5 The site of a summer residence of the English royal family, known for its gardens along the Thames.
The Red and the Black
Chapter Twenty-Five: The Mistress of Virtue But if I sought pleasure with such prudence and care, for me it wouldn't be pleasure. —Lope De Vega1 He'd barely gotten back to Paris, presented his dispatches to Monsieur de La Mole, who appeared greatly distressed by them, and left the marquis in his office, than our hero went hurrying to see Count Altamira. In addition to having being sentenced to death, this handsome foreigner was also a man of great sobriety, and lucky enough to be deeply devout. These two assets, and more than anything else his high birth, completely suited Madame de Fervaques, who saw a good deal of him. Julien confessed, most soberly, that he was deeply in love with the lady. "Hers is the purest kind of virtue, and the noblest," Altamira responded, "though rather Jesuitical and a bit grandiloquent. There are days when I understand each and every word she says, but I don't understand a single sentence in its entirety. She often makes me think I don't understand French as well as they say I do. Knowing her will bring your name forward; she'll give you weight in the world. But first, let's go see Bustos," the count added. "He's tried paying court to her." Don Diego Bustos let them explain the whole affair at some length, saying nothing, like a lawyer in consultation. He had a monk's fat face, with a thick black mustache, and unmatchable sobriety—in other words, just like a perfect Italian conspirator. "I understand," he finally told Julien. "Has Madame de Fervaques had lovers, or hasn't she? Accordingly, is there any hope of your succeeding? That is the question. This is a way of telling you that, as for myself, I failed. Now that I'm no longer angry, I try to rationalize it like this: she's often irritable, and as I'll explain in a moment, she can be quite spiteful. "I don't think her bilious temper is a sign of high intelligence, which can put a passionate varnish on everything. I think, on the contrary, she owes her unusual beauty, and her fresh complexion, to a phlegmatic, calm Dutch temperament." Julien grew impatient with the Spaniard's slow, stolid speech. From time to time, in spite of himself, small monosyllabic sounds escaped him. "Do you wish to hear me?" Don Diego Bustos said to him solemnly. "Forgive me this furia francese, this French frenzy. I am all ears," said Julien. "Madame de Fervaques, as I have said, is strongly inclined to hatred. She pursues, unpityingly, people she's never seen—lawyers, and poor devils like Charles Collé,2 literary men who've written songs—you know. "J'ai la marotte D'aimer Marote,etc. "I'm in the habit Of loving Rabbit..."
And then Julien had to listen, as Don Diego went through the entire song. The Spanish love to sing in French. This divine song had never been heard with such impatience. And when he'd finished: "Madame de Fervaques," said Don Diego, "had the author of another song dismissed from his post—it begins 'Un jour l'amour au cabaret,' 'One day a lover was half-seas over.'"