By this time Mme. de Bargeton was thirty-six years old and her husband
fifty-eight. The disparity in age was the more startling since M. de
Bargeton looked like a man of seventy, whereas his wife looked scarcely
half her age. She could still wear rose-color, and her hair hanging
loose upon her shoulders. Although their income did not exceed twelve
thousand francs, they ranked among the half-dozen largest fortunes
in the old city, merchants and officials excepted; for M. and Mme. de
Bargeton were obliged to live in Angoulême until such time as Mme.
de Bargeton’s inheritance should fall in and they could go to Paris.
Meanwhile they were bound to be attentive to old M. de Nègrepelisse (who
kept them waiting so long that his son-in-law in fact predeceased him),
and Naïs’ brilliant intellectual gifts, and the wealth that lay like
undiscovered ore in her nature, profited her nothing, underwent the
transforming operation of Time and changed to absurdities. For our
absurdities spring, in fact, for the most part, from the good in us,
from some faculty or quality abnormally developed. Pride, untempered by
intercourse with the great world becomes stiff and starched by contact
with petty things; in a loftier moral atmosphere it would have grown to
noble magnanimity. Enthusiasm, that virtue within a virtue, forming the
saint, inspiring the devotion hidden from all eyes and glowing out upon
the world in verse, turns to exaggeration, with the trifles of a narrow
existence for its object. Far away from the centres of light shed by
great minds, where the air is quick with thought, knowledge stands
still, taste is corrupted like stagnant water, and passion dwindles,
frittered away upon the infinitely small objects which it strives to
exalt. Herein lies the secret of the avarice and tittle-tattle that
poison provincial life. The contagion of narrow-mindedness and meanness
affects the noblest natures; and in such ways as these, men born to be
great, and women who would have been charming if they had fallen under
the forming influence of greater minds, are balked of their lives.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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