Eugène Sue

“ Just now, our friend," added Frederick, turning to David, with an ineffable smile of tenderness and gratitude, "yes, our friend has grafted this envy with brave emulation, generous ambition, and you shall see the fruits of it, mother; you shall see that by dint of courage and labour, I will make your and my name illustrious,—this humble name whose obscurity is galling to me. Oh, glory! renown! my mother, what a brilliant future! To enable you to say with joy, with pride, 'This is my son!'"
"My child, oh, my beloved child!" exclaimed Marie, in a transport of joy. ”

“ Unquestionably, when one is deprived of sight, the ideas that beset us form themselves into images in the brain. Yet sometimes, by dint of viewing them with resigned terror, it would appear that these menacing spectres have pity on me,—they grow dim—fade away—vanish. Then I feel myself awakened from my horrid dream, but so weak—cast down—prostrated—that—would you believe it? ah, how you will laugh, Chouette!—that I weep! Do you hear? I weep! You don't laugh? Laugh! Laugh! Laugh, I say!"
The Chouette gave a dull and stifled groan.
"Louder," said Tortillard; "can't hear." ”

“ Still, we will not despair."
"But, Olivier, if I should be obliged to give her up, I don't know how I could bear it!" exclaimed Gerald, hoarsely. "I should kill myself, I believe!"
"Gerald! Gerald!"
"Yes, I admit it. I love her to distraction. I never believed before that even the most impassioned love could attain such a degree of intensity. My love is a consuming fever,—a fixed idea that absorbs me utterly. You know Herminie—"
"Yes, and I know that a more noble and beautiful creature never lived."
"Olivier, I am the most miserable of men!" exclaimed Gerald, burying his face in his hands. ”

“ I am unworthy that holy name; I should die with shame before my child, if I had not died with shame before its father, in making him the avowal of the past."
"What does she say, gracious heaven!" cried Rudolph, stunned by the abrupt change.
"I a mother!" resumed Fleur-de-Marie, with bitter despair, "I respected, I blessed by an innocent and pure child, I, formerly the object of everybody's scorn, I profane thus the sacred name of mother? Oh, never! miserable thing that I was to allow myself to be drawn away to an unworthy hope!"
"My daughter, listen to me, in pity." ”

“ But our enemies have said: 'A man like Prince Djalma does not wait for infamy—he kills himself. A woman like Adrienne de Cardoville does not survive the disgrace or death of her lover—she prefers to die.'"
"Therefore a frightful death awaits them both," said the black-robed men; "and that immense inheritance, which we covet—'"
"And for you—so young, so beautiful so innocent—death is frightful, and these monsters triumph!" cried Djalma. "They have spoken the truth!"
"They have lied!" answered Adrienne. "Our death shall be celestial. This poison is slow—and I adore you, my Djalma!" ”

“ Do I not deserve pity? You will entreat Jacques to forgive me; for if driven by misery—finding no work—I was forced to this—not for the sake of any luxury—you see the rags I wear—but to get bread and shelter for my poor, sick sister—dying, and even more miserable than myself—would you not have pity upon me? Do you think one finds pleasure in one's infamy?" cried the unfortunate, with a burst of frightful laughter; then she added, in a low voice, and with a shudder, "Oh, if you knew, Jacques! it is so infamous, so horrible, that I preferred death to falling so low a second time. ”

“ To live an obscure life and ignored, but devote my night-watches and my days, my intelligence, my knowledge of the past, which enables me to understand the present, and at times to peer into the future—in short, to devote all the energies of my soul and of my mind to rendering my son brave, wise, enlightened, worthy at all points of guiding the free men who chose him their chief. And then, Hesus is my witness, proud as a Gallic woman, happy as a mother of having given birth to such a man, I would have enjoyed his glory and my country's prosperity in the seclusion of my humble home. ”

“ I will obey!' said I within myself. 'Gabriel is like my own child; but he is also a priest, a martyr—almost a saint. If any one in the world imitates the charity of our blessed Saviour, it is surely he. When I leave this prison, I will go and consult him and he will clear up my doubts.'"
"You are right, dear mother," cried Agricola; "it was a thought from heaven. Gabriel is an angel of purity, courage, nobleness—the type of the true and good priest!"
"Ah, poor wife!" said Dagobert, with bitterness; "if you had never had any confessor but Gabriel!" ”

“ Who so well and nobly understand the duty of self-denial and self-sacrifice? When but a short time since you bewailed your child's death with such heartfelt agony, had any one said to you, 'Utter the dearest wish of your soul and it shall be accomplished,' you would have cried, 'My child—my daughter! Restore her to me in life and health!' This unexpected blessing is granted you, your daughter is given to your longing arms, and yet you style yourself miserable! Ah, my lord, let not Fleur-de-Marie hear you, I beseech you! ”

“ Jesus of Nazareth! Jesus the Messiah! Jesus the prophet? Jesus, the Savior of the world!' said Caiphus: 'how was it you did not prophesy your own fate? Why did you not commence by saving yourself, you who were to save the world?'
'You call yourself the son of God, O Nazarene the divine!' added the banker Jonas: 'we will believe in your celestial power if you descend from your cross. We only ask of you this little prodigy! Come, son of God, descend! descend then! Ah! you prefer resting nailed on that beam, like a bird of night at a barn-door? ”

“ One more question, Sophie, dear. In the period of your early love, you and you husband were, I am certain of it, very anxious to please each other. Never could a toilet be fresh or pretty enough. You heightened by painstaking and agreeableness every charm you possessed; indeed, your only thought was to please your husband, to captivate him always, and to keep him always in love. Your Charles, no doubt, preferred some delicate perfume, and your beautiful hair, your garments, exhaled that sweet odour, which, in time of absence, materialises, so to speak, the memory of a beloved woman. ”

“ Any return to her husband is henceforward impossible. Young, handsome, courted, with a disposition sympathising with all who suffer, what dangers, what shoals and quicksands, lie before her! For M. d'Harville, what anguish and what deep chagrin! At the same time jealous of and in love with his wife, who cannot subdue the disgust and fright which he excited in her on their nuptials,—what a lot is his!"
Clémence, with her forehead hidden by her hands, her eyes brimful of tears, and her cheek reddened by embarrassment, avoided Rodolph's look, such pain had the disclosure cost her. ”

“ I smile, sadly when I read in my journal, which I have just been looking over, these words repeated so often:
"Never was there greater sorrow—"
"Never was there more happiness—"
"Never can I forget—"
And now new joys have obliterated those sorrows; new troubles have faded those joys. Thus day after day, forgetfulness, that dark, cold tide, creeps up higher, higher, and swallows up in the black abyss of the past the souvenirs that time has discoloured.
My mother! my father! Hélène! Marguerite! Catherine! you to whom I owe so much sorrow and so much felicity! ”

“ But then, again, I thought of your letter of yesterday—and my anger is all gone."
"Then the sad time of fear and suspicion is over—suspicion, that made me doubt of your sentiments, and you of mine. Oh, yes! far removed from us be that fatal past!" cried Adrienne de Cardoville, with deep joy..
Then, as if she had relieved her heart from the last thought of sadness, she continued: "The future is all your own—the radiant future, without cloud or obstacle, pure in the immensity of its horizon, and extending beyond the reach of sight!" ”

“ A year! it passes so quickly when one loves," continued she, casting the glance of a perfect assassin at him.
"A year, madame," cried the chevalier. But then, believing that the words of Blue Beard hid perhaps a test, that she wished possibly to judge of his courage, he added in a chivalrous tone, "Ah, well, so be it, madame; whether my happiness last but a year, a day, an hour, a minute—it matters not; I will brave all, if only I can say that I have been fortunate enough to obtain your hand."
"You are a true knight," said the widow, charmed. ”

“ And my father, my poor father!” cried Reine, bursting into tears.
This sincere sorrow tore the heart of Erebus; he felt the whole extent of his crime.
“Oh! for pity—for pity’s sake, do not weep so!” cried he, his own eyes full of tears. “I see my wrongs now. Tell me, what do you wish me to do to expiate them? I will do it,—command me,’—my life is yours.” “Then send me back to my father, this very instant. My father, my father! if he knows of this capture, what a terrible blow for him! It is a crime for which you will always have to reproach yourself.” ”

“ Do you desire more than gold? Do you desire a friend, to console you for the sorrows that made you wicked, and to teach you to be good? Though a king’s son, I will be that friend—in spite of the evil—ay, because of the evil you have done me. Yes; I will be your sincere friend, and it shall be my delight to say to myself: ‘The day on which I learned that my angel loved me, my happiness was great indeed—for, in the morning, I had an implacable enemy, and, ere night, his hatred was changed to friendship.’ Believe me, Faringhea, misery makes crime, but happiness produces virtue. ”

“ Rodolph held out his hand to this ill-used savage of civilisation, whom misery had been unable wholly to corrupt. The Chourineur looked at his host in astonishment,—almost with respect; he hardly dared to touch the hand tendered to him. He felt impressed with some vague idea that there was a wide abyss between Rodolph and himself.
"'Tis well," said Rodolph to him, "you have heart and honour."
"Heart? honour? what, I? Come, now, don't chaff me," he replied, with surprise.
"To suffer misery and hunger rather than steal, is to have heart and honour," said Rodolph, gravely. ”

“ There, too, would be Adrienne de Cardoville, the type of elegance, grace, and beauty, the priestess of the senses, which she deifies by refining and cultivating them. I need not tell you of her wit and audacity; you know them but too well. No one could be more dangerous to us than this creature, a patrician in blood, a plebeian in heart, a poet in imagination. Then, too, there would be Prince Djalma, chivalrous, bold, ready for adventure, knowing nothing of civilized life, implacable in his hate as in his affection, a terrible instrument for whoever can make use of him. ”

“ In fact, my daughter is dead to us—dead: do you hear, Clémence, from this day you must begin to wear mourning for her in your heart—in your heart, so filled with maternal affection for her. Is our child buried under the marble of a tomb or under the vaults of a cloister—for us, what is the difference? From this day, do you understand, Clémence, we must regard her as dead. Besides, she is so very weak; her health, impaired by so much sorrow, by so many shocks, is so feeble. Why not that other death, still more complete? Fate is not weary. ”

“ Herminie started as if she had been detected in some grievous crime, and blushed deeply as she timidly replied:
"Pardon me, madame; I—I—"
"Oh, look at it, look at it all you please," exclaimed Madame de Beaumesnil, hastily. "Though she is nearly grown now, and has changed very much in some respects, she still retains that same sweet, ingenuous expression. She is not nearly as handsome as you are," said the poor mother, with secret pride, and well pleased to be able to thus unite her two daughters in the same comparison, "but Ernestine's face, like yours, possesses a wonderful charm." ”

“ Listen, Victorin! Each legion of cavalry, each cohort of infantry, chose its oldest soldier. They are the comrades who accompany me yonder. Like myself, they have known you from the day of your birth; like myself they have seen you as a baby in the arms of Victoria, the Mother of the Camps, the august mother of the soldiers. We long have loved you out of love both for her and yourself. We acclaimed you our general and one of the two Chiefs of Gaul. We, veterans in war, have loved you as our son while we obeyed you as our father. ”

“ Ah, if you knew how unjust and hateful grief can make a man! If you knew what it was to say, 'I love her to distraction, I idolise her, there is not a charm of her mind, her soul, or her person that I do not appreciate and admire, she is for me all in all,—and yet another—' ah, can you not see how such an idea is enough to set one wild, to make a man wish to die? Think of it, and you will have pity on me,—you will excuse because you will understand my rages, which I scarcely am ashamed of because I was wild from suffering. ”

“ Rodin, Father d'Aigrigny, Gabriel, and the notary, were all under the influence of such complete surprise, that not one of them even remarked how strange it was to hear the sound of this clock.
"Noon!" cried Rodin, as, by an involuntary movement, he hastily placed his two hands upon the casket, as if to take possession of it.
"At last!" cried Father d'Aigrigny, with an expression of joy, triumph transport, which it is impossible to describe. Then he added, as he threw himself into Gabriel's arms, whom he embraced warmly: "Oh, my dear son! how the poor will bless you! ”

“ Marie called David by his baptismal name.
"Farewell!" repeated he, with a heartrending sob "you wish to say farewell!"
"But I cannot die without telling you how much I have loved you. You knew it, did you not, my friend?"
"And you say that you are going to die! No, no! Marie, the power of my love will give new life to you!" cried David, under a sort of aberration of mind. "Die! Oh, why will you die? We love each other so much." ”

“ Doubtless, I live differently from others; think differently from others; am shocked by things that do not offend others; but what does all this prove? Only that I am different from others. Have I a bad heart? Am I envious or selfish? My ideas are singular, I knew—yes, I confess it—but then, M. Baleinier, is not their tendency good, generous, noble!—Oh!” cried Adrienne’s supplicating voice, while her tears flowed abundantly, “I have never in my life done one malicious action; my worst errors have arisen from excess of generosity. Is it madness to wish to see everybody about one too happy? ”

“ The tone of his regret was so sincere, his humility so gentle and full of simplicity, that Adrienne, also moved to tears, answered him with an effusion of serious tenderness, "My friend, we are both at the supreme point of happiness. Our future felicity appears to have no limits, and yet, though derived from different sources, sad reflections have come to both of us. It is, you see, that there are some sorts of happiness, which make you dizzy with their own immensity. For a moment, the heart, the mind, the soul, are incapable of containing so much bliss; it overflows and drowns us. ”

“ The existence I scorn would be the joy and pride of most men, and yet, from I know not what caprice, which thus insults the ready-made happiness that fate has bestowed upon me, I prefer to wander thus on foot, dragging my incurable sadness through these muddy streets.
A woman who was both beautiful and young, noble and clever, who united in herself all that could flatter a man's vanity, has deigned to ravish me with the most perfect love, and, after two months of ideal bliss, without reason or shame, I have insanely and brutally trampled this love under my feet with anger and scorn! ”

“ I thought, 'Until now I have had no luck in my efforts to amuse or console him; my dainties take away his appetite, my gayety makes him weep; this time at least'—oh dear me! what is the matter?" cried Rigolette, on seeing Germain conceal his face in his hands. "There, tell me now if this is not cruel!" cried she; "no matter what I say or what I do, you remain still unhappy; it is to be too wicked, and by far too egotistical also. One would say there was no one but you who suffered."
"Alas, what misery is mine!" cried Germain, with, despair. "You love me, when I am no longer worthy of you!" ”

“ And, by the snows of Germany we shall plunder you of your old Gaul! Our army is four times as large as yours; you have your palaces, your cities, your wealth, your women, your sun, your fertile earth to defend—we have nothing to defend and everything to gain. We camp in our huts and sleep on the backs of our horses; our only wealth is our sword; we have nothing to lose, everything to gain. And we will gain everything, and we will subjugate your race, you Gallic dog! It will be the end of Gaul! ”

“ Ah, our thoughtlessness must have pained you deeply, my dear Herminie."
"No, no, Ernestine," said the poor duchess, drying her eyes, "on the contrary, your happiness has been a great consolation to me. Has it not enabled me to forget my own grief and despair all the morning?"
"Despair? But why do you say that? M. de Senneterre is worthy of you," cried Ernestine, thoughtlessly, remembering only her conversation with the young duke the evening before. "He loves you as you deserve to be loved, I know it." ”

“ Overwhelmed with grief and confusion, Mother Bunch had not dared to look on Agricola; but his words expressed so deep a conviction, the tones of his voice revealed so tender an emotion, that the poor creature felt her shame gradually diminish, particularly when Agricola added, with rising animation: “Be satisfied, my sweet, my noble Magdalen; I will be worthy of this love. Believe me, it shall yet cause you as much happiness as it has occasioned tears. Why should this love be a motive for estrangement, confusion, fear? For what is love, in the sense in which it is held by your generous heart? ”

“ Then, also, the tears caused by this suffering flow abundantly, and without any trouble; the soul is disposed to the most touching emotions of pity, or is full of commiseration and of love; in a word, all misfortunes are the cherished and respected sisters of our misfortune.
On the contrary, if you suffer for an unworthy cause, your heart is drowned in hatred; your concentrated grief resembles dumb fury which shame bridles with a sharp bit that vanity conceals; envy and hatred gnaw you, but your eyes are dry, and the unhappiness of others can alone draw from you a sad and mournful smile. ”

“ Oh, yes! the prince is without pity. Better a thousand times for Jacques Ferrand to have placed his head on the block; better a thousand times the wheel, fire, the molten lead which burns and sinks into the flesh, than the torments this wretch endures. As I see him suffer, I begin to be alarmed for my own fate. What will they do with me—what is reserved for me, the accomplice of Jacques? To be his jailer will not suffice for the vengeance of the prince. He has not saved me from the scaffold to let me live. Perhaps an eternal prison awaits me in Germany. Better that than death. ”

“ After a moment’s silence, and as if struggling with a painful feeling of hesitation, Faringhea threw himself at the feet of Djalma, and murmured in a weak, despairing, almost supplicating voice: “I am very miserable. Pity me, my good lord!”
The tone was so touching, the grief under which the half-breed suffered seemed to give to his features, generally fixed and hard as bronze, such a heart-rending expression, that Djalma was deeply affected, and, bending to raise him from the ground, said to him, in a kindly voice: “Speak to me! Confidence appeases the torments of the heart. ”