“Ah! poor little thing!”
And in the excess of his emotion, Arnoux wanted to rush off to her forthwith.
“ ’Tisn’t worth while. I am calling to see her. She is unwell.”
“All the more reason for my going.”
He quickly put on his coat again, and took up his candlestick. Frederick cursed his own stupidity, and pointed out to him that for decency’s sake he ought to remain this night with his wife. He could not leave her; it would be very nasty.
“I tell you candidly you would be doing wrong. There is no hurry over there. You will go tomorrow. Come; do this for my sake.”
Arnoux put down his candlestick, and, embracing him, said:
“You are a right good fellow!”
IX
The Friend of the Family
Then began for Frederick an existence of misery. He became the parasite of the house.
If anyone were indisposed, he called three times a day to know how the patient was, went to the piano-tuner’s, contrived to do a thousand acts of kindness; and he endured with an air of contentment Mademoiselle Marthe’s poutings and the caresses of little Eugène, who was always drawing his dirty hands over the young man’s face. He was present at dinners at which Monsieur and Madame, facing each other, did not exchange a word, unless it happened that Arnoux provoked his wife with the absurd remarks he made. When the meal was over, he would play about the room with his son, conceal himself behind the furniture, or carry the little boy on his back, walking about on all fours, like the Bearnais.10 At last, he would go out, and she would at once plunge into the eternal subject of complaint—Arnoux.
It was not his misconduct that excited her indignation, but her pride appeared to be wounded, and she did not hide her repugnance towards this man, who showed an absence of delicacy, dignity, and honour.
“Or rather, he is mad!” she said.
Frederick artfully appealed to her to confide in him. Ere long he knew all the details of her life. Her parents were people in a humble rank in life at Chartres. One day, Arnoux, while sketching on the bank of the river (at this period he believed himself to be a painter), saw her leaving the church, and made her an offer of marriage. On account of his wealth, he was unhesitatingly accepted. Besides, he was desperately in love with her. She added:
“Good heavens! he loves me still, after his fashion!”
They spent the few months immediately after their marriage in travelling through Italy.
Arnoux, in spite of his enthusiasm at the sight of the scenery and the masterpieces, did nothing but groan over the wine, and, to find some kind of amusement, organised picnics along with some English people. The profit which he had made by reselling some pictures tempted him to take up the fine arts as a commercial speculation. Then, he became infatuated about pottery. Just now other branches of commerce attracted him; and, as he had become more and more vulgarised, he contracted coarse and extravagant habits. It was not so much for his vices she had to reproach him as for his entire conduct. No change could be expected in him, and her unhappiness was irreparable.
Frederick declared that his own life in the same way was a failure.
He was still a young man, however. Why should he despair? And she gave him good advice: “Work! and marry!” He answered her with bitter smiles; for in place of giving utterance to the real cause of his grief, he pretended that it was of a different character, a sublime feeling, and he assumed the part of an Antony to some extent, the man accursed by fate—language which did not, however, change very materially the complexion of his thoughts.
For certain men action becomes more difficult as desire becomes stronger. They are embarrassed by self-distrust, and terrified by the fear of making themselves disliked. Besides, deep attachments resemble virtuous women: they are afraid of being discovered, and pass through life with downcast eyes.
Though he was now better acquainted with Madame Arnoux (for that very reason perhaps), he was still more fainthearted than before. Each morning he swore in his own mind that he would take a bold course. He was prevented from doing so by an unconquerable feeling of bashfulness; and he had no example to guide him, inasmuch as she was different from other women. From the force of his dreams, he had placed her outside the ordinary pale of humanity. At her side he felt himself of less importance in the world than the sprigs of silk that escaped from her scissors.
Then he thought of some monstrous and absurd devices, such as surprises at night, with narcotics and false keys—anything appearing easier to him than to face her disdain.
Besides, the children, the two servant-maids, and the relative position of the rooms caused insurmountable obstacles. So then he made up his mind to possess her himself alone, and to bring her to live with him far away in the depths of some solitude. He even asked himself what lake would be blue enough, what seashore would be delightful enough for her, whether it would be in Spain, Switzerland, or the East; and expressly fixing on days when she seemed more irritated than usual, he told her that it would be necessary for her to leave the house, to find out some ground to justify such a step, and that he saw no way out of it but a separation. However, for the sake of the children whom she loved, she would never resort to such an extreme course. So much virtue served to increase his respect for her.
He spent each afternoon in recalling the visit he had paid the night before, and in longing for the evening to come in order that he might call again. When he
