Old Bernard, tired from talking so long, had promised to resume his
story on the morrow. At the appointed hour we called upon him to keep
his word; and he continued thus:
This visit marked a new phase in my life. At Sainte-Severe I had been
absorbed in my love and my work. I had concentrated all my energies upon
these two points. No sooner had I arrived at Paris than a thick curtain
seemed to fall before my eyes, and, for several days, as I could not
understand anything, I felt astonished at nothing. I formed a very
exaggerated estimate of the passing actors who appeared upon the scene;
but I formed no less exaggerated an estimate of the ease with which
I should soon rival these imaginary powers. My enterprising and
presumptuous nature saw challenges everywhere and obstacles nowhere.
Though I was in the same house as my uncle and cousin, my room was on a
separate floor, and henceforth I spent the greater part of my time with
the abbe. I was far from being dazed by the material advantages of my
position; but in proportion as I realized how precarious or painful were
the positions of many others, the more conscious I became of the comfort
of my own. I appreciated the excellent character of my tutor, and the
respect my lackey showed me no longer seemed objectionable. With the
freedom that I enjoyed, and the unlimited money at my command, and the
restless energy of youth, it is astonishing that I did not fall into
some excess, were it only gambling, which might well have appealed to
my combative instincts. It was my own ignorance of everything that
prevented this; it made me extremely suspicious, and the abbe, who was
very observant, and held himself responsible for my actions, managed
most cleverly to work upon my haughty reserve. He increased it in regard
to such things as might have done me harm, and dispelled it in contrary
cases. Moreover, he was careful to provide me with sufficient reasonable
distractions, which while they could not take the place of the joys
of love, served at least to lessen the smart of its wounds. As to
temptations to debauchery, I felt none. I had too much pride to yearn
for any woman in which I had not seen, as in Edmee, the first of her
sex.
We used all to meet at dinner, and as a rule we paid visits in the
evening. By observing the world from a corner of a drawing-room, I
learnt more of it in a few days than I should have done in a whole
year from guesses and inquiries. I doubt whether I should ever have
understood society, if I had always been obliged to view it from a
certain distance. My brain refused to form a clear image of the ideas
which occupied the brains of others. But as soon as I found myself in
the midst of this chaos, the confused mass was compelled to fall into
some sort of order and reveal a large part of its elements. This path
which led me into life was not without charms for me, I remember, at its
beginning. Amid all the conflicting interests of the surrounding world I
had nothing to ask for, aim at, or argue about. Fortune had taken me by
the hand. One fine morning she had lifted me out of an abyss and put me
down on a bed of roses and made me a young gentleman. The eagerness of
others was for me but an amusing spectacle. My heart was interested
in the future only on one mysterious point, the love which I felt for
Edmee.
My illness, far from robbing me of my physical vigour, had but increased
it. I was no longer the heavy, sleepy animal, fatigued by digestion and
stupefied by weariness. I felt the vibrations of all my fibres filling
my soul with unknown harmonies; and I was astonished to discover within
myself faculties of which I had never suspected the use. My good kinfolk
were delighted at this, though apparently not surprised. They had
allowed themselves to augur so well of me from the beginning that it
seemed as if they had been accustomed all their lives to the trade of
civilizing barbarians.
The nervous system which had just been developed in me, and which made
me pay for the pleasures and advantages it brought by keen and constant
sufferings during the rest of my life, had rendered me specially
sensitive to impressions from without; and this quickness to feel the
effect of external things was helped by an organic vigour such as is
only found among animals or savages. I was astounded at the decay of
the faculties in other people. These men in spectacles, these women with
their sense of smell deadened by snuff, these premature graybeards,
deaf and gouty before their time, were painful to behold. To me society
seemed like a vast hospital; and when with my robust constitution I
found myself in the midst of these weaklings, it seemed to me that with
a puff of my breath I could have blown them into the air as if they had
been so much thistle-down.
This unfortunately led me into the error of yielding to that rather
stupid kind of pride which makes a man presume upon his natural gifts.
For a long time it induced me to neglect their real improvement, as if
this were a work of supererogation. The idea that gradually grew up in
me of the worthlessness of my fellows prevented me from rising above
those whom I henceforth looked upon as my inferiors. I did not
realize that society is made up of so many elements of little value in
themselves, but so skilfully and solidly put together that before adding
the least extraneous particle a man must be a qualified artificer. I did
not know that in this society there is no resting-place between the role
of the great artist and that of the good workman. Now, I was neither one
nor the other, and, if the truth must be told, all my ideas have never
succeeded in lifting me out of the ordinary ruck; all my strength has
only enabled me with much difficulty to do as others do.
In a few weeks, then, I passed from an excess of admiration to an excess
of contempt for society. As soon as I understood the workings of its
springs they seemed to me so miserably regulated by a feeble generation
that the hopes of my mentors, unknown to themselves, were doomed to
disappointment. Instead of realizing my own inferiority and endeavouring
to efface myself in the crowd, I imagined that I could give proof of
my superiority whenever I wished; and I fed on fancies which I blush to
recall. If I did not show myself egregiously ridiculous, it was thanks
to the very excess of this vanity which feared to stultify itself before
others.
At that time Paris presented a spectacle which I shall not attempt to
set before you, because no doubt you have often eagerly studied it in
the excellent pictures which have been painted by eye-witnesses in the
form of general history or private memoirs. Besides, such a picture
would exceed the limits of my story, for I promised to tell you only the
cardinal events in my moral and philosophical development. In order to
give you some idea of the workings of my mind at this period it will
suffice to mention that the War of Independence was breaking out in
America; that Voltaire was receiving his apotheosis in Paris; that
Franklin, the prophet of a new political religion, was sowing the seed
of liberty in the very heart of the Court of France; while Lafayette
was secretly preparing his romantic expedition. The majority of young
patricians were being carried away either by fashion, or the love
of change, or the pleasure inherent in all opposition which is not
dangerous.
Opposition took a graver form and called for more serious work in the
case of the old nobles, and among the members of the parliaments. The
spirit of the League was alive again in the ranks of these ancient
patricians and these haughty magistrates, who for form’s sake were still
supporting the tottering monarchy with one arm, while with the other
they gave considerable help to the invasions of philosophy. The
privileged classes of society were zealously lending a hand to the
imminent destruction of their privileges by complaining that these had
been curtailed by the kings. They were bringing up their children in
constitutional principles, because they imagined they were going to
found a new monarchy in which the people would help them to regain
their old position above the throne; and it is for this reason that the
greatest admiration for Voltaire and the most ardent sympathies with
Franklin were openly expressed in the most famous salons in Paris.
So unusual and, if it must be said, so unnatural a movement of the human
mind had infused fresh life into the vestiges of the Court of Louis
XIV, and replaced the customary coldness and stiffness by a sort of
quarrelsome vivacity. It had also introduced certain serious forms into
the frivolous manners of the regency, and lent them an appearance of
depth. The pure but colourless life of Louis XVI counted for nothing,
and influenced nobody. Never had there been such serious chatter, so
many flimsy maxims, such an affectation of wisdom, so much inconsistency
between words and deeds as might have been found at this period among
the so-called enlightened classes.
It was necessary to remind you of this in order that you might
understand the admiration which I had at first for a world apparently
so disinterested, so courageous, so eager in the pursuit of truth, and
likewise the disgust which I was soon to feel for so much affectation
and levity, for such an abuse of the most hallowed words and the most
sacred convictions. For my own part, I was perfectly sincere; and I
founded my philosophic fervour (that recently discovered sentiment of
liberty which was then called the cult of reason) on the broad base of
an inflexible logic. I was young and of a good constitution, the first
condition perhaps of a healthy mind; my reading, though not extensive,
was solid, for I had been fed on food easy of digestion. The little I
knew served to show me, therefore, that others either knew nothing at
all, or were giving themselves the lie.
At the commencement of our stay in Paris the chevalier had but few
visitors. The friend and contemporary of Turgot and several other
distinguished men, he had not mixed with the gilded youth of his day,
but had lived soberly in the country after loyally serving in the wars.
His circle of friends, therefore, was composed of a few grave gentlemen
of the long robe, several old soldiers, and a few nobles from his own
province, both old and young, who, thanks to a respectable fortune,
were able, like himself, to come and spend the winter in Paris. He had,
moreover, kept up a slight intercourse with a more brilliant set, among
whom Edmee’s beauty and refined manners were noticed as soon as she
appeared. Being an only daughter, and passably rich, she was sought
after by various important matrons, those procuresses of quality who
have always a few young proteges whom they wish to clear from debt at
the expense of some family in the provinces. And then, when it became
known that she was engaged to M. de la Marche, the almost ruined scion
of a very illustrious family, she was still more kindly received, until
by degrees the little salon which she had chosen for her father’s old
friends became too small for the wits by quality and profession, and
the grand ladies with a turn for philosophy who wished to know the young
Quakeress, the Rose of Berry (such were the names given her by a certain
fashionable woman).
This rapid success in a world in which she had hitherto been unknown by
no mean dazzled Edmee; and the control which she possessed over herself
was so great that, in spite of all the anxiety with which I watched
her slightest movement, I could never discover if she felt flattered at
causing such a stir. But what I could perceive was the admirable good
sense manifested in everything she did and everything she said. Her
manner, at once ingenuous and reserved, and a certain blending of
unconstraint with modest pride, made her shine even among the women who
were the most admired and the most skilled in attracting attention. And
this is the place to mention that at first I was extremely shocked at
the tone and bearing of these women, whom everybody extolled; to me
they seemed ridiculous in their studied posings, and their grand society
manners looked very much like insufferable effrontery. Yes, I, so
intrepid at heart, and but lately so coarse in my manners, felt ill at
ease and abashed in their presence; and it needed all Edmee’s reproaches
and remonstrances to prevent me from displaying a profound contempt for
this meretriciousness of glances, of toilets, and allurements which
was known in society as allowable coquetry, as the charming desire to
please, as amiability, and as grace. The abbe was of my opinion. When
the guests had gone we members of the family used to gather round the
fireside for a short while before separating. It is at such a time that
one feels an impulse to bring together one’s scattered impressions and
communicate them to some sympathetic being. The abbe, then, would break
the same lances as myself with my uncle and cousin. The chevalier, who
was an ardent admirer of the fair sex, of which he had had but little
experience, used to take upon himself, like a true French knight, to
defend all the beauties that we were attacking so unmercifully. He would
laughingly accuse the abbe of arguing about women as the fox in the
fable argued about the grapes. For myself, I used to improve under the
abbe’s criticisms; this was an emphatic way of letting Edmee know how
much I preferred her to all others. She, however, appeared to be more
scandalized than flattered, and seriously reproved me for the tendency
to malevolence which had its origin, she said, in my inordinate pride.
It is true that after generously undertaking the defence of the persons
in question, she would come over to our opinion as soon as, Rousseau in
hand, we told her that the women in Paris society had cavalier manners
and a way of looking a man in the face which must needs be intolerable
in the eyes of a sage. When once Rousseau had delivered judgment,
Edmee would object no further; she was ready to admit with him that the
greatest charm of a woman is the intelligent and modest attention she
gives to serious discussions, and I always used to remind her of the
comparison of a superior woman to a beautiful child with its great eyes
full of feeling and sweetness and delicacy, with its shy questionings
and its objections full of sense. I hoped that she would recognise
herself in this portrait upon the text, and, enlarging the portrait:
“A really superior woman,” I said, looking at her earnestly, “is one
who knows enough to prevent her from asking a ridiculous or unseasonable
question, or from ever measuring swords with men of merit. Such a woman
knows when to be silent, especially with the fools whom she could laugh
at, or the ignorant whom she could humiliate. She is indulgent towards
absurdities because she does not yearn to display her knowledge, and
she is observant of whatsoever is good, because she desires to improve
herself. Her great object is to understand, not to instruct. The great
art (since it is recognised that art is required even in the commerce of
words) is not to pit against one another two arrogant opponents,
eager to parade their learning and to amuse the company by discussing
questions the solution of which no one troubles about, but to illumine
every unprofitable disputation by bringing in the help of all who can
throw a little light on the points at issue. This is a talent of which
I can see no signs among the hostesses who are so cried up. In their
houses I always find two fashionable barristers, and a thunderstruck
audience, in which no one dares to be judge. The only art these ladies
have is to make the man of genius ridiculous, and the ordinary man dumb
and inert. One comes away from such houses saying, ‘Those were fine
speeches,’ and nothing more.”
I really think that I was in the right here; but I cannot forget that my
chief cause of anger against these women arose from the fact that they
paid no attention to people, however able they might think themselves,
unless they happened to be famous--the _people_ being myself, as you may
easily imagine. On the other hand, now that I look back on those days
without prejudice and without any sense of wounded vanity, I am certain
that these women had a way of fawning on public favourites which was
much more like childish conceit than sincere admiration or candid
sympathy. They became editors, as it were, of the conversation,
listening with all their might and making peremptory signals to the
audience to listen to every triviality issuing from an illustrious
mouth; while they would suppress a yawn and drum with their fans at
all remarks, however excellent, as soon as they were unsigned by a
fashionable name. I am ignorant of the airs of the intellectual women
of the nineteenth century; nay, I do not know if the race still exists.
Thirty years have passed since I mixed in society; but, as to the past,
you may believe what I tell you. There were five or six of these
women who were absolutely odious to me. One of them had some wit, and
scattered her epigrams right and left. These were at once hawked about
in all drawing-rooms, and I had to listen to them twenty times in a
single day. Another had read Montesquieu, and gave lessons in law to the
oldest magistrates. A third used to play the harp execrably, but it was
agreed that her arms were the most beautiful in France, and we had to
endure the harsh scraping of her nails over the strings so that she
might have an opportunity of removing her gloves like a coy little girl.
What can I say of the others, except that they vied with one another in
all those affectations and fatuous insincerities, by which all the men
childishly allowed themselves to be duped. One alone was really pretty,
said nothing, and gave pleasure by her very lack of artificiality. To
her I might have been favourably inclined because of her ignorance, had
she not gloried in this, and tried to emphasize her difference from the
others by a piquant ingenuousness. One day I discovered that she had
plenty of wit, and straightway I abhorred her.
Edmee alone preserved all the freshness of sincerity and all the
distinction of natural grace. Sitting on a sofa by the side of M. de
Malesherbes, she was for me the same being that I had gazed on so many
times in the light of the setting sun, as she sat on the stone seat at
the door of Patience’s cottage.