Do you know, dear, that it is more than three months since I have
written to you or heard from you? I am the more guilty of the two, for I
did not reply to your last, but you don't stand on punctilio surely?
Macumer and I have taken your silence for consent as regards the
baby-wreathed luncheon service, and the little cherubs are starting this
morning for Marseilles. It took six months to carry out the design.
And so when Felipe asked me to come and see the service before it was
packed, I suddenly waked up to the fact that we had not interchanged a
word since the letter of yours which gave me an insight into a mother's
heart.
My sweet, it is this terrible Paris--there's my excuse. What, pray, is
yours? Oh! what a whirlpool is society! Didn't I tell you once that
in Paris one must be as the Parisians? Society there drives out all
sentiment; it lays en embargo on your time; and unless you are
very careful, soon eats away your heart altogether. What an amazing
masterpiece is the character of Celimene in Moliere's _Le Misanthrope_!
She is the society woman, not only of Louis XIV.'s time, but of our own,
and of all, time.
Where should I be but for my breastplate--the love I bear Felipe? This
very morning I told him, as the outcome of these reflections, that he
was my salvation. If my evenings are a continuous round of parties,
balls, concerts, and theatres, at night my heart expands again, and
is healed of the wounds received in the world by the delights of the
passionate love which await my return.
I dine at home only when we have friends, so-called, with us, and spend
the afternoon there only on my day, for I have a day now--Wednesday--for
receiving. I have entered the lists with Mmes. d'Espard and de
Maufrigneuse, and with the old Duchesse de Lenoncourt, and my house has
the reputation of being a very lively one. I allowed myself to become
the fashion, because I saw how much pleasure my success gave Felipe. My
mornings are his; from four in the afternoon till two in the morning I
belong to Paris. Macumer makes an admirable host, witty and dignified,
perfect in courtesy, and with an air of real distinction. No woman could
help loving such a husband even if she had chosen him without consulting
her heart.
My father and mother have left for Madrid. Louis XVIII. being out of the
way, the Duchess had no difficulty in obtaining from our good-natured
Charles X. the appointment of her fascinating poet; so he is carried off
in the capacity of attache.
My brother, the Duc de Rhetore, deigns to recognize me as a person of
mark. As for my younger brother, The Comte de Chaulieu, this buckram
warrior owes me everlasting gratitude. Before my father left, he spent
my fortune in acquiring for the Count an estate of forty thousand francs
a year, entailed on the title, and his marriage with Mlle. de Mortsauf,
an heiress from Touraine, is definitely arranged. The King, in order to
preserve the name and titles of the de Lenoncourt and de Givry families
from extinction, is to confer these, together with the armorial
bearings, by patent on my brother. Certainly it would never have done
to allow these two fine names and their splendid motto, _Faciem semper
monstramus_, to perish. Mlle. de Mortsauf, who is granddaughter and
sole heiress of the Duc de Lenoncourt-Givry, will, it is said, inherit
altogether more than one hundred thousand livres a year. The only
stipulation my father has made is that the de Chaulieu arms should
appear in the centre of the de Lenoncourt escutcheon. Thus my brother
will be Duc de Lenoncourt. The young de Mortsauf, to whom everything
would otherwise go, is in the last stage of consumption; his death is
looked for every day. The marriage will take place next winter when
the family are out of mourning. I am told that I shall have a charming
sister-in-law in Mlle. de Mortsauf.
So you see that my father's reasoning is justified. The outcome of
it all has won me many compliments, and my marriage is explained
to everybody's satisfaction. To complete our success, the Prince de
Talleyrand, out of affection for my grandmother, is showing himself a
warm friend to Macumer. Society, which began by criticising me, has now
passed to cordial admiration.
In short, I now reign a queen where, barely two years ago, I was an
insignificant item. Macumer finds himself the object of universal envy,
as the husband of "the most charming woman in Paris." At least a score
of women, as you know, are always in that proud position. Men murmur
sweet things in my ear, or content themselves with greedy glances. This
chorus of longing and admiration is so soothing to one's vanity, that I
confess I begin to understand the unconscionable price women are ready
to pay for such frail and precarious privileges. A triumph of this kind
is like strong wine to vanity, self-love, and all the self-regarding
feelings. To pose perpetually as a divinity is a draught so potent in
its intoxicating effects, that I am no longer surprised to see women
grow selfish, callous, and frivolous in the heart of this adoration. The
fumes of society mount to the head. You lavish the wealth of your soul
and spirit, the treasures of your time, the noblest efforts of your
will, upon a crowd of people who repay you in smiles and jealousy. The
false coin of their pretty speeches, compliments, and flattery is the
only return they give for the solid gold of your courage and sacrifices,
and all the thought that must go to keep up without flagging the
standard of beauty, dress, sparkling talk, and general affability. You
are perfectly aware how much it costs, and that the whole thing is a
fraud, but you cannot keep out of the vortex.
Ah! my sweetheart, how one craves for a real friend! How precious to me
are the love and devotion of Felipe, and how my heart goes out to you!
Joyfully indeed are we preparing for our move to Chantepleurs, where
we can rest from the comedy of the Rue de Bac and of the Paris
drawing-rooms. Having just read your letter again, I feel that I cannot
better describe this demoniac paradise than by saying that no woman of
fashion in Paris can possibly be a good mother.
Good-bye, then, for a short time, dear one. We shall stay at
Chantepleurs only a week at most, and shall be with you about May 10th.
So we are actually to meet again after more than two years! What changes
since then! Here we are, both matrons, both in our promised land--I of
love, you of motherhood.
If I have not written, my sweetest, it is not because I have forgotten
you. And what of the monkey godson? Is he still pretty and a credit to
me? He must be more than nine months' old now. I should dearly like to
be present when he makes his first steps upon this earth; but Macumer
tells me that even precocious infants hardly walk at ten months.
We shall have some good gossips there, and "cut pinafores," as the Blois
folk say. I shall see whether a child, as the saying goes, spoils the
pattern.
P. S.--If you deign to reply from your maternal heights, address to
Chantepleurs. I am just off.