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The Collection of Antiquities-Part6_Honore de Balzac(1799-1850)_Translated Works(翻译文学)-第2页

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bourgeoises into trouble, and now must have duchesses," returned the

Chevalier.



"Why, he deserves a lettre de cachet!"

" 'They' have done away with lettres de cachet," said the Chevalier.



"You know what a hubbub there was when they tried to institute a law

for special cases. We could not keep the provost's courts, which M. DE



Bonaparte used to call commissions militaires."

"Well, well; what are we to do if our boys are wild, or turn out



scapegraces? Is there no locking them up in these days?" asked the

Marquis.



The Chevalier looked at the heartbroken father and lacked courage to

answer, "We shall be obliged to bring them up properly."



"And you have never said a word of this to me, Mlle. d'Esgrignon,"

added the Marquis, turning suddenly round upon Mlle. Armande. He never



addressed her as Mlle. d'Esgrignon except when he was vexed; usually

she was called "my sister."



"Why, monsieur, when a young man is full of life and spirits, and

leads an idle life in a town like this, what else can you expect?"



asked Mlle. d'Esgrignon. She could not understand her brother's anger.

"Debts! eh! why, hang it all!" added the Chevalier. "He plays cards,



he has little adventures, he shoots,--all these things are horribly

expensive nowadays."



"Come," said the Marquis, "it is time to send him to the King. I will

spend to-morrow morning in writing to our kinsmen."



"I have some acquaintance with the Ducs de Navarreins, de Lenoncourt,

de Maufrigneuse, and de Chaulieu," said the Chevalier, though he knew,



as he spoke, that he was pretty thoroughly forgotten.

"My dear Chevalier, there is no need of such formalities to present a



d'Esgrignon at court," the Marquis broke in.--"A hundred thousand

livres," he muttered; "this Chesnel makes very free. This is what



comes of these accursed troubles. M. Chesnel protects my son. And now

I must ask him. . . . No, sister, you must undertake this business.



Chesnel shall secure himself for the whole amount by a mortgage on our

lands. And just give this harebrained boy a good scolding; he will end



by ruining himself if he goes on like this."

The Chevalier and Mlle. d'Esgrignon thought these words perfectly



simple and natural, absurd as they would have sounded to any other

listener. So far from seeing anything ridiculous in the speech, they



were both very much touched by a look of something like anguish in the

old noble's face. Some dark premonition seemed to weigh upon M.



d'Esgrignon at that moment, some glimmering of an insight into the

changed times. He went to the settee by the fireside and sat down,



forgetting that Chesnel would be there before long; that Chesnel, of

whom he could not bring himself to ask anything.



Just then the Marquis d'Esgrignon looked exactly as any imagination

with a touch of romance could wish. He was almost bald, but a fringe



of silken, white locks, curled at the tips, covered the back of his

head. All the pride of race might be seen in a noble forehead, such as



you may admire in a Louis XV., a Beaumarchais, a Marechal de

Richelieu, it was not the square, broad brow of the portraits of the



Marechal de Saxe; nor yet the small hard circle of Voltaire, compact

to overfulness; it was graciously rounded and finely moulded, the



temples were ivory tinted and soft; and mettle and spirit, unquenched

by age, flashed from the brilliant eyes. The Marquis had the Conde



nose and the lovable Bourbon mouth, from which, as they used to say of

the Comte d'Artois, only witty and urbane words proceed. His cheeks,



sloping rather than foolishly rounded to the chin, were in keeping

with his spare frame, thin legs, and plump hands. The strangulation



cravat at his throat was of the kind which every marquis wears in all

the portraits which adorn eighteenth century literature; it is common



alike to Saint-Preux and to Lovelace, to the elegant Montesquieu's

heroes and to Diderot's homespun characters (see the first editions of



those writers' works).

The Marquis always wore a white, gold-embroidered, high waistcoat,



with the red ribbon of a commander of the Order of St. Louis blazing

upon his breast; and a blue coat with wide skirts, and fleur-de-lys on



the flaps, which were turned back--an odd costume which the King had

adopted. But the Marquis could not bring himself to give up the



Frenchman's knee-breeches nor yet the white silk stockings or the

buckles at the knees. After six o'clock in the evening he appeared in



full dress.




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