confide to you my wife. I know no better
guardian. Being
childless, a lover might be dangerous to her. Henri! I love her
madly, basely, without proper pride. I would
forgive her, I think,
an infidelity, not because I am certain of avenging it, but
because I would kill myself to leave her free and happy--since I
could not make her happiness myself. But what have I to fear?
Natalie feels for me that friendship which is independent of love,
but which preserves love. I have treated her like a petted child.
I took such delight in my sacrifices, one led so naturally to
another, that she can never be false; she would be a
monster if
she were. Love begets love.
Alas! shall I tell you all, my dear Henri? I have just written her
a letter in which I let her think that I go with heart of hope and
brow
serene; that neither
jealousy, nor doubt, nor fear is in my
soul,--a letter, in short, such as a son might write to his
mother, aware that he is going to his death. Good God! de Marsay,
as I wrote it hell was in my soul! I am the most
wretched man on
earth. Yes, yes, to you the cries, to you the grinding of my
teeth! I avow myself to you a
despairing lover; I would rather
live these six years
sweeping the streets beneath her windows than
return a
millionaire at the end of them--if I could choose. I
suffer agony; I shall pass from pain to pain until I hear from you
that you will take the trust which you alone can
fulfil or
accomplish.
Oh! my dear de Marsay, this woman is
indispensable to my life; she
is my sun, my
atmosphere. Take her under your
shield and buckler,
keep her
faithful to me, even if she wills it not. Yes, I could be
satisfied with a half-happiness. Be her
guardian, her chaperon,
for I could have no
distrust of you. Prove to her that in
betraying me she would do a low and
vulgar thing, and be no better
than the common run of women; tell her that
faithfulness will
prove her lofty spirit.
She probably has fortune enough to continue her life of
luxury and
ease. But if she lacks a pleasure, if she has caprices which she
cannot satisfy, be her
banker, and do not fear, I WILL return with
wealth.
But, after all, these fears are in vain! Natalie is an angel of
purity and
virtue. When Felix de Vandenesse fell deeply in love
with her and began to show her certain attentions, I had only to
let her see the danger, and she
instantly thanked me so
affectionately that I was moved to tears. She said that her
dignity and
reputation demanded that she should not close her
doors
abruptly to any man, but that she knew well how to dismiss
him. She did, in fact, receive him so
coldly that the affair all
ended for the best. We have never had any other subject of dispute
--if, indeed, a friendly talk could be called a dispute--in all
our married life.
And now, my dear Henri, I bid you
farewell in the spirit of a man.
Misfortune has come. No matter what the cause, it is here. I strip
to meet it. Poverty and Natalie are two irreconcilable terms. The
balance may be close between my assets and my liabilities, but no
one shall have cause to
complain of me. But, should any unforeseen
event occur to imperil my honor, I count on you.
Send letters under cover to the Governor of India at Calcutta. I
have friendly relations with his family, and some one there will
care for all letters that come to me from Europe. Dear friend, I
hope to find you the same de Marsay on my return,--the man who
scoffs at everything and yet is receptive of the feelings of
others when they
accord with the
grandeur he is
conscious of in
himself. You stay in Paris, friend; but when you read these words,
I shall be crying out, "To Carthage!"
The Marquis Henri de Marsay to Comte Paul de Manerville:
So, so, Monsieur le comte, you have made a wreck of it! Monsieur
l'ambassadeur has gone to the bottom! Are these the fine things
that you were doing?
Why, Paul, why have you kept away from me? If you had said a
single word, my poor old fellow, I would have made your position
plain to you. Your wife has refused me her endorsement. May that