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The Idol of Paris

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Esperance was silent for an instant before her father's grief: then
with an exaltation of her whole being she flung herself on her
father's neck: "Oh, father, dear father, I am so happy that you must
not suffer; you love me so much that you must be happy in this
happiness I owe to you; to-morrow, perhaps, will bring me tears. Let us
live for to-day."

The professor gently stroked his daughter's velvet cheek. "Go, my
darling, go and return triumphant."

In the reception-room Esperance and Madame Darbois went to the same
bench, where they had sat upon their former visit. Some fifty people
were assembled.

The same official came to speak to them, and, consulting the list
which he was holding ostentatiously, "There are still five pupils
before you, Mademoiselle, two boys and three young ladies. Whom have
you chosen to give you your cues?"

Esperance looked at him with amazement. "I don't understand," she
said, Madame Darbois was perturbed.

"But," answered the man, "you must have an '_Armande_' for _Les Femmes
Savantes_, an '_Agememnon_' and a '_Clytemnestra_' for _Iphygenia_."

"But we did not know that," stammered Madame Darbois.

The official smiled and assumed still more importance. "Wait just a
moment, ladies." Soon he returned, leading a tall, young girl with a
dignified bearing, and a young man of evident refinement. "Here is Mlle.
Hardouin, who is willing to give you the cues for '_Armande_' and
'_Clytemnestra_,' and M. Jean Perliez, who will do the '_Agememnon_.'
Only, I believe," he added, "you will have to rehearse with them. I
will take all four of you into my little office where no one can
disturb you."

Mlle. Hardouin was a beautiful, modest young girl of eighteen, with
charming manners. She was an orphan and lived with a sister ten years
older, who had been a mother to her. They adored each other. The older
sister had established a good trade for herself as a dressmaker; both
sisters were respected and loved.

Jean Perliez was the son of a chemist. His father had been unwilling
that he should choose a theatrical career until he should have
completed his studies at college. He had obeyed, graduated
brilliantly, and was now presenting himself for the entrance
examination as a tragedian.

The three young people went over the two scenes Esperance had chosen
together.

"What a pretty voice you have, Mademoiselle," said Genevieve Hardouin
timidly.

After the rehearsal of _Les Femmes Savantes_, when they finished the
scene of _Iphygenia_, Jean Perliez turned to Madame Darbois and inquired
the name of Esperance's instructor.

"Why, she had none. My daughter has worked alone; I have given her the
cues." She smiled that benevolent smile, which always lighted her
features with a charm of true goodness and distinction.

"That is indeed remarkable," murmured Jean Perliez, as he looked at
the young girl. Then bending towards Madame Darbois, "May I be
permitted, Madame, to ask your daughter to give me the cues of
'_Junia_' in _Britannicus_? The young lady who was to have played it
is ill."

Madame Darbois hesitated to reply and looked towards Esperance.

"Oh! yes, mama, of course you will let me," said that young lady, in
great spirits. And without more ado, "We must rehearse, must we not?
Let us begin at once."

The young man offered her the lines. "I don't need them," she said
laughing, "I know '_Junia_' by heart." And, indeed, the rehearsal
passed off without a slip, and the little cast separated after
exchanging the most enthusiastic expressions of pleasure.

A comrade asked Perliez, "Is she any good, that pretty little blonde?"

"Very good," Perliez replied curtly.

Everything went well for Esperance. Her appearance on the miniature
stage where the examinations were held caused a little sensation among
the professor-judges.

"What a heavenly child!" exclaimed Victorien Sardou.

"Here is truly the beauty of a noble race," murmured Delaunay, the
well-known member of the Comedie-Française.

The musical purity of Esperance's voice roused the assembly
immediately out of its torpor. The judges, no longer bored and
indifferent, followed her words with breathless attention, and when
she stopped a low murmur of admiration was wafted to her.

"Scene from _Iphygenia_," rasped the voice of the man whose duty
it was to make announcements. There was a sound of chairs being
dragged forward, and the members of the jury settling themselves to
the best advantage for listening. Here in itself was a miniature
triumph, repressed by the dignity assumed by all the judges, but which
Esperance appreciated none the less. She bowed with the sensitive
grace characteristic of her. Genevieve Hardouin and Jean Perliez
congratulated her with hearty pressures of the hand.

As she was leaving Sardou stopped her in the vestibule. "Tell me,
please, Mademoiselle, are you related to the professor of philosophy?"

"He is my father," the girl answered very proudly.

Delaunay had arisen. "You are the daughter of François Darbois! We
are, indeed, proud to be able to present our compliments to you. You
have an extraordinary father. Please tell him that his daughter has
won every vote."

Esperance read so much respect and sincerity in his expression that
she curtsied as she replied, "My father will be very happy that these
words have been spoken by anyone whom he admires as sincerely as M.
Delaunay."

Then she went quickly on her way.

As soon as they were back on the Boulevard Raspail and home, Esperance
and her mother moved towards the library. Marguerite, the maid,
stopped them. "Monsieur has gone out. He was so restless. Is
Mademoiselle satisfied?"

"I was; but I am not any more, Marguerite, since papa is not here. Was
he feeling badly?"

"Well, he was not very cheerful, Mademoiselle, but I should not say
that there was anything really the matter with him."

Mother and daughter started. Someone was coming upstairs. Esperance
ran to the door and fell into the arms of that dearly-loved parent. He
kissed her tenderly. His eyes were damp.

"Come, come, dear, that I may tell you...."

"Your lunch is ready," announced Marguerite.

"Thank you," replied Esperance; "papa, mama, and I, we are all dying
of hunger."

Madame Darbois gently removed her daughter's hat.

"Please, dear papa, I want to tell you everything."

"Too late, dear child, I know everything!"

The two ladies seemed surprised. "But--? How?"

"Through my friend, Victor Perliez, the chemist; who is, like me, a
father who feels deeply about his child's choice of a career."

Esperance made a little move.

"No, little girl," went on François Darbois, "I do not want to cause
you the least regret. Every now and then my innermost thoughts may
escape me; but that will pass.... I know that you showed unusual
simplicity as '_Henriette_,' and emotion as '_Iphygenia_.' Perliez's
son, whom I used to know when he was no higher than that," he said,
stretching out his hand, "was enthusiastic? He is, furthermore, a
clever boy, who might have made something uncommon out of himself
as a lawyer, perhaps. But--"

"But, father dear, he will make a fine lawyer; he will have an
influence in the theatre that will be more direct, more beneficial,
more far-reaching, than at the Bar. Oh! but yes! You remember, don't
you, mama, how disturbed you were by M. Dubare's plea on behalf of the
assassin of Jeanne Verdier? Well, is it not noble to defend the poets,
and introduce to the public all the new scientific and political
ideas?"

"Often wrong ideas," remarked Darbois.

"That is perhaps true, but what of it? Have you not said a thousand
times that discussion is the necessary soil for the development of new
ideas?"

The professor of philosophy looked at his daughter, realizing that
every word he had spoken in her hearing, all the seed that he had cast
to the wind, had taken root in her young mind.

"But," inquired Madame Darbois, "where did you see M. Perliez?"

The professor began to smile. "Outside the Conservatoire. Perliez and
I ran into each other, both impelled by the same extreme anxiety
towards the scene of our sacrifice. It is not really necessary to
consult all the philosophical authorities on this subject of inanition
of will," he added, wearily.

"Oh! chocolate custard," cried out Esperance with rapture, "Marguerite
is giving us a treat."

"Yes, Mademoiselle, I knew very well...."

A ring at the front door bell cut short her words. They listened
silently, and heard the door open, and someone come in. Then the maid
entered with a card.

François Darbois rose at once. "I will see him in the salon," he said.

He handed the card to his wife and went to meet his visitor. Esperance
leaned towards her mother and read with her the celebrated name,
"Victorien Sardou." Together they questioned the import of this visit,
without being able to find any satisfactory explanation.

When François entered the salon, Sardou was standing, his hands
clasped behind him, examining through half-closed eyes a delicate
pastel, signed Chaplain--a portrait of Madame Darbois at twenty. At
the professor's entry, he turned round and exclaimed with the engaging
friendliness that was one of his special charms, "What a very pretty
thing, and what superb colour!"

Then advancing, "It is to M. François Darbois that I have the pleasure
of speaking, is it not?"

He had not missed the formality in the surprise evinced by the
professor as, without speaking, the professor bowed him towards a
chair.

"Let me say to begin with, my dear professor, that I am one of your
most fervent followers. Your last book, _Philosophy is not
Indifference_, is, in my opinion, a work of real beauty. Your
doctrine does not discourage youth, and after reading your book, I
decided to send my sons to your lectures."

François Darbois thanked the great author. The ice was broken. They
discussed Plato, Aristotle, Montaigne, Schaupenhauer, etc. Victorien
Sardou heard the clock strike; he had lunched hastily and had to be
back at the Conservatoire by two o'clock, as the jury still had to
hear eleven pupils. He began laughing and talking very fast, in his
habitual manner: "I must tell you, however, why I have come; your
daughter, who passed her examination this morning, is very excellent.
She has the making of a real artist; the voice, the smile, the grace,
the distinction, the manner, the rhythm. This child of fifteen has
every gift! I am now arranging a play for the Vaudeville. The
principal rôle is that of a very young girl. Just at present there are
only well-worn professionals in the theatre."

He rose. "Will you trust your daughter to me? I promise her a good
part, an engagement only for my play, and I assure you of her
success."

M. Darbois, in his amazement and in spite of the impatience of the
academician, withheld his answer. "Pray permit me," he said, touching
the bell, "to send for my daughter. It is with great anxiety, I admit
to you, that I have given her permission to follow a theatrical
career, so now I must consult her, while still trying to advise."

Then to the maid, "Ask Madame and Mademoiselle to come here."

Sardou came up to the professor and pressed his hand gratefully. "You
are consistent with your principles. I congratulate you; that is very
rare," he said.

The two ladies came in.

"Ah," he continued, glancing toward the pastel, after he had greeted
Madame Darbois, "Here is the model of this beautiful portrait."

The gracious lady flushed, a little embarrassed, but flattered. After
the introduction, Sardou repeated his proposal to Esperance, who, with
visible excitement, looked questioningly at her father.

"It seems to me," said Madame Darbois, timidly, "that this is rather
premature. Do you feel able to play so soon in a real theatre, before
so many people?"

"I feel ready for anything," said the radiant girl quickly, in a clear
voice.

Sardou raised his head and looked at her.

"If you think, M. Sardou, that I can play the character, I shall be
only too happy to try; the chance you give me seems to come from
destiny. I must endeavour as soon as possible to appease my dear
father for his regret for having given me my own way."

François would have spoken, but she prevented him, drawing closer to
him. "Oh, dear papa, in spite of yourself, I see this depression comes
back to you. I want to succeed, and so drive away your heavy
thoughts."

"Then," said Sardou quickly, to relieve them all of the emotion they
were feeling, "it is quite agreed." Turning to Madame Darbois, who was
trembling, "Do not be alarmed, dear Madame; we still have six or eight
months before the plan will be ready for realization, which I feel
sure will be satisfactory to all of us. I see that you are ready to go
out; are you returning to the Conservatoire?"

"Yes," said Esperance, "I promised to give '_Junia's_' cues to M.
Jean Perliez."

"The son of another learned man! The Conservatoire is favoured to-day,"
said Sardou. "I shall be pleased to escort you, Madame," he added,
bowing politely to Madame Darbois, "and this child shall unfold to me
on the way her ideas on the drama: they must be well worth hearing."

It was already late. The two gentlemen shook hands, anticipating that,
henceforth, they would meet as friends.

When they had left him, François looked at the pastel, which he had
not examined for a long time. The young girl smiled at him with that
smile that had first charmed him. He saw himself asking M. de Gossec,
a rich merchant, for the hand of his daughter Germaine. He brushed his
hand across his forehead as if to remove the memory of the refusal he
had received on that occasion: then he smiled at the new vision which
rose before his imagination. He saw himself in the church of St.
Germain des Pres, kneeling beside Germaine de Gossec, trembling with
emotion and happiness. A cloud of sadness passed over his face: now he
was following the hearse of his father-in-law, who had committed
suicide, leaving behind him a load of debt. The philosopher's
expression grew proud and fierce. The first thirteen years of his
marriage had been devoted to paying off this debt: then came the death
of the sister of M. de Gossec, leaving her niece eight hundred
thousand francs, five hundred thousand of which had served to pay the
debt. For the last four years the family had been living in this
comfortable apartment on the Boulevard Raspail, very happy and without
material worries: but how cruel those first thirteen years had been
for this young woman! He gazed at the pastel for a long time, his eyes
filling with tears. "Oh, my dear, dear wife!"

In the carriage on the way to the Conservatoire the conversation was
very animated. The dramatic author was listening with great interest
while the young girl explained her theories on art and life. "What a
strange little being," he thought, and his penetrating glance tried in
vain to discover what weakness was most likely to attack this little
creature who seemed so perfect.

The carriage stopped at the Conservatoire. Jean Perliez was waiting at
the foot of the stairs. At sight of them his face lighted up. "I was
afraid that you had forgotten me in the joy of your success."

The girl looked at him in amazement. "How could I forget when I had
given my word?"

"You know Victorien Sardou?"

"Only to-day," said Esperance laughing; "yesterday we did not know
him."

They were back in the reception-room which was only a little less
noisy than it was in the morning. Many candidates believed that they
had been accepted; several had even received encouraging applause;
others, who had been received in frigid silence, comforted themselves
with the reflection that they had at least been allowed to finish.

When Jean Perliez and Esperance entered the auditorium there was a
flattering stir, as much in pleasure at seeing the young girl again,
as in welcome to the future actor.

"Scene from _Britannicus_, M. Jean Perliez, '_Nero_'; Mlle.
Esperance Darbois, '_Junia_,'" proclaimed the usher.

The scene was so very well enacted that a "Bravo" broke from the
learned group around the table. Which one of the judges had not been
able to contain his admiration? The young actors could not decide.
Each one believed sincerely the success was due to the other. They
congratulated each other with charming expressions of delight, and
took each other by the hand.

"We shall be good friends, shall we not, M. Perliez?" said Esperance.

The young man turned quite red, and when Madame Darbois held out her
hand to him, he kissed it politely, with the kiss he had not dared to
give to Esperance.




CHAPTER IV


Esperance having chosen the stage as her career, the whole household
was more or less thrown into confusion. It became necessary to make
several new arrangements. As François Darbois was not willing that his
wife should accompany Esperance every day to the Conservatoire, it
became quite a problem to find a suitable person to undertake this
duty.

For the first time in her life Madame Darbois had to endure
humiliating refusals. The young widow of an officer was directed by a
friend of the family to apply. She seemed a promising person.

"You will have to be here every morning by nine," Madame Darbois said
to her, "and you will be free every afternoon by four. The course is
given in the morning, but twice a week there are classes also in the
afternoon; on those days you will lunch with us."

"And Sundays?"

"Your Sundays will be your own. The Conservatoire has no classes on
Sunday."

"So I understand that you would employ me only to accompany your
daughter to the Conservatoire, Madame!" said the officer's widow,
dryly. "I shall be compelled to refuse your offer. I am unfortunately
forced to work to support my two children, but I owe some respect to
the name I bear. The Conservatoire is a place of perdition, and I am
astonished," she added, "that the professor, who is so universally
esteemed and respected, could have been able...."

Madame Darbois rose to her feet. She was very pale. "It is not
necessary for you to judge the actions of my husband, Madame. That is
enough."

When she was left alone Madame Darbois reflected sadly upon the
narrow-mindedness of her fellow creatures. Then she reproached herself
with her own inexperience that put her at the mercy of the first
stupid prude she encountered. She was well aware that the
Conservatoire was not supposed to be a centre of culture and
education, but she had already observed the modesty and independence
of several of the young girls there: the well-informed minds of most
of the young men. Nevertheless, she had had her lesson, and was
careful not to lay herself open to any new affront. After some
consideration, she engaged a charming old lady, named Eleanore
Frahender, who had been companion in a Russian family, and was now
living in a convent in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, where only
trustworthy guests could be received. The old lady loved art and
poetry, and as soon as she had met Esperance, was full of enthusiasm
for her new duties. The young girl and she agreed in many tastes, and
very soon they were great friends.

M. Darbois was quite contented with the arrangement, and could now
attend to his work with complete tranquillity. Every morning the
family gathered in the dining-room at half-past eight to take their
coffee together. Esperance would recount all the little events of the
day before and her studies for the day to come. Whenever she felt any
doubt about an ambiguous phrase, she went at once to get her father's
advice upon it. Sometimes Genevieve Hardouin would drop in to talk
with her and Mlle. Frahender. Esperance adored Racine and refused to
study Corneille, before whom Genevieve bowed in enthusiastic
admiration.

"He is superhuman," she exclaimed, fervently.

"That is just what I reproach him for," returned Esperance. "Racine is
human, that is why I love him. None of Corneille's heroines move me at
all, and I loathe the sorrows of '_Phaedre_.'"

"And '_Chimene_'?" asked Genevieve Hardouin.

"'_Chimene_' has no interest for me. She never does as she
wishes."

"How feminine!" said the professor, gently.

"Oh! you may be right, father dear, but grief is one and indivisible.
Her father, cruelly killed by her lover, must kill her love for the
lover, or else she does not love her father: and, that being the case,
she doesn't interest me at all. She is a horrid girl." Tenderly she
embraced her father, who could easily pardon her revolt against
Corneille, because he shared her weakness for Racine.

Several months after Esperance's most encouraging admission to the
Conservatoire, Victorien Sardou wrote a note to François Darbois, with
whom he had come to be warm friends, warning him that he was soon
coming to lunch with them, to read his new play to the family.
Esperance was wild with excitement. The time of waiting for the event
seemed interminable to her. Her father tried in vain to calm her with
philosophical reflections. Creature of feeling and impulse that she
was, nothing could control her excitement.

Sardou had also asked François Darbois to invite Mlle. Frahender,
whose generous spirit and whose tact and judgment he much esteemed.
The old lady arrived, carrying as usual the little box with the lace
cap which she donned as soon as her bonnet was laid aside. On this
great day the little cap was embellished by a mauve satin ribbon,
contrasting charmingly with the silver of her hair.

All through lunch Esperance was delightful. Her quick responses to
Sardou's questions were amazing in their logic. The extreme purity of
this young soul seeking self-expression so courageously, struck the
two men with particular emphasis.

The reading was a great success. The part intended for Esperance, the
young girl's part, the heroine of the piece, had become of primary
importance. Sardou had been able to study Esperance's qualifications
during the months he had been a frequent visitor at the Darbois's
home, and he had made the most of his prescience.

Lack of experience of the theatre, so natural in a child of sixteen,
suggested several scenes of pure comedy. Then, as the drama developed,
the author had heightened the intensity of the rôle by several scenes
of real pathos, relying completely on Esperance to interpret them for
him. Quite overcome by the death of the heroine she was to
impersonate, she thanked the author, with tears streaming down her
cheeks, her hands icy, her heart beating so furiously that the linen
of her white blouse rose and fell.

"It is rather I who shall be thanking you the day of the first
production," said Sardou much touched, as he wrapped round his neck
the large, white square he always wore. "I believe that to-day has not
been wasted."

The rehearsals began. Sardou had asked for and obtained from the
Conservatoire six months leave for his young protégée, but Esperance
would on no account consent to give up her classes. The only
concession she would make was to give up the afternoon classes twice a
week.

The press began to notice this infant prodigy, who wished to remain
quite unheralded until her debut. François Darbois, in spite of his
friendship with several journalists, could not make them adhere to
their promises of silence, and when he complained bitterly to the head
of a great daily, "But, my friend," the editor rejoined, "that
daughter of yours is particularly fascinating, and certainly when you
launched her into this whirlpool, you should have remembered that the
only exits are triumph or despair!"

The philosopher grew pale.

"I believe," went on his friend, "that this child will vanquish every
obstacle by the force of her will, will stifle all jealousies by the
grace of her purity, and she already belongs to the public, while the
fame of your name has simply served for a stepping-stone. You, in your
wisdom, have been able to impart true wisdom to your child. But before
the public has ever seen her she is famous, and Sardou affirms that
the day after her appearance she will be the idol of all Paris. I owe
it to the profession of journalism to write her up in my paper, and I
am doing it, you must admit, with the utmost reserve."




CHAPTER V


And so at last the day of the performance came. Esperance, who was so
easily shaken by the ordinary events of life, met any danger or great
event quite calmly. For this young girl, so delicately fair, so frail
of frame, possessed the soul of a warrior.

The sale of tickets had opened eight days in advance. The agents had
realized big profits. The first night always creates a sensation in
Paris. All the social celebrities were in the audience: and, what is
less usual, many "intellectuals." They wished to testify by their
presence their friendship for François Darbois, and to protest against
certain journalists, who had not hesitated to say in print that such a
furore about an actress (poor Esperance) was prejudicial to the
dignity of philosophy.

In a box was the Minister of Belgium, who had been married lately, and
wanted to show his young wife a "first night" in Paris. The First
Secretary of the Legation was sitting behind the Minister's wife.

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