Chapter VII: Part 7

Being at Venice, in very cold weather and under very depressing circumstances, the carnival roaring and whistling outside with the icy north wind, I experienced the painful contrast which results from inward suffering, alone amid the wild excitement of a population of strangers.

I occupied a vast apartment in the former Nasi palace, now a hotel, which fronts on the quay, near the Bridge of Sighs. All travellers who have visited Venice know that hotel, but I doubt if many of them have ever happened to be there on Mardi Gras, in the heart of the classic carnival city, in a frame of mind so painfully meditative as mine.

Striving to escape the spleen by forcing my imagination to labor, I began at hazard a novel which opened with a description of the locality, of the festival out-of-doors and of the solemn apartment in which I was writing. The last book I had read before leaving Paris was _Manon Lescaut_. I had discussed it, or rather listened to others discussing it, and I had said to myself that to make Manon Lescaut a man and Desgrieux a woman would be worth trying, and would present many tragic opportunities, vice being often very near crime in man, and enthusiasm closely akin to despair in woman.

I wrote this book in a week and hardly read it over before sending it to Paris. It had answered my purpose and expressed my thoughts; I could have added nothing to it if I had thought it over. And why should a work of the imagination need to be thought over? What moral could we expect to deduce from a fiction which everyone knows to be quite possible in the world of reality? Some people who are very rigid in theory--no one knows just why--have pronounced it a dangerous book. After the lapse of twenty years, I look it over, and can detect no such tendency in it. The Leone Leoni type, although not untrue to life, is exceptional, thank God! and I do not see that the infatuation he inspires in a weak mind is rewarded by very enviable joys. However, I have, at the present moment, a well-fixed opinion concerning the alleged _morals_ of the novel, and I have expressed elsewhere my deliberate ideas thereon.

GEORGE SAND.

Nohant, January, 1853.

I

We were at Venice. The cold and the rain had driven the promenaders and the masks from the square and the quays. We could hear naught save the monotonous voice of the Adriatic in the distance, breaking on the islands, and from time to time the shouts of the watch aboard the frigate which guards the entrance to Canal Saint-George, and the answering hail from the custom-house schooner. It was a fine carnival evening inside the palaces and theatres, but outside, everything was dismal, and the street-lights were reflected in the streaming pavements, where the hurried footstep of a belated masker, wrapped in his cloak, echoed loudly from time to time.

We were alone in one of the rooms of the old Nasi palace, to-day transformed into a hotel, the best in Venice. A few candles scattered about the tables, and the blaze on the hearth only partially lighted the enormous room, and the flickering of the flame seemed to make the allegorical divinities painted in fresco on the ceiling move to and fro. Juliette was indisposed, and had refused to go out. Lying on a sofa and half-covered by a fur cloak, she seemed to be dozing; and I walked back and forth noiselessly on the thick carpet, smoking _Serraglio_ cigarettes.

We recognize in my country a certain state of the mind which is, I think, peculiar to Spaniards. It is a sort of serious tranquillity which does not exclude activity of thought, as among the Teutonic races and in the cafés of the Orient. Our intellect does not grow dull during the trances in which we are buried. When we walk to and fro with measured step for hours at a time, on the same line of mosaics, without swerving a hair's breadth and puffing away at our cigars--that is the time when the operation that we may call mental digestion takes place most easily. Momentous resolutions are formed at such times, and excited passions calm down and give birth to vigorous acts. A Spaniard is never calmer than when he is meditating some scheme; it may be sinister or it may be sublime. As for myself, I was digesting my plan; but there was nothing heroic or alarming about it. When I had made the circuit of the room about sixty times and smoked a dozen cigarettes, my mind was made up. I halted by the sofa, and said to my young companion, regardless of her sleep:

"Juliette, will you be my wife?"

She opened her eyes and looked at me without answering. I thought that she had not heard me, and I repeated my question.

"_Juliette, will you be my wife?_"

_She opened her eyes and looked at me without answering. I thought that she had not heard me, and I repeated my question._]

"I heard you very plainly," she replied in an indifferent tone--then held her peace anew.

I thought that my question had displeased her, and my anger and grief were terrible; but, from respect for Spanish gravity, I manifested neither, but began to pace the floor again.

At the seventh turn Juliette stopped me, saying: "What is the use?"

I made three turns more; then I threw away my cigarette, and, drawing a chair to her side, sat down.

"Your position in society must distress you?" I said to her.

"I know," she replied, raising her exquisite face and fixing upon mine her blue eyes wherein apathy seemed to be always at odds with melancholy,--"yes, I know, my dear Aleo, that I am branded in society with an ineffaceable designation, that of kept mistress."

"We will efface it, Juliette; my name will purify yours."

"Pride of the grandee!" she rejoined with a sigh. Then, turning suddenly to me and seizing my hand, which she put to her lips in spite of me, she added: "Do you really mean that you will marry me, Bustamente? O my God! my God! what comparisons you force me to make!"

"What do you mean, my dear child?" I asked her. She did not reply, but burst into tears.

These tears, of which I understood the cause only too well, hurt me terribly. But I concealed the species of frenzy which they aroused in me and returned to my seat by her side.

"Poor Juliette!" I said to her; "will that wound bleed forever?"

"You gave me leave to weep," she replied; "that was the first of our agreements."

"Weep, my poor afflicted darling," I said; "then listen and answer me."

She wiped away her tears and put her hand in mine.

"Juliette," I said to her, "when you speak of yourself as a kept woman, you are mad. Of what consequence are the opinions and coarse remarks of a few fools? You are my friend, my companion, my mistress."

"Alas! yes," she said, "I am your mistress, Aleo, and it is that dishonors me; I should have chosen to die rather than to bequeath to a noble heart like yours the possession of a half extinct heart."

"We will rekindle the ashes gradually, my Juliette; let me hope that they still hide a spark which I can find."

"Yes, yes, I hope so, I wish that it may be so!" she said eagerly. "So I shall be your wife? But why? Shall I love you better for it? Will you feel surer of me?"

"I shall know that you are happier and I shall be happier for that reason."

"Happier! you are mistaken; I am as happy with you as possible; how can the title of Donna Bustamente make me any happier?"

"It would put you out of reach of the insolent disdain of society."

"Society!" said Juliette; "you mean your friends. What is society? I have never known. I have passed through life and made the tour of the globe, but have never been able to discover what you call society."

"I know that you have lived hitherto like the enchanted maiden in her globe of crystal, and yet I have seen you shed bitter tears over the deplorable position in which you then were. I made an inward vow to offer you my rank and my name as soon as I should be assured of your affection."

"You failed to understand me, Don Aleo, if you thought that shame made me weep. There was no place in my heart for shame; there were enough other causes of sorrow to fill it and make it insensible to everything that came from without. If he had continued to love me, I should have been happy, though I had been covered with infamy in the eyes of what you call society."

It was impossible for me to restrain a shudder of wrath; I rose to pace the floor. Juliette detained me. "Forgive me," she said in a trembling voice, "forgive me for the pain I cause you. It is beyond my strength always to avoid speaking of him."

"Very well, Juliette," I said, stifling a painful sigh, "pray speak of him if it is a relief to you! But is it possible that you cannot succeed in forgetting him, when everything about you tends to direct your thoughts toward another life, another happiness, another love?"

"Everything about me!" said Juliette excitedly; "are we not in Venice?"

She rose and walked to the window; her white silk petticoat fell in numberless folds about her graceful form. Her chestnut hair escaped from the long pins of chased gold which only half confined it, and bathed her back in a flood of perfumed silk. She was so lovely with the faint touch of color in her cheeks, and her half loving, half bitter smile, that I forgot what she said and went to her to take her in my arms. But she had drawn the curtains partly aside, and looking through the glass, as the moon's moist beams were beginning to break through the clouds, she cried: "O Venice! how changed thou art! how beautiful thou once wert in my eyes, and how desolate and deserted thou dost seem to-day!"

"What do you say, Juliette?" I cried in my turn; "have you been in Venice before? Why have you never told me?"

"I saw that you wanted to see this beautiful city, and I knew that a word would have prevented you from coming here. Why should I have made you change your plan?"

"Yes, I would have changed it," I replied, stamping my foot. "Even if we had been at the very gate of this infernal city, I would have caused the boat to steer for some shore unstained by that memory; I would have taken you there, I would have swum with you in my arms, if I had had to choose between such a journey and this house, where perhaps you will find at every step a burning trace of his passage! But tell me, Juliette, where in heaven's name I can take refuge with you from the past? Mention some city, tell me of some corner of Italy to which that adventurer has not dragged you in his train?"

I was pale and trembling with wrath; Juliette turned slowly, gazed coldly at me, and said, turning her eyes once more to the window: "Venice, we loved thee in the old days, and to-day I cannot look on thee without emotion, for he was fond of thee, he constantly invoked thy name in his travels, he called thee his dear fatherland; for thou wert the cradle of his noble family, and one of thy palaces still bears the name that he bears."

"By death and eternity!" I said to Juliette, lowering my voice, "we leave this dear fatherland to-morrow!"

"_You_ may leave Venice and Juliette to-morrow," she replied with frigid sang-froid; "but, as for me, I take orders from no one, and I shall leave Venice when I please."

"I believe that I understand you, mademoiselle," I said indignantly: "Leoni is in Venice."

Juliette started as if she had received an electric shock.

"What do you say? Leoni in Venice?" she cried, in a sort of frenzy, throwing herself in to my arms; "repeat what you said; repeat his name, let me at least hear his name once more!"

She burst into tears, and, suffocated by her sobs, almost lost consciousness. I carried her to the sofa, and without thinking of offering her any further assistance, began to pace the edge of the carpet once more. But my rage subsided as the sea subsides when the sirocco folds its wings. A bitter grief succeeded my excitement; and I fell to weeping like a woman.

II

In the midst of this heart-rending agitation, I paused a few steps from Juliette and looked at her. Her face was turned to the wall, but a mirror fifteen feet high, which formed the panel, enabled me to see her face. She was pale as death and her eyes were closed as in sleep; there was more weariness than pain in the expression of her face, and that expression accurately portrayed her mental plight: exhaustion and indifference triumphed over the last ebullition of passion. I hoped.

I called her name softly and she looked at me with an air of amazement, as if her memory lost the faculty of retaining facts at the same time that her heart lost the power to feel anger.

"What do you want," she said, "and why do you wake me?"

"Juliette," I replied, "I offended you; forgive me; I wounded your heart."

"No," she said, putting one hand to her forehead and offering me the other, "you wounded my pride only. I beg you, Aleo, remember that I have nothing, that I live on your gifts, and that the thought of my dependent state humiliates me. You are kind and generous to me, I know. You lavish attentions on me, you cover me with jewels, you overwhelm me with your luxury and your magnificence; but for you I should have died in some paupers' hospital, or should be confined in a madhouse. I know all that. But remember, Bustamente, that you have done it all in spite of me, that you took me in half-dead, and that you succored me when I had not the slightest desire to be succored; remember that I wanted to die, and that you passed many nights at my pillow, holding my hands in yours to prevent me from killing myself; remember that I refused for a long time your protection and your benefactions, and that, if I accept them to-day, it is half from weakness and discouragement, half from affection and gratitude to you, who ask me on your knees not to spurn them. Yours is the noblest rôle, my friend, I know it well. But am I to blame because you are kind? Can I be seriously reproached for debasing myself when, alone and desperate, I confide myself to the noblest heart on earth?"

"My beloved," I said, pressing her to my heart, "you reply most convincingly to the vile insults of the miserable wretches who have misrepresented you. But why do you say this to me? Do you think that you need to justify yourself in the eyes of Bustamente for the happiness you have bestowed upon him--the only happiness he has ever enjoyed in his life? It is for me to justify myself, if I can, for I am the one who has done wrong. I know how stubbornly your pride and your despair resisted me; I am not likely ever to forget it. When I assume a tone of authority with you, I am a madman whom you must pardon, for my passion for you disturbs my reason and vanquishes all my strength of mind. Forgive me, Juliette, and forget a moment of anger. Alas! I am unskilful in winning love. I have a natural roughness of manner which is unpleasant to you. I wound you when I am beginning to cure you, and I often destroy in one hour the work of many days."

"No, no, let us forget this quarrel," she interposed, kissing me. "For the little pain you cause me, I cause you a hundred times as much. You are sometimes imperious; my grief is always cruel. Do not believe, however, that it is incurable. Your kindness and your love will conquer it at last. I should have a most ungrateful heart if I did not accept the hope that you point out to me. We will talk of marriage another time; perhaps you will induce me to consent to it. However, I confess that I dread that species of servitude consecrated by all laws and all prejudices; it is honorable, but it is indissoluble."

"Still another cruel remark, Juliette! Are you afraid, pray, to belong to me forever?"

"No, no, of course not. Do not be distressed, I will do what you wish; but let us drop the subject for to-day."

"Very well, but grant me another favor in place of that; consent to leave Venice to-morrow."

"With all my heart. What do I care for Venice and all the rest? In heaven's name, don't believe me when I express regret for the past; it is irritation or madness that makes me speak so! The past! merciful heaven! Do you not know how many reasons I have for hating it? See how it has shattered me! How could I have the strength to grasp it again if it were given back to me?"

I kissed Juliette's hand to thank her for the effort she made in speaking thus, but I was not convinced; she had given me no satisfactory answer. I resumed my melancholy promenade about the room.

The sirocco had sprung up and dried the pavement in an instant. The city had become resonant once more as it ordinarily is, and the thousand sounds of the festival reached our ears: the hoarse song of the tipsy gondoliers, the hooting of the masks coming from the cafés and guying the passers-by, the plash of oars in the canal. The guns of the frigate bade good-night to the echoes of the lagunes, which made answer like a discharge of artillery. The Austrian drum mingled its brutal roll, and the bell of St. Mark's gave forth a doleful sound.

A ghastly depression seized upon me. The candles, burning low, set fire to their green paper ruffles and cast a livid light upon the objects in the room. Everything assumed imaginary forms and made imaginary noises, to my disturbed senses. Juliette, lying on the sofa and swathed in fur and silk, seemed to me like a corpse wrapped in its shroud. The songs and laughter out of doors produced upon me the effect of shrieks of distress, and every gondola that glided under the marble bridge below my window suggested the idea of a drowning man struggling with the waves and death. Finally, I had none but thoughts of despair and death in my head, and I could not raise the weight which was crushing my breast.

At last, however, I succeeded in calming myself and reflected somewhat less wildly. I admitted to myself that Juliette's cure was progressing very slowly, and that, notwithstanding all the sacrifices in my favor which gratitude had wrung from her, her heart was almost as sick as at the very first. This long-continued and bitter regret for a love so unworthily bestowed seemed inexplicable to me, and I sought the cause in the powerlessness of my affection. It must be, I thought, that my character inspires an insurmountable repugnance which she dares not avow to me. Perhaps the life I lead is unpleasant to her, and yet I have made my habits conform to hers. Leoni used to take her constantly from city to city. I have kept her travelling for two years, forming no ties anywhere, and never delaying for an instant to leave the place where I detected the faintest sign of ennui on her face. And yet she is melancholy, that is certain; nothing amuses her, and it is only from consideration for me that she deigns sometimes to smile. Not one of the things that ordinarily give pleasure to women has any influence on this sorrow of hers; it is a rock that nothing can shake, a diamond that nothing can dim. Poor Juliette! What strength in your weakness! what desperate resistance in your inertia!

I had unconsciously raised my voice until I expressed my troubles aloud. Juliette had raised herself on one arm and was listening to me sadly, leaning forward on the cushions.

"Listen to me," I said, walking to her side, "I have just imagined a new cause for your unhappiness. I have repressed it too much, you have forced it back into your heart too much, I have dreaded like a coward to see that sore, the sight of which tears my heart; and you, through generosity, have concealed it from me. Your wound, thus neglected and abandoned, has become more inflamed every day, whereas I should have dressed it and poured balm upon it. I have done wrong, Juliette. You must show me your sorrow, you must pour it out in my bosom, you must talk to me about your past sufferings, tell me of your life from moment to moment, name my enemy to me. Yes, you must. Just now you said something to me that I shall not forget; you implored me to let you hear his name at least. Very well! let us pronounce it together, that accursed name that burns your tongue and your heart. Let us talk of Leoni."

Juliette's eyes shone with an involuntary gleam. I felt a terrible pang; but I conquered my suffering and asked her if she approved my plan.

"Yes," she said with a serious air, "I believe that you are right. You see, my breast is often filled with sobs; the fear of distressing you keeps me from giving them vent, and I pile up treasures of grief in my bosom. If I dared to display my feelings before you, I believe that I should suffer less. My sorrow is like a perfume that is kept always confined in a tightly closed box; open the box and it soon escapes. If I could talk constantly about Leoni and tell of the most trivial incidents of our love, I should bring under my eyes at the same moment all the good and all the harm he did me; whereas your aversion often seems to me unjust, and in the secret depths of my heart I make excuses for injuries which, if told by another, would be revolting to me."

"Very well," said I, "I desire to learn them from your mouth. I have never known the details of this distressing story; I want you to tell them to me, to describe your whole life. When I am better acquainted with your troubles, perhaps I shall be better able to relieve them. Tell me all, Juliette; tell me by what means this Leoni succeeded in making you love him so dearly; tell me what charm, what secret he possessed; for I am weary of seeking in vain the impracticable road to your heart. Say on, I am listening."

"Ah! yes, I am glad to do it; it will give me some relief at last. But let me talk and do not interrupt me by any sign of pain or anger; for I shall tell things as they happened; I shall tell the good and the bad, how I have loved and how I have suffered."

"You must tell everything, and I will listen to everything," I replied.

I ordered fresh candles to be brought and rekindled the fire.

Juliette spoke thus:

III

You know that I am the daughter of a rich jeweller of Brussels. My father was skilful in his trade, but had little cultivation otherwise. He had raised himself from the position of a common workman to that of possessor of a handsome fortune which his flourishing business increased from day to day. Despite his lack of education, he was on terms of intimacy with the richest families in the province; and my mother, who was pretty and clever, was well received in the opulent society of the tradespeople.

My father was naturally mild and apathetic. Those qualities became more marked each day, as his wealth and comfort increased. My mother, being more active and younger, enjoyed unlimited freedom of action, and joyfully made the most of the advantages of wealth and the pleasures of society. She was kind-hearted, sincere and full of amiable qualities, but she was naturally frivolous, and her beauty, which was treated with marvellous respect by the years as they passed, prolonged her youth at the expense of my education. She loved me dearly, beyond question, but without prudence or discernment. Proud of my youthful charms and of the trivial talents which she had caused me to acquire, she thought of nothing but taking me about and exhibiting me; she took a delicious but perilous pride in covering me constantly with new jewels, and in appearing with me at parties. I recall those days with pain and yet with pleasure; since then, I have reflected sadly on the futile employment of my early years, and yet I sigh for those days of careless happiness which should never have ended or never have begun. I fancy that I can still see my mother with her plump, graceful figure, her white hands, her black eyes, her coquettish smile, and withal so kind that you could see at the first glance that she had never known anxiety or vexation, and that she was incapable of imposing the slightest restraint upon others, even with kindly intentions. Ah! yes, I remember her well! I remember our long mornings devoted to planning and preparing our ball dresses, our afternoons employed in making our toilets with such painstaking care that hardly an hour remained to show ourselves on the promenade. I see my mother, with her satin dresses, her furs, her long white feathers, and the whole fluffy mass of lace and ribbons. After finishing her toilet, she would forget herself a moment to look after me. It was a great deal of a bore to unlace my black satin boots in order to smooth out a wrinkle on the instep or to try on twenty pairs of gloves before finding one of a shade sufficiently delicate for her taste. Those gloves fitted so tight that I often tore them after taking the greatest pains about putting them on; then I must begin anew, and we would have heaps of débris in front of us before we had finally selected those that I was to wear an hour, and then leave to my maid. However, I had become so accustomed from childhood to regard these trifling details as the most important occupations of a woman's life, that I submitted patiently. We would set out at last, and at the rustling of our silk gowns and the perfume exhaled by our handkerchiefs, people would turn to look after us. I was accustomed to hearing our names mentioned as we passed, by all sorts and conditions of men, and to see them glance curiously at my impassive face. This mixture of coldness and innocent effrontery constitutes what is called good breeding in a young woman. As for my mother, she felt a twofold pride in exhibiting herself and her daughter; I was a reflection, or, to speak more accurately, a part of herself, of her beauty, of her wealth; her good taste was displayed in my costume; my face, which resembled hers, reminded her as well as others of the scarcely impaired freshness of her early youth; so that, seeing my slender figure walking at her side, she fancied that she saw herself twice over, pale and delicate as she had been at fifteen, brilliant and beautiful as she still was. Not for anything in the world would she have gone out without me; she would have seemed to herself to be incomplete, half dressed as it were.

After dinner, the solemn discussion concerning ball dresses, silk stockings and flowers began anew. My father, who gave his whole attention to his shop during the day, would have preferred to pass the evening quietly by his fireside; but he was so easy-going, that he did not notice the way in which we deserted him. He would fall asleep in his chair while our hair-dressers were striving to understand my mother's scientifically devised plans. As we were going away, we would rouse the worthy man from his slumbers and he would go obligingly and take from his strong-box magnificent jewels mounted according to his own designs. He would fasten them himself about our arms and necks and take pleasure in remarking their effect. These jewels were intended for sale. We often heard envious women about us crying out at their splendor and whispering spiteful jests; but my mother consoled herself by saying that the greatest ladies wore what we had cast off, and that was true. They would come to my father next day and order jewels like those we had worn. A few days later he would send the self-same ones; and we did not regret them, for they were always replaced by others more beautiful.

Amid such surroundings, I grew up without thought for the present or the future, without making any effort to form or strengthen my character. I was naturally gentle and trustful like my mother; I was content to float along as she did on the current of destiny. I was less vivacious, however; I felt less keenly the attractions of pleasure and vanity; I seemed to lack the little strength that she had, the desire and the faculty of constant diversion. I accepted so easy a lot knowing nothing of its price, and without comparing it with any other. I had no idea of passion. I had been brought up as if I were never to know it; my mother had been brought up in the same way and considered that she was to be congratulated; for she was incapable of feeling passion and had never had any occasion to fight against it. My intelligence had been applied to studies in which the heart had no occasion to exercise control over itself. I performed brilliantly on the piano, I danced beautifully, I painted in water-colors with admirable precision and vigor; but there was within me no spark of that sacred fire which gives life and enables one to understand life. I loved my parents, but I did not know what it was to love in any other way than that. I was wonderfully clever in inditing a letter to one of my young friends; but I had no more idea of the value of words than of sentiments. I loved my girl friends as a matter of habit, I was good to them because I was obliging and gentle, but I did not trouble myself about their characters; I scrutinized nothing. I made no well-reasoned distinction between them; I was fondest of the one who came oftenest to see me.

IV

I was the sort of person I have described, and sixteen years old, when Leoni came to Brussels. The first time I saw him was at the theatre. I was with my mother in a box near the balcony, where he sat with several of the richest and most fashionable young men in the city. My mother called my attention to him. She was constantly lying in wait for a husband for me, and always looked for him among the men with the finest figures and the most gorgeous clothes; those two points were everything in her eyes. Birth and fortune attracted her only as accessories of things that she considered much more important--dress and manners. A man of superior mind in a simple coat would have inspired nothing but contempt in her. Her future son-in-law must have cuffs of a certain style, an irreproachable cravat, an exquisite figure, a pretty face, coats made in Paris, and a stock of that meaningless twaddle which makes a man fascinating in society.

As for myself, I made no comparison between one man and another. I blindly entrusted the selection to my parents, and I neither dreaded nor shrank from marriage.

My mother considered Leoni fascinating. It is true that his face is wonderfully beautiful, and that he has the secret of being graceful, animated and perfectly at ease with his dandified clothes and manners. But I felt none of those romantic emotions which give to ardent hearts a foretaste of their destiny. I glanced at him for a moment in obedience to my mother, and should not have looked at him a second time, had she not forced me to do so by her constant exclamations and by her manifest curiosity to know his name. A young man of our acquaintance, whom she summoned in order to question him, informed her that he was a noble Venetian, a friend of one of the leading merchants of the city, that he seemed to have an enormous fortune, and that his name was Leone Leoni.

My mother was delighted with this information. The merchant who was Leoni's friend was to give a party the very next day, to which we were invited. Frivolous and credulous as she was, it was enough for her to have learned vaguely that Leoni was rich and noble, to induce her to cast her eyes upon him instantly. She spoke to me about him the same evening, and urged me to be pretty the next day. I smiled and went to sleep at precisely the same hour as on other nights, without the slightest acceleration of my heart beats at the thought of Leoni. I had become accustomed to listen without emotion to the formation of such projects. My mother declared that I was so sensible that they were not called upon to treat me like a child. The poor woman did not realize that she herself was much more of a child than I.

She dressed me with so much care and magnificence that I was proclaimed queen of the ball; but at first the time seemed to have been wasted: Leoni did not appear, and my mother thought that he had already left Brussels. Incapable of controlling her impatience, she asked the master of the house what had become of his Venetian.

"Ah!" said Monsieur Delpech, "you have noticed my Venetian already, have you?"--He glanced with a smile at my costume, and understood.--"He's an attractive youngster," he said, "of noble birth, and very much in fashion both in Paris and London; but it is my duty to inform you that he is a terrible gambler, and that the reason that you don't see him here is that he prefers the cards to the loveliest women."

"A gambler!" said my mother; "that's very bad."

"Oh! that depends," rejoined Monsieur Delpech. "When one has the means, you know!"

"To be sure!" said my mother; and that remark satisfied her. She worried no more about Leoni's passion for gambling.

A few seconds after this brief interview, Leoni appeared in the salon where we were dancing. I saw Monsieur Delpech whisper to him and glance at me, and Leoni's eyes wander uncertainly about me, until, guided by his friend's directions, he discovered me in the crowd and walked nearer to see me more distinctly. I realized at that moment that my rôle as a marriageable maiden was somewhat absurd; for there was a touch of irony in the admiration of his glance, and, for the first time in my life perhaps, I blushed and had a feeling of shame.

This shame became a sort of dull pain when I saw that Leoni had returned to the card room after a few moments. It seemed to me that I was laughed at and disdained, and I was vexed with my mother on that account. That had never happened before and she was amazed at the ill-humor I displayed toward her.--"Well, well," she said to me, with a little irritation on her side, "I don't know what the matter is with you, but you are turning homely. Let us go."

She had already risen when Leoni hurriedly crossed the room and invited her to waltz; that unhoped-for incident restored all her good-humor; she laughingly tossed me her fan and disappeared with him in the whirl.

As she was passionately fond of dancing, we were always accompanied to balls by an old aunt, my father's older sister, who acted as my chaperon when I was not invited to dance at the same time as my mother. Mademoiselle Agathe--that was what we called my aunt--was an old maid of a cold and even disposition. She had more common-sense than the rest of the family, but she was not exempt from the tendency to vanity, which is the reef upon which all parvenus go to pieces. Although she cut a very melancholy figure at a ball, she never complained of the necessity of accompanying us; it was an opportunity for her to display in her old age some very beautiful gowns which she had never had the means to procure in her youth. She set great store by money therefore; but she was not equally accessible to all the seductions of society. She had a hatred of long standing for the nobles, and she never lost an opportunity to decry them and turn them to ridicule, which she did with much wit.

Shrewd and penetrating, accustomed to inaction and to keeping close watch on the actions of other people, she had understood the cause of my little fit of spleen. My mother's effusive chatter had apprised her of her views concerning Leoni, and the Venetian's face, amiable and proud and sneering, all at once, disclosed to her many things that my mother did not understand.

"Look, Juliette," she said, leaning toward me, "there's a great nobleman making sport of us."

I felt a painful thrill. What my aunt said corresponded with my forebodings. It was the first time that I had seen contempt for our bourgeoisie plainly written on a man's face. I had been brought up to laugh at the contempt which the women hardly concealed from us, and to look upon it as an indication of envy; but hitherto our beauty had preserved us from the disdain of the men, and I thought that Leoni was the most insolent creature that ever lived. I had a horror of him, and when, after bringing my mother back to her seat, he invited me for the following contradance, I haughtily declined. His face expressed such amazement that I understood how confidently he reckoned upon a warm reception. My pride triumphed and I sat down beside my mother, declaring that I was tired. Leoni left us, bowing low after the Italian manner, and bestowing upon me a curious glance in which there was a touch of his characteristic mockery.

My mother, amazed at my action, began to fear that I might be capable of having a will of my own. She talked to me gently, hoping that in a short time I would consent to dance, and that Leoni would ask me again, but I persisted in remaining in my seat. An hour or more later we heard Leoni's name several times amid the confused murmuring of the ball; some one passing near us said that he had lost six hundred louis.

"Very fine!" said my aunt dryly; "he will do well to look out for some nice girl with a handsome dowry."

"Oh! he doesn't need to do that," somebody else replied, "he is so rich!"

"Look," said a third, "there he is dancing; he doesn't look very anxious."

Leoni was dancing, in fact, and his features did not display the slightest concern. He accosted us again, paid my mother some insipid compliments with the facility of a man in the best society, and then tried to make me speak by putting questions to me indirectly. I maintained an obstinate silence and he walked away with an indifferent air. My mother was in despair and took me home.

For the first time she scolded me and I sulked. My aunt upheld me and declared that Leoni was an impertinent fellow and a scoundrel. My mother, who had never been opposed to such a point, began to weep, and I did the same.

By such petty agitations did the coming of Leoni, and the unhappy destiny that he brought, begin to disturb the profound peace in which I had always lived. I will not tell you with so much detail what happened on the following days. I do not remember so well, and the insatiable passion that I conceived for him always seems to me like a strange dream which no effort of my reason can reduce to order. This much is certain, that Leoni was visibly piqued, surprised and disconcerted by my coldness, and that he began at once to treat me with a respect which satisfied my wounded pride. I saw him every day at parties or out walking, and my aversion to him speedily vanished before the extraordinary civilities and humble attentions with which he overwhelmed me. In vain did my aunt try to put me on my guard against the arrogance of which she accused him. I was no longer capable of feeling insulted by his manners or his words; even his face had lost that suggestion of sarcasm which had offended me at first. His glance acquired from day to day an indescribable gentleness and affectionateness. He seemed to think of nothing but me; he even sacrificed his taste for card-playing, and passed whole nights dancing with my mother and me or talking with us. He was soon invited to call at our house. I dreaded his call a little. My aunt prophesied that he would find in our home a thousand subjects of ridicule which he would pretend not to notice but which would furnish him with material for joking with his friends. He came, and, to cap the climax, my father, who was standing at his shop-door, brought him into the house that way. That house, which belonged to us, was very handsome, and my mother had had it decorated with exquisite taste; but my father, who took no pleasure in anything outside of his business, was unwilling to transfer to any other building his cases of pearls and diamonds. That curtain of sparkling jewels behind the glass panels which guarded it was a magnificent spectacle, and my father said truly enough that there could be no more splendid decoration for a ground-floor. My mother, who had had hitherto only transitory flashes of ambition to be allied to the nobility, had never been humiliated to see her name carved in huge letters just below the balcony of her bedroom. But when, from that balcony, she saw Leoni cross the threshold of the fatal shop, she thought that we were lost and looked anxiously at me.

V

During the few days immediately preceding this, I had had the revelation of a hitherto unknown pride. I felt it awake within me now, and, impelled by an irresistible impulse, I determined to watch Leoni's manner as he talked with my father in his counting-room. He was slow about coming upstairs, and I rightly inferred that my father had detained him, to show him, as was his ingenuous custom, the marvels of his workmanship. I went resolutely down to the shop and entered, feigning surprise to find Leoni there. My mother had always forbidden me to enter the shop, her greatest fear being that I should be taken for a shopgirl. But I sometimes slipped away to go down and kiss my poor father, who had no greater joy than to receive me there. When I entered he uttered an exclamation of pleasure and said to Leoni: 'Look, look, monsieur le baron, what I have shown you amounts to nothing; here is my loveliest diamond.' Leoni's face betrayed the keenest delight; he smiled at my father with emotion and at me with passion. Never had such a glance met mine. I became red as fire. An unfamiliar feeling of joy and passion brought a tear to the brink of my eyelid as my father kissed me on the forehead.

We stood a few seconds without speaking; then Leoni, taking up the conversation, found a way to say to my father everything that was most likely to flatter his self-esteem as an artist and tradesman. He seemed to take extreme pleasure in making him explain the process by which rough stones were transformed into precious gems, brilliant and transparent. He said some interesting things on that subject himself, and, addressing me, gave me some mineralogical information that was within my reach. I was confounded by the wit and grace with which he succeeded in exalting and ennobling our condition in our own eyes. He talked to us about products of the goldsmith's art which he had seen in his travels, and extolled especially the works of his compatriot Cellini, whom he placed beside Michael Angelo. In short, he ascribed so much merit to my father's profession and praised his talent so highly that I almost wondered whether I was the daughter of a hard-working mechanic or a genius.

My father accepted this last hypothesis, and, being charmed with the Venetian's manners, took him up to my mother. During this visit, Leoni displayed so much wit and intelligence, and talked upon every subject in such a superior way that I was fairly fascinated as I listened to him. I had never conceived the idea of such a man. Those who had been pointed out to me previously as the most attractive were so insignificant and vapid beside him that I thought I must be dreaming. I was too ignorant to appreciate all Leoni's knowledge and eloquence, but I understood him instinctively. I was dominated by his glance, enthralled by his tales, surprised and fascinated by every new resource that he developed.

It is certain that Leoni is a man endowed with extraordinary faculties. In a few days he succeeded in arousing a general infatuation throughout the city. He has all the talents, commands all the means of seduction. If he were present at a concert, after a little urging he would sing or play upon any instrument with a marked superiority over the professional musicians. If he consented to pass the evening in the privacy of some family circle, he would draw lovely pictures in the women's albums. In an instant he would produce a portrait full of expression, or a vigorous caricature; he improvised or declaimed in all languages; he knew all the character dances of Europe, and he danced them all with fascinating grace; he had seen, remembered, appreciated and understood everything; he read the whole world like a book that one carries in one's pocket. He acted admirably in tragedy or comedy; he organized companies of amateurs; he was himself leader of the orchestra, star performer, painter, decorator and scene-shifter. He was at the head of all the sports and all the parties. It could truly be said that pleasure walked in his footprints, and that, at his approach, everything changed its aspect and assumed a new face. He was listened to with enthusiasm and blindly obeyed; people believed in him as a prophet; and if he had promised to produce spring in midwinter, they would have deemed him capable of doing it. After he had been in Brussels a month, the character of the people had actually changed. Pleasure united all classes, soothed all the tender susceptibilities, brought all ranks to the same level. It was nothing but riding-parties, fireworks, theatricals, concerts and masquerades. Leoni was magnificent and generous; the workmen would have risen in revolt for him. He scattered favors about with lavish hand, and found money and time for everything. His caprices were soon adopted by everybody. All the women loved him, and the men were so subjugated by him that they did not think of being jealous of him.

How, amid such infatuation, could I remain insensible to the glory of being distinguished by the man who made fanatics of a whole province! Leoni overwhelmed us with attentions and surrounded us with respectful homage. My mother and I had become the leaders of society in the city. We walked by his side at all the entertainments; he assisted us to display the most insane splendor; he designed our dresses and invented our fancy costumes; for he understood everything and at need would have made our gowns and our turbans himself. By such means did he take possession of the affections of the whole family. My aunt was the most difficult conquest. She held out for a long while and distressed us by her discouraging remarks.--Leoni was a man of evil habits, she said, a frantic gambler, who won and lost the fortune of twenty families every evening; he would devour ours in a single night. But Leoni undertook to soften her, and succeeded by laying hold of her vanity, that lever which he worked so vigorously while seeming only to touch it lightly. Soon there were no obstacles left. My hand was promised him, with a dowry of half a million. My aunt suggested that we should have more certain information concerning the fortune and rank of this foreigner. Leoni smiled and promised to furnish his patents of nobility and his title deeds within three weeks. He treated the matter of the marriage contract very lightly, but it was drawn with the utmost liberality toward him and confidence in him. He seemed hardly to know what I was to bring him. Monsieur Delpech, and, upon the strength of his assurance, all Leoni's new friends, declared that he was four times richer than we were, and that his marriage to me was a love-match. I readily allowed myself to be persuaded. I had never been deceived, and I never thought of forgers and blacklegs except as in the rags of poverty and the livery of degradation.

A wave of painful emotion almost suffocated Juliette. She paused and looked at me with a dazed expression.

"Poor child!" I said, "God should have protected you."

"Oh!" she rejoined, contracting her ebon eyebrows, "I used two terrible words; may God forgive me! I have no hatred in my heart, and I do not accuse Leoni of being a villain; no, no, for I do not blush for having loved him. He is an unfortunate man whom we should pity. If you knew---- But I will tell you all."

"Go on with your story," I said to her; "Leoni is guilty enough; you have no intention of accusing him more than he deserves."

Juliette resumed her narrative.

It is a fact that he loved me, loved me for myself; the sequel proved that clearly enough. Do not shake your head, Bustamente. Leoni's is a powerful body, animated by a vast mind; all the virtues and all the vices, all the passions, holy and guilty alike, find a place in it at the same time. No one has ever chosen to judge him impartially; he was quite right in saying that I alone have known him and done him justice.

The language that he used to me was so novel to my ear that I was intoxicated by it. Perhaps my absolute ignorance up to that time of everything bordering on sentiment made that language seem more delicious and more extraordinary to me than it would have seemed to a more experienced girl. But I believe--and other women believed with me--that no man on earth ever felt and expressed love like Leoni. Superior to other men in evil and in good, he spoke another tongue, he had another expression, he had also another heart. I have heard an Italian woman say that a bouquet in Leoni's hand was more fragrant than in another man's, and it was so with everything. He gave lustre to the simplest things and rejuvenated the oldest. There was a prestige about him; I was neither able nor desirous to escape its influence. I began to love him with all my strength.