Book: The Parisians, Book 9.

E >> Edward Bulwer Lytton >> The Parisians, Book 9.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Produced by David Widger

THE PARISIANS

By Edward Bulwer-Lytton

BOOK IX.

CHAPTER I.

On waking some morning, have you ever felt, reader, as if a change for
the brighter in the world, without and within you, had suddenly come to
pass-some new glory has been given to the sunshine, some fresh balm to
the air-you feel younger, and happier, and lighter, in the very beat of
your heart-you almost fancy you hear the chime of some spiritual music
far off, as if in the deeps of heaven? You are not at first conscious
how, or wherefore, this change has been brought about. Is it the effect
of a dream in the gone sleep, that has made this morning so different
from mornings that have dawned before? And while vaguely asking yourself
that question, you become aware that the cause is no mere illusion, that
it has its substance in words spoken by living lips, in things that
belong to the work-day world.

It was thus that Isaura woke the morning after the conversation with
Alain de Rochebriant, and as certain words, then spoken, echoed back on
her ear, she knew why she was so happy, why the world was so changed.

In those words she heard the voice of Graham Vane--nor she had not
deceived herself--she was loved! she was loved! What mattered that long
cold interval of absence? She had not forgotten--she could not believe
that absence had brought forgetfulness. There are moments when we
insist on judging another's heart by our own. All would be explained
some day--all would come right.

How lovely was the face that reflected itself in the glass as she stood
before it, smoothing back her long hair, murmuring sweet snatches of
Italian love-song, and blushing with sweeter love-thoughts as she sang!
All that had passed in that year so critical to her outer life--the
authorship, the fame, the public career, the popular praise--vanished
from her mind as a vapour that rolls from the face of a lake to which the
sunlight restores the smile of a brightened heaven.

She was more the girl now than she had ever been since the day on which
she sat reading Tasso on the craggy shore of Sorrento.

Singing still as she passed from her chamber, and entering the sitting-
room, which fronted the east, and seemed bathed in the sunbeams of
deepening May, she took her bird from its cage, and stopped her song to
cover it with kisses, which perhaps yearned for vent somewhere.

Later in the day she went out to visit Valerie. Recalling the altered
manner of her young friend, her sweet nature became troubled. She
divined that Valerie had conceived some jealous pain which she longed to
heal; she could not bear the thought of leaving any one that day unhappy.
Ignorant before of the girl's feelings towards Alain, she now partly
guessed them--one woman who loves in secret is clairvoyante as to such
secrets in another.

Valerie received her visitor with a coldness she did not attempt to
disguise. Not seeming to notice this, Isaura commenced the conversation
with frank mention of Rochebriant. "I have to thank you so much, dear
Valerie, for a pleasure you could not anticipate--that of talking about
an absent friend, and hearing the praise he deserved from one so capable
of appreciating excellence as M. de Rochebriant appears to be."

"You were talking to M. de Rochebriant of an absent friend--ah! you
seemed indeed very much interested in the conversation--"

"Do not wonder at that, Valerie; and do not grudge me the happiest
moments I have known for months."

"In talking with M. de Rochebriant! No doubt, Mademoiselle Cicogna, you
found him very charming."

To her surprise and indignation, Valerie here felt the arm of Isaura
tenderly entwining her waist, and her face drawn towards Isaura's
sisterly kiss.

"Listen to me, naughty child-listen and believe. M. de Rochebriant can
never be charming to me--never touch a chord in my heart or my fancy
except as friend to another, or--kiss me in your turn, Valerie--as suitor
to yourself."

Valerie here drew back her pretty childlike head, gazed keenly a moment
into Isaura's eyes, felt convinced by the limpid candour of their
unmistakable honesty, and flinging herself on her friend's bosom, kissed
her passionately, and burst into tears.

The complete reconciliation between the two girls was thus peacefully
effected; and then Isaura had to listen, at no small length, to the
confidences poured into her ears by Valerie, who was fortunately too
engrossed by her own hopes and doubts to exact confidences in return.
Valerie's was one of those impulsive eager natures that longs for a
confidante. Not so Isaura's. Only when Valerie had unburthened her
heart, and been soothed and caressed into happy trust in the future, did
she recall Isaura's explanatory words, and said, archly: "And your
absent friend? Tell me about him. Is he as handsome as Alain?"

"Nay," said Isaura, rising to take up the mantle and hat she had laid
aside on entering, "they say that the colour of a flower is in our
vision, not in the leaves." Then with a grave melancholy in the look she
fixed upon Valerie, she added: "Rather than distrust of me should
occasion you pain, I have pained myself, in making clear to you the
reason why I felt interest in M. de Rochebriant's conversation. In turn,
I ask of you a favour--do not on this point question me farther. There
are some things in our past which influence the present, but to which we
dare not assign a future--on which we cannot talk to another. What
soothsayer can tell us if the dream of a yesterday will be renewed on the
night of a morrow? All is said--we trust one another, dearest."

CHAPTER II.

That evening the Morleys looked in at Isaura's on their way to a crowded
assembly at the house of one of those rich Americans, who were then
outvying the English residents at Paris in the good graces of Parisian
society. I think the Americans get on better with the French than the
English do--I mean the higher class of Americans. They spend more money;
their men speak French better; the women are better dressed, and, as a
general rule, have read more largely, and converse more frankly. Mrs.
Morley's affection for Isaura had increased during the last few months.
As so notable an advocate of the ascendancy of her sex, she felt a sort
of grateful pride in the accomplishments and growing renown of so
youthful a member of the oppressed sisterhood. But, apart from that
sentiment, she had conceived a tender mother-like interest for the girl
who stood in the world so utterly devoid of family ties, so destitute of
that household guardianship and protection which, with all her assertion
of the strength and dignity of woman, and all her opinions as to woman's
right of absolute emancipation from the conventions fabricated by the
selfishness of man, Mrs. Morley was too sensible not to value for the
individual, though she deemed it not needed for the mass. Her great
desire was that Isaura should marry well, and soon. American women
usually marry so young that it seemed to Mrs. Morley an anomaly in social
life, that one so gifted in mind and person as Isaura should already have
passed the age in which the belles of the great Republic are enthroned as
wives and consecrated as mothers. We have seen that in the past year she
had selected from our unworthy but necessary sex, Graham Vane as a
suitable spouse to her young friend. She had divined the state of his
heart--she had more than suspicions of the state of Isaura's. She was
exceedingly perplexed and exceedingly chafed at the Englishman's strange
disregard to his happiness and her own projects. She had counted, all
this past winter, on his return to Paris; and she became convinced that
some misunderstanding, possibly some lover's quarrel, was the cause of
his protracted absence, and a cause that, if ascertained, could be
removed. A good opportunity now presented itself--Colonel Morley was
going to London the next day. He had business there which would detain
him at least a week. He would see Graham; and as she considered her
husband the shrewdest and wisest person in the world--I mean of the male
sex--she had no doubt of his being able to turn Graham's mind thoroughly
inside out, and ascertain his exact feelings and intentions. If the
Englishman, thus assayed, were found of base metal, then, at least, Mrs.
Morley would be free to cast him altogether aside, and coin for the uses
of the matrimonial market some nobler effigy in purer gold.

"My dear child," said Mrs. Morley, in a low voice, nestling herself close
to Isaura, while the Colonel, duly instructed, drew off the Venosta,
"have you heard anything lately of our pleasant friend Mr. Vane?"

You can guess with what artful design Mrs. Morley put that question
point-blank, fixing keen eyes on Isaura while she put it. She saw the
heightened colour, the quivering lip of the girl thus abruptly appealed
to, and she said inly: "I was right--she loves him!"

"I heard of Mr. Vane last night--accidentally."

"Is he coming to Paris soon?"

"Not that I know of. How charmingly that wreath becomes you! it suits
the earrings so well, too."

"Frank chose it; he has good taste for a man. I trust him with my
commissions to Hunt and Roskell's but I limit him as to price, he is so
extravagant--men are, when they make presents. They seem to think we
value things according to their cost. They would gorge us with jewels,
and let us starve for want of a smile. Not that Frank is so bad as the
rest of them. But a propos of Mr. Vane--Frank will be sure to see him,
and scold him well for deserting us all. I should not be surprised if he
brought the deserter back with him, for I send a little note by Frank,
inviting him to pay us a visit. We have spare rooms in our apartments."

Isaura's heart heaved beneath her robe, but she replied in a tone of
astonishing indifference: "I believe this is the height of the London
season, and Mr. Vane would probably be too engaged to profit even by an
invitation so tempting."

"_Nous verrons_. How pleased he will be to hear of your triumphs! He
admired you so much before you were famous: what will be his admiration
now! men are so vain--they care for us so much more when people praise
us. But till we have put the creatures in their proper place, we must
take them for what they are."

Here the Venosta, with whom the poor Colonel had exhausted all the arts
at his command for chaining her attention, could be no longer withheld
from approaching Mrs. Morley, and venting her admiration of that lady's
wreath, earrings, robes, flounces. This dazzling apparition had on her
the effect which a candle has on a moth--she fluttered round it, and
longed to absorb herself in its blaze. But the wreath especially
fascinated her--a wreath which no prudent lady with colourings less pure,
and features less exquisitely delicate than the pretty champion of the
rights of women, could have fancied on her own brows without a shudder.
But the Venosta in such matters was not prudent. "It can't be dear," she
cried piteously, extending her arms towards Isaura. "I must have one
exactly like. Who made it? Cara signora, give me the address."

"Ask the Colonel, dear Madame; he chose and bought it," and Mrs. Morley
glanced significantly at her well-tutored Frank.

"Madame," said the Colonel, speaking in English, which he usually did
with the Venosta--who valued herself on knowing that language and was
flattered to be addressed in it--while he amused himself by introducing
into its forms the dainty Americanisms with which he puzzled the
Britisher--he might well puzzle the Florentine,--"Madame, I am too
anxious for the appearance of my wife to submit to the test of a rival
schemer like yourself in the same apparel. With all the homage due to a
sex of which I am enthused dreadful, I decline to designate the florist
from whom I purchased Mrs. Morley's head-fixings."

"Wicked man!" cried the Venosta, shaking her finger at him coquettishly.
"You are jealous! Fie! a man should never be jealous of a woman's
rivalry with women;" and then, with a cynicism that might have become a
greybeard, she added, "but of his own sex every man should be jealous--
though of his dearest friend. Isn't it so, _Colonello_?"

The Colonel looked puzzled, bowed, and made no reply. "That only shows,"
said Mrs. Morley, rising, "what villains the Colonel has the misfortune
to call friends and fellow-men."

"I fear it is time to go," said Frank, glancing at the clock.

In theory the most rebellious, in practice the most obedient, of wives,
Mrs. Morley here kissed Isaura, resettled her crinoline, and shaking
hands with the Venosta, retreated to the door.

"I shall have the wreath yet," cried the Venosta, impishly. "_La
speranza e fenamina_" (Hope is female).

"Alas!" said Isaura, half mournfully, half smiling, "alas! do you not
remember what the poet replied when asked what disease was most mortal?--
'the hectic fever caught from the chill of hope.'"

CHAPTER III.

Graham Vane was musing very gloomily in his solitary apartment one
morning, when his servant announced Colonel Morley.

He received his visitor with more than the cordiality with which every
English politician receives an American citizen. Graham liked the
Colonel too well for what he was in himself to need any national title to
his esteem. After some preliminary questions and answers as to the
health of Mrs. Morley, the length of the Colonel's stay in London, what
day he could dine with Graham at Richmond or Gravesend, the Colonel took
up the ball. "We have been reckoning to see you at Paris, sir, for the
last six months."

"I am very much flattered to hear that you have thought of me at all; but
I am not aware of having warranted the expectation you so kindly
express."

"I guess you must have said something to my wife which led her to do more
than expect--to reckon on your return. And, by the way, sir, I am
charged to deliver to you this note from her, and to back the request it
contains that you will avail yourself of the offer. Without summarising
the points I do so."

Graham glanced over the note addressed to him

"DEAR MR. VANE,--Do you forget how beautiful the environs of Paris
are in May and June? how charming it was last year at the lake of
Enghien? how gay were our little dinners out of doors in the garden
arbours, with the Savarins and the fair Italian, and her
incomparably amusing chaperon? Frank has my orders to bring you
back to renew these happy days, while the birds are in their first
song, and the leaves are in their youngest green. I have prepared
your rooms _chez nous_--a chamber that looks out on the Champs
Elysees, and a quiet _cabinet de travail_ at the back, in which you
can read, write, or sulk undisturbed. Come, and we will again visit
Enghien and Montmorency. Don't talk of engagements. If man
proposes, woman disposes. Hesitate not--obey. Your sincere little
friend, Lizzy."

"My dear Morley," said Graham, with emotion, "I cannot find words to
thank your wife sufficiently for an invitation so graciously conveyed.
Alas! I cannot accept it."

"Why?" asked the Colonel, drily.

"I have too much to do in London."

"Is that the true reason, or am I to suspicion that there is anything,
sir, which makes you dislike a visit to Paris?"

The Americans enjoy the reputation of being the frankest putters of
questions whom liberty of speech has yet educated into _la recherche de
la verite_, and certainly Colonel Morley in this instance did not impair
the national reputation.

Graham Vane's brow slightly contracted, and he bit his lip as if stung by
a sudden pang; but after a moment's pause, he answered with a good-
humoured smile:

"No man who has taste enough to admire the most beautiful city, and
appreciate the charms of the most brilliant society in the world, can
dislike Paris."

"My dear sir, I did not ask you if you disliked Paris, but if there were
anything that made you dislike coming back to it on a visit."

"What a notion! and what a cross-examiner you would have made if you had
been called to the bar! Surely, my dear friend, you can understand that
when a man has in one place business which he cannot neglect, he may
decline going to another place, whatever pleasure it would give him to do
so. By the way, there is a great ball at one of the Ministers' to-night;
you should go there, and I will point out to you all those English
notabilities in whom Americans naturally take interest. I will call for
you at eleven o'clock. Lord ------, who is a connection of mine, would
be charmed to know you."

Morley hesitated; but when Graham said, "How your wife will scold you if
you lose such an opportunity of telling her whether the Duchess of ----
is as beautiful as report says, and whether Gladstone or Disraeli seems
to your phrenological science to have the finer head!" the Colonel gave
in, and it was settled that Graham should call for him at the Langham
Hotel.

That matter arranged, Graham probably hoped that his inquisitive visitor
would take leave for the present, but the Colonel evinced no such
intention. On the contrary, settling himself more at ease in his arm-
chair, he said, "if I remember aright, you do not object to the odour of
tobacco?"

Graham rose and presented to his visitor a cigar-box which he took from
the mantelpiece.

The Colonel shook his head, and withdrew from his breast pocket a leather
case, from which he extracted a gigantic regalia; this he lighted from a
gold match-box in the shape of a locket attached to his watch-chain, and
took two or three preliminary puffs, with his head thrown back and his
eyes meditatively intent upon the ceiling.

We know already that strange whim of the Colonel's (than whom, if he so
pleased, no man could speak purer English as spoken by the Britisher) to
assert the dignity of the American citizen by copious use of expressions
and phrases familiar to the lips of the governing class of the great
Republic--delicacies of speech which he would have carefully shunned in
the polite circles of the Fifth Avenue in New York. Now the Colonel was
much too experienced a man of the world not to be aware that the
commission with which his Lizzy had charged him was an exceedingly
delicate one; and it occurred to his mother wit that the best way to
acquit himself of it, so as to avoid the risk of giving or of receiving
serious affront, would be to push that whim of his into more than wonted
exaggeration. Thus he could more decidedly and briefly come to the
point; and should he, in doing so, appear too meddlesome, rather provoke
a laugh than a frown-retiring from the ground with the honours due to a
humorist. Accordingly, in his deepest nasal intonation, and withdrawing
his eyes from the ceiling, he began:

"You have not asked, sir, after the signorina, or as we popularly call
her, Mademoiselle Cicogna?"

"Have I not? I hope she is quite well, and her lively companion, Signora
Venosta."

"They are not sick, sir; or at least they were not so last night when my
wife and I had the pleasure to see them. Of course you have read
Mademoiselle Cicogna's book--a bright performance, sir, age considered."

"Certainly, I have read the book; it is full of unquestionable genius.
Is Mademoiselle writing another? But of course she is."

"I am not aware of the fact, sir. It may be predicated; such a mind
cannot remain inactive; and I know from M. Savarin and that rising young
man Gustave Rameau, that the publishers bid high for her brains
considerable. Two translations have already appeared in our country.
Her fame, sir, will be world-wide. She may be another George Sand, or at
least another Eulalie Grantmesnil."

Graham's cheek became as white as the paper I write on. He inclined his
head as in assent, but without a word. The Colonel continued:

We ought to be very proud of her acquaintance, sir. I think you detected
her gifts while they were yet unconjectured. My wife says so. You must
be gratified to remember that, sir--clear grit, sir, and no mistake."

"I certainly more than once have said to Mrs. Morley, that I esteemed
Mademoiselle's powers so highly that I hoped she would never become a
stage-singer and actress. But this M. Rameau? You say he is a rising
man. It struck me when at Paris that he was one of those charlatans with
a great deal of conceit and very little information, who are always found
in scores on the ultra-Liberal side of politics;-possibly I was
mistaken."

"He is the responsible editor of Le Sens Commun, in which talented
periodical Mademoiselle Cicogna's book was first raised."

"Of course, I know that; a journal which, so far as I have looked into
its political or social articles, certainly written by a cleverer and an
older man than M. Rameau, is for unsettling all things and settling
nothing. We have writers of that kind among ourselves--I have no
sympathy with them. To me it seems that when a man says, 'Off with your
head,' he ought to let us know what other head he would put on our
shoulders, and by what process the change of heads shall be effected.
Honestly speaking, if you and your charming wife are intimate friends and
admirers of Mademoiselle Cicogna, I think you could not do her a greater
service than that of detaching her from all connection with men like M.
Rameau, and journals like La Sens Commun."

The Colonel here withdrew his cigar from his lips, lowered his head to a
level with Graham's, and relaxing into an arch significant smile, said:
"Start to Paris, and dissuade her yourself. Start--go ahead--don't be
shy--don't seesaw on the beam of speculation. You will have more
influence with that young female than we can boast." Never was England
in greater danger of quarrel with America than at that moment; but Graham
curbed his first wrathful impulse, and replied coldly:

"It seems to me, Colonel, that you, though very unconsciously, derogate
from the respect due to Mademoiselle Cicogna. That the counsel of a
married couple like yourself and Mrs. Morley should be freely given to
and duly heeded by a girl deprived of her natural advisers in parents,
is a reasonable and honourable supposition; but to imply that the most
influential adviser of a young lady so situated is a young single man, in
no way related to her, appears to me a dereliction of that regard to the
dignity of her sex which is the chivalrous characteristic of your
countrymen--and to Mademoiselle Cicogna herself, a surmise which she
would be justified in resenting as an impertinence."

"I deny both allegations," replied the Colonel serenely. "I maintain
that a single man whips all connubial creation when it comes to
gallantising a single young woman; and that no young lady would be
justified in resenting as impertinence my friendly suggestion to the
single man so deserving of her consideration as I estimate you to be,
to solicit the right to advise her for life. And that's a caution."

Here the Colonel resumed his regalia, and again gazed intent on the
ceiling.

"Advise her for life! You mean, I presume, as a candidate for her hand."

"You don't Turkey now. Well, I guess, you are not wide of the mark
there, sir."

"You do me infinite honour, but I do not presume so far."

"So, so--not as yet. Before a man who is not without gumption runs
himself for Congress, he likes to calculate how the votes will run.
Well, sir, suppose we are in caucus, and let us discuss the chances of
the election with closed doors."

Graham could not help smiling at the persistent officiousness of his
visitor, but his smile was a very sad one.

"Pray change the subject, my dear Colonel Morley--it is not a pleasant
one to me; and as regards Mademoiselle Cicogna, can you think it would
not shock her to suppose that her name was dragged into the discussions
you would provoke, even with closed doors?"

"Sir," replied the Colonel, imperturbably, "since the doors are closed,
there is no one, unless it be a spirit-listener under the table, who can
wire to Mademoiselle Cicogna the substance of debate. And, for my part,
I do not believe in spiritual manifestations. Fact is, that I have the
most amicable sentiments towards both parties, and if there is a
misunderstanding which is opposed to the union of the States, I wish to
remove it while yet in time. Now, let us suppose that you decline to be
a candidate; there are plenty of others who will run; and as an elector
must choose one representative or other, so a gal must choose one husband
or other. And then you only repent when it is too late. It is a great
thing to be first in the field. Let us approximate to the point; the
chances seem good-will you run? Yes or no?"

"I repeat, Colonel Morley, that I entertain no such presumption."

The Colonel here, rising, extended his hand, which Graham shook with
constrained cordiality, and then leisurely walked to the door; there he
paused, as if struck by a new thought, and said gravely, in his natural
tone of voice, "You have nothing to say, sir, against the young lady's
character and honour?"

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5