ROGER DE MONBERT _to_ MONSIEUR EDGAR DE MEILHAN
Richeport, Pont de l'Arche (Eure).
Paris, July 8th 18--.
Dear Edgar,--Stupidity was invented by our sex. When a woman deceives or
deserts us,--synonymous transgressions,--we are foolish enough to
prolong to infinity our despair, instead of singing with Metastasio--
"Grazie all' inganni tuoi
Al fin respir' o Nice!"
Alas! such is man! Women have more pride. If I had deserted Mlle. de
Chateaudun she certainly would not have searched the highways and byways
to discover me. I fear there is a great deal of vanity at the bottom of
our manly passions. Vanity is the eldest son of love. I shall develop
this theory upon some future occasion. One must be calm when one
philosophizes. At present I am obliged to continue in my folly, begging
reason to await my return.
In the intense darkness of despair, one naturally rushes towards the
horizon where shines some bright object, be it lighthouse, star,
phosphorus or jack-o'-lantern. Will it prove a safe haven or a dangerous
rock? Fate,--Chance,--to thee we trust!
My faithful agents are ever watchful. I have just received their
despatches, and they inspire me with the hope that at last the thick
mist is about to be dispersed. I will spare you all the minute details
written by faithful servants, who have more sagacity than epistolary
style, and give you a synopsis:--Mlle. de Chateaudun left for Rouen a
month ago. She engaged two seats in the car. She was seen at the
depot--her maid was with her. There is no longer any doubt--Irene is at
Rouen; I have proofs of it in my hand.
An old family servant, devoted to me, is living at Rouen. I will make
his house the centre of my observations, and will not compromise the
result by any negligence or recklessness on part.
The inexorable logic of victorious combinations will be revealed to me
on the first night of my solitude. I am about to start; address me no
longer at Paris. Railways were invented for the benefit of love affairs.
A lover laid the first rail, and a speculator laid the last. Happily
Rouen is a faubourg of Paris! This advantage of rapid locomotion will
permit me to pass two hours at Richeport with you, and have the delight
of pressing Raymond's hand. Two hours of my life gained by losing them
with my oldest and best friend. I will be overjoyed to once more see the
noble Raymond, the last of knight-errants, doubtless occupied in
painting in stone-color some old manor where Queen Blanche has left
traditions of the course of true love.
How dreadful it is, dear Edgar, to endeavor to unravel a mystery when a
woman is at the bottom of it! Yes, Irene is at Rouen, I am convinced of
that fact. Rouen is a large city, full of large houses, small houses,
hotels and churches; but love is a grand inquisitor, capable of
searching the city in twenty-four hours, and making the receiver of
stolen property surrender Mlle. de Chateaudun. Then what will happen?
Have I the right to institute a scheme of this strange nature about a
young woman? Is she alone at Rouen? And if misfortune does not mislead
me by these certain traces, is there anything in reserve for me worse
than losing her?
Oh! if such be the case, then is the time to pray God for strength to
repeat the other two verses of the poet:--
"Col mio rival istesso,
Posso di te parlar!"
Farewell, for a short time, dear Edgar. I fly to fathom this mystery.