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Updated: May 2, 2025
"I met this morning, in the park, Baronne Warburg, mounted on a magnificent horse. She said, 'General, how do you manage to have such fine horses? I replied: Madame, to have fine horses, you must be either very wealthy or very clever." He was so well satisfied with his reply that he repeated it twice. Paul Vence came near Countess Martin: "I know that senator's name: it is Lyer.
I told you that he was an egoist. Only selfish men really love women. After the death of his mother, he had a long liaison with a well-known actress, Jeanne Tancrede." Madame Martin remembered Jeanne Tancrede; not very pretty, but graceful with a certain slowness of action in playing romantic roles. "They lived almost together in a little house at Auteuil," Paul Vence continued.
Your husband thinks he would be agreeable company for you. We might give him the blue room." "As you wish. But I should prefer that you keep the blue room for Paul Vence, who wishes to come. It is possible, too, that Choulette may come without warning. It is his habit. We shall see him some morning ringing like a beggar at the gate.
Paris is cold and bleak. This weather tires and saddens me. I am going to Florence, for six weeks, to visit Miss Bell." M. Martin-Belleme then lifted his eyes to heaven. Vence asked whether she had been in Italy often. "Three times; but I saw nothing. This time I wish to see, to throw myself into things. From Florence I shall take walks into Tuscany, into Umbria.
Vence reminded her that he had told her she would find Dechartre interesting. "I know him by heart; he has been my friend since our childhood." "You knew his parents?" "Yes. He is the only son of Philippe Dechartre." "The architect?" "The architect who, under Napoleon III, restored so many castles and churches in Touraine and the Orleanais. He had taste and knowledge.
You escorted Princess Seniavine to the buffet and talked to her about wolves." "What wolves?" "Wolves, and forests blackened by winter. We thought that with so pretty a woman your conversation was rather savage!" Paul Vence rose. "So you permit, Madame, that I should bring my friend Dechartre? He has a great desire to know you, and I hope he will not displease you. There is life in his mind.
You may also give me your opinion, Monsieur Vence, unless you disdain such trifles." M. Daniel Salomon looked at Paul Vence through his monocle with disdain. Paul Vence surveyed the drawing-room. "You have beautiful things, Madame. That would be nothing. But you have only beautiful things, and all serve to set off your own beauty."
Paul Vence could only say that he was a senator. He had seen him one day by chance in the Luxembourg, in the gallery that served as a library. "I went there to look at the cupola, where Delacroix has painted, in a wood of bluish myrtles, heroes and sages of antiquity. That gentleman was there, with the same wretched and pitiful air. His coat was damp and he was warming himself.
The Princess asked whether she found what she was reading amusing. "I do not know. I was reading and thinking. Paul Vence is right: 'We find only ourselves in books." Through the hangings came from the billiard-room the voices of the players and the click of the balls. "I have it!" exclaimed the Princess, throwing down the cards.
What I think of Napoleon, if you wish to know, is that, made for glory, he had the brilliant simplicity of the hero of an epic poem. A hero must be human. Napoleon was human." "Oh, oh!" every one exclaimed. But Paul Vence continued: "He was violent and frivolous; therefore profoundly human. I mean, similar to everybody. He desired, with singular force, all that most men esteem and desire.
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