The Muse of the Department - Honoré de Balzac (best free novels .TXT) 📗
- Author: Honoré de Balzac
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ought to have pointed to the vault above him.--In spite of this inaccuracy, Rinaldo strikes me as a man of spirit, and his appeal to God is quite Italian. There must have been a touch of local color in this romance. Why, what with brigands, and a cavern, and one Lamberti who could foresee future possibilities--there is a whole melodrama in that page. Add to these elements a little intrigue, a peasant maiden with her hair dressed high, short skirts, and a hundred or so of bad couplets.--Oh! the public will crowd to see it! And then Rinaldo--how well the name suits Lafont! By giving him black whiskers, tightly-fitting trousers, a cloak, a moustache, a pistol, and a peaked hat--if the manager of the Vaudeville Theatre were but bold enough to pay for a few newspaper articles, that would secure fifty performances, and six thousand francs for the author's rights, if only I were to cry it up in my columns.
"To proceed:--
OR ROMAN REVENGE
219
The Duchess of Bracciano found
her glove. Adolphe, who had brought
her back to the orange grove, might
certainly have supposed that there
was some purpose in her forgetful-
ness, for at this moment the arbor
was deserted. The sound of the fes-
tivities was audible in the distance.
The puppet show that had been
promised had attracted all the
guests to the ballroom. Never had
Olympia looked more beautiful.
Her lover's eyes met hers with an
answering glow, and they under-
stood each other. There was a mo-
ment of silence, delicious to their
souls, and impossible to describe.
They sat down on the same bench
where they had sat in the presence
of the Cavaliere Paluzzi and the
"Devil take it! Our Rinaldo has vanished!" cried Lousteau. "But a literary man once started by this page would make rapid progress in the comprehension of the plot. The Duchesse Olympia is a lady who could intentionally forget her gloves in a deserted arbor."
"Unless she may be classed between the oyster and head-clerk of an office, the two creatures nearest to marble in the zoological kingdom, it is impossible to discern in Olympia--" Bianchon began.
"A woman of thirty," Madame de la Baudraye hastily interposed, fearing some all too medical term.
"Then Adolphe must be two-and-twenty," the doctor went on, "for an Italian woman at thirty is equivalent to a Parisian of forty."
"From these two facts, the romance may easily be reconstructed," said Lousteau. "And this Cavaliere Paluzzi--what a man!--The style is weak in these two passages; the author was perhaps a clerk in the Excise Office, and wrote the novel to pay his tailor!"
"In his time," said Bianchon, "the censor flourished; you must show as much indulgence to a man who underwent the ordeal by scissors in 1805 as to those who went to the scaffold in 1793."
"Do you understand in the least?" asked Madame Gorju timidly of Madame de Clagny.
The Public Prosecutor's wife, who, to use a phrase of Monsieur Gravier's, might have put a Cossack to flight in 1814, straightened herself in her chair like a horseman in his stirrups, and made a face at her neighbor, conveying, "They are looking at us; we must smile as if we understood."
"Charming!" said the Mayoress to Gatien. "Pray go on, Monsieur Lousteau."
Lousteau looked at the two women, two Indian idols, and contrived to keep his countenance. He thought it desirable to say, "Attention!" before going on as follows:--
OR ROMAN REVENGE
209
dress rustled in the silence. Sud
denly Cardinal Borborigano stood
before the Duchess.
"His face was gloomy, his brow
was dark with clouds, and a bitter
smile lurked in his wrinkles.
"Madame," said he, "you are under
suspicion. If you are guilty, fly. If
you are not, still fly; because,
whether criminal or innocent, you
will find it easier to defend yourself
from a distance."
"I thank your Eminence for your
solicitude," said she. "The Duke of
Bracciano will reappear when I find
it needful to prove that he is alive."
"Cardinal Borborigano!" exclaimed Bianchon. "By the Pope's keys! If you do not agree with me that there is a magnificent creation in the very name, if at those words _dress rustled in the silence_ you do not feel all the poetry thrown into the part of Schedoni by Mrs. Radcliffe in _The Black Penitent_, you do not deserve to read a romance."
"For my part," said Dinah, who had some pity on the eighteen faces gazing up at Lousteau, "I see how the story is progressing. I know it all. I am in Rome; I can see the body of a murdered husband whose wife, as bold as she is wicked, has made her bed on the crater of a volcano. Every night, at every kiss, she says to herself, 'All will be discovered!'"
"Can you see her," said Lousteau, "clasping Monsieur Adolphe in her arms, to her heart, throwing her whole life into a kiss?--Adolphe I see as a well-made young man, but not clever--the sort of man an Italian woman likes. Rinaldo hovers behind the scenes of a plot we do not know, but which must be as full of incident as a melodrama by Pixerecourt. Or we can imagine Rinaldo crossing the stage in the background like a figure in one of Victor Hugo's plays."
"He, perhaps, is the husband," exclaimed Madame de la Baudraye.
"Do you understand anything of it all?" Madame Piedefer asked of the Presidente.
"Why, it is charming!" said Dinah to her mother.
All the good folks of Sancerre sat with eyes as large as five-franc pieces.
"Go on, I beg," said the hostess.
Lousteau went on:--
210
OLYMPIA
"Your key----"
"Have you lost it?"
"It is in the arbor."
"Let us hasten."
"Can the Cardinal have taken it?"
"No, here it is."
"What danger we have escaped!"
Olympia looked at the key, and
fancied she recognized it as her own.
But Rinaldo had changed it; his
cunning had triumphed; he had the
right key. Like a modern Cartouche,
he was no less skilful than bold,
and suspecting that nothing but a
vast treasure could require a duchess
to carry it constantly at her belt.
"Guess!" cried Lousteau. "The corresponding page is not here. We must look to page 212 to relieve our anxiety."
212
OLYMPIA
"If the key had been lost?"
"He would now be a dead man."
"Dead? But ought you not to
grant the last request he made, and
to give him his liberty on the con-
ditions----"
"You do not know him."
"But--"
"Silence! I took you for my
lover, not for my confessor."
Adolphe was silent.
"And then comes an exquisite galloping goat, a tail-piece drawn by Normand, and cut by Duplat.--the names are signed," said Lousteau.
"Well, and then?" said such of the audience as understood.
"That is the end of the chapter," said Lousteau. "The fact of this tailpiece changes my views as to the authorship. To have his book got up, under the Empire, with vignettes engraved on wood, the writer must have been a Councillor of State, or Madame Barthelemy-Hadot, or the late lamented Desforges, or Sewrin."
"'Adolphe was silent.'--Ah!" cried Bianchon, "the Duchess must have been under thirty."
"If there is no more, invent a conclusion," said Madame de la Baudraye.
"You see," said Lousteau, "the waste sheet has been printed fair on one side only. In printer's lingo, it is a back sheet, or, to make it clearer, the other side which would have to be printed is covered all over with pages printed one above another, all experiments in making up. It would take too long to explain to you all the complications of a making-up sheet; but you may understand that it will show no more trace of the first twelve pages that were printed on it than you would in the least remember the first stroke of the bastinado if a Pasha condemned you to have fifty on the soles of your feet."
"I am quite bewildered," said Madame Popinot-Chandier to Monsieur Gravier. "I am vainly trying to connect the Councillor of State, the Cardinal, the key, and the making-up----"
"You have not the key to the jest," said Monsieur Gravier. "Well! no more have I, fair lady, if that can comfort you."
"But here is another sheet," said Bianchon, hunting on the table where the proofs had been laid.
"Capital!" said Lousteau, "and it is complete and uninjured. It is signed IV.; J, Second Edition. Ladies, the figure IV. means that this is part of the fourth volume. The letter J, the tenth letter of the alphabet, shows that this is the tenth sheet. And it is perfectly clear to me, that in spite of any publisher's tricks, this romance in four duodecimo volumes, had a great success, since it came to a second edition.--We will read on and find a clue to the mystery.
OR ROMAN REVENGE
21
corridor; but finding that he was
pursued by the Duchess' people
"Oh, get along!"
"But," said Madame de la Baudraye, "some important events have taken place between your waste sheet and this page."
"This complete sheet, madame, this precious made-up sheet. But does the waste sheet in which the Duchess forgets her gloves in the arbor belong to the fourth volume? Well, deuce take it--to proceed.
Rinaldo saw no safer refuge than to
make forthwith for the cellar where
the treasures of the Bracciano fam-
ily no doubt lay hid. As light of
foot as Camilla sung by the Latin
poet, he flew to the entrance to the
Baths of Vespasian. The torchlight
already flickered on the walls when
Rinaldo, with the readiness be-
stowed on him by nature, discovered
the door concealed in the stone-
work, and suddenly vanished. A
hideous thought then flashed on
Rinaldo's brain like lightning rend-
ing a cloud: He was imprisoned!
He felt the wall with uneasy haste
"Yes, this made-up sheet follows the waste sheet. The last page of the damaged sheet was 212, and this is 217. In fact, since Rinaldo, who in the earlier fragment stole the key of the Duchess' treasure by exchanging it for another very much like it, is now--on the made-up sheet--in the palace of the Dukes of Bracciano, the story seems to me to be advancing to a conclusion of some kind. I hope it is as clear to you as it is to me.--I understand that the festivities are over, the lovers have returned to the Bracciano Palace; it is night--one o'clock in the morning. Rinaldo will
"To proceed:--
OR ROMAN REVENGE
219
The Duchess of Bracciano found
her glove. Adolphe, who had brought
her back to the orange grove, might
certainly have supposed that there
was some purpose in her forgetful-
ness, for at this moment the arbor
was deserted. The sound of the fes-
tivities was audible in the distance.
The puppet show that had been
promised had attracted all the
guests to the ballroom. Never had
Olympia looked more beautiful.
Her lover's eyes met hers with an
answering glow, and they under-
stood each other. There was a mo-
ment of silence, delicious to their
souls, and impossible to describe.
They sat down on the same bench
where they had sat in the presence
of the Cavaliere Paluzzi and the
"Devil take it! Our Rinaldo has vanished!" cried Lousteau. "But a literary man once started by this page would make rapid progress in the comprehension of the plot. The Duchesse Olympia is a lady who could intentionally forget her gloves in a deserted arbor."
"Unless she may be classed between the oyster and head-clerk of an office, the two creatures nearest to marble in the zoological kingdom, it is impossible to discern in Olympia--" Bianchon began.
"A woman of thirty," Madame de la Baudraye hastily interposed, fearing some all too medical term.
"Then Adolphe must be two-and-twenty," the doctor went on, "for an Italian woman at thirty is equivalent to a Parisian of forty."
"From these two facts, the romance may easily be reconstructed," said Lousteau. "And this Cavaliere Paluzzi--what a man!--The style is weak in these two passages; the author was perhaps a clerk in the Excise Office, and wrote the novel to pay his tailor!"
"In his time," said Bianchon, "the censor flourished; you must show as much indulgence to a man who underwent the ordeal by scissors in 1805 as to those who went to the scaffold in 1793."
"Do you understand in the least?" asked Madame Gorju timidly of Madame de Clagny.
The Public Prosecutor's wife, who, to use a phrase of Monsieur Gravier's, might have put a Cossack to flight in 1814, straightened herself in her chair like a horseman in his stirrups, and made a face at her neighbor, conveying, "They are looking at us; we must smile as if we understood."
"Charming!" said the Mayoress to Gatien. "Pray go on, Monsieur Lousteau."
Lousteau looked at the two women, two Indian idols, and contrived to keep his countenance. He thought it desirable to say, "Attention!" before going on as follows:--
OR ROMAN REVENGE
209
dress rustled in the silence. Sud
denly Cardinal Borborigano stood
before the Duchess.
"His face was gloomy, his brow
was dark with clouds, and a bitter
smile lurked in his wrinkles.
"Madame," said he, "you are under
suspicion. If you are guilty, fly. If
you are not, still fly; because,
whether criminal or innocent, you
will find it easier to defend yourself
from a distance."
"I thank your Eminence for your
solicitude," said she. "The Duke of
Bracciano will reappear when I find
it needful to prove that he is alive."
"Cardinal Borborigano!" exclaimed Bianchon. "By the Pope's keys! If you do not agree with me that there is a magnificent creation in the very name, if at those words _dress rustled in the silence_ you do not feel all the poetry thrown into the part of Schedoni by Mrs. Radcliffe in _The Black Penitent_, you do not deserve to read a romance."
"For my part," said Dinah, who had some pity on the eighteen faces gazing up at Lousteau, "I see how the story is progressing. I know it all. I am in Rome; I can see the body of a murdered husband whose wife, as bold as she is wicked, has made her bed on the crater of a volcano. Every night, at every kiss, she says to herself, 'All will be discovered!'"
"Can you see her," said Lousteau, "clasping Monsieur Adolphe in her arms, to her heart, throwing her whole life into a kiss?--Adolphe I see as a well-made young man, but not clever--the sort of man an Italian woman likes. Rinaldo hovers behind the scenes of a plot we do not know, but which must be as full of incident as a melodrama by Pixerecourt. Or we can imagine Rinaldo crossing the stage in the background like a figure in one of Victor Hugo's plays."
"He, perhaps, is the husband," exclaimed Madame de la Baudraye.
"Do you understand anything of it all?" Madame Piedefer asked of the Presidente.
"Why, it is charming!" said Dinah to her mother.
All the good folks of Sancerre sat with eyes as large as five-franc pieces.
"Go on, I beg," said the hostess.
Lousteau went on:--
210
OLYMPIA
"Your key----"
"Have you lost it?"
"It is in the arbor."
"Let us hasten."
"Can the Cardinal have taken it?"
"No, here it is."
"What danger we have escaped!"
Olympia looked at the key, and
fancied she recognized it as her own.
But Rinaldo had changed it; his
cunning had triumphed; he had the
right key. Like a modern Cartouche,
he was no less skilful than bold,
and suspecting that nothing but a
vast treasure could require a duchess
to carry it constantly at her belt.
"Guess!" cried Lousteau. "The corresponding page is not here. We must look to page 212 to relieve our anxiety."
212
OLYMPIA
"If the key had been lost?"
"He would now be a dead man."
"Dead? But ought you not to
grant the last request he made, and
to give him his liberty on the con-
ditions----"
"You do not know him."
"But--"
"Silence! I took you for my
lover, not for my confessor."
Adolphe was silent.
"And then comes an exquisite galloping goat, a tail-piece drawn by Normand, and cut by Duplat.--the names are signed," said Lousteau.
"Well, and then?" said such of the audience as understood.
"That is the end of the chapter," said Lousteau. "The fact of this tailpiece changes my views as to the authorship. To have his book got up, under the Empire, with vignettes engraved on wood, the writer must have been a Councillor of State, or Madame Barthelemy-Hadot, or the late lamented Desforges, or Sewrin."
"'Adolphe was silent.'--Ah!" cried Bianchon, "the Duchess must have been under thirty."
"If there is no more, invent a conclusion," said Madame de la Baudraye.
"You see," said Lousteau, "the waste sheet has been printed fair on one side only. In printer's lingo, it is a back sheet, or, to make it clearer, the other side which would have to be printed is covered all over with pages printed one above another, all experiments in making up. It would take too long to explain to you all the complications of a making-up sheet; but you may understand that it will show no more trace of the first twelve pages that were printed on it than you would in the least remember the first stroke of the bastinado if a Pasha condemned you to have fifty on the soles of your feet."
"I am quite bewildered," said Madame Popinot-Chandier to Monsieur Gravier. "I am vainly trying to connect the Councillor of State, the Cardinal, the key, and the making-up----"
"You have not the key to the jest," said Monsieur Gravier. "Well! no more have I, fair lady, if that can comfort you."
"But here is another sheet," said Bianchon, hunting on the table where the proofs had been laid.
"Capital!" said Lousteau, "and it is complete and uninjured. It is signed IV.; J, Second Edition. Ladies, the figure IV. means that this is part of the fourth volume. The letter J, the tenth letter of the alphabet, shows that this is the tenth sheet. And it is perfectly clear to me, that in spite of any publisher's tricks, this romance in four duodecimo volumes, had a great success, since it came to a second edition.--We will read on and find a clue to the mystery.
OR ROMAN REVENGE
21
corridor; but finding that he was
pursued by the Duchess' people
"Oh, get along!"
"But," said Madame de la Baudraye, "some important events have taken place between your waste sheet and this page."
"This complete sheet, madame, this precious made-up sheet. But does the waste sheet in which the Duchess forgets her gloves in the arbor belong to the fourth volume? Well, deuce take it--to proceed.
Rinaldo saw no safer refuge than to
make forthwith for the cellar where
the treasures of the Bracciano fam-
ily no doubt lay hid. As light of
foot as Camilla sung by the Latin
poet, he flew to the entrance to the
Baths of Vespasian. The torchlight
already flickered on the walls when
Rinaldo, with the readiness be-
stowed on him by nature, discovered
the door concealed in the stone-
work, and suddenly vanished. A
hideous thought then flashed on
Rinaldo's brain like lightning rend-
ing a cloud: He was imprisoned!
He felt the wall with uneasy haste
"Yes, this made-up sheet follows the waste sheet. The last page of the damaged sheet was 212, and this is 217. In fact, since Rinaldo, who in the earlier fragment stole the key of the Duchess' treasure by exchanging it for another very much like it, is now--on the made-up sheet--in the palace of the Dukes of Bracciano, the story seems to me to be advancing to a conclusion of some kind. I hope it is as clear to you as it is to me.--I understand that the festivities are over, the lovers have returned to the Bracciano Palace; it is night--one o'clock in the morning. Rinaldo will
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