IRENE DE CHATEAUDUN _to_ MME. LA VICOMTESSE DE BRAIMES,
Hotel de la Prefecture, Grenoble (Isère).
Paris, Aug. 2d 18--.
It is fortunate for me to-day, my dear Valentine, that I have the
reputation of being a truthful person, professing a hatred of falsehood,
otherwise you would not believe the strange facts that I am about to
relate to you. I now expect to reap the fruits of my unvarying
sincerity. Having always shown such respect for truth, I deserve to be
believed when I assert what appears to be incredible.
What startling events have occurred in a few hours! My destiny has been
changed by my peeping through a hole!! Without one word of comment I
will state exactly what happened, and you must not accuse me of highly
coloring my pictures; they are lively enough in themselves without any
assistance from me. Far from adding to their brilliancy, I shall
endeavor to tone them down and give them an air of probability. We left
Pont de l'Arche the other day with sad and anxious hearts; during the
journey Mad. de Meilhan, as if doubting the strength of my resolution
and the ardor of my devotion, dilated enthusiastically upon the merits
of her son. She boasted of his generosity, of his disinterestedness and
sincerity; she mentioned the names of several wealthy young ladies whom
he had refused to marry during the last two or three years. She spoke of
his great success as a poet and a brilliant man. She impressed upon me
that a noble love could exercise such a happy influence upon his genius,
and said it was in my power to make him a good and happy man for life,
by accepting this love, which she described to me in such touching
language, that I felt moved and impressed, if not with love, at least
with tender appreciation. She said Edgar had never loved any one as he
had loved me--this passion had changed all his ideas--he lived for me
alone. To indure him to listen to any one it was necessary to bring my
name in the conversation so as to secure his ear; he spent his days and
nights composing poems in my honor. He should have returned to Paris in
response to the beautiful Marquise de R.'s sighs and smiles, but he
never had the courage to leave me; for me he had pitilessly sacrificed
this woman, who was lovely, witty and the reigning belle of Paris. She
mournfully told me of the wild foolish things he would do upon his
return to Richeport, after having made fruitless attempts to see me at
Pont de l'Arche; his cruelty to his favorite horse, his violence against
the flowers along the path, that he would cut to pieces with his whip;
his sullen, mute despair; his extravagant talk to her; her own
uneasiness; her useless prayers; and finally this fatal departure that
she had vainly endeavored to prevent. She saw that I was affected by
what she said, she seized my hand and called down blessing's upon me,
thanking me a thousand times passionately and imperiously, as if to
compel me to accede to her wishes.
I sorrowfully reflected upon all this trouble that I had caused, and was
frightened at the conviction that I had by a few engaging smiles and a
little harmless coquetry inspired so violent a passion. Thinking thus, I
did justice to Edgar, and acknowledged that some reparation was due to
him. He must have taken all these deceptive smiles to himself; when I
first arrived at Pont de l'Arche, I had no scruples about being
attractive, I expected to leave in a few days never to return again.
Since then I had without pity refused his love, it is true; but could he
believe this proud disdain to be genuine, when, after this decisive
explanation, he found me tranquilly established at his mother's house?
And there could he follow the different caprices of my mind, divine
those temptations of generosity which first moved me in his favor, and
then discover this wild love that was suddenly born in my soul for a
phantom that I had only seen for a few hours?.... Had he not, on the
contrary, a right to believe that I loved him, and to exclaim against
the infamy, cruelty and perfidy of my refusing to see him, and my
endeavors to convince him that I cared nothing for him? He was right to
accuse me, for appearances were all against me--my own conduct condemned
me. I must acknowledge myself culpable, and submit to the sentence that
has been pronounced against me. I resigned myself sadly to repair the
wrong I had committed. One hope still remained to me: Edgar brought back
by me would be restored to his mother, but Edgar would cease to love me
when he knew my real name. There is a difference between loving an
adventuress, whose affections can be trifled with, and loving a woman of
high birth and position, who must be honorably sought in marriage. Edgar
has an invincible repugnance to matrimony; he considers this august
institution as a monstrous inconvenience, very immoral, a profane
revelation of the most sacred secrets of life; he calls it a public
exhibition of affection; he says no one has a right to proclaim his
preference for one woman. To call a woman: my wife! what revolting
indiscretion! To call children: my children! what disgusting fatuity! In
his eyes nothing is more horrible than a husband driving in the Champs
Elysées with his family, which is tantamount to telling the passers-by:
This woman seated by my side is the one I have chosen among all women,
and to whom I am indebted for all pleasure in life; and this little girl
who resembles her so much, and this little boy, the image of me, are the
bonds of love between us. The Orientals, he added, whom we call
barbarians, are more modest than we; they shut up their wives; they
never appear in public with them, they never let any one see the objects
of their tenderness, and they introduce young men of twenty, not as
their sons, but as the heirs of their names and fortunes.
Recalling these remarkable sentiments of M. de Meilhan, I said to
myself: he will never marry. But Mad. de Meilhan, who was aware of her
son's peculiar thoeries, assured me that they were very much modified,
and that one day in speaking of me, he had angrily exclaimed: "Oh! I
wish I were her husband, so I could shut her up, and prevent any one
seeing her!" Now I understand why a man marries! This was not very
reassuring, but I devoted myself like a victim, and for a victim there
is no half sacrifice. Generosity, like cruelty, is absolute.
After a night of anxious travel, we reached Havre at about ten in the
morning. We drove rapidly to the office of the American steamers. Madame
de Meilhan rushed frantically about until she found the sleepy clerk,
who told her that M. de Meilhan had taken passage on the _Ontario_.
"When does this vessel leave?"
"I cannot tell you," said the gaping clerk.
We ran to the pier and tremblingly asked: "Can you tell us if the
American vessel _Ontario_ sails to-day?"
The old sailor replied to us in nautical language which we could not
understand. Another man said: "The _Ontario_ is pretty far out by this
time!" We ran to the other end of the pier and found a crowd of people
watching a cloud that was gradually disappearing in the distance. "I see
nothing now," said one of the people. But I saw a little ... little
smoke ... and I could distinctly see a flag with a large O on it....
Madame de Meilhan, pale and breathless, had not the strength to ask the
name of the fatal vessel that was almost out of sight ... I could only
gasp out the word "_Ontario?"_ ...
"Precisely so, madame, but don't be uneasy ... it is a fast vessel, and
your friends will land in America before two weeks are passed. You look
astonished, but it is the truth, the _Ontario_ is never behind time!"
Madame de Meilhan fell fainting in my arms. She was lifted to our
carriage and soon restored to consciousness, but was so overcome that
she seemed incapable of comprehending the extent of her misfortune. We
drove to the nearest hotel, and I remained in her room silently weeping
and reproaching myself for having destroyed the happiness of this
family.
During these first moments of stupor Madame de Meilhan showed no
indignation at my presence; but no sooner had she recovered the use of
her senses than she burst into a storm of abuse; calling me a detestable
intriguer, a low adventuress who, by my stage tricks, had turned the
head of her noble son; I would be the cause of his death--that fatal
country would never give back her son; what a pity to see so superior a
man, a pride and credit to his country, perish, succumb, to the snares
of an obscure prude, who had not the sense to be his mistress, who was
incapable of loving him for a single day; an ambitious schemer, who had
determined to entrap him into marriage, but unhesitatingly sacrificed
him to M. de Villiers as soon as she found M. de Villiers was the richer
of the two, ... and many other flattering accusations she made, that
were equally ill-deserved. I quietly listened to all this abuse, and
went on preparing a glass of _eau sucrée_ for the poor weeping fury,
whose conduct inspired me with generous pity. When she had finished her
tirade, I silently handed her the orange water to calm her anger, and I
looked at her ... my look expressed such firm gentle pride, such
generous indulgence, such invulnerable dignity, that she felt herself
completely disarmed. She took my hand and said, as she dried her tears:
"You must forgive me, I am _so_ unhappy!" Then I tried to console her; I
told her I would write to her son, and she would soon have him back, as
my letter would reach New York by the time he landed, and then it would
only take him two weeks to return. This promise calmed her; then I
persuaded her to lie down and recover from the fatigue of travelling all
night. When I saw her poor swollen eyelids fairly closed, I left her to
enjoy her slumbers and retired to my own room. I rested awhile and then
rang to order preparations for our departure; but instead of the servant
answering the bell, a pretty little girl, about eight years old, entered
my room; upon seeing me she drew back frightened.
"What do you want, my child?" I said, drawing her within the door.
"Nothing, madame," she said.
"But you must have come here for something?"
"I did not know that madame was in her room."
"What did you come to do in here?"
"I came, as I did yesterday, to see."
"To see what?"
"In there ... the Turks ..."
"The Turks? What! am I surrounded by Turks?"
"Oh! they are not in the little room adjoining yours; but through this
little room you can look into the large saloon where they all stay and
have music ... will madame permit me to pass through?"
"Which way?"
"This way. There is a little door behind this toilet-table; I open it,
go in, get up on the table and look at the Turks."
The child rolled aside the toilet-table, entered the little room, and in
a few minutes came running back to me and exclaimed:
"Oh! they are so beautiful! does not madame wish to see them?"
"No."
In a short time she returned again.
"The musicians are all asleep," she said ... "but, madame, the Turks are
crazy--they don't sleep--they don't speak--they make horrible
faces--they roll their eyes--they have such funny ways--one of them
looks like my uncle when he has the fever--Oh! that one must be crazy,
madame-- ... look, he is going to dance! now he is going to die!"
The absurd prattle of the child finally aroused my curiosity. I went
into the little room, and, mounting the table beside her, looked through
a crevice in the wooden partition and clearly saw everything in the
large saloon. It was hung up to a certain height with rich Turkish
stuffs. The floor was covered by a superb Smyrna carpet. In one recess
of the room the musicians were sleeping with their bizarre musical
instruments tightly clasped in their arms. A dozen Turks, magnificently
dressed, were seated on the soft carpet in Oriental fashion, that is to
say, after the manner of tailors. They were supported by piles of
cushions of all sizes and shapes, and seemed to be plunged in ecstatic
oblivion.
One of these dreamy sons of Aurora attracted my attention by his
brilliant costume and flashing arms. By the pale light of the exhausted
lamps and the faint rays of dawning day, almost obscured by the heavy
drapery of the windows, I could scarcely distinguish the features of
this splendid Mussulman, at the same time I thought I had seen him
before. I had seen but few pachas during my life, but I certainly had
met this one somewhere, I looked attentively and saw that his hands were
whiter than those of his compatriots--this was a suspicious fact. After
closely watching this doubtful infidel, this amateur barbarian, I began
to suspect civilization and Europeanism.... One of the musicians asleep
near the window, turned over and his long guitar--a _guzla_, I think it
is called--caught in the curtain and drew it a little open; the sunlight
streamed in the room and an accusing ray fell upon the face of the
spurious young Turk.... It was Edgar de Meilhan! A little cup filled
with a greenish conserve rested on a cushion near by. I remembered that
he had often spoken to me of the wonderful effects of hashish, and of
the violent desire he had of experiencing this fascinating stupefaction;
he had also told me of one of his college friends who had been living in
Smyrna for some years; an original, who had taken upon himself the
mission of re-barbarizing the East. This friend had sent him a number of
Indian poinards and Turkish pipes, and had promised him some tobacco and
hashish. This modern and amateur Turk was named Arthur Granson.... I
asked the innkeeper's little daughter if she knew the name of the man
who had hired the saloon? She said yes, that he was named Monsieur
Granson.... This name and this meeting explained everything.
O Valentine! I will be sincere to the end, ... and confess that Edgar
was wonderfully handsome in this costume!... the magnificent oriental
stuff, the Turkish vest, embroidered in gold and silver, the yatagans,
pistols and poinards studded with jewels, the turban draped with
inimitable art--all these things gave him a majestic, superb, imposing
aspect!... which at first astonished me, ... for we are all children
when we first see beautiful objects, ... but he had a stupid look....
No, never did a sultan of the opera, throwing his handkerchief to his
bayadère ... a German prince of the gymnasium complimented by his
court--a provincial Bajazet listening to the threatening declarations of
Roxana--never did they display in the awkwardness of their rôles, in the
stiffness of their movements, an attitude more absurdly ridiculous, an
expression of countenance more ideally stupid. It is difficult to
comprehend how a brilliant mind could so completely absent itself from
its dwelling-place without leaving on the face it was wont to animate, a
single trace, a faint ray of intelligence! Edgar had his eyes raised to
the ceiling, ... and for an instant I think I caught his look, ... but
Heavens! what a look! May I never meet such another! I shall add one
more incident to my recital--important in itself but distasteful to me
to relate--I will tell it in as few words as possible: Edgar was leaning
on two piles of cushions; he seemed to be absorbed in the contemplation
of invisible stars; he was awake, but a beautiful African slave, dressed
like an Indian queen, was sleeping at his feet!
This strange spectacle filled my heart with joy. Instead of being
indignant, I was delighted at this insult to myself. Edgar evidently
forgot me, and truly he had a right to forget me; I was not engaged to
him as I had been to Roger. A young poet has a right to dress like a
Turk, and amuse himself with his friends, to suit his own fancy; but a
noble prince has no right to scandalize the public when the dignity of
his rank has to be striven after and recovered; when the glory of his
name is to be kept untarnished. Oh! this disgusting sight gave rise to
no angry feeling in my bosom, I at once comprehended the advantages of
the situation. No more sacrifice, no more remorse, no more hypocrisy! I
was free; my future was restored to me. Oh, the good Edgar! Oh, the dear
poet! How I loved him ... for not loving me!!
I told the little girl to run quickly and bring me a servant. When the
man came I handed him six louis to sharpen his wits, and then solemnly
gave him my orders: "When they ring for you in that saloon, do you tell
that young Turk with a red vest on ... you will remember him?" "Yes,
madame." "You will tell him that the countess his mother is waiting here
for him, in room No. 7, at the end of the corridor." "Ah! the lady who
was weeping so bitterly?" "The same one." "Madame may rely upon me."
I then paid my bill, and, inquiring the quickest way of leaving Havre, I
fled from the hotel. Walking along Grande Rue de Paris, I saw with
pleasure that the city was filled with strangers, who had come to take
part in the festivities that were taking place at Havre, and that I
could easily mingle in this great crowd and leave the town without being
observed. Uneasy and agitated, I hurried along, and just as I was
passing the theatre I heard some one call me. Imagine my alarm when I
distinctly heard some one call: "Mlle. Irene! Mlle. Irene!" I was so
frightened that I could scarcely move. The call was repeated, and I saw
my faithful Blanchard rushing towards me, breathless and then I
recognised the supplicating voice ... I turned around and weeping, she
exclaimed: "I know everything, Mlle., you are going to America! Take me
with you. This is the first time I have ever been separated from you
since your birth!" I had left the poor woman at Pont de l'Arche, and
she, thinking I was going to America, had followed me. "Be quiet and
follow me," said I, forgetting to tell her that I was not going to
America. I reached the wharf and jumped into a boat; the unhappy
Blanchard, who is a hydrophobe, followed me. "You are afraid?" said I.
"Oh, no, Mlle., I am afraid on the Seine, but at sea it is quite a
different thing." The touching delicacy of this ingenious conceit moved
me to tears. Wishing to shorten the agony of this devoted friend, I told
the oarsman to row us into the nearest port, instead of going further by
water, as I had intended, in order to avoid the Rouen route and the
Prince, the steamboat and M. de Meilhan. As soon as we landed I sent my
faithful companion to the nearest village to hire a carriage, "I must be
in Paris, to-morrow," said I. "Then we are not going to America?" "No."
"So much the better," said she, as she trotted off in high glee to look
for a carriage. I remained alone, gazing at the ocean. Oh! how I enjoyed
the sight! How I would love to live on this charming, terrible azure
desert! I was so absorbed in admiration that I soon forgot my worldly
troubles and the rain tribulations of my obscure life. I was intoxicated
by its wild perfume, its free, invigorating air! I breathed for the
first time! With what delight I let the sea-breeze blow my hair about my
burning brow! How I loved to gaze on its boundless horizon! How
much--laugh at my vanity--how much I felt at home in this immensity! I
am not one of those modest souls that are oppressed and humiliated by
the grandeur of Nature; I only feel in harmony with the sublime, not
through myself, but through the aspirations of my mind. I never feel as
if there was around me, above me, before me, too much air, too much
height, too much space. I like the boundless, luminous horizon to render
solitude and liberty invisible to my eyes.
I know not if every one else is impressed as I was upon seeing the ocean
for the first time. I felt released from all ties, purified of all
hatred, and even of all earthly love; I was freed, calm, strong, armed,
ready to brave all the evils of life, like a being who had received from
God a right to disdain the world. The ocean and the sky have this good
effect upon us--they wean us from worldly pleasures.
Upon reaching Paris, I went at once to your father's to inquire about
you, and had my uneasiness about you set at rest. You must have left
Geneva by this time; I hope soon to receive a letter from you. I am not
staying with my cousin. I am living in my dear little garret. I wish a
long time to elapse before I again become Mlle. de Chateaudun. I wish
time to recover from the rude shocks I have had. What do you think of my
last experience? What a perfect success was my theory of discouragement!
Alas! too perfect. First trial: Western despair and champagne! Second
trial: Eastern despair and hashisch!--Not to speak of the consolatory
accessories, snowy-armed beauties and ebony-armed slaves! I would be
very unsophisticated indeed if I did not consider myself sufficiently
enlightened. I implore you not to speak to me of your hero whom you wish
me to marry; I am determined never to marry. I shall love an image,
cherish a star. The little light has returned. I see it shining as I
write to you. Yes, these poetic loves are all-sufficient for my wounded
soul. One thing disturbs me; they have cut down the large trees in front
of my window. To-morrow, perhaps, I shall at last see the being that
dwells in this fraternal garret.... Valentine--suppose it should be my
long-sought ideal!... I tremble! perhaps a third disenchantment awaits
me.... Good-night, my dear Valentine, I embrace you. I am very tired,
but very happy ... it is so delightful to be relieved of all uneasiness,
to feel that you are not compelled to console any one.