"So mamma thinks. For my part, I am afraid that Monsieur de Clagny has at last succeeded in bewitching Madame de la Baudraye. If he has been able to show her that he had any chance of putting on the robes of the Keeper of the Seals, he may have hidden his moleskin complexion, his terrible eyes, his touzled mane, his voice like a hoarse crier's, his bony figure, like that of a starveling poet, and have assumed all the charms of Adonis. If Dinah sees Monsieur de Clagny as Attorney-General, she may see him as a handsome youth. Eloquence has great privileges.--Besides, Madame de la Baudraye is full of ambition. She does not like Sancerre, and dreams of the glories of Paris.""But what interest have you in all this?" said Lousteau. "If she is in love with the Public Prosecutor!--Ah! you think she will not love him for long, and you hope to succeed him.""You who live in Paris," said Gatien, "meet as many different women as there are days in the year. But at Sancerre, where there are not half a dozen, and where, of those six, five set up for the most extravagant virtue, when the handsomest of them all keeps you at an infinite distance by looks as scornful as though she were of the blood royal, a young man of two-and-twenty may surely be allowed to make a guess at her secrets, since she must then treat him with some consideration.""Consideration! So that is what you call it in these parts?" said the journalist with a smile.
"I should suppose Madame de la Baudraye to have too much good taste to trouble her head about that ugly ape," said Bianchon.
"Horace," said Lousteau, "look here, O learned interpreter of human nature, let us lay a trap for the Public Prosecutor; we shall be doing our friend Gatien a service, and get a laugh out of it. I do not love Public Prosecutors.""You have a keen intuition of destiny," said Horace. "But what can we do?""Well, after dinner we will tell sundry little anecdotes of wives caught out by their husbands, killed, murdered under the most terrible circumstances.--Then we shall see the faces that Madame de la Baudraye and de Clagny will make.""Not amiss!" said Bianchon; "one or the other must surely, by look or gesture--""I know a newspaper editor," Lousteau went on, addressing Gatien, "who, anxious to forefend a grievous fate, will take no stories but such as tell the tale of lovers burned, hewn, pounded, or cut to pieces; of wives boiled, fried, or baked; he takes them to his wife to read, hoping that sheer fear will keep her faithful--satisfied with that humble alternative, poor man! 'You see, my dear, to what the smallest error may lead you!' says he, epitomizing Arnolfe's address to Agnes.""Madame de la Baudraye is quite guiltless; this youth sees double,"said Bianchon. "Madame Piedefer seems to me far too pious to invite her daughter's lover to the Chateau d'Anzy. Madame de la Baudraye would have to hoodwink her mother, her husband, her maid, and her mother's maid; that is too much to do. I acquit her.""Well with more reason because her husband never 'quits her,' " said Gatien, laughing at his own wit.
"We can easily remember two or three stories that will make Dinah quake," said Lousteau. "Young man--and you too, Bianchon--let me beg you to maintain a stern demeanor; be thorough diplomatists, an easy manner without exaggeration, and watch the faces of the two criminals, you know, without seeming to do so--out of the corner of your eye, or in a glass, on the sly. This morning we will hunt the hare, this evening we will hunt the Public Prosecutor."The evening began with a triumph for Lousteau, who returned the album to the lady with this elegy written in it:
SPLEEN
You ask for verse from me, the feeble prey Of this self-seeking world, a waif and stray With none to whom to cling;From me--unhappy, purblind, hopeless devil!
Who e'en in what is good see only evil In any earthly thing!
This page, the pastime of a dame so fair, May not reflect the shadow of my care, For all things have their place.
Of love, to ladies bright, the poet sings, Of joy, and balls, and dress, and dainty things--Nay, or of God and Grace.
It were a bitter jest to bid the pen Of one so worn with life, so hating men, Depict a scene of joy.
Would you exult in sight to one born blind, Or--cruel! of a mother's love remind Some hapless orphan boy?
When cold despair has gripped a heart still fond, When there is no young heart that will respond To it in love, the future is a lie.
If there is none to weep when he is sad, And share his woe, a man were better dead!--And so I soon must die.
Give me your pity! often I blaspheme The sacred name of God. Does it not seem That I was born in vain?
Why should I bless him? Or why thank Him, since He might have made me handsome, rich, a prince--And I am poor and plain?
ETIENNE LOUSTEAU.
September 1836, Chateau d'Anzy.
"And you have written those verses since yesterday?" cried Clagny in a suspicious tone.
"Dear me, yes, as I was following the game; it is only too evident! Iwould gladly have done something better for madame.""The verses are exquisite!" cried Dinah, casting up her eyes to heaven.
"They are, alas! the expression of a too genuine feeling," replied Lousteau, in a tone of deep dejection.
The reader will, of course, have guessed that the journalist had stored these lines in his memory for ten years at least, for he had written them at the time of the Restoration in disgust at being unable to get on. Madame de la Baudraye gazed at him with such pity as the woes of genius inspire; and Monsieur de Clagny, who caught her expression, turned in hatred against this sham /Jeune Malade/ (the name of an Elegy written by Millevoye). He sat down to backgammon with the cure of Sancerre. The Presiding Judge's son was so extremely obliging as to place a lamp near the two players in such a way as that the light fell full on Madame de la Baudraye, who took up her work;she was embroidering in coarse wool a wicker-plait paper-basket. The three conspirators sat close at hand.