Lost Illusions (Penguin Classics) (77 page)
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Authors: Honore de Balzac
Petit-Claud moved away from the fence and as he paced round the Place du Mûrier he looked up to the windows of the room in which the Séchard family was assembled and fixed his mind on the future as if to give himself courage, for Cériset’s stratagem might make a knock-out blow possible. Petit-Claud was a thoroughly shifty, treacherous, two-faced man, one of those who never swallow any bait that the present holds out or let themselves get caught up in any attachment once they have studied the vagaries of the human heart and the twists and turns of self-interest. That is why, from the beginning, he had placed little faith in Cointet. In the eventuality of his marriage project failing without him having grounds for accusing tall Cointet of double dealing, he had thought out a way of causing him trouble. But now that he had succeeded at the Bargeton mansion, he was playing fair with Cointet. The scheme he had held in reserve had now become superfluous and would jeopardize the political situation to which he aspired.
These are the foundations on which he had wished to base his future importance. In L’Houmeau Gannerac and some other big tradesmen were beginning to form a Liberal committee connected by business relationships with the leaders of the Opposition. The accession to power of the Villèle cabinet, accepted by the moribund Louis XVIII, had heralded a change of tactics in the Opposition: now that Napoleon was dead, they were giving up the dangerous method of conspiracies. The Liberal party was organizing a system of law-abiding resistance. It was aiming at getting control in the constituencies in order to reach its goal by winning over the masses. Petit-Claud, born and brought up in L’Houmeau as a rabid Liberal, was the life and soul and also the secret counsellor of the Opposition in the Lower Town, kept under as it was by the aristocracy of the Upper Town. He had been the first to see the danger of allowing to the Cointets the monopoly of the Press in the Charente valley, where the Opposition needed an organ in order to keep abreast with other towns.
‘Let each of us give Gannerac a five-hundred franc note,’ said Petit-Claud, ‘and he will have over twenty thousand francs to buy the Séchard printing-office. We’ll lend this sum to the
purchaser and so control the running of it.’ The solicitor got this idea adopted with a view to thereby strengthening his position as regards both Cointet and Séchard, and naturally his eye fell on Cérizet as being the sort of scoundrel he could make into a stout supporter of the Liberal party.
‘If you can find out where your former boss is and deliver him into our hands,’ he had said to Séchard’s former compositor, ‘we’ll lend you twenty thousand francs to buy his printing-works, and probably you’ll be put in charge of the journal. So get busy.’ More certain of the activity of a man like Cérizet than of that of all the Doublons in the world, Petit-Claud had then promised tall Cointet that David should be arrested. However, once he had begun to cherish the hope of becoming a magistrate, he foresaw that he might have to turn his back on the Liberals; but he had so successfully worked up the L’Houmeau people that the funds needed for the purchase of the printing-works were in hand. Petit-Claud resolved to let things take their natural course. ‘Bah!’ he had told himself. ‘Cérizet will break some Press law or other and I’ll take advantage of it to display my talents.’
He went up to the printing-office door and said to Kolb, who was standing guard. ‘Go upstairs and tell David to get away while he can, and see you take all possible precautions. It’s one o’clock, I’m going home.’
When Kolb moved from the doorstep Marion took his place. Lucien and David came out: Kolb walked a hundred paces ahead of them and Marion a hundred paces behind. While the two brothers were passing alongside the boarding, Lucien was talking animatedly to David.
‘My dear David,’ he said, ‘my plan is exceedingly simple; but how can I talk about it before Eve? She would never understand the means I shall adopt. I’m sure that Louise has deep down in her heart a desire that I shall be able to reawaken, and I want her solely in order to avenge myself on that imbecile of a prefect. Once we are lovers, if only for a week, I shall persuade her to ask the Ministry to allot you a subsidy of twenty thousand francs for your researches. Tomorrow
I shall be seeing the creature again in the little boudoir where our love affair began – according to Petit-Claud, nothing has been altered there. I’ll do a bit of acting. And so, the day after tomorrow, in the morning, I’ll send you word by Basine to tell you whether I’ve been hissed or clapped… Do you understand now why I wanted clothes from Paris? One can’t play a role like that in rags.’
At six that morning, Cérizet came to see Petit-Claud.
‘Tomorrow at midday,’ said the Parisian, ‘Doublon can get ready to pounce. He’ll catch our man, I guarantee that. You see, I have a hold on one of Mademoiselle Clerget’s laundry-girls.’
After Cérizet had disclosed his plan, Petit-Claud hurried to the Cointets. ‘Arrange matters so that by this evening Monsieur du Hautoy will have decided to make over his estates without usufruct to Françoise, and in two days’ time you’ll be signing your contract with Séchard. I won’t get married until a week after the signing, and so we shall have kept strictly to the terms of our little agreement:
give and take.
But let’s keep a close watch this evening on what happens at Madame de Sénonches’ house between Lucien and the Comtesse du Châtelet, for everything depends on that. If Lucien is hopeful of success through the Prefect’s wife, David’s in our hands.’
‘I can see you’ll be Keeper of the Seals one day!’ said Cointet.
‘Why not, if a man like Peyronnet could do it?’ said Petit-Claud, thereby showing that he had not yet entirely cast his slough as a Liberal.
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T
HE
dubiousness of Mademoiselle de La Haye’s status ensured the attendance of most of the nobility of Angoulême at the signing of her marriage contract. The poverty of this future
ménage,
which had no wedding settlements behind it,
quickened that sort of interest which society likes to show, for with beneficence as with ovations the case is the same: a show of charitableness bolsters self-esteem. Therefore the Marquise de Pimentel, the Comtesse du Châtelet, Monsieur de Sénonches and two or three habitual visitors to the house gave Françoise several presents which were much talked of in the town. These dainty trifles, added to the trousseau Zéphirine had been preparing for a year, to the godfather’s jewellery and the customary gifts from the bridegroom, soothed Françoise’s feelings and pricked the curiosity of several mothers who who brought their daughters along. Petit-Claud and Cointet had already observed that the Angoulême nobility was tolerating the presence of both of them on their Olympian heights as a necessity, since one of them was the steward of Françoise’s fortune, her deputy guardian, while the other was as indispensable for the signing of the contract as a condemned criminal would be at a hanging. And yet, although when the wedding was over Madame Petit-Claud would still have the right to visit her godmother, the bridegroom realized that he would find it difficult to obtain admission, and he had made up his mind to force his way into this arrogant society. Ashamed of his low-class parentage, the solicitor made his mother stay behind at Mansle where she was living in retirement, asking her to say she was ill and give her consent in writing. Somewhat humiliated to be there without parents or patrons, having no one to sign on his behalf, Petit-Claud was consequently very happy to introduce, in the person of the celebrated Lucien, an acceptable friend, whom in any case the Comtesse wanted to see again. So he called for Lucien in a carriage. For this memorable evening the poet had groomed himself in such a way as to assert an incontestable superiority over all the men present. Madame de Sénonches had singled him out as the guest of the evening, and the interview between the two estranged lovers was to provide one of those scenes which are much savoured in the provinces. Lucien was now being lionized; he was said to be so handsome, so changed, so wonderful that all the society women of Angoulême were agog to see him again. In conformity with the fashion
feigning during this period, to which we owe the transition from the former ballroom breeches to the ignoble trousers of our day, he had put on black, tight-fitting trousers. Men’s clothes were still cut close to the figure, to the great despair of skinny or misshapen people: Lucien’s proportions were those of a Phoebus Apollo. His grey silk open-work stockings, his elegant shoes, his black satin waistcoat, his cravat, everything in fact was scrupulously fitted, one might say moulded to his person. His fair, abundant, wavy hair enhanced the beauty of his white forehead, round which the curls rose with elaborate gracefulness. His eyes were sparkling with self-assurance. The beauty of his small, feminine hands was so enhanced by his gloves that one might have thought that they should never be seen bare. He modelled his deportment on the famous Parisian dandy de Marsay, holding in one hand his cane and hat, which he did not lay down, and using the other to make the rare gestures with which he gave effect to his remarks.
He would have liked to slip into the salon in the manner of those celebrities who, out of false modesty, would stoop even when they passed under the Porte-Saint-Denis. But Petit-Claud had only one friend with him and made all he could out of the fact. Almost pompously he led Lucien to Madame de Sénonches in the centre of the gathering. As he made his way forward, the poet heard murmurs which in former times would have put him into a flurry. But he kept a cool head: he was sure that, singly, he was equal to the whole crowd of Angoulême olympians.
‘Madame,’ he said to Madame de Sénonches, ‘I have already congratulated my friend Petit-Claud, who has in him the makings of a Keeper of the Seals, on being so fortunate as to become allied to you, however tenuous may be the bonds between a godmother and her god-daughter.’ He said this as if he were launching an epigram, and his point was well taken by all the ladies, who were listening without appearing to do so. ‘But, on my own account, I rejoice at an occasion which enables me to offer you my homage.’
He said this unconstrainedly, striking the attitude of a great
lord on a visit to humble folk. As he listened to Zéphirine’s embarrassed reply he cast an appraising glance round the salon as a prelude to making an impression. So he was able to give graceful bows and appropriate smiles to Francis du Hautoy and the Prefect, who returned his salute. Then at last he walked over to Madame du Châtelet whom he pretended to have just noticed. This encounter was so decidedly the event of the evening that the marriage contract, to which people of mark were to append their signature after being ushered into the bedroom either by the notary or by Françoise, was forgotten. Lucien took a few steps towards Louise de Nègrepelisse, and with that Parisian gracefulness which was now, since her return, only a thing of memory for her, he said in a fairly audible voice:
‘Is it to you, Madame, that I owe the invitation which procures me the pleasure of dining at the Prefecture the day after tomorrow?’
‘You owe it, Monsieur, to your renown alone,’ Louise dryly replied, somewhat shocked by Lucien’s aggressive turn of phrase, which he had thought out in order to wound the pride of his former patroness.
‘Ah! Madame la Comtesse,’ said Lucien with an air which was both subtle and fatuous. ‘I could not bring the man enjoying this renown to you if he’s in your bad books.’ And, without waiting for an answer, he wheeled round on perceiving the bishop, to whom he gave a dignified bow.
‘You were almost prophetic, my lord,’ he said in a charming voice, ‘and I shall try to make your prophecy come true. I consider myself happy to be here this evening, since I am thus able to pay you my respects.’
Lucien then engaged his lordship in a conversation lasting ten minutes. All the ladies were looking on him as a nine days’ wonder. His unexpected impertinence had left Madame du Châtelet speechless. As she saw that Lucien was a subject of admiration for all the ladies; as she followed, from group to group and from person to person, the whispered report of the words they had exchanged and the way Lucien had rebuffed her with his apparent disdain, she felt a spasm of self-pride gripping her heart.
‘If he didn’t come tomorrow, after making such a remark,’ she thought, ‘what a scandal it would be! Why is he so proud? Can it be that Mademoiselle des Touches is in love with him?… He’s so handsome! They say she rushed to him in Paris the day after the actress died!… Perhaps he came back home to save his brother-in-law and found himself in our carriage at Mansle through a traveller’s mishap. He looked us up and down, Sixte and myself, in a singular way that morning.’
Myriad thoughts raced through her head and, unfortunately for her, she gave free rein to them as she watched Lucien chatting with the bishop as if he were a monarch holding court. He gave no salutes and waited for people to come to him, looking round with a versatility of expression and an ease of manner worthy of his model de Marsay. He did not leave the prelate even in order to go and greet Monsieur de Sénonches as he came into view. After ten minutes of this, Louise could stand it no longer. She rose to her feet, walked up to the bishop and asked him: ‘What is being said to you, my Lord, to make you smile so often?’
Lucien took a few tactful paces backwards in order to leave Madame du Châtelet with the prelate.
‘Ah! Madame la Comtesse, this young man has much wit!… He has been telling me that all his strength came from you.’
‘I at least am not ungrateful, Madame!’ said Lucien, giving the Comtesse a reproachful look in which she found some charm.
‘Let us talk things out,’ she said, beckoning Lucien towards her with a flick of her fan. ‘Come this way with my Lord!… He shall be our judge.’ She pointed to the boudoir and led the bishop to it.
‘She’s enlisting his lordship in a strange kind of profession!’ said a woman belonging to the Chandour allegiance in a voice loud enough to be heard.
‘Our judge?’ said Lucien, looking turn by turn at the prelate and the Prefect’s wife. ‘Does that mean that one of us is a guilty person?’
Louise de Nègrepelisse sat down on the sofa in her former boudoir. After making Lucien sit down on one side of her
and the lord bishop on the other, she began to speak. Lucien did his former love the honour of not seeming to listen, a thing which both surprised and pleased her. He assumed the attitude and gestures of La Pasta in
Tancredi
when she is about to sing
O patria
!… The expression on his face was such that he seemed to be singing the famous cavatina
del Rizzio.
Finally Coralie’s pupil managed to squeeze out a few tears.
‘Oh Louise, how I loved you!’ he murmured in her ear without attending either to the prelate or the conversation once he saw that the Comtesse had noticed his tears.
‘Dry your eyes, or you might disgrace me here once again,’ she said, turning round to him with an aside which shocked the bishop.
‘And once is enough,’ Lucien replied with vehemence. ‘Such a word, coming from the cousin of Madame d’Espard, would dry the tears of a Magdalen. My God!… For an instant my memories, my illusions, my adolescence came back to me, and you are…’
His lordship hastily regained the salon, realizing that his dignity might be compromised if he stayed with this pair of former lovers. Everyone made a point of leaving the Prefect’s wife and Lucien alone in the boudoir. But a quarter of an hour later Sixte, annoyed by the chatter and laughter and tiptoeing to the threshold of the boudoir, entered it with a more than anxious air and found Lucien and Louise in animated conversation.
‘Madame,’ Sixte whispered to his wife, ‘you know Angoulême better than I do. Ought you not to keep Madame Ja Préfète and our official responsibilities in mind?’
‘My dear,’ said Louise, eyeing her censor with a haughtiness that made him tremble, ‘I am talking to Monsieur de Rubempré about matters which are important for you. It’s a question of rescuing an inventor who is about to fall victim to the basest form of intrigue, and you must come to our help… As for what those ladies may be thinking of me, you shall see how I shall comport myself in order to congeal the poison on their tongues.’
She left the boudoir leaning on Lucien’s arm and took him
along to sign the contract of marriage with all the audacity of a great lady. ‘Shall we sign it together?’ she said, offering him the pen. He let her show him the place where she had signed so that his signature could be next to hers.
‘Monsieur de Sénonches, would you have recognized Monsieur de Rubempré?’ said the Comtesse, thereby forcing the insolent huntsman to acknowledge Lucien.
She took Lucien back to the salon and sat him between herself and Zéphirine on the formidable divan in the middle of the room. Then, like a queen on her throne, she began, at first in a low voice, an intentionally vivacious conversation which was shared by a few of her old friends and several women who were deferentially hovering about her. Soon Lucien, who had become the centre of an admiring circle, was launched by the Comtesse on the theme of life in Paris. The satire he made of it was improvised with incredible verve and spangled with anecdotes about celebrated people: real conversational titbits of the kind which provincials lap up greedily. They admired him for his wit, just as they had admired him as a personable man. Madame la Comtesse Sixte du Châtelet was so patently making a lion of Lucien, so cleverly bringing him out like a woman delighted with the instrument on which she is performing, giving him cues with so much apropos, canvassing approval for him with such compromising glances, that some of the ladies began to regard the coincidence of Louise’s and Lucien’s return to Angoulême as proof of deep love labouring under a misunderstanding on both sides. It was perhaps a lovers’ quarrel which had occasioned her untoward marriage with Châtelet; forthwith a reaction of feeling set in against the latter. ‘Well,’ Louise whispered to Lucien at one o’clock in the morning before rising from her seat. ‘We shall meet again the day after tomorrow. Do me the pleasure of being punctual.’
The Prefect’s wife left Lucien with a slight but friendly bow, and went to say a few words to Sixte, who was looking for his hat.
‘If what Madame du Châtelet has just told me is true, my dear Lucien, you may count on me,’ said the Prefect, starting
off after his wife who was leaving without him, as she used to do in Paris. ‘From tonight your brother-in-law may consider himself out of danger.’
‘Monsieur le Comte certainly owes me that,’ Lucien smilingly answered.
‘There you are, he’s trumped our trick!’ Cointet whispered to Petit-Claud, who had witnessed this parting. Petit-Claud, dumbfounded by Lucien’s success, stupefied by his brilliant wit and graceful demeanour, was watching Françoise de La Haye, who was looking very admiringly at Lucien with an expression which seemed to say to her betrothed: ‘I wish you were more like him.’
An exultant gleam flashed over Petit-Claud’s face. ‘The Prefect’s dinner isn’t till the day after tomorrow,’ he said. ‘We still have one day. I’ll answer for everything.’
‘Well, dear friend,’ said Lucien to Petit-Claud, as they walked back at two in the morning. ‘I came, I saw, I conquered! In a few hours Séchard will be very happy.’
‘That’s all I wanted to know,’ thought Petit-Claud.
‘I imagined you were merely a poet. You’re a Lauzun
1
into the bargain! That makes you twice a poet,’ he replied, giving Lucien a handshake. It was the last one they were ever to exchange.