Madame de Vandenesse,Marie-Angelique,who seemed to have broken down under a weight of troubles too heavy for her soul to bear,was lying back on the sofa with bent limbs,and her head tossing restlessly.She had rushed to her sister's house after a brief appearance at the Opera.Flowers were still in her hair,but others were scattered upon the carpet,together with her gloves,her silk pelisse,and muff and hood.Tears were mingling with the pearls on her bosom;her swollen eyes appeared to make strange confidences.In the midst of so much luxury her distress was horrible,and she seemed unable to summon courage to speak.
"Poor darling!"said Madame du Tillet;"what a mistaken idea you have of my marriage if you think that I can help you!"Hearing this revelation,dragged from her sister's heart by the violence of the storm she herself had raised there,the countess looked with stupefied eyes at the banker's wife;her tears stopped,and her eyes grew fixed.
"Are you in misery as well,my dearest?"she said,in a low voice.
"My griefs will not ease yours."
"But tell them to me,darling;I am not yet too selfish to listen.Are we to suffer together once more,as we did in girlhood?""But alas!we suffer apart,"said the banker's wife."You and I live in two worlds at enmity with each other.I go to the Tuileries when you are not there.Our husbands belong to opposite parties.I am the wife of an ambitious banker,--a bad man,my darling;while you have a noble,kind,and generous husband.""Oh!don't reproach me!"cried the countess."To understand my position,a woman must have borne the weariness of a vapid and barren life,and have entered suddenly into a paradise of light and love;she must know the happiness of feeling her whole life in that of another;of espousing,as it were,the infinite emotions of a poet's soul;of living a double existence,--going,coming with him in his courses through space,through the world of ambition;suffering with his griefs,rising on the wings of his high pleasures,developing her faculties on some vast stage;and all this while living calm,serene,and cold before an observing world.Ah!dearest,what happiness in having at all hours an enormous interest,which multiplies the fibres of the heart and varies them indefinitely!to feel no longer cold indifference!to find one's very life depending on a thousand trifles!
--on a walk where an eye will beam to us from a crowd,on a glance which pales the sun!Ah!what intoxication,dear,to live!to LIVEwhen other women are praying on their knees for emotions that never come to them!Remember,darling,that for this poem of delight there is but a single moment,--youth!In a few years winter comes,and cold.
Ah!if you possessed these living riches of the heart,and were threatened with the loss of them--"Madame du Tillet,terrified,had covered her face with her hands during the passionate utterance of this anthem.
"I did not even think of reproaching you,my beloved,"she said at last,seeing her sister's face bathed in hot tears."You have cast into my soul,in one moment,more brands than I have tears to quench.
Yes,the life I live would justify to my heart a love like that you picture.Let me believe that if we could have seen each other oftener,we should not now be where we are.If you had seen my sufferings,you must have valued your own happiness the more,and you might have strengthened me to resist my tyrant,and so have won a sort of peace.
Your misery is an incident which chance may change,but mine is daily and perpetual.To my husband I am a peg on which to hang his luxury,the sign-post of his ambition,a satisfaction to his vanity.He has no real affection for me,and no confidence.Ferdinand is hard and polished as that piece of marble,"she continued,striking the chimney-piece."He distrusts me.Whatever I may want for myself is refused before I ask it;but as for what flatters his vanity and proclaims his wealth,I have no occasion to express a wish.He decorates my apartments;he spends enormous sums upon my entertainments;my servants,my opera-box,all external matters are maintained with the utmost splendor.His vanity spares no expense;he would trim his children's swaddling-clothes with lace if he could,but he would never hear their cries,or guess their needs.Do you understand me?I am covered with diamonds when I go to court;I wear the richest jewels in society,but I have not one farthing I can use.
Madame du Tillet,who,they say,is envied,who appears to float in gold,has not a hundred francs she can call her own.If the father cares little for his child,he cares less for its mother.Ah!he has cruelly made me feel that he bought me,and that in marrying me without a "dot"he was wronged.I might perhaps have won him to love me,but there's an outside influence against it,--that of a woman,who is over fifty years of age,the widow of a notary,who rules him.Ishall never be free,I know that,so long as he lives.My life is regulated like that of a queen;my meals are served with the utmost formality;at a given hour I must drive to the Bois;I am always accompanied by two footmen in full dress;I am obliged to return at a certain hour.Instead of giving orders,I receive them.At a ball,at the theatre,a servant comes to me and says:'Madame's carriage is ready,'and I am obliged to go,in the midst,perhaps,of something Ienjoy.Ferdinand would be furious if I did not obey the etiquette he prescribes for his wife;he frightens me.In the midst of this hateful opulence,I find myself regretting the past,and thinking that our mother was kind;she left us the nights when we could talk together;at any rate,I was living with a dear being who loved me and suffered with me;whereas here,in this sumptuous house,I live in a desert."At this terrible confession the countess caught her sister's hand and kissed it,weeping.