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the species Duke. He recognizes none but the women who have been



presented at court. Pray excuse him, he was one of Napoleon's

creations.



"Madame Firmiani? surely she used to sing at the Opera-house." Species

Ninny. The individuals of this species have an answer for everything.



They will tell lies sooner than say nothing.

Two old ladies, wives of former magistrates: The First (wears a cap



with bows, her face is wrinkled, her nose sharp, voice hard, carries a

prayer-book in her hand): "What was that Madame Firmiani's maiden



name?"--The Second (small face red as a crab-apple, gentle voice):

"She was a Cadignan, my dear, niece of the old Prince de Cadignan,



consequently cousin to the present Duc de Maufrigneuse."

Madame Firmiani is a Cadignan. She might have neither virtue, nor



wealth, nor youth, but she would still be a Cadignan; it is like a

prejudice, always alive and working.



An Original: "My dear fellow, I've seen no galoshes in her

antechamber; consequently you can visit her without compromising



yourself, and play cards there without fear; if there ARE any

scoundrels in her salons, they are people of quality and come in their



carriages; such persons never quarrel."

Old man belonging to the genus Observer: "If you call on Madame



Firmiani, my good friend, you will find a beautiful woman sitting at

her ease by the corner of her fireplace. She will scarcely rise to



receive you,--she only does that for women, ambassadors, dukes, and

persons of great distinction. She is very gracious, she possesses



charm; she converses well, and likes to talk on many topics. There are

many indications of a passionate nature about her; but she has,



evidently, so many adorers that she cannot have a favorite. If

suspicion rested on two or three of her intimates, we might say that



one or other of them was the "cavaliere servente"; but it does not.

The lady is a mystery. She is married, though none of us have seen her



husband. Monsieur Firmiani is altogether mythical; he is like that

third post-horse for which we pay though we never behold it. Madame



has the finest contralto voice in Europe, so say judges; but she has

never been heard to sing more than two or three times since she came



to Paris. She receives much company, but goes nowhere."

The Observer speaks, you will notice, as an Oracle. His words,



anecdotes, and quotations must be accepted as truths, under pain of

being thought without social education or intelligence, and of causing



him to slander you with much zest in twenty salons where he is

considered indispensable. The Observer is forty years of age, never



dines at home, declares himself no longer dangerous to women, wears a

maroon coat, and has a place reserved for him in several boxes at the



"Bouffons." He is sometimes confounded with the Parasite; but he has

filled too many real functions to be thought a sponger; moreover he



possesses a small estate in a certain department, the name of which he

has never been known to utter.



"Madame Firmiani? why, my dear fellow, she was Murat's former

mistress." This man belongs to the Contradictors,--persons who note



errata in memoirs, rectify dates, correct facts, bet a hundred to one,

and are certain about everything. You can easily detect them in some



gross blunder in the course of a single evening. They will tell you

they were in Paris at the time of Mallet's conspiracy, forgetting that



half an hour earlier they had described how they had crossed the

Beresina. Nearly all Contradictors are "chevaliers" of the Legion of



honor; they talk loudly, have retreating foreheads, and play high.

"Madame Firmiani a hundred thousand francs a year? nonsense, you are



crazy! Some people will persist in giving millions with the liberality

of authors, to whom it doesn't cost a penny to dower their heroines.



Madame Firmiani is simply a coquette, who has lately ruined a young

man, and now prevents him from making a fine marriage. If she were not



so handsome she wouldn't have a penny."

Ah, THAT ONE--of course you recognize him--belongs to the species



Envious. There is no need to sketch him; the species is as well known

as that of the felis domestica. But how explain the perennial vigor of



envy?--a vice that brings nothing in!

Persons in society, literary men, honest folk,--in short, individuals



of all species,--were promulgating in the month of January, 1824, so

many different opinions about Madame Firmiani that it would be tedious



to write them down. We have merely sought to show that a man seeking

to understand her, yet unwilling or unable to go to her house, would






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