But was there anything that he would not have endured for Naïs?--for
so he heard her named by the clan. Like Spanish grandees and the old
Austrian nobility at Vienna, these folk, men and women alike, called
each other by their Christian names, a final shade of distinction in the
inmost ring of Angoumoisin aristocracy.
Lucien loved Naïs as a young man loves the first woman who flatters him,
for Naïs prophesied great things and boundless fame for Lucien. She used
all her skill to secure her hold upon her poet; not merely did she
exalt him beyond measure, but she represented him to himself as a child
without fortune whom she meant to start in life; she treated him like a
child, to keep him near her; she made him her reader, her secretary,
and cared more for him than she would have thought possible after the
dreadful calamity that had befallen her.
She was very cruel to herself in those days, telling herself that it
would be folly to love a young man of twenty, so far apart from her
socially in the first place; and her behavior to him was a bewildering
mixture of familiarity and capricious fits of pride arising from her
fears and scruples. She was sometimes a lofty patroness, sometimes she
was tender and flattered him. At first, while he was overawed by her
rank, Lucien experienced the extremes of dread, hope, and despair, the
torture of a first love, that is beaten deep into the heart with the
hammer strokes of alternate bliss and anguish. For two months Mme. de
Bargeton was for him a benefactress who would take a mother’s interest
in him; but confidences came next. Mme. de Bargeton began to address
her poet as “dear Lucien,” and then as “dear,” without more ado. The
poet grew bolder, and addressed the great lady as Naïs, and there
followed a flash of the anger that captivates a boy; she reproached
him for calling her by a name in everybody’s mouth. The haughty and
high-born Nègrepelisse offered the fair angel youth that one of her
appellations which was unsoiled by use; for him she would be “Louise.”
Lucien was in the third heaven.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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