Part 31

_De Ryons_--Meaning by that, that I am a friend of the sex; for I have long perceived that just as truly as women are dangerous in love, just so much are they adorable in friendship, with men;--that is to say, with no obligations, and therefore no treasons; no rights, and in consequence no tyrannies. One assists, too, as a spectator, often as a collaborator, in the comedy of love. A man under such conditions sees before his nose the stage tricks, the machinery, the changes of scenes, all that stage mounting so dazzling at a distance and so simple when one is near by. As a friend of the sex and on a basis of friendship, one estimates the causes, the contradictions, the incoherences, of that phantasmagoric changeableness that belongs to the heart of a woman. So you have something that is interesting and instructive. Under such circumstances a man is the consoler, and gives his advice; he wipes away tears; he brings quarrelsome lovers together; he asks for the letters that must be returned; he hands back the photographs (for you know that in love affairs photographs are taken only in order to be returned, and it is nearly always the same photograph that serves as many times as may be necessary. I know one photograph that I have had handed back by three different men, and it ended its usefulness by being given for good and all to a fourth one, who was--not single).... In short, you see, my dear madam, I am above all the friend of those women--who have known what it is to be in love. And moreover inasmuch, just as Rochefoucauld says, as women do not think a great deal of their first experience,--why, one fine day or another--

_Madame Leverdet_--You prove to be the second one.

_De Ryons_--No, no; I have no number, I! A well-brought-up woman never goes from one experience of the heart to another one, without a decent interval of time, more or less long. Two railroad accidents never come together on the same railway. During the _intervals_ a woman really needs a friend, a good confidant; and it is then that I turn up. I let her tell me all the melancholy affairs in question; I see the unhappy victim in tears after the traitor has called; I lament with her, I weep with her, I make her laugh with me: and little by little I replace the delinquent without her seeing that I am doing so. But then I know very well that I am without importance, that I am a mere politician of the moment, a cabinet minister without a portfolio, a sentimental distraction without any consequences; and some fine day, after having been the confidential friend as to past events, I become the confidential friend as to future ones,--for the lady falls in love for the second time with somebody who knows nothing of the first experience, who will never know anything about it, and who of course must be made to suppose he represents the first one. Then I go away for a little time and leave them to themselves, and then I come back like a new friend to the family. By-and-by, when the dear creature is reckoning up the balance-sheet of her past, when her conscience pours into her ear the names that she would rather not remember, and my name comes with the others, she reflects an instant,--and then she says resolutely and sincerely to herself, "Oh, _he_ does not count!" My friend, I am always the one that does not count, and I like it extremely.

_Madame Leverdet_ [_indignantly_]--You are simply a monster!

_De Ryons_--Oh no, oh no, oh no, I am not!

_Madame Leverdet_--According to your own account, you have no faith in women.... Wretch! Ungrateful creature! And yet it is woman who inspires all the great things in this life.

_De Ryons_--But somehow forbids us to accomplish them.

_Madame Leverdet_--Go out from here, my dear De Ryons, and never let me see you again.

_De Ryons_ [_rising promptly and making a mocking bow_]--My dear lady--

_Madame Leverdet_--No, I will _not_ shake hands with you.

_De Ryons_--Then I shall die of chagrin--that's all about it.

_Madame Leverdet_--Do you know how you will end, you incorrigible creature? When you are fifty years old you will have rheumatism.

_De Ryons_--Yes, or sciatica. But I shall find some one who will embroider me warm slippers.

_Madame Leverdet_--Indeed you will not! You will marry your cook.

_De Ryons_--That depends on how well she cooks. Again farewell, dear madam.

_Madame Leverdet_--No, stay one moment.

_De Ryons_--It is you who are keeping me; so look out.

_Madame Leverdet_--Let me have really your last word on the whole matter.

_De Ryons_--It is very easily given. There are just two kinds of women: those who are good women, and those who are not.

_Madame Leverdet_--Without fine distinctions?

_De Ryons_--Without fine distinctions.

_Madame Leverdet_--What is one to do in the case of those who are not--good women?

_De Ryons_--They must be consoled.

_Madame Leverdet_--And those who are?

_De Ryons_--They must be guaranteed against being anything else; and as to that process of guarantee I have taken a patent.

_Madame Leverdet_--Come now, if you are playing in parlor theatricals, say so. What are you trying to be,--Lovelace or Don Quixote?

_De Ryons_--I am neither the one nor the other. I am a man who, having nothing else to do, took to studying women just as another man studies beetles and minerals, only I am under the impression that my scientific study is more interesting and more useful than that of the other savant--because we meet your sex everywhere. We meet the mother, the sister, the daughter, the wife, the woman who is in love; and it is important to be well informed upon such an eternal associate in our lives. Now I am a man of my time, exercised over one theory or another, hardly knowing what he must believe, good or bad, but inclined to believe in good when occasion presents itself. I respect women who respect themselves.... It is not I who created the world; I take it as I find it.... And as to marriage, the day when I shall find a young girl with the four qualities of goodness of heart, sound health, thorough self-respect, and cheerfulness,--the squaring of the conjugal hypothenuse,--then I count for nothing all my long term of waiting; like the great Doctor Faust, I become young again, and such as I am, I give myself to her. My friend, if this same young girl of whom you have been speaking (and by the way, I know her just as well as you do) really unites these conditions,--I do not believe she does so, though I shall see very soon,--why then, I will marry her to-morrow--I will marry her to-night. But in the mean time, as I have positively nothing to do,--if you happen to know a self-respecting woman who needs to be kept from a bit of folly ... why, I am wholly at your service.

Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by E. Irenæus Stevenson

TWO VIEWS OF MONEY

From 'The Money Question'

[The following passage occurs in the first act of Dumas's play. The characters include the young parvenu Jean Giraud, the aristocratic M. De Cayolle, and several others, all guests in the drawing-room of the country-house of Madame Durieu. In course of the conversation Giraud refers to his father, at one time a gardener on the estate of M. De Charzay.]

_Jean Giraud_--Oh, yes, yes, I have got along in the world, as people say. There are people who blush for their fathers; I make a brag of mine--that's the difference.

_René de Charsay_--And what is Father Giraud nowadays? Oh, I beg your pardon--

_Jean_--Don't be embarrassed--we keep on calling him Father Giraud all the same. He is a gardener still, only he gardens on his own account. He owns the house that your father was obliged to sell a while ago. My father has never had but one idea,--our Father Giraud,--and that is to be a land-owner; I bought that piece of property for him, and so he is as happy as a fish in the water. If you like, we will go and take breakfast with him to-morrow morning. He will be delighted to see you. How things change, eh? There, where a while ago we were the servants, now we are the masters; though we are not so very proud, for all that.

_Countess Savelli_ [_aside_]--He has passed the Rubicon of parvenus! He has confessed his father! Now nothing can stop his way!

_Jean_ [_to De Charsay_]--I have wanted to see you for a long time, but I have not been sure how you would meet me.

_René_--I would have met you with pleasure, as my uncle would have met you. One cannot utter reproaches to a man who has made his own fortune, except when he has made it by dishonest means; a man who owes it to his intelligence and his probity, who uses it worthily, everybody is ready to meet kindly, as you are met here.

_Jean_--Sir, it is not necessary that a man should use his fortune nobly, provided it is made--that is the main thing!

_Madame Durieu_--Oh, oh, M. Giraud! there you spoil everything that you have said.

_Jean_--I don't say that of my own case, madam, but I say just what I say,--money is money, whatever may be the kind of hands where it sticks. It is the sole power that one never disputes. You may dispute virtue, beauty, courage, genius; but you can't dispute money. There is not one civilized being, rising in the morning, who does not recognize the sovereignty of money, without which he would have neither the roof which shelters, him, nor the bed in which he sleeps, nor the bread that he eats. Whither are bound these masses of people crowding in the streets?--from the employé sweating under his too heavy burden, to the millionaire hurrying down to the Bourse behind his two trotters? The one is running after fifteen sous, the other after one hundred thousand francs. Why do we all have these shops, these railroads, these factories, these theatres, these museums, these lawsuits between brothers and sisters, between fathers and sons, these revelations, these divisions in families, these murders? All for pieces, more or less numerous, of that white or yellow metal which people call silver or gold. And pray who will be the most thought of at the end of this grand race after money? The man who brings back the most of it. Ah, nowadays a man has no business to have more than one object in life--and that is to become as rich as possible! For my part, that has always been my idea; I have carried it out: I congratulate myself on it. Once upon a time everybody found me homely, stupid, a bore; to-day everybody finds me handsome, witty, amiable,--and the Lord knows if _I_ am witty, amiable, handsome! On the day when I might be stupid enough to let myself be ruined, to become plain "Jean" as before, there would not be enough stones in the Montmartre quarries to throw at my head. But there, that day is a good way off, and meantime many of my business acquaintances have been ruined for the sake of keeping me from ruin. The last word, too, the greatest praise that I could give to wealth, certainly is, that such a circle as I find myself in at present has had the patience to listen so long to the son of a gardener, who has no other right to their attention than the poor little millions that he has made.

_Durieu_ [_aside_]--It is all absolutely true, every word that he has been saying--gardener's son that he is! He sees our epoch just as it really is.

_Madame Durieu_--Come now, my dear M. De Cayolle, what do you think of what M. Giraud has been telling us?

_Cayolle_--I think, madam, that the theories of M. Giraud are sound, but sound only as to that society in which M. Giraud has lived until now: a world of speculation, whose one object naturally ought to be to make money. As to wealth itself, it brings about infamous things, but it also brings about great and noble things. In that respect it is like human speech: a bad thing for some people, a good thing for others, according to the use they make of it. This obligation of our state of society that makes a man wake up each morning with taking thought of the necessary sum for his personal wants, lest he take what does not belong to him, has created the finest intelligence of all the ages! It is simply to this need of money every day that we owe Franklin, who began the world by being a printer's apprentice; Shakespeare, who used to hold horses at the door of the theatre which later he was going to immortalize; Machiavelli, who was secretary to the Florentine republic at fifteen crowns a month; Raphael, the son of a mere dauber; Jean Jacques Rousseau, a notary's clerk and an engraver,--one who did not have a dinner every day; Fulton, once upon a time a mechanic, who gave us steam: and so many others. Had these same people been born with an income of half a million livres apiece, there would have been a good many chances that not one of them would ever have become what he did become. [_To M. Giraud._] This race after wealth, of which you speak, M. Giraud, has good in it: even if it enriches some silly people or some rascals, if it procures for them the consideration of those in a humble station of life,--of the lower classes, of those who have cash relations with society, on the other hand there is a great deal of good in the spur given to faculties which would otherwise remain stationary; enough good to pardon some errors in the distribution of wealth. Just in proportion as you enter into the true world of society--a world which is almost unknown to you, M. Giraud--you will find that a man who is received there is received only in proportion to his personal value. Look around here where we are, without taking the trouble to go any further, and you will see that money has not the influence you ascribe to it. For proof, here is Countess Savelli, with half a million francs income, who in place of dining out with millionaires besieging her house every day, comes quietly here to dine with our friends the Durieus, people without title, poor people measured by her fortune; and she comes here for the pleasure of meeting M. De Charzay, who has not more than a thousand crowns income, but who, for all the millionaires in the world, would never do a thing a man ought not to do; and she meets here M. De Roncourt, who has a business of fifteen hundred francs because he gave up his fortune to creditors who were not his own creditors. There is Mademoiselle De Roncourt, who sacrificed her dowry to the same sentiment of honor; yonder is Mademoiselle Durieu, who would never be willing to become the wife of any other than an honest man, even if he had for his rivals all the Croesuses present and to come; and last of all, one meets me here,--a man who has for money (in the acceptation that you give the word) the most profound contempt. Now, M. Giraud, if we listened to you for so long a time, it is because we are well-bred people, and besides, you talk very well; but there has been no flattery for your millions in our attention, and the proof is that everybody has been listening to me a longer time than to you,--listening to me, who have not like you a thousand-franc note to put along with every one of my phrases!

_Jean_--Who is that gentleman who has just been speaking?

_Durieu_--That is M. De Cayolle.

_Jean_--The railway director?

_Durieu_--Yes.

_Jean_ [_going to M. De Cayolle_]--M. De Cayolle, I hope you will believe that I am very glad to meet you.

_Cayolle_--I dare say you are, monsieur. [_M. De Cayolle as he utters the words turns his back upon Giraud and steps aside_.]

Translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by E. Irenæus Stevenson

M. DE RÉMONIN'S PHILOSOPHY OF MARRIAGE

From 'L'Étrangère'

_Madame de Rumières_--See here, now, Rémonin, you who claim to explain everything as a learned man--can you solve this proposition? Why is it that with all the quantity of love in this world, there are so many unhappy marriages?

_M. Rémonin_--I could give you a perfect explanation, my dear lady, if you were not a woman.

_Madame de Rumières_--You mean that the explanation is not decent?

_M. Rémonin_--No, I mean that it is a matter based on the abstract.... It is this. The reason why marriages are rarely happy, in spite of the "quantity of love" in question, is because love and marriage, scientifically considered, have no relationship. They belong to two sorts of things, completely differing. Love is of the physical. Marriage is a matter of chemistry.

_Madame de Rumières_--Explain yourself.

_Rémonin_--Certainly. Love is an element of the natural evolution of our being; it comes to us of itself in course of our life, at one time or another, independent of all our will, and even without a definite object. The human creature can wish to be in love before really loving any one!... But marriage is a social combination, an adjustment, that refers itself to chemistry, as I have said; since chemistry concerns itself with the action of one element on another and the phenomena resulting: ... to the end of bringing about family life, morality, and labor, and in consequence the welfare of man, as involved in all three. Now, so often as you really can conform to the theory of such a blending of things, so long as you happen to have effected in marriage such a combination of the physical _and_ chemical, all goes well; the experiment is happy, it results well. But if you are ignorant or maladroit enough to seek and to make a combination of two refractory chemical forces in the matrimonial experiment, then in the place of a fusion you will find you have only inert forces; and the two elements remain there, together but unfused, eternally opposed to each other, never able to be united!... Or else there is not merely inertia--there are shocks, explosions, catastrophes, accidents, dramas....

_Madame de Rumières_--Have you ever been in love?

_M. Rémonin_--I? My dear marquise, I am a scientist--I have never had time! And you?

_Madame de Rumières_--I have loved my children. M. de Rumières was a charming man all his life; but he didn't expect me really to love him. My son tells me his affairs of the heart; ... my daughter has already made me a grandmother ... I have little to reproach myself as to my past life, and now I look on at the lives of others, sometimes much interested. I am like the subscribers to the Opéra, who know the whole repertory by heart, but who can always hear some passages with pleasure and who encourage the débutants.

Condensed and translated for 'A Library of the World's Best Literature,' by E. Irenæus Stevenson.

REFORMING A FATHER

From 'A Prodigal Father'

[The ensuing dialogue occurs in the first act of the play. The Count de Ravonnieres and his son Andre reside together in their comfortable bachelor's establishment in Paris, and are devotedly attached to one another. The count, unfortunately, has only grown more careless of money, more a gay man of the world, as he has grown older; and blessed with a youthfulness of physique and temperament that nothing impairs, he is as thriftless as he is fascinating. His son, accordingly, has had to be the economist of their resources, which are at a dangerous ebb. As the scene opens, the count is preparing to take luncheon, with Joseph, the confidential servant of the house, in attendance.]

_Joseph_--Monsieur is served.

_Count de Ravonnieres_--Very well. You will please go to my florist Lemoine, the Opera florist,--you know who I mean,--and tell him to send, to-day, with my card,--he has a lot of cards of mine in advance,--to Mademoiselle Albertine de la Borde, 26 or 28 Rue de la Paix--I don't exactly remember the number that the lady gave me--

_Joseph_--No. 26.

_Count_--Ah! You know her address, do you?

_Joseph_--Yes, sir.

_Count_--To send her a bouquet of white lilacs and roses. And I don't need you any more: go at once. [_Joseph bows, and hands the Count a large envelope._] What's all this?

_Joseph_--Some law papers that have come in your absence, sir, which I did not think ought to be forwarded to Dieppe.

_Count_ [_without taking the papers_]--Quite right. Has my son seen them?

_Joseph_--No, sir.

_Count_--Very well; don't let him see them. Put them away with the others.

_Joseph_--May I beg monsieur to say a good word for me to his son?

_Count_--As to what, Joseph?

_Joseph_--Your son, sir, has just told me to look out for another situation; and I am so attached to the family--

_Count_--Oh, I will straighten all that out; if my son sends you away I will take you into our service again. Come now, get off to my florist; be quick about it.

_As_ Joseph _goes out,_ André _enters. He does not at first perceive his father, but on turning toward the table discovers him._

_André_--Ah! you are here, are you?

_Count_--Yes, I have been here during an hour; and moreover, a very agreeable person has been doing the honors of your establishment on my behalf.

_André_--It is a fine time to talk about agreeable persons! You are a very agreeable person--

_Count_--What in the world is the matter with you?

_André_--I am perfectly furious.

_Count_--Against whom?

_André_--Against you.

_Count_--Why? What have I been doing?

_André_--You have drawn on me at sight this draft here.

_Count_--Oh yes, I know very well what that means. It comes from London; it is to pay for the boat, you know.

_André_--Oh yes, it comes from London, and it is to pay for the boat! That is no excuse for it. And what about the boat, if you please?

_Count_--But my dear fellow, they had no business to present it until the 15th.

_André_--Well?

_Count_--Why, to-day _is_ the 15th!

_André_--You ought to know it.

_Count_--I thought that to-day was only the 14th! Have you paid it?

_André_--Of course.

_Count_--Ah! then I owe you six thousand francs. That's all there is to the matter.

_André_--Yes, that's all! But you never said a word to me about it; I had no money in the house: I had to send to our man of business. May I beg of you in the future to be so good as to--

_Count_--Poor boy! poor boy! Really, between ourselves, you would have done a great deal better (as it is a month since you have seen me, and since you are really very fond of me) to embrace me in meeting me again, rather than to say all these things to me that you have been saying!

_André_ [_embracing his father heartily_]--Oh, of course they make no difference, when it comes to _that_!

_Count_--Your second impulse is a very good one; but you ought to have begun with it. All the same, I do not in the less ask pardon for the inconvenience that I have caused you, my boy. [_Takes some bank-notes from his pocket._] Here are your six thousand francs, and [_holding out the remainder of the notes to André_] since you need money, help yourself.

_André_--Where in the world does that money come from?

_Count_--Oh, it is some money that I have received.

_André_--There was none coming to you from anywhere!

_Count_--There is always something to come to one, if he looks around carefully. And now let us speak of serious things.

_André_--Yes, by all means. Father, are you not disposed to settle down?

_Count_--What do you mean by "settle down"?

_André_--To save money, for one thing.

_Count_--Save money! I should be charmed to do so; but I really do not see how we can do it. We certainly live as modestly as possible. This house belongs to us; we have only four saddle horses, four carriage horses, a couple of extra horses for evening service (we could not get along with less), two coachmen, two valets, two grooms, one cook. Why, we haven't even a housekeeper.

_André_--No, we only want that!

_Count_--We never receive any except masculine society; we certainly are not extravagant as to the table. Look at me here: I am breakfasting this minute on two eggs and a glass of water. It seems to me that with our fortune--

_André_--Our fortune? Would you like to know in what condition our fortune is?

_Count_--You ought to know better than I, since it is you who have had the running of affairs since your majority.