the purse-第1章

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The　Purse



by　Honore　de　Balzac　



Translated　by　Clara　Bell








To　Sofka





　　〃Have　you　observed；　mademoiselle；　that　the　painters　and

　　sculptors　of　the　Middle　Ages；　when　they　placed　two　figures　in

　　adoration；　one　on　each　side　of　a　fair　Saint；　never　failed　to

　　give　them　a　family　likeness？　When　you　here　see　your　name　among

　　those　that　are　dear　to　me；　and　under　whose　auspices　I　place　my

　　works；　remember　that　touching　harmony；　and　you　will　see　in

　　this　not　so　much　an　act　of　homage　as　an　expression　of　the

　　brotherly　affection　of　your　devoted　servant；

　　〃DE　BALZAC。〃









For　souls　to　whom　effusiveness　is　easy　there　is　a　delicious　hour

that　falls　when　it　is　not　yet　night；　but　is　no　longer　day；　the

twilight　gleam　throws　softened　lights　or　tricksy　reflections　on

every　object；　and　favors　a　dreamy　mood　which　vaguely　weds　itself

to　the　play　of　light　and　shade。　The　silence　which　generally

prevails　at　that　time　makes　it　particularly　dear　to　artists；　who

grow　contemplative；　stand　a　few　paces　back　from　the　pictures　on

which　they　can　no　longer　work；　and　pass　judgement　on　them；　rapt

by　the　subject　whose　most　recondite　meaning　then　flashes　on　the

inner　eye　of　genius。　He　who　has　never　stood　pensive　by　a　friend's

side　in　such　an　hour　of　poetic　dreaming　can　hardly　understand　its

inexpressible　soothingness。　Favored　by　the　clear…obscure；　the

material　skill　employed　by　art　to　produce　illusion　entirely

disappears。　If　the　work　is　a　picture；　the　figures　represented

seem　to　speak　and　walk；　the　shade　is　shadow；　the　light　is　day；

the　flesh　lives；　eyes　move；　blood　flows　in　their　veins；　and

stuffs　have　a　changing　sheen。　Imagination　helps　the　realism　of

every　detail；　and　only　sees　the　beauties　of　the　work。　At　that

hour　illusion　reigns　despotically；　perhaps　it　wakes　at　nightfall！

Is　not　illusion　a　sort　of　night　to　the　mind；　which　we　people　with

dreams？　Illusion　then　unfolds　its　wings；　it　bears　the　soul　aloft

to　the　world　of　fancies；　a　world　full　of　voluptuous　imaginings；

where　the　artist　forgets　the　real　world；　yesterday　and　the

morrow；　the　futureeverything　down　to　its　miseries；　the　good　and

the　evil　alike。



At　this　magic　hour　a　young　painter；　a　man　of　talent；　who　saw　in

art　nothing　but　Art　itself；　was　perched　on　a　step…ladder　which

helped　him　to　work　at　a　large　high　painting；　now　nearly　finished。

Criticising　himself；　honestly　admiring　himself；　floating　on　the

current　of　his　thoughts；　he　then　lost　himself　in　one　of　those

meditative　moods　which　ravish　and　elevate　the　soul；　soothe　it；

and　comfort　it。　His　reverie　had　no　doubt　lasted　a　long　time。

Night　fell。　Whether　he　meant　to　come　down　from　his　perch；　or

whether　he　made　some　ill…judged　movement；　believing　himself　to　be

on　the　floorthe　event　did　not　allow　of　his　remembering　exactly

the　cause　of　his　accidenthe　fell；　his　head　struck　a　footstool；

he　lost　consciousness　and　lay　motionless　during　a　space　of　time

of　which　he　knew　not　the　length。



A　sweet　voice　roused　him　from　the　stunned　condition　into　which　he

had　sunk。　When　he　opened　his　eyes　the　flash　of　a　bright　light

made　him　close　them　again　immediately；　but　through　the　mist　that

veiled　his　senses　he　heard　the　whispering　of　two　women；　and　felt

two　young；　two　timid　hands　on　which　his　head　was　resting。　He　soon

recovered　consciousness；　and　by　the　light　of　an　old…fashioned

Argand　lamp　he　could　make　out　the　most　charming　girl's　face　he

had　ever　seen；　one　of　those　heads　which　are　often　supposed　to　be

a　freak　of　the　brush；　but　which　to　him　suddenly　realized　the

theories　of　the　ideal　beauty　which　every　artist　creates　for

himself　and　whence　his　art　proceeds。　The　features　of　the　unknown

belonged；　so　to　say；　to　the　refined　and　delicate　type　of

Prudhon's　school；　but　had　also　the　poetic　sentiment　which　Girodet

gave　to　the　inventions　of　his　phantasy。　The　freshness　of　the

temples；　the　regular　arch　of　the　eyebrows；　the　purity　of　outline；

the　virginal　innocence　so　plainly　stamped　on　every　feature　of　her

countenance；　made　the　girl　a　perfect　creature。　Her　figure　was

slight　and　graceful；　and　frail　in　form。　Her　dress；　though　simple

and　neat；　revealed　neither　wealth　nor　penury。



As　he　recovered　his　senses；　the　painter　gave　expression　to　his

admiration　by　a　look　of　surprise；　and　stammered　some　confused

thanks。　He　found　a　handkerchief　pressed　to　his　forehead；　and

above　the　smell　peculiar　to　a　studio；　he　recognized　the　strong

odor　of　ether；　applied　no　doubt　to　revive　him　from　his　fainting

fit。　Finally　he　saw　an　old　woman；　looking　like　a　marquise　of　the

old　school；　who　held　the　lamp　and　was　advising　the　young　girl。



〃Monsieur；〃　said　the　younger　woman　in　reply　to　one　of　the

questions　put　by　the　painter　during　the　few　minutes　when　he　was

still　under　the　influence　of　the　vagueness　that　the　shock　had

produced　in　his　ideas；　〃my　mother　and　I　heard　the　noise　of　your

fall　on　the　floor；　and　we　fancied　we　heard　a　groan。　The　silence

following　on　the　crash　alarmed　us；　and　we　hurried　up。　Finding　the

key　in　the　latch；　we　happily　took　the　liberty　of　entering；　and　we

found　you　lying　motionless　on　the　ground。　My　mother　went　to　fetch

what　was　needed　to　bathe　your　head　and　revive　you。　You　have　cut

your　foreheadthere。　Do　you　feel　it？〃



〃Yes；　I　do　now；〃　he　replied。



〃Oh；　it　will　be　nothing；〃　said　the　old　mother。　〃Happily　your　head

rested　against　this　lay…figure。〃



〃I　feel　infinitely　better；〃　replied　the　painter。　〃I　need　nothing

further　but　a　hackney　cab　to　take　me　home。　The　porter's　wife　will

go　for　one。〃



He　tried　to　repeat　his　thanks　to　the　two　strangers；　but　at　each

sentence　the　elder　lady　interrupted　him；　saying；　〃Tomorrow；

monsieur；　pray　be　careful　to　put　on　leeches；　or　to　be　bled；　and

drink　a　few　cups　of　something　healing。　A　fall　may　be　dangerous。〃



The　young　girl　stole　a　look　at　the　painter　and　at　the　pictures　in

the　studio。　Her　expression　and　her　glances　revealed　perfect

propriety；　her　curiosity　seemed　rather　absence　of　mind；　and　her

eyes　seemed　to　speak　the　interest　which　women　feel；　with　the　most

engaging　spontaneity；　in　everything　which　causes　us　suffering。

The　two　strangers　seemed　to　forget　the　painter's　works　in　the

painter's　mishap。　When　he　had　reassured　them　as　to　his　condition

they　left；　looking　at　him　with　an　anxiety　that　was　equally　free

from　insistence　and　from　familiarity；　without　asking　any

indiscreet　questions；　or　trying　to　incite　him　to　any　wish　to

visit　them。　Their　proceedings　all　bore　the　hall…mark　of　natural

refinement　and　good　taste。　Their　noble　and　simple　manners　at

first　made　no　great　impression　on　the　painter；　but　subsequently；

as　he　recalled　all　the　details　of　the　incident；　he　was　greatly

struck　by　them。



When　they　reached　the　floor　beneath　that　occupied　by　the

painter's　studio；　the　old　lady　gently　observed；　〃Adelaide；　you

left　the　door　open。〃



〃That　was　to　come　to　my　assistance；〃　said　the　painter；　with　a

grateful　smile。



〃You　came　down　just　now；　mother；〃　replied　the　young　girl；　with　a

blush。



〃Would　you　like　us　to　accompany　you　all　the　way　downstairs？〃

asked　the　mother。　〃The　stairs　are　dark。〃



〃No；　thank　you；　indeed；　madame；　I　am　much　better。〃



〃Hold　tightly　by　the　rail。〃



The　two　women　remained　on　the　landing　to　light　the　young　man；

listening　to　the　sound　of　his　steps。







In　order　to　set　forth　clearly　all　the　exciting　and　unexpected

interest　this　scene　might　have　for　the　young　painter；　it　must　be

told　that　he　had　only　a　few　days　since　established　his　studio　in

the　attics　of　this　house；　situated　in　the　darkest　and；　therefore；

the　most　muddy　part　of　the　Rue　de　Suresnes；　almost　opposite　the

Church　of　the　Madeleine；　and　quite　close　to　his　rooms　in　the　Rue

des　Champs…Elysees。　The　fame　his　talent　had　won　him　having　made

him　one　of　the　artists　most　dear　to　his　country；　he　was　beginning

to　feel　free　from　want；　and　to　use　his　own　expression；　was

enjoying　his　last　privations。　Instead　of　going　to　his　work