Arthur

by Eugène Sue

Now the English aristocracy, proud, overbearing, and justly vain of its incontestable superiority in wealth and influence to all the other aristocracies of Europe, is excessively reserved towards strangers who seek to enter its charmed circle; but when one has gone through this ordeal, nowhere is one treated with more perfect cordiality or put more at one's ease.

Nevertheless, in the "vie Parisienne," which cannot in any way pretend to rival or approach that splendid existence that one leads in London, there is to be found that which must be sought vainly in London or elsewhere; it is a fascinating charm not to be explained, which even the most calm and stolid natures seldom escape.

Parisian society, in its real acceptation and perfect flower, is limited to the elegant and refined existence led by the élite of five or six salons, in the one or two quarters of the city that are the rendezvous of all pleasure-seekers of the upper class.

On my arrival in Paris, I fortunately did not have to undergo that apprenticeship to material life which generally costs strangers so much money and so many disappointments. My father had lived there such a long time that, being well informed as to the most comfortable mode of existence, I was able to avoid mistakes. Thus, instead of housing myself at a high price and with very little space in one of those swarming and noisy apartment-houses five or six stories high, which begin on the ground floor in a magnificent store, and end in a miserable garret, I rented a little house near the Champs Élysées, brought my horses and servants from Serval, and started my establishment in a proper way.

I called on several relatives or distant connections of my family, who received me with great cordiality, some on account of my name and the respect they bore to my father, others because they had daughters to marry, and I was doubtless in their eyes what is called a "great catch;" while some were polite because idle people are always delighted to have one more visitor on their list, and thus to be able to pass one more of their unoccupied hours.

Among these last was to be found M. le Comte Alfred de Cernay; one of my former London friends who knew him intimately had given me letters to him, and had given me very credible information about him, whose character I found had been truthfully described.

I may as well describe him here, for, though not an eminently distinguished man, M. de Cernay was the very type of a "man of fashion," in the best and least vulgar acceptance of the word. Now, a man of fashion of our day is a person of a well-recognised type. M. de Cernay was about thirty years old, of a very handsome face, and not wanting in ready wit of a certain kind. He was subtle, something of a scoffer, though at the same time he affected a high-toned good nature which gave him the reputation of being a "good fellow," though people said that he had to reproach himself with some perfidious actions and several mischievous falsehoods. He was very elegant in his dress, though, with some attempt at originality of appearance, he tried to look unlike other men; however, he always looked extremely well dressed. He was a good judge and very fond of horses, had the handsomest turnouts you could wish to see, and posed for as distinguished a sportsman as a man of fashion.

M. de Cernay was very rich, very selfish, and uncommonly well versed as to business, which latter quality is particularly noticeable among men of our epoch, and which seems to exclude all ideas of beauty or display. M. de Cernay denied himself nothing; he lived luxuriously, but he paid his servants himself, and settled all accounts, being inexorable for every outlay that did not pay, at least in outward show, for what it was worth. He was a wily speculator, and had no scruples about serving a notice on any one of his farmers who was behind with his rent. He made out his leases himself, for (must the enormity be made public?) he had studied law in the most profound secrecy, under the direction of an old attorney. But it must be admitted that no glimpse of this legal knowledge was visible in the count's behaviour. His manners were perfect; he came of an ancient and noble race, and was as much of the "grand seigneur" as one can be in these days; and his sense of saving in superfluities and economy in luxuries was only known to the few people who had to ask some favour of him, and those are the last ones to tell of having been refused such a service.

Nothing can be wiser nor more praiseworthy than to live with so much prudence and foresight. I insist on this significative peculiarity because it belongs to our epoch, which is becoming so strictly material and positive. Nowadays nobody ruins himself. It is considered very bad form to be in debt, and nothing appears more ridiculous and shameful than that wild and disorderly existence (sometimes even indelicate and dishonourable), which was for a long time tolerated as a type of what was called "delightful French gaiety," of the vagabond life of those "harebrained but good-hearted" fellows, who, on the contrary, had very cool heads and very bad hearts, and were generally the greatest villains in the world.

Now, on the contrary, nothing is considered better form than to talk of one's property, of your lands, the improvements you mean to make, your agricultural experiments, the care of your forests and woodlands, and the beauty of the cattle that you raise in your fields. Every one nowadays talks like an overseer, and every one is right, because these last named personages are the only ones who are living like masters in the few magnificent old residences that yet remain in France. The time that is spent at the country place is prolonged every year, and there is an evident reaction towards the life at the château for eight months of the year, and life at the clubs in Paris during the winter months.