The Human Comedy - La Comédie humaine (Complete Edition). Honore de Balzac
thought it sport to escape him; he knew not where or how to catch
her.
“I saw him on his way through Paris; and if you had seen him, as I
did, you would have felt that not a word might be spoken about the
Duchess, at the risk of bringing on an attack which might have
wrecked his reason. If he had known what his crime was, he might
have found means to justify himself; but being falsely accused of
being married!—what could he do? Albert is dead, quite dead to
the world. He longed for rest; let us hope that the deep silence
and prayer into which he has thrown himself may give him happiness
in another guise. You, monsieur, who have known him, must greatly
pity him; and pity his friends also.
“Yours, etc.”
As soon as he received this letter the good Vicar-General wrote to the General of the Carthusian order, and this was the letter he received from Albert Savarus:—
“Brother Albert to Monsieur l’Abbe de Grancey,
Vicar-General of the Diocese of Besancon.
“LA GRANDE CHARTREUSE.
“I recognized your tender soul, dear and well-beloved
Vicar-General, and your still youthful heart, in all that the
Reverend Father General of our Order has just told me. You have
understood the only wish that lurks in the depths of my heart so far
as the things of the world are concerned—to get justice done to my
feelings by her who has treated me so badly! But before leaving me
at liberty to avail myself of your offer, the General wanted to
know that my vocation was sincere; he was so kind as to tell me
his idea, on finding that I was determined to preserve absolute
silence on this point. If I had yielded to the temptation to
rehabilitate the man of the world, the friar would have been
rejected by this monastery. Grace has certainly done her work,
but, though short, the struggle was not the less keen or the less
painful. Is not this enough to show you that I could never return
to the world?
“Hence my forgiveness, which you ask for the author of so much
woe, is entire and without a thought of vindictiveness. I will
pray to God to forgive that young lady as I forgive her, and as I
shall beseech Him to give Madame de Rhetore a life of happiness.
Ah! whether it be death, or the obstinate hand of a young girl
madly bent on being loved, or one of the blows ascribed to chance,
must we not all obey God? Sorrow in some souls makes a vast void
through which the Divine Voice rings. I learned too late the
bearings of this life on that which awaits us; all in me is worn
out; I could not serve in the ranks of the Church Militant, and I
lay the remains of an almost extinct life at the foot of the
altar.
“This is the last time I shall ever write. You alone, who loved
me, and whom I loved so well, could make me break the law of
oblivion I imposed on myself when I entered these headquarters of
Saint Bruno, but you are always especially named in the prayers of
“BROTHER ALBERT.
“November 1836.”
“Everything is for the best perhaps,” thought the Abbe de Grancey.
When he showed this letter to Rosalie, who, with a pious impulse, kissed the lines which contained her forgiveness, he said to her:
“Well, now that he is lost to you, will you not be reconciled to your mother and marry the Comte de Soulas?”
“Only if Albert should order it,” said she.
“But you see it is impossible to consult him. The General of the Order would not allow it.”
“If I were to go to see him?”
“No Carthusian sees any visitor. Besides, no woman but the Queen of France may enter a Carthusian monastery,” said the Abbe. “So you have no longer any excuse for not marrying young Monsieur de Soulas.”
“I do not wish to destroy my mother’s happiness,” retorted Rosalie.
“Satan!” exclaimed the Vicar-General.
Towards the end of that winter the worthy Abbe de Grancey died. This good friend no longer stood between Madame de Watteville and her daughter, to soften the impact of those two iron wills.
The event he had foretold took place. In the month of August 1837 Madame de Watteville was married to Monsieur de Soulas in Paris, whither she went by Rosalie’s advice, the girl making a show of kindness and sweetness to her mother. Madame de Watteville believed in this affection on the part of her daughter, who simply desired to go to Paris to give herself the luxury of a bitter revenge; she thought of nothing but avenging Savarus by torturing her rival.
Mademoiselle de Watteville had been declared legally of age; she was, in fact, not far from one-and-twenty. Her mother, to settle with her finally, had resigned her claims on les Rouxey, and the daughter had signed a release for all the inheritance of the Baron de Watteville. Rosalie encouraged her mother to marry the Comte de Soulas and settle all her own fortune on him.
“Let us each be perfectly free,” she said.
Madame de Soulas, who had been uneasy as to her daughter’s intentions, was touched by this liberality, and made her a present of six thousand francs a year in the funds as conscience money. As the Comtesse de Soulas had an income of forty-eight thousand francs from her own lands, and was quite incapable of alienating them in order to diminish Rosalie’s share, Mademoiselle de Watteville was still a fortune to marry, of eighteen hundred thousand francs; les Rouxey, with the Baron’s additions, and certain improvements, might yield twenty thousand francs a year, besides the value of the house, rents, and preserves. So Rosalie and her mother, who soon adopted the Paris style and fashions, easily obtained introductions to the best society. The golden key—eighteen hundred thousand francs—embroidered on Mademoiselle de Watteville’s stomacher, did more for the Comtesse de Soulas than her pretensions a la de Rupt, her inappropriate pride, or even her rather distant great connections.
In the month of February 1838 Rosalie, who was eagerly courted by many young men, achieved the purpose which had brought her to Paris. This was to meet the Duchesse de Rhetore, to see this wonderful woman, and to overwhelm her with perennial remorse. Rosalie gave herself up to the most bewildering elegance and vanities in order to face the Duchess on an equal footing.
They first met at a ball given annually after 1830 for the benefit of the pensioners on the old Civil List. A young man, prompted by Rosalie, pointed her out to the Duchess, saying:
“There is a very remarkable young person, a strong-minded young lady too! She drove a clever man into a monastery—the Grand Chartreuse—a man of immense capabilities, Albert de Savarus, whose career she wrecked. She is Mademoiselle de Watteville, the famous Besancon heiress——”
The Duchess turned pale. Rosalie’s eyes met hers with one of those flashes which, between woman and woman, are more fatal than the pistol shots of a duel. Francesca