The Ball at Sceaux

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THE BALL AT SCEAUX

BY

HONORE DE BALZAC



Translated By
Clara Bell



To Henri de Balzac, his brother Honore.



The Comte de Fontaine, head of one of the oldest families in Poitou,
had served the Bourbon cause with intelligence and bravery during the
war in La Vendee against the Republic. After having escaped all the
dangers which threatened the royalist leaders during this stormy
period of modern history, he was wont to say in jest, "I am one of the
men who gave themselves to be killed on the steps of the throne." And
the pleasantry had some truth in it, as spoken by a man left for dead
at the bloody battle of Les Quatre Chemins. Though ruined by
confiscation, the staunch Vendeen steadily refused the lucrative posts
offered to him by the Emperor Napoleon. Immovable in his aristocratic
faith, he had blindly obeyed its precepts when he thought it fitting
to choose a companion for life. In spite of the blandishments of a
rich but revolutionary parvenu, who valued the alliance at a high
figure, he married Mademoiselle de Kergarouet, without a fortune, but
belonging to one of the oldest families in Brittany.

When the second revolution burst on Monsieur de Fontaine he was
encumbered with a large family. Though it was no part of the noble
gentlemen's views to solicit favors, he yielded to his wife's wish,
left his country estate, of which the income barely sufficed to
maintain his children, and came to Paris. Saddened by seeing the
greediness of his former comrades in the rush for places and dignities
under the new Constitution, he was about to return to his property
when he received a ministerial despatch, in which a well-known
magnate announced to him his nomination as marechal de camp, or
brigadier-general, under a rule which allowed the officers of the
Catholic armies to count the twenty submerged years of Louis XVIII.'s
reign as years of service. Some days later he further received, without
any solicitation, ex officio, the crosses of the Legion of Honor and of
Saint-Louis.

Shaken in his determination by these successive favors, due, as he
supposed, to the monarch's remembrance, he was no longer satisfied
with taking his family, as he had piously done every Sunday, to cry
"Vive le Roi" in the hall of the Tuileries when the royal family
passed through on their way to chapel; he craved the favor of a
private audience. The audience, at once granted, was in no sense
private. The royal drawing-room was full of old adherents, whose
powdered heads, seen from above, suggested a carpet of snow. There the
Count met some old friends, who received him somewhat coldly; but the
princes he thought ADORABLE, an enthusiastic expression which escaped
him when the most gracious of his masters, to whom the Count had
supposed himself to be known only by name, came to shake hands with
him, and spoke of him as the most thorough Vendeen of them all.
Notwithstanding this ovation, none of these august persons thought of
inquiring as to the sum of his losses, or of the money he had poured
so generously into the chests of the Catholic regiments. He
discovered, a little late, that he had made war at his own cost.
Towards the end of the evening he thought he might venture on a witty
allusion to the state of his affairs, similar, as it was, to that of
many other gentlemen. His Majesty laughed heartily enough; any speech
that bore the hall-mark of wit was certain to please him; but he
nevertheless replied with one of those royal pleasantries whose
sweetness is more formidable than the anger of a rebuke. One of the
King's most intimate advisers took an opportunity of going up to the
fortune-seeking Vendeen, and made him understand by a keen and polite
hint that the time had not yet come for settling accounts with the
sovereign; that there were bills of much longer standing than his on
the books, and there, no doubt, they would remain, as part of the
history of the Revolution. The Count prudently withdrew from the
venerable group, which formed a respectful semi-circle before the
august family; then, having extricated his sword, not without some
difficulty, from among the lean legs which had got mixed up with it,
he crossed the courtyard of the Tuileries and got into the hackney cab
he had left on the quay. With the restive spirit, which is peculiar to
the nobility of the old school, in whom still survives the memory of
the League and the day of the Barricades (in 1588), he bewailed
himself in his cab, loudly enough to compromise him, over the change
that had come over the Court. "Formerly," he said to himself, "every
one could speak freely to the King of his own little affairs; the
nobles could ask him a favor, or for money, when it suited them, and
nowadays one cannot recover the money advanced for his service without
raising a scandal! By Heaven! the cross of Saint-Louis and the rank of
brigadier-general will not make good the three hundred thousand livres
I have spent, out and out, on the royal cause. I must speak to the
King, face to face, in his own room."

This scene cooled Monsieur de Fontaine's ardor all the more
effectually because his requests for an interview were never answered.
And, indeed, he saw the upstarts of the Empire obtaining some of the
offices reserved, under the old monarchy, for the highest families.

"All is lost!" he exclaimed one morning. "The King has certainly never
been other than a revolutionary. But for Monsieur, who never
derogates, and is some comfort to his faithful adherents, I do not
know what hands the crown of France might not fall into if things are
to go on like this. Their cursed constitutional system is the worst
possible government, and can never suit France. Louis XVIII. and
Monsieur Beugnot spoiled everything at Saint Ouen."

The Count, in despair, was preparing to retire to his estate,
abandoning, with dignity, all claims to repayment. At this moment the
events of the 20th March (1815) gave warning of a fresh storm,
threatening to overwhelm the legitimate monarch and his defenders.
Monsieur de Fontaine, like one of those generous souls who do not
dismiss a servant in a torrent of rain; borrowed on his lands to
follow the routed monarchy, without knowing whether this complicity in
emigration would prove more propitious to him than his past devotion.
But when he perceived that the companions of the King's exile were in
higher favor than the brave men who had protested, sword in hand,
against the establishment of the republic, he may perhaps have hoped
to derive greater profit from this journey into a foreign land than
from active and dangerous service in the heart of his own country. Nor
was his courtier-like calculation one of these rash speculations which
promise splendid results on paper, and are ruinous in effect. He was
--to quote the wittiest and most successful of our diplomates--one of
the faithful five hundred who shared the exile of the Court at Ghent,
and one of the fifty thousand who returned with it. During the short
banishment of royalty, Monsieur de Fontaine was so happy as to be
employed by Louis XVIII., and found more than one opportunity of
giving him proofs of great political honesty and sincere attachment.
One evening, when the King had nothing better to do, he recalled
Monsieur de Fontaine's witticism at the Tuileries. The old Vendeen did
not let such a happy chance slip; he told his history with so much
vivacity that a king, who never forgot anything, might remember it at
a convenient season. The royal amateur of literature also observed the
elegant style given to some notes which the discreet gentleman had
been invited to recast. This little success stamped Monsieur de
Fontaine on the King's memory as one of the loyal servants of the
Crown.

At the second restoration the Count was one of those special envoys
who were sent throughout the departments charged with absolute
jurisdiction over the leaders of revolt; but he used his terrible
powers with moderation. As soon as the temporary commission was ended,
the High Provost found a seat in the Privy Council, became a deputy,
spoke little, listened much, and changed his opinions very
considerably. Certain circumstances, unknown to historians, brought
him into such intimate relations with the Sovereign, that one day, as
he came in, the shrewd monarch addressed him thus: "My friend
Fontaine, I shall take care never to appoint you to be
director-general, or minister. Neither you nor I, as employes, could
keep our place on account of our opinions. Representative government
has this advantage; it saves Us the trouble We used to have, of
dismissing Our Secretaries of State. Our Council is a perfect inn-parlor,
whither public opinion sometimes sends strange travelers; however, We
can always find a place for Our faithful adherents."

This ironical speech was introductory to a rescript giving Monsieur de
Fontaine an appointment as administrator in the office of Crown lands.
As a consequence of the intelligent attention with which he listened
to his royal Friend's sarcasms, his name always rose to His Majesty's
lips when a commission was to be appointed of which the members were
to receive a handsome salary. He had the good sense to hold his tongue
about the favor with which he was honored, and knew how to entertain
the monarch in those familiar chats in which Louis XVIII. delighted as
much as in a well-written note, by his brilliant manner of repeating
political anecdotes, and the political or parliamentary tittle-tattle
--if the expression may pass--which at that time was rife. It is well
known that he was immensely amused by every detail of his
Gouvernementabilite--a word adopted by his facetious Majesty.

Thanks to the Comte de Fontaine's good sense, wit, and tact, every
member of his numerous family, however young, ended, as he jestingly
told his Sovereign, in attaching himself like a silkworm to the leaves
of the Pay-List. Thus, by the King's intervention, his eldest son
found a high and fixed position as a lawyer. The second, before the
restoration a mere captain, was appointed to the command of a legion
on the return from Ghent; then, thanks to the confusion of 1815, when
the regulations were evaded, he passed into the bodyguard, returned to
a line regiment, and found himself after the affair of the Trocadero a
lieutenant-general with a commission in the Guards. The youngest,
appointed sous-prefet, ere long became a legal official and director
of a municipal board of the city of Paris, where he was safe from
changes in Legislature. These bounties, bestowed without parade, and
as secret as the favor enjoyed by the Count, fell unperceived. Though
the father and his three sons each had sinecures enough to enjoy an
income in salaries almost equal to that of a chief of department,
their political good fortune excited no envy. In those early days of
the constitutional system, few persons had very precise ideas of the
peaceful domain of the civil service, where astute favorites managed
to find an equivalent for the demolished abbeys. Monsieur le Comte de
Fontaine, who till lately boasted that he had not read the Charter,
and displayed such indignation at the greed of courtiers, had, before
long, proved to his august master that he understood, as well as the
King himself, the spirit and resources of the representative system.
At the same time, notwithstanding the established careers open to his
three sons, and the pecuniary advantages derived from four official
appointments, Monsieur de Fontaine was the head of too large a family
to be able to re-establish his fortune easily and rapidly.

His three sons were rich in prospects, in favor, and in talent; but he
had three daughters, and was afraid of wearying the monarch's
benevolence. It occurred to him to mention only one by one, these
virgins eager to light their torches. The King had too much good taste
to leave his work incomplete. The marriage of the eldest with a
Receiver-General, Planat de Baudry, was arranged by one of those royal
speeches which cost nothing and are worth millions. One evening, when
the Sovereign was out of spirits, he smiled on hearing of the
existence of another Demoiselle de Fontaine, for whom he found a
husband in the person of a young magistrate, of inferior birth, no
doubt, but wealthy, and whom he created Baron. When, the year after,
the Vendeen spoke of Mademoiselle Emilie de Fontaine, the King replied
in his thin sharp tones, "Amicus Plato sed magis amica Natio." Then, a
few days later, he treated his "friend Fontaine" to a quatrain,
harmless enough, which he styled an epigram, in which he made fun of
these three daughters so skilfully introduced, under the form of a
trinity. Nay, if report is to be believed, the monarch had found the
point of the jest in the Unity of the three Divine Persons.

"If your Majesty would only condescend to turn the epigram into an
epithalamium?" said the Count, trying to turn the sally to good
account.

"Though I see the rhyme of it, I fail to see the reason," retorted the
King, who did not relish any pleasantry, however mild, on the subject
of his poetry.

From that day his intercourse with Monsieur de Fontaine showed less
amenity. Kings enjoy contradicting more than people think. Like most
youngest children, Emilie de Fontaine was a Benjamin spoilt by almost
everybody. The King's coolness, therefore, caused the Count all the
more regret, because no marriage was ever so difficult to arrange as
that of this darling daughter. To understand all the obstacles we must
make our way into the fine residence where the official was housed at
the expense of the nation. Emilie had spent her childhood on the
family estate, enjoying the abundance which suffices for the joys of
early youth; her lightest wishes had been law to her sisters, her
brothers, her mother, and even her father. All her relations doted on
her. Having come to years of discretion just when her family was
loaded with the favors of fortune, the enchantment of life continued.
The luxury of Paris seemed to her just as natural as a wealth of
flowers or fruit, or as the rural plenty which had been the joy of her
first years. Just as in her childhood she had never been thwarted in
the satisfaction of her playful desires, so now, at fourteen, she was
still obeyed when she rushed into the whirl of fashion.

Thus, accustomed by degrees to the enjoyment of money, elegance of
dress, of gilded drawing-rooms and fine carriages, became as necessary
to her as the compliments of flattery, sincere or false, and the
festivities and vanities of court life. Like most spoiled children,
she tyrannized over those who loved her, and kept her blandishments
for those who were indifferent. Her faults grew with her growth, and
her parents were to gather the bitter fruits of this disastrous
education. At the age of nineteen Emilie de Fontaine had not yet been
pleased to make a choice from among the many young men whom her
father's politics brought to his entertainments. Though so young, she
asserted in society all the freedom of mind that a married woman can
enjoy. Her beauty was so remarkable that, for her, to appear in a room
was to be its queen; but, like sovereigns, she had no friends, though
she was everywhere the object of attentions to which a finer nature
than hers might perhaps have succumbed. Not a man, not even an old
man, had it in him to contradict the opinions of a young girl whose
lightest look could rekindle love in the coldest heart.

She had been educated with a care which her sisters had not enjoyed;
painted pretty well, spoke Italian and English, and played the piano
brilliantly; her voice, trained by the best masters, had a ring in it
which made her singing irresistibly charming. Clever, and intimate
with every branch of literature, she might have made folks believe
that, as Mascarille says, people of quality come into the world
knowing everything. She could argue fluently on Italian or Flemish
painting, on the Middle Ages or the Renaissance; pronounced at
haphazard on books new or old, and could expose the defects of a work
with a cruelly graceful wit. The simplest thing she said was accepted
by an admiring crowd as a fetfah of the Sultan by the Turks. She thus
dazzled shallow persons; as to deeper minds, her natural tact enabled
her to discern them, and for them she put forth so much fascination
that, under cover of her charms, she escaped their scrutiny. This
enchanting veneer covered a careless heart; the opinion--common to
many young girls--that no one else dwelt in a sphere so lofty as to be
able to understand the merits of her soul; and a pride based no less
on her birth than on her beauty. In the absence of the overwhelming
sentiment which, sooner or later, works havoc in a woman's heart, she
spent her young ardor in an immoderate love of distinctions, and
expressed the deepest contempt for persons of inferior birth.
Supremely impertinent to all newly-created nobility, she made every
effort to get her parents recognized as equals by the most illustrious
families of the Saint-Germain quarter.

These sentiments had not escaped the observing eye of Monsieur de
Fontaine, who more than once, when his two elder girls were married,
had smarted under Emilie's sarcasm. Logical readers will be surprised
to see the old Royalist bestowing his eldest daughter on a
Receiver-General, possessed, indeed, of some old hereditary estates, but
whose name was not preceded by the little word to which the throne owed
so many partisans, and his second to a magistrate too lately Baronified
to obscure the fact that his father had sold firewood. This noteworthy
change in the ideas of a noble on the verge of his sixtieth year--an
age when men rarely renounce their convictions--was due not merely to
his unfortunate residence in the modern Babylon, where, sooner or
later, country folks all get their corners rubbed down; the Comte de
Fontaine's new political conscience was also a result of the King's
advice and friendship. The philosophical prince had taken pleasure in
converting the Vendeen to the ideas required by the advance of the
nineteenth century, and the new aspect of the Monarchy. Louis XVIII.
aimed at fusing parties as Napoleon had fused things and men. The
legitimate King, who was not less clever perhaps than his rival, acted
in a contrary direction. The last head of the House of Bourbon was
just as eager to satisfy the third estate and the creations of the
Empire, by curbing the clergy, as the first of the Napoleons had been
to attract the grand old nobility, or to endow the Church. The Privy
Councillor, being in the secret of these royal projects, had
insensibly become one of the most prudent and influential leaders of
that moderate party which most desired a fusion of opinion in the
interests of the nation. He preached the expensive doctrines of
constitutional government, and lent all his weight to encourage the
political see-saw which enabled his master to rule France in the midst
of storms. Perhaps Monsieur de Fontaine hoped that one of the sudden
gusts of legislation, whose unexpected efforts then startled the
oldest politicians, might carry him up to the rank of peer. One of his
most rigid principles was to recognize no nobility in France but that
of the peerage--the only families that might enjoy any privileges.

"A nobility bereft of privileges," he would say, "is a tool without a
handle."

As far from Lafayette's party as he was from La Bourdonnaye's, he
ardently engaged in the task of general reconciliation, which was
to result in a new era and splendid fortunes for France. He
strove to convince the families who frequented his drawing-room,
or those whom he visited, how few favorable openings would
henceforth be offered by a civil or military career. He urged
mothers to give their boys a start in independent and industrial
professions, explaining that military posts and high Government
appointments must at last pertain, in a quite constitutional
order, to the younger sons of members of the peerage. According
to him, the people had conquered a sufficiently large share in
practical government by its elective assembly, its appointments
to law-offices, and those of the exchequer, which, said he, would
always, as heretofore, be the natural right of the distinguished
men of the third estate.

These new notions of the head of the Fontaines, and the prudent
matches for his eldest girls to which they had led, met with strong
resistance in the bosom of his family. The Comtesse de Fontaine
remained faithful to the ancient beliefs which no woman could disown,
who, through her mother, belonged to the Rohans. Although she had for
a while opposed the happiness and fortune awaiting her two eldest
girls, she yielded to those private considerations which husband and
wife confide to each other when their heads are resting on the same
pillow. Monsieur de Fontaine calmly pointed out to his wife, by exact
arithmetic that their residence in Paris, the necessity for
entertaining, the magnificence of the house which made up to them now
for the privations so bravely shared in La Vendee, and the expenses of
their sons, swallowed up the chief part of their income from salaries.
They must therefore seize, as a boon from heaven, the opportunities
which offered for settling their girls with such wealth. Would they
not some day enjoy sixty--eighty--a hundred thousand francs a year?
Such advantageous matches were not to be met with every day for girls
without a portion. Again, it was time that they should begin to think
of economizing, to add to the estate of Fontaine, and re-establish the
old territorial fortune of the family. The Countess yielded to such
cogent arguments, as every mother would have done in her place, though
perhaps with a better grace; but she declared that Emilie, at any
rate, should marry in such a way as to satisfy the pride she had
unfortunately contributed to foster in the girl's young soul.

Thus events, which ought to have brought joy into the family, had
introduced a small leaven of discord. The Receiver-General and the
young lawyer were the objects of a ceremonious formality which the
Countess and Emilie contrived to create. This etiquette soon found
even ampler opportunity for the display of domestic tyranny; for
Lieutenant-General de Fontaine married Mademoiselle Mongenod, the
daughter of a rich banker; the President very sensibly found a wife in
a young lady whose father, twice or thrice a millionaire, had traded
in salt; and the third brother, faithful to his plebeian doctrines,
married Mademoiselle Grossetete, the only daughter of the
Receiver-General at Bourges. The three sisters-in-law and the two
brothers-in-law found the high sphere of political bigwigs, and the
drawing-rooms of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, so full of charm and of
personal advantages, that they united in forming a little court round
the overbearing Emilie. This treaty between interest and pride was not,
however, so firmly cemented but that the young despot was, not
unfrequently, the cause of revolts in her little realm. Scenes, which
the highest circles would not have disowned, kept up a sarcastic
temper among all the members of this powerful family; and this,
without seriously diminishing the regard they professed in public,
degenerated sometimes in private into sentiments far from charitable.
Thus the Lieutenant-General's wife, having become a Baronne, thought
herself quite as noble as a Kergarouet, and imagined that her good
hundred thousand francs a year gave her the right to be as impertinent
as her sister-in-law Emilie, whom she would sometimes wish to see
happily married, as she announced that the daughter of some peer of
France had married Monsieur So-and-So with no title to his name. The
Vicomtesse de Fontaine amused herself by eclipsing Emilie in the taste
and magnificence that were conspicuous in her dress, her furniture,
and her carriages. The satirical spirit in which her brothers and
sisters sometimes received the claims avowed by Mademoiselle de
Fontaine roused her to wrath that a perfect hailstorm of sharp sayings
could hardly mitigate. So when the head of the family felt a slight
chill in the King's tacit and precarious friendship, he trembled all
the more because, as a result of her sisters' defiant mockery, his
favorite daughter had never looked so high.

In the midst of these circumstances, and at a moment when this petty
domestic warfare had become serious, the monarch, whose favor Monsieur
de Fontaine still hoped to regain, was attacked by the malady of which
he was to die. The great political chief, who knew so well how to
steer his bark in the midst of tempests, soon succumbed. Certain then
of favors to come, the Comte de Fontaine made every effort to collect
the elite of marrying men about his youngest daughter. Those who may
have tried to solve the difficult problem of settling a haughty and
capricious girl, will understand the trouble taken by the unlucky
father. Such an affair, carried out to the liking of his beloved
child, would worthily crown the career the Count had followed for
these ten years at Paris. From the way in which his family claimed
salaries under every department, it might be compared with the House
of Austria, which, by intermarriage, threatens to pervade Europe. The
old Vendeen was not to be discouraged in bringing forward suitors, so
much had he his daughter's happiness at heart, but nothing could be
more absurd than the way in which the impertinent young thing
pronounced her verdicts and judged the merits of her adorers. It might
have been supposed that, like a princess in the Arabian Nights, Emilie
was rich enough and beautiful enough to choose from among all the
princes in the world. Her objections were each more preposterous than
the last: one had too thick knees and was bow-legged, another was
short-sighted, this one's name was Durand, that one limped, and almost
all were too fat. Livelier, more attractive, and gayer than ever after
dismissing two or three suitors, she rushed into the festivities of
the winter season, and to balls, where her keen eyes criticised the
celebrities of the day, delighted in encouraging proposals which she
invariably rejected.