The Unknown Masterpiece by Honoré de Balzac Page A

family, my wife’s family, and the hope of winning Marianna’s hand—for she had often smiled at me from her window—contributed not a little to my efforts. I sank into a deep depression as I measured the depth of the abyss into which I had fallen, for I clearly envisioned a life of poverty and constant struggle which would be the death of love. Marianna did as genius does: she leaped with both feet over all our difficulties. I shall not tell you of the meager happiness which gilded the beginning of my misfortunes. Terrified by my failure, I decided that Italy, dull of comprehension and slumbering in the folderol of routine, was hardly disposed to welcome such innovations as I was meditating; therefore my thoughts turned to Germany. In traveling to that country, to which I made my way through Hungary, I listened to the thousand voices of nature and strove to reproduce her sublime harmonies by means of instruments I invented or altered to that end. Such efforts involved vast expense which soon absorbed our modest savings. Yet these were our finest days: I was appreciated in Germany. Nothing in my life has been finer than this period. Incomparable indeed were the tumultuous sensations which overwhelmed me at Marianna’s side: her beauty at that time was in all its glory and its heavenly power. Need I say that I was happy? During these hours of weakness, more than once I made the language of earthly harmonies speak to my passion. I managed to compose several of those melodies which resemble geometrical figures and are greatly prized in the world you live in. As soon as I had attained some success, insuperable obstacles were put in my path by my colleagues, all of whom were envenomed by bad faith or ineptitude. I had heard France spoken of as a country where innovations were favorably received, and determined to proceed there; my wife mustered the resources and we came to Paris. Hitherto no one had ever laughed in my face; but in this dreadful city I have had to endure this new kind of torment, to which destitution soon added its anguish. Reduced to taking lodgings in this polluted neighborhood, we have lived for several months entirely by Marianna’s labor, for she has put her needle at the service of the miserable prostitutes who make this street their gallery. Marianna tells me she is treated with deference and generosity by these poor women, which I attribute to the influence of a virtue so pure that vice itself is obliged to respect it.”
    “You must not lose hope,” said Andrea. “Perhaps you have reached the end of your ordeals. Until my efforts, united with yours, have brought your works to the world’s attention, surely you will permit a compatriot, an artist like yourself, to offer you some advance on the inevitable success of your scores.”
    “Anything that concerns the conditions of material life is in my wife’s hands,” Gambara answered. “She will decide what we can accept without shame from a man of honor such as you appear to be. For myself, it has been a long time since I have indulged in such extended confidences, and I ask your permission to take my leave. I feel a melody beckoning me, it passes before me, dancing the while, naked and shivering like a lovely girl who begs her lover for the garments he has hidden from her. Farewell! I must go and dress my mistress; I leave my wife with you.”
    Gambara made his escape like a man who reproaches himself for wasting precious time, and Marianna, in some embarrassment, attempted to follow him; Andrea dared not retain her, but Giardini came to their rescue. “You heard him, signora,” he said. “Your husband has left you more than one affair to settle with
il signor conte.
”
    Marianna sat down again, but without lifting her eyes to look at Andrea, who hesitated to speak to her.
    “Signor Gambara’s confidence in me,” Andrea said with emotion, “surely deserves his wife’s as well. Will the lovely Marianna refuse to tell me the story of her