Chapter II: The Comte De Montreville.--An Evening Party in Society

The Comte de Montreville was, at the time that we make his acquaintance, about sixty years old. The scion of a noble and wealthy family, he had served in the army, married, and retired from service, and had succeeded in coming safely through the tempests of the Revolution.

He was a short, slender man, with a cold, stern face which commanded respect. He did not lack intelligence, nor was he the slave of a mass of absurd prejudices of the sort that some old men were trying to make fashionable, like paniers and curly wigs. Monsieur de Montreville was not one of those men who insist on retrograding while others go forward; he followed the general current of the time, and, wise amid a multitude of fools, he blamed only those who, from a proneness to exaggeration, from selfishness, or from incapacity, muddied the waters of a stream which all the efforts of all mankind could not prevent from flowing.

But the count had been brought up strictly by his father. Accustomed early in life to unquestioning obedience, he desired his son to be no less submissive to him. At the age of six, young Frédéric lost his mother. The count did not choose to marry again; he had a son to inherit his name, and that was enough for him. He placed Frédéric at one of the best schools in Paris. At fourteen, the young count, who was endowed with an unusually fine intellect, had carried off several prizes. His education was not then completed; but his father, fearing that at that age he might form some dangerous intimacy, and impelled by his longing to have him always by his side, in order to accustom him to absolute obedience, took him away from the school, and gave him a private tutor.

This tutor, in whose charge the count placed his son, and with whom we shall soon become very well acquainted, was neither a scholar nor a man of brains; far from it. But he was entirely at the orders of monsieur le comte, and would not have taken his pupil out to walk without first asking the father's permission; that was the reason for his selection, despite his limited mental qualifications.

The count was very fond of his son, but he would have been very sorry to allow the full depth of his affection to appear; he would have considered that he had forfeited his dignity and his claim to Frédéric's respect if he had spoken to him in the kindly tone of a dear friend. But is not our father the first friend that nature gives us? and ought the respect we owe him to banish confidence and intimacy?

Frédéric loved his father, but he trembled before him. Accustomed from childhood never to reply to him, and to obey promptly his lightest word, he had retained, as he grew to manhood, that habit of passive obedience and that timidity which made it impossible for him to allow his heart to speak freely in his father's presence.

But we must do the Comte de Montreville the justice to say that he did not abuse his power over his son. When Frédéric was eighteen, and his education was at an end, the count dismissed the tutor, and, having sent for the young man to come to him, addressed him thus:

"I am content with you, Frédéric. You have responded to the pains I have taken with your education, and I have no reason to complain of your disposition. But you are approaching the age at which a young man should study the world for himself. Henceforth, therefore, you are to enjoy absolute liberty. You will continue to live in the same house with me; but I will give you the apartment in the wing that looks on the street; mine is at the end of the courtyard; thus you will be able to go in and out at any hour without disturbing me. My steward has orders to supply you with money whenever you ask for it. I know you, and I am sure that you will not abuse this indulgence. You are at an age when young men are eager for pleasure; enjoy yourself, indulge in the follies characteristic of your years; I mean those that lead neither the heart nor the mind astray. You are easily moved, you adore all women! but this enthusiasm will vanish and never return. Be more particular about forming intimacies with men of your age; do not make friends too hurriedly: one should be more exacting in the choice of a friend than of a mistress. However, I shall not lose sight of you altogether; I trust that the principles I have instilled into you will keep you from any reprehensible excess, and that I shall have no reason to repent of having given you liberty of action."

Frédéric, deeply touched by this harangue, would have rushed into his father's arms; but the count, repressing that affectionate impulse, which his own heart shared, confined himself to giving him his hand to press, and added in a voice that trembled slightly:

"In a few years, I will look to your future; I will see about finding a suitable wife for you. But the time for that has not come yet; enjoy your youth, and do not abuse it."

Having said this, the count hastily left the room, for the conversation had moved him; he felt tears in his eyes, and it would have distressed him to allow Frédéric to see them.

Two years had passed since this interview, during which Frédéric, now his own master, had followed the first impulse of his heart. Endowed with an ardent and sensitive nature, Frédéric was certain speedily to feel the pangs of love. At eighteen, most young men say to themselves: "I must fall in love," as they say: "I must dance, or gamble, or ride." But the young count did not treat love so lightly: his inexperienced heart loved or believed that it loved sincerely, and desired to be repaid in kind; treachery broke his heart, and he wept bitterly over the infidelity of a mistress.

Frédéric had a fine figure, and a most attractive face, dignified and sweet; his eyes expressed all that his heart felt. But he had not yet acquired the careless tone and the free and easy manners of the dandies of the day; he did not sway back and forth as he talked, he did not smile into mirrors, he did not deal in the airy nothings which are so popular in salons, and had not the art of looking a woman in the eye to tell her that she was adorable. And as such cavalierish manners are fashionable, and as the ladies care for nothing except what is consecrated by the goddess of fashion, they considered Frédéric rather sentimental, awkward even, and said to one another:

"He's not very bad, but he needs to be trained."

A _petite-maîtresse_ can hardly attach herself to a novice; she may indulge a fancy for him, but only a reprobate can inspire a _grande passion_; that is why poor Frédéric was constantly deceived and thrown over by his mistresses.

It was at Tortoni's that he had made the acquaintance of Dubourg. On that day, the philosopher, being in funds, had created an uproar at that café, where he was entertaining four of his friends. Several strangers, annoyed by the noise they made, tried to impose silence on them; Dubourg's only reply was to throw the remains of a bowl of punch at their heads. They sprang to their feet, shouting and threatening, and during the quarrel Dubourg's four friends deemed it prudent to disappear in rapid succession. He, enraged by their cowardly conduct in abandoning him, was still holding out against his adversaries, when Frédéric espoused his quarrel and offered to act as his second. Dubourg accepted, and a duel took place the next day. Dubourg's antagonist was slightly wounded, and the affair had no more serious results; but it served to cement the friendship thus formed between Dubourg and Frédéric. The former, although nearly ten years the young count's senior, was far from being as reasonable as he; but his unfailing gayety pleased Frédéric, who often felt the need of his friend's merriment to help him to forget the infidelities of his charmers.

Now that we know the Comte de Montreville and his son, let us enter the salons, where the most brilliant society of the capital was assembled, because, as Dubourg had said, it was the count's reception day.

The company was scattered through several rooms, all resplendent with the light of innumerable candles; here there was dancing, there card-playing; elsewhere, the guests were chatting, or strolling about, or standing where they could get a breath of air; the heat was intense in the cardroom, where it was almost impossible to force one's way through the crowd of bettors.

The ladies were remarkable for the elegance, and in some cases for the singularity, of their toilets. As a general rule, the costumes of the mothers are even more elaborate than those of the unmarried women. Is it because they think that their daughters stand less in need of external attractions? or is it true that coquetry increases as natural charm decreases? I do not presume to decide the question. It is different with men: with them, the ball costume, when once established, is soon adopted by all, and those who desire to distinguish themselves have no other resource than to dress their hair in some original way, or to devote their attention to the knot of their cravat; but this last-mentioned portion of the costume is beginning to be no longer a matter of choice.

But it was nearly three o'clock, and the party was drawing to a close. It was the best of all times for the observer to use his faculties; there were fewer people dancing, the circulation was less impeded, and the guests who remained ventured to talk and laugh a little. Toward the close of a ball, informality takes the place of ceremony, and many women do not begin to be charming until they cease to be affected. Some persons who had not previously had an opportunity to speak together were conversing in a corner of the salon. Young men chatted with the pretty partners, whom they invited from choice rather than necessity. The ladies smiled more sweetly upon their escorts; people drew nearer together, they knew one another better.

Monsieur de Montreville walked about his salons with the amiable manner of a host who excels in the art of doing the honors. He talked with an elderly marchioness who was sitting alone on a sofa; he said a courteous word to a lady who was not dancing; and, on his way to her, found time to bestow a compliment or two on the young dancers; he saw to it that the punch was passed around, and the ices; he spent a moment looking over the écarté table, and if somebody was wanted to take a bet he was always ready.

But what was Frédéric doing, leaning against that mantel-shelf? he seemed to be devoting his whole attention to the dance; but was it really the quadrille which interested him so deeply? and why, if he was thinking of nothing but that pretty maiden's agile movements, did he seem to be suffering? Yes, to the keen observer, his tranquillity was assumed, the smile which passed over his lips when he was spoken to was forced and unnatural. Frédéric was preoccupied, but not with the dance. A few feet away from him a young woman was seated, a young woman not more than twenty years old, although she had been three years married to a sexagenarian notary, who was in the cardroom at that moment.

Madame Dernange was very pretty; her vivacity, the sparkle of her eyes, her costume, her brilliant intellect, everything about her had a dazzling effect: she attracted, subjugated, enslaved, with a glance; but, as she knew the power of her charms, she sought constantly to add to the number of her adorers. At sixteen, she married Monsieur Dernange, without the slightest affection for him; but she married him joyfully. She was impatient to be her own mistress, and to give a free rein to her penchant for flirtation.

With a husband nearly sixty, she was very certain of being able to do just what she chose; and, in fact, Monsieur Dernange left her perfectly untrammelled. She was seen at all receptions, balls, festivities of every description. Sometimes her husband escorted her, but generally he went to bed about the time that his wife left the house; which did not prevent them from leading a very peaceful life. It is a very simple matter to live happily with your wife: all you have to do is just to allow her to do whatever she desires.

Monsieur Dernange had an abundance of _savoir vivre_; he was enchanted to have his wife enjoy herself. Many people declared that the young woman did not abuse his confidence, and it is very possible: she was a great flirt, but flirts love no one; however, it is not well to trust them too far.

Frédéric had not been able to look upon the brilliant Madame Dernange with an indifferent eye. She had had no difficulty in setting him on fire with a glance, and with a glance she had realized her triumph. The young Comte de Montreville was not a conquest to be disdained; Madame Dernange resolved to fasten him to her chariot, and for that nothing more was necessary than a glance or two, an occasional smile, a faint pressure of the hand, and a veiled remark uttered in a voice that seemed to tremble slightly. And the coquette used all her powers with such art! She was not in love, and she knew so well how to win love! A person who loves sincerely has much more difficulty in making an impression than one who does not love at all; for the latter is able to avail herself of all her advantages, while the other, striving to appear amiable, is often only awkward and embarrassed. Ninon said that, and Ninon knew what she was talking about.

Poor Frédéric very soon succumbed to that treatment; he believed that she loved, yes, adored him! and for a few days he lost his head. But at this party of his father's a young and gorgeous colonel had made his appearance; he was a man notorious for his _bonnes fortunes_, his amorous adventures; a man, in a word, whom any woman might be proud to number among her captives, and Madame Dernange had at once determined to achieve this new triumph.

Poor Frédéric! you were utterly forgotten: she no longer gave a thought to you, but was engrossed by the handsome colonel. Now and again, she deigned to smile sweetly upon you, it is true; but you were in love, you were jealous, and you saw that the coquette instantly turned her eyes upon the man she desired to enslave.

Several times the young man had approached the scintillating Dernange; he wished to show her that he had detected her perfidy; but she contented herself with smiling at him, and saying:

"What on earth is the matter with you to-night, Monsieur de Montreville? You have a solemn air which is most amusing."

How comforting such words are to a jealous lover! Frédéric made no reply, but walked away with rage in his heart, while the coquette laughed long and loud at a bright remark made by the colonel, or by some other of her adorers.

Frédéric was on pins and needles all the evening; and, toward the close of the festivities, seeing Madame Dernange on a sofa, on which the colonel also had taken his seat, he stationed himself a few steps away. He leaned against a mantel, with his back turned to them, and pretended to be engrossed by the dance; but he did not lose a word of what was said on the sofa. The colonel was amiable and gallant; he strove to make himself agreeable to Madame Dernange, and she put forth all her powers and played with him with her usual grace. She laughed so heartily, she was so pretty, so fascinating, when she desired to make a favorable impression! There was a constant exchange of compliments and clever retorts, during which poor Frédéric was all on fire. If he had not held himself in check, he would have insulted the colonel and overwhelmed the faithless one with reproaches. Luckily, he retained his senses sufficiently to realize all the impropriety of such a scene, and all the ridicule it would bring upon him; for in love intrigues the party who complains, and who is betrayed, is always laughed at. It is said: the _vanquished_ pay the fine; we might vary this proverb slightly, and thus make it truer, except in England, where husbands are in the habit of exacting compensation in money when they are in the position which I understand by _vanquished_.

The colonel paid his court in military fashion--that is to say, he made much progress in a short time. Unluckily, this method is often successful. Unluckily for timid lovers, that is; or is not she the best who makes us happy most promptly? Frédéric heard him ask Madame Dernange's permission to call to pay his respects. The respects of a colonel of hussars! Frédéric was bathed in cold perspiration at the thought. The pretty woman made some resistance; she laughed and joked, and said that he must ask her husband first; then added, with a rippling laugh:

"But, no; no, you needn't! Monsieur Dernange will have no objection."

The colonel was urgent, and he received permission. Frédéric was choking with rage; he walked hastily away, for he could stand it no longer. He went into a room which was empty for the moment, a large number of the guests having already taken their leave.

He threw himself into an easy-chair. The room was but dimly lighted by the flickering candles in glass globes; he could abandon himself without reserve to his feelings. He drew his handkerchief, he was choking; his eyes were filled with tears. A young man almost always pays with tears the fees of his apprenticeship in society. In two or three years, he will laugh at the misfortune that now drives him to despair. After being deceived, he will deceive in his turn; but he will never again be so foolish as to fix his fancy on a coquette, and it may be that some hearts that love him sincerely will be rejected by him, for the innocent often have to pay for the guilty. But, let us wait: it is possible that Frédéric will always retain that emotional nature, that constancy in love, which now cause him to regret the loss of a heart that he never possessed.

The words _faithless_, _fickle_, _traitress_, issued from his mouth, followed by long sighs. For more than half an hour he had been buried in his reflections. The candles had gone out, the music had ceased. Several people passed him without attracting his attention, nor was he, sitting in a dark corner, noticed by them. Some ladies came into the room to get their shawls, which they had left on a couch not far from Frédéric. But a familiar voice awoke the echoes in his heart: it was the voice of Madame Dernange, talking with one of her friends. They seemed in excellent spirits.

"What sport I have had!" said the notary's wife. "That colonel is really very attractive!"

"But, my dear, did you see the wry face Frédéric made?"

"Yes, indeed I did, and I was strongly tempted to laugh!"

"You drove him to despair."

"What a calamity! That young man is romantic and sentimental enough to give one the blues; he's an idiot!"

"Oh! he's a very pretty fellow, my dear; and when he has got rid of that schoolboy air, and has acquired the tone of fashionable gallantry, you'll see how popular he will be!"

"When I choose to amuse myself with him again, I have only to say a word, to glance at him, and he will be at my feet. But give me my shawl, which you have had in your hand an hour. The colonel is waiting to escort me to my carriage."

When the ladies had gone, Frédéric rose. He found it difficult to believe his ears. Shame, jealousy, anger, filled his heart, where love had already ceased to fill any space; for his self-esteem had been wounded, and wounded self-esteem soon triumphs over love.

In this frame of mind, Frédéric retired to his apartment; he slammed the door as he entered, and thereby woke Dubourg with a start.