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Updated: June 4, 2025
However, it is not for me to criticise a selection which brings a god-send to myself." "To yourself? You jest; you have a journal of your own. It can only be through an excess of good-nature that you lend your name and pen to the service of M. Gustave Rameau." "My good-nature does not go to that extent. It is Rameau who confers a service upon me.
They're funny little people, trying to teach us what is and is not French us, who are French of the old stock of France!... They come and tell us that our France is in Rameau, or Racine, and nowhere else.
It has been said, that romance-writers give away so much of their hearts to heroes or heroines of their own creation, that they leave nothing worth the giving to human beings like themselves. Perhaps it is so; yet, Madame," added Isaura, with a smile of exquisite sweetness in its melancholy, "I have heart enough left to feel for you." Madame Rameau was touched.
Forgive me if I unconsciously led you to think I could, I am so grieved to pain you." "Am I to understand," said Rameau, coldly, for his amour propre was resentful, "that the proposals of another have been more fortunate than mine?" And he named the youngest and comeliest of those whom she had rejected. "Certainly not," said Isaura. Rameau rose and went to the window, turning his face from her.
At all events, the fair Italian would have in Rameau a husband who would not suffer her to bury her talents under a bushel. For Gustave Rameau has a great taste for luxury and show; and whatever his wife can make, I will venture to say that he will manage to spend." "I thought you had an esteem and regard for Mademoiselle Cicogna. It is Madame your wife, I suppose, who has a grudge against her?"
The room was at its fullest when Gustave Rameau entered, accompanied by Monsieur de Mauleon. Isaura was agreeably surprised by the impression made on her by the Vicomte's appearance and manner.
His wife, calmer but more deeply affected, made a piteous sign to the Venosta not to say more; and without other salutation or adieu took her husband's arm, and led him from the house. Obtaining from her husband Gustave's address, Madame Rameau hastened to her son's apartment alone through the darkling streets.
"Nay, surely, Mademoiselle, all connection between you and young Rameau has ceased for months ceased from the date of that illness in July which nearly carried him off." "I resigned him to the care of his mother," said the girl; "but when he no longer needs a mother, he belongs to me. Oh, consider, M. Savarin, for his sake I refused the most splendid offers!
"All people have thorns in their path, and I have no great respect for those who want lookers-on to heed them whenever they are scratched. But M. Rameau seems to me one of those writers very common nowadays, in France and even in England; writers who have never read anything worth studying, and are, of course, presumptuous in proportion to their ignorance.
Now, to do Rameau justice, he was by no means an avaricious or mercenary man. But he yearned for modes of life to which money was essential. He liked his "comforts;" and his comforts included the luxuries of elegance and show-comforts not to be attained by marriage with Isaura under existing circumstances.
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