THE BLACK BOOK
Two days after the last interview between Madame de Hansfeld and De
Morville at the Opera ball, Iris had again taken, as she promised, the
_Black Book_ to De Brévannes, who read therein the following lines,
which, as before, he attributed to the princess:--
"I am so troubled at this meeting, that I can scarcely collect my
thoughts. I am afraid to recall what I have promised to M. de
Brévannes. I have given him cause to suspect, perhaps......
"What, then, can be this man's power? I went to meet him quite resolved
to display the most pitiless coldness; and yet, scarcely did I see him
but I forgot all--even his threats!
"What fatality has brought him here for my misfortune?
"No, no, I shall never love him!
"I am horrified at myself. What! in presence of Raphael's murderer I
have not felt either hatred or fury! Oh, shame, shame upon me! he saw my
weakness.
"Alas! what am I to do? When I hear his voice, when his ardent look is
fixed upon me, my firmest resolutions forsake me,--I only think of
listening to him, of looking at him.
"He is so handsome, with that manly and bold beauty, which the first
time I saw him made upon me so deep, so lasting an impression! Every
thing in him bespeaks one of those men so passionately energetic, who
love as I would be loved, as I never have been loved. Oh! if my will and
his were united, at what a pitch of happiness might we not arrive!
"Blessed be this book! I can say to it what I dare not reveal to any
human creature,--what I dare not even utter aloud.
"He has begged to introduce his wife to me. I hate her by
anticipation,--and yet it is to her that I shall be indebted one day for
receiving her husband. But this obligation irritates me against her,--it
is her happiness I envy. She bears the name of the man who exercises
such irresistible influence over me,--a name which I cannot now hear
without being troubled. Oh, that woman! I hate her, I hate her--she is
too happy!
"After all, why blush at my love? It will never be guilty--for it will
never be happy!
"My heart's ambition is too great. He shall never know what he might
have been to me had we both been free. Oh! what a dream! what paradise!
"The passion I experience is too powerful, too vast, to descend even to
the falsehoods to which we should both be reduced, if we sought the
pleasures of a vulgar love. No, no, to belong to him in the open gaze of
day, in the face of the world, to bear his name nobly and proudly--or
bury my unhappy love in the depths of my heart. No human power can make
me surrender one of these two alternatives.
"But as he and I wear the chains of marriage,--those heavy, dragging
chains! but as chance, in liberating the one would not liberate the
other, my life will be but one long regret, one long punishment. What I
say to you is true,--I have no interest in lying to myself. I know well
enough my own firmness of character to be sure of my resolution.
"And then he also has so much will, so much energy, that it is to be
worthy of him to imitate his energy and will, even though they should be
employed in resisting him.
"Oh he does not know what power it implies to have resisted a man like
him.
"I find a singular charm in thus accounting to myself for thoughts, of
which he will for ever remain in ignorance,--in being in these mute
confidences as tender, as impassioned towards him, as I am cold and
reserved in his presence: I am content with my last trial on this
point--with what a chilling air I received him!
"But then what courage it required! But for the presence of Iris I
should have been still more cold, but as she was there I felt protected
against myself.
"This young girl troubles me, she is so singularly careful and attentive
to me,--yet, I know not why, I feel a vague presentiment that her
conduct is hypocritical. She is gloomy, distracted, preoccupied. What
have I done to her? Sometimes, it is true, at moments of melancholy or
irritation, I am cross to her. I must think of this and watch her.
"What have I learned? No, no, it is impossible,--hell would not have
that.
"His wife, Bertha de Brévannes, unfaithful to him!
"What if the proofs which are brought to me were true?
"Oh, he is shamefully betrayed! Wicked creature! with her soft and
gentle air; she does not feel, then, what it is to be so happy, so
honoured, as to bear his name? He--he deceived--like the lowest of
men--he jested at, mocked at, perhaps,--I cannot express what I feel at
this idea, which never would have occurred to me.
"Oh! I am mad--mad; it is not love, it is _idolatry!_"
The supposed memoranda of Madame de Hansfeld had been perfidiously
broken off at this place.
As he read the latter portion, which referred to the pretended
infidelity of Bertha, De Brévannes bounded from his seat with anguish
and rage.
For the very reason that the reading of the first part of the journal
had plunged him into all the ravishments of pride, and that pride
excited to the highest pitch, this counter-blow was the more painful,
and he could hardly restrain himself when he thought that he was,
perchance, playing a foolish part in the eyes of Paula. He knew women
well enough to be aware, that if it be pleasant, very pleasant, to them
to carry off a husband or a lover from a faithful heart, they care but
very little to serve as a revenge for a man who has been himself
deceived.
Iris herself was frightened at the expression of anger and hatred which
contracted De Brévannes' features, as he read this passage in the Black
Book, and she left Bertha's husband assured of having stricken where she
wished to strike.
In fact, she quitted M. de Brévannes in a state of excitement
impossible to describe.
On the one hand, he flattered himself that he was beloved by Madame de
Hansfeld with intense energy,--but he had also the certainty that he
should never obtain any thing from so resolute a woman, who drew from
the very excess of her love the means of resistance which she calculated
on using; desiring and believing most firmly that she proved her passion
by the obstinate refusals in which she gloried.
On the other hand, his blood boiled with rage when he thought that
Bertha deceived him,--that, perhaps, he was an object of mockery and
sarcasm to society. The least circumstances of his conversation with his
wife returned to his mind, and he found in them the confirmation of
those suspicions which some lines of the Black Book had awakened.
He did not know what to resolve upon. The day after he was to present
his wife to Madame de Hansfeld; it was, therefore, necessary to be on
his guard with Bertha until after the introduction, which he looked upon
as so important for the future success of his love,--but how to restrain
himself until then; he--always accustomed to make his wife endure his
fits of ill temper on any occasion, however trivial.
He exhausted thought in reflecting as to the person who could be the
guilty participator with Madame de Brévannes. And, after mature
reflection, remembering the retiring habits Bertha had of late affected,
he persuaded himself that she was engaged in some low and vulgar amour.
Iris, with infernal sagacity, had skilfully made it appear that Paula
dwelt greatly on the happiness and pride she would have had in bearing
the name of De Brévannes; and it was that name Bertha was dishonouring.
The snare was too skilfully spread for this vain, jealous, haughty, and
wickedly cruel man, to allow of his escaping it. And this was all
calculated in the well-digested and infernal scheme of Iris.
In fact, after having passed through every degree of anger, and having
mentally devoted himself to the most violent threats against Bertha and
her unknown accomplice, De Brévannes suddenly smiled with savage
joy,--he was calm, appeased, more than satisfied, at Bertha's
infidelity; and he had but one fear, that of not being able to procure
flagrant proofs of his own dishonour.
* * * * *
He judged it requisite to his projects to conceal from Madame de
Brévannes the information he had received, in order to watch closely
her slightest motions, and he was thus desirous of lulling her into the
most perfect security.
Thus the next day (the day on which Bertha was to be introduced) De
Brévannes entered his wife's apartment, after having first sent her a
very large nosegay and a beautiful head-dress of real flowers.