Chapter 20
My father was seated in my room in his dressing-gown; he was writing,and I saw at once, by the way in which he raised his eyes to me when Icame in, that there was going to be a serious discussion. I went up tohim, all the same, as if I had seen nothing in his face, embraced him,and said:
"When did you come, father?"
"Last night."
"Did you come straight here, as usual?"
"Yes."
"I am very sorry not to have been here to receive you."
I expected that the sermon which my father's cold face threatened wouldbegin at once; but he said nothing, sealed the letter which he had justwritten, and gave it to Joseph to post.
When we were alone, my father rose, and leaning against themantel-piece, said to me:
"My dear Armand, we have serious matters to discuss."
"I am listening, father."
"You promise me to be frank?"
"Am I not accustomed to be so?"
"Is it not true that you are living with a woman called MargueriteGautier?"
"Yes."
"Do you know what this woman was?"
"A kept woman."
"And it is for her that you have forgotten to come and see your sisterand me this year?"
"Yes, father, I admit it."
"You are very much in love with this woman?"
"You see it, father, since she has made me fail in duty toward you, forwhich I humbly ask your forgiveness to-day."
My father, no doubt, was not expecting such categorical answers, for heseemed to reflect a moment, and then said to me:
"You have, of course, realized that you can not always live like that?"
"I fear so, father, but I have not realized it."
"But you must realize," continued my father, in a dryer tone, "that I,at all events, should not permit it."
"I have said to myself that as long as I did nothing contrary to therespect which I owe to the traditional probity of the family I couldlive as I am living, and this has reassured me somewhat in regard to thefears I have had."
Passions are formidable enemies to sentiment. I was prepared for everystruggle, even with my father, in order that I might keep Marguerite.
"Then, the moment is come when you must live otherwise."
"Why, father?"
"Because you are doing things which outrage the respect that you imagineyou have for your family."
"I don't follow your meaning."
"I will explain it to you. Have a mistress if you will; pay her as aman of honour is bound to pay the woman whom he keeps, by all means; butthat you should come to forget the most sacred things for her, thatyou should let the report of your scandalous life reach my quietcountryside, and set a blot on the honourable name that I have givenyou, it can not, it shall not be."
"Permit me to tell you, father, that those who have given youinformation about me have been ill-informed. I am the lover of Mlle.Gautier; I live with her; it is the most natural thing in the world.I do not give Mlle. Gautier the name you have given me; I spend on heraccount what my means allow me to spend; I have no debts; and, in short,I am not in a position which authorizes a father to say to his son whatyou have just said to me."
"A father is always authorized to rescue his son out of evil paths. Youhave not done any harm yet, but you will do it."
"Father!"
"Sir, I know more of life than you do. There are no entirely puresentiments except in perfectly chaste women. Every Manon can have herown Des Grieux, and times are changed. It would be useless for theworld to grow older if it did not correct its ways. You will leave yourmistress."
"I am very sorry to disobey you, father, but it is impossible."
"I will compel you to do so."
"Unfortunately, father, there no longer exists a Sainte Marguerite towhich courtesans can be sent, and, even if there were, I would followMlle. Gautier if you succeeded in having her sent there. What would youhave? Perhaps am in the wrong, but I can only be happy as long as I amthe lover of this woman."
"Come, Armand, open your eyes. Recognise that it is your father whospeaks to you, your father who has always loved you, and who onlydesires your happiness. Is it honourable for you to live like husbandand wife with a woman whom everybody has had?"
"What does it matter, father, if no one will any more? What does itmatter, if this woman loves me, if her whole life is changed through thelove which she has for me and the love which I have for her? What doesit matter, if she has become a different woman?"
"Do you think, then, sir, that the mission of a man of honour is togo about converting lost women? Do you think that God has given sucha grotesque aim to life, and that the heart should have any room forenthusiasm of that kind? What will be the end of this marvellous cure,and what will you think of what you are saying to-day by the time youare forty? You will laugh at this love of yours, if you can still laugh,and if it has not left too serious a trace in your past. What would yoube now if your father had had your ideas and had given up his lifeto every impulse of this kind, instead of rooting himself firmly inconvictions of honour and steadfastness? Think it over, Armand, and donot talk any more such absurdities. Come, leave this woman; your fatherentreats you."
I answered nothing.
"Armand," continued my father, "in the name of your sainted mother,abandon this life, which you will forget more easily than you think. Youare tied to it by an impossible theory. You are twenty-four; think ofthe future. You can not always love this woman, who also can not alwayslove you. You both exaggerate your love. You put an end to your wholecareer. One step further, and you will no longer be able to leave thepath you have chosen, and you will suffer all your life for what youhave done in your youth. Leave Paris. Come and stay for a month or twowith your sister and me. Rest in our quiet family affection will soonheal you of this fever, for it is nothing else. Meanwhile, your mistresswill console herself; she will take another lover; and when you see whatit is for which you have all but broken with your father, and all butlost his love, you will tell me that I have done well to come andseek you out, and you will thank me for it. Come, you will go with me,Armand, will you not?" I felt that my father would be right if it hadbeen any other woman, but I was convinced that he was wrong with regardto Marguerite. Nevertheless, the tone in which he said these last wordswas so kind, so appealing, that I dared not answer.
"Well?" said he in a trembling voice.
"Well, father, I can promise nothing," I said at last; "what you askof me is beyond my power. Believe me," I continued, seeing him makean impatient movement, "you exaggerate the effects of this liaison.Marguerite is a different kind of a woman from what you think. Thislove, far from leading me astray, is capable, on the contrary, ofsetting me in the right direction. Love always makes a man better,no matter what woman inspires it. If you knew Marguerite, you wouldunderstand that I am in no danger. She is as noble as the noblest ofwomen. There is as much disinterestedness in her as there is cupidity inothers."
"All of which does not prevent her from accepting the whole of yourfortune, for the sixty thousand francs which come to you from yourmother, and which you are giving her, are, understand me well, yourwhole fortune."
My father had probably kept this peroration and this threat for the laststroke. I was firmer before these threats than before his entreaties.
"Who told you that I was handing this sum to her?" I asked.
"My solicitor. Could an honest man carry out such a procedure withoutwarning me? Well, it is to prevent you from ruining yourself for aprostitute that I am now in Paris. Your mother, when she died, left youenough to live on respectably, and not to squander on your mistresses."
"I swear to you, father, that Marguerite knew nothing of this transfer."
"Why, then, do you make it?"
"Because Marguerite, the woman you calumniate, and whom you wish me toabandon, is sacrificing all that she possesses in order to live withme."
"And you accept this sacrifice? What
sort of a man are you, sir, toallow Mlle. Gautier to sacrifice anything for you? Come, enough of this.You will leave this woman. Just now I begged you; now I command you. Iwill have no such scandalous doings in my family. Pack up your thingsand get ready to come with me."
"Pardon me, father," I said, "but I shall not come."
"And why?"
"Because I am at an age when no one any longer obeys a command."
My father turned pale at my answer.
"Very well, sir," he said, "I know what remains to be done."
He rang and Joseph appeared.
"Have my things taken to the Hotel de Paris," he said to my servant. Andthereupon he went to his room and finished dressing. When he returned, Iwent up to him.
"Promise me, father," I said, "that you will do nothing to giveMarguerite pain?"
My father stopped, looked at me disdainfully, and contented himself withsaying, "I believe you are mad." After this he went out, shutting thedoor violently after him.
I went downstairs, took a cab, and returned to Bougival.
Marguerite was waiting for me at the window.