Chapter XII: Front Matter (12)

"What's that? what wedding?"

"Parbleu! yours!"

"Mine! with whom, pray?"

"With whom! with whom! Ah! you choose to be close-mouthed! But we have eyes, my dear fellow, and we know what to think."

"But I believe I have eyes, too, and I have seen nothing to imply----"

"Come, come, my dear Eugène," interposed my sister, "why pretend any longer with us, your best friends? You love Pélagie; what do I say? love her? you adore her; I am sure of it. The whole town knows it, too; it's no longer a mystery."

"Oho! the whole town knows that----"

"Yes, my dear. And the young woman has shown her preference for you; that also is very easy to see: moreover, no one should claim to cut you out. The aunt considers you a very suitable match; she knew our mother and she thinks a great deal of our family. When her niece is married, she will settle three thousand francs a year on her, and leave her the rest of her property at her death. It seems to me that that is not to be despised; with what you have now, you will be in comfortable circumstances, and you will make a charming couple. Tell me, when do you want me to go to ask for her hand?"

I listened to my sister, and I admit that I was greatly surprised by what I heard. However, on mature reflection, I realized that my conduct, which would never have been noticed at Paris, might well, in a small town, give rise to the conjectures which were relied upon to induce me to marry Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain.

Amélie and her husband told me so often and so earnestly that I loved Pélagie, that I began to think that they would end by making me believe it. And, after all, should I be so badly off if I married that young innocent? If I was not in love with her, perhaps I should be all the happier; moreover, I was well aware that I was incapable of a new love; the most that I could do was to stamp out that which still tormented me in spite of myself.

Beside the innocent Pélagie, I should pass placid days; she was bashful, virtuous, well bred; a husband would be able to mould her as he chose. Friendship, they say, is more durable than love; I would begin with friendship for my wife, so that I might love her the longer. I should not be jealous; I should have one less source of torment. I should have children, whom I would bring up on a very different plan from my sister's. Finally, having a gentle, guileless, and taciturn wife, we should have none of those little discussions which Amélie called conjugal amenities, but which were in my eyes very unpleasant quarrels.

All these reflections produced a state of indecision, which my sister interpreted in accordance with her favorite idea. Persuaded that I loved Pélagie secretly, that Pélagie adored me, and that our union would make me the happiest of husbands and ensure my future peace of mind, Amélie urged me, harassed me, persecuted me, to induce me to authorize her to ask for the hand of Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain. At every moment in the day she drew for me a new picture of the delights of wedded life. Déneterre did the same; in the first place, to please his wife, and, secondly, because he thought it would be a good match for me; to cap the climax, even messieurs my nephews had been taught their lesson, and every day, as they climbed on my knees or my shoulders, they would say:

"When are you going to invite us to the wedding, uncle?"

I am naturally weak, as you must have noticed; tired of being tormented from morning till night to marry, I saw that I must either make up my mind to do it or leave the town, where I was already pointed out as Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain's future husband.

But if I returned to Paris, what should I do there, tired as I was of bachelor life, and conscious of a craving to love, to attach myself to someone, and to detach myself from her whom I had loved so dearly?--No, I would marry, I would adore my wife if possible, and pray that she would prove my rock of salvation.

The result of these reflections was that I said one day in response to my sister's entreaties:

"Do whatever you choose."

Amélie asked no further questions; she threw her arms around me, kissed me, and, giving me no chance to add a single word, flew to Madame de Pontchartrain's to sue for Pélagie's hand for her brother. In half an hour she returned with the answer, which was favorable.

"She gives her to you!" she cried from the foot of the stairs; "she is yours; everything is agreed upon and settled; to-morrow I will attend to publishing the banns."

I considered that my sister had been a little too expeditious; it was impossible now to retract; the request had been made and granted, and I was bound!--What! I was going to marry Pélagie, whom I hardly knew? It seemed to me that it must all be a joke; I could not accustom myself to the idea of being Mademoiselle de Pontchartrain's husband.

XXX

AN INTERVIEW WITH MY INTENDED

After my marriage was decided upon, I received permission to go alone to Madame de Pontchartrain's to pay court to Pélagie in her aunt's presence. In the evening, I sometimes escorted the ladies into society and took them home. It was not infinitely entertaining to me. I began to be weary of all that etiquette and ceremony, of all those provincial puerilities; but I determined that, when I was once married, I would go back to Paris and teach my wife another way to live.

Despite all the efforts my sister made to hasten what she called the instant of my happiness, I could not become Pélagie's husband in less than a month; and in that time I hoped to become better acquainted with my promised bride. To be sure, I saw her every evening; but it was always in company, playing parlor games, where everybody's eyes were fastened on us, trying to divine what two people who are to be married say to each other. Poor dears! in vain did you prick up your ears and stretch your necks, trying to catch our lightest words; you could not possibly hear anything to enlighten you upon that subject, because Mademoiselle Pélagie and I had never spoken of it.

It may seem surprising that a promised husband had not spoken of love and marriage to her to whom his troth was plighted; but I confess that I did not care to admit everybody to the secret of my thoughts, and in company it would have been very hard for me to say anything to Pélagie which would not be overheard by all the ears that were constantly on the alert about us. Moreover, how can one discuss an interesting subject while playing _La Sellette_ or _Monsieur le Curé_? I hoped to be less constrained with her in the morning, but the aunt was always there; often, too, some acquaintance came to make a call. I could not see Pélagie alone for an instant; it was impossible to carry on a connected conversation with her, and I began to be impatient. It seemed to me very natural to make the acquaintance of one's wife before marriage; I felt sorely tempted to consign to the Evil One all that provincial etiquette which was so utterly devoid of sense. I decided to apply to my sister to obtain for me an interview with my intended.

"Amélie, I should be very glad to have a little conversation with Pélagie."

"Well, what prevents you, my dear? don't you see her every morning and evening, if you choose?"

"Yes, to be sure, I see her in the morning, but always in the presence of her aunt and three or four old mummies who would deprive the most impassioned lover of all desire to make love. Besides, Pélagie is very shy; how can you expect her to describe her sentiments before people?"

"Why, my dear, you ought to divine them easily enough from the hints she lets fall."

"My dear girl, at the point we have reached I cannot be content with hints; I want something positive; in short, I want to know what sort of a person I have to do with."

"But you are allowed to talk freely enough, I should think."

"Ha! ha! that is delicious! but I tell you again, it isn't enough for me."

"In the evening, you always sit beside her; you can whisper to her and squeeze her hand."

"My poor Amélie, you make me laugh with your provincial privileges; a man has much greater ones in Paris with young women he isn't proposing to marry."

"So much the worse for the girls in Paris, brother."

"Or so much the better, for, after all, severity overdone is often harmful; when the principles of virtue are once engraved on a girl's mind, I don't see why she should not be allowed a reasonable degree of liberty; those who would make missteps would surely have done it later; but those who would always behave themselves, and would not abuse the privilege of listening to foolish talk, they, my dear Amélie, would bring with them, when they marry, a guarantee of their virtue; for you will agree that there is no great merit in being innocent when it is impossible to be anything else."

"Oh! what ideas you have about women, brother! It is easy to see that you have been spoiled in Paris."

"I have much less narrow ideas than yours as to the training of girls, sister; for example, I strongly approve the English method, by which they are allowed to do whatever they choose before marriage. In London, an unmarried girl goes out alone to call on her friends and acquaintances. She may go to a concert or theatre with a young man, without arousing the suspicion that he is her lover. She goes to balls without a mentor; and in society she may laugh and talk and lead the conversation, without being called to order by her parents. But when she is once married, there's a great difference; she must lead an orderly, quiet life, devoted entirely to the care of her household and her children; she goes out only with her husband, receives no men except in his presence, and at parties and receptions consorts with persons of her own sex, who, like herself, refrain from joining the men, whom they generally leave at table after dinner to drink and tell stories. Well! do you think that such a very bad system? For my part, I am convinced that there are fewer deceived husbands in England than in France."

"Bah! they are deceived there before marriage, that's all the difference."

"And here, after marriage."

"Brother!"

"Oh! don't be angry; I didn't mean that for you."

"Well! what is the point of your remarks?"

"I want you to procure me a tête-à-tête with Pélagie."

"A tête-à-tête! do you mean it?"

"With my future bride, it will be perfectly proper!"

"But propriety--good morals!"

"Propriety and good morals cannot be offended."

"But the custom!"

"Your customs are beginning to be very irksome to me; and if you don't obtain me the interview I desire, I am quite capable of decamping some fine morning and leaving you with my intended and her aunt and all the gossip of the town on your hands!"

"Oh! mon Dieu! the reckless fellow! he makes me shudder!--Well, I'll try to arrange it. After all, you're to be married in a week, and--and--in fact---- But I have an idea: I will go to Madame de Pontchartrain and ask her permission to take her niece with me to make some purchases that are necessary for her wedding; she can't refuse me; then I'll bring Pélagie here, and you can talk to her at your leisure."

"That's a happy idea!"

"But I trust, my dear, that you will behave yourself, and----"

"Don't be alarmed! Really, you have a very low opinion of me."

"The fact that I am going to fetch your intended proves the contrary."

My sister did, in fact, go to Madame de Pontchartrain's. My threat of leaving Melun had made poor Amélie tremble; she had not even been willing to let me go to Paris to purchase the indispensable gifts; Déneterre had undertaken to do all that. I did not insist, for I might have fallen in with somebody in Paris who would have made me forget my marriage.

Amélie succeeded in her mission; she soon returned with Pélagie, who, on seeing me, blushed and courtesied as if I were a stranger.

"Here is my brother, who will be delighted to talk with you," said Amélie, as she led Pélagie into the house. "I have a thousand things to do, and I am compelled to leave you for a few minutes; but you will be united in a week, so I can see no great harm in leaving you together."

Amélie left us, and I was alone with my future wife at last. Pélagie seated herself at a considerable distance from me, so I began by placing my chair close to hers and taking possession of both her hands. I was glad to see that she made no effort to withdraw them. I gazed at her for several minutes; she kept her eyes fixed on the floor and said not a word. I concluded that if I did not begin the conversation we should sit in silence and without moving all day long; indeed, it was my place to begin.

"You know, mademoiselle, that we are to be married?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"In a week, I shall be your husband."

"Yes, monsieur."

"Does the prospect please you?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Then you love me a little?"

"Yes, monsieur."

That was not bad for a beginning. Still, I was anxious to obtain something besides that everlasting _yes, monsieur_.--I tried to go about it so as to make her reply less briefly.

"When you first saw me, did you pick me out from the rest, prefer me to other young men?"

Doubtless that question seemed embarrassing to her; it was some time before she answered, but at last I heard a _yes, monsieur_.

"Had your heart never spoken before you saw me?"

"I don't know, monsieur."

"What! do you mean that you have been in love before?"

"Oh! no, monsieur; I don't know anything about love."

"Why, you do now, don't you?"

"No, monsieur."

"Then you don't love me?"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Would you prefer another to me?"

"I don't know, monsieur."

"Suppose you should be married to someone else, would you be sorry?"

"I don't know, monsieur."

"Then, why do you marry me?"

"I don't know, monsieur."

I nearly lost my patience; the woman would surely drive me mad with her gentleness. I began to be afraid that I had mistaken stupidity for innocence and awkwardness for timidity! But her hand trembled; probably she was afraid that she had angered me. I felt that I must control myself and not frighten her; that was not the way to attract her and win her confidence.

"Pélagie."

"Monsieur."

"My dear girl, when you are going to marry a man, you mustn't call him _monsieur_."

"What shall I say, then?"

"Call me your _dear_; I hope always to be that."

"Yes, my dear."

"Has your aunt brought you up very strictly?"

"Yes, my dear."

"Don't you ever receive any young men at your house?"

"No, my dear."

"Do you like society?"

"Yes, my dear."

"When we are married, what would you like to do?"

"Whatever you like, my dear."

"Shall we remain here, or go to Paris to live?"

"Oh! I don't care. But----"

"Well! go on, don't be afraid to speak."

"I think I should like Paris better."

"In that case, I am delighted to agree with you."

And I kissed her hand, to manifest a little affection. She hastily withdrew it.

"Pélagie, a promised husband may kiss his betrothed's hand as much as he pleases."

"Really?"

"I give you my word."

Instantly she offered me both hands. Her docility was charming; it was something, at all events.

"Pélagie, what has your aunt ever said to you about me?"

"She told me I might listen to you."

"And then?"

"That you had asked for my hand, and she had given it to you."

"So she didn't consult you beforehand?"

"No, my dear. What for?"

"Why, to know if you liked me."

"Oh! it wasn't worth while."

"But it seems to me that if----"

"I am too well bred not to obey my aunt."

"But if I had been old, ugly, and gouty?"

"That wouldn't have made any difference."

"You would have married me just the same?"

"Of course, if my aunt had said so."

"Why, then you have no inclination for me?"

"What is an inclination?"

"What! has your aunt never told you that you must love your husband?"

"Oh, yes!"

"And be faithful to him?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Do whatever he wishes?"

"Oh, yes!"

"And never listen to other men?"

"Oh, yes!"

I could stand it no longer; I leaped from my chair. Pélagie, terribly frightened, rose also and looked at me. I paced the floor with long strides. But she came toward me.

"Have you hurt yourself?" she asked, opening her eyes to their fullest extent. I could not help smiling at her question. I put my arms around her and embraced her with considerable warmth; I was determined to try to animate her at any cost. At first she tried to release herself; but I told her that a future husband had the right to hold his intended in his arms.

"Oh! that makes a difference," she said; and she ceased to resist.

"He may kiss you, too," I said; and I proceeded to kiss her repeatedly, on her cheeks and her lips. She made no objection.--See how dangerous ignorance often is! there was an innocent with whom a man might do whatever he chose by means of false arguments.

But as I heard my sister I released Pélagie, who allowed herself to be kissed with charming docility. Indeed, I fancied that she was beginning to show some animation.

"Come," said my sister, as she entered the room, "it's time to go back to your aunt, my dear Pélagie; she might not like it if you should stay away any longer. You have had plenty of time to talk, and you will have still more when you're married. Take your shawl and let us go."

Pélagie took her shawl without a word, and prepared to go with my sister. I bade her adieu, whereupon she gave me a decidedly tender glance. I believed that my kisses had produced some effect on her heart, and that belief made me a little more hopeful of the future.

I realized now that my bride had no intelligence; perhaps I might have gone further; but I must needs make the best of it. I did not think that, in order to be happy, one must have a genius for a wife; bright women are generally very tiresome in their homes, and she who devotes her time to displaying the gifts she has received from nature very rarely thinks of taking care of her children and gratifying her husband. As soon as a woman believes herself to be more intelligent than her husband, she refuses to be governed by him. Moreover, I had had many liaisons with clever women, and the result had not been flattering to me. Agathe, Caroline, and Madame de Marsan were all bright. And Nicette? she was, too; and yet---- Well, it was very fortunate that my betrothed was not. I was well aware that there was a great distance between a genius and a blockhead, and that if pretentiousness is irksome, stupidity is even more so. But I hoped that marriage, which works so many metamorphoses, would succeed in forming Pélagie's judgment. I had already fancied that I could see that my caresses had stirred her pulses. There is a time when nature seems benumbed; at such a time a crisis is necessary. Perhaps Pélagie's heart and mind only needed that crisis to develop rapidly.

XXXI