Albert Savarus by Honoré de Balzac (the lemonade war series .txt) 📕

its results, and perhaps quicker
than any other. In the course of our conversations you had given
me a picture of the society of Besancon, of the impossibility for
a stranger to get on there, to produce the smallest effect, to get
into society, or to succeed in any way whatever. It was there that
I determined to set up my flag, thinking, and rightly, that I
should meet with no opposition, but find myself alone to canvass
for the election. The people of the Comte will not meet the
outsider? The outsider will meet them! They refuse to admit him to
their drawing-rooms, he will never go there! He never shows
himself anywhere, not even in the streets! But there is one class
that elects the deputies--the commercial class. I am going
especially to study commercial questions, with which I am already
familiar; I will gain their lawsuits, I will effect compromises, I
will be the greatest pleader in Besancon. By and by I will start a
_Review_, in which I will defend the interests of the country,
will create them, or preserve them, or resuscitate them. When I
shall have won a sufficient number of votes, my name will come out
of the urn. For a long time the unknown barrister will be treated
with contempt, but some circumstance will arise to bring him to
the front--some unpaid defence, or a case which no other pleader
will undertake.

"Well, my dear Leopold, I packed up my books in eleven cases, I
bought such law-books as might prove useful, and I sent everything
off, furniture and all, by carrier to Besancon. I collected my
diplomas, and I went to bid you good-bye. The mail coach dropped
me at Besancon, where, in three days' time, I chose a little set
of rooms looking out over some gardens. I sumptuously arranged the
mysterious private room where I spend my nights and days, and
where the portrait of my divinity reigns--of her to whom my life
is dedicate, who fills it wholly, who is the mainspring of my
efforts, the secret of my courage, the cause of my talents. Then,
as soon as the furniture and books had come, I engaged an
intelligent man-servant, and there I sat for five months like a
hibernating marmot.

"My name had, however, been entered on the list of lawyers in the
town. At last I was called one day to defend an unhappy wretch at
the Assizes, no doubt in order to hear me speak for once! One of
the most influential merchants of Besancon was on the jury; he had
a difficult task to fulfil; I did my utmost for the man, and my
success was absolute and complete. My client was innocent; I very
dramatically secured the arrest of the real criminals, who had
come forward as witnesses. In short, the Court and the public were
united in their admiration. I managed to save the examining
magistrate's pride by pointing out the impossibility of detecting
a plot so skilfully planned.

"Then I had to fight a case for my merchant, and won his suit. The
Cathedral Chapter next chose me to defend a tremendous action
against the town, which had been going on for four years; I won
that. Thus, after three trials, I had become the most famous
advocate of Franche-Comte.

"But I bury my life in the deepest mystery, and so hide my aims. I
have adopted habits which prevent my accepting any invitations. I
am only to be consulted between six and eight in the morning; I go
to bed after my dinner, and work at night. The Vicar-General, a
man of parts, and very influential, who placed the Chapter's case
in my hands after they had lost it in the lower Court, of course
professed their gratitude. 'Monsieur,' said I, 'I will win your
suit, but I want no fee; I want more' (start of alarm on the
Abbe's part). 'You must know that I am a great loser by putting
myself forward in antagonism to the town. I came here only to
leave the place as deputy. I mean to engage only in commercial
cases, because commercial men return the members; they will
distrust me if I defend "the priests"--for to them you are simply
priests. If I undertake your defence, it is because I was, in
1828, private secretary to such a Minister' (again a start of
surprise on the part of my Abbe), 'and Master of Appeals, under
the name of Albert de Savarus' (another start). 'I have remained
faithful to monarchical opinions; but, as you have not the
majority of votes in Besancon, I must gain votes among the
citizens. So the fee I ask of you is the votes you may be able
secretly to secure for me at the opportune moment. Let us each
keep our own counsel, and I will defend, for nothing, every case
to which a priest of this diocese may be a party. Not a word about
my previous life, and we will be true to each other.'

"When he came to thank me afterwards, he gave me a note for five
hundred francs, and said in my ear, 'The votes are a bargain all
the same.'--I have in the course of five interviews made a friend,
I think, of this Vicar-General.

"Now I am overwhelmed with business, and I undertake no cases but
those brought to me by merchants, saying that commercial questions
are my specialty. This line of conduct attaches business men to
me, and allows me to make friends with influential persons. So all
goes well. Within a few months I shall have found a house to
purchase in Besancon, so as to secure a qualification. I count on
your lending me the necessary capital for this investment. If I
should die, if I should fail, the loss would be too small to be
any consideration between you and me. You will get the interest
out of the rental, and I shall take good care to look out for
something cheap, so that you may lose nothing by this mortgage,
which is indispensable.

"Oh! my dear Leopold, no gambler with the last remains of his
fortune in his pocket, bent on staking it at the Cercle des
Etrangers for the last time one night, when he must come away rich
or ruined, ever felt such a perpetual ringing in his ears, such a
nervous moisture on his palms, such a fevered tumult in his brain,
such inward qualms in his body as I go through every day now that
I am playing my last card in the game of ambition. Alas! my dear
and only friend, for nearly ten years now I have been struggling.
This battle with men and things, in which I have unceasingly
poured out my strength and energy, and so constantly worn the
springs of desire, has, so to speak, undermined my vitality. With
all the appearance of a strong man of good health, I feel myself a
wreck. Every day carries with it a shred of my inmost life. At
every fresh effort I feel that I should never be able to begin
again. I have no power, no vigor left but for happiness; and if it
should never come to crown my head with roses, the _me_ that is
really me would cease to exist, I should be a ruined thing. I
should wish for nothing more in the world. I should want to cease
from living. You know that power and fame, the vast moral empire
that I crave, is but secondary; it is to me only a means to
happiness, the pedestal for my idol.

"To reach the goal and die, like the runner of antiquity! To see
fortune and death stand on the threshold hand in hand! To win the
beloved woman just when love is extinct! To lose the faculty of
enjoyment after earning the right to be happy!--Of how many men
has this been the fate!

"But there surely is a moment when Tantalus rebels, crosses his
arms, and defies hell, throwing up his part of the eternal dupe.
That is what I shall come to if anything should thwart my plan;
if, after stooping to the dust of provincial life, prowling like a
starving tiger round these tradesmen, these electors, to secure
their votes; if, after wrangling in these squalid cases, and
giving them my time--the time I might have spent on Lago Maggiore,
seeing the waters she sees, basking in her gaze, hearing her voice
--if, after all, I failed to scale the tribune and conquer the
glory that should surround the name that is to succeed to that of
Argaiolo! Nay, more than this, Leopold; there are days when I feel
a heady languor; deep disgust surges up from the depths of my
soul, especially when, abandoned to long day-dreams, I have lost
myself in anticipation of the joys of blissful love! May it not be
that our desire has only a certain modicum of power, and that it
perishes, perhaps, of a too lavish effusion of its essence? For,
after all, at this present, my life is fair, illuminated by faith,
work, and love.

"Farewell, my friend; I send love to your children, and beg you to
remember me to your excellent wife.--Yours,

"ALBERT."

Rosalie read this letter twice through, and its general purport was stamped on her heart. She suddenly saw the whole of Albert's previous existence, for her quick intelligence threw light on all the details, and enabled her to take it all in. By adding this information to the little novel published in the _Review_, she now fully understood Albert. Of course, she exaggerated the greatness, remarkable as it was, of this lofty soul and potent will, and her love for Albert thenceforth became a passion, its violence enhanced by all the strength of her youth, the weariness of her solitude, and the unspent energy of her character. Love is in a young girl the effect of a natural law; but when her craving for affection is centered in an exceptional man, it is mingled with the enthusiasm which overflows in a youthful heart. Thus Mademoiselle de Watteville had in a few days reached a morbid and very dangerous stage