The Deputy of Arcis

H >> Honore de Balzac >> The Deputy of Arcis


The man who now appears in this narrative will play so considerable a
part in it that it seems necessary to install him, as it were, by
means of retrospective and somewhat lengthy explanations. But to
suspend the course of the narrative for this purpose would be to fly
in the face of every rule of art and expose the present pious guardian
of literary orthodoxy to the wrath of critics. In presence of this
difficulty, the author would find himself greatly embarrassed, if his
lucky star had not placed in his hands a correspondence in which, with
a vim and animation that he himself could never have imparted to them,
all the details that are essential to a full explanation will be found
related.

These letters must be read with attention. They bring upon the scene
many persons already well-known in the Comedy of Human Life, and they
reveal a vast number of facts necessary to the understanding and
development of the present drama. Their statements made, and brought
to the point where we now seem to abandon our narrative, the course of
that narrative will, without concussion and quite naturally, resume
its course; and we like to persuade ourselves that, by thus
introducing this series of letters, the unity of our tale, which
seemed for a moment in danger, will be maintained.




PART II

LETTERS EXPLANATORY



I

THE COMTE DE L'ESTORADE TO MONSIEUR MARIE-GASTON
[See "The Memoirs of Two Young Married Women."]

Dear Monsieur,--In accordance with your desire I have seen the prefect
of police, in order to ascertain if the pious intention of which you
wrote me in your letter, dated from Carrara, would meet with
opposition from the authorities.

The prefect informed me that the imperial decree of the 23rd Prairial,
year XII., by which the whole system of burials is still regulated,
establishes, in the most unequivocal manner, the right of all persons
to be interred on their own property. You have only to obtain a permit
from the prefecture of the Seine-et-Oise, and then, without further
formality, you can remove the remains of Madame Marie-Gaston to the
mausoleum you propose to erect in your park at Ville d'Avray.

But I shall venture myself to offer an objection. Are you quite sure
that you will not expose yourself to certain difficulties made by the
Chaulieus, with whom you are not on the best of terms?

Will they not, to a certain extent, be justified in complaining that
the removal from a public cemetery to private grounds of the body of
one who is dear to them as well as to you, would make their visits to
her grave entirely dependent on your good will and pleasure? For of
course, and this is evident, you will always have the right to forbid
their entrance to your property.

I know that, legally, the body of the wife, living or dead, belongs to
the husband, to the exclusion of her relations, even the nearest; but,
under the influence of the ill-will of which they have already given
you proof, the relations of Madame Marie-Gaston might have the
distressing idea of carrying the matter into court, and if so, how
painful to you! You would gain the suit, no doubt, for the Duc de
Chaulieu's influence is not what it was under the Restoration; but
have you reflected on the venom which the speech of a lawyer might
shed upon such a question? and remember that he will speak as the echo
of honorable affections--those of a father, mother, and two brothers
asking not to be deprived of the sad happiness of praying at the grave
of their lost one.

If you will let me express my thought, it is not without keen regret
that I see you engaged in creating fresh nourishment for your grief,
already so long inconsolable. We had hoped that, after passing two
years in Italy, you would return to us more resigned, and able to take
up an active life which might distract your mind. Evidently, this
species of temple which you propose, in the fervor of your
recollections, to erect in a spot where they are, alas! already too
numerous, can only serve to perpetuate their bitterness; and I cannot
approve the revival you are proposing to make of them.

Nevertheless, as we should always serve a friend according to his
wishes, not our own, I have done your commission relating to Monsieur
Dorlange, the sculptor, but I must tell you frankly that he showed no
eagerness to enter into your wishes. His first remark, when I
announced myself as coming from you, was that he did not know you; and
this reply, singular as it may seem to you, was made so naturally that
at first I thought there must be some mistake, the result, possibly,
of confusion of name. However, before long your oblivious friend was
willing to agree that he studied with you at the college of Tours and
also that hew as the same Monsieur Dorlange who, in 1831 and under
quite exceptional circumstances, carried off the grand prize for
sculpture. No doubt remained in my mind as to his identity. I
attributed his want of memory to the long interruption (of which you
yourself told me) in your intercourse. I think that that interruption
wounded him more than you are aware, and when he seemed to have
forgotten your very name, it was simply a revenge he could not help
taking when the occasion offered.

But that was not the real obstacle. Remembering the fraternal intimacy
that once existed between Monsieur Dorlange and yourself, I could not
suppose his wounded feelings inexorable. So, after explaining to him
the nature of the work you wanted him to do, I was about to say a few
words as to the grievance he might have against you, when I suddenly
found myself face to face with an obstacle of a most unexpected
nature.

"Monsieur," he said to me, "the importance of the order you wish to
give me, the assurance that no expense should be spared for the
grandeur and perfection of the work, the invitation you convey to me
to go to Carrara and choose the marble and see it excavated, all that
is truly a great piece of good fortune for an artist, and at any other
time I should gladly have accepted it. But at the present moment,
without having actually decided to abandon the career of Art, I am on
the point of entering that of politics. My friends urge me to present
myself at the coming elections, and you will easily see that, if
elected, my parliamentary duties and my initiation into an absolutely
new life would, for a long time at least, preclude my entering with
sufficient absorption of mind into the work you propose to me." And
then, after a pause, he added; "I should have to satisfy a great grief
which seeks consolation from this projected mausoleum. Such grief
would, naturally, be impatient; whereas I should be slow, preoccupied
in mind, and probably hindered. It is therefore better that the
proposal should be made elsewhere; but this will not prevent me from
feeling, as I ought, both gratified and honored by the confidence
shown in me."

I thought for a moment of asking him whether, in case his election
failed, I could then renew the proposal, but on the whole I contented
myself with expressing regret and saying that I would inform you of
the result of my mission. It is useless to add that I shall know in a
few days the upshot of this sudden parliamentary ambition which has,
so inopportunely, started up in your way.

I think myself that this candidacy may be only a blind. Had you not
better write yourself to Monsieur Dorlange? for his whole manner,
though perfectly polite and proper, seemed to show a keen remembrance
of the wrong you did him in renouncing his friendship, with that of
your other friends, at the time of your marriage. I know it may cost
you some pain to explain the really exceptional circumstances of your
marriage; but after what I have seen in the mind of your old friend, I
think, if you really wish for the assistance of his great talent, you
should personally take some steps to obtain it.

But if you feel that any such action is more than you have strength
for, I suggest another means. In all matters in which my wife has
taken part I have found her a most able negotiator; and in this
particular case I should feel the utmost confidence in her
intervention. She herself suffered from the exclusiveness of Madame
Marie-Gaston's love for you. No one can explain to him better than she
the absorbing conjugal life which drew its folds so closely around
you. And it seems to me that the magnanimity and comprehension which
she always showed to her "dear lost treasure," as she calls her, might
be conveyed by her to your friend.

You have plenty of time to think over this suggestion, for Madame de
l'Estorade is, just now, still suffering from a serious illness,
brought on by maternal terror. A week ago our little Nais came near
being crushed to death before her eyes; and without the courageous
assistance of a stranger who sprang to the horses' heads and stopped
them short, God knows what dreadful misfortune would have overtaken
us. This cruel emotion produced in Madame de l'Estorade a nervous
condition which seriously alarmed us for a time. Though she is now
much better, it will be several days before she could see Monsieur
Dorlange in case her feminine mediation may seem to you desirable.

But once more, in closing, my dear Monsieur Gaston, would it not be
better to abandon your idea? A vast expense, a painful quarrel with
the Chaulieus, and, for you, a renewal of your bitter sorrow--this is
what I fear. Nevertheless, I am, at all times and for all things,
entirely at your orders, as indeed my sentiments of esteem and
gratitude command.



II

THE COMTESSE DE L'ESTORADE TO MADAME OCTAVE DE CAMPS

Paris, February, 1839.

Dear Madame de Camps,--Of all the proofs of sympathy which the
accident to my dear child has brought me, not one has touched me so
much as your excellent letter.

In reply to your affectionate solicitude I must tell you that in that
terrible moment Nais was marvellously calm and self-possessed. It
could not, I think, be possible to see death nearer; yet neither
before nor after the accident did my valiant little daughter even
blench; her whole behavior showed the utmost resolution, and, thank
God! her health has not suffered for a moment.

As for me, in consequence of such terror, I was seized with convulsive
spasms, and for several days, as I now hear, the doctors were very
uneasy, and even feared for my reason. But thanks to the strength of
my constitution, I am now almost myself again, and nothing would
remain of this cruel agitation if, by a singular fatality, it were not
connected with another unpleasant circumstance which has lately seen
fit to fasten upon my life.

Before receiving from your letter these fresh assurances of your
regard, I had thought of invoking the help of your friendship and
advice; and to-day, when you tell me that it would make you happy and
proud to take the place of my poor Louise de Chaulieu, the precious
friend of whom death has deprived me, can I hesitate for a moment?

I take you at your word, and that delightful cleverness with which you
foiled the fools who commented on your marriage to Monsieur de Camps
[see "Madame Firmiani"], that singular tact with which we saw you
steer your way through circumstances that were full of embarrassment
and danger, in short the wonderful art which enabled you to keep both
your secret and your dignity, I now ask you to put to the service of
assisting me in the dilemma I mentioned just now.

Unfortunately in consulting a physician we naturally want to see him
and tell him our symptoms _viva voce_, and it is here that Monsieur de
Camps with his industrial genius seems to me most aggravating. Thanks
to those villanous iron-works which he has taken it into his head to
purchase, you are almost lost to Paris and to society! Formerly when
we had you here, at hand, in ten minutes talk, without embarrassment,
without preparation, I could have told you everything; but now I am
obliged to think over what I have to say, to gather myself together,
and pass into the solemnity of a written statement.

But after all, perhaps it is better to plunge boldly in, and since, in
spite of circumlocutions and preambles, I shall have sooner or later
to come to the point, why not say at once that my trouble concerns the
stranger who saved my daughter's life.

Stranger! yes, a stranger to Monsieur de l'Estorade and to all who
have told you about the accident, but not a stranger to me, whom, for
the last three months, this man has condescended to honor with the
most obstinate attention. That the mother of three children, one of
them a big boy of fifteen, should at thirty-three years of age become
the object of an ardent passion will seem to you, as it does to me, an
impossible fact; and that is the ridiculous misfortune about which I
want to consult you.

When I say that this stranger is known to me, I must correct myself;
for I know neither his name, nor his abode, nor anything about him. I
have never met him in society, and I may add that, although he wears
the ribbon of the Legion of honor, there is nothing in his air and
manner--which are totally devoid of elegance--to make me suppose I
ever shall meet him in our world.

It was at Saint-Thomas d'Aquin, where, as you know, I go to hear mass,
that this annoying obsession began. I used almost daily to take my
children to walk in the Tuileries, as the house we have hired here has
no garden. This habit being noticed by my persecutor, I found him
repeatedly there and wherever else I might be met outside of my own
home. Perfectly discreet, although so audacious, this singular
follower never accompanied me to my own door; he kept at a sufficient
distance to give me the comfort of feeling that his foolish assiduity
would not be observed by others.

Heaven only knows the sacrifices and annoyances I have borne to be rid
of him. I never go to church now except on Sundays; I often keep my
dear children at home to the injury of their health; or else I make
excuses not to accompany them, and against all the principles of my
education and prudence, I leave them to the care of the servants.
Visits, shopping I do only in a carriage, which did not prevent my
_shadow_ from being at hand when the accident happened to Nais, and
saving her life, an act that was brave and providential.

But it is precisely this great obligation I am now under which makes
--does it not, I appeal to you?--a most deplorable complication.

In the first place, about thanking him. If I do that, I encourage him,
and he would certainly take advantage of it to change the character of
our present intercourse. But if I pass him without notice--think of
it! a mother--a mother who owes him the life of her daughter, to
pretend not to see him! to pass him without a single word of
gratitude!

That, however, is the intolerable alternative in which I find myself
placed, and you can now see how much I need the counsels of your
experience. What can I do to break the unpleasant habit this man has
taken of being my shadow? How shall I thank him without encouraging
him? or not thank him without incurring self-reproach?

Those are the problems submitted to your wisdom. If you will do me the
kindness to solve them--and I know no one so capable--I shall add
gratitude to all the other affectionate sentiments which, as you know,
I have so long felt for you.



III

THE COMTE DE L'ESTORADE TO MONSIEUR MARIE-GASTON

Paris, February, 1839.

Perhaps, my dear Monsieur Gaston, the public journals will have told
you before this letter can arrive of the duel fought yesterday between
your friend Monsieur Dorlange and the Duc de Rhetore. But the papers,
while announcing the fact as a piece of news, are debarred by custom
and propriety from inferring the motives of a quarrel, and therefore
they will only excite your curiosity without satisfying it.

I have, fortunately, heard from a very good source, all the details of
the affair, and I hasten to transmit them to you; they are, I think,
of a nature to interest you to the highest degree.

Three days ago, that is to say on the very evening of the day when I
paid my visit to Monsieur Dorlange, the Duc de Rhetore occupied a
stall at the Opera-house. Next to him sat Monsieur de Ronquerolles,
who has recently returned from a diplomatic mission which kept him out
of France for several years. During the entr'acte these gentlemen did
not leave their seats to walk about the foyer; but, as is often done,
they stood up, with their backs to the stage, facing the audience and
consequently Monsieur Dorlange, who was seated directly behind them,
seeming to be absorbed in an evening newspaper. There had been that
day a very scandalous, or what is called a very interesting, session
of the Chamber of deputies.

The conversation between the duke and the marquis having naturally
turned on the events of Parisian society which had taken place during
Monsieur de Ronquerolles' absence, the latter made the following
remark which was of a nature to rouse the attention of Monsieur
Dorlange.

"Your poor sister Madame de Macumer! what a sad end, after her
singular marriage!"

"Ah! you know," replied Monsieur de Rhetore, in that high-pitched tone
of his, "my sister had too much imagination not to be romantic and
visionary. She loved her first husband, Monsieur de Macumer,
passionately, but after a time one gets tired of everything, even
widowhood. This Marie-Gaston crossed her path. He is agreeable in
person; my sister was rich; he was deeply in debt and behaved with
corresponding eagerness and devotion. The result was that the
scoundrel not only succeeded Monsieur de Macumer and killed his wife
with jealousy, but he got out of her every penny the law allowed the
poor foolish woman to dispose of. My sister's property amounted to at
least twelve hundred thousand francs, not counting a delightful villa
splendidly furnished which she built at Ville d'Avray. Half of this
that man obtained, the other half went to the Duc and Duchesse de
Chaulieu, my father and mother, who were entitled to it by law as
heirs ascendant. As for my brother Lenoncourt and myself, we were
simply disinherited."

As soon as your name, my dear Monsieur Gaston, was uttered, Monsieur
Dorlange laid aside his newspaper, and then, as Monsieur de Rhetore
ended his remarks, he rose and said:--

"Pardon me, Monsieur le duc, if I venture to correct your statement;
but, as a matter of conscience, I ought to inform you that you are
totally misinformed."

"What is that you say?" returned the duke, blinking his eyes and
speaking in that contemptuous tone we can all imagine.

"I say, Monsieur le duc, that Marie-Gaston is my friend from
childhood; he has never been thought a _scoundrel_; on the contrary,
the world knows him as a man of honor and talent. So far from killing
his wife with jealousy, he made her perfectly happy during the three
years their marriage lasted. As for the property--"

"Have you considered, monsieur," said the Duc de Rhetore, interrupting
him, "the result of such language?"

"Thoroughly, monsieur; and I repeat that the property left to
Marie-Gaston by the will of his wife is so little desired by him that,
to my knowledge, he is about to spend a sum of two or three hundred
thousand francs in building a mausoleum for a wife whom he has never
ceased to mourn."

"After all, monsieur, who are you?" said the Duc de Rhetore, again
interrupting him with ill-restrained impatience.

"Presently," replied Monsieur Dorlange, "I shall have the honor to
tell you; you must now permit me to add that the property of which you
say you have been disinherited Madame Marie-Gaston had the right to
dispose of without any remorse of conscience. It came from her first
husband, the Baron de Macumer; and she had, previously to that
marriage, given up her own property in order to constitute a fortune
for your brother, the Duc de Lenoncourt-Givry, who, as younger son,
had not, like you, Monsieur le Duc, the advantages of an entail."

So saying, Monsieur Dorlange felt in his pocket for his card-case.

"I have no cards with me," he said at last, "but my name is Dorlange,
a theatrical name, easy to remember, and I live at No. 42 rue de
l'Ouest."

"Not a very central quarter," remarked Monsieur de Rhetore,
ironically. Then turning to Monsieur de Ronquerolles, whom he thus
constituted one of his seconds, "I beg your pardon, my dear fellow,"
he said, "for the voyage of discovery you will have to undertake for
me to-morrow morning." And then almost immediately he added: "Come to
the foyer; we can talk there with greater _safety_."

By his manner of accenting the last word it was impossible to mistake
the insulting meaning he intended to attach to it.

The two gentlemen having left their seats, without this scene
attracting any notice, in consequence of the stalls being empty for
the most part during the entr'acte, Monsieur Dorlange saw at some
distance the celebrated sculptor Stidmann, and went up to him.

"Have you a note-book of any kind in your pocket?" he said.

"Yes, I always carry one."

"Will you lend it to me and let me tear out a page? I have an idea in
my mind which I don't want to lose. If I do not see you again after
the play to make restitution, I will send it to you to-morrow morning
without fail."

Returning to his place, Monsieur Dorlange sketched something rapidly,
and when the curtain rose and the two gentlemen returned to their
seats, he touched the Duc de Rhetore lightly on the shoulder and said,
giving him the drawing:--

"My card, which I have the honor to present to you."

This "card" was a charming sketch of an architectural design placed in
a landscape. Beneath it was written "Plan for a mausoleum to be
erected to the memory of Madame Marie-Gaston, _nee_ Chaulieu, by her
husband; from the designs of Charles Dorlange, sculptor, 42 rue de
l'Ouest."

It was impossible to let Monsieur de Rhetore know more delicately that
he had to do with a suitable adversary; and you will remark, my dear
Monsieur Gaston, that Monsieur Dorlange made this drawing the means of
enforcing his denial and giving proof of your disinterestedness and
the sincerity of your grief.

After the play was over, Monsieur de Rhetore parted from Monsieur de
Ronquerolles, and the latter went up to Monsieur Dorlange and
endeavored, very courteously, to bring about a reconciliation,
remarking to him that, while he was right in the subject-matter, his
method of proceeding was unusual and offensive; Monsieur de Rhetore,
on the other hand, had shown great moderation, and would now be
satisfied with a mere expression of regret; in short, Monsieur de
Ronquerolles said all that can be said on such an occasion.

Monsieur Dorlange would not listen to anything which seemed a
submission on his part, and the next day he received a visit from
Monsieur de Ronquerolles and General Montriveau on behalf of the Duc
de Rhetore. Again an effort was made to induce Monsieur Dorlange to
give another turn to his words. But your friend would not depart from
this ultimatum:--

"Will Monsieur de Rhetore withdraw the words I felt bound to notice;
if so, I will withdraw mine."

"But that is impossible," they said to him. "Monsieur de Rhetore has
been personally insulted; you, on the contrary, have not been. Right
or wrong, he has the conviction that Monsieur Marie-Gaston has done
him an injury. We must always make certain allowances for wounded
self-interests; you can never get absolute justice from them."

"It comes to this, then," replied Monsieur Dorlange, "that Monsieur de
Rhetore may continue to calumniate my friend at his ease; in the first
place, because he is in Italy; and secondly, because Marie-Gaston
would always feel extreme repugnance to come to certain extremities
with the brother of his wife. It is precisely that powerlessness,
relatively speaking, to defend himself, which constitutes my right--I
will say more--my duty to interfere. It was not without a special
permission of Providence that I was enabled to catch a few of the
malicious words that were said of him, and, as Monsieur de Rhetore
declines to modify any of them, we must, if it please you, continue
this matter to the end."

The duel then became inevitable; the terms were arranged in the course
of the day, and the meeting, with pistols, was appointed for the day
after. On the ground Monsieur Dorlange was perfectly cool. When the
first fire was exchanged without result, the seconds proposed to put
an end to the affair.

"No, one more shot!" he said gaily, as if he were shooting in a
pistol-gallery.

This time he was shot in the fleshy part of the thigh, not a dangerous
wound, but one which caused him to lose a great deal of blood. As they
carried him to the carriage which brought him, Monsieur de Rhetore,
who hastened to assist them, being close beside him, he said, aloud:--

"This does not prevent Marie-Gaston from being a man of honor and a
heart of gold."