France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; French fiction -- Translations into English
“Well, my child,” said he, laying his hand on Esther’s, and making her
shiver as if some serpent had wound itself round her, “the world must
never know of your existence. Above all, the world must never know that
a certain Mademoiselle Esther loves Lucien, and that Lucien is in love
with her.--These rooms are your prison, my pigeon. If you wish to go
out--and your health will require it--you must take exercise at night,
at hours when you cannot be seen; for your youth and beauty, and the
style you have acquired at the Convent, would at once be observed in
Paris. The day when any one in the world, whoever it be,” he added in
an awful voice, seconded by an awful look, “learns that Lucien is your
lover, or that you are his mistress, that day will be your last but one
on earth. I have procured that boy a patent permitting him to bear the
name and arms of his maternal ancestors. Still, this is not all; we have
not yet recovered the title of Marquis; and to get it, he must marry
a girl of good family, in whose favor the King will grant this
distinction. Such an alliance will get Lucien on in the world and at
Court. This boy, of whom I have made a man, will be first Secretary to
an Embassy; later, he shall be Minister at some German Court, and God,
or I--better still--helping him, he will take his seat some day on the
bench reserved for peers----”
“Or on the bench reserved for----” Lucien began, interrupting the man.
“Hold your tongue!” cried Carlos, laying his broad hand on Lucien’s
mouth. “Would you tell such a secret to a woman?” he muttered in his
ear.
“Esther! A woman!” cried the poet of _Les Marguerites_.
“Still inditing sonnets!” said the Spaniard. “Nonsense! Sooner or later
all these angels relapse into being women, and every woman at moments
is a mixture of a monkey and a child, two creatures who can kill us for
fun.--Esther, my jewel,” said he to the terrified girl, “I have secured
as your waiting-maid a creature who is as much mine as if she were my
daughter. For your cook, you shall have a mulatto woman, which
gives style to a house. With Europe and Asie you can live here for a
thousand-franc note a month like a queen--a stage queen. Europe has
been a dressmaker, a milliner, and a stage super; Asie has cooked for an
epicure Milord. These two women will serve you like two fairies.”
Seeing Lucien go completely to the wall before this man, who was guilty
at least of sacrilege and forgery, this woman, sanctified by her love,
felt an awful fear in the depths of her heart. She made no reply, but
dragged Lucien into her room, and asked him:
“Is he the devil?”
“He is far worse to me!” he vehemently replied. “But if you love me,
try to imitate that man’s devotion to me, and obey him on pain of
death!----”
“Of death!” she exclaimed, more frightened than ever.
“Of death,” repeated Lucien. “Alas! my darling, no death could be
compared with that which would befall me if----”
Esther turned pale at his words, and felt herself fainting.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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