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Modeste Mignon-Part36_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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now. Shall you give Mademoiselle a million?"

"Ah, monsieur, we have not reached that point as yet," said the



colonel, Jesuitically.

"Then suppose," said Canalis, quickly, "that we go no further; we will



let the matter drop. You shall have no cause to complain of me,

Monsieur le comte; the world shall consider me among the unfortunate



suitors of your charming daughter. Give me your word of honor to say

nothing on the subject to any one, not even to Mademoiselle Modeste,



because," he added, throwing a word of promise to the ear, "my

circumstances may so change that I can ask you for her without 'dot.'"



"I promise you that," said the colonel. "You know, monsieur, with what

assurance the public, both in Paris and the provinces, talk of



fortunes that they make and unmake. People exaggerate both happiness

and unhappiness; we are never so fortunate nor so unfortunate as



people say we are. There is nothing sure and certain in business

except investments in land. I am awaiting the accounts of my agents



with very great impatience. The sale of my merchandise and my ship,

and the settlement of my affairs in China, are not yet concluded; and



I cannot know the full amount of my fortune for at least six months. I

did, however, say to Monsieur de La Briere in Paris that I would



guarantee a 'dot' of two hundred thousand francs in ready money. I

wish to entail my estates, and enable my grandchildren to inherit my



arms and title."

Canalis did not listen to this statement after the opening sentence.



The four riders, having now reached a wider road, went abreast and

soon reached a stretch of table-land, from which the eye took in on



one side the rich valley of the Seine toward Rouen, and on the other

an horizon bounded only by the sea.



"Butscha was right, God is the greatest of all landscape painters,"

said Canalis, contemplating the view, which is unique among the many



fine scenes that have made the shores of the Seine so justly

celebrated.



"Above all do we feel that, my dear baron," said the duke, "on

hunting-days, when nature has a voice, and a livelytumult breaks the



silence; at such times the landscape, changing rapidly as we ride

through it, seems really sublime."



"The sun is the inexhaustible palette," said Modeste, looking at the

poet in a species of bewilderment.



A remark that she presently made on his absence of mind gave him an

opportunity of saying that he was just then absorbed in his own



thoughts,--an excuse that authors have more reason for giving than

other men.



"Are we really made happy by carrying our lives into the midst of the

world, and swelling them with all sorts of fictitious wants and over-



excited vanities?" said Modeste, moved by the aspect of the fertile

and billowy country to long for a philosophically tranquil life.



"That is a bucolic, mademoiselle, which is only written on tablets of

gold," said the poet.



"And sometimes under garret-roofs," remarked the colonel.

Modeste threw a piercing glance at Canalis, which he was unable to



sustain; she was conscious of a ringing in her ears, darkness seemed

to spread before her, and then she suddenly exclaimed in icy tones:--



"Ah! it is Wednesday!"

"I do not say this to flatter your passing caprice, mademoiselle,"



said the duke, to whom the little scene, so tragical for Modeste, had

left time for thought; "but I declare I am so profoundly disgusted



with the world and the Court and Paris that had I a Duchesse

d'Herouville, gifted with the wit and graces of mademoiselle, I would



gladly bind myself to live like a philosopher at my chateau, doing

good around me, draining my marshes, educating my children--"



"That, Monsieur le duc, will be set to the account of your great

goodness," said Modeste, letting her eyes rest steadily on the noble



gentleman. "You flatter me in not thinking me frivolous, and in

believing that I have enough resources within myself to be able to



live in solitude. It is perhaps my lot," she added, glancing at

Canalis, with an expression of pity.



"It is the lot of all insignificant fortunes," said the poet. "Paris

demands Babylonian splendor. Sometimes I ask myself how I have ever



managed to keep it up."

"The king does that for both of us," said the duke, candidly; "we live



on his Majesty's bounty. If my family had not been allowed, after the




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