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Updated: July 21, 2025
D'Arthez believed his angel was in tears; he rushed to her side, took her round the waist, and pressed her to his heart. "No, no, leave me!" she murmured in a feeble voice. "I have too many doubts to be good for anything. To reconcile me with life is a task beyond the powers of any man." "Diane! I will love you for your whole lost life." "No; don't speak to me thus," she answered.
These conversations, however, led away from Diane's object, and she tried to get back to the region of confidences from which d'Arthez had prudently retired after her coquettish rebuff; but it was not as easy as she expected to bring back a man of his nature who had once been startled away.
"If so, come and dine with me a few days hence, and I'll serve up d'Arthez. Our man of genius is by nature, it seems, a savage; he fears women, and has never loved! Make your plans on that. He is all intellect, and so simple that he'll mislead you into feeling no distrust. But his penetration, which is wholly retrospective, acts later, and frustrates calculation.
The good advice of d'Arthez could not prevail against the allurements of ambition, and his debts went on growing like a snowball. Still he was beginning to come into notice when I happened to meet him at Mme. d'Espard's. At first sight he inspired me, unconsciously to himself, with the most vivid sympathy. How did it come about that this virgin heart has been left for me?
With a subtlety which few women would have dreamed of, Diane, to the great amazement of the marquise, had brought her son with her. After a moment's reflection, Madame d'Espard pressed the princess's hand, with a look of intelligence that seemed to say: "I understand you! By making d'Arthez accept all the difficulties at once you will not have to conquer them later." Rastignac brought d'Arthez.
Hence it is impossible to honor too highly men whose character stands as high as their talent men like d'Arthez, who know how to walk surefooted across the reefs of literary life.
The mother thought only of her son; she herself counted for nothing; sustained by love, she was unaware of her sufferings. D'Arthez, Michel Chrestien, Fulgence Ridal, Pierre Grassou, and Bianchon often kept Joseph company, and she heard them talking art in a low voice in a corner of her room.
None but a monster would have been capable of imagining hypocrisy in the graceful undulation of the neck with which the princess again lifted her charming head, to look once more into the eager eyes of that great man. "Can I? ought I?" she murmured, with a gesture of hesitation, gazing at d'Arthez with a sublime expression of dreamy tenderness.
"We will stand by you," said d'Arthez; "it is just in these ways that a faithful friendship is of use." "The help that I have just received is precarious, and every one of us is just as poor as another; want will soon overtake me again.
Daniel d'Arthez is one of the most illustrious of living men of letters; one of the rare few who show us an example of "a noble gift with a noble nature combined," to quote a poet's fine thought. "There is no cheap route to greatness," Daniel went on in his kind voice. "The works of Genius are watered with tears.
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