THE PROLOGUE TO THE TRAGEDY
The Comte de Camors had been sincere. When true passion surprises the
human soul, it breaks down all resolves, sweeps away all logic, and
crushes all calculations.
In this lies its grandeur, and also its danger. It suddenly seizes on
you, as the ancient god inspired the priestess on her tripod--speaks
through your lips, utters words you hardly comprehend, falsifies your
thoughts, confounds your reason, and betrays your secrets. When this
sublime madness possesses you, it elevates you--it transfigures you.
It can suddenly convert a common man into a poet, a coward into a hero,
an egotist into a martyr, and Don Juan himself into an angel of purity.
With women--and it is to their honor--this metamorphosis can be durable,
but it is rarely so with men. Once transported to this stormy sky, women
frankly accept it as their proper home, and the vicinity of the thunder
does not disquiet them.
Passion is their element--they feel at home there. There are few women
worthy of the name who are not ready to put in action all the words which
passion has caused to bubble from their lips. If they speak of flight,
they are ready for exile. If they talk of dying, they are ready for
death. Men are far less consistent with their ideas.
It was not until late the next morning that Camors regretted his outbreak
of sincerity; for, during the remainder of the night, still filled with
his excitement, agitated and shaken by the passage of the god, sunk into
a confused and feverish reverie, he was incapable of reflection. But
when, on awakening, he surveyed the situation calmly and by the plain
light of day, and thought over the preceding evening and its events, he
could not fail to recognize the fact that he had been cruelly duped by
his own nervous system. To love Madame de Tecle was perfectly proper,
and he loved her still--for she was a person to be loved and desired--
but to elevate that love or any other as the master of his life, instead
of its plaything, was one of those weaknesses interdicted by his system
more than any other. In fact, he felt that he had spoken and acted like
a school-boy on a holiday. He had uttered words, made promises, and
taken engagements on himself which no one demanded of him. No conduct
could have been more ridiculous. Happily, nothing was lost. He had yet
time to give his love that subordinate place which this sort of fantasy
should occupy in the life of man. He had been imprudent; but this very
imprudence might finally prove of service to him. All that remained of
this scene was a declaration--gracefully made, spontaneous, natural--
which subjected Madame de Tecle to the double charm of a mystic idolatry
which pleased her sex, and to a manly ardor which could not displease
her.
He had, therefore, nothing to regret--although he certainly would have
preferred, from the point of view of his principles, to have displayed a
somewhat less childish weakness.
But what course should he now adopt? Nothing could be more simple. He
would go to Madame de Tecle--implore her forgiveness--throw himself again
at her feet, promising eternal respect, and succeed. Consequently, about
ten o'clock, M. de Camors wrote the following note:
"MADAME
"I can not leave without bidding you adieu, and once more demanding
your forgiveness.
"Will you permit me?
"CAMORS."
This letter he was about despatching, when he received one containing the
following words:
"I shall be happy, Monsieur, if you will call upon me to-day, about
four o'clock.
"ELISE DE TECLE."
Upon which M. de Camors threw his own note in the fire, as entirely
superfluous.
No matter what interpretation he put upon this note, it was an evident
sign that love had triumphed and that virtue was defeated; for, after
what had passed the previous evening between Madame de Tecle and himself,
there was only one course for a virtuous woman to take; and that was
never to see him again. To see him was to pardon him; to pardon him was
to surrender herself to him, with or without circumlocution. Camors did
not allow himself to deplore any further an adventure which had so
suddenly lost its gravity. He soliloquized on the weakness of women.
He thought it bad taste in Madame de Tecle not to have maintained longer
the high ideal his innocence had created for her. Anticipating the
disenchantment which follows possession, he already saw her deprived of
all her prestige, and ticketed in the museum of his amorous souvenirs.
Nevertheless, when he approached her house, and had the feeling of her
near presence, he was troubled. Doubt--and anxiety assailed him. When
he saw through the trees the window of her room, his heart throbbed so
violently that he had to sit down on the root of a tree for a moment.
"I love her like a madman!" he murmured; then leaping up suddenly he
exclaimed, "But she is only a woman, after all--I shall go on!"
For the first time Madame de Tecle received him in her own apartment.
This room M. de Camors had never seen. It was a large and lofty
apartment, draped and furnished in sombre tints.
It contained gilded mirrors, bronzes, engravings, and old family jewelry
lying on tables--the whole presenting the appearance of the ornamentation
of a church.
In this severe and almost religious interior, however rich, reigned a
vague odor of flowers; and there were also to be seen boxes of lace,
drawers of perfumed linen, and that dainty atmosphere which ever
accompanies refined women.
But every one has her personal individuality, and forms her own
atmosphere which fascinates her lover. Madame de Tecle, finding herself
almost lost in this very large room, had so arranged some pieces of
furniture as to make herself a little private nook near the chimneypiece,
which her daughter called, "My mother's chapel." It was there Camors now
perceived her, by the soft light of a lamp, sitting in an armchair, and,
contrary to her custom, having no work in her hands. She appeared calm,
though two dark circles surrounded her eyes. She had evidently suffered
much, and wept much.
On seeing that dear face, worn and haggard with grief, Camors forgot the
neat phrases he had prepared for his entrance. He forgot all except that
he really adored her.
He advanced hastily toward her, seized in his two hands those of the
young woman and, without speaking, interrogated her eyes with tenderness
and profound pity.
"It is nothing," she said, withdrawing her hand and bending her pale face
gently; "I am better; I may even be very happy, if you wish it."
There was in the smile, the look, and the accent of Madame de Tecle
something indefinable, which froze the blood of Camors.
He felt confusedly that she loved him, and yet was lost to him; that he
had before him a species of being he did not understand, and that this
woman, saddened, broken, and lost by love, yet loved something else in
this world better even than that love.
She made him a slight sign, which he obeyed like a child, and he sat down
beside her.
"Monsieur," she said to him, in a voice tremulous at first, but which
grew stronger as she proceeded, "I heard you last night perhaps with a
little too much patience. I shall now, in return, ask from you the same
kindness. You have told me that you love me, Monsieur; and I avow
frankly that I entertain a lively affection for you. Such being the
case, we must either separate forever, or unite ourselves by the only tie
worthy of us both. To part:--that will afflict me much, and I also
believe it would occasion much grief to you. To unite ourselves:--for my
own part, Monsieur, I should be willing to give you my life; but I can
not do it, I can not wed you without manifest folly. You are younger
than I; and as good and generous as I believe you to be, simple reason
tells me that by so doing I should bring bitter repentance on myself.
But there is yet another reason. I do not belong to myself, I belong to
my daughter, to my family, to my past. In giving up my name for yours I
should wound, I should cruelly afflict, all the friends who surround me,
and, I believe, some who exist no longer. Well, Monsieur," she
continued, with a smile of celestial grace and resignation, "I have
discovered a way by which we yet can avoid breaking off an intimacy so
sweet to both of us--in fact, to make it closer and more dear. My
proposal may surprise you, but have the kindness to think over it,
and do not say no, at once."
She glanced at him, and was terrified at the pallor which overspread his
face. She gently took his hand, and said:
"Have patience!"
"Speak on!" he muttered, hoarsely.
"Monsieur," she continued, with her smile of angelic charity, "God be
praised, you are quite young; in our society men situated as you are do
not marry early, and I think they are right. Well, then, this is what I
wish to do, if you will allow me to tell you. I wish to blend in one
affection the two strongest sentiments of my heart! I wish to
concentrate all my care, all my tenderness, all my joy on forming a wife
worthy of you--a young soul who will make you happy, a cultivated
intellect of which you can be proud. I will promise you, Monsieur, I
will swear to you, to consecrate to you this sweet duty, and to
consecrate to it all that is best in myself. I shall devote to it all my
time, every instant of my life, as to the holy work of a saint. I swear
to you that I shall be very happy if you will only tell me that you will
consent to this."
His answer was an impatient exclamation of irony and anger: then he
spoke:
"You will pardon me, Madame," he said, "if so sudden a change in my
sentiments can not be as prompt as you wish."
She blushed slightly.
"Yes," she said, with a faint smile; "I can understand that the idea of
my being your mother-in-law may seem strange to you; but in some years,
even in a very few years' time, I shall be an old woman, and then it will
seem to you very natural."
To consummate her mournful sacrifice, the poor woman did not shrink from
covering herself, even in the presence of the man she loved, with the
mantle of old age.
The soul of Camors was perverted, but not base, and it was suddenly
touched at this simple heroism. He rendered it the greatest homage he
could pay, for his eyes suddenly filled with tears. She observed it,
for she watched with an anxious eye the slightest impression she produced
upon him. So she continued more cheerfully:
"And see, Monsieur, how this will settle everything. In this way we can
continue to see each other without danger, because your little affianced
wife will be always between us. Our sentiments will soon be in harmony
with our new thoughts. Even your future prospects, which are now also
mine, will encounter fewer obstacles, because I shall push them more
openly, without revealing to my uncle what ought to remain a secret
between us two. I can let him suspect my hopes, and that will enlist him
in your service. Above all, I repeat to you that this will insure my
happiness. Will you thus accept my maternal affection?"
M. de Camors, by a powerful effort of will, had recovered his self-
control.
"Pardon me, Madame," he said, with a faint smile, "but I should wish at
least to preserve honor. What do you ask of me? Do you yourself fully
comprehend? Have you reflected well on this? Can either of us contract,
without imprudence, an engagement of so delicate a nature for so long a
time?"
"I demand no engagement of you," she replied, "for I feel that would be
unreasonable. I only pledge myself as far as I can, without compromising
the future fate of my daughter. I shall educate her for you. I shall,
in my secret heart, destine her for you, and it is in this light I shall
think of you for the future. Grant me this. Accept it like an honest
man, and remain single. This is probably a folly, but I risk my repose
upon it. I will run all the risk, because I shall have all the joy.
I have already had a thousand thoughts on this subject, which I can not
yet tell you, but which I shall confess to God this night. I believe--
I am convinced that my daughter, when I have done all that I can for her,
will make an excellent wife for you. She will benefit you, and be an
honor to you, and will, I hope, one day thank me with all her heart; for
I perceive already what she wishes, and what she loves. You can not
know, you can not even suspect--but I--I know it. There is already a
woman in that child, and a very charming woman--much more charming than
her mother, Monsieur, I assure you."
Madame de Tecle stopped suddenly, the door opened, and Mademoiselle Marie
entered the room brusquely, holding in each hand a gigantic doll.
M. Camors rose, bowed gravely to her, and bit his lip to avoid smiling,
which did not altogether escape Madame de Tecle.
"Marie!" she cried out, "really you are absurd with your dolls!"
"My dolls! I adore them!" replied Mademoiselle Marie.
"You are absurd! Go away with your dolls," said her mother.
"Not without embracing you," said the child.
She laid her dolls on the carpet, sprang on her mother's neck, and kissed
her on both cheeks passionately, after which she took up her dolls,
saying to them:
"Come, my little dears!" and left the room.
"Good heavens!" said Madame de Tecle, laughing, "this is an unfortunate
incident; but I still insist, and I implore you to take my word. She
will have sense, courage, and goodness. Now," she continued in a more
serious tone, "take time to think over it, and return to give me your
decision, should it be favorable. If not, we must bid each other adieu."
"Madame," said Camors, rising and standing before her, "I will promise
never to address a word to you which a son might not utter to his mother.
Is it not this which you demand?"
Madame de Tecle fixed upon him for an instant her beautiful eyes, full of
joy and gratitude, then suddenly covered her face with her two hands.
"I thank you!" she murmured, "I am very happy!" She extended her hand,
wet with her tears, which he took and pressed to his lips, bowed low, and
left the room.
If there ever was a moment in his fatal career when the young man was
really worthy of admiration, it was this. His love for Madame de Tecle,
however unworthy of her it might be, was nevertheless great. It was the
only true passion he had ever felt. At the moment when he saw this love,
the triumph of which he thought certain, escape him forever, he was not
only wounded in his pride but was crushed in his heart.
Yet he took the stroke like a gentleman. His agony was well borne. His
first bitter words, checked at once, alone betrayed what he suffered.
He was as pitiless for his own sorrows as he sought to be for those of
others. He indulged in none of the common injustice habitual to
discarded lovers.
He recognized the decision of Madame de Tecle as true and final, and was
not tempted for a moment to mistake it for one of those equivocal
arrangements by which women sometimes deceive themselves, and of which
men always take advantage. He realized that the refuge she had sought
was inviolable. He neither argued nor protested against her resolve.
He submitted to it, and nobly kissed the noble hand which smote him.
As to the miracle of courage, chastity, and faith by which Madame de
Tecle had transformed and purified her love, he cared not to dwell upon
it. This example, which opened to his view a divine soul, naked, so to
speak, destroyed his theories. One word which escaped him, while passing
to his own house, proved the judgment which he passed upon it, from his
own point of view. "Very childish," he muttered, "but sublime!"
On returning home Camors found a letter from General Campvallon,
notifying him that his marriage with Mademoiselle d'Estrelles would take
place in a few days, and inviting him to be present. The marriage was to
be strictly private, with only the family to assist at it.
Camors did not regret this invitation, as it gave him the excuse for some
diversion in his thoughts, of which he felt the need. He was greatly
tempted to go away at once to diminish his sufferings, but conquered this
weakness. The next evening he passed at the chateau of M. des Rameures;
and though his heart was bleeding, he piqued himself on presenting an
unclouded brow and an inscrutable smile to Madame de Tecle. He announced
the brief absence he intended, and explained the reason.
"You will present my best wishes to the General," said M. des Rameures.
"I hope he may be happy, but I confess I doubt it devilishly."
"I shall bear your good wishes to the General, Monsieur."
"The deuce you will! 'Exceptis excipiendis', I hope," responded the old
gentleman, laughing.
As for Madame de Tecle, to tell of all the tender attentions and
exquisite delicacies, that a sweet womanly nature knows so well how to
apply to heal the wounds it has inflicted--how graciously she glided into
her maternal relation with Camors--to tell all this would require a pen
wielded by her own soft hands.
Two days later M. de Camors left Reuilly for Paris. The morning after
his arrival, he repaired at an early hour to the General's house, a
magnificent hotel in the Rue Vanneau. The marriage contract was to be
signed that evening, and the civil and religious ceremonies were to take
place next morning.
Camors found the General in a state of extraordinary agitation, pacing up
and down the three salons which formed the ground floor of the hotel.
The moment he perceived the young man entering--" Ah, it is you!" he
cried, darting a ferocious glance upon him. "By my faith, your arrival
is fortunate."
"But, General!"
"Well, what! Why do you not embrace me?"
"Certainly, General!"
"Very well! It is for to-morrow, you know!"
"Yes, General."
"Sacrebleu! You are very cool! Have you seen her?"
"Not yet, General. I have just arrived."
"You must go and see her this morning. You owe her this mark of
interest; and if you discover anything, you must tell me."
"But what should I discover, General?"
"How do I know? But you understand women much better than I! Does she
love me, or does she not love me? You understand, I make no pretensions
of turning her head, but still I do not wish to be an object of repulsion
to her. Nothing has given me reason to suppose so, but the girl is so
reserved, so impenetrable."
"Mademoiselle d'Estrelles is naturally cold," said Camors.
"Yes," responded the General. "Yes, and in some respects I--but really
now, should you discover anything, I rely on your communicating it to me.
And stop!--when you have seen her, have the kindness to return here, for
a few moments--will you? You will greatly oblige me!"
"Certainly, General, I shall do so."
"For my part, I love her like a fool."
"That is only right, General!"
"Hum--and what of Des Rameures?"
"I think we shall agree, General!"
"Bravo! we shall talk more of this later. Go and see her, my dear
child!"
Camors proceeded to the Rue St. Dominique, where Madame de la Roche-Jugan
resided.
"Is my aunt in, Joseph?" he inquired of the servant whom he found in the
antechamber, very busy in the preparations which the occasion demanded.
"Yes, Monsieur le Comte, Madame la Comtesse is in and will see you."
"Very well," said Camors; and directed his steps toward his aunt's
chamber. But this chamber was no longer hers. This worthy woman had
insisted on giving it up to Mademoiselle Charlotte, for whom she
manifested, since she had become the betrothed of the seven hundred
thousand francs' income of the General, the most humble deference.
Mademoiselle d'Estrelles had accepted this change with a disdainful
indifference. Camors, who was ignorant of this change, knocked therefore
most innocently at the door. Obtaining no answer, he entered without
hesitation, lifted the curtain which hung in the doorway, and was
immediately arrested by a strange spectacle. At the other extremity of
the room, facing him, was a large mirror, before which stood Mademoiselle
d'Estrelles. Her back was turned to him.
She was dressed, or rather draped, in a sort of dressing-gown of white
cashmere, without sleeves, which left her arms and shoulders bare. Her
auburn hair was unbound and floating, and fell in heavy masses almost to
her feet. One hand rested lightly on the toilet-table, the other held
together, over her bust, the folds of her dressing-gown.
She was gazing at herself in the glass, and weeping bitterly.
The tears fell drop by drop on her white, fresh bosom, and glittered
there like the drops of dew which one sees shining in the morning on the
shoulders of the marble nymphs in the gardens.
Then Camors noiselessly dropped the portiere and noiselessly retired,
taking with him, nevertheless, an eternal souvenir of this stolen visit.
He made inquiries; and finally received the embraces of his aunt, who had
taken refuge in the chamber of her son, whom she had put in the little
chamber formerly occupied by Mademoiselle d'Estrelles. His aunt, after
the first greetings, introduced her nephew into the salon, where were
displayed all the pomps of the trousseau. Cashmeres, laces, velvets,
silks of the finest quality, covered the chairs. On the chimneypiece,
the tables, and the consoles, were strewn the jewel-cases.
While Madame de la Roche-Jugan was exhibiting to Camors these magnificent
things--of which she failed not to give him the prices--Charlotte,
who had been notified of the Count's presence, entered the salon.
Her face was not only serene--it was joyous. "Good morning, cousin!"
she said gayly, extending her hand to Camors. "How very kind of you to
come! Well, you see how the General spoils me?"
"This is the trousseau of a princess, Mademoiselle!"
"And if you knew, Louis," said Madame de la Roche, "how well all this
suits her! Dear child! you would suppose she had been born to a throne.
However, you know she is descended from the kings of Spain."
"Dear aunt!" said Mademoiselle, kissing her on the forehead.
"You know, Louis, that I wish her to call me aunt now?" said the
Countess, affecting the plaintive tone, which she thought the highest
expression of human tenderness.
"Ah, indeed!" said Camors.
"Let us see, little one! Only try on your coronet before your cousin."
"I should like to see it on your brow," said Camors.
"Your slightest wishes are commands," replied Charlotte, in a voice
harmonious and grave, but not untouched with irony.
In the midst of the jewelry which encumbered the salon was a full
marquise's coronet set in precious stones and pearls. The young girl
adjusted it on her head before the glass, and then stood near Camors with
majestic composure.
"Look!" she said; and he gazed at her bewildered, for she looked
wonderfully beautiful and proud under her coronet.
Suddenly she darted a glance full into the eyes of the young man, and
lowering her voice to a tone of inexpressible bitterness, said:
"At least I sell myself dearly, do I not?" Then turning her back to him
she laughed, and took off her coronet.
After some further conversation Camors left, saying to himself that this
adorable person promised to become very dangerous; but not admitting that
he might profit by it.
In conformity with his promise he returned immediately to the General,
who continued to pace the three rooms, and cried out as he saw him:
"Eh, well?"
"Very well indeed, General, perfect--everything goes well."
"You have seen her?"
"Yes, certainly."
"And she said to you--"
"Not much; but she seemed enchanted."
"Seriously, you did not remark anything strange?"
"I remarked she was very lovely!"
"Parbleu! and you think she loves me a little?"
"Assuredly, after her way--as much as she can love, for she has naturally
a very cold disposition."
"Ah! as to that I console myself. All that I demand is not to be
disagreeable to her. Is it not so? Very well, you give me great
pleasure. Now, go where you please, my dear boy, until this evening."
"Adieu until this evening, General!"
The signing of the contract was marked by no special incident; only when
the notary, with a low, modest voice read the clause by which the General
made Mademoiselle d'Estrelles heiress to all his fortune, Camors was
amused to remark the superb indifference of Mademoiselle Charlotte, the
smiling exasperation of Mesdames Bacquiere and Van-Cuyp, and the amorous
regard which Madame de la Roche-Jugan threw at the same time on
Charlotte, her son, and the notary. Then the eye of the Countess rested
with a lively interest on the General, and seemed to say that it detected
with pleasure in him an unhealthy appearance.
The next morning, on leaving the Church of St. Thomas daikon, the young
Marquise only exchanged her wedding-gown for a travelling-costume, and
departed with her husband for Campvallon, bathed in the tears of Madame
de la Roche-Jugan, whose lacrimal glands were remarkably tender.
Eight days later M. de Camors returned to Reuilly. Paris had revived
him, his nerves were strong again.
As a practical man he took a more healthy view of his adventure with
Madame de Tecle, and began to congratulate himself on its denouement.
Had things taken a different turn, his future destiny would have been
compromised and deranged for him. His political future especially would
have been lost, or indefinitely postponed, for his liaison with Madame de
Tecle would have been discovered some day, and would have forever
alienated the friendly feelings of M. des Rameures.
On this point he did not deceive himself. Madame de Tecle, in the first
conversation she had with him, confided to him that her uncle seemed much
pleased when she laughingly let him see her idea of marrying her daughter
some day to M. de Camors.
Camors seized this occasion to remind Madame de Tecle, that while
respecting her projects for the future, which she did him the honor to
form, he had not pledged himself to their realization; and that both
reason and honor compelled him in this matter to preserve his absolute
independence.
She assented to this with her habitual sweetness. From this moment,
without ceasing to exhibit toward him every mark of affectionate
preference, she never allowed herself the slightest allusion to the dear
dream she cherished. Only her tenderness for her daughter seemed to
increase, and she devoted herself to the care of her education with
redoubled fervor. All this would have touched the heart of M. de Camors,
if the heart of M. de Camors had not lost, in its last effort at virtue,
the last trace of humanity.
His honor set at rest by his frank avowals to Madame de Tecle, he did not
hesitate to profit by the advantages of the situation. He allowed her to
serve him as much as she desired, and she desired it passionately.
Little by little she had persuaded her uncle that M. de Camors was
destined by his character and talents for a great future, and that he
would, one day, be an excellent match for Marie; that he was becoming
daily more attached to agriculture, which turned toward decentralization,
and that he should be attached by firmer bonds to a province which he
would honor. While this was going on General Campvallon brought the
Marquise to present her to Madame de Tecle; and in a confidential
interview with M. des Rameures unmasked his batteries. He was going to
Italy to remain some time, but desired first to tender his resignation,
and to recommend Camors to his faithful electors.
M. des Rameures, gained over beforehand, promised his aid; and that aid
was equivalent to success. Camors had only to make some personal visits
to the more influential electors; but his appearance was as seductive as
it was striking, and he was one of those fortunate men who can win a
heart or a vote by a smile. Finally, to comply with the requisitions,
he established himself for several weeks in the chief town of the
department. He made his court to the wife of the prefect, sufficiently
to flatter the functionary without disquieting the husband. The prefect
informed the minister that the claims of the Comte de Camors were pressed
upon the department by an irresistible influence; that the politics of
the young Count appeared undecided and a little suspicious, but that the
administration, finding it useless to oppose, thought it more politic to
sustain him.
The minister, not less politic than the prefect, was of the same opinion.
In consequence of this combination of circumstances, M. de Camors, toward
the end of his twenty-eighth year, was elected, at intervals of a few
days, member of the Council-General, and deputy to the Corps Legislatif.
"You have desired it, my dear Elise," said M. des Rameures, on learning
this double result "you have desired it, and I have supported this young
Parisian with all my influence. But I must say, he does not possess my
confidence. May we never regret our triumph. May we never have to say
with the poet: 'Vita Dais oxidated Malians.'"--[The evil gods have heard
our vows.]