The late Marquis de Cinq-Cygne had used his savings, as well as those
of his father and mother, in the purchase of a fine house in the rue
de Faubourg-du-Roule, entailing it on heirs male for the support of
the title. The sordid economy of the marquis and his parents, which had
often troubled Laurence, was then explained. After this purchase the
marquise, who lived at Cinq-Cygne and economized on her own account
for her children, spent her winters in Paris,--all the more willingly
because her daughter Berthe and her son Paul were now of an age when
their education required the resources of Paris.
Madame de Cinq-Cygne went but little into society. Her husband could not
be ignorant of the regrets which lay in her tender heart; but he showed
her always the most exquisite delicacy, and died having loved no other
woman. This noble soul, not fully understood for a period of time but
to which the generous daughter of the Cinq-Cygnes returned in his last
years as true a love as that he gave to her, was completely happy in
his married life. Laurence lived for the joys of home. No woman has ever
been more cherished by her friends or more respected. To be received in
her house is an honor. Gentle, indulgent, intellectual, above all things
simple and natural, she pleases choice souls and draws them to her in
spite of her saddened aspect; each longs to protect this woman, inwardly
so strong, and that sentiment of secret protection counts for much in
the wondrous charm of her friendship. Her life, so painful during her
youth, is beautiful and serene towards evening. Her sufferings are
known, and no one asks who was the original of that portrait by Lefebvre
which is the chief and sacred ornament of her salon. Her face has the
maturity of fruits that have ripened slowly; a hallowed pride dignifies
that long-tried brow.
At the period when the marquise came to Paris to open the new house, her
fortune, increased by the law of indemnities, gave her some two hundred
thousand francs a year, not counting her husband’s salary; besides this,
Laurence had inherited the money guarded by Michu for his young masters.
From that time forth she made a practice of spending half her income and
of laying by the rest for her daughter Berthe.
Berthe is the living image of her mother, but without her warrior nerve;
she is her mother in delicacy, in intellect,--“more a woman,” Laurence
says, sadly. The marquise was not willing to marry her daughter until
she was twenty years of age. Her savings, judiciously invested in the
Funds by old Monsieur d’Hauteserre at the moment when consols fell in
1830, gave Berthe a dowry of eighty thousand francs a year in 1833, when
she was twenty.
About that time the Princesse de Cadignan, who was seeking to marry her
son, the Duc de Maufrigneuse, brought him into intimate relations with
Madame de Cinq-Cygne. Georges de Maufrigneuse dined with the marquise
three times a week, accompanied the mother and daughter to the Opera,
and curvetted in the Bois around their carriage when they drove out. It
was evident to all the world of the Faubourg Saint-Germain that Georges
loved Berthe. But no one could discover to a certainty whether Madame
de Cinq-Cygne was desirous of making her daughter a duchess, to become a
princess later, or whether it was only the princess who coveted for
her son the splendid dowry. Did the celebrated Diane court the noble
provincial house? and was the daughter of the Cinq-Cygnes frightened
by the celebrity of Madame de Cadignan, her tastes and her ruinous
extravagance? In her strong desire not to injure her son’s prospects the
princess grew devout, shut the door on her former life, and spent the
summer season at Geneva in a villa on the lake.
One evening there were present in the salon of the Princesse de
Cadignan, the Marquise d’Espard, and de Marsay, then president of the
Council (on this occasion the princess saw her former lover for the
last time, for he died the following year), Eugene de Rastignac,
under-secretary of State attached to de Marsay’s ministry, two
ambassadors, two celebrated orators from the Chamber of Peers, the old
dukes of Lenoncourt and de Navarreins, the Comte de Vandenesse and his
young wife, and d’Arthez,--who formed a rather singular circle, the
composition of which can be thus explained. The princess was anxious to
obtain from the prime minister of the crown a permit for the return
of the Prince de Cadignan. De Marsay, who did not choose to take upon
himself the responsibility of granting it came to tell the princess the
matter had been entrusted to safe hands, and that a certain political
manager had promised to bring her the result in the course of that
evening.
Madame and Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne were announced. Laurence, whose
principles were unyielding, was not only surprised but shocked to see
the most illustrious representatives of Legitimacy talking and laughing
in a friendly manner with the prime minister of the man whom she never
called anything but Monsieur le Duc d’Orleans. De Marsay, like an
expiring lamp, shone with a last brilliancy. He laid aside for the
moment his political anxieties, and Madame de Cinq-Cygne endured him, as
they say the Court of Austria endured de Saint-Aulaire; the man of the
world effaced the minister of the citizen-king. But she rose to her feet
as though her chair were of red-hot iron when the name was announced of
“Monsieur le Comte de Gondreville.”
“Adieu, madame,” she said to the princess in a curt tone.
She left the room with Berthe, measuring her steps to avoid encountering
that fatal being.
“You may have caused the loss of Georges’ marriage,” said the princess
to de Marsay, in a low voice. “Why did you not tell me your agent’s
name?”
The former clerk of Arcis, former Conventional, former Thermidorien,
tribune, Councillor of State, count of the Empire and senator, peer of
the Restoration, and now peer of the monarchy of July, made a servile
bow to the princess.
“Fear nothing, madame,” he said; “we have ceased to make war on princes.
I bring you an assurance of the permit,” he added, seating himself
beside her.
Malin was long in the confidence of Louis XVIII., to whom his varied
experience was useful. He had greatly aided in overthrowing Decazes, and
had given much good advice to the ministry of Villele. Coldly received
by Charles X., he had adopted all the rancors of Talleyrand. He was now
in high favor under the twelfth government he had served since 1789, and
which in turn he would doubtless betray. For the last fifteen months he
had broken the long friendship which had bound him for thirty-six years
to our greatest diplomat, the Prince de Talleyrand. It was in the course
of this very evening that he made answer to some one who asked why the
Prince showed such hostility to the Duc de Bordeaux, “The Pretender is
too young!”
“Singular advice to give young men,” remarked Rastignac.
De Marsay, who grew thoughtful after Madame de Cadignan’s reproachful
speech, took no notice of these jests. He looked askance at Gondreville
and was evidently biding his time until that now old man, who went to
bed early, had taken leave. All present, who had witnessed the abrupt
departure of Madame de Cinq-Cygne (whose reasons were well-known to
them), imitated de Marsay’s conduct and kept silence. Gondreville,
who had not recognized the marquise, was ignorant of the cause of the
general reticence, but the habit of dealing with public matters had
given him a certain tact; he was moreover a clever man; he saw that his
presence was embarrassing to the company and he took leave. De Marsay,
standing with his back to the fire, watched the slow departure of the
old man in a manner which revealed the gravity of his thoughts.
“I did wrong, madame, not to tell you the name of my negotiator,” said
the prime minister, listening for the sound of Malin’s wheels as they
rolled away. “But I will redeem my fault and give you the means of
making your peace with the Cinq-Cygnes. It is now thirty years since the
affair I am about to speak of took place; it is as old to the present
day as the death of Henri IV. (which between ourselves and in spite
of the proverb is still a mystery, like so many other historical
catastrophes). I can, however, assure you that even if this affair did
not concern Madame de Cinq-Cygne it would be none the less curious and
interesting. Moreover, it throws light on a celebrated exploit in our
modern annals,--I mean that of the Mont Saint-Bernard. Messieurs les
Ambassadeurs,” he added, bowing to the two diplomats, “will see that in
the element of profound intrigue the political men of the present day
are far behind the Machiavellis whom the waves of the popular will
lifted, in 1793, above the storm,--some of whom have ‘found,’ as the old
song says, ‘a haven.’ To be anything in France in these days a man must
have been tossed in those tempests.”
“It seems to me,” said the princess, smiling, “that from that point of
view the present state of things under your regime leaves nothing to be
desired.”
A well-bred laugh went round the room, and even the prime minister
himself could not help smiling. The ambassadors seemed impatient for the
tale; de Marsay coughed dryly and silence was obtained.
“On a June night in 1800,” began the minister, “about three in the
morning, just as daylight was beginning to pale the brilliancy of the
wax candles, two men tired of playing at _bouillotte_ (or who were
playing merely to keep others employed) left the salon of the ministry
of foreign affairs, then situated in the rue du Bac, and went apart into
a boudoir. These two men, of whom one is dead and the other has _one_
foot in the grave, were, each in his own way, equally extraordinary.
Both had been priests; both had abjured religion; both were married. One
had been merely an Oratorian, the other had worn the mitre of a bishop.
The first was named Fouche; I shall not tell you the name of the
second;[*] both were then mere simple citizens--with very little
simplicity. When they were seen to leave the salon and enter the
boudoir, the rest of the company present showed a certain curiosity. A
third person followed them,--a man who thought himself far stronger than
the other two. His name was Sieyes, and you all know that he too
had been a priest before the Revolution. The one who _walked with
difficulty_ was then the minister of foreign affairs; Fouche was
minister of police; Sieyes had resigned the consulate.
[*] Talleyrand was still living when de Marsay related these
circumstances.
“A small man, cold and stern in appearance, left his seat and followed
the three others, saying aloud in the hearing of the person from whom I
have the information, ‘I mistrust the gambling of priests.’ This man was
Carnot, minister of war. His remark did not trouble the two consuls who
were playing cards in the salon. Cambaceres and Lebrun were then at the
mercy of their ministers, men who were infinitely stronger than they.
“Nearly all these statesmen are dead, and no secrecy is due to
them. They belong to history; and the history of that night and its
consequences has been terrible. I tell it to you now because I alone
know it; because Louis XVIII. never revealed the truth to that poor
Madame de Cinq-Cygne; and because the present government which I serve
is wholly indifferent as to whether the truth be known to the world or
not.
“All four of these personages sat down in the boudoir. The lame man
undoubtedly closed the door before a word was said; it is even thought
that he ran the bolt. It is only persons of high rank who pay attention
to such trifles. The three priests had the livid, impassible faces which
you all remember. Carnot alone was ruddy. He was the first to speak.
‘What is the point to be discussed?’ he asked. ‘France,’ must have been
the answer of the Prince (whom I admire as one of the most extraordinary
men of our time). ‘The Republic,’ undoubtedly said Fouche. ‘Power,’
probably said Sieyes.”
All present looked at each other. With voice, look, and gesture de
Marsay had wonderfully represented the three men.
“The three priests fully understood one another,” he continued, resuming
his narrative. “Carnot no doubt looked at his colleagues and the
ex-consul in a dignified manner. He must, however, have felt bewildered
in his own mind.
“‘Do you believe in the success of the army?’ Sieyes said to him.
“‘We may expect everything from Bonaparte,’ replied the minister of war;
‘he has crossed the Alps.’
“‘At this moment,’ said the minister of foreign affairs, with deliberate
slowness, ‘he is playing his last stake.’
“‘Come, let’s speak out,’ said Fouche; ‘what shall we do if the First
Consul is defeated? Is it possible to collect another army? Must we
continue his humble servants?’
“‘There is no republic now,’ remarked Sieyes; ‘Bonaparte is consul for
ten years.’
“‘He has more power than ever Cromwell had,’ said the former bishop,
‘and he did not vote for the death of the king.’
“‘We have a master,’ said Fouche; ‘the question is, shall we continue to
keep him if he loses the battle or shall we return to a pure republic?’
“‘France,’ replied Carnot, sententiously, ‘cannot resist except she
reverts to the old Conventional _energy_.’
“‘I agree with Carnot,’ said Sieyes; ‘if Bonaparte returns defeated we
must put an end to him; he has let us know him too well during the last
seven months.’
“‘The army is for him,’ remarked Carnot, thoughtfully.
“‘And the people for us!’ cried Fouche.
“‘You go fast, monsieur,’ said the Prince, in that deep bass voice which
he still preserves and which now drove Fouche back into himself.
“‘Be frank,’ said a voice, as a former Conventional rose from a corner
of the boudoir and showed himself; ‘if Bonaparte returns a victor, we
shall adore him; if vanquished, we’ll bury him!’
“‘So you were there, Malin, were you?’ said the Prince, without
betraying the least feeling. ‘Then you must be one of us; sit down’; and
he made him a sign to be seated.
“It is to this one circumstance that Malin, a Conventional of small
repute, owes the position he afterwards obtained and, ultimately, that
in which we see him at the present moment. He proved discreet, and
the ministers were faithful to him; but they made him the pivot of the
machine and the cat’s-paw of the machination. To return to my tale.
“‘Bonaparte has never yet been vanquished,’ cried Carnot, in a tone of
conviction, ‘and he has just surpassed Hannibal.’
“‘If the worst happens, here is the Directory,’ said Sieyes, artfully,
indicating with a wave of his hand the five persons present.
“‘And,’ added the Prince, ‘we are all committed to the maintenance
of the French republic; we three priests have literally unfrocked
ourselves; the general, here, voted for the death of the king; and
you,’ he said, turning to Malin, ‘have got possession of the property of
_emigres_.’
“‘Yes, we have all the same interests,’ said Sieyes, dictatorially, ‘and
our interests are one with those of the nation.’
“‘A rare thing,’ said the Prince, smiling.
“‘We must act,’ interrupted Fouche. ‘In all probability the battle is
now going on; the Austrians outnumber us; Genoa has surrendered; Massena
has committed the great mistake of embarking for Antibes; it is very
doubtful if he can rejoin Bonaparte, who will then be reduced to his own
resources.’
“‘Who gave you that news?’ asked Carnot.
“‘It is sure,’ replied Fouche. ‘You will have the courier when the
Bourse opens.’
“Those men didn’t mince their words,” said de Marsay, smiling, and
stopping short for a moment.
“‘Remember,’ continued Fouche, ‘it is not when the news of a disaster
comes that we can organize clubs, rouse the patriotism of the people,
and change the constitution. Our 18th Brumaire ought to be prepared
beforehand.’
“‘Let us leave the care of that to the minister of police,’ said the
Prince, bowing to Fouche, ‘and beware ourselves of Lucien.’ (Lucien
Bonaparte was then minister of the interior.)
“‘I’ll arrest him,’ said Fouche.
“‘Messieurs!’ cried Sieyes, ‘our Directory ought not to be subject to
anarchical changes. We must organize a government of the few, a Senate
for life, and an elective chamber the control of which shall be in our
hands; for we ought to profit by the blunders of the past.’
“‘With such a system, there would be peace for me,’ remarked the
ex-bishop.
“‘Find me a sure man to negotiate with Moreau; for the Army of the
Rhine will be our sole resource,’ cried Carnot, who had been plunged in
meditation.
“Ah!” said de Marsay, pausing, “those men were right. They were grand
in this crisis. I should have done as they did”; then he resumed his
narrative.
“‘Messieurs!’ cried Sieyes, in a grave and solemn tone.
“That word ‘Messieurs!’ was perfectly understood by all present; all
eyes expressed the same faith, the same promise, that of absolute
silence, and unswerving loyalty to each other in case the First Consul
returned triumphant.
“‘We all know what we have to do,’ added Fouche.
“Sieyes softly unbolted the door; his priestly ear had warned him.
Lucien entered the room.
“‘Good news!’ he said. ‘A courier has just brought Madame Bonaparte a
line from the First Consul. The campaign has opened with a victory at
Montebello.’
“The three ministers exchanged looks.
“‘Was it a general engagement?’ asked Carnot.
“‘No, a fight, in which Lannes has covered himself with glory. The
affair was bloody. Attacked with ten thousand men by eighteen thousand,
he was only saved by a division sent to his support. Ott is in full
retreat. The Austrian line is broken.’
“‘When did the fight take place?’ asked Carnot.
“‘On the 8th,’ replied Lucien.
“‘And this is the 13th,’ said the sagacious minister. ‘Well, if that is
so, the destinies of France are in the scale at the very moment we are
speaking.’”
(In fact, the battle of Marengo did begin at dawn of the 14th.)
“‘Four days of fatal uncertainty!’ said Lucien.
“‘Fatal?’ said the minister of foreign affairs, coldly and
interrogatively.
“‘Four days,’ echoed Fouche.
“An eye-witness told me,” said de Marsay, continuing the narrative in
his own person, “that the consuls, Cambaceres and Lebrun, knew nothing
of this momentous news until after the six personages returned to the
salon. It was then four in the morning. Fouche left first. That man
of dark and mysterious genius, extraordinary, profound, and little
understood, but who undoubtedly had the gifts of a Philip the Second, a
Tiberius and a Borgia, went at once to work with an infernal and secret
activity. His conduct at the time of the affair at Walcheren was that of
a consummate soldier, a great politician, a far-seeing administrator. He
was the only real minister that Napoleon ever had. And you all know how
he then alarmed him.
“Fouche, Massena and the Prince,” continued de Marsay, reflectively,
“are the three greatest men, the wisest heads in diplomacy, war, and
government, that I have ever known. If Napoleon had frankly allied them
with his work there would no longer be a Europe, only a vast French
Empire. Fouche did not finally detach himself from Napoleon until he saw
Sieyes and the Prince de Talleyrand shoved aside.
“He now went to work, and in three days (all the while hiding the hand
that stirred the ashes of the Montagne) he had organized that general
agitation which then arose all over France and revived the republicanism
of 1793. As it is necessary that I should explain this obscure corner of
our history, I must tell you that this agitation, starting from Fouche’s
own hand (which held the wires of the former Montagne), produced
republican plots against the life of the First Consul, which was in
peril from this cause long after the victory of Marengo. It was Fouche’s
sense of the evil he had thus brought about which led him to warn
Napoleon, who held a contrary opinion, that republicans were more
concerned than royalists in the various conspiracies.
“Fouche was an admirable judge of men; he relied on Sieyes because of
his thwarted ambition, on Talleyrand because he was a great _seigneur_,
on Carnot for his perfect honesty; but the man he dreaded was the one
whom you have seen here this evening. I will now tell how he entangled
that man in his meshes.
“Malin was only Malin in those days,--a secret agent and correspondent
of Louis XVIII. Fouche now compelled him to reduce to writing all the
proclamations of the proposed revolutionary government, its warrants and
edicts against the factions of the 18th Brumaire. An accomplice against
his own will, Malin was required to have these documents secretly
printed, and the copies held ready in his own house for distribution
if Bonaparte were defeated. The printer was subsequently imprisoned and
detained two months; he died in 1816, and always believed he had been
employed by a Montagnard conspiracy.
“One of the most singular scenes ever played by Fouche’s police was
caused by the blunder of an agent, who despatched a courier to a famous
banker of that day with the news of a defeat at Marengo. Victory, you
will remember, did not declare itself for Napoleon until seven o’clock
in the evening of the battle. At midday the banker’s agent, considering
the day lost and the French army about to be annihilated, hastened to
despatch the courier. On receipt of that news Fouche was about to put
into motion a whole army of bill-posters and cries, with a truck full
of proclamations, when the second courier arrived with the news of the
triumph which put all France beside itself with joy. There were heavy
losses at the Bourse, of course. But the criers and posters who were
gathered to announce the political death of Bonaparte and to post up
the new proclamations were only kept waiting awhile till the news of the
victory could be struck off!
“Malin, on whom the whole responsibility of the plot of which he had
been the working agent was likely to fall if it ever became known, was
so terrified that he packed the proclamations and other papers in carts
and took them down to Gondreville in the night-time, where no doubt they
were hidden in the cellars of that chateau, which he had bought in
the name of another man--who was it, by the bye? he had him made
chief-justice of an Imperial court--Ah! Marion. Having thus disposed
of these damning proofs he returned to Paris to congratulate the First
Consul on his victory. Napoleon, as you know, rushed from Italy to Paris
after the battle of Marengo with alarming celerity. Those who know the
secret history of that time are well aware that a message from Lucien
brought him back. The minister of the interior had foreseen the attitude
of the Montagnard party, and though he had no idea of the quarter from
which the wind really blew, he feared a storm. Incapable of suspecting
the three ministers and Carnot, he attributed the movement which stirred
all France to the hatred his brother had excited by the 18th Brumaire,
and to the confident belief of the men of 1793 that defeat was certain
in Italy.
“The battle of Marengo detained Napoleon on the plains of Lombardy until
the 25th of June, but he reached Paris on the 2nd of July. Imagine
the faces of the five conspirators as they met the First Consul at the
Tuileries, and congratulated him on the victory. Fouche on that very
occasion at the palace told Malin to have patience, for _all was not
over yet_. The truth was, Talleyrand and Fouche both held that Bonaparte
was not as much bound to the principles of the Revolution as they were,
and as he ought to be; and for this reason, as well as for their own
safety, they subsequently, in 1804, buckled him irrevocably, as they
believed, to its cause by the affair of the Duc d’Enghien. The execution
of that prince is connected by a series of discoverable ramifications
with the plot which was laid on that June evening in the boudoir of the
ministry of foreign affairs, the night before the battle of Marengo.
Those who have the means of judging, and who have known persons who were
well-informed, are fully aware that Bonaparte was handled like a
child by Talleyrand and Fouche, who were determined to alienate him
irrevocably from the House of Bourbon, whose agents were even then, at
the last moment, endeavoring to negotiate with the First Consul.”
“Talleyrand was playing whist in the salon of Madame de Luynes,” said a
personage who had been listening attentively to de Marsay’s narrative.
“It was about three o’clock in the morning, when he pulled out his
watch, looked at it, stopped the game, and asked his three companions
abruptly and without any preface whether the Prince de Conde had any
other children than the Duc d’Enghien. Such an absurd inquiry from the
lips of Talleyrand caused the utmost surprise. ‘Why do you ask us what
you know perfectly well yourself?’ they said to him. ‘Only to let
you know that the House of Conde comes to an end at this moment.’
Now Monsieur de Talleyrand had been at the hotel de Luynes the entire
evening, and he must have known that Bonaparte was absolutely unable to
grant the pardon.”
“But,” said Eugene de Rastignac, “I don’t see in all this any connection
with Madame de Cinq-Cygnes and her troubles.”
“Ah, you were so young at that time, my dear fellow; I forgot to explain
the conclusion. You all know the affair of the abduction of the Comte de
Gondreville, then senator of the Empire, for which the Simeuse brothers
and the two d’Hauteserres were condemned to the galleys,--an affair
which did, in fact, lead to their death.”
De Marsay, entreated by several persons present to whom the
circumstances were unknown, related the whole trial, stating that the
mysterious abductors were five sharks of the secret service of the
ministry of the police, who were ordered to obtain the proclamations of
the would-be Directory which Malin had surreptitiously taken from his
house in Paris, and which he had himself come to Gondreville for the
express purpose of destroying, being convinced at last that the Empire
was on a sure foundation and could not be overthrown. “I have no doubt,”
added de Marsay, “that Fouche took the opportunity to have the house
searched for the correspondence between Malin and Louis XVIII., which
was always kept up, even during the Terror. But in this cruel affair
there was a private element, a passion of revenge in the mind of the
leader of the party, a man named Corentin, who is still living, and who
is one of those subaltern agents whom nothing can replace and who
makes himself felt by his amazing ability. It appears that Madame, then
Mademoiselle de Cinq-Cygne, had ill-treated him on a former occasion
when he attempted to arrest the Simeuse brothers. What happened
afterwards in connection with the senator’s abduction was the result of
his private vengeance.
“These facts were known, of course, to Malin, and through him to Louis
XVIII. You may therefore,” added de Marsay, turning to the Princesse de
Cadignan, “explain the whole matter to the Marquise de Cinq-Cygne, and
show her why Louis XVIII. thought fit to keep silence.” ADDENDUM
The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy.
Beauvisage The Member for Arcis
Berthier, Alexandre
The Chouans
Bonaparte, Lucien
The Vendetta
Bordin
The Seamy Side of History
The Commission in Lunacy
Jealousies of a Country Town
Cinq-Cygne, Laurence, Comtesse (afterwards Marquise de)
The Secrets of a Princess
The Seamy Side of History
The Member for Arcis
Corentin
The Chouans
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
The Middle Classes
Derville
Gobseck
A Start in Life
Father Goriot
Colonel Chabert
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
Duroc, Gerard-Christophe-Michel
A Woman of Thirty
Espard, Jeanne-Clementine-Athenais de Blamont-Chauvry, Marquise d’
The Commission in Lunacy
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
Letters of Two Brides
Another Study of Woman
The Secrets of a Princess
A Daughter of Eve
Beatrix
Fouche, Joseph
The Chouans
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
Giguet, Colonel
The Member for Arcis
Gondreville, Malin, Comte de
A Start in Life
Domestic Peace
The Member for Arcis
Gothard
The Member for Arcis
Goujet, Abbe
The Member for Arcis
Grandlieu, Duc Ferdinand de
The Thirteen
A Bachelor’s Establishment
Modeste Mignon
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
Granville, Vicomte de
A Second Home
Farewell (Adieu)
Cesar Birotteau
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
A Daughter of Eve
Cousin Pons
Grevin
A Start in Life
The Member for Arcis
Hauteserre, D’
The Member for Arcis
Lefebvre, Robert
Cousin Betty
Lenoncourt, Duc de
The Lily of the Valley
Cesar Birotteau
Jealousies of a Country Town
Beatrix
Louis XVIII., Louis-Stanislas-Xavier
The Chouans
The Seamy Side of History
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
The Ball at Sceaux
The Lily of the Valley
Colonel Chabert
The Government Clerks
Marion (of Arcis)
The Member for Arcis
Marion (brother)
The Member for Arcis
Marsay, Henri de
The Thirteen
The Unconscious Humorists
Another Study of Woman
The Lily of the Valley
Father Goriot
Jealousies of a Country Town
Ursule Mirouet
A Marriage Settlement
Lost Illusions
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
Letters of Two Brides
The Ball at Sceaux
Modeste Mignon
The Secrets of a Princess
A Daughter of Eve
Maufrigneuse, Duchesse de
The Secrets of a Princess
Modeste Mignon
Jealousies of a Country Town
The Muse of the Department
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
Letters of Two Brides
Another Study of Woman
The Member for Arcis
Maufrigneuse, Georges de
The Secrets of a Princess
Beatrix
The Member for Arcis
Maufrigneuse, Berthe de
Beatrix
The Member for Arcis
Michu, Francois
Jealousies of a Country Town
The Member for Arcis
Michu, Madame Francois
The Member for Arcis
Murat, Joachim, Prince
The Vendetta
Colonel Chabert
Domestic Peace
The Country Doctor
Navarreins, Duc de
A Bachelor’s Establishment
Colonel Chabert
The Muse of the Department
The Thirteen
Jealousies of a Country Town
The Peasantry
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
The Country Parson
The Magic Skin
The Secrets of a Princess
Cousin Betty
Peyrade
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
Rapp
The Vendetta
Rastignac, Eugene de
Father Goriot
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life
The Ball at Sceaux
The Commission in Lunacy
A Study of Woman
Another Study of Woman
The Magic Skin
The Secrets of a Princess
A Daughter of Eve
The Firm of Nucingen
Cousin Betty
The Member for Arcis
The Unconscious Humorists
Regnier, Claude-Antoine
A Second Home
Simeuse, Admiral de
Beatrix
Jealousies of a Country Town
Steingel
The Peasantry
Talleyrand-Perigord, Charles-Maurice de
The Chouans
The Thirteen
Letters of Two Brides
Gaudissart II.
Vandenesse, Comte Felix de
The Lily of the Valley
Lost Illusions
A Distinguished Provincial at Paris
Cesar Birotteau
Letters of Two Brides
A Start in Life
The Marriage Settlement
The Secrets of a Princess
Another Study of Woman
A Daughter of Eve
Varlet
The Gondreville Mystery
The Member for Arcis
End of Project Gutenberg’s An Historical Mystery, by Honore de Balzac