Many troubles and shocks of fortune had quickened the intuitive sense in both the women. Eve and Mme. Chardon guessed the thoughts in Lucien’s inmost soul; they felt that he misjudged them; they saw him mentally isolating himself.
“Paris has changed him very much,” they said between themselves. They were indeed reaping the harvest of egoism which they themselves had fostered.
It was inevitable but that the leaven should work in all three; and this most of all in Lucien, because he felt that he was so heavily to blame. As for Eve, she was just the kind of sister to beg an erring brother to “Forgive me for your trespasses;” but when the union of two souls had been as perfect since life’s very beginnings, as it had been with Eve and Lucien, any blow dealt to that fair ideal is fatal. Scoundrels can draw knives on each other and make it up again afterwards, while a look or a word is enough to sunder two lovers for ever. In the recollection of an almost perfect life of heart and heart lies the secret of many an estrangement that none can explain. Two may live together without full trust in their hearts if only their past holds no memories of complete and unclouded love; but for those who once have known that intimate life, it becomes intolerable to keep perpetual watch over looks and words. Great poets know this; Paul and Virginie die before youth is over; can we think of Paul and Virginie estranged? Let us know that, to the honor of Lucien and Eve, the grave injury done was not the source of the pain; it was entirely a matter of feeling upon either side, for the poet in fault, as for the sister who was in no way to blame. Things had reached the point when the slightest misunderstanding, or little quarrel, or a fresh disappointment in Lucien would end in final estrangement. Money difficulties may be arranged, but feelings are inexorable.
Next day Lucien received a copy of the local paper. He turned pale with pleasure when he saw his name at the head of one of the first “leaders” in that highly respectable sheet, which like the provincial academies that Voltaire compared to a well-bred miss, was never talked about.
“Let Franche-Comté boast of giving the light to Victor Hugo, to
Charles Nodier, and Cuvier,” ran the article, “Brittany of
producing a Chateaubriand and a Lammenais, Normandy of Casimir
Delavigne, and Touraine of the author of Éloa; Angoumois that
gave birth, in the days of Louis XIII., to our illustrious
fellow-countryman Guez, better known under the name of Balzac—our
Angoumois need no longer envy Limousin her Dupuytren, nor
Auvergne, the country of Montlosier, nor Bordeaux, birthplace of
so many great men; for we too have our poet!—The writer of the
beautiful sonnets entitled the Marguerites unites his poet’s fame
to the distinction of a prose writer, for to him we also owe the
magnificent romance of The Archer of Charles IX. Some day our
nephews will be proud to be the fellow-townsmen of Lucien Chardon,
a rival of Petrarch!!!”
(The country newspapers of those days were sown with notes of admiration, as reports of English election speeches are studded with “cheers” in brackets.)
“In spite of his brilliant success in Paris, our young poet has
not forgotten the Hôtel de Bargeton, the cradle of his triumphs;
nor the Antoumoisin aristocracy, who first applauded his poetry; nor the fact that the wife of M. le Comte du Châtelet, our
Prefect, encouraged his early footsteps in the pathway of the
Muses. He has come back among us once more! All L’Houmeau was
thrown into excitement yesterday by the appearance of our Lucien
de Rubempré. The news of his return produced a profound sensation
throughout the town. Angoulême certainly will not allow L’Houmeau
to be beforehand in doing honor to the poet who in journalism and
literature has so gloriously represented our town in Paris. Lucien
de Rubempré, a religious and Royalist poet, has braved the fury of
parties; he has come home, it is said, for repose after the
fatigue of a struggle which would try the strength of an even
greater intellectual athlete than a poet and a dreamer.
“There is some talk of restoring our great poet to the title of
the illustrious house of de Rubempré, of which his mother, Madame
Chardon, is the last survivor, and it is added that Mme. la
Comtesse du Châtelet was the first to think of this eminently
politic idea. The revival of an ancient and almost extinct family
by young talent and newly won fame is another proof that the
immortal author of the Charter still cherishes the desire
expressed by the words ‘Union and oblivion.’
“Our poet is staying with his sister, Mme. Séchard.”
Under the heading “Angoulême” followed some items of news:—
“Our Prefect, M. le Comte du Châtelet, Gentleman in Ordinary to
His Majesty, has just been appointed Extraordinary Councillor of
State.
“All the authorities called yesterday on M. le Préfèt.
“Mme. la Comtesse du Châtelet will receive on Thursdays.
“The Mayor of Escarbas, M. de Nègrepelisse, the representative of
the younger branch of the d’Espard family, and father of Mme. du
Châtelet, recently raised to the rank of a Count and Peer of
France and a Commander of the Royal Order of St. Louis, has been
nominated for the presidency of the electoral college of Angoulême
at the forthcoming elections.”
“There!” said Lucien, taking the paper to his sister. Eve read the article with attention, and returned with the sheet with a thoughtful air.