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The Idol of Paris

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"Look there, that is Count Albert Styvens," said a journalist,
pointing out the Secretary to his neighbour, a young beauty in a very
_decolletée_ gown.

The neighbour laughed. "Is he as reserved and as serious as he looks?"
she inquired.

"So they say."

"Poor fellow," answered the pretty woman, with affected pity,
examining him through her opera glasses.

Sardou, behind the scenes, was coming and going, arranging a chair,
changing the position of a table, catching his foot in a carpet,
swearing, nervous in the extreme. He made a hundred suggestions to the
manager, which were received with weariness. He entered into
conversation with the firemen. "Watch and listen, won't you, so that
you can give me your impression after the first act?" For Sardou
always preferred the spontaneous expressions of workmen and common
people to the compliments of his own _confrères_.

The distant skurry in the wings that always precedes the raising of
the curtain was audible on the stage. This rattling of properties is
very noticeable to actors new to the theatre, though it is quite
unsuspected by the general public.

The first act began. The audience was sympathetic, but impatient.
However, the author knew his public, knew when to spring his
surprises, how to hold the emotion in reserve until a climax of
applause at the final triumph.

Esperance made her first entrance, laughing and graceful, as her rôle
demanded. A murmur of admiration mounted from the orchestra to the
balcony. Hers was such startling, such radiant fairness! Her musical,
fluting voice acted like as a strange enchantment on the astonished
audience. From the first moment the public was hers. The critic
touched his neighbour's elbow. "Look at Count Albert, he seems
stunned!"

As the Count leaned forward to watch more intently: "Great Heavens, do
you suppose he will fall in love with her, do you believe he will
really care for that little thing?" murmured the woman, mockingly.

The curtain fell amidst a shower of "Bravos." Esperance had to return
three times before the public, which continued to applaud her
unstintedly, as she smiled and blushed under her make-up. In spite of
fifteen minutes' waiting, the intermission did not seem long. The
occupants of the boxes were busy exchanging calls.

"She is perfectly adorable, she takes your breath. Just think of it,
only sixteen and a half!"

"Do you think it is a wig?"

"Oh! no, that is her own hair--but what a revelation of loveliness!
And what a carriage!"

"But her voice above all! I do not think that I have ever heard such
declamation!"

"She is still at the Conservatoire?"

"Yes."

"The Theatre-Française ought to engage her immediately. They would
find it would at once increase their subscription list."

"They say that her father is very much distressed to see her in the
theatre. Why there they are, the Darbois. Don't you see them, in that
box far back? They are looking very pleased."

A tall, pale man passed by.

"Ah! there goes Count Styvens. Have you read the article he wrote in
the _Debats_ this morning?"

"No, he puts me to sleep."

"I read it; it was rather unusual."

"What about?"

"About the fecundity of the pollen of flowers."

The chatter ceased. The count was within hearing.

"What have you to say about Esperance Darbois?" inquired a young lady.

The count blushed vividly, an unaccustomed light gleaming in his clear
eyes. "It is too soon to pass judgment yet," he said, losing himself
in the throng again.

In the Darbois's box there was a constant coming and going of friends.
Jean Perliez joined them, his face betraying a conflict of emotions
that were not lost on the father of Esperance.

"Did you see my daughter?"

"Yes. I just went to congratulate her."

"How did you find her?"

"Amazing! She is splendid, but not vain. She seems sure of herself and
at the same time shows a little stage fright, a special variety which
makes her hands like ice, and tightens her throat, as you must have
noticed from the strain in her first speeches."

"Indeed I noticed it, and was a little frightened," said Mlle.
Frahender.

"I know," said Jean Perliez, "but we need not be worried. It does not
affect her powers and the force of her decision. She is invincible."

He heaved a deep sigh and withdrew into a corner to hide the emotion
which was choking him. François Darbois had divined the fervent love
this youth felt for his daughter, and understood the sufferings of
this timid love which dared not declare itself lest it be repulsed.
However, the chemist, the father of this young man, occupied a
respected position as a well-to-do man, with an unblemished
reputation. Why should he not declare himself, or at least try to find
some encouragement? François Darbois would have been well contented
with this marriage. Esperance was still too young, but, once engaged,
they could wait awhile. He secretly took cognizance of Jean Perliez's
sufferings, and a wave of pity surged up in his heart. "I will have to
speak to him myself," he thought.

The curtain went up, disclosing Esperance, a book in her hand, her
back to the public. She was not reading. That was evident from the
weary droop of her body, from the rigid gaze into space. A coming
storm was heralded by her quick motion, when she sprang up, threw
aside her book, shook the pretty head to drive away the black
butterflies in her brain, and ran to kiss her stage mother, who was
playing Bridge with the villainess of the piece. There was such
spontaneity in her movements that the sympathetic audience cried out,
"Bravo!"

In the course of the act, Esperance secured several salvos of
applause. The sustained emotion of the grief that overwhelmed her and
the spasm of weeping which closed the act gave the young artist
complete assurance of the public's earnest approval.


Sardou had dropped into the box of the Minister Plenipotentiary. He
hid himself from the public, but sought the opinion of his great
friend.

"Will you," asked the Minister, "present me to your young heroine?"

"Oh! let me come with you," besought his wife.

The Belgian Prince looked questioningly at Sardou, and at his nod of
acquiescence they prepared to go and salute the new star just risen in
the Parisian firmament.

"Come with us, my dear Count."

Albert Styvens became livid, a cold sweat broke out on his forehead, a
polite phrase died in his throat. He rose to his feet and followed the
Prince of Bernecourt.

The little reception-room next to Esperance's dressing-room was full
of flowers, but no one was there. The manager and author had agreed
that no stranger should approach the young artist. Only the family,
Jean Perliez and Mlle. Frahender were allowed to enter. This good old
soul was with Esperance now, as was Marguerite, who was not willing to
leave her young mistress.

Sardou knocked. "Let me know, my dear child, when you are ready."

The door opened almost immediately, and the young girl rushed joyfully
out into the little room. She stopped short upon seeing three
strangers, and her eyes sought Sardou's, full of startled surprise.

"I have taken the liberty of disturbing you, little friend.... I want
to present you to the Princess de Bernecourt."

Esperance curtsied with pretty grace. The Minister-Prince complimented
her graciously; he was a dilettante, who could express himself most
charmingly, in well chosen, artistic terms.

"Your Excellency overcomes me," said the young actress. "I shall do my
best to deserve your kindness."

With a quick movement she re-adjusted her tulle scarf on her shoulders
and blushed a little. The Minister turned and saw Albert Styvens
standing with nervous interest--gazing like one bewitched at the
enchanting maiden.

"Let me present to you Count Albert Styvens."

Esperance inclined her head a little and drew instinctively nearer to
Mlle. Frahender.

The Count had not moved. The Prince led him away as soon as he had
made his adieux to the young girl and the elder lady.

"Are you ill or insane?" he asked his Secretary.

"Insane, yes; I think I must be going insane," murmured the young man
in a choking voice.

The play was in four acts, there were still two to come. The audience
seemed to watch in a delirium of delight, and when the last curtain
dropped, they called Esperance back eight times, and demanded the
author.

In spite of all the talent displayed by Sardou as author, there was
much enthusiasm and an unconscious gratitude in him as the discoverer
of a new sensation.... No comet acclaimed by astronomers as capable of
doubling the harvest would have moved the populace as did the
description in all the papers of this new star in Paris.




CHAPTER VI


The family found itself back on the Boulevard Raspail. The Darbois had
not cared to leave their box. After every act, Mlle. Frahender carried
their comments and tender messages to Esperance. François Darbois had
great difficulty in constraining himself to remain in the noisy
vestibule. He suffered too acutely at seeing his daughter, that pure
and delicate child, the focus of every lorgnette, the subject of every
conversation. Several phrases he had overheard from a group of men had
brought him to his feet in a frenzy; then he fell back in his place
like one stunned. Nevertheless there had not been one offensive word.
It was all praise.

The philosopher held his daughter in his arms, pressed close against
his heart, and tears ran down his cheeks.

"It is the first time, and shall be the last, that I wish to see you
on the stage, dear little daughter. It is too painful for me, and what
is worst of all I fear it will take you away from me."

Esperance replied trembling, "Pardon me, Oh! pardon me, it is such a
force that impels me. I am sorry you suffer so. Oh! don't give way, I
beg of you!"

She fell on her knees before her father, sobbing and kissing his
hands.

Sardou, who was expected, came in just then, and his exuberance was
dashed to the ground when he witnessed the trouble the family were in.

"Come, this is foolishness," he said, helping Esperance to her feet.

Then turning to the old Mademoiselle, "Here, dear lady, take this
child away to compose herself, wash the tears off her poor little
face, and hurry back, for I am dying of hunger."

Madame Darbois remembered that she was the hostess, and disappeared to
see if everything was ready in the dining-room.

As soon as he was left alone with the philosopher, the author
exclaimed, "In the name of God, man, is this where philosophy leads
you? You are torturing that child whom you adore! Oh! yes, you are
distressed, I know. The public has this evening taken possession of
your daughter, but you are powerless to prevent it, and now is the time
for you to apply to yourself your magnetic maxims. Esperance is one of
those creatures who are only born once in a hundred years or so; some
come as preservers, like Joan of Arc; others serve as instruments of
vengeance of some occult power" (Sardou was an ardent believer in the
occult). "Your child is a force of nature, and nothing can prevent her
destiny. The fact that you have seen her brilliant development in spite
of the grey environment of her first sixteen years, should convince you
of the uselessness of your protests or regrets. The career that she has
chosen is bristling with dangers, and full of disillusions, and gives
free rein to a pitiless horde of calumniators. That cannot be helped.
Your task, my friend," he added more calmly, "is to protect your
daughter, and above all to assure her of a refuge of tenderness, and
love and understanding."

Esperance came back, followed by her mother and the old Mademoiselle.
Her father held out his arms to her and whispered, "You were
wonderful, darling; I am happy to...."

He could not go on, and put his hot lips against her beautiful pure
forehead to avoid the embarrassment that distressed him so powerfully.

Thanks to Sardou's gifts as a _raconteur_, the supper passed off
pleasantly enough. This great man could unfold the varied pages of his
mind with disconcerting ease. He knew everything, and could talk and
act with inimitable vivacity. His anecdotes were always instructive,
drawn from his manifold sources of knowledge in art or science. Mlle.
Frahender was stupified by so much eclecticism, the philosopher forgot
his grief, Madame Darbois realized for the first time that there might
exist a brain worthy of comparison with her husband's. As to
Esperance, she was living in a dream of what the future would unfold.
One evening had sufficed for her to conquer Paris, to capture the
provinces, and arouse the foreigner, frequently so indifferent to
great artistic achievements.

The young pupil pursued her courses at the Conservatoire, in spite of
Sardou's remonstrances that she would find it fatiguing. The modesty
and simplicity of her return to the midst of her comrades restored her
to the popularity her triumph had endangered.

"She is, you know, quite a 'sport,'" pronounced a sharp young person,
who was destined to take the parts of the aggressive modern female.

A tall young man, with a grave face and settled manner, approaching
baldness, in spite of his twenty-three years, pressed Jean Perliez's
hand affectionately. "Don't give in, old fellow, keep up hope. You
never know!"

Jean smiled sadly, shaking his head. He looked at Esperance, who was
lovelier than ever. He had waited for her at the foot of the stairway,
for the intimacy of the two families gave him a chance to know when to
expect his glorious little friend.

"Why, how pale you are, Jean!" she exclaimed at sight of him. "What is
the matter with you?"

"What is the matter with me?" he murmured.

"What is the matter with him?" echoed several of the students.

Esperance alone was not aware what was the matter with him, poor
fellow, for, in spite of the encouragement of François Darbois, Jean
would say nothing. He realized the shock that it would be to
Esperance. She liked him so much as a friend! On the long walks they
took, with Genevieve Hardouin and Mlle. Frahender, she had very often
frankly confided to him that she did not want to think about getting
married for years and years!

"I want to live for my art," she would say, "and I will never marry an
artist!"

He had then thought very seriously of giving up the theatre and
becoming a barrister, as his father had always wished him to do, but
that would mean that he would lose the chance of seeing Esperance so
often.

Jean Perliez had become great friends with Maurice Renaud, the girl's
cousin. They both talked of her and loved her, but Maurice's love was
more selfish, less deeply rooted. He was not jealous of Perliez; he
was sorry for him and counselled him to speak up, since his uncle, the
professor, was in sympathy with him.

"No," said Jean, "she is really too young to understand."

Maurice shrugged his shoulders. "It is true that Esperance is not yet
seventeen, but her intelligence has always been ahead of her years. At
twelve she could outdo me by the logic of her reasoning on the
mysteries of religion. We both adore, my dear Jean, a very
extraordinary little person. I will get out of your way gracefully, if
you succeed; but I have a presentiment that neither you nor I will be
the lucky fellow. I shall console myself, but you, take care!"

Esperance suspected nothing of the different emotions she was causing.
Her youth guarded her against any betrayal of the senses. She thought
that love was the natural result of marriage. The great passions as
the poets sang them exalted her spirit, made her heart beat faster,
but for her they remained in the realms of the ideal.




CHAPTER VII


A horrible catastrophe occurred in Belgium, leaving the inhabitants of
the lower quarter of Brussels without shelter or clothing. Relief was
organized on all sides, and the Theatre-Française announced a great
representation of _Hernani_ to be given as a benefit for the
sufferers in the Royal Theatre de la Monnaie in Brussels. The star who
had undertaken "_Dona Sol_" fell ill ten days before the performance
was due. The Comedie was much embarrassed, for the usual understudy
of the indisposed actress was an amiable echo, with little talent.
Mounet-Sully thought immediately of Esperance and obtained permission
to make whatever arrangements he could with her. His arrival at the
Darbois home occasioned great excitement.

"I claim your indulgence in the name of charity, Monsieur," he said to
François. "The Comedie-Française finds itself in the most awkward
quandary. We have prepared a big gala performance at La Monnaie, to
raise money for all those poor Belgian sufferers."

"Oh! I have seen the notices," said Esperance, "with artistes of the
Comedie, even in the smaller rôles. What would I not give to see that
production!"

Mounet-Sully smiled. "If your father will give his permission,
Mademoiselle, you can certainly see it; for I have come to ask you to
take part therein."

"What do you mean?" asked M. Darbois curiously.

"Our '_Dona Sol_' is sick, very sick, and her understudy is not
equal to such an occasion. The last examination you passed in
_Hernani_ delighted us with your manner of interpreting the rôle.
We will give you all the rehearsals you need at the Comedie; you will
be assisting at a work of charity, and you will be recompensed for
whatever outlay or expense that you may incur."

Esperance drew herself up. "If my father will give his consent for me
to make my own reply...."

"Yes," said the professor simply.

"Then I will say ... thank you, father dear," she said, tremulously,
"I will say that I am happier than I can possibly tell you, at the
great honour you have done me, but that I do not want any recompense."

Mounet-Sully started to speak.

"Oh! no, I beg you, do not spoil my joy."

"Then, we will take care of your travelling expenses, and those of
your party."

She contracted her beautiful eyebrows a little. "Oh! M. Mounet-Sully,
I am rich just now, think of all the money that I have made these four
months that we have been giving Victorien Sardou's play. I don't want
anything, I am glad, so glad...."

She kissed her father and her mother impulsively, and also the
astonished old Mademoiselle.

"What about me?" asked Mounet-Sully gaily; "do I not get my reward?"

She held up her forehead for a salutation from the artist, who took
leave of the family, glowing with delight at the good news he had to
carry back to the Comedie.

"To-morrow you will get a schedule of rehearsals," he called from the
doorway.

Madame Darbois was worried about the journey, and Mlle. Frahender
agreed to accompany Esperance. It was decided that Marguerite should
go to look after them. The faithful soul had practically brought up
the child; her zeal and devotion were unfailing.

But M. Darbois raised the objection, "You should have a man with you."

The door bell rang, then they heard a voice, "In the salon? Don't
bother to announce me, I'll go up!"

Maurice Renaud entered immediately, followed by Jean Perliez.

"Well, my boy," said François Darbois to his nephew, "you are quite a
stranger; it must be a month since we saw you last. You are most
welcome."

He shook hands cordially with both young men. He was struck by Jean's
sad expression and hollow cheeks. "You are not looking like yourself,
my friend."

Jean did not hear this, he was gazing at Esperance, so pretty in her
feather toque.

"We are come, uncle, expressly to ask your permission to accompany
my cousin to Brussels. We were told of the project yesterday by
Mounet-Sully, and if you approve...."

"On my word, my dear fellow," cried out the professor, delightedly,
"you will do me a real service, I was just considering about writing
to Esperance's godfather!"

"What a narrow escape! papa darling, and what a horrid surprise you
were plotting without giving any sign!"

"Then you prefer this arrangement? You accept Maurice and Jean as your
knights-errant? I am delighted with the arrangement, and I hope that
Mlle. Frahender will raise no objection."

The gentle old lady smiled at them all. She was very fond of Jean
Perliez, and Maurice Renaud's high spirits delighted her.

It was decided that Jean, as most responsible, should be in charge of
all the details of the journey. François Darbois led him into the
library and entrusted him with a goodly sum of money.

"This should cover your expenses. I count upon you, my young friend,
and I thank you."

He paused a moment, then asked affectionately, "Have you no hope?"

"None," replied Jean, simply, "but what does it matter, but to-day, at
least, I am quite happy!"

Two days after this visit, the notice of the first rehearsals was
received. Esperance was at the theatre long before the hour required,
and went at once towards the stage. The curtain had just been raised,
and the lamp of the servant dusting served only to lighten the gloom.
Followed by Mlle. Frahender, the young girl traversed the corridor
ornamented with marble busts and pictures of the famous artists who
had made the house of Molière more illustrious by their talent. With
beating heart, she descended the four steps that led to the stage.

There she stopped shivering. She seemed to see shadows drawing near
her, and her hand clenched that of the old Mademoiselle.

"What is it, Esperance?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"Was that not Talma, down there, and Mlle. Clairon and Mlle. Mars, and
Rachel, that magnificent, expressive masque there ... look?"

Mounet-Sully came in. Esperance still seemed in a dream.

"Your pardon, master, the atmosphere of glory that one breathes here
has intoxicated me a little."

During the rehearsal the music of the voice of the new "_Dona
Sol_" blended charmingly with the powerful accents of the great
actor, so that all the artists listened with emotion and delight.

In the final act, when "_Dona Sol_," beside herself, raises her
poignard to "_Don Ruy Gomez_," saying, "I am of the family,
uncle," there was an outburst of "Bravos" for Esperance, who, erect
and trembling, shoulders thrown back, had just sobbed these words in
a vibrant voice between clenched teeth. With her pale face and
out-stretched arm, she might have been the statue of despair
struggling with destiny.

Madame Darbois was heavy hearted to have her go. It was the first time
that she had been parted from her daughter for even a few days. She
often looked at her husband, hoping that he would understand her
anxiety and urge her not to go, too. Jean and Maurice came to escort
Esperance, who had been ready for a long time. Mlle. Frahender was
carrying a cardboard box, containing two bonnets and a light cloth, in
which to wrap her hat in in the train. All the rest of her belongings
were contained in a little attaché case of grey duck, so flat that it
seemed impossible that it could contain anything.

When Madame Darbois saw them drive away, she was filled with distress,
and as there was maternal anxiety in the mother's breast, so was there
foreboding of evil in the father's mind.

"I hope nothing bad will happen," thought the good woman, "but railway
accidents are so common nowadays."

"Who will she be seeing while she is away? What is destiny providing
for her? My child is not armed against adventure," the philosopher was
thinking.

The two looked at each other, divining the miserable anxiety to which
the other was prey.

The rough, strident notes of Adhemar Meydieux's voice suddenly broke
upon this atmosphere of gentle melancholy--"Well! what is this I hear?
Esperance has gone; it is madness! I read in my paper this morning
that she is going to play '_Dona Sol_' at Brussels! So I have
come to escort her."

François wrung his hand without saying a word.

"What is the matter with you," went on Adhemar, "you seem to have
changed into pillars of salt. I know very well that the theatre is
Sodom and Gomorrah in one, but wait a little before you give way
entirely! Who is going with my goddaughter?"

"Mlle. Frahender, Marguerite, Maurice Renaud and Jean Perliez," the
poor mother hastened to say.

"And what an escort," jeered Adhemar. "The old mademoiselle will be
open-mouthed before her pupil, she knows nothing of life. Provided
that Esperance obeys the commandments of the Church and does not miss
Mass on Sunday, she will be satisfied. Her piety and her sudden love
of the theatre coincide with her attempt to save a soul; but I tell
you that she cannot see farther than the end of her nose, which,
though long enough in all conscience, doesn't furnish elevation for
much view. And," he continued, pleased with his wit, "Maurice Renaud,
that wild rascal, is he apt to inspire respect for Esperance? As to
Jean Perliez, the poor little ninny is head over heels in love with
her. I don't suppose that you have noticed it?"

"Not only noticed it, but encouraged the young man," said François,
"and he would be a very honourable and desirable son-in-law."

"My poor friend, my good fellow," and Adhemar collapsed in a chair and
rubbed his hands together; "my poor dear friend, and you believe that
Esperance...?"

He laughed aloud.

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