The Blue Duchess

rtain sign that an artistic creation will not result: work destroys it instead of improving it, and it is a proof, too, that we do not accomplish wo

und a way of putting off half her visits to the studio. When she did sit it was under very different conditions to the first sittings. Her tête-à-tête with me had been a necessity to her at the tim

panion accompanied her. I should have known nothing of her but for guessing at her troubles from the very pronounced alteration in her face and her increasing nervousness on the one ha

ith angry harshness; “I should be unjust, for she loves me

the beautiful soul unappreciated,” he jeered on the secon

ommission. If she wants to reach the stage when I shall not recognize her if I meet her, you can tel

his own way. “It is all over. Madam de Bonnivet is my mistress.” Under any circumstances it is saddening to receive such confidences. At least I have always felt it so. It is 172so repugnant to me as to al

up, who is married, is a mother, and holds a position, has degraded herself to the physical filth of a gallant adventure is intolerable to me. In its way this apprehension was the more illogical and foolish as my comrade’s indiscretion had edified me as regards the flirting and coquetry of which Madam de Bonnivet was capable. Between coquetry, even foolishly light, and precision of the las

nt of happiness, the last charity of love which the poor child still enjoyed. So although I tried not to find out anything definite as to the result of the intrigue between Jacques and Madam de Bonnivet, I did nothing but think of

y is it that a poet and a novelist, even the most plastic, can teach an artist who must live by his eyes and the reproduction of forms? It is true I was not engaged in reading but in dreaming, glasses in hand, before the half-burnt fire. The lamp, which had been brought in by a servant, lit up half the room. I abandoned myself to that nervous la

to her, telling her what I had never told her, and what I should not dare to tell her. It was at the moment, when this opium of my dream-passion most deeply engulfed me, that I was snatched with a start from my dream by the sudden arrival of her who was its chief character. My servant, wh

alone?”

her die and I am quite familiar with him. “I must tell you though, sir, that she seems to be in great trouble. She is as white as a sheet

,” I said, “but no one

comes to see you to

Molan calls,

er as I made her sit down: “Whatever is the matter?” and sat down myself. She signed to me to ask her no questions, as it was impossible for her to reply. She put her hand upon her breast and closed her eyes, as if internal anguish there in her breast was inflicting upon her suffering greater than she could bear. For a moment I thought she was about to expire,

hould have lost my reason. Give me your hand, I want to clasp it, to feel tha

friend ready to help you, to listen to you, to advise you

would be ashamed to show himself in his true colours before the honourable man you are. Listen.” She seized my arm again and came so near me that I could feel the feverish heat of her rapid breath. “Do you know where I, Camille Favier, have

ad just listened to and the tone in which they were spoken. “You h

read what was behind it. Then I found around his eyes that voluptuous hollow I knew in him too well. I recognized in his whole being that exhausted languor which he used to have in the days gone by when we loved passionately, and he avoided our appointments. He always had an excuse to change and postpone them. You see, I am talking to you as I feel. It is brutal, but what I am telling you is true, as I have always to

ecting that I had received an invitation for it. “I was asto

f a husband asked me that, and I said 'yes,’ seeing that Jacques displayed no emotion, it seemed to me impossible that this woman could 178really be his mistress. I did not believe it of her, nor did I believe that he was her lover. I knew she was

he had to stop again. Her hands, which had let go of me agai

?” I sai

hould interrupt her story. “To-day at two o’clock there was to have been a rehearsal of the new comedy by Dorsenne at the theatre. He is altering an act and the rehearsal was countermanded. I did not hear of it till I got to the theatre. For that reason I found myself about two o’clock in the Rue de la Chausée d’Anti

as if they ought to awaken in me an association of ideas. She saw that I m

ute witnesses of our happiness would recall me to his memory! He did not wish it to be so. I understand the reason to-day; he was already thinking of the rupture. At that time I believed everything he told me, and did everything he asked me to do. He assured me that the rooms in the Rue Nouvelle had been fitted up by him for me alone, and that he had put there the old furniture from the

sure he deceiv

hness I had left all sorts of little things belonging to me in the rooms there, even needles and silk. It had been one of my dreams, too, that this place might become a beloved refuge for both of us, where Jacques would work at some beautiful lo

a confidence which I saw caused her great physical suffering, I

ter kept one key so that he and his wife might look after the place. An inside bolt allowed, when once a person was inside, of the door being fastened against any intruder, so that very often Jacques did not trouble to take the second key which was kept in one of his drawers, and you may imagine I went to the porter’s lodge as little as possible. I preferred, when I followed Jacques there, to go straight upstairs and ring. Without these details what happened to me would be unintelligible to you though it is so simple. This time I went to the lodge for the key. There was no one there. The porter and his wife were probably busy elsewhere, and the last person who went out had neglected to shut the door. I saw our key in its usual place and took it without the least scruple, and making as I did so a little motion of joy at avoiding the porter. I must repeat—I swear it to you—that I was absolutely ignorant of the incident I was about to encounter. I entered 182the rooms with a certain feeling of melancholy, as you may imagine! It was a fortnight since I had been there with Jacques. The

s as much moved by her story as she was herself. She bent her head to signify “yes” and maintained her silence, so I dare

he first moment of fearful pain had passed, I was overcome by disgust, by inexpressible repugnance and horror which was absolutely nauseating. Without a doubt if I had distinctly heard the words of this man and woman the need of immediate vengeance would have been too strong for me; but the indistinct, confused murmur, consisting of words I could hear and words I could not hear, combined with the picture of what I guessed was taking place on the other side of the wall, besides the unutterable suffering it caused me, gave me an impression of something very dirty, very ignoble, very disgusting, and very abject. There was one phrase in particular, and such a phrase which 184made me feel that I despised Jacques more than I loved him, and at the same time—how strang

, seizing me with her hands in an agony of supreme grief. Her face contracted and turned up i

d the period of unconsciousness which followed them had moved me so deeply that I could find nothing to say except those commonplace words used to comfort a suffering person; 185and there is such dif

know, too, that you sincerely pity me. But you must let me weep, you know. With these tears it seems to me that my folly departs. I wo

to her. “You know that I will obey al

ing her so excited, I had sheltered a last remnant of prudence. What was

the sad supplication in her dear blue

she added: “I want to be sure that you will not

” I replied; “but you yourself

m to suspect me of spying upon him. I will quarrel with him without giving a reason. I shall have

ngeance. It is in vain for a woman to try and bear in her heart that sentimental pride, of which she had given proof in a very unlikely fashion by remaining in her hiding-place; she is still a woman, and sooner or later the pressure of her instinct will overcome her reason and dignity. If a fresh attack of grief overwhelmed the outraged mistress, w

him against 187danger and a surprise likely to be tragic. I, however, resisted this desire, which was almost a need, of warning him through a point of honour which I have never yet

ow. I cannot recall circumstances when to

f her mother’s presence. This presence, which was obviously at the daughter’s desire, had astonished him a little; then he thought he noticed in the latter’s eyes and also in her acting something strange, a sort of unhealthy excitement. As often happens when a person has not a clear conscience, this s

,” he stated after our greetings; “you will go, won’t you? Shall we 188d

thought the idea was in

they think that if Madam de Bonnivet is really her rival, the two women must detest each other. You follow their reasoning? In that case Madam de Bonnivet would refuse to have Camille there and Camille would refuse to go. I should also decline the invitation to avoid any meeting between the two women. But I accepted and so did Camil

g her flower—offering her flower to him who hardly looked at her. Has he ever given five minutes’ attention to the artistic 189efforts of a comrade? That day at least he had as an excuse his little inquiry to make, and thu

ous of Madam de Bo

t subject,” I replied with a

made a misdeal and have given up the game. Yes, we are in a state of armed peace. We have measured our weapons and concluded an armistice. It was written that I s

continued to call Queen Anne, and whom I knew deserved to be brutally called Anne the Courtesan. I realize to-day that in observing this strange discretion about his triumph he did not yield to a simple prudent calculation. Without a doubt he was prudent, 190but he also counte

vowal. This final silence prevents him from judging himself too severely. The same vanity which made him talkative before makes him silent afterwards. Vanity or remorse, calculation or a last remnant of honour, whatever was the cause of this sudden interruption in Jacques’ confidences, it is certain that on this occasion he did not depart from his correct attitude of discretion. It made my discretion seem the less meritorious. But suddenly events were precipitated with the frightful rapidit

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