The Human Comedy - La Comédie humaine (Complete Edition). Honore de Balzac
listening.”
Octave resumed the letter, but there were passages which he could not read without deep emotion.
“‘My beloved Husband,—You ask me the reason of my sadness. Has
it, then, passed from my soul to my face; or have you only guessed
it?—but how could you fail to do so, one in heart as we are? I
cannot deceive you; this may be a misfortune, for it is one of the
conditions of happy love that a wife shall be gay and caressing.
Perhaps I ought to deceive you, but I would not do it even if the
happiness with which you have blessed and overpowered me depended
on it.
“‘Ah! dearest, how much gratitude there is in my love. I long to
love you forever, without limit; yes, I desire to be forever proud
of you. A woman’s glory is in the man she loves. Esteem,
consideration, honor, must they not be his who receives our all?
Well, my angel has fallen. Yes, dear, the tale you told me has
tarnished my past joys. Since then I have felt myself humiliated
in you,—you whom I thought the most honorable of men, as you are
the most loving, the most tender. I must indeed have deep
confidence in your heart, so young and pure, to make you this
avowal which costs me much. Ah! my dear love, how is it that you,
knowing your father had unjustly deprived others of their
property, that YOU can keep it?
“‘And you told me of this criminal act in a room filled with the
mute witnesses of our love; and you are a gentleman, and you think
yourself noble, and I am yours! I try to find excuses for you; I
do find them in your youth and thoughtlessness. I know there is
still something of the child about you. Perhaps you have never
thought seriously of what fortune and integrity are. Oh! how your
laugh wounded me. Reflect on that ruined family, always in
distress; poor young girls who have reason to curse you daily; an
old father saying to himself each night: “We might not now be
starving if that man’s father had been an honest man—“’”
“Good heavens!” cried Monsieur de Bourbonne, interrupting his nephew, “surely you have not been such a fool as to tell that woman about your father’s affair with the Bourgneufs? Women know more about wasting a fortune than making one.”
“They know about integrity. But let me read on, uncle.”
“‘Octave, no power on earth has authority to change the principles
of honor. Look into your conscience and ask it by what name you
are to call the action by which you hold your property.’”
The nephew looked at the uncle, who lowered his head.
“‘I will not tell you all the thoughts that assail me; they can be
reduced to one,—this is it: I cannot respect the man who,
knowingly, is smirched for a sum of money, whatever the amount may
be; five francs stolen at play or five times a hundred thousand
gained by a legal trick are equally dishonoring. I will tell you
all. I feel myself degraded by the very love which has hitherto
been all my joy. There rises in my soul a voice which my
tenderness cannot stifle. Ah! I have wept to feel that I have more
conscience than love. Were you to commit a crime I would hide you
in my bosom from human justice, but my devotion could go no
farther. Love, to a woman, means boundless confidence, united to a
need of reverencing, of esteeming, the being to whom she belongs.
I have never conceived of love otherwise than as a fire in which
all noble feelings are purified still more,—a fire which develops
them.
“‘I have but one thing else to say: come to me poor, and my love
shall be redoubled. If not, renounce it. Should I see you no more,
I shall know what it means.
“‘But I do not wish, understand me, that you should make
restitution because I urge it. Consult your own conscience. An act
of justice such as that ought not to be a sacrifice made to love.
I am your wife and not your mistress, and it is less a question of
pleasing me than of inspiring in my soul a true respect.
“‘If I am mistaken, if you have ill-explained your father’s
action, if, in short, you still think your right to the property
equitable (oh! how I long to persuade myself that you are
blameless), consider and decide by listening to the voice of your
conscience; act wholly and solely from yourself. A man who loves a
woman sincerely, as you love me, respects the sanctity of her
trust in him too deeply to dishonor himself.
“‘I blame myself now for what I have written; a word might have
sufficed, and I have preached to you! Scold me; I wish to be
scolded,—but not much, only a little. Dear, between us two the
power is yours—you alone should perceive your own faults.’”
“Well, uncle?” said Octave, whose eyes were full of tears.
“There’s more in the letter; finish it.”
“Oh, the rest is only to be read by a lover,” answered Octave, smiling.
“Yes, right, my boy,” said the old man, gently. “I have had many affairs in my day, but I beg you to believe that I too have loved, ‘et ego in Arcardia.’ But I don’t understand yet why you give lessons in mathematics.”
“My dear uncle, I am your nephew; isn’t that as good as saying that I had dipped into the capital left me by my father? After I had read this letter a sort of revolution took place within me. I paid my whole arrearage of remorse in one day. I cannot describe to you the state I was in. As I drove in the Bois a voice called to me, ‘That horse is not yours’; when I ate my dinner it was saying, ‘You have stolen this food.’ I was ashamed. The fresher my honesty, the more intense it was. I rushed to Madame Firmiani. Uncle! that day I had pleasures of the heart, enjoyments of the soul, that were far beyond millions. Together we made out the account of what was due to the Bourgneufs, and I condemned myself, against Madame Firmiani’s advice, to pay three per cent interest. But all I had did not suffice to cover the full amount. We were lovers enough for her to offer, and me to accept, her savings—”
“What! besides her other virtues does that adorable woman lay by money?” cried his uncle.
“Don’t laugh at her, uncle; her position has obliged her to be very careful. Her husband went to Greece in 1820 and died there three years later. It has been impossible, up to the present time, to get legal proofs of his death, or obtain the will which he made leaving his