Melancholy1 mark’d him for her own,
whose ambitious heart overrates
the happiness he cannot enjoy .
MARLOW.
[The first of these lines is taken from the Epitaph in Gray’s Elegy2 , in the notes to which it is not shewn as an “Imitation.” The ascription of the whole passage to Marlow (sic ) is probably, therefore, one of Beyle’s fantasies.— C. K. S. M.]
The following morning, at eight o’clock, a great upheaval3 occurred in the household of Madame de Malivert. All the bells pealed4 at once. Presently the old Marquis paid a visit to his wife, who was still in bed; he himself had wasted no time in dressing5. He came and embraced her with tears in his eyes, “My dear,” he said to her, “we shall see our grandchildren before we die,” and the good old man wept copious6 tears. “God knows,” he added, “that it is not the thought of ceasing to be a beggar that makes me like this.... The Bill of Indemnity7 is certain to pass, and you are to have two millions.” At this moment Octave, for whom the Marquis had sent, knocked at the door; his father rose and flung himself into his arms. Octave saw tears which he perhaps misinterpreted, for an almost imperceptible flush appeared on his pale cheeks. “Draw back the curtains; give me daylight!” said his mother in a tone of vivacity8. “Come here, look at me,” she added, in the same tone, and, without replying to her husband, examined the imperceptible flush which was dyeing the upper part of Octave’s cheeks. She knew, from her conversations with the doctors, that a circular patch of red on the cheeks is a symptom of weak lungs; she trembled for her son’s health and gave no more thought to the two millions of the indemnity.
When Madame de Malivert was reassured9, “Yes, my son,” the Marquis said at length, slightly out of patience with all this fuss, “I have just heard for certain that the Bill of Indemnity is to be introduced, and we can count upon 319 certain votes out of 420. Your mother has lost a fortune which I reckon at more than six millions, and whatever may be the sacrifices which the fear of the Jacobins may impose upon the King’s justice, we may safely count upon two millions. And so I am no longer a beggar, that is to say, you are no longer a beggar, your fortune will once again be in keeping with your birth, and I am now in a position to seek, instead of begging a bride for you.” “But, my dear,” said Madame de Malivert, “take care that your haste to believe this great news does not expose you to the petty criticisms of our cousin Madame la Duchesse d’Ancre and her friends. She already has all the millions that you promise us; don’t count your chickens before they are hatched.” “For the last five and twenty minutes,” said the old Marquis, taking out his watch, “I have been certain, yes, you may say certain , that the Bill of Indemnity will be passed.”
The Marquis must have been right, for that evening, when the impassive Octave appeared in Madame de Bonnivet’s drawing-room, he found a trace of eagerness in the welcome which he received on all sides.
There was also a trace of pride in his manner of responding to this sudden interest; so at least the old Duchesse d’Ancre remarked. Octave’s impression was one of aversion combined with scorn. He found himself greeted more warmly, because of the prospect10 of two millions , in Parisian society, and among the people with whom he had been on most intimate terms. His ardent11 spirit, as just and almost as severe towards others as towards himself, ended by extracting a profound melancholy from this sad truth. It was not that Octave’s pride stooped to resentment12 of the people whom chance had brought together in this drawing-room; he was filled with pity for his own lot and for that of all mankind. “I am so little loved, then,” he said to himself, “that two millions alter all the feelings that people had for me; instead of seeking to deserve their love, I ought to have tried to enrich myself by some form of trade.” As he made these gloomy reflexions, Octave happened to be seated upon a divan13, facing a little chair which was occupied by Armance de Zohi-loff, his cousin, and by accident his eyes came to rest upon her. It occurred to him that she had not uttered a word to him all that evening. Armance was a niece, in reduced circumstances, of Mesdames de Bonnivet and de Malivert, of about the same age as Octave, and as these two young people were quite indifferent to one another, they were in the habit of conversing14 with entire frankness. For three-quarters of an hour Octave’s heart had been steeped in bitterness, an idea now struck him: “Armance pays me no compliment, she alone of the people here is untouched by this increased interest which I owe to money, she alone here has some nobility of soul.” And he found some consolation15 merely in looking at Armance. “So here at last is a creature worthy16 of respect,” he said to himself, and as the evening advanced, he saw with a pleasure equal to the grief which at first had flooded his heart that she continued to refrain from addressing him.
Once only, when a provincial17, a member of the Chamber18 of Deputies, was paying Octave an ill-turned compliment with regard to the two millions which he was going to vote him (these were the man’s own words), Octave caught a glance from Armance directed at himself. Her expression was one that it was impossible to misinterpret; so at least Octave’s judgment19, more severe than could well be imagined, decided20; this glance was intended to study him, and (what gave him a perceptible feeling of pleasure) seemed to expect to be obliged to despise him. The Deputy who was preparing to vote millions received no quarter from Octave; the young Vicomte’s scorn was all too visible even to a provincial. “They are all the same,” said the Deputy from the ———— Department to Commander de Soubirane whom he joined a moment later. “Ah, you fine noblemen of the Court, if we could vote our own indemnities21 without passing yours, you should not touch a penny, begad, until you had given us guarantees. We have no wish now, as in the old days, to see you colonels at three and twenty and ourselves captains at forty. Of the 319 Deputies who are on the right side, 212 of us belong to that provincial nobility which was sacrificed in the past....” The Commander, highly flattered at hearing such a complaint addressed to himself, began to make excuses for the people of quality. This conversation, which M. de Soubirane in his self-importance called political, lasted for the rest of the evening, and, notwithstanding the most piercing north wind, took place in the bay of a window, the position prescribed for talking politics.
The Commander deserted22 his post for a minute only, after begging the Deputy to excuse him and to wait for him there. “I must go and ask my nephew what he has done with my carriage,” and he went and whispered to Octave: “Talk, people are remarking on your silence; pride is the last thing you should shew at this change of fortune. Remember that these two millions are a restitution23 and nothing more. Keep your pride till the King gives you a Blue Riband.” And the Commander returned to his window, running like a boy, and muttering to himself: “Ah! At half-past eleven, the carriage.”
Octave began to talk, and if he did not arrive at the ease and sprightliness24 which make for complete success, his astonishing good looks and the intense earnestness of his manner made a number of the women present attach an uncommon25 value to what he said to them. It is true that the noble simplicity27 with which he uttered his words spoiled the effect of several piquant28 sallies; it was only after a moment or two that his hearers felt surprise. His proud nature never allowed him to utter in an emphatic29 tone what he thought effective. His was one of those minds which their natural pride places in the position of a girl who appears without rouge30 in a drawing-room where the use of rouge is general; for the first few minutes her pallor makes her appear sad. If Octave met with success, it was because the place of the nimble wit and excitement which he often lacked was filled that evening by a sentiment of the bitterest irony31.
This semblance32 of malice33 led the women of a certain age to pardon him the simplicity of his manners, and the fools whom he frightened made haste to applaud him. Octave, delicately expressing all the contempt that was devouring34 him, was tasting the only happiness that society could give him, when the Duchesse d’Ancre came up to the divan upon which he was seated and said, not to him but for his benefit, and in the lowest of tones, to her dearest friend Madame de la Ronze: “Look at that little fool Armance, she has actually taken it into her head to be jealous of the fortune that has fallen from the clouds at M. de Malivert’s feet. Lord! How ill envy becomes a woman!” Her friend guessed the Duchesse’s meaning, and caught the fixed35 stare of Octave who, while appearing to see nothing but the venerable face of the Bishop36 of ———— who was talking to him at the moment, had heard all. In less than three minutes, Mademoiselle de Zohiloff’s silence was explained, and she herself proved guilty, in Octave’s mind, of all the base feelings of which she had been accused. “Great God,” he said to himself, “there is no exception, then, to the baseness of feeling of all this set! And what grounds have I for supposing that other sets are in any way different? If people dare to flaunt37 such a worship of money in one of the most exclusive drawing-rooms in France, among people, none of whom can open the History of France without coming upon a hero of his own name, what can it be like among the wretched merchants, who are millionaires today, but whose fathers only yesterday were behind the counter? God, how vile39 men are!”
Octave fled from Madame de Bonnivet’s drawing-room; the fashionable world filled him with horror. He left the family carriage for his uncle the Commander and returned home on foot. It was raining in torrents40; the rain delighted him. Soon he had ceased to notice the regular tempest that was meanwhile flooding Paris. “The one resource against this general degradation,” he thought, “would be to find a noble soul, not yet debased by the sham41 wisdom of the Duchesse d’Ancre and all her kind, to cling to her forever, to see no one but her, to live with her and solely42 for her and for her happiness. I should love her passionately43. ... I should love her ! Wretch38 that I am!” At this moment a carriage turning at a gallop44 from the Rue26 de Poitiers into the Rue de Bourbon almost ran over Octave. The back wheel struck him violently in the chest and tore his waistcoat: he stood rooted to the ground; the vision of death had cooled his blood.
“God! Why was I not crushed out of existence?” he said, looking up to heaven. Nor did the rain that was falling in torrents make him bow his head; this cold rain did him good. It was only some minutes later that he proceeded on his way. He ran upstairs to his own room, changed his clothes, and inquired whether his mother were visible. But as she did not expect him she had gone early to bed. Left to his own company, he found everything tedious, even the sombre Alfieri, one of whose tragedies he attempted to read. For a long time he paced the floor of his vast and low apartment. Finally, “Why not make an end of it all?” he asked himself; “why this obstinate45 resistance to the fate that is crushing me? It is all very well my forming what are apparently46 the most reasonable plans of conduct, my life is nothing but a succession of griefs and bitter feelings. This month is no better than the last; this year is no better than last year. Why this obstinate determination to go on living? Can I be wanting in firmness? What is death?” he asked himself, opening his case of pistols and examining them. “A very small matter, when all is said; only a fool would be concerned about it. My mother, my poor mother, is dying of consumption; a little time, and I must follow her. I may even precede her if life is too bitter a grief for me. Were it possible to ask such a favour, she would grant it.... The Commander, my father himself do not care for me; they value the name I bear; they cherish in me an excuse for ambition. It is a very minor47 duty that binds48 me to them....” This word duty came like a thunderbolt to Octave. “A minor duty !” he cried, coming to a halt, “a duty of little importance! ... Is it of little importance, if it is the only duty I have left? If I do not overcome the difficulties that chance presents to me here and now, what right have I to assume that I am certain of conquering all those that it may one day present to me? What! I have the pride to imagine myself superior to every danger, to every sort of evil that may attack a man, and yet I beg the grief that presents itself to choose a form that will suit me, that is to say, to diminish its force by half. What pettiness! And I thought myself so strong! I was nothing but a presumptuous49 fool.”
>From seeing things in this new light to making a vow50 to overcome the grief of living took only a moment. Soon the disgust which Octave felt at everything became less violent, and he felt himself to be not such a wretched creature. His heart, weighed down and disorganised to some extent by so prolonged an absence of all happiness, regained51 a little life and courage with the happiness of self-esteem. Ideas of another sort presented themselves. The lowness of the ceiling of his room displeased52 him intensely; he felt envious53 of the magnificent saloon of the H?tel de Bonnivet. “It is at least twenty feet high,” he said to himself, “how freely I should breathe in it! Ah!” he exclaimed with the glad surprise of a child, “there is a use for these millions. I shall have a magnificent saloon like the one in the H?tel de Bonnivet; and only I shall set foot in it. Once a month, at the most, yes, on the first day of the month, a servant to dust it, but in my presence; he must not try to read my thoughts from my selection of books, nor to pry54 into what I write down for my soul’s guidance in its moments of folly55.... I shall carry the key always on my watch-chain, a tiny, invisible key of steel, smaller than the key of a portfolio56. I shall choose for my saloon three mirrors, each seven feet high. I have always liked that sombre and splendid form of decoration. What is the size of the largest mirrors they make at Saint–Gobain?” And the man who, for the last three-quarters of an hour, had been thinking of ending his life, sprang at once upon a chair to look on his shelves for the price-list of the Saint–Gobain mirrors. He spent an hour in writing out an estimate of the cost of his saloon. He felt that he was behaving like a child; but went on writing all the more rapidly and seriously. This task performed, and the estimate checked, which brought up to 57,350 francs the cost of raising the ceiling of his bedroom and installing a saloon in its place. “If this be not counting one’s chickens,” he said to himself with a laugh, “I should like to know what is.... Oh, well! I am a miserable57 wretch!” he went on, striding up and down the room. “Yes, I am a miserable wretch; but I will be stronger than my misery58. I shall measure my strength against it, and I shall be the master. Brutus sacrificed his children; that was the difficulty that faced him; as for me, I shall continue to live.” He wrote down on a little tablet concealed59 in the secret drawer of his desk: “December l4th, 182 —. Pleasing effect of two m.— Increase of friendliness60.— Envy on the part of Ar.— To make an end.— I will be the master.— Saint–Gobain mirrors .”
This bitter reflexion was written down in Greek characters. Next he picked out on his piano a whole act of Don Giovanni , and those sombre chords of Mozart restored peace to his soul.
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1
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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elegy
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| n.哀歌，挽歌 | |
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upheaval
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| n.胀起，(地壳)的隆起；剧变，动乱 | |
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pealed
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| v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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6
copious
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| adj.丰富的，大量的 | |
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7
indemnity
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| n.赔偿，赔款，补偿金 | |
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vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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9
reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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conversing
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| v.交谈，谈话( converse的现在分词 ) | |
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15
consolation
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| n.安慰，慰问 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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indemnities
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| n.保障( indemnity的名词复数 )；赔偿；赔款；补偿金 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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restitution
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| n.赔偿；恢复原状 | |
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24
sprightliness
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| n.愉快，快活 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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27
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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30
rouge
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| n.胭脂，口红唇膏；v.(在…上)擦口红 | |
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31
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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32
semblance
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| n.外貌，外表 | |
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33
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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34
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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35
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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flaunt
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| vt.夸耀，夸饰 | |
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38
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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40
torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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41
sham
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| n./adj.假冒(的)，虚伪(的) | |
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42
solely
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| adv.仅仅，唯一地 | |
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passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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44
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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45
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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46
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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47
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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48
binds
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| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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49
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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50
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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51
regained
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| 复得( regain的过去式和过去分词 )； 赢回； 重回； 复至某地 | |
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52
displeased
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| a.不快的 | |
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53
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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54
pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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55
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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56
portfolio
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| n.公事包；文件夹；大臣及部长职位 | |
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57
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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58
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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59
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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60
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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