Frankness and truth are virtues seldom esteemed by women as desirable;
rather are they qualities to be avoided. For this reason you regard me
as a Sardanapalus, because I attended a ball at which the ballet girls
of the Opera were present. You reproach me for that evening as if it
were a crime, and you reproach me for commending those poor girls as if
that were a still greater crime. I repeat it, give them wealth, and
thereafter only their good qualities will be seen. But an insurmountable
barrier has been raised by the aristocracy between the different social
classes, so that neither class may discover how much alike are the
happenings on each side of the barrier. I want to tell you the story of
a ballet girl that I heard in this same shocking society. In a house in
the rue Saint Honoré lived a poor woman who never left the little attic
room which she rented at three francs a month. She had one daughter
twelve years old, who was always neatly dressed, very demure, and
extremely reserved in manner. This little girl went out three
afternoons in the week and returned alone at midnight. It was known that
she was a chorus girl at the Opera. One day she goes down to the
porter’s room and asks for a lighted candle. It is given to her. The
porter’s wife, surprised not to see her come downstairs again, climbs to
the garret, finds the woman dead on her wretched pallet, and the little
girl occupied in burning unread an enormous quantity of letters which
she was taking from a large trunk. She says: “My mother died last night,
and charged me to destroy all her letters without reading them.” This
child has never known her mother’s real name; she is now absolutely
alone in the world, without any resource but to act the vulture, the
monkey, or the devil at the Opera.
Her mother’s last word of counsel was to urge her to be prudent, and to
continue to be a ballet girl. She is, moreover, very discreet, deeply
religious, and it is with reluctance that she refers to her story. Tell
me, please, if it is not infinitely more creditable for this little girl
to lead the life she does, than for you who enjoy the singular good
fortune of an irreproachable environment, and of a temperament of such
refinement that it seems to me to sum up the qualities of an entire
civilisation. I must tell you the truth. I can endure the society of
ignoble people only at rare intervals, and then only because of an
inexhaustible curiosity which I feel for every variety of the human
species. I can never tolerate low society among men. To me there is
something too repulsive in them, especially in our own countrymen. In
Spain, however, I made friends always with the mule-drivers and the
_toreros_. Many a time have I broken bread with people whom an
Englishman would not notice for fear of losing his self-respect. I have
even drunk from the same bottle with a convict. I must admit that there
was no other bottle, and one must drink when he is thirsty. Do not from
this imagine that I have a preference for the rabble. It is simply that
I like to see other manners, other faces, and to hear another language.
The ideas are always the same, and if one eliminates all that is
conventional, I believe that good manners may be found elsewhere than in
a drawing-room of the faubourg Saint Germain. All this is Arabic to you,
and I do not know why I say it.
* * * * *
_August 8._
I have been a long time finishing this letter. My mother has been
extremely ill, and I very anxious. She is now out of danger, and I
trust that in a few days she will be in perfect health. I can not
endure anxiety, and while her life was in danger I was quite daft.
Adieu.
P.S.--The water-colour which I intended for you is not turning out well,
and I am so dissatisfied with it that I shall probably not send it to
you. Do not let this prevent you from sending me the needle-work you
have made for me. Be sure to choose a trustworthy messenger. As a
general rule, never take a woman as a confidante; sooner or later you
will regret it. Learn also that nothing is more common than to do wrong
merely for the pleasure of doing it. Abandon your optimistic ideas, and
realise that we are in this world to struggle and contend with our
fellows. In this connection I will tell you that a learned friend of
mine, who reads hieroglyphics, says that on the Egyptian coffins were
often found these two words, _Life_, _War_; which proves that I have not
invented the maxim just quoted. In hieroglyphics it is expressed thus:
[Illustration: image of an urn and an arm weilding a sword]. The first
character signifies life, and represents, I believe, one of those vases
called _canopes_. The other is a reduced shield, with an arm holding a
lance. There’s science for you!
Again adieu.