Scenes from a Courtesan's Life [238]
Grandlieus' in the society of the beautiful Diane de Maufrigneuse. This morning she would forge one of the links that are so needful to ambition. She could already hear herself addressed as Madame la Presidente. She felt the ineffable gladness of triumphing over stupendous obstacles, of which the greatest was her husband's ineptitude, as yet unrevealed, but to her well known. To win success for a second-rate man! that is to a woman-- as to a king--the delight which tempts great actors when they act a bad play a hundred times over. It is the very drunkenness of egoism. It is in a way the Saturnalia of power.
Power can prove itself to itself only by the strange misapplication which leads it to crown some absurd person with the laurels of success while insulting genius--the only strong-hold which power cannot touch. The knighting of Caligula's horse, an imperial farce, has been, and always will be, a favorite performance.
In a few minutes Diane and Amelie had exchanged the elegant disorder of the fair Diane's bedroom for the severe but dignified and splendid austerity of the Duchesse de Grandlieu's rooms.
She, a Portuguese, and very pious, always rose at eight to attend mass at the little church of Sainte-Valere, a chapelry to Saint-Thomas d'Aquin, standing at that time on the esplanade of the Invalides. This chapel, now destroyed, was rebuilt in the Rue de Bourgogne, pending the building of a Gothic church to be dedicated to Sainte-Clotilde.
On hearing the first words spoken in her ear by Diane de Maufrigneuse, this saintly lady went to find Monsieur de Grandlieu, and brought him back at once. The Duke threw a flashing look at Madame Camusot, one of those rapid glances with which a man of the world can guess at a whole existence, or often read a soul. Amelie's dress greatly helped the Duke to decipher the story of a middle-class life, from Alencon to Mantes, and from Mantes to Paris.
Oh! if only the lawyer's wife could have understood this gift in dukes, she could never have endured that politely ironical look; she saw the politeness only. Ignorance shares the privileges of fine breeding.
"This is Madame Camusot, a daughter of Thirion's--one of the Cabinet ushers," said the Duchess to her husband.
The Duke bowed with extreme politeness to the wife of a legal official, and his face became a little less grave.
The Duke had rung for his valet, who now came in.
"Go to the Rue Saint-Honore: take a coach. Ring at a side door, No. 10. Tell the man who opens the door that I beg his master will come here, and if the gentleman is at home, bring him back with you.-- Mention my name, that will remove all difficulties.
"And do not be gone more than a quarter of an hour in all."
Another footman, the Duchess' servant, came in as soon as the other was gone.
"Go from me to the Duc de Chaulieu, and send up this card."
The Duke gave him a card folded down in a particular way. When the two friends wanted to meet at once, on any urgent or confidential business which would not allow of note-writing, they used this means of communication.
Thus we see that similar customs prevail in every rank of society, and differ only in manner, civility, and small details. The world of fashion, too, has its argot, its slang; but that slang is called style.
"Are you quite sure, madame, of the existence of the letters you say were written by Mademoiselle Clotilde de Grandlieu to this young man?" said the Duc de Grandlieu.
And he cast a look at Madame Camusot as a sailor casts a sounding line.
"I have not seen them, but there is reason to fear it," replied Madame Camusot, quaking.
"My daughter can have written nothing we would not own to!" said the Duchess.
"Poor Duchess!" thought Diane, with a glance at the Duke that terrified him.
"What do you think, my dear little Diane?" said the Duke in a whisper, as he led her away into a recess.
"Clotilde is so crazy about Lucien, my dear friend, that she had made an assignation with him before leaving. If it had not been for little Lenoncourt, she would perhaps
Power can prove itself to itself only by the strange misapplication which leads it to crown some absurd person with the laurels of success while insulting genius--the only strong-hold which power cannot touch. The knighting of Caligula's horse, an imperial farce, has been, and always will be, a favorite performance.
In a few minutes Diane and Amelie had exchanged the elegant disorder of the fair Diane's bedroom for the severe but dignified and splendid austerity of the Duchesse de Grandlieu's rooms.
She, a Portuguese, and very pious, always rose at eight to attend mass at the little church of Sainte-Valere, a chapelry to Saint-Thomas d'Aquin, standing at that time on the esplanade of the Invalides. This chapel, now destroyed, was rebuilt in the Rue de Bourgogne, pending the building of a Gothic church to be dedicated to Sainte-Clotilde.
On hearing the first words spoken in her ear by Diane de Maufrigneuse, this saintly lady went to find Monsieur de Grandlieu, and brought him back at once. The Duke threw a flashing look at Madame Camusot, one of those rapid glances with which a man of the world can guess at a whole existence, or often read a soul. Amelie's dress greatly helped the Duke to decipher the story of a middle-class life, from Alencon to Mantes, and from Mantes to Paris.
Oh! if only the lawyer's wife could have understood this gift in dukes, she could never have endured that politely ironical look; she saw the politeness only. Ignorance shares the privileges of fine breeding.
"This is Madame Camusot, a daughter of Thirion's--one of the Cabinet ushers," said the Duchess to her husband.
The Duke bowed with extreme politeness to the wife of a legal official, and his face became a little less grave.
The Duke had rung for his valet, who now came in.
"Go to the Rue Saint-Honore: take a coach. Ring at a side door, No. 10. Tell the man who opens the door that I beg his master will come here, and if the gentleman is at home, bring him back with you.-- Mention my name, that will remove all difficulties.
"And do not be gone more than a quarter of an hour in all."
Another footman, the Duchess' servant, came in as soon as the other was gone.
"Go from me to the Duc de Chaulieu, and send up this card."
The Duke gave him a card folded down in a particular way. When the two friends wanted to meet at once, on any urgent or confidential business which would not allow of note-writing, they used this means of communication.
Thus we see that similar customs prevail in every rank of society, and differ only in manner, civility, and small details. The world of fashion, too, has its argot, its slang; but that slang is called style.
"Are you quite sure, madame, of the existence of the letters you say were written by Mademoiselle Clotilde de Grandlieu to this young man?" said the Duc de Grandlieu.
And he cast a look at Madame Camusot as a sailor casts a sounding line.
"I have not seen them, but there is reason to fear it," replied Madame Camusot, quaking.
"My daughter can have written nothing we would not own to!" said the Duchess.
"Poor Duchess!" thought Diane, with a glance at the Duke that terrified him.
"What do you think, my dear little Diane?" said the Duke in a whisper, as he led her away into a recess.
"Clotilde is so crazy about Lucien, my dear friend, that she had made an assignation with him before leaving. If it had not been for little Lenoncourt, she would perhaps