Transcript

Section 5 · The Ball at Sceaux

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Section five of the ball At so By honoreda Balzac, translated by Clara Belle.
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This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, read by Bruce Pirie.
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Three or four days after this memorable day, on one of those fine mornings
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in the month of November, which shows the boulevards cleaned by the sharp cold
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of an early frost, Mademoiselle de Fontaine, wrapped in a new style of
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fur cape of which she wished to set the fashion, went out with two
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of her sisters in law, on whom she had been wont to discharge her
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most cutting remarks. The three women were tempted to the drive less by their
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desire to try a very elegant carriage and wear gowns which were to set the
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fashion for the winter, than by their wish to see a cape which a
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friend had observed in a handsome lace and linen shop at the corner of the
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Rue de la Payee. As soon as they were in the shop, the
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Balon de Fontaine pulled amily by the sleeve and pointed out to her. Maximilian
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Longueville, seated behind the desk, and engaged in paying out the change for
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a gold piece to one of the workwomen with whom he seemed to be in
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consultation. The handsome stranger held in his hand a parcel of patterns, which
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left no doubt as to his honorable profession. Amily felt an icy shudder,
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though no one perceived it. Thanks to the good breeding of the best society,
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she completely concealed the rage in her heart and answered her sister in law
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with the words I knew it. With the fullness of intonation and inimitable decision
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which the most famous actress of the time might have envied her, she went
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straight up to the desk. Longeville looked up, put the patterns in his
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pocket with distracting coolness, bowed to Mademoise Fontaine, and came forward, looking
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at her keenly. Mademoiselle, he said to the shop girl, who followed
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him, looking very much disturbed, I will send to settle that account.
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My house deals in that way. But here, he whispered into her ear,
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as he gave her a thousand franc note. Take this, it is
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between ourselves. You will forgive me I trust, Mademoiselle, he added,
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turning to Emily, you will kindly excuse the tyranny of business matters indeed,
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monsieur, it seems to me that it is of no concern of mine,
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replied Mademoiselle de Fontaine, looking at him with a bold expression of sarcastic indifference,
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which might have made anyone believe that she now saw him for the first
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time. Do you really mean it? Asked Maximilia in a broken voice.
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Emily turned her back upon him with amazing insolence. These words, spoken in
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an undertone, had escaped the ears of her two sisters in law. When,
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after buying the cape, the three ladies got into the carriage again.
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Emily, seated with her back to the horses, could not resist one last
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comprehensive glance into the depths of the odious shop, where she saw Maximilian standing
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with his arms folded in the attitude of a man superior to the disaster that
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has so suddenly fallen on him. Their eyes met and flashed implacable looks,
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each hoped to inflict a cruel wound on the heart of a lover. In
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one instant, they were as far apart as if one had been in China
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and the other in Greenland. Does not the breath of vanity wither everything?
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Mademoiselle de Fontaine, a prey to the most violent struggle that cantron torture.
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The heart of a young girl reaped the richest harvest of anguish that prejudice and
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narrow mindedness ever sowed in a human soul. Her face, but just now
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fresh and velvety, was streaked with yellow lines and red patches. The paleness
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of her cheeks seemed every now and then to turn green. Hoping to hide
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her despair from her sisters, she would laugh as she pointed out some ridiculous
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dress or passerby, but her laughter was spasmodic. She was more deeply hurt
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by their unspoken compassion than by any satirical comments for which she might have revenged
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herself. She exhausted her wit in trying to engage them in a conversation in
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which she tried to expend her fury in senseless paradoxes, heaping on all men
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engaged in trade the bitterest insults and witticisms in the world taste. On getting
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home, she had an attack of fever, which at first assumed a somewhat
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serious character. By the end of a month, the care of her parents
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and of the physician restored her to her family. Everyone hoped that this lesson
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would be severe enough to subdue Emily's nature, but she insensibly fell into her
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old habits and threw herself again into the world of fashion. She declared that
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there was no disgrace in making a mistake. If she, like her father,
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had a vote in the chamber, she would move for an edict,
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she said, by which all merchants, and especially dealers in Calico should be
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branded on the forehead, like Barry Sheep down to the third generation. She
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wished that none but nobles should have the right to wear the antique French costume,
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which was so becoming to the courtiers of Louis the fifteen. To hear
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her, it was a misfortune for France, perhaps that there was no outward
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and visible difference between a merchant and a peer of France. And a hundred
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more such pleasantries, easy to imagine, were rapidly poured out when any accident
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brought up the subject. But those who loved Demili could see through all her
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banter a tinge of melancholy, it was clear that Maximilian Longueville still reigned over
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that inexorable heart. Sometimes she would be as gentle as she had been during
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the brief summer that had seen the birth of her love. Sometimes again she
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was unendurable. Everyone made excuses for her inequality of temper, which had its
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source in sufferings. At once secret and known to all, The Comte de
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caergaloat had some influence over her thanks to his increased prodigality, a kind of
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consolation which rarely fails of its effect on a Parisian girl. The first ball
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at which Mademoiselle de Fontaine appeared was at the Neapolitan ambassador's. As she took
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her place in the first quadrille, she saw a few yards away from her
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Maximilian Longueville, who nodded slightly to her partner. Is that young man a
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friend of yours, she asked, with a scornful air. Only my brother,
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he replied. Emily could not help starting ah, he continued, and
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he is the noblest soul living. Do you know my name? Asked Emilie,
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eagerly interrupting him. No, Mademoiselle, it is a crime. I
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confess not to remember a name which is on every lip, I ought to
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say in every heart. But I have a valid excuse I have, but
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just arrived from Germany. My ambassador, who is in Paris on leave,
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sent me here this evening to take care of his amiable wife, whom you
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may see yonder in that corner. A perfect tragic mask, said Emily,
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after looking at the ambassadress. And yet that is her ball room face,
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said the young man, laughing, I shall have to dance with her.
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So I thought I might have some compensation. Mademoiselle de Fontaine curtesied, I
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was very much surprised. The voluble young secretary went on to find my brother
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here. On arriving from Vienna, I heard that the poor boy was ill
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in bed, and I counted on seeing him before coming to this ball But
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politics does not always allow us to indulge family affection. The Padrona de la
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Cassa would not give me time to call on my poor maximiliar. Then,
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monsieur, your brother is not like you in diplomatic employment. No, said
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the attache with a sigh. The poor fellow sacrificed himself for me. He
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and my sister Clara have renounced their share of my father's fortune to make an
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eldest son of me. My father dreams of a peerage, like all who
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vote for the ministry. Indeed, it is promised him, he added in
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an undertone. After saving up a little capital, my brother joined a banking
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firm, and I hear he has just effected a speculation in Brazil which may
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make him a millionaire. You see me in the highest spirits at having been
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able by my diplomatic connections to contribute to his success. I am impatiently expecting
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a dispatch from the Brazilian location which will help to lift the cloud from his
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brow. What do you think of him? Well, your brother's face does
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not look to me like that of a man busied with money matters. The
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young attache shot a scrutinizing glance at the apparently calm face of his partner.
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What he exclaimed with a smile, Can young ladies read the thoughts of love
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behind the silent brow? Your brother is in love, then she asked,
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betrayed into a movement of curiosity. Yes, my sister Clara, to whom
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he is as devoted as a mother, wrote to me that he had fallen
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in love this summer with a very pretty girl. But I have had no
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further news of the affair. Would you believe that the poor boy used to
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get up at five in the morning and went off to settle his business,
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that he might be back by four o'clock in the country where the lady was.
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In fact, he ruined a very nice thoroughbread that I had just given
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him. Forgive my chatter, Mademoiselle, I have but just come home from
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Germany. For a year. I have heard no decent French. I have
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been weaned from French faces and satiated with Germans to such a degree that I
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believed in my patriotic mania. I could talk to the chimeras on a French
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candlestick. And if I talk with a lack of reserve, unbecoming in a
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diplomatist, the fault is yours, Mademoiselle. Was it not you who pointed
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out my brother when he is the theme, I become inexhaustible. I should
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like to proclaim to all the world how good and generous he is. He
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gave up no less than a hundred thousand franks a year the income from the
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Longville property. If Mademoiselle de Fontaine had the benefit of these important revelations,
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it was partly due to the skill with which she continued to question her confiding
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partner from the moment when she found out that he was the brother of her
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scorned lover. And could you, without being grieved, see your brother selling
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muslin and calico, asked Emilie at the end of the third figure of the
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quadrille. How do you know that, asked the attache. Thank God,
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though I pour out a flood of words, I have already acquired the art
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of not telling more than I intend, like all the other diplomatic apprentices.
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I know you told me. I assure you. Monsieur de Longueville looked at
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Mademoiselle de Fontaine with a surprise that was full of perspicacity. A suspicion flashed
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upon him. He glanced inquiringly from his brother to his partner, guessed everything,
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clasped his hands, fixed his eyes on the ceiling, and began to
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laugh, saying, I am an idiot. You are the handsomest person here.
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My brother keeps stealing glances at you. He is dancing in spite of
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his illness, and you pretend not to see him. Make him happy,
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he added, as he led her back to her old uncle. I shall
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not be jealous, but I shall always shiver a little at calling you my
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sister. The lovers, however, were to prove as inexorable to each other
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as they were to themselves. At about two in the morning, refreshments were
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served in an immense corridor where to leave persons of the same coterie free to
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meet each other, the tables were arranged as in a restaurant. By one
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of those accidents which always happened to lovers, Mademoiselle de Fontaine found herself at
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a table next to that at which the more important guests were seated. Maximilian
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was of the group. Emily, who lent an attentive ear to her neighbour's
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conversation, overheard one of those dialogues into which a young woman so easily falls
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with a young man who has the grace and style of Maximilian Longueville. The
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lady talking to the young banker was a Neapolitan duchess whose eyes shot lightning flashes
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and whose skin had the sheen of satin. The intimate terms on which Longville
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affected to be with her stung Mademoiselle de Fontaine all the more because she had
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just given her lover back twenty times as much tenderness as she had ever felt
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for him before. Yes, Monsieur in my country. True love can make
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every kind of sacrifice. The duchess was saying in a simper you have more
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passion than French women, said Maximilia, whose burning gaze fell on Amili.
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They are all vanity, monsieur Emili, eagerly interposed, Is it not very
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wrong to calumniate your own country? Devotion is to be found in every nation.
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Do you imagine, Mademoiselle retorted the Italian with a sardonic smile, that
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a Parisian would be capable of following her lover all over the world. Oh,
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Madame, let us understand each other. She would follow him to a
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desert and live in a tent, but not to sit in a shop.
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Disdainful gesture completed her meaning. Thus, under the influence of her disastrous education,
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Emily, for the second time, killed her budding happiness and destroyed its
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prospects of life. Maximilian's apparent indifference and a woman's smile had wrung from her
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one of those sarcasms whose treacherous zest always led her astray. Rademoiselle, said
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Longville, in a low voice, under cover of the noise made by the
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ladies as they rose from the table. No one will ever more ardently desire
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your happiness than I permit me to assure you of this. As I am
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taking leave of you. I am starting for Italy in a few days with
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a duchess, no doubt. No, but perhaps with a mortal blow.
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Is not that pure fancy, asked Emily with an anxious glance. No,
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he replied, there are wounds which never heal. You are not to go,
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said the girl imperiously, and she smiled. I shall go, replied
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Maximilian gravely. You will find me married on your return, I warn you,
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she said, coquettishly. I hope so, impertinent, wretch, she
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exclaimed, how cruel a revenge. A fortnight later, Maximilian set out with
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his sister Clara for the warm and poetic scenes of beautiful Italy, leaving Mademoiselle
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de Fontaine a prey to the most vehement regret. The young secretary to the
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Embassy took up his brother's quarrel and contrived to take signal vengeance on Amily's distainy
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by making known the occasion of the lover's separation. He repaid his fair partner
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with interest all the sarcasm with which she had formerly attacked maximilia, and often
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made more than one excellency smile by describing the fair foe of the counting house,
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the amazon who preached a crusade against bankers, the young girl whose love
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had evaporated before a bale of muslin. The Comte de Fontaine was obliged to
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use his influence to procure an appointment to Russia for Auguste Loanville, in order
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to protect his daughter from the ridicule heaped upon her by this dangerous young persecutor.
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Not long after, the Ministry, being compelled to raise a levy of
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peers to support the aristocratic party trembling in the upper chamber under the life of
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an illustrious writer, gave Monsieur Guillrodon de Longueville a peerage with the title of
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Vicomte. Monsieur de Fontaine also obtained a peerage, the reward due as much
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to his fidelity in evil days as to his name, which claimed a place
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in the hereditary chamber. About this time, Emily, now of age,
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made no doubt some serious reflections on life, for her tone and manners changed
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perceptibly. Instead of amusing herself by saying spiteful things to her uncle. She
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lavished on him the most affectionate attentions. She brought him his stick with a
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persevering devotion that made the cynical smile. She gave him her arm, rode
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in his carriage, and accompanied him in all his drives. She even persuaded
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him that she liked the smell of to tobacco, and read him his favorite
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paper, Lacotidienne. In the midst of clouds of smoke which the malicious old
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sailor intentionally blew over her. She learned Piquet to be a match for the
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old count and this fantastic damsel even listened without impatience to his periodical narratives of
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the battles of the Bellepool, the maneuvers of the Ville de Paris, Monsieur
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le Soucon's first expedition, or the Battle of Abouquir, Though the old sailor
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had often said that he knew his longitude and latitude too well to allow himself
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to be captured by a young corvette, one fine morning Paris drawing rooms heard
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the news of the marriage of Mademoiselle de Fontaine to the Comte de Caergaroette.
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The young countess gave splendid entertainments to drown thought, but she no doubt found
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a void at the bottom of the whirlpool. Luxury was ineffectual to disguise the
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emptiness and grief of her sorrowing soul. For the most part, in spite
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of the flashes of assumed gayety, her beautiful face expressed unspoken melancholy. Emili
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appeared, however, full of attentions and consideration for her old husband, who,
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on retiring to his rooms at night to the sounds of a lively band,
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would often say, I do not know myself was I to wait till
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the age of seventy two to embark as pilot on board the bell Amy Lee
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after twenty years of matrimonial galleys. The conduct of the young countess was marked
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by such strictness that the most clear sighted criticism had no fault to find with
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her. Lookers on chose to think that the Vice Admiral had reserved the right
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of disposing of his fortune to keep his wife more tightly in hand, But
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this was a notion as insulting to the uncle as to the niece. Their
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conduct was indeed so delicately judicious that the men who were most interested in guessing
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the secrets of the couple. Could never decide whether the old count regarded her
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as a wife or as a daughter. He was often heard to say that
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he had rescued his niece as a castaway after shipwreck, and that for his
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part, he had never taken a mean advantage of hospitality when he had saved
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an enemy from the fury of the storm. Though the Countess aspired to reign
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in Paris and tried to keep pace with Madame, the Duchesses de Moufrigneurs and
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Duchelieu, the Marquises despert Bar and Degliment, the Comtesses Fairoat de Moncorney and
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Arresteaux, Madame de Comte, and Mademoiselle de Touche, she did not yield
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to the addresses of the young Vicomte de Portent d'uires, who made her his
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idol two years after her marriage. In one of the old drawing rooms in
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the Faubouris Saint Jamain, where she was admired for her character worthy of the
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old school, Emily heard the Vicomte de Longueville announced in the corner of the
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room where she was sitting playing Piquet with the Bishop of perse Police. Her
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agitation was not observed. She turned her head and saw her former lover come
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in in all the freshness of youth. His father's death and then that of
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his brother, killed by the severe climate of Saint Peter's, had placed on
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Maximilian's head the hereditary plumes of the French peer's hat. His fortune matched his
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learning and his merits. Only the day before, his youthful and fervid eloquence
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had dazzled the assembly. At this moment he stood before the Countess, free
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and graced with all the advantages she had formerly required of her ideal. Every
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mother with a daughter to marry made amiable advances to a man gifted with the
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virtues which they attributed to him, as they admired his attractive person. But
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Ami Lee knew better than any one that the Vicomte de Longueville had the steadfast
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nature in which a wise woman sees a guarantee of happiness. She looked at
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the admiral, who, to use his favorite expression, seemed likely to hold
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his course for a long time yet, and cursed the follies of her youth.
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At this moment, Monsieur de Persepolis said, with episcopal grace, fair
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lady, you have thrown away the King of hearts. I have won,
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but do not regret your money. I keep it for my little seminaries.
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End of Section five, end of The ball At Soul by Honore de Balzac,
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translated by Clara Bell