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pubOne.info present you this new edition. ESTHER HAPPY; OR, HOW A COURTESAN CAN LOVE

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819933830
Langue	English

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SCENES FROM A COURTESAN'S LIFE
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by James Waring
DEDICATION
To His Highness
Prince Alfonso Serafino di Porcia.
Allow me to place your name at the beginning of anessentially
Parisian work, thought out in your house duringthese latter days.
Is it not natural that I should offer you theflowers of rhetoric
that blossomed in your garden, watered with theregrets I suffered
from home-sickness, which you soothed, as I wanderedunder the
boschetti whose elms reminded me of theChamps-Elysees? Thus,
perchance, may I expiate the crime of having dreamedof Paris
under the shadow of the Duomo, of having longed forour muddy
streets on the clean and elegant flagstones ofPorta-Renza. When I
have some book to publish which may be dedicated toa Milanese
lady, I shall have the happiness of finding namesalready dear to
your old Italian romancers among those of women whomwe love, and
to whose memory I would beg you to recall yoursincerely
affectionate
DE BALZAC.
July 1838.
SCENES FROM A COURTESAN'S LIFE
ESTHER HAPPY; OR, HOW A COURTESAN CAN LOVE
ADDENDUM
SCENES FROM A COURTESAN'S LIFE
ESTHER HAPPY; OR, HOW A COURTESAN CAN LOVE
In 1824, at the last opera ball of the season,several masks were struck by the beauty of a youth who waswandering about the passages and greenroom with the air of a man insearch of a woman kept at home by unexpected circumstances. Thesecret of this behavior, now dilatory and again hurried, is knownonly to old women and to certain experienced loungers. In thisimmense assembly the crowd does not trouble itself much to watchthe crowd; each one's interest is impassioned, and even idlers arepreoccupied.
The young dandy was so much absorbed in his anxiousquest that he did not observe his own success; he did not hear, hedid not see the ironical exclamations of admiration, the genuineappreciation, the biting gibes, the soft invitations of some of themasks. Though he was so handsome as to rank among those exceptionalpersons who come to an opera ball in search of an adventure, andwho expect it as confidently as men looked for a lucky coup atroulette in Frascati's day, he seemed quite philosophically sure ofhis evening; he must be the hero of one of those mysteries withthree actors which constitute an opera ball, and are known only tothose who play a part in them; for, to young wives who come merelyto say, “I have seen it, ” to country people, to inexperiencedyouths, and to foreigners, the opera house must on those nights bethe palace of fatigue and dulness. To these, that black swarm, slowand serried— coming, going, winding, turning, returning, mounting,descending, comparable only to ants on a pile of wood— is no moreintelligible than the Bourse to a Breton peasant who has neverheard of the Grand livre.
With a few rare exceptions, men wear no masks inParis; a man in a domino is thought ridiculous. In this the spiritof the nation betrays itself. Men who want to hide their goodfortune can enjoy the opera ball without going there; and masks whoare absolutely compelled to go in come out again at once. One ofthe most amusing scenes is the crush at the doors produced as soonas the dancing begins, by the rush of persons getting away andstruggling with those who are pushing in. So the men who wear masksare either jealous husbands who come to watch their wives, orhusbands on the loose who do not wish to be watched by them— twosituations equally ridiculous.
Now, our young man was followed, though he knew itnot, by a man in a mask, dogging his steps, short and stout, with arolling gait, like a barrel. To every one familiar with the operathis disguise betrayed a stock-broker, a banker, a lawyer, somecitizen soul suspicious of infidelity. For in fact, in really highsociety, no one courts such humiliating proofs. Several masks hadlaughed as they pointed this preposterous figure out to each other;some had spoken to him, a few young men had made game of him, buthis stolid manner showed entire contempt for these aimless shafts;he went on whither the young man led him, as a hunted wild boargoes on and pays no heed to the bullets whistling about his ears,or the dogs barking at his heels.
Though at first sight pleasure and anxiety wear thesame livery— the noble black robe of Venice— and though all isconfusion at an opera ball, the various circles composing Parisiansociety meet there, recognize, and watch each other. There arecertain ideas so clear to the initiated that this scrawled medleyof interests is as legible to them as any amusing novel. So, tothese old hands, this man could not be here by appointment; hewould infallibly have worn some token, red, white, or green, suchas notifies a happy meeting previously agreed on. Was it a case ofrevenge?
Seeing the domino following so closely in the wakeof a man apparently happy in an assignation, some of the gazerslooked again at the handsome face, on which anticipation had setits divine halo. The youth was interesting; the longer he wandered,the more curiosity he excited. Everything about him proclaimed thehabits of refined life. In obedience to a fatal law of the time welive in, there is not much difference, physical or moral, betweenthe most elegant and best bred son of a duke and peer and thisattractive youth, whom poverty had not long since held in its irongrip in the heart of Paris. Beauty and youth might cover him indeep gulfs, as in many a young man who longs to play a part inParis without having the capital to support his pretensions, andwho, day after day, risks all to win all, by sacrificing to the godwho has most votaries in this royal city, namely, Chance. At thesame time, his dress and manners were above reproach; he trod theclassic floor of the opera house as one accustomed there. Who canhave failed to observe that there, as in every zone in Paris, thereis a manner of being which shows who you are, what you are doing,whence you come, and what you want?
“What a handsome young fellow; and here we may turnround to look at him, ” said a mask, in whom accustomed eyesrecognized a lady of position.
“Do you not remember him? ” replied the man on whosearm she was leaning. “Madame du Chatelet introduced him to you— —”
“What, is that the apothecary's son she fanciedherself in love with, who became a journalist, MademoiselleCoralie's lover? ”
“I fancied he had fallen too low ever to pullhimself up again, and I cannot understand how he can show himselfagain in the world of Paris, ” said the Comte Sixte duChatelet.
“He has the air of a prince, ” the mask went on,“and it is not the actress he lived with who could give it to him.My cousin, who understood him, could not lick him into shape. Ishould like to know the mistress of this Sargine; tell me somethingabout him that will enable me to mystify him. ”
This couple, whispering as they watched the youngman, became the object of study to the square-shouldereddomino.
“Dear Monsieur Chardon, ” said the Prefet of theCharente, taking the dandy's hand, “allow me to introduce you tosome one who wishes to renew acquaintance with you— — ”
“Dear Comte Chatelet, ” replied the young man, “thatlady taught me how ridiculous was the name by which you address me.A patent from the king has restored to me that of my mother'sfamily— the Rubempres. Although the fact has been announced in thepapers, it relates to so unimportant a person that I need not blushto recall it to my friends, my enemies, and those who are neither—— You may class yourself where you will, but I am sure you will notdisapprove of a step to which I was advised by your wife when shewas still only Madame de Bargeton. ”
This neat retort, which made the Marquise smile,gave the Prefet of la Charente a nervous chill. “You may tell her,” Lucien went on, “that I now bear gules, a bull raging argent on ameadow vert. ”
“Raging argent, ” echoed Chatelet.
“Madame la Marquise will explain to you, if you donot know, why that old coat is a little better than thechamberlain's key and Imperial gold bees which you bear on yours,to the great despair of Madame Chatelet, nee Negrepelisse d'Espard,” said Lucien quickly.
“Since you recognize me, I cannot puzzle you; and Icould never tell you how much you puzzle me, ” said the Marquised'Espard, amazed at the coolness and impertinence to which the manhad risen whom she had formerly despised.
“Then allow me, madame, to preserve my only chanceof occupying your thoughts by remaining in that mysterioustwilight, ” said he, with the smile of a man who does not wish torisk assured happiness.
“I congratulate you on your changed fortunes, ” saidthe Comte du Chatelet to Lucien.
“I take it as you offer it, ” replied Lucien, bowingwith much grace to the Marquise.
“What a coxcomb! ” said the Count in an undertone toMadame d'Espard. “He has succeeded in winning an ancestry. ”
“With these young men such coxcombry, when it isaddressed to us, almost always implies some success in high places,” said the lady; “for with you older men it means ill-fortune. AndI should very much like to know which of my grand lady friends hastaken this fine bird under her patronage; then I might find themeans of amusing myself this evening. My ticket, anonymously sent,is no doubt a bit of mischief planned by a rival and havingsomething to do with this young man. His impertinence is to order;keep an eye on him. I will take the Duc de Navarrein's arm. Youwill be able to find me again. ”
Just as Madame d'Espard was about to address hercousin, the mysterious mask came between her and the Duke towhisper in her ear:
“Lucien loves you; he wrote the note. Your Prefet ishis greatest foe; how can he speak in his presence? ”
The stranger moved off, leaving Madame d'Espard aprey to a double surprise. The Marquise knew no one in the worldwho was capable of playing the part assumed by this mask; shesuspected a snare, and went to sit down out of sight. The ComteSixte du Chatelet— whom Lucien had abridged of his ambit