After passing the few weeks of the honeymoon at Reuilly, the Comte and Comtesse de Camors returned to Paris and established themselves at their hotel in the Rue de l’Imperatrice. From this moment, and during the months that followed, the young wife kept up an active correspondence with her mother; and we here transcribe some of the letters, which will make us more intimately acquainted with the character of the young woman.
Madame de Camors to Madame de Tecle.
“October.
“Am I happy? No, my dearest mother! No—not happy! I have only
wings and soar to heaven like a bird! I feel the sunshine in my
head, in my eyes, in my heart.
“It blinds me, it enchants me, it causes me to shed delicious tears!
Happy? No, my tender mother; that is not possible, when I think
that I am his wife! The wife—understand me—of him who has reigned
in my poor thoughts since I was able to think—of him whom I should
have chosen out of the whole universe! When I remember that I am
his wife, that we are united forever, how I love life! how I love
you! how I love God!
“The Bois and the lake are within a few steps of us, as you know.
We ride thither nearly every morning, my husband and I!—I repeat,
I and my husband! We go there, my husband and I—I and my husband!
“I know not how it is, but it is always delicious weather to me,
even when it rains—as it does furiously to-day; for we have just
come in, driven home by the storm.
“During our ride to-day, I took occasion to question him quietly as
to some points of our history which puzzled me. First, why had he
married me?
“‘Because you pleased me apparently, Miss Mary.’ He likes to give me
this name, which recalls to him I know not what episode of my
untamed youth—untamed still to him.
“‘If I pleased you, why did I see you so seldom?’
“‘Because I did not wish to court you until I had decided on
marrying.’
“‘How could I have pleased you, not being at all beautiful?’
“‘You are not beautiful, it is true,’ replies this cruel young man,
‘but you are very pretty; and above all you are grace itself, like
your mother.’
“All these obscure points being cleared up to the complete
satisfaction of Miss Mary, Miss Mary took to fast galloping; not
because it was raining, but because she became suddenly—we do not
know the reason why—as red as a poppy.
“Oh, beloved mother! how sweet it is to be loved by him we adore,
and to be loved precisely as we wish—as we have dreamed—according
to the exact programme of our young, romantic hearts!
“Did you ever believe I had ideas on such a delicate subject? Yes,
dear mother, I had them. Thus, it seemed to me there were many
different styles of loving—some vulgar, some pretentious, some
foolish, and others, again, excessively comic. None of these seemed
suited to the Prince, our neighbor. I ever felt he should love,
like the Prince he is, with grace and dignity; with serious
tenderness, a little stern perhaps; with amiability, but almost with
condescension—as a lover, but as a master, too—in fine, like my
husband!
“Dear angel, who art my mother! be happy in my happiness, which was
your sole work. I kiss your hands—I kiss your wings!
“I thank you! I bless you! I adore you!
“If you were near me, it would be too much happiness! I should die,
I think. Nevertheless, come to us very soon. Your chamber awaits
you. It is as blue as the heavens in which I float. I have already
told you this, but I repeat it.
“Good-by, mother of the happiest woman in the world!
“MISS MARY,
“Comtesse de Camors.”
...............................
“November.
“MY MOTHER:
“You made me weep—I who await you every morning. I will say
nothing to you, however; I will not beg you. If the health of my
grandfather seems to you so feeble as to demand your presence, I
know no prayer would take you away from your duty. Nor would I make
the prayer, my angel mother!
“But exaggerate nothing, I pray you, and think your little Marie can
not pass by the blue chamber without feeling a swelling of the
heart. Apart from this grief which you cause her, she continues to
be as happy as even you could wish.
“Her charming Prince is ever charming and ever her Prince! He takes
her to see the monuments, the museums, the theatres, like the poor
little provincial that she is. Is it not touching on the part of so
great a personage?
“He is amused at my ecstasies—for I have ecstasies. Do not breathe
it to my Uncle Des Rameures, but Paris is superb! The days here
count double our own for thought and life.
“My husband took me to Versailles yesterday. I suspect that this,
in the eyes of the people here, is rather a ridiculous episode; for
I notice the Count did not boast of it. Versailles corresponds
entirely with the impressions you had given me of it; for there is
not the slightest change since you visited it with my grandfather.
“It is grand, solemn, and cold. There is, though, a new and very
curious museum in the upper story of the palace, consisting chiefly
of original portraits of the famous men of history. Nothing pleases
me more than to see these heroes of my memory passing before me in
grand procession—from Charles the Bold to George Washington. Those
faces my imagination has so often tried to evoke, that it seems to
me we are in the Elysian Fields, and hold converse with the dead:
“You must know, my mother, I was familiar with many things that
surprised M. de Camors very much. He was greatly struck by my
knowledge of science and my genius. I did no more, as you may
imagine, than respond to his questions; but it seemed to astonish
him that I could respond at all.
“Why should he ask me these things? If he did not know how to
distinguish the different Princesses of Conti, the answer is simple.
“But I knew, because my mother taught me. That is simple enough
too.
“We dined afterward, at my suggestion, at a restaurant. Oh, my
mother! this was the happiest moment of my life! To dine at a
restaurant with my husband was the most delightful of all
dissipations!
“I have said he seemed astonished at my learning. I ought to add in
general, he seemed astonished whenever I opened my lips. Did he
imagine me a mute? I speak little, I acknowledge, however, for he
inspires me with a ceaseless fear: I am afraid of displeasing him,
of appearing silly before him, or pretentious, or pedantic. The day
when I shall be at ease with him, and when I can show him my good
sense and gratitude—if that day ever comes—I shall be relieved of
a great weight on my mind, for truly I sometimes fear he looks on me
as a child.
“The other day I stopped before a toy-shop on the Boulevard. What a
blunder! And as he saw my eye fixed on a magnificent squadron of
dolls—
“‘Do you wish one, Miss Mary?’ he said.
“Was not this horrible, my mother—from him who knows everything
except the Princesses of Conti? He explained everything to me; but
briefly in a word, as if to a person he despaired of ever making
understand him. And I understand so well all the time, my poor
little mother!
“But so much the better, say I; for if he loves me while thinking me
silly, what will it be later!
“With fond love, your
“MARIE.”
.............................
“December.
“All Paris has returned once more, my dear mother, and for fifteen
days I have been occupied with visits. The men here do not usually
visit; but my husband is obliged to present me for the first time to
the persons I ought to know. He accompanies me there, which is much
more agreeable to me than to him, I believe.
“He is more serious than usual. Is not this the only form in which
amiable men show their bad humor? The people we visit look on me
with a certain interest. The woman whom this great lord has honored
with his choice is evidently an object of great curiosity. This
flatters and intimidates me; I blush and feel constrained; I appear
awkward. When they find me awkward and insignificant, they stare.
They believe he married me for my fortune: then I wish to cry. We
reenter the carriage, he smiles upon me, and I am in heaven! Such
are our visits.
“You must know, my mother, that to me Madame Campvallon is divine.
She often takes me to her box at the Italiens, as mine will not be
vacant until January. Yesterday she gave a little fete for me in
her beautiful salon: the General opened the ball with me.
“Oh! my mother, what a wonderfully clever man the General is! And I
admire him because he admires you!
“The Marquise presented to me all the best dancers. They were young
gentlemen, with their necks so uncovered it almost gave me a chill.
I never before had seen men bare-necked and the fashion is not
becoming. It was very evident, however, that they considered
themselves indispensable and charming. Their deportment was
insolent and self-sufficient; their eyes were disdainful and
all-conquering.
“Their mouths ever open to breathe freer, their coat-tails flapping
like wings, they take one by the waist—as one takes his own
property. Informing you by a look that they are about to do you the
honor of removing you, they whirl you away; then, panting for
breath, inform you by another look that they will do themselves the
pleasure of stopping—and they stop. Then they rest a moment,
panting, laughing, showing their teeth; another look—and they
repeat the same performance. They are wonderful!
“Louis waltzed with me and seemed satisfied. I saw him for the
first time waltz with the Marquise. Oh, my mother, it was the dance
of the stars!
“One thing which struck me this evening, as always, was the manifest
idolatry with which the women regard my husband. This, my tender
mother, terrifies me. Why—I ask myself—why did he choose me?
How can I please him? How can I succeed?
“Behold the result of all my meditations! A folly perhaps, but of
which the effect is to reassure me:
“Portrait of the Comtesse de Camors, drawn by herself.
“The Comtesse de Camors, formerly Marie de Tecle, is a personage
who, having reached her twentieth year, looks older. She is not
beautiful, as her husband is the first person to confess. He says
she is pretty; but she doubts even this. Let us see. She has very
long limbs, a fault which she shares with Diana, the Huntress, and
which probably gives to the gait of the Countess a lightness it
might not otherwise possess. Her body is naturally short, and on
horseback appears to best advantage. She is plump without being
gross.
“Her features are irregular; the mouth being too large and the lips
too thick, with—alas! the shade of a moustache; white teeth, a
little too small; a commonplace nose, a slightly pug; and her
mother’s eyes—her best feature. She has the eyebrows of her Uncle
Des Rameures, which gives an air of severity to the face and
neutralizes the good-natured expression-a reflex from the softness
of her heart.
“She has the dark complexion of her mother, which is more becoming
to her mother than to her. Add to all this, blue-black hair in
great silky masses. On the whole, one knows not what to pronounce
her.
“There, my mother, is my portrait! Intended to reassure me, it has
hardly done so; for it seems to me to be that of an ugly little
woman!
“I wish to be the most lively of women; I wish to be one of the most
distinguished. I wish to be one of the most captivating! But, oh,
my mother! if I please him I am still more enchanted! On the
whole, thank God! he finds me perhaps much better than I am: for
men have not the same taste in these matters that we have.
“But what I really can not comprehend, is why he has so little
admiration for the Marquise de Campvallon. His manner is very cold
to her. Were I a man, I should be wildly in love with that superb
woman! Good-night, most beloved of mothers!”
..........................
“January.
“You complain of me, my cherished one! The tone of my letters
wounds you! You can not comprehend how this matter of my personal
appearance haunts me. I scrutinize it; I compare it with that of
others. There is something of levity in that which hurts you? You
ask how can I think a man attaches himself to these things, while
the merits of mind and soul go for nothing?
“But, my dearest mother, how will these merits of mind and of soul
—supposing your daughter to possess them—serve her, unless she
possesses the courage or has the opportunity to display them? And
when I summon up the courage, it seems to me the occasion never
comes.
“For I must confess to you that this delicious Paris is not perfect;
and I discover, little by little, the spots upon the sun.
“Paris is the most charming place! The only pity is that it has
inhabitants! Not but that they are agreeable, for they are only too
much so; only they are also very careless, and appear to my view to
live and die without reflecting much on what they are doing. It is
not their fault; they have no time.
“Without leaving Paris, they are incessant travellers, eternally
distracted by motion and novelty. Other travellers, when they have
visited some distant corner—forgetting for a while their families,
their duties, and their homes—return and settle down again. But
these Parisians never do. Their life is an endless voyage; they
have no home. That which elsewhere is the great aim of life is
secondary here. One has here, as elsewhere, an establishment—a
house, a private chamber. One must have. Here one is wife or
mother, husband or father, just as elsewhere; but, my poor mother,
they are these things just as little as possible. The whole
interest centres not in the homes; but in the streets, the museums,
the salons, the theatres, and the clubs. It radiates to the immense
outside life, which in all its forms night and day agitates Paris,
attracts, excites, and enervates you; steals your time, your mind,
your soul—and devours them all!
“Paris is the most delicious of places to visit—the worst of places
to live in.
“Understand well, my mother, that in seeking by what qualifies I can
best attract my husband—who is the best of men, doubtless, but of
Parisian men nevertheless—I have continually reflected on merits
which may be seen at once, which do not require time to be
appreciated.
“Finally, I do not deny that all this is miserable cynicism,
unworthy of you and of myself; for you know I am not at heart a bad
little woman. Certainly, if I could keep Monsieur de Camors for a
year or two at an old chateau in the midst of a solitary wood, I
should like it much. I could then see him more frequently, I could
then become familiar with his august person, and could develop my
little talents under his charmed eyes. But then this might weary
him and would be too easy. Life and happiness, I know, are not so
easily managed. All is difficulty, peril, and conflict.
“What joy, then, to conquer! And I swear to you, my mother, that I
will conquer! I will force him to know me as you know me; to love
me, not as he now does, but as you do, for many good reasons of
which he does not yet dream.
“Not that he believes me absolutely a fool; I think he has abandoned
that idea for at least two days past.
“How he came thus to think, my next letter shall explain.
“Your own
“MARIE.”
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