So now, in her magnificent house and envied for her wealth by all the
town, Madame Graslin recovered the solitude of her early years in
her father’s house, less the glow of hope and the youthful joys
of ignorance. She lived among the ruins of her castles in the air,
enlightened by sad experience, sustained by religious faith, occupied
by the care of the poor, whom she loaded with benefits. She made clothes
for the babies, gave mattresses and sheets to those who slept on straw;
she went among the poor herself, followed by her maid, a girl from
Auvergne whom her mother procured for her, and who attached herself
body and soul to her mistress. Veronique made an honorable spy of her,
sending her to discover the places where suffering could be stilled,
poverty softened.
This active benevolence, carried on with strict attention to religious
duties, was hidden in the deepest secrecy and directed by the various
rectors in the town, with whom Veronique had a full understanding in
all her charitable deeds, so as not to suffer the money so needed for
unmerited misfortunes to fall into the hands of vice. It was during this
period of her life that she won a friendship quite as strong and quite
as precious as that of old Grossetete. She became the beloved lamb of a
distinguished priest, who was persecuted for his true merits, which were
wholly misunderstood, one of the two grand-vicars of the diocese, named
the Abbe Dutheil.
This priest belonged to the portion of the French clergy who incline
toward certain concessions, who would be glad to associate the Church
with the people’s interests, and so enable it to regain, through the
application of true evangelical doctrine, its former influence over the
masses, which it might then draw to closer relations with the monarchy.
Whether it was that the Abbe Dutheil recognized the impossibility of
enlightening the court of Rome and the higher clergy on this point,
or that he had consented to sacrifice his own opinions to those of
his superiors, it is certain that he remained within the limits of the
strictest orthodoxy, being very well aware that any manifestation of his
principles at the present time would deprive him of all chance of the
episcopate.
This eminent priest united in himself great Christian modesty and a
noble character. Without pride or ambition he remained at his post
and did his duty in the midst of perils. The liberals of the town were
ignorant of the motives of his conduct; they claimed him as being
of their opinions and considered him a patriot,--a word which meant
revolutionist in Catholic minds. Loved by his inferiors, who dared not,
however, proclaim his merits, feared by his equals who kept watch upon
him, he was a source of embarrassment to the bishop. His virtues and his
knowledge, envied, no doubt, prevented persecution; it was impossible to
complain of him, though he criticized frankly the political blunders by
which both the throne and the clergy mutually compromised themselves.
He often foretold results, but vainly,--like poor Cassandra, who was
equally cursed before and after the disaster she predicted. Short of a
revolution the Abbe Dutheil was likely to remain as he was, one of those
stones hidden in the foundation wall on which the edifice rests. His
utility was recognized and they left him in his place, like many other
solid minds whose rise to power is the terror of mediocrities. If, like
the Abbe de Lamennais, he had taken up his pen he would doubtless, like
him, have been blasted by the court of Rome.
The Abbe Dutheil was imposing in appearance. His exterior revealed the
underlying of a profound nature always calm and equable on the surface.
His tall figure and its thinness did not detract from the general
effect of his lines, which recalled those by which the genius of Spanish
painters delights to represent the great monastic meditators, and those
selected at a later period by Thorwaldsen for the Apostles. The long,
almost rigid folds of the face, in harmony with those of his vestment,
had the charm which the middle-ages bring into relief in the mystical
statues placed beside the portals of their churches. Gravity of thought,
word, and accent, harmonized in this man and became him well. Seeing
his dark eyes hollowed by austerities and surrounded by a brown circle;
seeing, too, his forehead, yellow as some old stone, his head and hands
almost fleshless, men desired to hear the voice and the instructions
which issued from his lips. This purely physical grandeur which accords
with moral grandeur, gave this priest a somewhat haughty and disdainful
air, which was instantly counteracted to an observer by his modesty and
by his speech, though it did not predispose others in his favor. In
some more elevated station these advantages would have obtained that
necessary ascendancy over the masses which the people willingly allow to
men who are thus endowed. But superiors will not forgive their inferiors
for possessing the externals of greatness, nor for displaying
that majesty so prized by the ancients but so often lacking to the
administrators of modern power.
By one of those strange freaks of circumstance which are never accounted
for, the other vicar-general, the Abbe de Grancour, a stout little man
with a rosy complexion and blue eyes, whose opinions were diametrically
opposed to those of the Abbe Dutheil, liked to be in the latter’s
company, although he never testified this liking enough to put himself
out of the good graces of the bishop, to whom he would have sacrificed
everything. The Abbe de Grancour believed in the merit of his colleague,
recognized his talents, secretly accepted his doctrines, and condemned
them openly; for the little priest was one of those men whom superiority
attracts and intimidates,--who dislike it and yet cultivate it. “He
would embrace me and condemn me,” the Abbe Dutheil said of him. The Abbe
de Grancour had neither friends nor enemies; he was therefore likely
to live and die a vicar-general. He said he was drawn to visit Madame
Graslin by the desire of counselling so religious and benevolent a
person; and the bishop approved of his doing so,--Monsieur de Grancour’s
real object being to spend a few evenings with the Abbe Dutheil in
Veronique’s salon.
The two priests now came pretty regularly to see Madame Graslin, and
make her a sort of report about her poor and discuss the best means
of succoring and improving them. But Monsieur Graslin had now begun to
tighten his purse-strings, having made the discovery, in spite of the
innocent deceptions of his wife and her maid, that the money he paid did
not go solely for household expenses and for dress. He was angry when
he found out how much money his wife’s charities cost him; he called the
cook to account, inquired into all the details of the housekeeping, and
showed what a grand administrator he was by practically proving that his
house could be splendidly kept for three thousand francs a year. Then he
put his wife on an allowance of a hundred francs a month, and boasted of
his liberality in so doing. The office-boy, who liked flowers, was made
to take care of the garden on Sundays. Having dismissed the gardener,
Graslin used the greenhouse to store articles conveyed to him as
security for loans. He let the birds in the aviary die for want of
care, to avoid the cost of their food and attendance. And he even took
advantage of a winter when there was no ice, to give up his icehouse and
save the expense of filling it.
By 1828 there was not a single article of luxury in the house which he
had not in some way got rid of. Parsimony reigned unchecked in the hotel
Graslin. The master’s face, greatly improved during the three years
spent with his wife (who induced him to follow his physician’s advice),
now became redder, more fiery, more blotched than before. Business
had taken such proportions that it was necessary to promote the
boy-of-all-work to the position of cashier, and to find some stout
Auvergnat for the rougher service of the hotel Graslin.
Thus, four years after her marriage, this very rich woman could not
dispose of a single penny by her own will. The avarice of her husband
succeeded the avarice of her parents. Madame Graslin had never
understood the necessity of money until the time came when her
benevolence was checked.
By the beginning of the year 1828 Veronique had entirely recovered the
blooming health which had given such beauty to the innocent young girl
sitting at her window in the old house in the rue de la Cite; but by
this time she had acquired a fine literary education, and was fully
able to think and to speak. An excellent judgment gave real depth to
her words. Accustomed now to the little things of life, she wore the
fashions of the period with infinite grace. When she chanced about this
time to visit a salon she found herself--not without a certain inward
surprise--received by all with respectful esteem. These changed
feelings and this welcome were due to the two vicars-general and to
old Grossetete. Informed by them of her noble hidden life, and the
good deeds so constantly done in their midst, the bishop and a few
influential persons spoke of Madame Graslin as a flower of true piety,
a violet fragrant with virtues; in consequence of which, one of those
strong reactions set in, unknown to Veronique, which are none the less
solid and durable because they are long in coming. This change in public
opinion gave additional influence to Veronique’s salon, which was
now visited by all the chief persons in the society of the town, in
consequence of certain circumstances we shall now relate.
Toward the close of this year the young Vicomte de Grandville was sent
as deputy solicitor to the courts of Limoges. He came preceded by a
reputation always given to Parisians in the provinces. A few days after
his arrival, during a soiree at the prefecture, he made answer to
a rather foolish question, that the most able, intelligent, and
distinguished woman he had met in the town was Madame Graslin.
“Perhaps you think her the handsomest also?” said the wife of the
receiver-general.
“I cannot think so in your presence, madame,” he replied, “and therefore
I am in doubt. Madame Graslin possesses a beauty which need inspire no
jealousy, for it seldom shows itself: she is only beautiful to those she
loves; you are beautiful to all the world. When Madame Graslin’s soul
is moved by true enthusiasm, it sheds an expression upon her face which
changes it completely. Her countenance is like a landscape,--dull in
winter, glorious in summer; but the world will always see it in winter.
When she talks with friends on some literary or philosophical topic, or
on certain religious questions which interest her, she is roused into
appearing suddenly an unknown woman of marvellous beauty.”
This declaration, which was caused by observing the phenomenon that
formerly made Veronique so beautiful on her return from the holy table,
made a great noise in Limoges, where for a time the young deputy, to
whom the place of the _procureur-general_ was said to be promised,
played a leading part. In all provincial towns a man who rises a trifle
above others becomes, for a period more or less protracted, the object
of a liking which resembles enthusiasm, and which usually deceives the
object of this ephemeral worship. It is to this social caprice that we
owe so many local geniuses, soon ignored and their false reputations
mortified. The men whom women make the fashion in this way are oftener
strangers than compatriots.
In this particular case the admirers of the Vicomte de Grandville were
not mistaken; he was in truth a superior man. Madame Graslin was the
only woman he found in Limoges with whom he could exchange ideas and
keep up a varied conversation. A few months after his arrival, attracted
by the increasing charm of Veronique’s manners and conversation, he
proposed to the Abbe Dutheil, and a few other of the remarkable men
in Limoges, to meet in the evenings at Madame Graslin’s house and play
whist. At this time Madame Graslin was at home five evenings in the week
to visitors, reserving two free days, as she said, for herself.
When Madame Graslin had thus gathered about her the distinguished men we
have mentioned, others were not sorry to give themselves the reputation
of cleverness by seeking to join the same society. Veronique also
received three or four of the distinguished officers of the garrison and
staff; but the freedom of mind displayed by her guests, and the tacit
discretion enjoined by the manners of the best society, made her
extremely cautious as to the admission of those who now vied with each
other to obtain her invitations.
The other women in this provincial society were not without jealousy in
seeing Madame Graslin surrounded by the most agreeable and distinguished
men in the town; but by this time Veronique’s social power was all the
stronger because it was exclusive; she accepted the intimacy of four or
five women only, and these were strangers in Limoges who had come from
Paris with their husbands, and who held in horror the petty gossip of
provincial life. If any one outside of this little clique of superior
persons came in to make a visit, the conversation immediately changed,
and the habitues of the house talked commonplace.
The hotel Graslin thus became an oasis where intelligent minds found
relaxation and relief from the dulness of provincial life; where
persons connected with the government could express themselves freely
on politics without fear of having their words taken down and repeated;
where all could satirize that which provoked satire, and where each
individual abandoned his professional trammels and yielded himself up to
his natural self.
So, after being the most obscure young girl in all Limoges, considered
ugly, dull, and vacant, Madame Graslin, at the beginning of the year
1828, was regarded as one of the leading personages in the town, and the
most noted woman in society. No one went to see her in the mornings, for
all knew her habits of benevolence and the regularity of her religious
observances. She always went to early mass so as not to delay her
husband’s breakfast, for which, however, there was no fixed hour, though
she never failed to be present and to serve it herself. Graslin had
trained his wife to this little ceremony. He continued to praise her on
all occasions; he thought her perfect; she never asked him for anything;
he could pile up louis upon louis, and spread his investments over a
wide field of enterprise through his relations with the Brezacs;
he sailed with a fair wind and well freighted over the ocean of
commerce,--his intense business interest keeping him in the still,
though half-intoxicated, frenzy of gamblers watching events on the green
table of speculation.
During this happy period, and until the beginning of the year 1829,
Madame Graslin attained, in the eyes of her friends, to a degree of
beauty that was really extraordinary, the reasons of which they
were unable to explain. The blue of the iris expanded like a flower,
diminishing the dark circle of the pupil, and seeming to float in
a liquid and languishing light that was full of love. Her forehead,
illumined by thoughts and memories of happiness, was seen to whiten like
the zenith before the dawn, and its lines were purified by an inward
fire. Her face lost those heated brown tones which betoken a disturbance
of the liver,--that malady of vigorous constitutions, or of persons
whose soul is distressed and whose affections are thwarted. Her temples
became adorably fresh and pure; gleams of the celestial face of a
Raffaelle showed themselves now and then in hers,--a face hitherto
obscured by the malady of grief, as the canvas of the great master is
encrusted by time. Her hands seemed whiter; her shoulders took on an
exquisite fulness; her graceful, animated movements gave to her supple
figure its utmost charm.
The Limoges women accused her of being in love with Monsieur de
Grandville, who certainly paid her assiduous attention, to which
Veronique opposed all the barriers of a conscientious resistance. The
viscount professed for her one of those respectful attachments which
did not blind the habitual visitors of her salon. The priests and men of
sense saw plainly that this affection, which was love on the part of
the young man, did not go beyond the permissible line in Madame Graslin.
Weary at last of a resistance based on religious principle, the Vicomte
de Grandville consoled himself (to the knowledge of his intimates)
with other and easier friendships; which did not, however, lessen his
constant admiration and worship of the beautiful Madame Graslin,--such
was the term by which she was designated in 1829.
The most clear-sighted among those who surrounded her attributed the
change which rendered Veronique increasingly charming to her friends to
the secret delight which all women, even the most religious, feel when
they see themselves courted; and to the satisfaction of living at last
in a circle congenial to her mind, where the pleasure of exchanging
ideas and the happiness of being surrounded by intelligent and
well-informed men and true friends, whose attachment deepened day by
day, had dispersed forever the weary dulness of her life.
Perhaps, however, closer, more perceptive or sceptical observers were
needed than those who frequented the hotel Graslin, to detect
the barbaric grandeur, the plebeian force of the People which lay
deep-hidden in her soul. If sometimes her friends surprised her in a
torpor of meditation either gloomy or merely pensive, they knew she bore
upon her heart the miseries of others, and had doubtless that morning
been initiated in some fresh sorrow, or had penetrated to some haunt
where vices terrify the soul with their candor.
The viscount, now promoted to be _procureur-general_, would occasionally
blame her for certain unintelligent acts of charity by which, as he knew
from his secret police-reports, she had given encouragement to criminal
schemes.
“If you ever want money for any of your paupers, let me be a sharer in
your good deeds,” said old Grossetete, taking Veronique’s hand.
“Ah!” she replied with a sigh, “it is impossible to make everybody
rich.”
At the beginning of this year an event occurred which was destined
to change the whole interior life of this woman and to transform
the splendid expression of her countenance into something far more
interesting in the eyes of painters.
Becoming uneasy about his health, Graslin, to his wife’s despair, no
longer desired to live on the ground-floor. He returned to the
conjugal chamber and allowed himself to be nursed. The news soon spread
throughout Limoges that Madame Graslin was pregnant. Her sadness,
mingled with joy, struck the minds of her friends, who then for the
first time perceived that in spite of her virtues she had been happy in
the fact of living separate from her husband. Perhaps she had hoped
for some better fate ever since the time when, as it was known, the
attorney-general had declined to marry the richest heiress in the place,
in order to keep his loyalty to her.
From this suggestion there grew up in the minds of the profound
politicians who played their whist at the hotel Graslin a belief
that the viscount and the young wife had based certain hopes on the
ill-health of the banker which were now frustrated. The great agitations
which marked this period of Veronique’s life, the anxieties which a
first childbirth causes in every woman, and which, it is said, threatens
special danger when she is past her first youth, made her friends more
attentive than ever to her; they vied with each other in showing her
those little kindnesses which proved how warm and solid their affection
really was.