| | | | Who would not desire to see the portrait of a true woman? Whether, | indeed, the cunning hand of a French painter ~~ and that painter a | novelist, is the one most likely to be successful in a task so delicate, may | be doubtful. But even a dauber cannot | easily make a complete | fiasco with such a sitter; and if we do not recognise | the resemblance to a woman at all, we at any rate are amused to see what | a Frenchman can consider a resemblance. In this mood, and with these | views, let us take up the two tiny volumes of the | Collection Hetzel which M. Goudrecourt offers us, and | contemplate | for once. | Three gentlemen are chatting together in the Schweitzerhof at Lucerne, | and their conversation, as it rises through the smoke of cigars, has a | somewhat sceptical tone respecting women. The Baron de Reinold is an | ex-beau, eight-and-forty years of age, great on the Boulevard Italien, | superior in the accomplishments of tying a cravat, | wearing and professing the ultra scepticism of a | man

"used up".

The Vicomte de Vergy is young, handsome, well read, | with that | and that | which is so common in novels. The Vicomte's | eyes, | In a | word, he has all the requisites of | The third personage is | of a type equally common in French fiction ~~ young, handsome, rich, | brave, and

"used up."

A prince of fashion, | | his pitiless raillery spares nothing, acknowledges nothing as sacred. | He is named the Chevalier de Sable. | The conversation of three such men, when a woman is the subject, is | likely to be curious. Being Frenchmen, they of course talk of their | conquests ~~ the poetical Vicomte excepted, who believes in the angelic | nature of woman, and loves with the fervour of youth. The Chevalier de | Sable, by way of proving his opinion of the sex (not in the least a | flattering opinion, as may be supposed) tells the story of his only love. In | fewer words, we will tell it after him. He is travelling in Germany, when | one night a difficulty occurs about post-horses ~~ the only animals to be | had being claimed by his servant and disputed by the servant of another | traveller, who is in excessive impatience to proceed. On learning that his | rival in the graces of the postmaster is a lady, the courtesy of the | Frenchman at once causes him to yield. The Countess, who is said to be | asleep, in spite of the noise of the vociferating servants and the clatter of | the horses, sends no word of thanks to the Chevalier. His curiosity is | piqued. He follows the carriage. No sooner has it gained the high road | than the lights are extinguished. This seems more and more suspicious. | He is bent on clearing up the mystery. Taking a short cut, he awaits the | carriage as it slowly descends the hill, opens the door, and jumps in. To | his surprise, the Countess makes no remark ~~ does not draw down the | window and scream in alarm ~~ does not even move! He addresses a | few words to her. No reply! What can this mean? Is she German, and | utterly ignorant of French? Is she too indignant to speak, preserving a | noble silence? Is she speechless with terror, mistaking him for a robber? | Or is she dead? Her silence makes him uneasy. In the dark he stretches | forth his hand, and soon touches the warm and delicate hand of a woman | which does not tremble in the least. Has she fainted? Before his doubts | can be solved, the carriage is attacked ~~ shots are fired ~~ and a | desperate encounter ends with leaving the Chevalier | | victorious in the presence of the Countess, still asleep, or feigning. | The adventure continues as it began: The Countess has been drugged and | carried off. Now that she is rescued, she cannot tell who are her parents, | nor where she came from. All she asks is to be taken to a convent. The | Chevalier constitutes himself her guardian, takes her to Paris, falls in love | with her, treats her like an angel, which in innocence and beauty she is, | gives her his mother's room as a final act of intense respect ~~ | | ~~ and offers to marry her. She consents, | but is placed under convent protection until the happy day. We spare our | readers all the raptures ~~ le lyrisme ~~ of the | Chevalier, all the details of her innocence and goodness. The sum of | many chapters is, that she is a true woman, adorable and adored by the | Chevalier, who believed in her innocence, but who was only duped by | her diabolical astuteness. The day is approaching which is to make him | the happiest of men, when, to his indignation and astonishment, she | disappears altogether, without a word of explanation, without a word of | apology, without leaving a trace of her flight. He has been taken in, and | now rails at his mad credulity. And here we may note what is to us the | most amusing point in the story. The Chevalier has been duped, and we | sympathize with his rage; but what are we to say of his vengeance. | | Is it not original? One woman deceives him, and he makes society | responsible: ~~ | We read this passage in a railway | carriage, and somewhat startled the passengers by the Homeric shout of | laughter which followed the reading. The idea of a young French dandy, | with | and well-oiled whiskers, immolating on the shrine of | his destroyed illusions every woman he encounters ~~ ravaging the | whole sex as a lion ravages a herd of cattle ~~ is one of those | | which are only produced in the alembic of a Parisian brain. | The Chevalier is at present in his lion-like pursuit of victims. The Baron | de Reinold says his story is even worse. He has | known a true woman still more artful, still more incredible. He then | narrates his story, which has the same sort of interest, except that the | reader rather quickly begins to foresee | that the Baron's charmer is the same as | the Chevalier's. It is a story of inexplicable duplicity. An angel face | masks a demon heart. We should observe that both the Baron and the | Chevalier indulge liberally in lyrisme, which, | from such sceptics and

"used-up"

dandies, is surprising; and they | are also abundantly melodramatic. In spite of these two portraits of | the Vicomte persists in believing that | his affianced bride is what she appears. He invites the two sceptics to | come and see him a month hence, when they shall see the Vicomtesse. | The invitation is accepted. The two duped lovers arrive, and discover ~~ | as the experienced reader foresaw ~~ that the Vicomtesse is none other | than that incarnate lie against whom they are so exasperated. | The rest of the novel is taken up with unravelling the threads of this | mysterious and complicated story, proving the perfect of the heroine and | justifying her conduct. We need not say that M. Goudrecourt troubles | himself but slightly with probabilities ~~ his object has been to produce | an exciting story, the incidents of which should carry the reader | unwearied to the close. Compared with the average of French novels, and | a fortiori, with the average of English novels, | Une Vraie Femme must be pronounced | interesting. It displays no peculiar talent, | except that of exciting curiosity; | but the majority of novels cannot even boast of that talent. As to the | portrait of a true woman, which the title led us to expect, there is no more | approximation in it to any likeness whatever of any woman whatever | than the Minerva Press of both countries is in the habit of furnishing. But | it is something now-a-days to say of a novel that it is readable.