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The Deputy of Arcis, a novel by Honore de Balzac |
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Part 2. Letters Explanatory - Chapter 6. The Comtesse De L'estorade To Madame Octave De Camps |
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_ PART II. LETTERS EXPLANATORY CHAPTER VI. THE COMTESSE DE L'ESTORADE TO MADAME OCTAVE DE CAMPS Paris, March, 1839. The elements of the long biographical dissertation I lately sent you, my dear friend, were taken chiefly from a recent letter from Monsieur Marie-Gaston. On leaning of the brave devotion shown in his defence his first impulse was to rush to Paris and press the hand of the friend who avenged himself thus nobly for neglect and forgetfulness. Unfortunately the evening before his departure he met with a dangerous fall at Savarezza, one of the outlying quarries of Carrara, and dislocated his ankle. Being obliged to postpone his journey, he wrote to Monsieur Dorlange to express his gratitude; and, by the same courier, he sent me a voluminous letter, relating the whole past of their lifelong friendship and asking me to see Monsieur Dorlange and be the mediator between them. He was not satisfied with the expression of his warm gratitude, he wanted also to show him that in spite of contrary appearances, he had never ceased to deserve the affection of his early friend. On receiving Monsieur Gaston's letter, my first idea was to write to the sculptor and ask him to come and see me, but finding that he was not entirely recovered from his wound, I went, accompanied by my husband and Nais, to the artist's studio, which we found in a pleasant little house in the rue de l'Ouest, behind the garden of the Luxembourg, one of the most retired quarters of Paris. We were received in the vestibule by a woman about whom Monsieur de l'Estorade had already said a word to me. It appears that the _laureat_ of Rome did not leave Italy without bringing away with him an agreeable souvenir in the form of a bourgeoise Galatea, half housekeeper, half model; about whom certain indiscreet rumors are current. But let me hasten to say that there was absolutely nothing in her appearance or manner to lead me to credit them. In fact, there was something cold and proud and almost savage about her, which is, they tell me, a strong characteristic of the Transteverine peasant-women. When she announced our names Monsieur Dorlange was standing in a rather picturesque working costume with his back to us, and I noticed that he hastily drew an ample curtain before the statue on which he was engaged. At the moment when he turned round, and before I had time to look at him, imagine my astonishment when Nais ran forward and, with the artlessness of a child, flung her arms about his neck crying out:-- "Are! here is my monsieur who saved me!" What! the monsieur who saved her? Then Monsieur Dorlange must be the famous Unknown?--Yes, my dear friend, I now recognized him. Chance, that cleverest of romance-makers, willed that Monsieur Dorlange and my bore were one. Happily, my husband had launched into the expression of his feelings as a grateful father; I thus had time to recover myself, and before it became my turn to say a word, I had installed upon my face what you are pleased to call my grand l'Estorade air; under which, as you know, I mark twenty-five degrees below zero, and can freeze the words on the lips of any presuming person. As for Monsieur Dorlange, he seemed to me less troubled than surprised by the meeting. Then, as if he thought we kept him too long on the topic of our gratitude, he abruptly changed the subject. "Madame," he said to me, "since we are, as it seems, more acquainted than we thought, may I dare to gratify my curiosity?"-- I fancied I saw the claw of a cat preparing to play with its mouse, so I answered, coldly:-- "Artists, I am told, are often indiscreet in their curiosity." I put a well-marked stiffness into my manner which completed the meaning of the words. I could not see that it baffled him. "I hope," he replied, "that my question is not of that kind. I only desire to ask if you have a sister." "No, monsieur," I replied, "I have no sister--none, at least, that I know of," I added, jestingly. "I thought it not unlikely, however," continued Monsieur Dorlange, in the most natural manner possible; "for the family in which I have met a lady bearing the strongest resemblance to you is surrounded by a certain mysterious atmosphere which renders all suppositions possible." "Is there any indiscretion in asking the name of that family?" "Not the least; they are people whom you must have known in Paris in 1829-1830. They lived in great state and gave fine parties. I myself met them in Italy." "But their name?" I said. "De Lanty," he replied, without embarrassment or hesitation. And, in fact, my dear Madame de Camps, a family of that name did live in Paris about that time, and you probably remember, as I do, that many strange stories were told about them. As Monsieur Dorlange answered my question he turned back towards his veiled statue. "The sister whom you have not, madame," he said to me abruptly, "I shall permit myself to give you, and I venture to hope that you will see a certain family likeness in her." So saying, he removed the cloth that concealed his work, and there _I_ stood, under the form of a saint, with a halo round my head. Could I be angry at the liberty thus taken? My husband and Nais gave a cry of admiration at the wonderful likeness they had before their eyes. As for Monsieur Dorlange, he at once explained the cause of his scenic effect. "This statue," he said, "is a Saint-Ursula, ordered by a convent in the provinces. Under circumstances which it would take too long to relate, the type of this saint, the person whom I mentioned just now, was firmly fixed in my memory. I should vainly have attempted to create by my imagination another type for that saint, it could not have been so completely the expression of my thought. I therefore began to model this figure which you see from memory, then one day, madame, at Saint-Thomas d'Aquin, I saw you, and I had the superstition to believe that you were sent to me by Providence. After that, I worked from you only, and as I did not feel at liberty to ask you to come to my studio, the best I could do was to study you when we met, and I multiplied my chances of doing so. I carefully avoided knowing your name and social position, for I feared to bring you down from the ideal and materialize you." "Oh! I have often seen you following us," said Nais, with her clever little air. How little we know children, and their turn for observation! As for my husband, it seemed to me that he ought to have pricked up his ears at this tale of the daring manner in which his wife had been used as a model. Monsieur de l'Estorade is certainly no fool; in all social matters he has the highest sense of conventional propriety, and as for jealousy, I think if I gave him the slightest occasion he would show himself ridiculously jealous. But now, the sight of his "beautiful Renee," as he calls me, done into white marble in the form of a saint, had evidently cast him into a state of admiring ecstasy. He, with Nais, were taking an inventory to prove the fidelity of the likeness --yes, it was really my attitude, really my eyes, really my mouth, really those two little dimples in my cheeks! I felt it my duty to take up the role that Monsieur de l'Estorade laid aside, so I said, very gravely, to the presuming artist:-- "Do you not think, monsieur, that to appropriate without permission, or--not to mince my words--steal a person's likeness, may seem a very strange proceeding?" "For that reason, madame," he replied, in a respectful tone, "I was fully determined to abide by your wishes in the matter. Although my statue is fated to be buried in the oratory of a distant convent, I should not have sent it to its destination without obtaining your permission to do so. I could have known your name whenever I wished; I already knew your address; and I intended, when the time came, to confess the liberty I had taken, and ask you to visit my studio. I should then have said what I say now: if the likeness displeases you I can, with a few strokes of my chisel, so change it as to make it unrecognizable." My husband, who apparently thought the likeness not sufficiently close, turned, at this moment, to Monsieur Dorlange, and said, with a delighted air:-- "Do you not think, monsieur, that Madame de l'Estorade's nose is rather more delicate than you have made it?" All this _unexpectedness_ so upset me that I felt unfitted to intervene on behalf of Monsieur Marie-Gaston, and I should, I believe, have pleaded his cause very ill if Monsieur Dorlange had not stopped me at the first words I said about it. "I know, madame," he said, "all that you can possibly tell me about my unfaithful friend. I do not forgive, but I forget my wrong. Things having so come about that I have nearly lost my life for his sake, it would certainly be very illogical to keep a grudge against him. Still, as regards that mausoleum at Ville d'Avray, nothing would induce me to undertake it. I have already mentioned to Monsieur de l'Estorade one hindrance that is daily growing more imperative; but besides that, I think it a great pity that Marie-Gaston should thus ruminate on his grief; and I have written to tell him so. He ought to be more of a man, and find in study and in work the consolations we can always find there." The object of our visit being thus disposed of, I saw no hope of getting to the bottom of the other mystery it had opened, so I rose to take leave, and as I did so Monsieur Dorlange said to me:-- "May I hope that you will not exact the injury I spoke of to my statue?" "It is for my husband and not for me to reply to that question," I said; "however, we can talk of it later, for Monsieur de l'Estorade hopes that you will give us the honor of a visit." Monsieur bowed in respectful acquiescence, and we came away,--I, in great ill-humor; I was angry with Nais, and also with my husband, and felt much inclined to make him a scene, which he would certainly not have understood. Now what do you think of all this? Is the man a clever swindler, who invented that fable for some purpose, or is he really an artist, who took me in all simplicity of soul for the living realization of his idea? That is what I intend to find out in the course of a few days, for now I am committed to your programme, and to-morrow Monsieur and Madame de l'Estorade will have the honor of inviting Monsieur Dorlange to dinner. _ |
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