such inconsis- tencies to yelp at justice and rail in the name of the People because the law sends the man who steals chickens at night to the galle3's, while other men who ruin families escape (if punished at all) with a few weeks in prison. But these hypocrites know very well that in condemning the thief the judges maintained the barrier between the poor and the rich, the overturning of which would put an end to social order ; whereas the bankrupt, the adroit purloiner of inheritances, the banker who throttles another man's enterprise to his own profit, are onl3^ making mone3' change hands. Society, my son, is forced to distinguish, on its own account that which I am telling 3'ou to distinguish on yours. The great point is to put one's self on the level of the societ3' we live in. Napoleon, Kichelieu, the Medici, were all on the level of their age ; and you, 3'Ou rate yourself at twelve thousand francs ! Remember that your world no longer worships the true God, but the Golden Calf. That is the religion of your Charter, which takes account in its policy of nothing but prop- ert3'. Isn't that as good as saying to all its subjects : * Strive to get rich'? When you have mannged to make a fortune legally, and are JNIarquis de Rubempre, you can allow yourself the luxury of honor. You will Lost Illusions. 373 then exhibit such delicacy in that respect that no one will dare to accuse you of having ever failed in it ; if indeed you ever do fail in it wliile making your fortune — which I should never advise you to do," said the priest, taking Lucien's hand and tapping it. " Now what is it you ought to get into that handsome head of yours ? Solely this : Set before you a splendid object ; hide your jneans of reaching it, and also your steps. You have been behaving like a child ; be a man, be a huntsman, watch the game, lui-k in Parisian society, trust to chance, and seize your pre}' when it comes along ; never spare either your person or what is called your dignity, — for we all obe}- something, be it a vice or a necessity, — but remember to observe the supreme rule, secrecy." '* You frighten me, father!" cried Lucien ; ''that seems to me the theor}' of a highwayman." "You are right," said the canon, "but it is not mine. That is the reasoning of the moderns, the House of Austria and the House of France. You have noth- ing ; 3'ou are in the situation of the Medici, of Richelieu, and Napoleon at the dawn of their ambition. Those men, my lad, estimated their future at the cost of in- gratitude, treachery, and the most violent oppositions. AVe must dare all to win all. Let us argue that. 'When you sit down to play bouillotte, do you dispute the con- ditions ? No, the rules are there, and j'ou accept them." " So ! " thought Lucien, "he knows bouillotte ! " " How do you behave when 3'ou are playing bouil- lotte?" continued the priest. "Do 3-ou practise that noblest of virtues, frankness ? You not only hide 3'our own game, but you try to make others believe that you 374 Lost Illusions. are certain to lose it, when 3'ou know 3-011 are going to win. You dissimulate, don't you? You lie to win five louis. What would you sa}' of a player who was gener- ous enough to tell the others he had three cards of a suit? Well, the ambitious man who attempts the struggle of life on the principles of virtue which his antagonists have long laid aside is a child, to whom veterans would say, as the players would to the man who laid down his three cards, ' Monsieur, don't play bouil- lotte again.' Is it you who make the rules in the game of ambition? Wliy did I tell you that a man must put himself on the level of the world he lives in ? Because, young man, societ}' has insensibl}' arrogated to itself so man^^ rights over individuals that an individual stand- ing alone would have to fight it single-handed. There are no longer any laws, only what are called customs ; that is to sa}' conventions, pretences, form, form — alwa3's form." (Lucien made a gesture of amazement.) " Ah, my son,'.' said the priest, fearing perhaps to have revolted Lucien's innocence, ''you must not expect to find the Angel Gabriel in an abbe who is charged witli all the iniquities of the counter-diplomacy of two great kings (I am the intermediary between Ferdinand VII. and Louis XVIII., two great kings, who both owe their crowns to profound and far-reaching compromises) ! I believe in God, but I believe far more in our Order, and our Order believes in nothing but the temporal power. To make the temporal power strong, our Order main- tains the Catliolic, Apostolic, and Roman Church ; that is to sa3^, the embodiment of the sentiments which com- pel the people to obedience. We are modern Templars ; we have but one doctrine. Our Order was overthrown Lost Illusions. 375 like theirs, and for the same reason — it put itself on the level of the times. If you will be a soldier, I will be your captain. Obe}' me as a wife obeys her husband, as a child obeys its mother, and I will guarantee you that in less than three 3ears you shall be Marquis de Kubempre, and the husband of one of the proudest daughters of Saint-Germain, and 3'ou shall sit at some future day on the bench of Peers. If I had not amused you by my conversation what would you be at this moment? A corpse sunk in a bed of slime. Come, make an effort at poesy ; I '11 give 3'ou a theme (Lucien looked at his deliverer with curiosity). Take the young man who is seated here in this carriage beside the Abbe Don Carlos Herrera, honorary canon of the Chapter of Toledo, secret envoy from His Majesty Ferdinand YII. to His Majesty the King of France, and bearer of a despatch in which may be the words : ^ AVhen 3'ou have delivered me, hang all those I flatter at this moment ; especially mv envoy who takes this letter, so that he ma3' keep it a dead secret.' This young man,'' continued the abbe, " has nothing in common with the poet who has just died. I fished you out ; I gave 3'ou life ; you belong to me as a creature does to the Creator, as the Afrite to the genii, as the page to the sultan, the body to the soul. I will sustain you, — I, myself, with a powerful hand, — in the path of power; and I promise 3^ou besides a life of pleasures, honors, and continual enjo3'ment. Never shall 3'ou lack mone3\ You shall shine, 3'OU shall dis- play 3-ourself before the e3'es of the world, while I, toil- ing in the mud of the foundations, will secure the brilliant edifice of 3'our fortune. I love power for power's sakf: myself; I shall alwa3's rejoice in your 376 Lost Illusions. enjoyments though to me the}' are forbidden. In short 1 shall be 3'ou. Well, if the da}- comes on which this compact of man and devil, child and diplomatist, ceases to please you, 3'Ou shall be free to find a pretty spot like that you spoke of, and drown yourself; you would then be, a little more or a little less, what 3-ou are to-day — unfortunate or dishonored." "That is not the homil}" of an archbishop of Gran- ada," cried Lucien, as the carriage stopped at a post-house. " I don't know what name you ma}' choose to give to that concise lesson, my son, — for I adopt you as my son and will make you my heir, — but it is the Code of Ambi- tion. The elect of God are few in number. There is no choice ; we must either go to the depths of a cloister (and there we shall find the world in little), or accept this code." " Perhaps it would be better not to be so learned," said Lucien, endeavoring to fathom the soul of this terrible priest. " What ! " exclaimed the canon ; " after playing 3'our cards without any knowledge of the rules of the game, do you throw them down wdien 3'Ou are becoming skilled and find a strong backer behind 3'Ou? Are you without so much as a desire for revenge? Don't you long to leap upon the backs of those who drove you from Paris?" Lucien shuddered as if some iron instrument, some Chinese gong, had clanged its terrible sounds in his ears and rasped his nerves. " I am but a humble priest," continued the man, per- mitting a horrible expression to cross his face, bronzed Lost 111 us tons. 377 by the sun of Spain; "but if I had been humiliated, vexed, tortured, betrayed, sold, as you have been by those scoundrels you spoke of, I would be like the Bedouin of the desert — yes, I would devote myself soul and body to revenge. Would I care if I ended m}' days b}' swinging from a gibbet, or impaled, or guillo- tined, as in France? No! but they should not take my head till I had crushed my enemies underfoot." Lucien was silent ; he no longer thought of making the priest pose. " Some men are the descendants of Abel, some of Cain," said the canon, in conclusion. " I myself am of mixed blood, — Abel to m}^ friends, and sorrow to him who awakens Cain. After all, you are a Frenchman, I am a Spaniard, and, what is more, a canon — " "A Bedouin indeed!" thought Lucien, examining the protector whom heaven had sent him. The Abb3 Carlos Herrera bore no signs in himself which revealed the Jesuit, nor, indeed, a priest of any order. Stout and short, with large hands, a broad chest herculean in strength, a terrible glance, softened at will into gentleness, a bronzed skin which suffered nothing to pass from the inner to the outer, he inspired at once far more repulsion than attraction. Very fine long hair, powdered after the fashion of that of Talleyrand, gave the look of a prelate to this singular diplomatist, and the blue ribbon edged with white by which hung a cross of gold pointed him out, unmistakabl}', as an ecclesias- tical dignitary. His black silk stockings defined the legs of an athlete. His clothes, of an exquisite nicet}', revealed that minute care of the person which ordinary priests, esxDecially in Spain, are not prone to take. A 378 Lo^ Illusions. three-cornered hat was lying on the front seat of the carriage, the panels of which bore the arms of Spain. In spite of certain causes for repulsion, the manners of the man, which were brusque and 3'et insinuating, les- sened the unpleasant effect of his physiognomy, and in speaking to Lucien the priest had made himself caress- ing, winning, almost feline. Lucien watched and considered everything with an anxious air. He felt his decision was at that moment a matter of life or death, for they had now reached the second rela}' after Ruffec. The last words of the Spanish priest stirred many of the chords of his heart ; and, let us say it to Lucien's shame and that of the priest, who watched with a discerning eye the handsome features of the poet, these chords were among the worst that vibrate in the human soul. Again Lucien beheld Paris, once more he seized the reins of a power his unskilled hands had dropped, and he avenged himself! The com- parison of provincial life with Parisian life which his stay at Angouleme had afforded him and which was perhaps the most active cause of his suicide, disap- peared from his mind ; he was about to find himself once more in his natural element, but protected, this time, by a powerful backer, the villany of whose prin- ciples equalled that of Cromwell. " I was one, we shall be two," Lucien said to liim- self. The more he had revealed the disgrace of his former life, the more the priest had shown liis interest. The charity of the man had increased in proportion to his unha[)i)iness ; he seemed sur})rised by notliing. Nevertheless, *l>ueien asked himself what could be the motive of this manager of court intrii:;ues. At fir.st he Lost Illusions. 379 was contented with a commonplace reason ; the Span- ish were a generous people ! A Spaniard is generous, we ma}' remark, just as an Italian is jealous and a poisoner, a Frenchman frivolous, a German frank, an Englishman noble, a Jew ignoble. Reverse those prop- ositions and you get at the truth. Jews accumulate money, they compose " Robert le Diable," they act " Phedre,"' the}- sing " Guillaume Tell,"' they buy pic- tures, they build palaces, they write the " Reisebilder" and other admirable poetry, they are now more power- ful than ever, their religion is conceded to them, they even do business with the Pope. Germans will say in the smallest matter: " We must have a contract, there is so much trickery." In France we have applauded for the last fifty years the dullest national plays, we con- tinue to wear inexplicable hats, and we change the gov- ernment from time to time on condition that it shall be always the same ! England displays to the eyes of the world a treachery equalled only by her greed. The Spaniard after possessing all the gold of the two Indies has nothing left. There is not a country in the world where there is less poisoning than in Italy, and where the manners and customs are easier and more courteous. Spaniards have really existed on the reputation of the Moors. So much for proverbial sayings ! AYhen the Spanish priest returned to the carriage he whispered to the postilion : " A large fee for your best speed." Lucien hesitated ; the priest said: " Come," and he got in, under pretext in his own mind of pursuing the argument ad hominem. ''Father," he said, '• a man who has just unfolded 380 Lost Illusions. with the utmost coohiess doctrines which ordinary minds would call profoundly immoral — " " And which are so," said the priest. " That is why Jesus Christ said that offences must be made known. And it is also why the world manifests such horror at the making known of scandals." " A man of your stamp cannot be surprised at the question I wish to put to you." " Go on, my son," said Carlos Herrera. " You do not know me. Do you suppose I should take a secre- tar}' without discovering whether his principles are such that he would not rob me ? I am satisfied with what I see of you. You still have all the innocence of a man who kills himself at the age of twent}'. Go on ; your question ? " *' Why do you take an interest in me? What price do you demand for my obedience? Why do you give me all? What are your motives?" The Spaniard looked at Lucien and smiled. "Let us wait for the next hill, and walk up/' he said ; '' then we can talk in the open air ; a travelling-carriage is sometimes indiscreet." Silence reigned for some time between the two com- panions ; the rapidity with which the carriage was driven aided what we must call Lucien's moral intoxication. " Father, here is a hill," he said after a time, as if waking from a dream. " Then let us walk," said the priest, calling out to the postilion in a strong voice to pull up. The two men sprang out upon the road. *' Child," said the Spaniard, taking Lucicu by the arm, " have you ever meditated over Otway's ' Venice i Lost Illusions. 381 Preserved'? Do you undcistancl the profound friend- ship of man to man, whicli binds Pierre to Jaffier, makes woman of no account, and changes all social terms? Well, that is what the poet tells us." " He knows the stage, too ! " thought Lucien. "Have you read Voltaire ? " he asked aloud. "I have done better still," replied the canon j "I have put him in practice." " You don't believe in God? " "Ha! now it is 1 who am the atheist!" said the priest, laughing. '' But let us get to the practical, my young friend," lie continued. "lam forty -six 3'ears old, — the natural son of a great seigneur, consequently without family ; and 1 have a heart. Now, learn this ; carve it on that soft brain of yours : man has a horror of solitude. And of all solitudes, moral solitude is that which terrifies him most. The first hermits lived with God ; they inhabited the most populous of worlds, — the spiritual world. Misers inhabit a world of fancy and possession ; a miser has all, even his sex, in his brain. The first desire of man, be he a leper or a gallej'-slave, infamous or diseased, is to have a sharer in his fate. To satisfy that desire, which is existence itself to him, he employs his whole strength, his every faculty, the very sap of his life. Without that sovereign need would Satan have found companions? A whole poem might be made on that theme, a prelude to Paradise Lost, which is only an apology for the revolt — " '' And the other would be the Iliad of corruption," said Lucien. " AVell, I am alone, — I live alone. Though I wear the robe, I have not the heart of a priest. I love to de- 382 Lo8t lUusioiis. vote raj'self ; that is my vice. I live by devotion. I do not fear ingratitude, and I am grateful. The Church can be nothing to my heart ; it is only an idea. I am devoted to the King of Spain, but one cannot love a king ; he protects me^ he towers above me. I wish to love my own creation ; to fashion him, mould him to my needs, in short to love him as a father loves his child. Yes, my son, I shall roll in your tilbury, I sliall rejoice in your success among women, I shall say to myself: * That splendid youth is I ! that Marquis de Rubempre, I created him, I placed him among his peers ; his great- ness is my work, he speaks or is silent according to m}^ voice ; he consults me in everything.' That is what the Abbe de Vermont was to Marie-Antoinette." " And he led her to the scaffold ! " " He did not love the queen," replied the priest, " he loved only the Abbe de Vermont." " But I have left desolation behind me," said Lucien. " I have wealth ; 3'ou shall share it." " Certainly I would do much at this moment to res- cue Sechard," replied Lucien, in a voice that plainly said he gave up suicide. " Sa}' the word, my son, and to-morrow he shall 'receive the money necessary to liberate him." "What ! would you give me twelve thousand francs?" '' Child ! we are driving at twelve miles an hour, we shall dine at Poitiers. There, if you will sign our com- pact, the diligence to Bordeaux shall curry lifteen thousand francs to your sister." " Where are they? " The priest made no reply, and liUcion said to him- self, " I have caught him ; he is onl}' laughing at me." Lost Illusions. 383 An instant later the priest and the poet got back into the carriage silentl}'. Silently, too, the [)riest put his hand into the pocket of the carriage and drew forth a leathern pouch made like a game bag, in three compart- ments, of a kind that was well-known to travellers at that period. From it he took a hundred portuffaises, plunging his hand in two or three times and withdraw- ing it filled with gold. " Father, I am yours," said Lucien, dazzled by the flood of gold. " Child ! " said the priest, kissing Lucien on the fore- head tenderly, "that is but a fraction of the gold in that bag, which contains thirty thousand francs, beside the mone}' for this journe}-." *' And 3'ou dare to travel alone? " exclaimed Lucien. " Oh ! that is nothing," said the Spaniard ; ''I have bills of exchange for more than three hundred thousand francs on Paris. A diplomatist without monej' is what you were just now, — a poet without will." 384 Lost Illusions. XL A DAY TOO LATE. At the moment when Lucien was first getting into the carriage of tlie pretended Spanish diplomat, Eve was rising to feed her child. She saw the fatal letter and read it. A cold sweat chilled the warm moisture produced b}^ her morning sleep ; she turned giddy and called to Kolb and Marion. To her question : " Has m}' brother gone out ? " Kolb answered. " Yes, madame, before da^'light." " Keep secret what I tell you," said Eve to the two servants; "my brother has probably gone to end his life. Go both of you and make inquiries with the greatest caution. Search along the banks of the river." Eve remained alone in a state of stupor that was piteous to see. It was in the midst of this new trou])le that, as early as seven o'clock in the morning, Petit- Claud came to her on business. At such moments we are read^' to give ear to an}' one. " Madame," said the lawyer, *' our poor dear David is in prison, and he is now in the situation I foresaw from the very first of this affiiir. I advised him then to take his competitors, the Cointets, into partnership for Lost IlluHions. 385 the practical working out of his invention. They have in their hands all the means of executing that which so far is onh' a conception in your husband's mind. So last niglit, as soon as the news of his arrest reached me, what did I do? I went to see the Messrs. Cointet in the hope of getting out of them concessions wliich might satisfy 3'ou. If David continues to hold on to this discover}' your lives will remain what they now are — harassed b}' legal chicanery in which you will be worsted ; worn-out by the struggle you will end, probabl}' to your detriment, with doing with some mone3'ed man what I now propose to you to do, to your advantage, with the Cointets. B}" taking the course I suggest you will save yourselves all the privations and also the distress of the inevitable struggle of an in- ventor against the greed of capitalists and the indif- ference of people at large. See ! if the Cointets pay your debts, and if (your debts being paid) they give 3'ou a certain sum whatever be the merit, or the fate, or the possibilities of David's invention, agreeing, more- over, to give 3'Ou a specified share in the profits of the enterprise, will not that content 3'OU? You are now, yourself, madame, the owner of the material of the printing-house, and you can certainl}' sell it ; I will, in fact, guarantee you a purchaser at twenty thousand francs. If you realize fifteen thousand more b3' the partnership with the Messrs. Cointet,* that gives you a little capital of thirty-five thousand francs ; at the present rate of interest you will have two thousand francs a year to live on, — that 's enough to live cora- fortabl3' in the countr3'. And remember also that you will have further profits if the Messrs. Cointet succeed in 25 > 386 Lost Illusions. the enterprise. I saj' * succeed ' because there is always a chance of failure. Well, here is what I have every hope of obtaining for you : first, David's immediate liberation ; then, fifteen thousand francs paid for his dis- covery by the Messrs. Cointet in an}' case, whether the discover}' is productive or not ; next, a partnership formed between David and the Messrs. Cointet for the working of the patent (which the}' will take out) and for the fabrication of the paper, on the following basis : Messieurs Cointet to pay all costs ; David's capital to be the patent ; he to have one fourth of the profits. You are a woman of good judgment with whom one can reason — which is not always the case with a very beautiful woman ; reflect on these proposals, and I am sure you will think them acceptable." " Ah, monsieur," said the poor woman, bursting into tears, " why did you not make me this proposal yester- day? We might have escaped dishonor then ; and, oh, worse, worse ! " *' My discussion with the Cointets, who, as you have probably known all along, are behind Metivier, did not end till midnight. But what can have happened worse than poor David's arrest? " asked Petit-Claud. " This, which I found when I woke," replied Eve, giving him Lucien's letter. '•You prove to me now that you are really interested for us, and a true friend to David and Lucien. I ask you to keep this secret." " Don't be uneasy," said Petit-Claud, returning the letter after reading it ; '' Lucien will not kill himself. After being the cause of his brother-in-law's arrest he had to find a reason for leaving you. That is only a bit of stage business." Lost Illusions. 387 The Cointets had attained their object. After tor- turing the inventor and his family the}' seized tlie mo- ment when the torture left the victims wearied out and glad of rest on any terras. All inventors are not bull- dogs who will die with their prize in their jaws, and the Cointets had sngaciousl}' studied the character of their pre}'. To the tall Cointet David's arrest was but the last scene of the first act of the drama. The second act began with the proposal Petit-Claud had just made. To the little lawyer's masterl}' e3'e Lucien's folly was one of those unexpected bits of luck which decide a game. He saw Eve so completeh' crushed by this event that he resolved to profit by it to win her confidence ; for he had long suspected the influence of the wife over the husband. So, instead of plunging her deeper into despaii', he tried to reassure her and lead her mind to David in prison, believing that she would soon see the necessit}' of the compromise with the Cointets. *' David has always told me, madame, that he desired wealth soleh' for you and for 3'our brother. Now as for your brother, you must see by this time that it would be folly to give him money ; he would squander three fortunes." Eve's attitude showed only too plainl}' that her last illusion as to Lucien had taken to itself wings ; the lawyer therefore made a pause to convert his client's silence into a sort of consent. " So, in this matter of the invention, it becomes only a question of yourself and 3'our child. It is for j'ou to know whether two thousand francs a 3'ear will be enough for your comfort ; not considering, of course, your futui-e inheritance from old Se'chard. He has laid by in the 388 Lost Illusions. course of his long life enough to give him now an income of seven or eight thousand francs, without counting the interest he gets on his other propert}'. You have, in an}' case, a good future before you. Why be harassed now?" Petit-Claud left Madame Sechard to reflect on this perspective, rather cleverlj' suggested to him by the tall Cointet. " Go and show them the possibilit}' of getting some kind of a sum in hand," the lynx of Angouleme had said, when the lawyer came to tell him of the arrest. ''When they get accustomed to the idea of actuall}" having mone}' we can do what we like with them ; we can bargain then, and little by little we can get them down to a price we are willing to pay." That sentence contained what may be called the argu- ment of the second act of this financial drama. When Madame Sechard, with a heart wrung by appre- hensions as to her brother's fate, was dressed and ready to go to the prison and see her husband, she was over- come with dread at the idea of walking through the streets alone. At this moment Petit-Claud, with no thought of his chent's anxiety, returned to offer her his arm, moved thereto b}' a reflection that was sufficiently Machiavelian ; and he had the merit of a delicacy of which Eve was not aware, for he allowed her to thank him without correcting *her mistake. This little atten- tion in a man so hard and unbending, and at such a moment, softened, as Petit-Claud meant it shoukl, the opinion tliat Madame Sechard had hitherto held of him. " I shall take you by the longest way," he said, " so that you ma}' meet no one." Lost Illusions. 389 *' This is tlie first time, monsieur, that I have not the riglit to carry my head high I they taught me a hard lesson yesterday." '- The first and the last," replied Petit-Claud. " Oh ! I will never stay in this town." " If your husband consents to the proposals which are as good as made by the Cointets to me," said Petit- Claud, as they reached the gates of the prison, " send me word, and I will come at once with an order from Cachan, on which David will be released, and apparently there will be no reason for his return to prison." This proposal, made in front of the jail, was what the Italians call a '' combinazione." The word with them means an indefinable act in which a little tricker}' is mingled with legal right, the o[>t)ortunit3' for permissible fraud, a knavery that is half legitimate and well schemed. For reasons lately explained, imprisonment for debt is so rare an occurrence in the provinces that in most of the towns of France there is no house of detention. When that is the case the debtor is locked up in the same prison where tliev incarcerate accused persons, prisoners before trial, and convicts ; such are the divers names applied legally and successivel}* to those who are generically called criminals. David was therefore put provisionally in one of the lower rooms of the prison of Angouleme, from which some convict had probably just been let out after serving his time. When he was locked in, with the sum decreed by law to provide his food for the period of one month, David found hi-mself in pres- ence of a stout man who was to the captives a power greater than the king himself; namely, the jailer. There is no such thing in the provinces as a thin jailer. First, 390 Lost Illusions, because the place is almost a sinecure ; next, because a jailer is something like an innkeeper without any rent to paj' ; he feeds himself verj; well and his prisoners very ill, lodging them moreover (like the innkeeper) according to their means. He knew David by name through his father, and he felt confidence enough in that relationship to lodge the son for one night well, though he knew that David had not a penny of his own. The prison of Angouleme dates from the middle ages and has been left as unchanged as the cathedral. It is still called the House of Justice, and is backed b}' the old law courts. The entrance is classic ; the door, which is studded with enormous iron nails, solid but worn, is low in height, and seems all the more Cj'clopean because of a peep-hole in its centre (through which the jailer looks before he opens it), which has the effect of a single e3'e. A corridor runs the whole length of the front of the building on the ground-floor, and on this corridor open several rooms, the tall windows of which look out upon the yard. The jailer occupied an apartment separated from these rooms b}^ a vaulted space which divided the ground-floor into two divisions, at the farther end of which could be seen from the en- trance an iron gate opening into the yard. David was conducted by the jailer into one of the rooms which was nearest to this vaulted space ; the man was evi- dently not unwilling to have for his neighbor a i)risoner with whom he could talk. ''This is tlie best room," he said, seeing that David seemed stupefied at the aspect of the abode. The walls of the room were of stone and quite dami). The windows, which were very high up, were barred Lout Illusions. 391 with iron. The stone pavement was icy. The regular step of the sentry resounded as he paced the corridor. That monotonous sound, like that of the tide, keeps the one thought before your mind : " You are not free ! \'OU are not fiee ! you are guarded ! " These details and the general impression thus produced, act powerfully on the mental condition of honest men. David saw before him an execrable bed ; but persons just incarcerated are so violonth' agitated during the first night that they do not find out the miseries of their couch till the second. The jailer was gracious ; he proposed to his prisoner to walk in the yard till bed- time. He was forbidden to let the prisoners have lights ; and it would require an application to the 7J>/'0- cureur da roi to exempt a prisoner for debt from a regulation which evidently concerned only those who were in the hands of justice. The jailer even admitted David to his own room, but was forced to lock him up when bed-time came. Eve's poor husband then knew the horrors of a prison and the coarseness of its cus- toms, which sickened him. But, by one of those reac- tions familiar enough to thinkers, he isolated himself in this solitude, taking refuge in a dream such as poets have the power to dream awake. The poor soul's mind at last reverted to reflection on his present situa- tion. A prison has an extraordinar}* power to drive a man to examine his conscience. David asked himself whether he had done his duty as head of a family. What must now be the desolation of his wife? AVhy had he not. as Marion said, earned enough money to support his family and worked at his invention later? "And now," he said to himself, "how can we stay ^ 392 Lost Illusions. ill Angouleme after this disgrace? If I get out of prison, what will become of us? where can we go?" It was an agony of mind such as none can under- stand but inventors themselves. Going from doubt to doubt, David came at last to see his situation clearl}', and he said to himself, what the Cointets had said to his father, what Petit-Claud had just said to Eve : " Even supposing all goes well with the discover}^ how can I work it? I must have a patent, and that means mone}' ! I must have a manufactor}* to test m}' inven- tion on a larger scale, and that will give ni}- secret to everybody ! Yes, Petit-Claud was right. Ah ! " said David, turning over to go to sleep on the camp bed- stead, with the horrible mattress covered witli coarse brown cloth, "I shall certainlv see Petit-Claud to- morrow morning." David was therefore prepared by his own mind to listen to the proposals which his wife brought him from his enemies. After kissing her husband and sitting down on the foot of his bed (for there was only one wooden chair of the vilest kind) her wifely eyes fell on the horrible pail standing in a corner of the cell, and the names and epigrams written on the walls b}^ his predecessors. Then the tears began again to flow from her reddened eyes ; after the many that she had shed a fresh flood came when she saw her husband in the condition of a criminal. " Tiiis is what comes in this world of a desire for fame ! " she cried. " Oh ! my angel, abandon it ! Let us tread together the beaten path, and cease to seek a rapid fortune. I need so little to make me happy — especially now that I have suflTered so much. Oh, if Lost Illusions. 393 3'ou knew all ! this dishonoring arrest is not our greatest misfortune ! — read that." She gave him Lucien's letter, but to lessen the shock she repeated Petit-Claud's scoffing speech. " If Lucien is to kill himself it is done by this time," said David ; *' and if it is not alread\' done, he will never do it. He has not, as he sa3's himself, courage enough for more than one morning." " But to keep us in such anxiet}' ! " cried the sister, who had been read}' to forgive all in the presence of death. ^he repeated to her husband the proposals which Petit-Claud professed to have made to the Cointets. David agreed to them with evident pleasure. *' We shall have enough to live on in the village be- yond I'Houmeau where the Cointets' factory is, and all I want now is tranquillity," said the inventor. " If Lucien has punished himself by death, we shall be able to support ourselves while my father lives ; if the poor lad is still alive he must learn to conform himself to our povert3\ The Cointets will of course profit by my discover}' ; but, after all, what am I in comparison to the good that will be done to the country ! — only one man. If my invention is a benefit to all, well, I am satisfied ! Dear Eve, we were neither of us born to be merchants. We have not that love of gain, nor that hatred of parting with money which are, perhaps, the virtues of the mercantile mind — for they call those two forms of avarice, Prudence and Commercial Genius ! " Delighted with this conformity of opinion (one of the sweetest flowers of love, for minds and self-interests are onl}' in harmony where two beings love each other) 394 Lost Illusions. Eve begged the jailer to send a note to Petit-Claud, in which she asked hira to come and release David, and assured him of their mutual consent to the basis of his proposed settlement. Ten minutes later the lawyer ap- peared in the horrible room and said to Eve : "Go home, madame, and we will follow 3'ou." " My dear friend," said Petit-Claud, when the}' were alone, "how came 30U to be taken? How could you be so unwise as to leave your hiding-place? " " I could not help coming out ; here is what Lucien wrote me." David gave Petit-Claud Lucien's note. The lavyer took it, read it, looked at it, felt the paper and folded the letter, as if abstractedly ; then, as the conversation went on, he slipped it unperceived into his pocket. Presently he put his arm within David's and wont out with him ; for the jailer had brought the discharge during their conversation. When David reached home he felt in heaven. He cried Hke a child as he kissed his little Lucien and found himself again in that blue and white bedroom after twenty days' detention, the last of wiiich was, according to provincial ideas, degrading. Kolb and Marion had returned. Marion heard in I'Houmeau that Lucien had been seen walking along the road to Paris beyond Mar- sac. His dandified dress was noticed by the country- men who were bringing their produce to market. Kolb, who had made his search on horseback, was told at Mansle tliat Lucien had been recognized in a travelling carriage with post-horses on the road to Poitiers. " What did I tell you? " cried Petit-Claud. " He is not a poet, that fellow, he 's a perpetual romance." Lost Illimons, 395 *' Post-horses ! " said Eve, "where can he be going this time? " "Now," said Petit-Claud to David, "come and see the Messrs. Cointet ; they are expecting you." "Ah, monsieur," said Madame Siichard, "protect our interests, I implore you ; you have our future in your hands." " Should you like the conference to take place here, madame? " said the lawyer. "If so, I will leave David now. The Messrs. Cointet can come here this evening, and you shall see for yourself how I defend 3'our interests." " You will greatly oblige me," said Eve. " Very good, then," said Petit-Claud. " To-night, here, about seven o'clock." "Thank you," said Eve, with a look and accent which proved to Petit-Claud what strides he had made in his client's confidence. "Fear nothing now," he added. "As for your brother, he is fifty miles away from suicide by this time. To-night you will be the possessors of a small fortune. I have already had a proposal for the printing-office." " If we can sell that," said Eve, " why not wait be- fore committing ourselves to the Cointets? " "You forget, madame," said Petit- Claud, who saw his blunder, " that you will be free to sell the estab- lishment only after you have paid Monsieur Metivier, for all the utensils are attached." As soon as he got back to his office Petit-Claud sent for Cerizet. When the ex-gamin arrived he took him into the embrasure of a window. " You shall, to-morrow, be the proprietor of the 396 Lost Illusions, S^chard printing-house and sufRcienth' backed to obtain a license," he whispered to him ; "but you don't want to end at the galleys, do j^ou ? " " What ! what ! — the galleys ? " exclaimed Cerizet. " Your letter to David is a forgery, and I have got it. If anyone inquires of Henriette Signol, what will she repl}'? I don't waqt to ruin 3'ou," went on Petit-Claud, as Cerizet turned pale. ''You want something more of me," cried Cerizet, recovering himself. "I want this," resumed Petit-Claud, " and pay at- tention to what I sa}'. You will be a printer in Angou- leme, but you will owe for 3'our printing-house and 3'ou cannot pa}' it off in ten years ! You will have to work long and hard for your capitalists, and, moreover, you will be made the cat's-paw of the Liberals. I shall draw up your deed of agreement with Gannerac ; and I shall do it in a wa}- to secure the printing-house to 3'ou eventuall}'. But, if the}- start a newspaper, if you are the publisher of it, if I am the first assistant-procureur of Angouleme as I shall be, you are to arrange with the tall Cointet privately to put such articles of a political nature into your paper that it will be seized and sup- pressed. The Cointets will pay you handsomely for that service ; I admit that you will be condemned and sent to prison, but that will make you important, — you will be called persecuted, and end in becoming a great personage in the Liberal party, — a Sergeant Mercier, a Paul-Louis Courrier, a Manuel on a small scale. The day that newspaper is suppressed I '11 burn that forged letter before your eyes. Your fortune won't cost you dear." Lost Illusions. 397 People of the lower ranks have very mistaken ideas about the legal distinctions as to forgery, and Cerizet, who fancied himself already in a police-court, breathed easier. '' Three years from now I shall be procureur clii roi in Angouleme," continued Petit-Claud, "and you may have need of me, — remember that" •' That 's understood,'' said Cerizet. "But you don't know me ; burn that letter before me now and trust to my gratitude." Petit-Claud looked at him. It was one of those duels of eye to eye when the glance of him who observes is like a scalpel with which he attempts to search the soul through the eyes of the man who struggles to bring his virtues to the front ; it was indeed a dramatic spectacle. Petit-Claud made no answer ; he lighted a candle and burned the letter, saying to himself, " He has his fortune to make." " You have a slave through thick and thin," said the ex-gamin. David awaited in vague uneasiness his conference with the Cointets ; it was neither the discussion of his interests nor the nature of the compact to be made which troubled him, but the opinion the manufacturers might form on his discovery. He was in the position of a dramatic author before his judges. The self-love of the inventor and his anxiety on the verge of attaining his end paled all other feelings. At last, about seven o'clock in the evening, just as Madame la Comtesse du Chatelet was going to bed under pretence of a headache, but reall}' to let her husband do the honors of the dinner, 398 Lofit Illusions. so disturbed was she at the various contradictor}' stories about Lucien's disappearance which were flying through the town, the two Cointets, tall and stout, accompanied by Petit-Claud, entered the house of their competitor, who was now delivered over to them bound hand and foot. A preliminarj^ difficulty presented itself at once. How could a deed of partnership be drawn up unless David's process was known ? and if he made known his process he was at the mercy of the Cointets. Petit-Claud, how- ever, obtained the concession that the deed should be drawn before the secret was divulged. The tall Cointet then asked David to show his products, and the inventor produced samples of the last paper he had made, guar- anteeing the net cost of it. ^' Why, there ! " said Petit-Claud, '' there 's basis enough for the deed ; why not take that sum and intro- duce a clause of dissolution of partnership in case the conditions of the patent are not carried out when it comes to the manufacture of the paper?" ''It is one thing, monsieur," said the tall Cointet, addressing David, "to produce in one's own room over a small furnace a few samples of paper, and quite an- other to manufacture a satisfactory paper on a large scale. You can judge of that b}- one fact. We make colored papers ; and we bu}^ in order to color them, blocks of color which are supposed to be identicalU' the same. The indigo we use for the bluing of our post- demy paper is taken from a case in which all the cakes come from the same manufactory, and yet we have never been able to make two batches of the same shade. There is something in the preparation of our materials Lost Illusions. 809 which we have never yet been able to get hold of. The quantity and quality change instantly on the slightest provocation. AVhen you hold in a pan a portion of the ingredients (I do not ask what the}' are) you are master of them ; you can act upon all the parts uniformly ; you can mix them, knead them, work them up as you please, amalgamate them thoroughly. But who can guarantee that in a vat of five hundred reams the same thing can be done? and, if not certain, your process may be a failure." David, Eve, and Petit-Claud looked at each other, saying man}' things b}' their e3'es. " Take an example which offers some analog}'," said the tall Cointet, after a pause. "You cut two bales of hay in your field, and you put them very closely to- gether in your loft, not allowing the grass to strike fire, as the peasants say. Fermentation takes place, but it does no harm. You rely on that experience to put two thousand bales in a wooden granary ; the hay ignites, and the barn burns like a match. You are a man of intelligence,'' said Cointet to David ; " draw your own inference. You have at this moment cut your two bales of hay, but we are afraid of destroying our i)aper-works by putting in two thousand bales. In other words, we are liable to lose whole vats full, make heavy losses, and find ourselves with nothing in hand after spending a great deal of money." David was struck dumb. The practical man was talking practice to theory, whose own language is always of the future. '' The devil take me if I sign any such deed of part- nership," cried the stout Cointet, roughly. " You can 400 Lost Illusions. lose 3'our money if 3011 like, Boniface, I shall keep mine ; I offer to pay the debts of Monsieur Sechard and six thousand francs — no, three thousand in notes," he said, catching himself up, " payable in twelve and fifteen months. That 's risk enough to run. We shall have full}^ twelve thousand francs to pay to Metivier — in all, fifteen thousand francs ; and that 's as much as I shall agree to pa}^ for this secret. So this is the dis- cover}^ you have been talking about, Boniface? Well, I gave 3'ou credit for more sense. No, that 's not what I call a good business aff'air." " The question for you," said Petit-Claud, not alarmed b}^ this outburst, " reduces itself to this : Will you risk twent3' thousand francs to bu3' a secret which may enrich you? Wh3', gentlemen, risks are always in pro- portion to profits. This is a stake of twentv thou- sand francs against fortune. A player puts down a louis to win thirt3'-six at roulette ; wh3' not do the same thing? " '' I want time to reflect," said the stout Cointet ; '* for m}" part, I am not so long-headed as m}' brother. I 'm only a poor chap who knows but one thiug — how to make a prayer-book for twenty sous, and sell it at fortv. I consider an invention which has n't been tried a road to ruin. You may succeed in the first vat and fail in the second, and so on, and so on ; you get drawn in ; and wlien your arm is once cauglit in that sort of machinery the bod3' follows." The stout Cointet clinched his remarks 113' citing the example of a merchant in Bordeaux who was ruined because he would cultivate waste lands on the advice of a man of science ; he produced six other examples, Lost lUuHions. 401 all of the same nature, in the department of the Charente and the Dordognc ; then he got angiy and would listen to nothing ; Petit-Claud's corrections seemed only to increase his irritation instead of calming it. " I would much rather pay dearer for a sure thing and get smaller profits," he cried, looking at his brother. '^ In my opinion, nothing is advanced enough to go upon." '*But you came here with some intention or other," said Petit-Claud. " "What do you propose? " " To free Monsieur Sechard and to guarantee him, in case of success, thirty per cent on the profits," said the tall Cointet, quickly. " But monsieur,"' said Eve, " what should we have to live on until the profits come in? My husband has had the shame of going to prison ; he can return there without incurring more, and we will pay our debts by — " Petit-Claud put his finger on his lips and looked at Eve. " You are not reasonable," he said to the two brothers: '' You have seen the samples, and old Mon- sieur Sechard told you that his son, who was locked in by him, did make in a single night with ingredients that cost him next to nothing, a most excellent paper. You are here to bring this negotiation to a crisis. Will you buy the invention, yes or no? " " Yes," said the tall Cointet. " Whether my brother agrees or not, I am willing to risk, on my own account, the payment of Monsieur Sechard's debts, and six thou- sand francs cash down, and thirty per cent profits to Monsieur Sechard; provided — listen to this — that if, 26 402 Los^t Illusions. in the course of one 3'ear, lie has not reahzed the con- ditions which he will himselC put into the deed he is to return the six thousand francs, and the patent is to belong to us, to make any use we can of it." *' Are you quite sure of yourself? " said Petit-Claud, taking David aside. ''Yes," replied the inventor who was completely caught by the tactics of the two brothers, and who dreaded lest the stout Cointet should again interfere and frustrate an agreement on which the future of his familj' depended. " Very good, then I will at once go and draw up the deed," said Petit-Claud turning to the Cointets and Eve. " You shall each have a cop}' to-night, 3'ou can think it over to-morrow morning ; and at four in the afternoon, as soon as the court rises we will meet here and sign the papers. You, gentlemen, must at once settle the matter with Metivier ; and I will write to stop the suit in the Ro3'al Court." Here follows the clause of the deed containing David Sechard's obligations : — "Between the undersigned, etc. " Monsieur David Sechard, printer at Angouleme affirming that he has discovered the means of sizing paper in the vat, and also the means of reducing the cost of manufacturing paper of all kinds at least fifty per cent by the introduction of vegetable matters into the pulp, either by mixing them with the rags already employed, or by using them without the admixture of rags, a partnership for the taking out of a patent and working the same, is hereby formed between Monsieur David Sechard, jr., and the JNIessrs. Cointet Brothers, on the following clauses and conditions : — " Lo^t Illusions. 403 One of the articles of the deed deprived David com- pletely of all his rights in case he did not fulfil the promises made in this document, which was carefully dictated by the tall Cointet and agreed to b}' David. When Petit-Claud brought the deed at half-past seven the next morning he informed David and his wife that Cerizet otfered twenty-two thousand francs in readv money for the printing-house. The deed of sale could be sio^ned that evening. " But," he said, 'Mf the Cointets hear of this pur- chase the}' are capable of not signing the other deed ; they might try to harass you — " " Are you sure that the purchase mone}' will be paid?" said Eve, astonished at the settlement of a matter she had long despaired of; a settlement which, had it been made three months earlier would have saved everything. "I have the money now in my hands," said Petit- Claud, plainh'. " It is magic ! " said David, as if to ask Petit-Claud for an explanation of this good luck. "No, it is a very simple thing; the merchants of I'Houmeau want to found a newspaper," said the lawyer. "But I have signed a paper not to do so," cried David. " You have ; but your successor has n't. Besides, don't worr}' yourself about anything ; sell the place, pocket the money, and leave Cerizet to wriggle out of any difficulty that may arise — he knows very well how to do that." " Yes, yes," said Eve. 404 Lost Illusions. " If you are restrained from printing a newspaper in Angouleme the merchants of I'Houmeau will have it issued there, that 's all." Eve, dazzled by the perspective of having thirt}^ thousand francs and being thus placed above want, re- garded the deed of partnership as a secondary- conside- ration ; consequently Monsieur and Madame Sechard yielded a point in that deed which gave rise to a last discussion. The tall Cointet demanded the right to have the patent made out in his name. He succeeded in showing that as David's rights were clearl}- defined in the deed the patent could be held indifferentl}' b}' either of them. His brother clinched the matter by saying: " It is Boniface who pays for the patent and the costs of the journey, — and the}' '11 amount to at least two thousand francs. Let him have it in his own name, or give the thing up altogether." The lynx triumphed ; he triumphed at all points. The deed of partnership was signed about half-past four. The tall Cointet gallantly presented to Madame Sechard a dozen forks and spoons in silver filagree and a handsome Tornaux shawl, by way of pin-money, to induce her, he said, to forget the asperities of the discussion. The copies of the deed were scarcely exchanged, Cachan had just handed over to Petit-Claud the legal releases and receipts and the fatal notes forged by Lucien, when the rumbling cart of the Messageries stopped before the door, and Kolb's voice echoed up the stairway : — " Madame ! madame ! Fifteen thousand francs ! " he cried, *' sent from Poitiers in real money, by Monsieur Lucien ! " Lost Illusions. 405 " Fifteen thousand francs ! " cried Eve, throwing up her arms. "Yes, madarae," said the carrier, following Kolb, " fifteen thousand francs brought b}' the Bordeaux dili- gence, and a pretty load it was. I have two men below to bring up the bags. They are sent by Monsieur Lucien Chardon de Rubempre. I have brought up a small leather bag containing five hundred francs fur 30U, and this letter : — Eve thou2:ht she was dreaming as she read what follows : — My dear Sister, — Plere are fifteen thousand francs. Instead of taking my life I have sold myself. I am no longer my own master ; I am the secretary, the creature of a Spanish diplomatist. I begin once more my terrible existence. Perhaps I had better have drowned myself. Farewell. David will be free, and with the other four thousand francs he can buy himself a little paper-mill and make his fortune. Forget — I demand this of you — forget Your unhappy brother, Lucien. " It is written," cried Madame Chardon, " that my poor son is fated to do evil, as he said he was, even in doing good." " That was a narrow escape ! " cried the tall Cointet, as soon as he was safely out of the house. " An hour later the possession of that money would have changed the face of everything ; our man would never have signed the deed. Three months hence we shall see how he keeps that promise, and know where we stand." 406 Lost Illusions. XII. AN ILLUSION RESIGNED. At seven o'clock that evening Cerizet bought the printing-house and paid for it, keeping back the rent of the last three months. The next da}' Eve remitted forty thousand francs to the Receiver-General to pur- chase funds in her husband's name, yielding two thou- sand five hundred francs a year. Then she wrote to her father-in-law asking him to find her a little estate near Marsac worth about ten thousand francs, in which to invest her personal propert}'. The scheme of the tall Cointet was formidably sim- ple. At the start, he believed David's idea of sizing the pulp in the vat to be impracticable. The mixture of vegetable matters of little cost with the pulp of rags seemed to him the true and only merit of the invention. He therefore intended to make very little of the cheap- ness of the pulp and enormousl}' much of the sizing in the vat. Let us explain wh}". Tlie manufacturers of Angouleme (paper being the chief product of the town) were then making, almost exclusivel}-, those writing- papers wliich go b}' the names of crown or copy, note, school, and demy-post paper, all of wliich are glazed. These had long been the glory of the Angouleme paper-mills. Therefore, this specialty, monopolized by Lost Illusions. 407 the Angoiileme manufacturers for vcr}' many years, was reason enough for the view Cointet took of the matter; glazed, that is, sized paper, did not, as we shall see, enter into his calculations. The demand for writing- paper is limited, whereas that for printing-pai)er is almost unlimited. During the journey which he made to Paris to take out the patent, Boniface Cointet ar- ranged certain business matters which enabled him to make great changes in his modes of manufacture. He stayed at Metivier's ; and to him Cointet gave direc- tions to get away the custom of the newspapers from his rival paper makers in the course of the coming 3'ear, by putting the price of the ream so low that no manu- factory could compete with it ; and to promise each journal a paper superior in qualit}' and whiteness to the finest sorts hitherto used. As contracts with journals are always made for periods of time, it would take some months of subterraneous toil to obtain this monopolj' ; but Cointet calculated that he would gain time to get rid of Sechard altogether, while Me'tivier was making arrangements with the Parisian newspapers, who were at that time consuming some two hundred reams a day. Cointet naturallv allowed Metivier a certain percentage on these contracts, so as to have an able representative 'in the Paris market and not lose his own time and money in going there. Metivier's subsequent fortune, which was one of the largest ever made in the paper business, had its origin in this affair. For ten years he controlled, without a possible rival, the paper supply of the Parisian journals. Eas}' as to his future market, Cointet returned to Angouleme in time to be present at Petit-Claud's mar- 408 Lost Illusions. riage. The lawTer had sold his practice and was now awaiting the transference of Monsieur Milaud to Angers to step into iiis place, which had been promised to Petit-Claud through the influence of the Comtesse du Chatelet. The second assistant ^7-oct^rewr du roi at An- gouleme was appointed first assistant at Limoges, and the Keeper of the Seals sent a protege of his own to the court of Angouleme, where the post of first assistant remained vacant for two months. This was the period of Petit-Claud's hone3'moon. While the tall Cointet was in Paris, ostensibly to secure the patent, David made, as a preliminary, a first vat-ful of unglazed pulp, which produced a printing- paper far superior to an}' that the newspapers were using. Next he made a second paper called ^' vellum," of the finest qualit}-, intended for engravings, and this was used b\' the Cointets themselves for an edition of the diocesan pra3'er-book. Tlie materials had been prepared b}' David in secret, with no other assistants than Kolb and Marion. On the return of Boniface Cointet a total change came over the face of things. He looked at the papers just made and was none too well satisfied. " M}- dear friend," he said to David, ''the true busi- ness of Angouleme is in writing-paper ; the very first- thing to be done is to make the finest possible demy- post for fifty per cent below the present net cost." David tlien tried to make a vat full of sized pulp, and obtained a paper as rough as a brush, in wliich the siz- ing granulated in lumps. The day of this experiment, when David held the paper in his hand, he went apart by himself to swallow his grief; but the tall Cointet Lost Illusions. 409 sought him out and was charming!}- amiable and con- soling. ^' Don't be discouraged,'" he said. " Go on ! I 'm a good fellow ; I understand the matter, and I 'II stand by you to the end." '^ After all," said David to his wife, when he went home to dinner, '' we are in the hands of good people, though I never should have supposed the tall Cointet could be so generous." And he related his conversation with his wih' partner. Three months went by in experiments. David slept at the manufactory ; he observed the results of the various compositions of his pulp. Sometimes he attrib- uted his want of success to the mixture of rags with his other ingredients, and then he tried a vat full of those ingredients alone. Sometimes he tried to size a pulp made of nothing but rags. AVliile pursuing his work with wonderful perseverance, and under the very eyes of Boniface Cointet (whom he no longer, poor soul ! distrusted), he went from material to material until, at last, the whole series of ingredients was exhausted, and he had mixed them in turn with everj- variety of size. During the first six months of the year 1823 David Sechard lived in the factory with Kolb, — if it can be called living to neglect his food and clotliing and per- son. He fought so desperately with his ditficulties that to an}' man but Cointet the spectacle would have seemed sublime ; for no thought of self-interest entered the mind of the brave fighter. There came a time when he desired success for its own sake onl}-. He watched with marvellous sagacit}- the capricious effects of substances transformed by man into products to suit his purposes, 410 Lost Illusions. where nature is, as it were, quelled in its secret resist- ance ; from this he deduced great laws for industry, observing that such creations cannot be obtained ex- cept b}' conforming to the ulterior relations of things, and to what he called the second nature of substances. At last, in the month of August, he obtained a paper, sized in the vat, precisely like that which all paper-mills are making at the ])resent day for use as " proof paper" in printing-houses, but in which there is no certain uniform- it3% for the sizing can never be relied on. This result (a fine thing in 1823, when we consider the then condition of paper-making) had cost ten thousand francs, and David now hoped to solve the last difficulties of his problem. But about this time a sinsjular rumor began to be current in Angouleme and I'Houmeau : it was said that David Sechard was ruining the Cointets. After wasting thirty thousand francs in experiments he had obtained, so it was said, a worthless paper. The other manufacturers and those who were jealous of the Cointets talked of the possible failure of that ambitious house. The tall Cointet set up new machiner}' and let it be supposed that this was necessary for David's experiments. But the Jesuit used it to make a paper with David's ingre- dients without sizing, all the while urging the latter to give his whole mind to the one thing required, namely, sizing the pulp. Meantime he was des[>atching to Metivier thousands of reams of printing-i)aper for the journals. In September Boniface Cointet took David aside, and after hearing from him that he was on the point of mak- ing a trium[)hant experiment, he dissuaded him from continuing the struggle. Lost Illusions. 411 ** My clear David, go to Marsac and see your wife and take a rest from all this toil ; we don't want to ruin ourselves," tie said, in a IViendlv wa}*. '* What you regard as a great triumph is only a point of departure. We will wait now before attempting further exi)eriments. Be reasonable ; look at results. We are not only paper- makers, we arc also printers and bankers ; the public thinks you are ruining us (David made a beautifull}' ingenuous gesture, protesting his loyalt}-). I don't mean that> fifty thousand francs thrown away could ruin us,"' continued Cointet ; " but we are afraid of being obliged in consequence of this rumor to pay our obliga- tions in ready money, and that would embarrass us. It is better to pause now. We are near the limit agreed on in the deed ; and we ought each to think the matter over." " He is right," thought David, who, completely ab- sorbed in his experiments, had paid no heed to what had been taking place in the manufactory. He returned to Marsac, where, for the last six months he had gone every Saturday evening to see Eve, returning to the factory Tuesdav morning. W^ell-advised by old Sechard, Eve had bought, exacth' in front of her father- in-law's vineyard, a house called La Verberie, with three acres of garden and a vineyard, surrounded on three sides by that of the old man. She lived there with her mother and Marion very economically, for she still owed five thousand francs on the purchase of this charming little property, the prettiest in Marsac. The house, standing between a courtyard and the garden, was built of white sand-stone, roofed with slate, and ornamented with carvings, which are not ver\- costl}', owing to the 412 Lost Illusions. ease with which the soft stone can be cut. The prett}' furniture from Angouleme seemed prettier still in the countr}', where no one as 3'et displa3'ed any luxurj'. In front of the house on the garden side vrere rows of pomegranates, oranges, and other rare plants wliich the former proprietor, an old general now dead, cultivated himself. It was under an orange tree where David was placing with his wife and boy that the sheriff of Mansle brought a summons from the Brothers Cointet to their partner to select referees, before whom, according to the terms of the deed of partnership, the settlement of their mutual claims was to be brought. Old Sechard was present. The Brothers Cointet demanded the restitu- tion of the six thousand francs formerl}' advanced, also the sole right to the patent, and the future profits that might accrue therefrom, as indemnity for the exorbitant expenses incurred by them without result. " People say you've ruined them," said old Sechard, to his son. " That 's the only thing you have ever done that pleases me." The next day at nine o'clock Eve and David were in the antechamber of Monsieur Petit-Claud, now pro- moted to be the defender of wives and the guardian of orphans, whose advice seemed to them the onl}- one to follow. The new magistrate received them warmly and insisted that Monsieur and INIadame Sechard should give him the pleasure of breaivfasting with him. "The Cointets claim that six thousand francs! " he exclaimed. " How much do 3'ou still owe for La Verberie?" " Five thousand," said Eve, " but I have laid by two thousand of it." Lost Illusions. 413 *' Keep your two thousand," replied Petit Claud. " Let me see, five thousand ! Then you want ten thou- sand more to make you perfectly comfortal)le down there. AVell, in two hours the Cointets shall give you fifteen thousand francs — " Eve made a gesture of surprise. " — against your renunciation of all the profits from that deed of partnership, which you will agree to dis- solve amicabl}'," said the magistrate. '^ Will that suit you ? -' " Will the money be legally ours? " said Eve. " Yes, legally," replied the magistrate, smiling. '• The Cointets have caused you sorrow enough, and I am go- ing to put an end to their claims. Listen : I am now a magistrate, and I owe you the truth. Well, the Cointets are even now deceiving you ; but you are completely in their hands. You might possibly win the suit they would bring against \'OU if 3'ou declare war. But do you want ten years of litigation? They will multiply ex- perts and arbitrations, and you will be at the mercy of contradictory judgments. And," he added, smiling^ " I don't see any lawyer here to defend you ; my suc- cessor is of no account. Come, don't 3'ou think a bad settlement now is better than a good cause won ten years hence ? " " Any settlement that gives us peace of mind will be good," said David. "Paul!" cried Petit-Claud, to his valet, "go and fetch Monsieur Segaud, my successor. AVhile we breakfast Se'gaud will see the Cointets,'' he said to his old clients, •' and in a few hours you shall go back to Marsac ruined, but in peace. With ten thousand fi'ancs 414 Lost Illusions. 3'ou can buy another five hundred francs a 3'ear, and on that prett}' little estate of yours at La Verberie you will live happily." At the end of two hours Maitre Segaud returned, bringing, as Petit-Claud said he would, all the neccs- sarj' papers signed in proper form hy the Brothers Cointet, and fifteen banknotes of a thousand francs each. " We owe a great deal to you," said David to Petit- Claud. " But I have just ruined you," replied Petit-Claud to his astonished clients. " I have ruined you ; I repeat it, and you will see it in time. But I know 3'ou ; you would prefer your present ruin to the possession of a fortune which might come too late." "We are not seeking money, monsieur; and we thank 3-ou for giving us the means of happiness," said Madame Eve. " You will find us forever grateful." " Good God ! don't bless me ! " cried Petit-Claud, "you fill me with remorse — but I do think I have to- day repaired all. If I am now a magistrate it is thanks to 3'ou ; if an}' one should be grateful, it is I. Adieu." In March, 1829, old Sechard died, leaving about two hundred thousand francs' worth of landed property, which, joined to La Verberie, made a fine estate. For two years before the old man's death Kolb had man- aged it for him very well. In course of time the Alsacian had changed his opinion of the old bear, who on his side took Kolb to his heart, finding that, like himself, he could neither read nor write and was easily made drunk. He taught him to manage a vineyard and sell the products ; he formed him with the idea, so Lost Illusions. 415 he saitl, of leaving a man with some head to look after his children ; for ia his last days his fears were great and puerile as to the fate of his worldly goods. He took Courtois, the miller, into his confidence. '* You'll see," he said, *' how things will go with m}" children when I'm underground. Their future makes me tremble." David and his wife found nearly three hundred thou- sand francs in gold in their father's house. Public rumor, as usual, so magnified the old man's wealth tliat he was believed throughout the department to have left a million. Eve and David had an income of about thirty thousand francs, counting their own little fortune ; for they waited some time before investing the gold, so that they were able to place it to advantage in gov- ernment funds after the Revolution of July. Then, and not till then, did David Sechard and the community know the truth about the prosperity of the tall Cointet. Rich by many millions, elected deputy, Boniface Cointet is now a peer of France, and will be, they say, Minister of Commerce in the approaching coalition. In 1842 he married the daughter of one of the most influential statesmen of the Orleans dynast}-, Made- moiselle Popinot, daughter of Monsieur Anselme Pop- inot, deputy of Paris and mayor of an arrondissement. David Sechard's discovery has passed into French manufactures as food into a body. Thanks to the in- troduction of other material than rags, France manu- factures paper cheaper than any other European nation. Holland paper, as David foresaw, no longer exists. Sooner or later it will be necessary, no doubt, to estab- lish a royal manufactory of paper, like those of the 416 Lost Illusions. Gobelins, Sevres, la Savonnerie, and the ImprimGrie Ro3'ale, which have so far withstood the attacks of the bourgeois vandals. David Sechard, loved by his wife, the father of two children, has had the good taste never to speak of his experiments. Eve has been able to make him renounce forever the terrible vocation of an inventor — that Moses drunken with the drink of Horeb. He cultivates letters for amusement and leads the happ}- and lazil}' bus}^ life of a landowner improving his propertv. After bidding a long and irrevocable farewell to the hope of fame, he has bravel}- entered the class of dreamers and collectors ; he is devoted to entomology, and studies the transformations of insects ; which are still so secret that science knows them onh' in their final state. Ever3'bod3^ has heard of the successes of Petit-CLiud as procureur-general ; he is the rival of the fiimous Vinet of Provins, and his ambition is to become chief- justice of the Royal Court of Poitiers. Cerizet, who has often been condemned for political misdemeanors, has made liimself much talked about. Having been forced by Petit-Claud's successor to sell the printing-house in Angouleme, he suddenl}' took to the stage, and began a new life on the provincial boards, which his native talent for acting made a brilliant one. Circumstances having taken him to Paris he has cur- ried favor with the Liberal party ; being among the boldest of the scapegraces of that party he is known b}^ the name of the Brave Cerizet. THE END. -A ^ Balzac in English. PIERRETTE AND Thh Vicar ok Tours. BY HOXORE DE BALZAC. Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley. In Pierrette, which Miss Wormeley has added to her series of felicitous translations from the French master-fictionists, Balzac has made within brief compass a marvellously sympathetic study of the martyrdom of a young girl. Pierrette, a flower of Brittany, beautiful, pale, and fair and sweet, is taken as an undesired charge by sordid-minded cousins in Pro- vins, and like an exotic transplanted into a liarsh and sour soil she withers and fades under the cruel conditions of her new environment. Inciden- tally Balzac depicts in vivid colors the struggles of two shop-keepers — a brother and sister, who have amassed a little fortune in Paris — to gain a foothold among the bourgeoisie of their native town, Tiicse two become the prey of conspirators for political advancement, and the rivalries thus engendered shake the small provincial society to its centre. But the charm of the tale is in the portrayal of the character of Pierrette, who understands only how to love, and who cannot live in an atmosphere of suspicion and ill-treatment. The story is of course sad, but its fidelity to life and the pathos of it are elements of unfailing interest. Balzac brings a score or more of people upon the stage, shows each one as he or she really is both in outward appearance and inward nature, and then allows motives and circumstances to work out an inevitable result. To watch this process is like being present at some wonderful chemical experiment where the ingredients are mixed with a deft and careful hand, and combine to produce effects of astonishing significance. The social genesis of the old maid in her most abhorrent form occupies much of Balzac's attention in Pierrette, and this theme also has a place in the story of The Vicar of Totirs, bound up in this same volume. The vicar is a simple-minded priest who is happy enough till he takes up his quarters with an old maid landlady, who pesters and annoys him in many ways, and finally sends him forth despoiled of his worldly goods and a laughing-stock for the country- side. There is a great deal o^ humor in the tale, but one must confess that the humor is of a rather heavy sort, it being weighed down by a domi- nant satirical purpose. — The Beacon. One handsome i2mo volume, uniform with "Fere Goriot." " The Duchesse de Langeais," " Cesar Birotteau," " Eugenie Grandet," " Cousin Pons," " The Country Doctor," " The Two Brothers," and " The Alkahest." Half morocco, French style. Price, $1.50. ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston. Balzac in English. Albert Savarus, with Paz (La Fausse Maitresse) and Madame Firmiani. By HoNORE DE Balzac. Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley. There is much in this, one of the most remarkable of his books, which is synonymous with Balzac's own life. It is the story of a man's first love for woman, his inspirer, the source from whom he derives his power of action. It also contains many details on his habits of life and work. The three short stories in this vohime, — ' Albert Savarus,' 'Paz' and 'Madame Firmiani' — are chips from that astounding workshop which never ceased its Hephoes- tian labors and products until Balzac was no more Short stories of this character flew from his glowing forge like sparks from an anvil, the playthings of anidle hour, the interludes of a more vivid drama. Three of them gathered here illustrate as usual Parisian and provincial life, two in a very noble fashion, Balzacian to the core. The third — ' Albert Savarus' — has many elements of tragedy and grandeur in it, spoiled only by an abruptness in the conclusion and an accumulation of unnecessary horrors that chill the reader. It is a block of tragic marble hewn, not to a finish, but to a fine prophetic suggestion of what is to follow if ! The if never emerges from conditionality to" fulfilment. The beautiful lines and sinuous curves of the nascent statue are there, not fully born of the encasing stone ; what sculptors call the 'tenons' show in all their visibility — the supports and scaffoldings reveal their presence ; the forefront is finished as in a Greek metope or Olympian tympanum, where broken Lapiths and Centaurs disport themselves; but the background is rude and primitive In ' Madame Firmiani' a few brilliant pages suffice to a perfect picture, — one of the few spotless pictures of this superb yet sinning magician so rich in pictures. It is French nature that Balzac depicts, warm with all the physical impulses, undisguised in its assaults on the soul, ingeniously sensual, odiously loose in its views of marriage and the marriage relation, but splendidly picturesque In this brief romance noble words are wedded to noble music. In 'Paz' an almost equal nobiliiy of thought — the nobility of self-renunciation — is attained. Balzac endows his men and women with happy millions and unhappy natures: the red ruby — the broken heart — blazes in a setting of gold. ' Paz,' the sublime Pole who loves the wife of his best friend, a Slav Croesus, is no exception to the rule. The richest rhetoric, the sunniest colors, fail to counteract the Acherontian gloom of these lives and sorrows snatched from the cauldron of urban and rural France, — a cauldron that burns hotter than any other with its strange Roman and Celtic ardors. Balzac was perpetually dipping into it and drawing from it the wonderful and extraordinary incidents of his novels, incidents often monstrous in their untruth if looked at from any other than a French point of view. Thus, the devilish ingenuity of the jealous woman in ' Albert Savarus' would seetn unnatural anywhere else than in the sombre French provinces of 1836, — a toadstool sprung up in the rank moonlight of the religious conventual system of education for women ; but there, and then, and as one re-^ult of this system of repression, it seems perfectly natural. And so does the beautiful self-abnegation of Albert himself, that high strung soul that could have been born only in nervous and passionate France. As usual. Miss Wormeley's charming translation floats the reader over these pages in the swiftest and airiest manner. — The Critic. One handsome i2mo volume, uniform with " Pere Goriot," " The Duchesse de Langeais," " Cesar liirotteau," " Eugenie Grandet," *' Cousin Pons," " The Country Doctor," " The Two Brothers," and "The Alkahest." Half morocco, French style. Price, ^1.50. ROBERTS BROTHERS, Pui?lishers, Boston. Messrs. Roberts Brothers' Publications. A MEMOIR OF HONORE OE BALZAC, Compiled and written by Katharine Prescott Wormeley, translator of Balzac's works. With portrait of Balzac, taken one hour after death, by Eugene Giraud, and a Sketch of the Prison of the College de Vendome. One volume, lamo. Half Russia, uniform with our edition of Balzac's works. Price, 3ioO. A complete life of Balzac cap probably never be written. The sole object of the present volume is to present Bdlzac to American readers. This memoir is meant to be a presentation of the man, — and not of his work, except as it was a part of himself, — derived from authentic sources of information, and presented in their own words, with such simple elucidations as a close intercourse with Balzac's mind, necessitated by conscientious translation, naturally gives. The portrait in this volume was considered by Madame de Balzac the best likeness of her husband. Miss Wormeley's discussion of the subject is of value in many ways, and it has long been needed as a help to comprehension of liis life and character. Person- ally, he lived up to his theory. His life was in fact austere. Any detailed ac- count of the conditions under which he worked, such as are given in this volume, will show that this must have been the case ; and the fact strongly reinforces the doctrine. Miss Wormeley, in arranging her account of his career, has, almost of necessity, made free use of the letters and memoir published by Balzac's sister, Madame Surville. She has also, whenever it would serve the purpose of illus- tration better, quoted from the sketches of him by his contemporaries, wisely rejecting the trivialities and frivolities by the exaggeration of which many of his first chroniclers seemed bent upon giving the great author a kind of opera-bouffe aspect. To judge from some of these accounts, he was flighty, irresponsible, possibly a little mad, prone to lose touch of actualities by the dominance of his imagination, fond of wild and impracticable schemes, and altocether an eccentric and unstable person. But it is not difficult to prove that Balzac was quite a different character ; that he possessed a marvellous power of intellectual organi- zation ; that he was the most methodical and indefatigable of workers ; that he was a man of a most delicate sense of honor; that his life was not simply de- voted to literary ambition, but was a martyrdom to obligations which weie his misfortune, but not his fault. All this Miss Wormley has well set forth ; and in doing so she has certainly relieved Balzac of much unmerited odium, and has enabled those who have not made a study of his character and work to understand how high the place is in any estimate of the helpers of modern progress and enlightenment to which his genius and the loftiness of his aims entitle him. This memoir is a very modest biography, though a very good one. The author has effaced herself as much as possible, and has relied upon "documents" whenever they were trustworthy. — N. Y. Tribu7ie. Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, postpaid^ on receipt of price, by the publishers, ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. BALZAC IN ENGLISH. An Historical Mystery. Translated by KATHARLNE PRESCOTT WORMELEY. 12mo. Half Russia. Uniform with Balzac's Works. Price, $1.50. An Historical Mystery is the title given to '' Una Tenebreuse Affaire," which has just appeared in the series of translations of Honoie de Balzac's novels, by Katharine Prescott Wormeley This exciting romance is full of stirring interest, and is distinguished by that minute analysis of character in which its eminent author excelled. The characters stand boldly out from the surrounding incidents, and with a fidelity as wonderful as it is truthful. Plot and counterplot follow each other with marvellous rapidity; and around the exciting days when Na- poleon was First Consul, and afterward when he was Emperor, a mystery is woven in which some royalists are concerned that is concealed with masterly ingenuity until the novelist sees fit to take his reader into his confidence. The heroine, Laurence, is a remarkably strong character; and the love-story in which she figures is refreshing in its departure from the beaten path of the ordinary writer of fiction. Michu, her devoted servant, has also a marked individuality, which leaves a lasting impression. Napoleon, Talleyrand, Fouche, and other historical personages, appear in the tale in a manner that is at once natural and impressive. As an addition to a remarkable series, the book is one that no admirer of Balzac can afford to neglect. Miss Wormeley's translation reproduces the peculiarities of the author's style with the faithfulness for which she has hitherto been ctXehr^ted. — Satrir day Evem7i_^ Gazette. It makes very interesting reading at this distance of time, however; and Balzac has given to the legendary account much of the solidity of history bv his adroit manipulation. For the main story it must be said that the action is swifter and more varied than in many of the author's books, and that there are not wanting many of those cameo-like portraits necessary to warn the reader against slovenly perusal of this carefully written story; for the comjilications are such, and the re- lations between the several plots involved so intricate, that the thread might easily be lost and much of the interest be thus destroyed The usual Balzac compactness is of course present throughout, to give body and significance to the work, and the stage is crowded \vith impressive figures. It would be impossible to find a book which gives a better or more faithful illustration of one of the strangest periods in F"rench history, in short ; and its attraction as a story is at least equalled by its value as a true picture of the time it is concerned with. The translation is as spirited and close as Miss Wormeley has taught us to expect in this admirable series. —New York Tribune. One of the most intensely interesting novels that Balzac ever wrote is An Historical Mystery, whose translation has just been added to the preceding novels that compose the " Comedie Humaine" so admirably translated by Miss Katharine Prescott Wormeley. The story opens in the autumn of 1803, in the time of the Empire, and the motive is in dtep-laid jiohticai plots, which are re- vealed with the subtle and ingenious skill that marks the art of Balzac. . . The story is a deep-laid political conspiracy of the secret service of the ministry of the police. Talleyrand, M'lle de Cinq-Cvgne, the Princess de Cadigan, Louis XVIII, as well as Napoleon, figure as characters of this thrilling historic ro- mance. An absorbing love-story is also told, in which State intrigue plays an important part. The character-drawing is faithful to history, and the story illu- minates French life in the early years of the century as if a calcium light were thrown on the scene. It IS a romance of remarkable power^ and one of the most deeply fascinating of all the novels of the ''Comedie Humaine." Sold by all booksellers. Mailed, post-paid, on receipt of Wice by the Publishers, ROBERrS BROTHERS, Boston. BALZAC IN ENGLISH. Kame and Sorrow, ^ntj ©t|)cr Stories. TRANSLATED I'.Y KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY. i2mo. Half Russia. Uniform with our edition of Kalznc's Works. Price, $1.50. In addition to this remarkable story, the volume contains the following, namely : " Colonel Chabert," "The Atheist's Mass," " La Grande Breteche," "The Purse," and " La Grenadiere." The force and passion of the stories of Balzac are unapproachable. He had th« art of putting; into half a dozen pages all the fire and stress wliich many writers, who are still great, cannot compass in a volume. The present volume is an admirable collection, and presents we!! his power of handling the short story. That the translation is excellent need hardly be said — Boston Courier. The six stories, admirably translated by Miss Wormeley, afford pood examples of Balzac's work in what not a few critics have ihought his chief specialty. It is certain that no writer of many novels wrote so many short stories as he ; and it is equally as certain that his short stories are, almost without an exception, models of what such compositions out;ht to be. . . No modem author, however, of any school whatever, has succeeded in producing short stories half so good as Balzac's best. Balzac did not, indeed, attempt to display his subtility and deftness by writing short stories about nothing. Every one of his tales contains an episode, not necessarily, but usually, a dramatic episode The first in the present collec- tion, better known as " La Maison du Chat-qui-pelote," is really a short novel. It has all the machinery, all the interest, all the detail of a regular story. The difference is that it is compressed as Balzac only could compress: that here and there important events, changes, etc., arc indicated in a few powerful lines instead of being elaborated: that the vital points are thrown into strong relief. Take the pathetic story of "Colonel Chabert" It begins with an elaboration of detail. The description of the lawyer's office might seem to some too minute. But it is the stage upon which the Colonel is to appear, and when he enters we see the value of the preliminaries, for a picture is presented which the memon,- seizes and holds. As the action progresses, detail is used more parsimoniously, because tha ntise-en-scene has alreadv been completed, and because, also, the characters once clearly described, the development of character and the working of passion can be indicated with a few pregnant strokes. Notwithstanding this increasing economy of space, the action takes on a swifter intensity, and the culmination or the tragedy leaves the reader breathless. In " The Atheist s Mass " we have quite a new kind of story This is rather a psychological study than a narrative of action. Two widely distinguished char- acters are thrown on the canvas here, — that of the great surgeon and that of the humble patron : and one knows not which most to admire, the vigor of the drawing, or the subtle and lucid psychical analysis. In both there is rare beauty of soul, and perhaps, after all, tlie poor Auvergnat surpasses the eminent surgeon, though this is a delicate and difficult question. But how complete the little story is; how much it tells ; with what skill, and in how delightful a manner! Then there is that tremendous haunting legend of " La Grande Breteche," a story which has always been turned into more languages and twisted into more new forms than almost any other of its kind extant. What author has equalled the continuing horror of that unfaithful wife's agony, compelled to look on and assist at the slow murder of her entrapped lover? . . Then the death of the husband and wife, — the one by quick and fiercer dissipation, the other by simple refusal to live longer, — and the abandonment of the accursed dwelling to solitude and decay, complete a picture, which for vividness, emotional force, imaginative power, and compre- hensiveness of effects, can be said to have few equals in its own class of fiction. — Kansas City JourTtal. Sold by all booksellers. Mailed^ postpaid, on receipt of price, by ihe publishers^ ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. BALZAC IN ENGLISH. SONS OF THE SOIL. Translated by Katharine Prescott V/ormeley. Many critics have regarded " Les Paysans," to which Miss Wormeley, in her admirable translation, has given the title " Sons of the Soil," as one of Balzac's strongest novels ; and it cannot fail to impress those who read this English rendering of it. Fifty or sixty years ago Balzac made a pro- found study of the effects produced by the Revolution upon the peasants of the remote provinces of France, and he has here elaborated these obser- vations in a powerful picture of one of those strange, disguised, but fero- cious social wars which were at the time not only rendered possible, but promoted by three potent influences, namely, the selfishness of the rich landholders; the land-hunger and stimulated greed of the peasants; and the calculated rapacity of middle-class capitalists, craftily using the hatreds of the poor to forward their own plots. The first part of " Les Faysans " (and the only part which was published during the author's hfe) appeared under a title taken from an old and deeply significant proverb, Qui a terre a guerre, — "Who has land has war." It is the account of a guerilla war conducted by a whole country-side against one great land-owner, — a war in which, moreover, the lawlesa aggressions of the peasantry are prompted, supported, and directed by an amazing alliance between the richest, most unscrupulous, and most power ful of the neighboring provincial magnates, who, by controlling, through family council, the local administration, are in a position to paralyze resist- ance to their conspiracy. The working out of this deep plot affords the author opportunity for the introduction of a whole gallery of marvelloui studies. It is perhaps hardly necessary to say that this powerful and absorbing story is lifted above the level of romance by the unequalled artistic genius of the author, and that it is at times almost transformed into a profound political study by the depth and acumen of his suggestions and comments. Nor should it be requisite to point out analogies with territorial conditions in more than one other country, which lend to " Les Paysans " a special interest and significance, and are likely to prevent it from becoming obsolete for a long time to come. Of the translation it only need be r.aid that it is as good as Miss Wormeley has accustomed us to expect, and that means the best rendering of French into English that has ever been done. — New York Tribune. Handsome 12mo volume, bound in half Russia. Price, $1.50. ROBERTS BROTHERS, Puhlishcrs, BOSTON, MASS. BALZACS PHILOSOPHICAL NOVELS. THE MAGIC SKIN.— LOUIS LAMBERT. — ^ SERAPH ITA.c^ — TRANSLATED BY KATHARINE PRESCOTT WORMELEY. WITH AN INTRODL'CTION TO EACH NOVEL BV GKORGE FREDERIC PARSONS. [From Le Livre, Rcz-ue du Monde LiUeraire, Paris, March, 18S9.] There are men so great that liumanity passes generations of existences in measuring them. . . . Certain it is that to-day the Frencli Academy makes Bal- zac's work the theme for its prize of eloquence, that the great writer is translated and commented upon in foreign countries, and tiiat in Paris and even at Tours, his native place, statues are in process of being erected to him. . . . But the marble of M. Chapus, the bronze of M. Foumier, — Balzac sad or Balzac seated, — are of little consequence to the glory of tlie writer standing before the world, who bore a world in his brain and brought it forth, who was at once the Diderot and the Rabelais of this century, and who, above and beyond their fire, their imagina- tion, their superabounding life, their hilarious spirit, paradoxical and marvellously sagacious as it was, had in the highest degree the mystical gift of intuition, and is able, beyond all others, to open to us illimitable vistas of the Unseen. It is this side of Balzac's genius which at the present time attracts and pre- occupies foreign critics. Mile Katharine Prescott Wormeley has undertaken to translate the " Comedie Humaine" into English. She has already published several volumes which show a most intelligent sympathy and a talent that is both simple and vigorous. Lately she translated " La Peau de Chagrin " (" The Magic Skin"), and now, taking another step into the esoteric work of the Master, she gives to the Anglo-Saxon public "' Louis Lambert." But she does not venture upon this arduous task without support. Mr. George Frederic Parsons has undertaken m a long introduction to initiate the reader into the meaning hidden , or. we should rather say, encased, in the psychologic study of a lofty soul which ends by inspiring mun- dane minds with respect for its seeming madness and a deep sense of the Beyond. . . . Many critics, and several noted ones, have so little understood the real mean- ing of " Louis Lambert " and " Seraphita " that they have wondered why the au- thor gave them a place in the " Comedie Humaine," which, nevertheless, without them would be a temple without a pediment, as ^^ Taine very clearly saw and said. Mr. Parsons takes advantage of Miss Wormeley's translation to state and prove and elucidate this truth. The commentary may be thought a little long, a little replete, or too full of comparisons and erudite reference ; but all serious readers who follow it throughout will never regret that they have thus prepared themselves to understand Balzac's work. We call the attention of the philosophi- cal and theosophical journals to this powerful study. [Translated.] Handsome i2mo volumes; bound in half Russia, French style. Price, $1.50 per volume. ROBERTS BROTHERS, PubUslurs, Boston. BALZAC IN ENQLISH LOUIS LAMBERT. "As for Balzac," writes Oscar Wilde, " he was a most remarkable combination of the artistic temperament with the scientific spirit." It is his artistic tempera- ment which reveals itself the most clearly in the novel before us. As we read *' Louis Lambert," we feel convinced that it is largely autobiographical. It is a psychical study as delicate as Amiel's Journal, and nearly as spiritual. We follow the life of the sensitive, poetical schoolboy, feeling that it is a true picture of Bal- zac's own youth. When the literary work on which the hero had written for years in all his spare moments is destroyed, we do not need to be told by Mr. Parsons that this is an episode in Balzac's own experience ; we are sure of this fact already ; and no writer could describe so sympathetically the deep spiritual experiences of an aspiring soul who had not at heart felt them keenly. No materialist could have written " Louis Lambert." — Boston Transcript. Of ail of Balzac's works thus far translated by Miss Katharine Prescott Wormeley, the last in the series, " Louis Lambert," is the most difficult of comprehension. It is the second of the author's Philosophical Studies. "The Magic Skin" being tiie first, and " .Seraphita," shorily to be published, being the third and last. In "Louis Lambert" Balzac has presented a study of a noble soul — a spirit of exalted and lofty aspirations w hich chafes under the fetters of earthly existence, and has no sympathy with the world of materialism. This pure-souled genius is made the medium, moreovei, for the enunciation of the outlines of a system of philosophy which goes to the very roots of Oriental occultism and mysticism as its source, and v.^hich thus reveals the marvellous scope of Balzac's learning. The scholarly introduction to the book by George Frederic Parsons, in addition to throwing a great deal of valuable light upon other phases of the work, shows hov, many of the most recent scientific theories are directly in line with the doctrines broadly set forth by Balzac nearly sixty years ago. Tlie book is one to be studied rather than read ; and it is made intelligible by the extreniely able introduction and by Miss Wormeley's excellent translation. — The Book-Buyer- " Louis Lambert," with the two other members of the Trilogy, " La Peau de Chagrin" and "Seraphita," is a book which presents many difficulties to tlie student. It deals with profound and unfamiliar subjects, and the meaning of the author by no means lies on the surface. It is the study of a great, aspiring sou) enshrined in a feeble body, the sword wearing out the scabbard, the spirit soarmg away from its prison-house of flesh to its more congenial home. It is in marked contrast to the study of the destructive and debasing process which we see in the " Peau de Chagrin." It stands midway between this study of the mean and base and that noble i^resentation of the final evolution of a soul on the very borders of Divinity which Balzac gives us in " Serapliita." The reader not accustomed to such high ponderings needs a guide to place him en rapport with the Seer. Such a guide and friend he finds in Mr. Parsons, whose introduction of one hundred and fifty pages is by no means the least valu- able part of this volume. It is impossible to do move than sketch the analysis of Balzac's philosophy and the demonstration so successfully attempted by Mr. Par- sons of the exact correlation between many of Balzac's speculations and the newest scientific theories. The introduction is so closely written that it defies much condensation, it is so intrinsicallv valtiahlo that it will tlioroughly repay careful and minute study. — Frotn ^^ Lii^lit,'" a London Journal of Psychical and Occult Research, March 9,1889. • One handsome \zino volume^ uniform 7viih ^' Pi^re Coriof," " The Duchesse de Lnno^eais,^^ " Cesar Biroffean,'^ " Eus[cnie Grandet,^' " Cousin Pirns,''' " The Country Doctor^'' " The Tu'o Brothers,'" " 7 he Alkahest:;'' '■'■ Modcste Mic:non,^'' " The Mastic Shin," *' Cousin Bette.'^ Bound in half morocco, Trench Style. Price^ ^x.'^o. ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, Boston. *: ^^f^ 1 IJt xY TJSE ncMtDAi liaflADY-lir RPRKPIFY