She might have added "un homme très-digne." For if we have a fault to
find with Maxime, it is that he seems just possibly a thought too
"digne." But that is a fault common to so many men in fiction. French
novelists, like English lady novelists, are terribly apt to make their
men too "digne"—when they don’t make them too unspeakably _indigne_.
Maxime, however, we mustn’t forget, is his own portraitist, and we’ll
hope in this detail the portrait errs. For the rest, we are content to
accept it as he paints it. He is a poor young man, but he is also a
fairy prince. Therefore he can vaunt himself as an ordinary poor young
man could hardly do with taste. He can perform and narrate his
prodigies of skill and valour without offending. He can rescue an
enormous Newfoundland dog from a raging torrent, for example, with the
greatest ease in the world, an exploit you or I might have found
ticklish, and he can tell us of it afterward, a proceeding you or I
might have shrunk from as vainglorious. For Maxime is a fairy prince;
the dog belongs to the fairy princess; and the bad prince, the rival,
who is standing by, doesn’t know how to swim. Again, with splendid
indifference, he can accomplish and record his leap from the Tour d’
Elven to save the fairy princess from a situation that might, in
Fairyland, have compromised her; hadn’t the princess unjustly impugned
his honour, and insinuated that the situation was one he had
deliberately brought to pass? "Monsieur le Marquis de Champcey, y a
t-il eu beaucoup de lâches dans votre famille avant vous?" superbly
demands Marguerite; and we can see her kindling eye, the scornful curl
of her lip, we can hear the disdainful tremor of her voice. Maxime
would be a poor-spirited poor young man, indeed, if, after that, he
should hesitate to jump. And he has his immediate compensation.
"Maxime! Maxime!" cries the haughty princess, now all remorse, "par
grâce, par pitié! au nom du bon Dieu, parlez-moi! pardonnez-moi!" So
that, though the prince goes away with a broken arm, the lover carries
exultancy in his heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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