Madame Firmiani

H >> Honore de Balzac >> Madame Firmiani


The former guardsman stayed, with apparent impertinence, after the
other guests had left the salons; and Madame Firmiani found him
sitting quietly before her in an armchair, evidently determined to
remain, with the pertinacity of a fly which we are forced to kill to
get rid of it. The hands of the clock marked two in the morning.

"Madame," said the old gentlemen, as Madame Firmiani rose, hoping to
make him understand that it was her good pleasure he should go,
"Madame, I am the uncle of Monsieur Octave de Camps."

Madame Firmiani immediately sat down again, and showed her emotion. In
spite of his sagacity the old Planter was unable to decide whether she
turned pale from shame or pleasure. There are pleasures, delicious
emotions the chaste heart seeks to veil, which cannot escape the shock
of startled modesty. The more delicacy a woman has, the more she seeks
to hide the joys that are in her soul. Many women, incomprehensible in
their tender caprices, long to hear a name pronounced which at other
times they desire to bury in their hearts. Monsieur de Bourbonne did
not interpret Madame Firmiani's agitation exactly in this way: pray
forgive him, all provincials are distrustful.

"Well, monsieur?" said Madame Firmiani, giving him one of those clear,
lucid glances in which we men can never see anything because they
question us too much.

"Well, madame," returned the old man, "do you know what some one came
to tell me in the depths of my province? That my nephew had ruined
himself for you, and that the poor fellow was living in a garret while
you were in silk and gold. Forgive my rustic sincerity; it may be
useful for you to know of these calumnies."

"Stop, monsieur," said Madame Firmiani, with an imperative gesture; "I
know all that. You are too polite to continue this subject if I
request you to leave it, and too gallant--in the old-fashioned sense
of the word," she added with a slight tone of irony--"not to agree
that you have no right to question me. It would be ridiculous in me to
defend myself. I trust that you will have a sufficiently good opinion
of my character to believe in the profound contempt which, I assure
you, I feel for money,--although I was married, without any fortune,
to a man of immense wealth. It is nothing to me whether your nephew is
rich or poor; if I have received him in my house, and do now receive
him, it is because I consider him worthy to be counted among my
friends. All my friends, monsieur, respect each other; they know that
I have not philosophy enough to admit into my house those I do not
esteem; this may argue a want of charity; but my guardian-angel has
maintained in me to this day a profound aversion for tattle, and also
for dishonesty."

Through the ring of her voice was slightly raised during the first
part of this answer, the last words were said with the ease and
self-possession of Celimene bantering the Misanthrope.

"Madame," said Monsieur de Bourbonne, in a voice of some emotion, "I
am an old man; I am almost Octave's father, and I ask your pardon most
humbly for the question that I shall now venture to put to you, giving
you my word of honor as a loyal gentleman that your answer shall die
here,"--laying his hand upon his heart, with an old-fashioned gesture
that was truly religious. "Are these rumors true; do you love Octave?"

"Monsieur," she replied, "to any other man I should answer that
question only by a look; but to you, and because you are indeed almost
the father of Monsieur de Camps, I reply by asking what you would
think of a woman if to such a question she answered _you_? To avow our
love for him we love, when he loves us--ah! that may be; but even when
we are certain of being loved forever, believe me, monsieur, it is an
effort for us, and a reward to him. To say to another!--"

She did not end her sentence, but rose, bowed to the old man, and
withdrew into her private apartments, the doors of which, opening and
closing behind her, had a language of their own to his sagacious ears.

"Ah! the mischief!" thought he; "what a woman! she is either a sly one
or an angel"; and he got into his hired coach, the horses of which
were stamping on the pavement of the silent courtyard, while the
coachman was asleep on his box after cursing for the hundredth time
his tardy customer.

The next morning about eight o'clock the old gentleman mounted the
stairs of a house in the rue de l'Observance where Octave de Camps was
living. If there was ever an astonished man it was the young professor
when he beheld his uncle. The door was unlocked, his lamp still
burning; he had been sitting up all night.

"You rascal!" said Monsieur de Bourbonne, sitting down in the nearest
chair; "since when is it the fashion to laugh at uncles who have
twenty-six thousand francs a year from solid acres to which we are the
sole heir? Let me tell you that in the olden time we stood in awe of
such uncles as that. Come, speak up, what fault have you to find with
me? Haven't I played my part as uncle properly? Did I ever require you
to respect me? Have I ever refused you money? When did I shut the door
in your face on pretence that you had come to look after my health?
Haven't you had the most accommodating and the least domineering uncle
that there is in France,--I won't say Europe, because that might be
too presumptuous. You write to me, or you don't write,--no matter, I
live on pledged affection, and I am making you the prettiest estate in
all Touraine, the envy of the department. To be sure, I don't intend
to let you have it till the last possible moment, but that's an
excusable little fancy, isn't it? And what does monsieur himself do?
--sells his own property and lives like a lackey!--"

"Uncle--"

"I'm not talking about uncles, I'm talking nephew. I have a right to
your confidence. Come, confess at once; it is much the easiest way; I
know that by experience. Have you been gambling? have you lost money
at the Bourse? Say, 'Uncle, I'm a wretch,' and I'll hug you. But if
you tell me any lies greater than those I used to tell at your age
I'll sell my property, buy an annuity, and go back to the evil ways of
my youth--if I can."

"Uncle--"

"I saw your Madame Firmiani yesterday," went on the old fellow,
kissing the tips of his fingers, which he gathered into a bunch. "She
is charming. You have the consent and approbation of your uncle, if
that will do you any good. As to the sanction of the Church I suppose
that's useless, and the sacraments cost so much in these days. Come,
speak out, have you ruined yourself for her?"

"Yes, uncle."

"Ha! the jade! I'd have wagered it. In my time the women of the court
were cleverer at ruining a man than the courtesans of to-day; but this
one--I recognized her!--it is a bit of the last century."

"Uncle," said Octave, with a manner that was tender and grave, "you
are totally mistaken. Madame Firmiani deserves your esteem, and all
the adoration the world gives her."

"Youth, youth! always the same!" cried Monsieur de Bourbonne. "Well,
go on; tell me the same old story. But please remember that my
experience in gallantry is not of yesterday."

"My dear, kind uncle, here is a letter which will tell you nearly
all," said Octave, taking it from an elegant portfolio, _her_ gift, no
doubt. "When you have read it I will tell you the rest, and you will
then know a Madame Firmiani who is unknown to the world."

"I haven't my spectacles; read it aloud."

Octave began:--

"'My beloved--'"

"Hey, then you are still intimate with her?" interrupted his uncle.

"Why yes, of course."

"You haven't parted from her?"

"Parted!" repeated Octave, "we are married."

"Heavens!" cried Monsieur de Bourbonne, "then why do you live in a
garret?"

"Let me go on."

"True--I'm listening."

Octave resumed the letter, but there were passages which he could not
read without deep emotion.

"'My beloved Husband,--You ask me the reason of my sadness. Has
it, then, passed from my soul to my face; or have you only guessed
it?--but how could you fail to do so, one in heart as we are? I
cannot deceive you; this may be a misfortune, for it is one of the
conditions of happy love that a wife shall be gay and caressing.
Perhaps I ought to deceive you, but I would not do it even if the
happiness with which you have blessed and overpowered me depended
on it.

"'Ah! dearest, how much gratitude there is in my love. I long to
love you forever, without limit; yes, I desire to be forever proud
of you. A woman's glory is in the man she loves. Esteem,
consideration, honor, must they not be his who receives our all?
Well, my angel has fallen. Yes, dear, the tale you told me has
tarnished my past joys. Since then I have felt myself humiliated
in you,--you whom I thought the most honorable of men, as you are
the most loving, the most tender. I must indeed have deep
confidence in your heart, so young and pure, to make you this
avowal which costs me much. Ah! my dear love, how is it that you,
knowing your father had unjustly deprived others of their
property, that YOU can keep it?

"'And you told me of this criminal act in a room filled with the
mute witnesses of our love; and you are a gentleman, and you think
yourself noble, and I am yours! I try to find excuses for you; I
do find them in your youth and thoughtlessness. I know there is
still something of the child about you. Perhaps you have never
thought seriously of what fortune and integrity are. Oh! how your
laugh wounded me. Reflect on that ruined family, always in
distress; poor young girls who have reason to curse you daily; an
old father saying to himself each night: "We might not now be
starving if that man's father had been an honest man--"'"

"Good heavens!" cried Monsieur de Bourbonne, interrupting his nephew,
"surely you have not been such a fool as to tell that woman about your
father's affair with the Bourgneufs? Women know more about wasting a
fortune than making one."

"They know about integrity. But let me read on, uncle."

"'Octave, no power on earth has authority to change the principles
of honor. Look into your conscience and ask it by what name you
are to call the action by which you hold your property.'"

The nephew looked at the uncle, who lowered his head.

"'I will not tell you all the thoughts that assail me; they can be
reduced to one,--this is it: I cannot respect the man who,
knowingly, is smirched for a sum of money, whatever the amount may
be; five francs stolen at play or five times a hundred thousand
gained by a legal trick are equally dishonoring. I will tell you
all. I feel myself degraded by the very love which has hitherto
been all my joy. There rises in my soul a voice which my
tenderness cannot stifle. Ah! I have wept to feel that I have more
conscience than love. Were you to commit a crime I would hide you
in my bosom from human justice, but my devotion could go no
farther. Love, to a woman, means boundless confidence, united to a
need of reverencing, of esteeming, the being to whom she belongs.
I have never conceived of love otherwise than as a fire in which
all noble feelings are purified still more,--a fire which develops
them.

"'I have but one thing else to say: come to me poor, and my love
shall be redoubled. If not, renounce it. Should I see you no more,
I shall know what it means.

"'But I do not wish, understand me, that you should make
restitution because I urge it. Consult your own conscience. An act
of justice such as that ought not to be a sacrifice made to love.
I am your wife and not your mistress, and it is less a question of
pleasing me than of inspiring in my soul a true respect.

"'If I am mistaken, if you have ill-explained your father's
action, if, in short, you still think your right to the property
equitable (oh! how I long to persuade myself that you are
blameless), consider and decide by listening to the voice of your
conscience; act wholly and solely from yourself. A man who loves a
woman sincerely, as you love me, respects the sanctity of her
trust in him too deeply to dishonor himself.

"'I blame myself now for what I have written; a word might have
sufficed, and I have preached to you! Scold me; I wish to be
scolded,--but not much, only a little. Dear, between us two the
power is yours--you alone should perceive your own faults.'"

"Well, uncle?" said Octave, whose eyes were full of tears.

"There's more in the letter; finish it."

"Oh, the rest is only to be read by a lover," answered Octave,
smiling.

"Yes, right, my boy," said the old man, gently. "I have had many
affairs in my day, but I beg you to believe that I too have loved, 'et
ego in Arcardia.' But I don't understand yet why you give lessons in
mathematics."

"My dear uncle, I am your nephew; isn't that as good as saying that I
had dipped into the capital left me by my father? After I had read
this letter a sort of revolution took place within me. I paid my whole
arrearage of remorse in one day. I cannot describe to you the state I
was in. As I drove in the Bois a voice called to me, 'That horse is
not yours'; when I ate my dinner it was saying, 'You have stolen this
food.' I was ashamed. The fresher my honesty, the more intense it was.
I rushed to Madame Firmiani. Uncle! that day I had pleasures of the
heart, enjoyments of the soul, that were far beyond millions. Together
we made out the account of what was due to the Bourgneufs, and I
condemned myself, against Madame Firmiani's advice, to pay three per
cent interest. But all I had did not suffice to cover the full amount.
We were lovers enough for her to offer, and me to accept, her
savings--"

"What! besides her other virtues does that adorable woman lay by
money?" cried his uncle.

"Don't laugh at her, uncle; her position has obliged her to be very
careful. Her husband went to Greece in 1820 and died there three years
later. It has been impossible, up to the present time, to get legal
proofs of his death, or obtain the will which he made leaving his
whole property to his wife. These papers were either lost or stolen,
or have gone astray during the troubles in Greece,--a country where
registers are not kept as they are in France, and where we have no
consul. Uncertain whether she might not be forced to give up her
fortune, she has lived with the utmost prudence. As for me, I wish to
acquire property which shall be _mine_, so as to provide for my wife in
case she is forced to lose hers."

"But why didn't you tell me all this? My dear nephew, you might have
known that I love you enough to pay all your good debts, the debts of
a gentleman. I'll play the traditional uncle now, and revenge myself!"

"Ah! uncle, I know your vengeance! but let me get rich by my own
industry. If you want to do me a real service, make me an allowance of
two or three thousand francs a year, till I see my way to an
enterprise for which I shall want capital. At this moment I am so
happy that all I desire is just the means of living. I give lessons so
that I may not live at the cost of _any one_. If you only knew the
happiness I had in making that restitution! I found the Bourgneufs,
after a good deal of trouble, living miserably and in need of
everything. The old father was a lottery agent; the two daughters kept
his books and took care of the house; the mother was always ill. The
daughters are charming girls, but they have been cruelly taught that
the world thinks little of beauty without money. What a scene it was!
I entered their house the accomplice in a crime; I left it an honest
man, who had purged his father's memory. Uncle, I don't judge him;
there is such excitement, such passion in a lawsuit that even an
honorable man may be led astray by them. Lawyers can make the most
unjust claims legal; laws have convenient syllogisms to quiet
consciences. My visit was a drama. To _be_ Providence itself; actually
to fulfil that futile wish, 'If heaven were to send us twenty thousand
francs a year,'--that silly wish we all make, laughing; to bring
opulence to a family sitting by the light of one miserable lamp over a
poor turf fire!--no, words cannot describe it. My extreme justice
seemed to them unjust. Well! if there is a Paradise my father is happy
in it now. As for me, I am loved as no man was ever loved yet. Madame
Firmiani gives me more than happiness; she has inspired me with a
delicacy of feeling I think I lacked. So I call her _my dear
conscience_,--a love-word which expresses certain secret harmonies
within our hearts. I find honesty profitable; I shall get rich in time
by myself. I've an industrial scheme in my head, and if it succeeds I
shall earn millions."

"Ah! my boy, you have your mother's soul," said the old man, his eyes
filling at the thought of his sister.

Just then, in spite of the distance between Octave's garret and the
street, the young man heard the sound of a carriage.

"There she is!" he cried; "I know her horses by the way they are
pulled up."

A few moments more, and Madame Firmiani entered the room.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, with a gesture of annoyance at seeing Monsieur de
Bourbonne. "But our uncle is not in the way," she added quickly,
smiling; "I came to humbly entreat my husband to accept my fortune.
The Austrian Embassy has just sent me a document which proves the
death of Monsieur Firmiani, also the will, which his valet was keeping
safely to put into my own hands. Octave, you can accept it all; you
are richer than I, for you have treasures here" (laying her hand upon
his heart) "to which none but God can add." Then, unable to support
her happiness, she laid her head upon her husband's breast.

"My dear niece," said the old man, "in my day we made love; in yours,
you love. You women are all that is best in humanity; you are not even
guilty of your faults, for they come through us."



ADDENDUM

The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy.

Blamont-Chauvry, Princesse de
The Thirteen
Madame Firmiani
The Lily of the Valley

Bourbonne, De
Madame Firmiani
The Vicar of Tours

Camps, Octave de
Madame Firmiani
The Member for Arcis

Camps, Madame Octave de
Madame Firmiani
The Government Clerks
A Woman of Thirty
A Daughter of Eve
The Member for Arcis