74










W 0 MAN'S


WHIMS;


OR THE


FEMALE BAROMETER.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
OF
X. B. SAINTINE.
author of " Picciola."
BY
FAYETTE ROBINSON,
AUTHOR OF " THE!CARDINAL," ETo
NEW YORK:
BAKER      AND     SCRIBNER,
145 NASSAU STREET AND 36 PARK ROW.
1850.





Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1850, by
BAKER AND SCRIBNER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
New York.


C. W. BENEDICT,
Stereotyper and Printer
'101 William street.





TO
THIS BOOK
IS VERY RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
BY THE TRAWoSLATO










PREFACE.


FOR many years past the book market has been
flooded with historical novels and sketches, purporting to give a description of social life in Paris and in
France, portraying such gross licentiousness, exhibiting such terrible moral obliquity, that the public mind
has become disgusted, and persons have learned to
look upon a French novel as a thing not to be talked
of in polite society, and not to put in the hands of
chaste and refined women. No one pretends to doubt
the capacity and talent of Dumas, of De Kock, of Sue,
and of de Balzac, for the very success of the productions of these writers places their power of enchaining
attention beyond dispute, yet there are other authors
quite as gifted, the names of whom are comparatively
unknown.    Among them     are de Saintine, D'Arlin




X


PREFACE.


court, Marmier, beyond all comparison one of the most
gifted travellers of the day, Clemence Robert, and a
host beside, the names of whom have scarcely crossed
the Atlantic. In the works of these authors are a
depth of true sentiment, a profoundity of thought, and
often a wealth of instruction sufficient to remove from
French literature the burden of the censure we in this
country have been too apt to cast on it.
This censure is entirely unjust. It would be as
proper to look on the tapis Francs described in the
"Mysteries of Paris," as fair exhibitions of the morality of France, to look on the debauche students, De
Kock loved so well to describe, as specimens of the
rising generation of France, to look on the Indiana of
Madame Dudevant, as a type of French women, as to
look on the books which describe them, as competent
to enable the reader to form any idea of the untold
wealth of that literature which numbers among its
great names the dramatist Moliere, the universal sage
Voltaire, of whom with more propriety than of Dr.
Goldsmith, may be said,


nil tetigit quad non ornavit,





PREFACE.


xi


the classical Racine, the two Chenier, a Villiers, a
Cousin, and emphatically the poet of the day, the tender and graceful, though probably weak Lamartine.
We are now experiencing in America what Great
Britain felt fifteen years ago, the evil of which was so
fully appreciated, that one of the most distinguished
of her Reviewers thought it a meet subject for public
attention and study. A long and elaborate article in
the London Quarterly about twelve years since, sets
forth the character of the French translations then
overrunning England, in the most unequivocal style.
From this Review, there is little doubt but that
much of the prejudice against French literature, has
been derived, and there is no doubt but that to a degree this prejudice is well founded. It may not be
inappropriate to consider the characteristics of the
various writers best known to us. There had been a
passion for French literature existing for some time in
the country, and persons had turned eagerly to the
products of the teeming press of that nation, which
since the days of Le Sage had annually put forth not
volumes but libraries of those most universal of all
fictions, " Sketches of Rea    Life."  The novels of





Xii                   PREFACE.
D'Arlincourt, author of the " Braseur-Roi," of Prosper
Merime6, had scarcely been considered worthy of
translation, but when Sue wrote his " MVysteries of
Paris," unfolding a depth of social depravity and
moral obliquity, of which we in this country are
luckily ignorant, the prurient fancy of the public was
excited, and a search was made on all sides into the
arcana of Parisian book-shops for novels rarely or never
mentioned by name even to French women. The
Wandering Jew followed, and last of all came the Sea
Tales of Sue, which were worthy to live, and which
only had he written, would have entitled him to a
high place in the list of the great novelists of the day.
The success of these translations excited a yet
farther search, and the books of other and minor men
were examined    into.  De Balzac became a hero.
" The Memoires du Diable" were translated, and also,
we believe, the pean de Chagrin, one of the most
piquant, yet foulest tales of diablerie in the language.
Without the refinement of the Mephistophiles of
German and English Romance, it is yet gracefully
enough written to lead astray the untutored mind,
and by its gorgeous descriptions of vice, calculated to





PREFACE.


Xill


do ineffable harm. Public taste was now growing decidedly worse, " worse even than that of France," so
that not only were the fictions of Paul de Kook really
translated, but publishing houses were found base
enough to lend their imprint to cover up forgeries
which no virtuous woman would confess to any educated man that she had ever read. The public taste
at  last  became   cloyed.   French  depravity  and
American imitation could produce nothing sufficiently
C" agacissant," and the world turned from books which
were become fade and stupid, to the accounts of the
wild revels described in Le lMauvais Suget, Andre le
Savoyard, La Laitiere, etc. The public mind became
disgusted with these works, and Dumas appeared on
the stage.   The   "' Memoirs of a Physician," the
"' Three Guardsmen," and the infinity of its continuations, not yet completed, are now occupying public attention, and it is not too much to say, are at least in
America, more extensively read than ever were the most
admirable of the romances of Sir Walter Scott, the
exquisite fictions of La Motte-Fouque, or Goethe's
Wilhelm Meister.   That they are interesting is undeniable, but so also were Lazarillo de Tormes, and the





XIV


PREFACE.


other Spanish Picaresque tales, and the fictions of the
writers of the later Greek empire. Dramatised, burlesqued, abridged, and expanded, they have been frequently printed, and people read them with delight
and apparent sympathy, though recording nothing
more than the intrigues of a corrupt court, and the
perils of bands of adventurers, the most meritorious
act of each of whom, at the present day, would certainly be consigned to the care of a jailor or hangman.
Madame Dudevant, a writer certainly of immense
power, had all the time attracted no little attention.
Her history and the character of her writings demand
the most careful consideration. A woman, a native of
Paris, an habituee of the grand monde, she was
most competent to unfold the evils of the present
state of society. Aware, however, of its faults, she
seemed to revel in exposing its conventualities, and
laid before the public a ghastly picture of the hollowness
of the French social system. Had she merely done
this; had she not merely displayed the faults, but have
told why the faults existed, and have pointed out a
means of correcting those errors, the world would have
confessed its obligations, and have thanked Madame





PREFACE.


XV


Dudevant for her labors, as it is prodigal of thanks to
the surgeon, who, with the scalpel lays bare a chronic
ulcer that he may bring back health to the system.
Madame Dudevant did not do this. She seemed to
luxuriate in the portraiture of the depravity      of
society, and taxed the utmost of her ingenuity to find
palliatives and excuses to show that the evils she
described were necessities, and that the social system
itself was the originator of.all the troubles of which
men complained. Her books were popular. The innate
depravity of Indiana, Stenio, the Countess of Rudolstadt, and   her other heroes and     heroines, found
countless admirers, as people are fascinated by the
crimes of great culprits, and read of the atrocity of
a Nero, and " Pedro el crudel."  Some compensation,
however, was due to humanity. Madame Dudevant
not only shrank from affixing her name to her own
books, but carefully avoided even making her sex
responsible for them, and under the assumed name
of George Sand, cast before the public volume after
volume, which, in spite of her high talent and perfect
control of the most flexible of all European tongues,
are now rarely or never spoken of except in those





xvi


PREFACE.


coteries where Christianity is a name, and the duty of
man to act to his fellows as he would have them act
towards him is a mere phrase, without meaning and
without effect.
We have gone over a list of modern French
authors and have formed the above conclusions. We
find in the long list of the " men of the pen" of Paris
few  worthy of treading, even haud aquo passu in
the steps of Le Sage, or of occupying a place by the
side of the yet older novelists.  Le Grand Cyrus is a
better novel than Les Trois Mousquetaires, and Le
Diable Boiteux is worth a thousand of Le Pean de
Chagrin.
We must not, however, think that French literature
is valueless. Clemence Robert has written on a similar
subject a better novel than "Anne of Geierstein,"
though it be almost unknown in our country, and the
" Old Convents of Paris" will live when many works
now popular in England and America are forgotten.
There are, however, books which have taken universal
hold of public attention; which have, almost before they
were appreciated in the country of their origin, been
immediately translated into many tongues. Among





PREFACE.


xvii


these was "Picciola," which has been published in
French, English, Italian, Spanish, German and Danish,
and which is as popular in its translations as it is
in the original. The touching beauty of this tale, the
deep insight into the secrets of the human heart
which it unfolded, made it everywhere admired, and
gave to Xavier Saintine the position of one who had
a thorough knowledge of all that actuated his kind.
He who found a heroine in an insignificant flower, and
who bound all men to himself by the sympathy we
must feel for the prisoner, was not unfitted to write
on the subject of the secrets of woman's heart.
I do not think Les Metamorphoses de Femme a
trivial work. I do not think it calculated to make a
light impression, but worthy of serious consideration.
I have taken a great fancy to it, and in the words of
the old English students, " have done it into English,"
elegantly as I could, and I am sure faithfully. With
these few remarks, I submit the following pages to
the public.
FAYETTE ROBINSON.
NEW YORK, March 20, 1850.










CO0N TE NT S
LETTER 1.
PAGUC
Edouard Lugust, Sub-inspector of Finances of tho Third Claos, to his friend Cyprien Fournier, late Assistant Naturalist of tho Jardin des Plantes............21
LETTER If.
Cyprien Fournier, late Assistant Naturalist of tho Jardin des Plantes, to Edouard Luguet, Sub-inspector of Finances of the Third Class...........44
LETTER III.
Edouzerd to Cyprien..........................................57
LETTER IV.
Cyprien to Edonard.............................................0
LETTER V.
Cyprien to P1. do Maricourt...................................#





xx                 CONTENTS.
PAGE
LETTER VI,
Cyprien to M. de Maricourt......................
Edouard to M. do Maricourt........................,.7
LETTER VII.
Cyprion to M. do Maricourt..............................76





LETTER I.


Edward Laguet, Sub-inspector of Finances of the Third Class, to
his friend Cyprien Fournier, late Assistant Naturalist of the
Jardin des Plantes.
AUXERRE, March 15, 18-.
DEAR CYPRIEN:
I read to myself this passage of your last letter:
" It is reported that Mlle. Jenny Bouron is to be married in a short time. In the spring the ceremony will
take place at the chateau of Neuville, in Normandie.
The happy man is known."
I thank you for thus keeping me informed of all the
reports of the great city; none of them are unimportant to a poor Parisian like myself, kept in exile for
eight months of the year, by the Minister of Finances.
In return for your confidence, I shall be as frank myself, but also be more minute. I trust, too, the news





22


WOMAN'S WHIMS.


will not be uninteresting, for I shall speak of your
best friend, that is to say, of myself.
In the month of June last, early in my first tour of
duty as a sub-inspector, after having passed sometime
in a certain city of one of our richest provinces, I remembered that a charming old lady and intimate
friend of my mother, and who had known me from childhood lived in the neighborhood. Her house was but
two leagues distant, and one morning after breakfast
I set out to go thither. The weather was fine, but a
few large clouds were visible in the South. There
was, however, no rain, and safe and sound, I reached
the home of my old friend, by whom I was received
with almost maternal tenderness. She insisted on
keeping possession of me for a week; we could not,
however, agree, and after a friendly discussion, on this
point, she left me to order the room to be prepared
which I was to occupy for but a single night. This
was my intention.
Taking advantage of her absence, I hastened to
throw myself on a sofa in a little room at the end of
the passage, the windows of which overlooked some
flower beds and an immense kitchen garden. Scarcely





LETTER I.


23


had I done so, when the silence and repose around me
excited a nervous irritation for which I could give no
explanation. We Parisians need either noise and excitement, or else in certain circumstances solitude and
calm; solitude when our head and heart are filled
with glory and love; calm and contemplation when
our eyes rest on some object which excites our thought,
or when the ear drinks in some harmony or voices
which tell us that life is not far removed. At the
time I thought neither of love or glory. I had long
ago abandoned both. Did I not make you such a promise?  Was I not busy with my report to the Inspector General?   To replace this ever present recollection, what was before me? Squares of cabbages and
artichokes. Not a sound broke on my ear; not one
animal lowed in the surrounding fields; not a bird
warbled; not one peasant song was heard. I arose
and left the house, the exterior of which I began to
examine. All was still; the blinds were shut, no one
was in the garden, not a cloud was in the sky. To
avoid the heat of the sun which had become intense, I
turned into the alleys of the park which lay on the
right side of the house.





24


WOMAN S WHTMS.


All there was still and silent as the house had been.
The very undergrowth was motionless, not a leaf of
any tree moved. There seemed to be no insects, no
grasshoppers. The blades of grass, the branches of
the trees stood rigidly as chevaux de frise. The
vegetation seemed artificial. Twenty times I felt myself tempted to seize the branches which hung above
me on both sides, and by shaking them awaken an
artificial murmur from the leaves. I was in the
midst of one of those dead calms which one can experience only in the country or at the Chartreuse. The
ennui which this silence and immobility created, induced me to conceive a sudden resolution. I said to
myself, I will not remain here a day, not even an
hour. I shall die here. I began to contrive a means
to extricate myself from a dilemma into which I had
become involved, I know not why. This saving means,
however-this indispensable pretext which alone could
enable me to pass the gates of the purgatory I foresaw, seemed to evade all my powers of invention, so
that I was forced to rely only on my Inspector General
and my report, which for the last two days had filled
every corner of my brain





LETTER I.


25


If, my dear Cyprien, I go into these minute details
to you, it is that I may impress on you that nothing
in the predisposition of my mind could assist me in
the ensuing catastrophe. While I was yet lost in reflection, my mother's friend appeared before me. She
came, she said, to keep me company. This phrase
implies in the case of a new arrival, the necessity of a
tour of inspection from roof to cellar, from boudoir to
barn. I had as yet no means of deliverance, and was,
therefore, forced to submit to fate.   We visited the
park together, the immense garden, the farm and pasturage, for my hostess was both lady of the manor
and farmer's wife, a conjunction which annoyed me
much, for it was evident that the length of my visit
would depend not only on the greatness of her possessions, but also on'the extent of her knowledge. I tell
you, Cyprien, in spite of my respect and deep regard
for the old lady, ennui had taken such complete possession of me that I was nearly unable to restrain myself. While she spoke and explained the peculiarities
of her espaliers, the fleeces of her sheep and the fattening process to which her oxen were subjected, I
made answers from    time to time, utterly at hazard,
2





26


WOMAN S WHIMS.


for I was thinking only of an opportunity to escape.
No suggestion, however, occurred; I saw no possibility
of escape, except by means of my Inspector-General.
But could even that functionary assist me?  I felt an
inspiration. I saw  the dawn of light. All at once I
find in my pocket a letter which in the haste of my
departure I had merely glanced at. This letter informs me of the arrival of my inspector. I must go
at once to meet him; I have not a moment to lose.
But suppose my hostess ask me for the letter! Well,
I shall tell her that I have destroyed it. She can believe anything she pleases, but then I shall be away.
I shall be safe, in that case, at all events.  Thus
thought I to myself. I had begun to return towards
the house, and had already a distinct perception of the
enfilades of rooms, the long stairways I was to ascend
and descend, etc. I did not hesitate, and with a brisk
air seized the hand of my old friend just as she was
about to enter the house. My dear lady, said I, you
see a man who is in a great deal of trouble; I have a
secret to tell you.
"Indeed," said she.   " A secret. So much the
better; I admire confidence; speak out, my friend,"





LETTER I.


27


I continued with great resolution.     My Inspector
General-just then a bell rung loudly--" That is
dinner," said she; "give me your arm and postpone
your secret until dessert."
During the day I had gotten over a great deal of
ground, and of all my inner senses, appetite was the
one most wide awake. Dinner was after all rather
an interruption, than an aggravation of my complaint,
so I learned to submit.
When I entered the dining-room I saw an old man
come in a mincing gait towards us, and kiss in the
most gracious manner the hand of my hostess.       I
was introduced to him. He was a friend and neighbor. At least, said I, we shall not be tete-a-tete. At
this I rejoiced, especially as I have a horror of tete-atetes: just then I discovered that the table was ser
for four persons.
I pledge you my word, dear Cyprien, that my old
oddities of the imagination are entirely suppressed and
radically cured. It has been long since I was willing
to go half way to meet a foolish passion; since I was
wont to nurse such feelings or to believe that they existed elsewhere than in my own head. I was a poet once.





28


W OMAN S WHIMS.


Now I am the most matter-of-fact man in France.    I
only think of the business of my department, and I
look for recreation in my leisure hours, only to the
positive and mathematical sciences. Do physics and
astronomy incline us to hallucination?
As soon, however, as I saw that a fourth person
was expected, I was seized with a kind of inexplicable
vertigo. The ennui, which troubled, distressed, and
impelled me to fly from the house, yielded to an
altogether different impression,-to a sentiment of
satisfaction which I cannot now well explain otherwise
than by presentiments and sympathetic affinities. Not
a single word had been said in relation to the person
who was expected, and whom I already saw in the
fourth seat. She seemed to me a graceful and elegant
being, all gauze, mouseline, and lace. I fancied I
saw the tracery of an alabaster hand on the spotless
napkin beside her plate. Imagine then my emotion
when I saw the door opened, and a pale and tall
girl of the most perfect style of beauty advance. You
think I fell in love at the first sight. Not at all. Though
beautiful, her air was so ungraceful that a most
disagreeable impression was created in my mind. She





LETTER I.


29


scarcely looked or deigned to bow to the company
who had waited long and patiently for her. With body
bent mechanically, and eyes cast down during the
whole meal, she seemed not to participate in what took
place around her. In vain her grandmother-for such
is my old friend-at different times made most significant gestures; all was in vain. Her face, her manner,
all betokened some unhappiness greater than ennui,disdain and ill temper.
The old gentleman did not seem to notice her,
attending only to the substantials of the table. Our
hostess, as if worried of making all the frais of the:
conversation, became silent. The dinner threatened
to become monotonous. I put forth all my activity,
and sought to excite my companions. The presence
of a pretty woman, if it put the old man to sleep,
made me talkative. I chattered away, and amid the
multitude of things which I said were some happy
jeux des mots, which procured me a gracious bow from
the old gentleman and a smile from the old lady. The
young one, however, only looked at me with a contemptuous air. In fine, I was very much dissatisfied
with her,





30


WOMAN' S WHIMS.


From a feeling of this sort, to falling over head and
ears in love, there is but a single step.  Though I did
not expect it, I was near a catastrophe, and before I
left the room experienced the first attack of a true,
powerful and intense passion which now is the source
of all my joy, torment and hope.
Dessert was served. At this time the storm which
I had foreseen in the morning, began with a violent
thunder-burst.   The wind began to hiss, and the
variously-colored clouds flitted to and fro across the
heavens. (Their reason for this, probably, was, that
they wished to get home before the rain began.)   The
trees in the park seemed twisted together, and the
horizon was hidden by clouds. The spectacle was
magnificent. To enjoy it I rose and went to the window. The rain soon began to descend in bucketsfull,
and the freshness of the atmosphere, the perfume of
the woods, seemed pleasant to my soul as to my senses.
The lightning from time to time, seemed, also, to shiver
the clouds, amid which it revealed itself in lakes of
gold and islands of sparkling silver.
I gave full vent to my contemplation, forgetful, I
confess, of the guests, the company of whom I had





LETTER I.


31


somewhat abruptly left. Just then a full voite broke
on my ear. "I My God," said it, " my God."   I turned
around and saw her. If, however, I had seen another
girl in the room, I should have hesitated to recognize
in her glowing face, the pale, disdainful beauty I had
seen not long before.' Her complexion was become
clear and brilliant, her brow was smooth as marble,
and seemed unclouded, enlarged and purified.       It
was entirely clear, and in her glance was that instinctive sentiment, that wonderful perception, exclusively
reserved for the most exalted minds, of the passionate
and intelligent magnificence of the great spectacles of
nature.
Each of us for some time -stood motionless and
silent, but we understood each other. At last words
came, at first in exclamations, as if we spoke to out
own souls. Our double soliloquy at last assumed the
form  of dialogue.   Though parsimonious in words,
she had   an  incredible facility in expressing  her
sensations. The sound of her voice added to the
value of her thought; the expression of her face made
perfect the impression she had excited.      As our
hostess had not waited for a second thunder-clap to





32


WOMAN S WHIMS.


drive her into a room with closely-shut blinds; as the
old gentleman, perfectly regardless of the thundercloud, yet remained at the table, busied in researches
into the profoundities of a bottle of claret, while the
cafe and liqueurs were prepared, we had ample time
to admire the striking tableaux which flitted before
our glance. The storm at length passed and when our
hostess returned, the old gentleman left the table. It
was impossible, in consequence of the rain, to leave
the house, and we went into the drawing room. The
old people played piquet, and I approached the chair
of the young girl who was busy with her embroidery.
I had exhausted the weather, sky and clouds as texts
of conversation; I was forced therefore to have recourse to talk of silk and cotton. The young lady,
however, came to my assistance and asked me the
news from   Paris. Cyprien, she had been to Paris;
she was in the habit of passing there a part of every
year, especially the winter, in the house of an aunt, a
lady very rich and very distinguished, the sole heiress
of whom she was. The rest of the time she divided
between her father, an old soldier, who lived in a
neighboring city, and our hostess, who was cdvo":d to





LETTER I.


33


her. All this I learned during the evening, not alone
from the young lady, but from our hostess, who,
though she played piquet, participated in our conversation. You will fancy, my friend, that all night long
I did nothing but dream of the young lady. If so,
you are mistaken, for I slept soundly. More than
that, I resolved that on the next morning I would exuse myself to our hostess, and leave without saying
a word to any one else. I had made up my mind to
do so, when I received a message from Mme. Bouron,
who rose early, that she wished to see me. She
wished me to stay a day longer. She had business with
her tenants about a renewal of their leases, and with
the drovers to whom she wished to sell cattle. I told
you she was not only lady of the manor, but a model
farmer. All these people would breakfast with her.
(It was the custom of the country.) I must help her
to entertain this crowd. Could I refuse her such a
service?
The drovers and tenants, accompanied by the
notary, appeared at the appointed time.  I attempted
to precipitate myself headlong into the detail of the
part I had assumed.   I had, however, resolved rather
2*





84


WOMAN S WHIMSt


of what I wished to do, than according to my capacity,
and financier, as I am, found on this occasion as on
many others, 'that I had made a great mistake. I
could not understand the drovers, and the farmer's patois was perfectly unintelligible to me. The young girl
came to my assistance, after giving me a glance of
distrust and pride, without irony, but not without
mirth. She spoke to each of the guests, the majority
of whom, to tell the truth, she knew. She spoke of all
the mysteries of the law of landlord and tenant, in
the jargon which is spoken between Orne and Calvados.
She appeared kind, merry, sensible, and evidently a
good manager. It is true, too, that for the purpose of
astonishing me, she spoke very scientifically: perhaps
she also sought to laugh at my suffering her to play
my part.   That, however, matters not, for I became
offended at the ease of manner and grace she exhibited.
I had rather she had resumed the stern air she bore on
the previous evening. In all this I was wrong. Was
it possible for her to be ignorant of a language which
since her infancy had been spoken about her? With
her passion for the country, could she be ignorant of
matters which have a real significance to all who know





LETTER I.


how to appreciate them?   My old friend, the notaries
and the farmers having withdrawn to arrange the preliminaries of the contracts which were to be signed;
the young lady said:-" This is about the sum total
of our society, excepting M. Jolivet, whom you have
already learned to appreciate. To these you must add
a hunting party, who come here about the end of
September, and who are never seen except in their
exit or return to the chateau and at meal times, and
our recreations are before you. Luckily, however, we
can contrive to create others for ourselves."   She
glanced, as she spoke, across the flower beds arranged
before the windows, and then to the little library which
was at one end of the room.
To get rid of the farm-yard odor, brought into the
room by our new guests, I took it into my head to read
poetry, and my     hand went    instinctively to the
Meditations Poetiques. As I read, though I knew
the verses by heart, my voice became excited, as if I
had been reading them   fo.r the first time. She too
partook of my emotion, for I saw tears in her eyes.
She had taken too much delight in the storm of yesterday not to appreciate the poet.  At the most inter




36


WOMAN S WHIMS,


esting moment, and such a moment is easily found
when one reads Lamartine, we were interrupted. Her
grandmother called her.
" What a pity!" said she: " we will, however,
resume the subject. You will not leave at least until
you shall have read all to me."  The expression of her
manner and the sound of her voice as she uttered
these words cannot be described.
From this moment, Cyprien, I loved her.   I loved
her fondly, but with the fondness of a man who can
appreciate. At once a factitious illusion arose between
us. I had at our first meeting stood en g'arde. I had
not adored her, but had studied her. I had been severe
even to injustice: for what was her melancholy and
reserve, for which I had so much reproached her, but
the same ennui which had so severely attacked myself?
It was but the exhaustion of an ardent and tender mind,
forced to suffer in solitude. It was the vague desperation of an intelligence forced to supply its own
wants or to die. To the heart, isolation is death: to
the mind it is degradation. She was, however, no
longer alone. A being of her own nature was near
her. Did she not already experience the effects?  To





LETTER I.


what other cause could I attribute this sudden gaiety,
against which in my foolish blindness I had been
about to arm myself. I had then to find a pretext to
prolong my stay in a house which twenty-four hours
before I had been anxious to hurry from.    At this
time the old lady entered the room alone, and advancing directly towards us, she took my arm and said,
" I have not, my child, forgotten that yesterday you
promised me a secret. We are alone. What is the
secret?  Something to do with your Inspector General,
eh?"  A cold sweat stood- upon my forehead, and I
wished the Inspector General in purgatory.,: I had
thought of him only in connexion with my escape, and
in spite of myself was about to talk of the report I had
to make, and the necessity of my speedy departure,
when a sudden inspiration seized me, and without
knowing precisely whither I was tending, said, "The
Inspector General has given me a leave of absence for
some days." " Well," said she. "1 Well, these few days
I wish to pass in your house."  ' Why, then, did you
not tell me so this morning?" "Because without your
consent I was unwilling to trespass."  " Did I not ask
you to remain?"  " True you did, but I am without





WOMAN S WHIMS.


suitable apparel."  " Is that all?" said the old lady.
"Jacques goes to the city to-day, and will pass by
your hotel. He can bring all you wish to-night."
I was transported with joy, and kissed her hand
as I had seen M. Jolivet do. Our arrangements were
concluded without having recourse to the notary, who
just then drove off with his clients, the tenants and
the drovers.
The next day-but, dear Cyprien, I will not inflict
on you an imitation of " the memoirs from St. Helena;" suffice it to say I remained a whole week. I
passed eight days by her side, and I do not assert too
much, I think, when I say, we lived for each other.
How many lovers at first sight have had equal advantages?  My hostess having known me from my childhood, did not look on me as a very formidable personage. Thanks to the abandon of country life, my
mistress and I rarely left each other. She went out
through one door and I by another, but though we
started on different paths, those paths always met.
These rencontres in appearance fortuitous, were the
scenes of all our meditations and mutual emotions. At!ast we did not even takee the trouble to seem to walk





LETTER I.


39


alone. The old lady sometimes, but rarely, accompanied us. Jolivet showed himself occasionally. He
did so, however, always at dinner time.
Cyprien, you are a pitiless and skeptical railer: I
fancy I can see you, an Atheist in love, shrug your
shoulders at my bucolics. Does love ever manifest
itself otherwise than by these countless naivetes to
which it is probable you will give another name?   I
had rather abbreviate my confidence, but in spite of
myself I give full vent to my pen, and become intoxicated with my own recollection and story. Give me
now all your attention. I had remarked that in the
the morning when the sun was bright and birds were
lithe, when the meadows were carpeted as it were
with the sweet-pea and heliotrope, sparkling with
dew, my mistress put herself, so to say,.in unison with
these concerts, and with the sparkling scenes which
surrounded us. She then was talkative, gay and con
fiding. When, however, the night was come and the
sky was half veiled with clouds, as we watched the
fitful wanderings of the scuds across the moon, all the
delicious dreams and tender expressions of her heart
arose.





40


4WOMAN5S WHIMS.


One evening she asked me the name of the principal constellations. I am glad it was in my power to
give her the information, but you know for some time
I have had a decided passion for astronomical science.
I pointed towards the north and showed her the seven
stars of David's chariot, the polar star, and Cassiopcea
with her five luminous points.
She said, " If it be true each one has a star in
heaven, that is mine. It is small and humble compared with the others which shine beside it, yet for
that reason I have adopted it." She pointed out to
me in the east of the horizon, not far from the hair of
Berenice, a star of the third magnitude, then very apparent.   "Do you know     it?"  asked she; "have
astronomers deigned it a name?,1
When she turned towards me to ask this simple
question, I was in a kind of ecstatic stupor. Mly heart
beat as if it would burst, and my eyes became moist
with tears. I replied, all the time striving to overcome my emotion, that I knew it. "I know it, for it
bears one of my names. It is called the heart of
Charles, and my name is Charles Edouard."
" It is very strange," murmured she; and after a





LETTER I.


41


moment of abstraction, as if to give full vent to her
ideas, said, " Charles Edouard.     Is not that the
name of the Pretender?"    She hoped, perhaps, to involve me in a long disquisition on the history of Eng.
land. It did not do. The very word Pretender dictated my reply, and prescribed the route I was to
adopt. I took advantage of it. Was it not strange to
see astronomy and history thus come to my aid?
Science is always valuable.
The confession, which from a feeling of delicacy I
had hitherto repressed, burst from me. Note well the
fact, my friend, I made it complete. I told her ten
times, at every repetition more passionately, clearly
and precisely than before.
She no longer sought to disguise her trouble. She
did not seek to leave me, but without a word, without
a reproach, stood motionless as I made my declaration.
Her breathing, however, was short and oppressed, and
at length suffering her head to fall between her hands,
she sank on a rustic chair which chanced to stand behind her. As I approached and knelt to hear my
doom, she reached out her hand, and said, as she sup




42


WOMAN S WHIMS.


pressed a sigh, " alas, my friend, how much trouble.
perhaps, do we prepare for ourselves."
Could I be mistaken?      Did she not consent?
Should I think so? Her words clearly articulated,
her emotion, her sighs, her tears, all gave me right to
rely on her. Heaven itself seemed to hear our vows,
and to record them in its glittering constellations.
Well, Cyprien, this young girl who has given me her
heart forever, is Jenny Bouron. The house in which
we met, in which we are, is the chateau of Neuville.
You may then give a denial to those who say that
Jenny   Bouron  loves  another, and   that she has
consented to marry that person at Neuville.
Your Friend,
CHARLES EDOUARD.
(Such is the name I have adopted, and which I
shall henceforth use.)
P. S. Pardon me, Cyprien, for having been so
late in telling you of my own affairs, when you are
my confident and Mentor in all my follies. This love,
however, I have kept shut up in my heart for her and
for myself, as in the holiest of tabernacles. In a revelation even to you, dear friend, I seem to commit a





LETTER I.


43


profanation. I love her so dearly, and have such confidence in her. Ah, those who calumniate her are
wicked indeed.
Adieu.
C. E.
P. S. I am perfectly at ease about Jenny; yet I
would not be sorry to trace these reports to their
originators. As you are in Paris, dear Cyprien, I confide the task to you. If you do not know   Mme. de
Neuflise, the aunt of Jenny, yon can procure an introduction through Miaricourt, our mutual friend. I beseech you, Cyprien, come to my aid. See Jenny, once
breathe my name to her, and you will know all. Do
not neglect my request. I expect a letter from you
with impatience.
C. E.





LAETTER 1I.


Cyprien Fournier, late Assistant Naturalist of the Jardin des
Plantes, to Edouard Laguet, Sub-inspector of Finances of the
Third Class.
PARIS, April 4, 18-.
I CONGRATULATE you, my dear fri-end, on your good
fortune, on your Inspector General with the double
climax, on your English calembourg, and especially
on your astronomy. Astronomy applied to love, must
be an important discovery. Now, first of all, let me
take you into my confidence. Et ego in Arcadiam.
I have been in Normandy. Five years ago I was sent
by the museum to that beauteous country to examine
a breed of cattle recently introduced into France.
When I had come to Argentan, like you I remembered
an old acquaintance in the neighborhood. This was a
college companion. Like you, I set out on foot, for





LETTER II.


45


the place was only about four or five miles distant,
and the weather seemed magnificent.
Trusting to perfidious advice, to avoid the heat and
the dust, I involved myself in interminable crossroads, shut in by a luxuriant vegetation, which, from
time to time, made my progress difficult. One moment my coat tails were fast; at another my hat was
knocked off, and when I stooped to seize it, some
Hamadryad among the branches caught me by the
hair as if to make an Absalom of me. Occasionally
my cigar was knocked ten feet from my mouth. The
country was peculiarly well watered, and a little
stream  kept possession of the middle of the path,
forcing me to walk like the Colossus of Rhodes, with
both feet, however, in the mud. The sun rarely shone
on the nymphs of these ripples. At last, however, I
extricated myself from the labyrinth, by no means
though till like Theocritus' sheep, I had left fragments
of my paletot hanging on the wayside thorns.
Thus equipped and covered with mud, with my
hands scratched, my face covered with blood, my hair
in disorder, my hat crushed and covered with tobacco,
I sought to present myself to my old school-fellow.





46


4WOMAN5S WHIMS.


He was not at home, but I found as his representative,
a young widow, his sister, not particularly handsome,
but who received me more graciously than I had ever
been in my life. When the brother had returned he
made me visit his estate and all its dependences. The
sister, seeing me as I went, now and then examine a
plant, professed herself devoted to botany, and for the
purpose of taking lessons, went with me on all occasions, whether her brother was by or not. On the
day after my arrival, I fancied she was a charming
woman. I adored her on the third, and within twentyfour hours I had reached the delirium of passion. She
also seemed to be pleased with me in spite of the
scratches on my face, and the grotesque manner of
my presentation. When we separated, each of us had
hearts red-hot, and made promises to meet soon again.
For the first time in my life I thought of marriage
without a shiver.  Five years since then have passed
away, I must tell you, and I, as I have no doubt she
does, look back on this affair as a summer dream.
Am I then, as you say, an Atheist in love?   No,
indeed. What passion, however, is more likely than
love to have its illusions, surprises and mirage's





LETTER II.


47


From my own experience and from that of others, I
have been led to infer as a general rule that under
certain circumstances, it is impossible to pass a week
in the country with a woman, never mind who she
is, without falling in love.  When we get back to the
city each one resumes his habits, and these sudden
fancies pass away rapidly as the perfumes of gardens
and meadows do.
I do not, dear Edouard-Charles Edouard, if you
insist on it-fancy for a moment that your love for Miss
Bouron is one of mere phrenetic and fugitive tenderness, of which I have just spoken. You are, f admit,
an exception to the general rule. Besides, if your love
were fugitive, as others have been, circumstances have
not been favorable to your shaking it off as soon as
usual. You left the country not to precipitate yourself
into the whirl-pool of Paris, but to bury yourself in a
petty country town. 'IThis love which budded under
the groves of Neuville has only increased and become
expanded in the silence of your office. It matters not:
I believe in it, and I am the more induced to do so
because, contrary to your usual wont, you kept it a
secret even from  me. Was not the shock I so invol






WOMAN 'S WIRIUVA


Uintarily cove, you -necessary to arouse, that  o-y of
FLL
revelathona
I i]ust 'w 00  report mny wlogfress in dhý-CIslaro u  of tbse
se crYet  s ni o, yo  c onfided to J   ACC.~ou~IO
O   \yt osAF3 9  1Z-,-j  was introduced by TN/aricola- 4 to
mcrn  do, i 1e-afiie. I have seen Joanny (0 once kNe1)W
hrwho.. qhe wes a child,) at the hou~se of her glcxvA-d
m-no tli b or S  was cha'ming.  'lIhoi, however, 1,onh~l
have Yecor'niz4,l) your descrei-ption -i
You describc -I her as a yourx g. win_, U4,
mrard, becomngw~ excitedl at a, storms, tallkinc uith
drover~s9 etc.ý a ýýImalo farm  Pboro-re welloeunlaied"
to, sthine, ii a Nounian pacstorit  The Iad~y, Tcss~
hber, Nvas a fairy, a quleený, ca belle of the he-ll r~oom.
Ina fine, shec -was a P~arisian) Mt;    a'ricon t  -rjsenited me to the ladies at- a!gande soinýle cc 7Vo
shDould have seeni your Jenny ainid the, liry'llt OIF C--teou
tess lamnps.   Her toilette  xvw  do?    1   and  she,
assisted her anut in doingy the honorsi wi th woi7dnrYnt
gra1pce. EFler bearing wvas at on cc easy a-nd dign ifid,
betolrei ring a. union of thec- young girl.  11CI of lcD.
msres f th hou-s-e. Hlex dignifty yeos porfeoetly





LETTER II.


49


calm and natural, or else was most perfectly studied.
To tell the fact, if I had not remembered my business,
dear Edouard,-excuse me, Charles Edouard, and do
not suffer my rattling to annoy you,-I should have
fallen in love with her myself.   Rather from duty
than from vanity, Mile. Bouron went to the piano
and played an accompaniment to various reedy and
tremulous voices, which belonged to sundry young
ladies making their debut in the world. You know
I hate the piano, which is a terrible instrument of
torture intended to throw  ill into the midst of the
animation of society, and to cut into pieces the most
interesting  conversation.  The piano has become
popular in the world only because of the fitness it
possesses to be made a handsome article of furniture.
I kept myself, then, as much as possible out of the
crowd, good thanks to the faculty I possess of looking
inwards, while I regulate my countenance into devout
attention to external matters. Two romances had
been sung unnoticed by me, when two new voices
perfectly in accord put an end to my revery and
abstraction.
The music which aroused my attention, was a little
3





50


WOMAN'S WHTMS.


duet sung by a lady hidden from me by a group of
listeners, and by a tall, fair-haired young man, who
glanced tenderly around as he sang. "Thy eyes and
my eyes, thy heart and my heart, and all imaginable
cupids and blisses."
Prepare yourself, my friend, for a new    shook.
When the duet was over and the singer arose amid
universal murmurs of applause, who, think you, was
she?   Jenny! Not to hide the truth from     you, I
pledge my word her voice had been as clear, as vibrating, as full of emotion as that of the man, who critics
say, is fort bien.
As your agent, I thought it my duty to come at
once to an understanding about the man, who is, I
learn, a good fellow, with a comfortable fortune, and
devoted almost to madness to the worship of the ro
mantic. His name is Beaupre.
After music we had dancing. Jenny waltzed firsi
with the person who sang with her. The peculiaj
waltz was that a deux terns, the most objectionable ol
waltzes. The country girl you described, after having
sung like a syren, described with perfect ease the most,limfln1t ovrations. Leaning on her partner, with her





LETTER TI.


51


head languid, and resting to his shoulder, her face half
buried in an immense bouquet, one might have
fancied that intoxicated with perfume, she suffered
herself to be carried away by the whirlpools of harmony.
I thought your case was a bad one.. That is the
happy man, said I to myself, beyond all doubt. I
have nothing to do but to write to my friend, and seal
it with black. Take comfort, however, Pylades; a
few moments after, Jenny was singing and waltzing
with others, and I assert with pleasure, which I know
you will partake of, that however often she changed
her companion at the piano, and her partner in the
waltz, whether they were handsome or ugly, she never
changed her languid and enamored manner. This I
am told is one of the conditions of the valse a deux
terns.
Though my trouble was somewhat relieved, I resolved to discharge my duty fully, even if it were necessary to make a heavy sacrifice of self love.
I screwed up my courage; I arranged myself,
hitched up my cravat, and asked Jenny to waltz. It
is a positive fact. You know how I dance; I abso




52


WOMAN S VWHIMS.


lutely risked myself, and dared, to do so only that I
might speak of you.
By way of commencement, between two figures, I
asked if she was not the granddaughter of Madame
Bouron. She answered that she was. I here replied,
I have the honor of a personal acquaintance with your
relative, and recently I have heard much of her
through one of my intimate friends who passed much
time with her during the last fall. Was not that an
adroit method of forcing her to ask your name?
She was-not long in doing so. " What is the name
of your friend?"  Edouard Luguet-you do not remember him-" Yes, indeed, Ido. I saw him at Neuville. He is a very pleasant man."
As she spoke I examined her very closely, with the
expectation of finding some index of trouble or of sympathy. Some etourdi, however, interrupted our colloquy, and made all my learned physiognomical observations valueless. I attempted to revive the same
subject, but at each of the intervals of the dance, she
had so many orders to give, as aide de maison to her
aunt, that I could not contrive to do so. When, how.





LETTER II.


53


ever, I had led her to her place, she asked me, " If my
friend was yet devoted to astronomy."
Ponder well on this, Charles Edouard. Examine
it well in all its bearings, dearticulate and dissect it.
For my own part, I did not know what to think of it,
for no sooner were the words out of her mouth, than
light as a gazelle, she hurried to the door to receive a
party of late comers. I had nothing more to do then
than to establish inquiries in relation to her approaching marriage. The preliminary examination of IMaricourt had resulted in nothing; you know how discreet
he is. Closely, however, as I pressed him, he uttered
not one word but the following: " Strange girl."
I had then to strike a new note. Taking an ice, I
spoke about it to one of my neighbors whom I had
seen already once or twice at the sideboard.
" Bah!" said he. " She is hard to please, as one of
these days she will be rich, and knows it."  I immediately wrote on my memoranda, " She is rich, and
knows it." I had heard a young lad from college call
her cousin. As he belonged to the family, he, perhaps, knew more than any one else; as he was a
child, perhaps. his confidence was expansive. As he





54


WOMAN'S WHIMS.


kept himself in the vestibule, half extended on a divan,
just as lads rest on the ground when they have a holiday, I sat by him, and said in an insinuating and paternal manner, "are you not a kinsman of Mlle. Jenny
Bouron?"
" Why?" said he, with that exquisite college politeness which distinguishes the lads of the fifth from
those of the sixth forms.
"Because if so, when she is married you will be
one of her groomsmen."
" Oh, to be sure."
" Think you, she will marry soon?"
"Who knows?      Jenny is so queer.    Only two
days ago she insisted on being a nun."
I noted that fact carefully.  When I had done
with the cousin, I went to the aunt, Mme. de Neuflise.
"Your niece," said I, " is a charming person and must
have wooers in crowds."
Now must I not be a sincere friend to venture for
your sake on such a stupid phrase? Yet I have not
repented that I did so.
"My niece," said Madame, "is young enough to
wait."





LETTER II.


That was a golden sentence, and I treasured it up
for you.
This morning I consulted my notes with the following result:
From the fact that she is rich, I conclude that
your love is prosperous. She is rich, and will suit you,
who are not rich. Some little obstacles must be
overcome, but I know you, and have no apprehensions
on your account.
From the fact that she is hard to please, and has a
right to be so, I gather a good omen.. She did not use
this right against you, and, therefore, loves or did love
you. - Do not, however, let us be blind.,There was a
report of her speedy marriage, for I heard it. The
little tattling sylphs of the drawing room, sometimes
begotten of a sigh by two meeting glances, rarely report anything entirely fanciful. I am convinced that
there was such a report. Perhaps she herself protested against some match, and from that fact resulted her determination to be a nun.
Besides, she can wait; this phrase of the aunt
seemed to me but an echo of the words of the niece
She can wait. For whom can she wait?      Happy day





56


WOMAN S WHIMS.


for yourself. At all events you are vain enough to
think so.
Hurry, then, and at as early a day as possible become Inspector General of Finances, that you may be
worthy of good fortune. To do so, you have only, and
I know all the grades of your hierarchy, to skip over
the two steps of inspectors, and then wait for the
time when you shall be Inspector General. It will
need only fifteen years. That time, though, is an immense difficulty we must try by some means to get
over. You are a -man of imagination. Take the subject into consideration.
Your devoted agent,
CYPRIEN,





LETTER  III.


Edouard to Cyprien.
AVALLON, April 19, 18-.
DEAR CYPRIEN:
AFTER the lapse of fifteen days of anxiety and
torture, I have been forced to hurry on duty from
Auxerre to Toncy, thence to Mailly-Chateau, and
finally to Virelay; thy letter, with the post-mark of
every office in the department, reached me at Avallon,
where I now am. Thy letter, dear friend, is the dove
of the ark to me. Yes, thou art right; there is something in the report of this marriage. They wished to
force Jenny's inclination, and she resisted. Poor girl;
she would have become a nun rather than consent,
and thus betray our love. She found strength to act
3'





WOMAN S WHIMS.


as she has done, I am sure in the recollection of our
promises. She thought of the heart of Charles.
Thou canst not conceive how this constancy of hers
has touched me. I can now scarcely collect my ideas.
Joy alone now troubles me, however, for amid the
irony which is a condition of thy style, I see clearly
that on this occasion thou approvest my happiness and
my taste. Is she not, my dear friend, very beautiful?
Thou hast seen her in the eclat of her position; I in all
her simplicity. At Neuville there was no company,
no entertainment, not even a piano on which she
could practice. Did she need them to win me?    How
I love her, Cyprien; I love her as I have never loved
before and never shall again. Do not think, either,
that I shall wait fifteen years before I shall ask her of
her family. I am promised the post of inspector before long. That is something; I have not yet spent
all my uncle's fortune, and I am young and ardent.
Yes, my lot is cast.    The devil take,bachelordom.
Before I am a month older I shall declare myself to
my good old friend, who will be delighted at an alliance of two persons whom she loves. She will be an
intercessor for me to Colonel Bouron, Jenny's father,





LETTER III.


59


and to Madame de Neuflise, her aunt. One month!
Why should I wait a month? Why not do it to-day?
Miisericordia!  My hand trembles and my sight
grows dim. I have just received a letter from Mme.
Bouron, dated Neuville, announcing the speedy marriage of Jenny and M. de Beaupr6. The report, then,
was well founded. By menace and violence they
have all been able to triumph over the inclination
of Jenny. The couple are to meet at Neuville, and
thither the old fool invites me. She relies on me, on
my headlong humor, to break the monotony of country life, and to instil some gaiety into a period of betrothal. She wishes me to play my part with the
drovers. Take for granted, Cyprien, that I accept the
invitation and will be there.
EDOUARD.





LETTER IV.


Cyprien to Edouard.
PARIS, April 23, 18--
FOR heaven's sake, my friend, commit no folly, and
give no cause for scandal. I have seen Jenny again.
Permit me to give you some information about her,
According to my wont, I delayed visiting 3Mme. de
Neuflise until I was afraid to show myself. I asked
Maricourt to accompany me. As he dressed, I asked
him again about Mlle. Bouron, whom he seemed to
know well.
" Strange girl," muttered he, as he had previously
done. You know     how  close-mouthed Maricourt is,
and that it is difficult to make him talk. By means
of many manoeuvres, I contrived to overcome his discretion, and won from him that last winter, at a ball





LETTER IV.


61


at Countess Pozzoli's, masked for ladies, but costum6
for gentlemen, he played the fool either in a Spanish or
Turkish dress, and that while wandering about, utterly ignorant of what to do or say, a rose-colored
domino, which had occasionally flitted around him,
hung on his arm.
The lady had a small foot, a smaller hand in a delicious glove, and two glittering eyes, seen through
the satin of her mask. Maricourt soon had his curiosity excited to the highest point, for she revealed to
him circumstances of his history he thought entirely
unknown.     This rose-colored being, amid its revelations, exhibited wild fits of gaiety, and all the airs of
a coquette, so as to awaken old recollections and new
sentiments, which, as it were, broiled him between
two fires. At a given signal the company passed from
the ball to the supper room, where masks were cast
aside, and in his fair annoyer he recognized Jenny
Bouron.
Until that time he had regarded her as a capricious
and fantastic girl.   (I quote his own expressions.)
People like Maricourt, however, the reasonable and
cool, seem predestined to fall in love with half crazy





62


WOMAN S WHIMS.


women, and our friend became intensely devoted to
her.
For some time he was assiduous to the aunt. The
young lady, however, in every     day costume, was
altogether different from  the one he had met in
masquerade, and all his cold reason was required to
crush this passion in its very bud.
When his story was done, Maricourt again repeated
the phrase, "singular girl."   We then got into a
hackney-coach to visit the ladies, for it was raining
in torrents.
Edouard, all that happened to Maricourt on the
day of the masquerade, except the falling in love,
happened to me.    I formally retract all my eulogium
of the drawing-room fairy.  I do not say that I adopt
your conclusions blindly, but I appreciate all you experienced when first you saw her.   I do not say that
I thought her awkward, (gentlemen in love only can
use such expressions in relation to a pretty woman)
but I found her cold, rigid, and a perfect piece of ice,
as Lovelace called Clarissa.
When we entered, she sat beside her aunt with
a tambour frame in her hand. She scarcely deigned





LETTER IV.


63


to lift her head to speak to us, and sat motionless
during our whole visit.
But they are about to sacrifice her; they are
about to compel her to contract a marriage repugnant
to her inclinations. You will say-" can she smile
and give vent to mirth while she is unhappy and
suffering."
My dear Pylades, despair has not these coagulated
appearances. Besides, if she sighed for you, the name
of your best friend, and his presence promising her
some assistance, should have had a little influence.
This was not so.   There is some enigma in the affair.
I will attempt to divine it. For God's sake, however,
do not be precipitate: like Maricourt, call reason to
your aid.  Do not go to Neuville, I beg and implore
you.                          Your friend,
CYPRIEN.





LETTER         V.
Cyprien to M. de. Maricourt.
PARIS, Mni  8
I will not dine with you to-day, my friend.    I
write these words hastily, because a post-chaise awaits
me in the court yard. In spite of my advice, Edouard
has gone to Neuville, where M. de Beaupr6 has already
arrived. I wish to separate the rivals. Adieu.
CYPRIEN.





LETTER VI.


Cyprien to M. de Maricourt.
NEUVILLE, MLay 11.
My chaise broke down on the road, ten leagues
from Nonant, and I was unable to procure any other
vehicle, even a country wagon.    The slightest delay
might have been the cost of a man's life.     Judge
then how I suffered during the three mortal hours
needed for repairs.. En route again, as the night
came on, the most unhappy fancies took possession of
me.   I recalled Switzerland and the ravine of Bergelbach. I saw the two champions on the ground. They
placed themselves en garde without the usual salute.
Their swords crossed, and I heard the clash of steel.
With   his usual skill and fortune, Edouard was
disarmed at the first pass. Bravo Beaupr6. That will





66


WOMAN S WHIMS.


do. No! they began again, and Edouard is wounded
in the arm.  Enough-enough! Explain and shake
hands.   No!   They cross their swords again and
fight more madly than ever.   Carried away at last
by passion, our poor friend precipitates himself on the
blade of his enemy. He falls to the ground with a
torrent of blood rushing from his mouth.
Such were the pleasant fancies which accompanied
me on the whole route.
When I had come to Nonant, and was waiting for
the relays to be put to the chaise, I saw a horseman
cross the main street. In spite of the darkness, I recognized de Beaupre. I said to myself, all is overEdouard is dead. I had so fully identified myself
with this idea, that I asked but one favor of heaven,
that Edouard might be only dying when I was able
to reach him. I prayed that he might yet recognize
me and enjoy the consolation of having his hands
clasped in death by those of a friend.
As I approached Neuville, I contrived from the
summit of the hill to get a view of the house, the
aspect of which confirmed my prepossessions. There
was about the house a most unpromising calm. The





LETTER VI.


67


second story saloon was lit up, but behind the curtains
nothing was moving. The rest of the building was
without light, except one room at the corner of the
first story, where lights flitted to and fro, as if around
the bed of an invalid. We had to leave the route and
enter the avenue, whither, as soon as the chaise was
visible, a man came. "Are you the doctor?" said he.
" No," said the postillion, "it is I;" and he merrily
cracked his whip, "Gabriel de Nonant."      "Bah!"
said the other, as he suddenly disappeared. As soon
as I entered the courtyard, I saw the people of
the house, who had hurried to meet me, pause in
great astonishment, and say, "No, it is not the doctor," and then, without the slightest reference to me,
speak together in a low tone.
A single individual with a lantern in his hand, approached and assisted in taking off my trunk. He
was pale as I was; I remembered to have seen him at
Mme. de Neuflise's, in Paris, on the evening of the
soiree, when he presided over the sideboard. He had
accompanied his mistress to Neuville. I attempted to
say something about the disaster; as if the croup and
Phthysis Laryngitis had taken hold of my throat, I





68


WOMAN S WHIMS.


was able to murmur only a few feeble hissing words
I felt half strangled.
The servant with the lantern said, "And does
monsieur already know?    Poor young man."    Then
in a voice of deep emotion, he continued, "1 Only today, I do not know why, he gave me ten francs; he
was so kind." Putting together the several facts,
that the rival had fled, the expectation of the doctor,
the disorder and trouble of the whole household, and
the emotion of the man with the lantern, could I entertain  any doubt?   All my apprehensions were
realized; a catastrophe had taken place, of which
Edouard was the victim. Could I be wrong? Did I
not also see color for such a conclusion even in the
unreasonable generosity which astonished the recipient.
As the doctor was looked for, the patient was yet
alive.
1" Show me the way," said I to the servant, in my
most croupy   voice.  With   his finger he mutely
pointed out the way to the vestibule.
I saw that in a time of such confusion, one should
not wait to be announced, and hurrying up the passage way, I came to the door of the saloon. On my





LETTER VI.


69


left was the stairway which led to the room in which
I had seen lights. I rushed up four steps at a time,
and at the top of the flight of stairs entered a half
open door of the saloon, at the extremity of which I
saw a chamber.
The twilight of a sick lamp enabled me to see in
the depth of this room  a bed with curtains. On a
table were vials of various kinds and      sizes.  I
paused with a quivering heart, and put my hand on
the curtain which shrouded me from my dear Edouard
I feared to lift it lest I should disturb the slumberer.
A faint echo of voices in the interior broke on my
ear, coming --not -from the next room, but from one
yet more distant. (This was really the one in which
I had seen the lights.)  The distance of this room
aroused immediately in my mind the idea that all was
over. My limbs quivered, and perspiration stood on
my brow. Resolved to terminate this cruel uncertainty, I lifted up the curtain. Imagine my surprise;
I passed from the very depths of despair, as I saw
before me not a man but a woman! a young woman,
the rosy color and healthy complexion of whom betokened no dangerous illness.





70


WOMAN S WHIMS.


The sleeping invalid was Jenny.
Terrified at my involuntary boldness, and my unexpected good fortune, I suffered the curtains to fall
silently, and hurried into the entry, having less knowledge than I had before of what was passing around
me. The result of all my conclusions was, however,
that dead or alive, Edouard was in the well-lit chamber where I had previously heard whispering, perhaps
the prayers for a person in articulis mortis. It struck
me, however, as strange that Edouard and Jenny
should occupy the same suite of rooms. This idea,
however, did not disturb me a great deal, and I had
not courage enough to venture again into the camera
santa of the bride. At last I found myself at the door
of the drawing room, and entered. I looked in vain
for the mistress of the house, but saw no one but men,
not one of whom seemed to pay the slightest attention
to me. All were in a mournful and meditative humor. One had his foot on the rung of a chair with his
elbow on his knee, his chin in his palm, his eyebrows
corrugated, and his eyes so fixed that he seemed a
statue dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons and a
black cravat. From a certain family likeness, I at





LETTER VI.


71


once took it for granted that I saw    the Norman
colonel, who was Jenny's father. I bowed to him.
He did not return my salute. The other man buried
in a deep arm-chair, twirled his snuff box around, and
from time to time, tapped on its lid. I bowed to him.
He turned his head away to take another pinch of
snuff. A third one had in his hand the country journal. His mind, however, was elsewhere, for with an
air of deep emotion he kept his eyes fixed on the
ceiling.
I bowed to him. He answered me with a sigh. I
had made the round of the room without meeting any
but bronzed faces, to the owners of none of whom did
I dare to say a word, for it seemed as if not one of
their compressed lips could open except to utter a sentence of death.
All at once, however, I turned around and found a
radiant face in front of me. Who, think you, was it?
Our friend Edouard, for the death of whom I had been
so distressed.  Yes, Charles Edouard Laguet fastened himself most pertinaciously to my neck and said,
" Victory!"  I became more and more bewildered in





WOMAN S WHIMS.


this labyrinth of mysteries. Within a few minutes,
however, we were walking arm in arm in the park.
" Yes," said he, "victory; she loves me; she
loves me still; she has never loved another. Victory
My rival-"
" You killed him--
" What do you mean?   I never dreamed of such a
thing. Why should I?   No; I did better than that;
I forced him to yield the ground to me, and he left
to-day-in fact not more than two hours ago."
" Ah, it was he, then, whom I met at Nonant?-a
pleasant journey to him!"
" Yet, from this sudden departure, inexplicable to
all but us, the disarray of the whole house, and the
terror I see on every face are derived--'
" There has, then, been a rupture," asked I?
" Yes, a complete one, after an explanation in
which she declared positively that she loved another.
That was a necessary consequence. On the day before yesterday, Madame Bouron received the letter informing her of my purposed visit to Neuville  I only
arrived myself to-day-in fact only a few hours before you. You see at once that Jenny was made





LETTER VI.


73


aware that I was expected-there can be no doubt
about that. The idea that we were soon to meet encouraged her. It was this that made her bold. My
dear friend, true love gives us such power-"
" Jenny, then, informed you of this?"
"No. How     could she?    Directly after the explanation, the man went off as if the devil was after
him.   Then the principal relations, father, grandmother, aunt, all interfered. There was a regular row
between them and Jenny, which resulted in the poor
child becoming sick. She had a very violent nervous
attack, so that they had to put her to bed."
Edouard then told me of his new hopes which
were but a revised and corrected edition of the first.
In other respects he seemed reasonable enough. It is
his intention not to declare himself as yet to the
family. He understands that propriety demands some
interval to intervene between a betrothal to Beaupr6,
and to himself. He wishes to have an understanding
on this matter with Jenny, who will not be long ill, as
the cause of all has hurried towards Paris with the
speed of a drunken ballad singer.
When he had told me all he had to say, and had
4





74


WOMAN S WHIMS.


both thanked and scolded me for my long journey,
Edouard stopped in an open space in the park, and in
a solemn tone, pointed out a little star lost in the deep
azure of the sky.
" There," said he, "is the ' heart of Charles,' the
immortal witness of our love, the avenger she ever
saw in the silence of her heart, if she once had an idea
of betraying me."
I took off my hat and made a low bow to the star,
which was about as civil to me as were the mundane
beings I had already previously bowed to.
The above, my dear philosopher, were the events
of the day, or rather of the evening. In spite of my
fatigue, I however contrived to rise at six o'clock to
write to you. Edouard, who slept in the next room,
awoke me, singing as he did so, a bravura from some
new opera. May to-day be happy to him      as yesterday was, for in spite, dear Maricourt, of my efforts to
believe in his star, I have my suspicions. Adieu, dear
Maricourt; I shall be, not long after this letter, in
Paris.
CYPRIEN.





LETTER VI.                    75
Edouard to M. de Maricourt.
May 11.
(This note was inserted in the last letter.)
WE have both loved the same object, and if your
passion was not so deep as mine, it was because time
and opportunity were wanting to you to ripen it.
To-day, she loves me only. I trust, dear Maricourt,
our old friendship will not be the price of my happiness, and that when I present you to my wife, you
will receive each of us as a friend.
Yours,
E. L.





LETTER  VII.


Cyprien to M. de Maricourt.
HAVRE, May 15.
I SHOULD be at Paris, but I am at Havre. Why I
am, you will learn from the lamentable tale I have to
tell. On the day before yesterday, just after I had
written, I went into the saloon with Edouard, who
had just slipped a few lines for you in the envelope of
my letter. We found in the room a few of the
Heteroclite figures I had seen the evening before:
they seemed, however, to be less austere than previously.   The father of Jenny, the Norman colonel,
marched up and down the room, with his shoulders
bent and his brows corrugated: but he had unbuttoned
his coat and put his hands in his pockets, so that he
looked less like a colonel and more like a Norman.





LETTER VII.


77


The man with the snuff-box was not satisfied with
twisting it between his fingers, but from time to time
took a pinch and passed it around to his companions.
The man of sighs seemed to console himself with some
Rheims biscuits, which he soaked in Madeira.     He
was making an appetite for breakfast.   After a close
examination, I remembered to have seen him        at
Madame de Neuflise's in Paris, where he had given me
some information about Jenny.
Madame de Neuflise at last appeared, and took
a seat at the table, with a very melancholy air,
which, however, was rather affected than real. The
lady of the house soon came and told us that the
invalid was much better, and would be able during
the day to leave her room.
At this intelligence every brow became brightened.
Edouard lifted up his head so rapidly that, his left
hand not participating in the motion, he struck himself severely in the cravat.  We soon began to talk of
recent events: "in all cases it was the best,"
"when people do not suit it is best to have an
explanation," "' wooers were abundant," " another as
good as Beaupre would certainly appear."  At each of





78


WOMAN S WHIMS.


these phrases, laconic as they were lacedemonian, our
friend smiled, blushed, and with difficulty refrained
from returning thanks. At the end of the meal all
were happy as possible, Edouard being six feet high,
and the ex-groom forgotten.
After breakfast Mme. Bouron took me by the arm,
and instead of suffering me to return to the saloon,
went in the direction of the kitchen garden. I confess
I suspect her much of an intention to make me as
a stranger examine her agricultural experiments.
Luckily, however, Edouard soon joined us under the
pretext of inquiring more particularly after the health
of Mme. Bouron.     He attempted to inquire more
particularly into the nature of the rupture. The good
lady did not reply to his question, but tucking up her
head pointed to him and addressed him in the most
ceremonious manner. " You know the monosyllable
vous instead of tu, is like the little black clouds, which
sailors when they see them in the horizon, look on as
containing a whole tempest in its compass."
Edouard feigned to be astonished, and cast at me
a glance which I interpreted to mean as follows, viz:





LETTER VII.


79


6I She knows all; my position forbids me to press the
matter.  rome to my aid.'
I then spoke, following my file-leader.  I was not
forced to ask twice, for our hostess having enjoined on
us the complete discretion, led us to a seat not far
distant, and when we had sat by her, said, " Listen,
my   friends, to   the  events  which   took   place
yesterday. There is a good deal to be said pro and
con. I had no acquaintance with the Parisian lover,
and in fact I have no confidence in articles generally
from the city of Paris. I was then a little disposed to
play at cross-questions with him, and Jenny, you
know, sometimes takes queer fancies into her head.
Yesterday we could not get her to say a word. We
did not know what to think. This morning, however,
as soon as she awoke, she owned everything to me
ingenuously."
" Edouard gave me a glance which        may be
translated by, "' What did I say?  Was I wrong?"
Madame Bouron continued: " This confession did
her good. From that time she has been getting
better. I scolded her a little, for you know I must
play the grandmother." Then turning towards me,





80


WOMAN 9 WHIMS.


she continued, " But, my dear child, if I were to tell
you how this match was broken off. See, here is the
cause of all the mischief."    She pointed towards
Edouard.
" I!" exclaimed he with an air of the greatest
mock modesty.
' Yes, you are the chief criminal," replied she
turning right about towards him. " Last autumn
when you passed a few days with the girl, you put
ideas into her head-you put ideas-"
" Not an idea which I am  unwilling to avouch,'"
said Edouard with the majesty of a tribune.
" My dear child, I know you are a good boy, and j
do not reproach you. There is no great herm      in
giving a young girl a lesson in astronomy. But the
child has a lively imagination, and is whimsical. You
taught her that her star was called-Monsieur Charles,
I think."
" Yes, the heart of Charles--
'Yes, that is it-you are the prime cause of all
that has happened."
Edouard could no longer refrain from   declaring





LETTER VII.


81


himself, and his brow began to expand, his eye to
kindle, and his gesture to become animated.
"You shall hear all," continued the old lady,
without paying the least attention to our enthusiastic
friend. "Last winter, at a great many places, she
met M. de Beaupr6. She danced and romped with him
without attaching any importance to the affair. Nay,
she even quizzed him for his strange manner, and affectation with which he turned up the white of his eyes.
He, however, continued to pay her attentions, and
like any well-bred lady, she was not insensible to his
devotion, though she seemed not to notice it.  Things
remained in this state until one day monsieur having
called when she was not able to receive him, sent her
his card. She glanced over it and read those fascinating words, ' CHARLES de Beaupr6.'"
"Yes," said our friend, "his name is Charles.
A low echo seemed to murmur Charles near her."
" For my part," said the old lady, " I see no particular beauty in the name. That, however, sufficed
to change the ideas of Mademoiselle in relation to the
gentleman. She took for granted he must be her predestined husband. Observing him, then, more closely,





82


WOMAN9S WHIMS.


she saw that his person was not without attraction;
that in spite of the manner in which he twisted his
eyes, when he sang he had a good appearance, and a
correct taste in cravats and trinkets. What shall I
say? She thought herself obliged to love him, because of his name. Very trifling things suffice to turn
a young girl's ideas from right to left."
Turning to Edouard, she said, "You see what a
pretty mess you made of your 'heart of Charles!'
You are the prime cause of all this."
The good lady without having the slightest idea
what dagger thrusts she was giving in the dark,
laughed loud and long.
Edouard had lost the power to stand upright. His
knees bent, and pale and powerless he resumed his
place on the barrel, which placed horizontally, an.
swered us for a seat. As he did so, however, he cast
a basilisk's gaze on the good, inoffensive dowager.
"' But if Jenny was in love, why did she wish to be
a nun?'
1" That is all child's play-pure nonsense. She
had been to visit her godmother, who is at Picpus,
The quiet of the place, her kind reception, and perhaps





LETTER VII.


83


the costume of the novices took    possession of her
sacred music, always made a great impression on her.
My daughter, Mine. de Neuflise, who told me that
story, is satisfied that the organ had most to do with
that whim.    The first time she heard a waltz the
religious fancy took flight."
"At all events, the     mere fancy to quit the
world proves that she was not much in love with M.
de Beaupre.6.
Edouard, struck with the justness and force of
my remark, looked     up, approached   us, and   said
" certainly."  He could go no farther than this one
word.
" Besides," continued I, "this quick rupture and
dismissal, given and   received  with  such facility,
shows no very deep love on either side."
' You were not there, dear Cyprien," said the old
lady, " besides, you do not know Jenny. I have,
however, raised her, for I have had the sole duties both
of mother and grandmother to play, yet I can scarcely
see the whole affair. She explained to me in detail
the causes of this rupture, and yet there is some





84


VWOMANTS WHIMS.


mystery.    Perhaps you, who are a      savant, may
understand them."
The following is her story, and as I am a savant,
I drew   the psychological inductions, which, dear
Maricourt, I am about to submit to you, a philosopher.
Let us, however, proceed in logical order, without
mingling together the beginning and the end, a thing
entirely unexcusable except in treatise on the relations
of eternity, the emblem  of which is a serpent biting
his tail.
"Resolved to lose none of his advantages, M. de
Beaupr6 made his debut at Neuville in a dazzling
cravat, in patent boots, and saffron-colored gloves,
with an eye-glass, curls, and the air of a conqueror.
On the first day he changed his toilette three times,
to the great disgust of the colonel, who never admitted
any variety in his costume except the buttoning and
unbuttoning of his frock, and of Monsieur Jolivet, who
fancied that it was necessary for him on the next day
to come to the table with fine silk stockings and gold
shoe-buckles, which he had not worn for fifteen years
before.
"With the instinct of an artiste, Jenny had found





LETTER VII.


85


out that this costume in a Paris drawing-room became
M. de Beaupr6 very well, but was entirely out of
place in the country.  She made him understand her.
The young man condescended to dress more plainly,
to take off the straps of his pantaloons, to wear gaiter
shoes, and condescend even to put on a straw hat.
In return Jenny gave him a gracious smile. Perhaps,
however, she did not like him as well in his new
costume.
" Dressed as he said en paysan, he wished to act
out his role.  Not being able to present Jenny with
one of Mme. Prenost's bouquets, he undertook to iranufacture one himself.   He was, however, so ignorant
of horticulture, that he gathered up only wild chickory
and radish blossoms.   The young woman laughed not
a little at his expense.  IHe laughed with her, though
however he fancied her mirth rather too permanent.
They visited together the crops and the farm yard.
De Beaupr6 did not, however, like the smell of either
the one or the other, and kept his essence bottle all
the time at his nose. The smell even of new-mown
hay was unpleasant to him. He took no pleasure in
strolls beneath the trees, because he did not liko





86


WOMAN S WHIMS,


catterpillars, and was unwilling to sit on the grass
because he was afraid of grasshoppers.
" He objected to visit the top of the hill to see the
sun set, because the evening glare was unpleasant.
Jenny began to ask herself what she could possibly do
in the summer time with such a husband.
On his part, de Beaupr6, who had no fancy for
the country, as soon as the arrangements between the
relations had been completed, resolved to make his
proposal in due form to the young lady. One morning he saw Jenny walking alone not far from the
flower beds in front of the saloon. He fancied the
hour propitious; but was mistaken. She had passed a
bad night under the influence of some distant tempest,
the air was electrified, and the barometer was descending. Madame Bouron had remarked, as she told us in
two parentheses, that when the barometer fell, the
gaiety and good humor of Jenny also did.
Remark this point well, Maricourt. It was to me
a perfect revelation. Beaupr6, however, resolved to
make the tender expression, but was, however, much
embarrassed. All singers of songs know it will never





LETTER VII.


87


do to say to a woman, "' I love, I adore you," except
with a piano accompaniment.
By way of arousing his invention, as soon as he
saw Jenny, he inquired after her health, how she had
passed the night, and various other niaiseries. As
they walked along the flower beds, the young girl saw
a handful of violets close to the path, covered with the
morning dew. She drew near to the young man to
avoid treading on the violets, which were of a new
variety.  De Beaupr6 interpreted the movement of
Jenny as a natural attraction towards the object she
loved. The moment was favorable, but the exordium
of his wooing was not yet prepared. He taxed his
brain to prepare it, and looked for it in every leaf he
could snatch at as he passed.
Already predisposed to ill humor by atmospheric
influences, Jenny could not refrain, as she saw him
tearing to pieces her choicest flowers, from saying:
"Be silent, sir."  This was uttered dryly as possible, and she went to the side of an iris from which
de Beaupre had been tearing whole branches, as if to
protect it.
Whether because he did not understand what





88


WOMAN S WHIMS.


Jenny had said, or because, having found his exordium, he was unwilling to lose it, de Beaupre followed
his theme, spoke of an approaching event, he dreamed
all blue and gold, of the boldness of his pretensions
and of his hopes, which one word could change into
certainty.  Walking   closely by Jenny's side, he
looked into her countenance, and with pleasure saw
her troubled blush and bended head.      He fancied
that the avowal he asked for could not be delayed.
Sure of happiness, his speech and gesture became animated; he became expressive, eloquent, and passionate. Suddenly, Jenny turned and said, " You are
unbearable."
The reason was that the speaker, as he became excited, trampled under his feet violets and mignonettes.
His whole path had been that of destruction. Therefore was it Jenny had spoken.
The lover had expected to hear her say::"0, bonheur supreme,
Je t'aime. Je t'aime
A toi mes amours,
Toujours, toujours, toujours!"
By the unexpected apostrophe, however, his vanity





LETTER VII.


89


was wounded, and with an air of deep vexation he
said, "And is it thus, Madame, you receive the expression of my love?"
" Monsieur, I speak of my violets-not of your
loveI-"
" Is this the reward of the deepest devotion?"
" My poor mignonettes-"
"I deserve neither your disdain nor your contempt."
"But, Monsieur, you still trample on my flowers!"
SAh, devil take them-"
" Monsieur-"
" You are a coquette-yes, a coquette-"
" And you a blunderer."
"Ah, I see that it is best I leave you."
"As you please."
" Adieu, then, Mademoiselle. Remember I shall
never see you again-never, never-never!"
Away went the beau from the lady, in spite of the
reproaches of the aunt, the interference of the grandmother, and the rage of the father against a person
who had so severely affronted his daughter.
You now, dear Maricourt, know the whole story
of the rupture, not precisely as the good lady told it,





90


WOMAN'S WHIMS.


but according to my interpretation, and you know I
pride myself on understanding not only the people, but
cause and effect, the mystery and the clue.
" A lovers' quarrel-all will be arranged;" thus the
old lady concluded, when she left us to visit the patient. Edouard, like all men with a lively imagination and keen judgment, always passes from       one
extreme into another.    The intermediate space he
neglects, and has no platform for his feet. One hour
previous, no one in the world, he was confident, had
so certainly inspired a true, powerful and sincere love.
A word or two, however, of MBme. Bouron, had sufficed
to precipitate him from the summit of his proud certainty into complete discouragement. As soon, however, as he touched bottom, he rebounded, and at the
moment I speak, was mid air in regions he was little
used to, regions of doubt.
To doubt was to be half right. This, to Edouard,
was an immense progress. He had calmly enough
heard the old lady end. As soon, however, as our
hostess had left us, he said, " Is it possible that Mlle.
Bouron last winter took a fancy to that fool?  If she
forgot me, should I blame her or myself?   Perhaps I





LETTER VII.


91


was wrong in not keeping up some correspondence!
A scruple of propriety in this respect, perhaps, has
been carried too far-at all events here is one lover
dismissed; the bruised violets and mignonettes were
but a pretext; at all events I shall soon have an understanding with her."
Soon after noon Jenny entered the saloon, without
a trace of emotion on her face. When he saw her so
calm, Edouard resumed his hopes
"All this is but a pretence," said he.
She smiled when she spoke to him, and every
doubt he had entertained disappeared, so that he at
once returned to the seventh heaven.
They walked in the park, and Edouard gave his
arm to Jenny. On his return, he had a marble brow
and a quailing step. He went into his room, and I
followed him. Casting himself into my arms with
more evidences of grief than of indignation, he said,
" This woman is a monster of duplicity. She denies
even the promise she made me, and with an air so
calm, so quiet, with such an appearance of deep commiseration for what she called my folly, that I began
to suspect myself. I tried to touch her heart by re




92


WOMAN S WHIMS.


calling oar walks, our studies, our mutual confidences.
She assumed an air of pride and dignity which overpowered me."
" And the ' heart of Charles,' " I said.
"I remember that circumstance perfectly, but
your name is Edouard.     M. de Beaupre is named
Charles."  "What do you think of this, Cyprien?"
asked he, folding his arms, and giving his voice a hollow, cavernous tone of which 1 did not think it susceptible; " Is she not the perfect type of dissimulation
and falsehood?"
I sought to speak to him, to soothe his excitement,
but he at once interrupted me, saying, " Will you go
to Havre with me?  We can embark at Caen."
I saw that he sought in this long voyage to seek
excitement, and I accepted his invitation, expecting
the sea-sickness to come to my aid.
Our preparations were soon made, and       since
yesterday we have been at the Hotel d' Espagne in
Havre, the hostess of which is charmante. During the
voyage, Edouard, like the Heroes of Homer, sombre and
motionless, looked at the expanse of the sea and wept.
To-day he has gotten over that, and seems to take





LETTER VII.


93


"-,me pleasure in   seeing the jovial sailors dance
at the end of the pier, and has amused himself in
picking up many-colored     pebbles along the shore.
Now, dear Maricourt, I am about to begin the psychological explanations I promised you in relation to
Jenny. Three of you have loved her, and each at
parting has made a different apostrophe.     Bea.upr6
thought her a coquette, Edouard thought her a false
and dissimulating   woman.    You   said she was a
whimsical and capricious girl.    To M. de Beaupre
I have to say that she is not a coquette. True
coquettes have more decided method and more defined
attractions, for coquettry is a science, like tactics,
and the person of whom we speak obeys too readily
her first impulses, is too devoid of calculation and
premeditation to be suspected of art and prudence.
In relation to her falsity, the same refutation applies.
Let us, therefore, pass to your accusation. In the
first place, what is a fantastic and capricious woman?
These terms are, or should be, applied particularly
to a woman, the ideas of whom    are without consistency, and vary without cause. With such a one,
thought has no duration and changes perpetually





94


WOMAN S WHIMS.


because the will changes, and because there is no conviction. What she desires most earnestly, she disdains
as soon as she possesses it; perhaps as soon as she
expects it. Her desire is exhausted in the pursuit,
and this succession of appetites and wishes springs
almost unobserved    from  the brain, without any
modification from events around her. In this instance,
however, everything has an external object. Placed
in identically the same situations, in an invariable
medium, under the same physical influences, Mlle.
Bouron   would, beyond    doubt, preserve a   perfect
equality of humor and character.      To superficial
people, who have met her only in the drawing-rooms
of Paris, she appeared a young, elegant, and wellbehaved lady, though rather prudish and formal.
Others, who had seen her among her flowers,
fancied she was a good and simple girl, for she
uniformly feels the influence of the objects around
her, even of the apparel she wears.       The semiobscurity of a church and the peals of the organ were
sufficient to cast her into a religious excitement. A
short time afterwards, however, the would-be nun
appeared happy, piquant, and merry as possible, as a





LETTER VII.


95


philosophic friend of mine to his own cost ascertained.
She talks with drovers, sings in the morning with
birds, and suffers her tears to fall with the evening
dew. Sun, moon, and stars each exert a separate
attraction for her. To make her happy or melancholy,
she needs but a change in the atmosphere. The
approach of a storm makes her blood hurry back to
her heart, and when the tempest has burst, and the air
becomes purified, the blood resumes its course, the
spirit becomes buoyant, as the mercury in the barometer does.   Jenny is neither a false or capricious
woman. She is something worse than either. She is
a female barometer.
Yes; I learned this term from her grandmother, and
by it I mean to say that she is essentially subject to
external impressions, in as much as her susceptibility
is purely physical.
Taking advantage of this discovery, I contrived to
form a theory in relation to the influences exerted by
weight of the atmosphere and inherent magnetism on
thinking beings.
Torpedoes, magnetic eels, the nilian silurus, and
tetroadon are provided with similar electricity. M.





96


WOMAN'S WHIMS.


Robin, a distinguished savant, has discovered a similar
power in yet another being. Why should this organ
only exist in certain varieties of fish?  Why, among
ourselves, should not the weaker sex be saturated
with a nervous fluid?   Why should it not have received this strange privilege from nature? I doubt
many things more than this.
I think I may affirm   that the principle already
defined, has its seat in the spleen, an organ to which
as yet anatomists have been able to assign no function. I think I will communicate these observations
to M. Faraday, who can only be said to have completed his great work on electricity, when he shall
have initiated us into the mysteries of the positive and
negative poles of woman.    Thanks to Jenny Bouron
and myself, the physical sciences are about to make a
gigantic stride.
Edouard has returned with the pockets of his
paletot stuffed and weighed down by pebbles and shells.
He found me writing, and I read to him the last page
about the female barometer. He smiled, (that is a
good sign,) without, however, appearing struck with





LETTER VII.


97


the excellence of my theory, which, however, I shall
not delay on that account to publish.
" Can the character of women, that is to say, their
caprice, (falsehood I leave out of consideration,) be
subjected to any analysis or appreciation?"  Thus he
began, " Here your system will fail. Do they act from
reason?  No. Do not think, Cyprien, I am about to
yield to an unjust pique. I am calm and discriminating.  I shall soon be cured-but I maintain Jenny
did love me."
"Yes, you," said I, "are her country loverBeaupr6 was her town lover. There was a combination of two antagonistic influences; two magnetic
powers.   All, however, is best as it is, for if, unfortunately for yourself and her, you had married her,
my dear friend; if you, a dreamer, uninitiated in the
mystery of a valse a deux terns, had linked your lot
with hers, what would she have done in the winter
with such a husband?"
I was still speaking, when a strip of red clouds encircled the whole seaward horizon, casting its shadow
even on Edouard, as he walked up and down the
room. He went mechanically to an old barometer in





98                 WOMAN S WHIMS.
a gilt case, which was hung up in the room rather as
an ornament than as an useful article. He touched
it with his finger, and the needle made a brisk reply,
by moving rapidly ten degrees towards the stormy
point.
1" Ah, how cross she must be to-day," murmured
he.
This murmur, however, was heard. This murmur
was the first cry of an apostle, the first confession of
faith-Edouard believed.
What a triumph for my system!
Adieu, dear Maricourt; we shall soon meet. Tomnorxow we return by railroad to Paris.





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LETTER FROM WM. H. PRESCOTT, ESQ.
BOSTON, Jan'y 30, 1850.
MESSRS. BAKER AND SCRIBNERGentlemen: I understand you are desirous of having my opinion
of Mrs. George's " Annals of the Queens of Spain." I will give it to
you briefly.
The subject is one that has been hardly touched in the Castilian,
and never treated in the English. We have Lives of the Queens of
England and of France-the former, by Miss Strickland, an admirable specimen of female portraiture. The present is the first attempt
to apply this kind of composition to Spanish history. Yet the lives
of the Spanish queens are as fruitful in incident, and full as important,
as those of the English-much more so than those of the French, since
the operation of the Salic law has prevented women in France from
reigning as independent sovereigns in their own right.
There are some embarrassments arising from the great number of
petty states which the narrative embraces, which necessarily leads to
some details of little importance.  But this is compensated by the
greater scope and variety afforded for the display of national character and costume.
The author has not shrunk from encountering the difficulties of her
task. She has brought the whole range of the Spanish portion of the
Peninsula within her plan. For this she has had rare and authentic
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glowing; while others are too often of the most dreary and discouraging
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hend and enter into the spirit of the Castilian character and usages o,
a remote age. With these advantages she possesses one, most rare, or
writing English with a correctness and copiousness that would exclude
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English writers, and not to a great extent by the Spaniards themselves,
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lore in regard to the Peninsula. I heartily hope that the book will
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