Array The griffin classics - The Collected Works of Honore de Balzac

That is what I shall come to if anything should thwart my plan;

if, after stooping to the dust of provincial life, prowling like a

starving tiger round these tradesmen, these electors, to secure

their votes; if, after wrangling in these squalid cases, and

giving them my time — the time I might have spent on Lago Maggiore,

seeing the waters she sees, basking in her gaze, hearing her voice

— if, after all, I failed to scale the tribune and conquer the

glory that should surround the name that is to succeed to that of

Argaiolo! Nay, more than this, Leopold; there are days when I feel

a heady languor; deep disgust surges up from the depths of my

soul, especially when, abandoned to long day-dreams, I have lost

myself in anticipation of the joys of blissful love! May it not be

that our desire has only a certain modicum of power, and that it

perishes, perhaps, of a too lavish effusion of its essence? For,

after all, at this present, my life is fair, illuminated by faith,

work, and love.

“Farewell, my friend; I send love to your children, and beg you to

remember me to your excellent wife. — Yours,

“ALBERT.”

Rosalie read this letter twice through, and its general purport was stamped on her heart. She suddenly saw the whole of Albert’s previous existence, for her quick intelligence threw light on all the details, and enabled her to take it all in. By adding this information to the little novel published in the Review , she now fully understood Albert. Of course, she exaggerated the greatness, remarkable as it was, of this lofty soul and potent will, and her love for Albert thenceforth became a passion, its violence enhanced by all the strength of her youth, the weariness of her solitude, and the unspent energy of her character. Love is in a young girl the effect of a natural law; but when her craving for affection is centered in an exceptional man, it is mingled with the enthusiasm which overflows in a youthful heart. Thus Mademoiselle de Watteville had in a few days reached a morbid and very dangerous stage of enamored infatuation. The Baroness was much pleased with her daughter, who, being under the spell of her absorbing thoughts, never resisted her will, seemed to be devoted to feminine occupations, and realized her mother’s ideal of a docile daughter.

The lawyer was now engaged in Court two or three times a week. Though he was overwhelmed with business, he found time to attend the trials, call on the litigious merchants, and conduct the Review ; keeping up his personal mystery, from the conviction that the more covert and hidden was his influence, the more real it would be. But he neglected no means of success, reading up the list of electors of Besancon, and finding out their interests, their characters, their various friendships and antipathies. Did ever a Cardinal hoping to be made Pope give himself more trouble?

One evening Mariette, on coming to dress Rosalie for an evening party, handed to her, not without many groans over this treachery, a letter of which the address made Mademoiselle de Watteville shiver and redden and turn pale again as she read the address:

To Madame la Duchesse d’Argaiolo

(nee Princesse Soderini)

At Belgirate,

Lago Maggiore, Italy.

In her eyes this direction blazed as the words Mene , Tekel , Upharsin , did in the eyes of Belshazzar. After concealing the letter, Rosalie went downstairs to accompany her mother to Madame de Chavoncourt’s; and as long as the endless evening lasted, she was tormented by remorse and scruples. She had already felt shame at having violated the secrecy of Albert’s letter to Leopold; she had several times asked herself whether, if he knew of her crime, infamous inasmuch as it necessarily goes unpunished, the high-minded Albert could esteem her. Her conscience answered an uncompromising “No.”

She had expiated her sin by self-imposed penances; she fasted, she mortified herself by remaining on her knees, her arms outstretched for hours, and repeating prayers all the time. She had compelled Mariette to similar sets of repentance; her passion was mingled with genuine asceticism, and was all the more dangerous.

“Shall I read that letter, shall I not?” she asked herself, while listening to the Chavoncourt girls. One was sixteen, the other seventeen and a half. Rosalie looked upon her two friends as mere children because they were not secretly in love. — ”If I read it,” she finally decided, after hesitating for an hour between Yes and No, “it shall, at any rate, be the last. Since I have gone so far as to see what he wrote to his friend, why should I not know what he says to her ? If it is a horrible crime, is it not a proof of love? Oh, Albert! am I not your wife?”

When Rosalie was in bed she opened the letter, dated from day to day, so as to give the Duchess a faithful picture of Albert’s life and feelings.

“25th.

“My dear Soul, all is well. To my other conquests I have just

added an invaluable one: I have done a service to one of the most

influential men who work the elections. Like the critics, who make

other men’s reputations but can never make their own, he makes

deputies though he never can become one. The worthy man wanted to

show his gratitude without loosening his purse-strings by saying

to me, ‘Would you care to sit in the Chamber? I can get you

returned as deputy.’

“‘If I ever make up my mind to enter on a political career,’

replied I hypocritically, ‘it would be to devote myself to the

Comte, which I love, and where I am appreciated.’

“‘Well,’ he said, ‘we will persuade you, and through you we shall

have weight in the Chamber, for you will distinguish yourself

there.’

“And so, my beloved angel, say what you will, my perseverance will

be rewarded. Ere long I shall, from the high place of the French

Tribune, come before my country, before Europe. My name will be

flung to you by the hundred voices of the French press.

“Yes, as you tell me, I was old when I came to Besancon, and

Besancon has aged me more; but, like Sixtus V., I shall be young

again the day after my election. I shall enter on my true life, my

own sphere. Shall we not then stand in the same line? Count

Savaron de Savarus, Ambassador I know not where, may surely marry

a Princess Soderini, the widow of the Duc d’Argaiolo! Triumph

restores the youth of men who have been preserved by incessant

struggles. Oh, my Life! with what gladness did I fly from my

library to my private room, to tell your portrait of this progress

before writing to you! Yes, the votes I can command, those of the

Vicar-General, of the persons I can oblige, and of this client,

make my election already sure.

“26th.

“We have entered on the twelfth year since that blest evening

when, by a look, the beautiful Duchess sealed the promises made by

the exile Francesca. You, dear, are thirty-two, I am thirty-five;

the dear Duke is seventy-seven — that is to say, ten years more

than yours and mine put together, and he still keeps well! My

patience is almost as great as my love, and indeed I need a few

years yet to rise to the level of your name. As you see, I am in

good spirits to-day, I can laugh; that is the effect of hope.

Sadness or gladness, it all comes to me through you. The hope of

success always carries me back to the day following that one on

which I saw you for the first time, when my life became one with

yours as the earth turns to the light. Qual pianto are these

eleven years, for this is the 26th of December, the anniversary of