When I arrived at Caroline's it was after five o'clock; my duel and its
sequel had prolonged my absence, and she scolded me for going away
without waking her, and said that she had been vexed at my delay. I
would have preferred that she should have been bored, but I realized
that she had had no leisure for that; there are so many thousand things
to do in a new apartment, to say nothing of the indispensable purchases.
She showed me a very modish bonnet that she had bought, and tried it on
for me. It was a fascinating one; however, at twenty years, with a
pretty face and a graceful figure, a woman might wear a sugar loaf on
her head and she would still be good-looking. It seemed to me that I
liked her better in her little cap than in a bonnet; but I concluded
that I should get used to it.
The rest of the costume must necessarily correspond with the bonnet;
that was in the regular order. I have always wondered at the importance
which women attribute to all the gewgaws and trifles which are called
dress! at the amount of thought and calculation they waste upon the best
way of placing a flower or a ribbon! With what care they arrange a bit
of trimming, a bouquet, a curl! All this is sometimes the result of
several days' meditation! But let us not charge it to them as a crime:
it is to seduce us that they array themselves; we should be very
ungrateful to criticise what they do to please us.
Caroline had changed already; she wore her new garb with much ease of
manner; she was no longer the grisette of Rue des Rosiers, but the
_petite-maîtresse_ of the Chaussée d'Antin. Women form themselves in
everything more rapidly than we do. Observe yonder villager: after three
months in the city, he is still awkward, loutish, and embarrassed. But
this little peasant girl left her home only a week ago, and already her
parents would not recognize her; ere long she will not recognize her
parents.
A fortnight had passed since Caroline's installation on Rue Caumartin. I
saw her every day; I dare not say that it was love that I felt for her;
certainly it was not a very impassioned love; but she still pleased me
as much as ever. I believed that she loved me more than at the beginning
of our liaison; at all events, she told me so.
Things had not turned out precisely as I had arranged, for she had
ceased to go to her shop, and she could hardly be said to work in her
room; but, by way of compensation, she had acquired the manners of good
society, the tone of a lady, and the general aspect of an _élégante_. It
is true that I refused her nothing, although I frequently considered the
project of reducing my expenses. But how can you refuse anything to a
pretty woman who entreats you with a melting voice, and, while
entreating you, looks at you in a certain way? As for myself, I confess
that I have never had the strength to resist. It has been my misfortune,
perhaps.
I began to discover that what I called gewgaws formed a very important
item in the keeping of a woman. I ruined myself in trifles: every day it
was a dress, a neckerchief, a hat, or a shawl! I do not know how
Caroline went about it, but she invariably proved to me that it was the
fashion, and, therefore, that it was necessary; I am too just to refuse
a woman what is necessary. But my income was insufficient; I had
borrowed; I was running in debt. What in heaven's name would happen if
she should take it into her head to want the superfluous!
Every other day I found a bouquet at my door when I went home. My little
Nicette did not forget me, and I never went to see her; if I chanced to
pass her stand, I never thought of her being there and never glanced in
her direction! And yet, every time that I found a bouquet, I determined
that I would go to thank her; but Caroline gave me so much occupation
that I never had a free moment; every day there was some new pleasure
party; I never had the courage to refuse her; she knew a way to make me
approve all her plans. Her graceful ways charmed me, her wit fascinated
me, her merriment amused me; the hussy was so adroit in making the most
of all the gifts she had received from nature!
One morning I received a note written in an unfamiliar hand. It was from
Madame de Marsan, who reproached me good-naturedly for not keeping the
promise I had made to attend her musical evenings, and invited me to a
small party she was giving at her country house. I had almost forgotten
Madame de Marsan, for I often forget a person who has set me on fire the
night before; a very lucky thing for one who takes fire so easily; it
proves that the heart has no share in the nonsense we call love. I
determined to go to the party in question, for I did not propose that
Mademoiselle Caroline should make me lose sight of all my acquaintances;
I ought not to abandon good society because she could not go thither
with me. The girl had already led me into too much folly! And there was
my sister, whose letter I had not answered, and who expected me from day
to day! I was not at all content with myself. But the torrent bore me
on; I closed my eyes and let myself go.
Someone entered my room: it was my neighbor, whom I had not seen since
the day of our famous duel. He had a shrewd suspicion that I was not
taken in by his false gallantry--I who had witnessed his abject terror
on the day of the _partie fine_. I knew that he had made a great noise
about his valor, prating of his duel to everybody he saw; but he had
avoided meeting me in company; my presence would have embarrassed him in
his narrative of our combat. I wondered what he wanted of me.
"Good-morning, my dear friend!" he began; "how goes the health this
morning?"
"Why, I am inclined to think it goes too fast; I am going at a rapid
pace."
"You must be prudent, neighbor."
"You're a good one to talk about prudence, Monsieur Raymond! What are
you doing with Agathe?"
"Oh! I don't see her any more; that's all over, we are parted forever! I
don't propose ever to be caught by one of those little hussies again;
you spend an enormous amount of money, and sometimes you don't make your
expenses. And they don't know how to appreciate a man; they don't know
the difference between a poet and a gudgeon! So long as you have money
in your pocket, and can stuff them from morning till night with bonbons,
sweetmeats, ices, and syrups, and tell them they're adorable, take them
to drive and to the theatre and to the country, and buy them all the
fal-lals they happen to want, oh! bless my soul, then they're satisfied.
You may be as stupid as a goose, as coarse as a street porter, as
conceited as an Italian virtuoso, yet you're none the less delightful in
the eyes of those girls."
"There's a great deal of truth in what you say, neighbor; but, as a
general rule, it is adulation and flattery that spoil both men and
women; if we didn't kneel at their feet, they wouldn't look down on us
from such a height. Flatterers, courtiers, low-lived sycophants, creep
in everywhere and sometimes corrupt the most happily endowed nature.
Kings, unfortunately, are more encompassed than other men by this
servile swarm, which constantly hums in their ears a concert of
exaggerated and insipid praise; it is when men tremble that they stoop
lower than at any other time. Louis XI had more courtiers than Louis
XII, Charles IX more than Henri IV. Richelieu and Mazarin did not take a
step without being surrounded by a multitude of courtiers; they were
feared, people trembled before them, but humiliated themselves and
scribbled verses in their honor. Sully and Colbert had their admirers,
but they knew how to repel flattery; they were too great to surround
themselves with people whom they despised. If too frequent adulation did
not increase our vanity, if the familiar atmosphere of praise did not
give us too great confidence in our own deserts, how many shortcomings
would those heroes and great captains have escaped, who, under difficult
circumstances, have rejected the counsels of wisdom because they were
accustomed only to the language of flattery, and deemed themselves
invincible because a thousand voices had declared that they were, and
because the man who has been exalted to the rank of a demigod does not
readily decide to take the advice of his creatures! The pernicious
effects of adulation date from a very early period: the serpent seduced
the first woman by flattery. Almost always by the same means have women
since then been seduced. Flattery destroyed Antiochus and
Nebuchadnezzar, Semiramis and Mary Stuart, Cinq-Mars, Monmouth,
Cleopatra, and Marion Delorme; Samson allowed his hair to be cut off
while listening to the compliments of Delilah; Holofernes lost his head
while listening to Judith's soft voice; Charles XII of Sweden, blinded
by his victories, buried his army in the plains of Pultowa; the Maréchal
de Villeroi, relying always on luck, insisted on joining battle at
Ramillies. Excessive praise, by blinding us to our faults, causes us to
remain in the path of mediocrity, when nature has given us faculties
calculated to raise us above the vulgar; by tempting us to close our
ears to the harsh counsels of truth, it leads us to mistake self-esteem
for genius, vanity for merit, facility for talent. How many artists,
even when they seek advice, refuse to receive anything but compliments!
But they have been persuaded that all their works are masterpieces, that
no defect can be found in them! And people who have attained that end no
longer take the pains to study; everything that comes from their hands
must necessarily be perfect. But civility demands that we must not
always say what we think. Suppose a poet reads us some of his verses: if
they are bad, you must not tell him so unless you are his friend; for
you do not desire to be looked upon in society as an Alcestis, forever
growling about the vagaries and absurdities of everyone else; that rôle
would raise up too many enemies to be endured, except on the stage. In
society, we choose to overlook one another's failings rather than to set
ourselves up as censors; mutual intercourse is pleasanter thus, and we
find more pleasure in living for ourselves than in wasting our time
trying to correct other people. But although courtesy may compel us to
conceal what we think, it does not compel us to say what we do not
think; when I listen to the reading of execrable poetry, I will hold my
peace, but I won't say that it is charming; nay, more, I will try to
summon courage to make some suggestions to the author. I can never make
up my mind to say that a portrait resembles its subject, when I think it
a wretched failure; I cannot tell a person that he sings true, when he
has just been torturing my ears. With nascent talents, above all, we
should be sparing of praise, even while we encourage them; flattery is
responsible for very many such coming to naught, because it arrests the
flight of a genius, which, deeming itself perfect already, no longer
cares to take the trouble to acquire what it lacks. Doubtless a father
is excusable for considering his son a prodigy of beauty, wit, and
talent; paternal love naturally misleads us; but let us at least keep
our conviction to ourselves; let us not force strangers to go into
ecstasies over the story of a mischievous trick, to listen in religious
silence to a fable often directly at variance with common sense, and to
gaze in admiration at a flat nose, turned-up chin, and inflamed eyes,
which can never delight any glance but a father's. If there were fewer
flatterers, how many men, who are simply unendurable now because they
have been spoiled, would be ornaments of society! Let us reserve our
enthusiasm for those poets and artists whose talents exalt them above
all praise. Doubtless the contemporaries of Molière and Voltaire
rendered to those sublime geniuses the homage they deserved; but one
does not display his admiration for such men by insipid compliments and
empty praise: great talents are proud of the applause of people of
taste; they despise the base fawning of which fools are so vain.
"When Voltaire lived at Ferney, those travellers who, by virtue of their
rank or their merit, could hope to gain access to him, never failed,
even though they were obliged to go far out of their way, to visit the
philosopher's retreat. Everyone was curious to see that extraordinary
man, who astounded the whole universe by his genius. Men of intellect
and of taste thought only of the pleasure that was in store for them;
but the fools--and they too were anxious to converse with Voltaire--gave
all their attention to the posture and expression they proposed to
assume at sight of the philosopher, the better to manifest their
admiration of him. Voltaire was affable with the former; but when a
lady, on catching sight of the great poet, deemed it advisable to shriek
and to swoon, the philosopher shrugged his shoulders and turned on his
heel.
"Great geniuses are rare; great talents are affable and modest; they who
might have acquired great talents but have failed inhale with delight
the incense people are good enough to lavish on them. How can a young
man whose voice is rather pleasant and nothing more fail to consider
himself a Laïs or a Martin when people seem to be so infatuated with
him? They urge him, entreat him, implore him to sing; all the women are
in a flutter of excitement before hearing him; they belaud him to their
neighbors in anticipation. 'Delicious!' 'Divine!' 'Charming!' are the
only words that reach the ears of the virtuoso, who condescends at last
to comply with the wishes of the assemblage, and, after all the
inevitable monkey tricks, sings just passably a ballad of which it is
well understood that he will not pronounce the words intelligibly; and
he has hardly finished before the concert of praise begins anew, while
the impartial auditor, who had been led to expect something very
different, asks himself if he can believe his ears. Look you, my dear
neighbor, I confess that I have never been able to persuade myself to
increase the crowd that hovers about these social prodigies, in whom I
find nothing except inordinate self-esteem; or to swell the number of
adorers of a woman of fashion, whose coquetry is carried to such a point
that I blush for her and for those who surround her. Unquestionably, I
am as fond of a pretty woman as any other man; I will be the first to do
homage to her charms; but does that necessitate my exalting her to the
skies at all times and seasons, and overwhelming her with compliments
which, even if they are not extravagant, must none the less be tiresome
to the person to whom they are addressed? Must it be that she cannot
take a step without my praising her dress, her figure, her gait, her
foot, her grace? Can she not smile without my going into ecstasies over
her teeth, her mouth, and the expression of her eyes? Can she not utter
a word without my extolling her wit, her shrewdness, her tact, her
penetration, and the sweet tones of her voice? I may think it all, but I
won't say it; I should be afraid of bringing a blush to her cheek. I
know that I am considered far from gallant; that may injure me with some
ladies, but I have neither the power nor the desire to change. If
everybody did as I do, perhaps we should see less self-conceit and
arrogance in men, less coquetry and caprice in women; they would take
more trouble to be affable and agreeable, and everybody would be the
gainer.--What do you think about it, neighbor?"
I saw that Raymond was not listening; he was examining the bunches of
orange blossoms that adorned my mantel, and seemed to be puzzled by the
old bouquets which I had collected on my commode, after taking out the
flowers that would not live.
"You seem to be very fond of orange blossoms?" he said at last.
"Very."
"They have a very pleasant odor.--You must have twenty bunches of them
here."
"I haven't counted them.--But will you do me the favor to tell me what
brings you to my rooms this morning? for I presume that you came for
some purpose."
"True; I forgot it while looking at these bouquets. I have received an
invitation from Madame de Marsan for a party she is giving at her
country house the day after to-morrow; I suppose you are going, and I
came to suggest that we go together."
"With pleasure; you know the way and you can be my guide."
"With the greatest pleasure. By the way, how shall we go?"
"We will hire a cabriolet, and keep it, so that we can return when we
choose."
"That's the idea. I thought at first of going in the saddle--I am very
fond of riding; I have a very fine seat."
"I have no doubt of your grace as a horseman; but we can't go to a party
at Madame de Marsan's in top-boots, so we won't go in the saddle."
"True; I will undertake to provide a nice cabriolet; I know a liveryman.
At what time shall we start?"
"At seven o'clock; we shall arrive at eight, which is the proper hour in
the country."
"That's settled, then. I fancy we shall have some fun; I know the whole
party, so I can tell you who's who."
"I thought you had been only twice to Madame de Marsan's."
"Oh! that doesn't make any difference! once is enough for me to know
everybody; I have a certain amount of tact, of penetration--it's all a
matter of habit. In case they should want to give a theatrical
performance, I have an opera that I have just finished; I'll read it to
you on the road."
"That will give me great pleasure."
"I must take a look over it. Until Thursday, neighbor!"
"Until Thursday!"
Raymond left me, and I went to see Caroline. I found her at the window.
For several days past she had spent much time there, especially when she
was alone. Doubtless it was so that she could watch for my coming. It
seemed to me that she was gayer, more amiable, more fascinating, than
usual; pleasure gleamed in her eyes.
"Ah! she loves me," I thought; "she loves me truly; she is grateful, she
has a feeling heart; she is coquettish only to please me. Before forming
a lasting attachment, she wanted to find someone worthy of her love; her
heart chose me, and I am sure that she will be true to me. I knew that,
with a little patience, I should find such a woman."