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liking themselves for those whose soul is half feminine。 Their own
superiority consists in making men believe they are their inferiors in
love； therefore they will readily leave a lover if he is inexperienced
enough to rob them of those fears with which they seek to deck
themselves； those delightful tortures of feigned jealousy； those
troubles of hope betrayed； those futile expectations；in short； the
whole procession of their feminine miseries。 They hold Sir Charles
Grandison in horror。 What can be more contrary to their nature than a
tranquil； perfect love？ They want emotions； happiness without storms
is not happiness to them。 Women with souls that are strong enough to
bring infinitude into love are angelic exceptions； they are among
women what noble geniuses are among men。 Their great passions are rare
as masterpieces。 Below the level of such love come compromises；
conventions； passing and contemptible irritations； as in all things
petty and perishable。
Amid the hidden disasters of his heart； and while he was still seeking
the woman who could comprehend him （a search which； let us remark in
passing； is one of the amorous follies of our epoch）； Auguste met； in
the rank of society that was farthest from his own； in the secondary
sphere of money； where banking holds the first place； a perfect being；
one of those women who have I know not what about them that is saintly
and sacred；women who inspire such reverence that love has need of
the help of a long familiarity to declare itself。
Auguste then gave himself up wholly to the delights of the deepest and
most moving of passions； to a love that was purely adoring。
Innumerable repressed desires there were； shadows of passion so vague
yet so profound； so fugitive and yet so actual； that one scarcely
knows to what we may compare them。 They are like perfumes； or clouds；
or rays of the sun； or shadows； or whatever there is in nature that
shines for a moment and disappears； that springs to life and dies；
leaving in the heart long echoes of emotion。 When the soul is young
enough to nurture melancholy and far…off hope； to find in woman more
than a woman； is it not the greatest happiness that can befall a man
when he loves enough to feel more joy in touching a gloved hand； or a
lock of hair； in listening to a word； in casting a single look； than
in all the ardor of possession given by happy love？ Thus it is that
rejected persons； those rebuffed by fate； the ugly and unfortunate；
lovers unrevealed； women and timid men； alone know the treasures
contained in the voice of the beloved。 Taking their source and their
element from the soul itself； the vibrations of the air； charged with
passion； put our hearts so powerfully into communion； carrying thought
between them so lucidly； and being； above all； so incapable of
falsehood； that a single inflection of a voice is often a revelation。
What enchantments the intonations of a tender voice can bestow upon
the heart of a poet！ What ideas they awaken！ What freshness they shed
there！ Love is in the voice before the glance avows it。 Auguste； poet
after the manner of lovers （there are poets who feel； and poets who
express； the first are the happiest）； Auguste had tasted all these
early joys； so vast； so fecund。 SHE possessed the most winning organ
that the most artful woman of the world could have desired in order to
deceive at her ease； /she/ had that silvery voice which is soft to the
ear； and ringing only for the heart which it stirs and troubles；
caresses and subjugates。
And this woman went by night to the rue Soly through the rue Pagevin！
and her furtive apparition in an infamous house had just destroyed the
grandest of passions！ The vidame's logic triumphed。
〃If she is betraying her husband we will avenge ourselves；〃 said
Auguste。
There was still faith in that 〃if。〃 The philosophic doubt of Descartes
is a politeness with which we should always honor virtue。 Ten o'clock
sounded。 The Baron de Maulincour remembered that this woman was going
to a ball that evening at a house to which he had access。 He dressed；
went there； and searched for her through all the salons。 The mistress
of the house； Madame de Nucingen； seeing him thus occupied； said：
〃You are looking for Madame Jules； but she has not yet come。〃
〃Good evening； dear；〃 said a voice。
Auguste and Madame de Nucingen turned round。 Madame Jules had arrived；
dressed in white； looking simple and noble； wearing in her hair the
marabouts the young baron had seen her choose in the flower…shop。 That
voice of love now pierced his heart。 Had he won the slightest right to
be jealous of her he would have petrified her then and there by saying
the words； 〃Rue Soly！〃 But if he； an alien to her life； had said those
words in her ear a thousand times； Madame Jules would have asked him
in astonishment what he meant。 He looked at her stupidly。
For those sarcastic persons who scoff at all things it may be a great
amusement to detect the secret of a woman； to know that her chastity
is a lie； that her calm face hides some anxious thought； that under
that pure brow is a dreadful drama。 But there are other souls to whom
the sight is saddening； and many of those who laugh in public； when
withdrawn into themselves and alone with their conscience； curse the
world while they despise the woman。 Such was the case with Auguste de
Maulincour； as he stood there in presence of Madame Jules。 Singular
situation！ There was no other relation between them than that which
social life establishes between persons who exchange a few words seven
or eight times in the course of a winter； and yet he was calling her
to account on behalf of a happiness unknown to her； he was judging
her； without letting her know of his accusation。
Many young men find themselves thus in despair at having broken
forever with a woman adored in secret； condemned and despised in
secret。 There are many hidden monologues told to the walls of some
solitary lodging； storms roused and calmed without ever leaving the
depths of hearts； amazing scenes of the moral world； for which a
painter is wanted。 Madame Jules sat down； leaving her husband to make
a turn around the salon。 After she was seated she seemed uneasy； and；
while talking with her neighbor； she kept a furtive eye on Monsieur
Jules Desmarets； her husband； a broker chiefly employed by the Baron
de Nucingen。 The following is the history of their home life。
Monsieur Desmarets was； five years before his marriage； in a broker's
office； with no other means than the meagre salary of a clerk。 But he
was a man to whom misfortune had early taught the truths of life； and
he followed the strait path with the tenacity of an insect making for
its nest； he was one of those dogged young men who feign death before
an obstacle and wear out everybody's patience with their own beetle…
like perseverance。 Thus； young as he was； he had all the republican
virtue of poor peoples； he was sober； saving of his time； an enemy to
pleasure。 He waited。 Nature had given him the immense advantage of an
agreeable exterior。 His calm； pure brow； the shape of his placid； but
expressive face； his simple manners；all revealed in hi