A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P R S T U V W X Z

The Idol of Paris

S >> Sarah Bernhardt >> The Idol of Paris




"Oh! oh! oh!" screamed Meydieux.

"Yes, refusing to perform the sole function the State expects of
them."

"And that is?"

"To become a husband, a father, a parent."

"You are insolent! It is not worth my while to reply to you. You may
tell my goddaughter...."

The door opened, and Esperance, who had been kept awake by the noise
of their voices, appeared to know what was the matter!

"Ah! there you are. I will say good-bye! Your cavaliers annoy me."

He threw a furious glance towards Jean, who had not spoken a word. It
is a fact that the majority of people cherish more rancour against the
witness of an insult than against the insulter himself.

"I will not be present at your triumph--as they call it. I am going to
your father and shall tell him everything."

"My father, godfather, knows that I always tell the truth; he will
await my return to judge my actions and those of my dear comrades."

Adhemar pulled on his hat and stormed out of the room, swelling with
wounded dignity.

Esperance blew a kiss to the two young men.

"Now I am going to sleep until dinner time. I have just three-quarters
of an hour. Do not forget, my loyal attendants, that we dine at
six-thirty," she added with a sweeping courtesy, and disappeared,
light of heart at the departure of her godfather.




CHAPTER X


The performance was an unparalleled triumph for the players and little
"_Dona Sol_" received the most flattering part of the success.
The King, knowing that the Queen had already favoured this delightful
child, would not be outdone in generosity, and sent to the dressing-room
of the new star a very beautiful ring, set with a magnificent pearl and
two diamonds. Esperance, who had never had any jewellery except a gold
chain that her mother's aunt had left her and the little ring her father
had given her for her first communion, found herself, in one day,
possessor of two ornaments which the most fastidious worldling would
not have disdained. She put the ring immediately on her first finger,
since it was a little loose for the ring finger, and looked at herself
in the glass, arranging a lock of hair with the ringed hand, raising an
eyebrow and laughing delightedly to see the effect produced by the ring.
Count Albert watched her from the neighbouring room where he was waiting.
His face was of a livid pallor. His heart beat so fast that he felt weak,
and was forced to sit down. He was out of his senses. All the frenzy of
youth, repressed so long, mounted in a wave to his brain.

Marguerite, coming to dress her mistress, announced that the gentlemen
were waiting. She quickly threw on a cloak, saying, "I am ready."

Mounet-Sully and Count Albert entered together. The Count offered his
arm to the old Mademoiselle, and Esperance, free of the contact that
disturbed her, joyfully accepted the tragedian's assistance.

The supper was charming, and proved to the young girl that the feasts
of artists and men of the world do not end in the orgies described by
the odious godfather. The young girl was at the right of the Prince
with Mounet-Sully opposite, at the right of the Princess. None of the
guests could help noticing the Count's agitation. The Military Aide,
representing King Leopold, Baron von Berger, was an old friend of the
Styvens's family. He was uneasy, and when he saw the young Count
preparing to take the ladies home, "No, no, my boy," he said to him in
a low tone, "You are not yourself--you are distraught. I am afraid
that you have been hard hit."

"You are not mistaken," replied the young man, "I burn like a devil,
and at the same time I am as happy as a god."

"Well, now I am going to escort these ladies, and to-morrow I will
have a talk with you."

Esperance slept badly and woke late. The old Mademoiselle was sitting
beside her, spectacles across her nose, reading the papers. Her kind
face was beaming. She was cutting out and putting aside certain
articles, then she pinned them in order, all ready to send to M. and
Madame Darbois.

The young girl was touched, and raising herself in bed, flung her arms
about the old lady.

"What a dear you are, and how I love you!"

Mlle. Frahender at that moment had her reward for all the little
sacrifices she had made for her pupil.

The critics were dithyrambic in their discourses concerning the new
"Dona Sol," but the casual reporters were, as always, indiscreet, and
disguised the truth under little prevarications, fantastic and
suggestive. After having read two or three of the articles, Esperance
pushed them all aside. She took the name of all the critics, and wrote
them little notes of thanks, while Mlle. Frahender added the
addresses. In the neighbouring room a discussion was going on between
her knight-attendants. Esperance did not gather its cause, although
certain phrases were audible.

"No, I tell you," Maurice was saying, "if it is worth while at all, I
must be the one."

"I could always demand a correction," replied Jean.

"Correction of what? It is simply one of those ambiguous phrases which
are used every day. Why notice it?"

The sound of Esperance's voice cut short their discussion.

"What are you talking about?" she called out.

"Nothing at all," returned Maurice, "that is, only stupid things you
would not understand."

"That is not a very gallant morning greeting, cousin, but you have not
forgotten your promise to lake me to the Museum this morning, I hope."

"Yes, my dear, we will go to the Museum in a very little while."

She heard the door close.

"Are you still there, Jean?" she called.

"And at your service," he replied.

"There is nothing I need, thank you. I just want to know what
correction you were talking about."

"It is a private affair of Maurice's," stammered the young actor.

"I see, thank you."

After lunch the travellers set out for the Museum. Maurice was
surprised and delighted by the instinct that guided his cousin towards
the best that was in the pictures. He explained to her in the language
affected by painters the reason for certain unreal shadows in a
certain picture, and the necessity for them, the tact a painter must
use in managing his light, the difficulty of foreshortening. He told
her the well-known anecdote of Delacroix replying to the professor who
objected that he had put a full face eye in a profile, "But, my dear
master, I have tried everything and that is the only eye that gives the
profile its proper value." And the professor of the great painter-to-be,
after several sketches on the transparent paper over his pupil's canvas,
said to him, "You are entirely right. Keep that full face eye."

They left the Museum, animated by different feelings. The more that
Maurice discovered his cousin's noble qualities, the delicacy of her
feelings, the strength of her loyalty, the more he felt of protective
affection for this child who was so pure, so free, and who had made
her entry so bravely into the whirlpool where things are generally
turbulent, and most brutal in the brutal side of Parisian life. The
admiration of his twenty years, for Esperance's alluring beauty, was
purified into a friendship which he felt growing deeper and stronger.
As to Jean Perliez, he had become more and more resigned that his love
should remain forever in the shade, unlimited devotion for all time,
all his being offered in sacrifice to the frail idol, who went her way
star-gazing, unsuspecting all the time that she was trampling upon
hearts under her foot.




CHAPTER XI


M. and Madame Darbois had received the telegram announcing the return
of their daughter, and were at the station to meet her. Esperance saw
them and would have jumped out before the train had fully slopped.
Maurice held her just in time.

"No foolishness there, little cousin. Your bodyguards must return you
intact to your family's four arms. One more moment of patience. What a
hurry you are in to be rid of us."

She held out her little hands to the two young men. "Oh, naughty
Maurice! You know very well that I shall never forget these three days
we have passed together, when you have been so good to me and taught
me so very much."

Maurice kissed her boldly; Jean put his lips very respectfully to the
warm, soft little hand.

The train stopped and the Darbois family were in an instant reunited.
Mlle. Frahender declined escort to her convent. François Darbois
installed her in a landau, and after he had thanked her heartily for
her kindness to his daughter, gave the address to the coachman, who
drove away with the old lady holding her inevitable little package on
her lap, and steadying her old-fashioned little attaché case on the
seat opposite.

The Darbois family took their places in another carriage. Esperance
must sit between her father and mother, leaning close to them,
caressing them endlessly, and dropping her little blonde head on her
mother's shoulder.

"Oh! how long it seems since I have seen you," she kept repeating.

She held her father's hand and pressed it against her heart. It seemed
to her suddenly as if she had suffered from that absence of three
days, and yet she could not specify at what moment she had wished
herself back with them. She recounted all the little events that had
taken place during the three eventful days.

"You know," she explained to her father, "I am bringing you all the
newspaper articles. Then I have the letter from the President of the
Committee, and the beautiful presents from the King and Queen."

The carriage stopped at the Boulevard Raspail. The _concierge_
came forward.

"I am sure I hope that Mademoiselle has had a success."

Esperance looked at her with astonishment, but the woman's husband
came up with a newspaper in his hand, which he unfolded to display the
picture of Esperance just beneath the headlines.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "they will make me odious to the public.
Mounet-Sully was so wonderful. Worms so fine in his monologue...."

Sadness overcame her.

She was still sad when she entered her own room. She touched all the
familiar little objects, and kissed the feet of the ivory Virgin upon
her mantel-piece with great emotion. She thanked her mother with a
look when she saw the fresh marguerites in the two enamel vases. In
comparison with the luxury of her apartment at the Grand Hotel in
Brussels, the simple surroundings of her own room charmed her anew.
She swayed for a moment in her rocking-chair, sat down on her low
stool, knelt upon her bed to straighten the branch of box beneath the
silver crucifix her mother had given her when she was seventeen.

Marguerite came in with the trunk and luggage.

"What is that?" asked Esperance, spying a big box fastened with nails.

"I don't know anything about it, Mademoiselle. They gave it to me at
the hotel saying it was for you."

The box on being opened displayed a magnificent basket of orchids.
Attached by a white ribbon was a card--"Countess Styvens."

Esperance grew pale; she took the card from her mother's hands,
fearing that she might be mistaken. It was indeed the Countess and not
the Count. She breathed again! Marguerite and the maid carried the
basket into the salon; then the young girl went into the library with
her mother. The newspaper clippings were spread out on the table, and
the two famous trinkets had been taken from their cases. Madame
Darbois clasped and unclasped her hands.

"Oh! but they are too beautiful, simply too beautiful!" she said.

And the philosopher, half in indignation, half in indulgence,
exclaimed, "My poor child, you can not possibly wear such jewels at
your age!"

"Ah!" said Esperance with disappointment, "I cannot wear them?"

"Why, no, it is out of the question."

"You will be able to wear them in a play, at the theatre," said Madame
Darbois, but her tone lacked assurance, for she did not know whether
that would be possible either.

M. Darbois had turned his attention to the notices, having pushed
aside the descriptive paragraphs. He read them and gave them to his
wife.

"Your godfather came to complain to us of Maurice, of Jean Perliez,
and of yourself. You all displeased him; tell us just what happened?"

Esperance recounted the happenings with perfect impartiality, adding
honestly that she had done nothing to try to persuade her godfather to
remain. The philosopher smiled.

"Very well, let us forget all that. We will take up our happy life
again, that has been interrupted by your triumphs," he added sadly.
And then, as the women were preparing to leave the library, "Tell me,
Esperance, who is the Countess Styvens?"

"A great lady at court, and oh! so charming."

"Is Count Albert Styvens of the Legation any relation of hers?"

"Yes, father, he is her son. But why do you ask that?"

"Your godfather spoke to me of this young man, who, it seems, wants to
complete his studies in philosophy."

The poor little star trembled. She was on the point of confessing all
her presentiments, her terrors, to her father.... But he had just sat
down to his desk and seemed already indifferent to what was going on
around him. She went softly out of the library, following her mother,
who was bearing away the newspaper excerpts and the royal jewel cases.

In the beautiful house which Countess Styvens occupied with her son,
an animated discussion was taking place at the same moment between
Baron von Berger and Count Albert.

"I advise you, my boy," the Baron was saying brusquely, "to ask for
another post. You, so sensible, too sensible, for a man of your age,
in fact it's a little ridiculous...."

"That has nothing to do with it," returned the younger man coolly.

"All very well, but my quasi-paternal duty is to stop you before
certain danger. You admit that you adore this young star of seventeen,
the daughter of a philosopher of high standing. You do not intend, I
suppose, to make her your mistress?"

Albert Styvens felt the blood run into his temples, but he did not
answer.

The Baron continued, more determinedly, "You do not intend to propose
her as a daughter-in-law to your mother?"

For an instant a vertigo froze the young man's being. His heart
stopped beating, his throat contracted with a terrific pressure of
blood. He did not answer a word.

"In God's name," cried the Baron violently, "am I in the presence of a
woman or a man?"

"A man," said Count Albert, getting to his feet. "A man whose anger is
held in check by his respect, but who can endure no more," he added,
throwing back his arms to allow his chest to dilate still farther. "I
am going to answer you; please listen without interruption."

Then, after a moment more of silence, he declared, "Yes, I am
desperately in love with this young girl, and I am going to try
everything, not to make her love me, for that she probably never
will--but that she will let herself be loved. What will come of it, I
have not the least idea. I want her and no one else. I will commit
no disloyal act, I give you my word for that. If she should become my
wife, it would be with my mother's full permission. I beg you now, my
dear Baron, to say nothing further about it; I am old enough to
regulate my life, as much as the divine guiding force which you call
'Destiny' permits."

He came up to the Baron, clasped his hand in a firm grasp, and
reaching for his hat, added, "I want to get out in the air. Shall we
go together?"

The Baron recognized the opposition of an unchangeable will to his
own, which no discussion could influence.




CHAPTER XII


Life had resumed its regular course in the apartment on the Boulevard
Raspail, but an important relationship was developing in Esperance's
life. Count Albert Styvens came three times a week to pursue his
philosophic studies with Professor Darbois. This arrangement had been
contrived by the hypocrite, Adhemar Meydieux. He did not mistake the
Count's infatuation for his goddaughter. A marriage of such wealth and
aristocratic connections flattered his foolish egoism, and he was
sworn to attempt everything that would bring about such a magnificent
consummation.

A friend of the family, Doctor Bertaud, noticed alarming symptoms in
the girl, most prevalent between five and seven o'clock each evening.
He could not ascertain the cause, but persuaded the philosopher to
take her to Doctor Potain, a celebrated heart specialist. Madame
Darbois took Esperance for an examination.

François was perfectly amazed by the deep culture of the Count, who at
first sight seemed of only average intelligence. When the family
gathered together for dinner, he commented on his impressions to his
wife and daughter.

"This young man is a very remarkable personality," he said, "very
difficult to penetrate, yet nevertheless very sincere. I do not
believe that the slightest untruth has ever crossed his lips. I enjoy
working with him. Ah! that reminds me, I have invited him to dine with
us on Thursday. He is very anxious to be presented to you, and
Esperance already knows him, so I thought you would find it
agreeable."

The young girl trembled. Her blood seemed to stop in her veins. Her
hand pressed against her heart felt no movement there. Her father,
noticing the change in her, exclaimed, "Bertaud is quite right, you
are sometimes abnormally pale; do you feel ill?"

"No, father, it is nothing; I felt dizzy for a moment."

"All the same we must hurry Bertaud with his examination."

Back in her own room the young girl began to weep. "I shall never
escape that man, never, never."

Her eyes invoked the Virgin of ivory. Her two arms extended, implored
her, but it seemed to Esperance that they were opened also to whatever
discouragement Destiny might have in store. She fell asleep in her
chair, worn out by self-hypnosis on the holy image.

A horrible nightmare unfolded in her brain. She found herself on a
great map of the world, with a voice calling to her, "Why are you
frozen there, why don't you move? You are free as the air of this
great globe." Then she began to walk, but at once she saw the earth
open and long tentacles, like arms, emerge to clutch her. She recoiled
quickly and started in another direction but the same phenomenon
occurred again. After that she determined to climb on to a great plain
that she saw ahead. She thought she was safe when all at once she saw
arising on every side the frightful tentacles which crept along her
hiding-place, viscous and black, nearer, near enough to touch her. An
indescribable terror brought her to her feet with a cry for help!
Mile. Frahender and Marguerite came running in. They found her pale
and bathed in perspiration. Her lips were trembling, stammering. It
was five minutes before she recovered herself. She described her
dream, and the old Mademoiselle prescribed a little walk in the air.
The child followed her chaperon with nervous docility.

It was the day after the next when Albert Styvens was to come to
dinner. Esperance had thought of saying that she was ill, but her
heart misgave her at the thought of the anxiety she would occasion her
mother, and then ... and then ... the dinner would be postponed, and
"This man will have what he will have, and I am the prey of his
dream," she said with a sigh of resignation.

The dinner was arranged for seven-thirty. The young Count presented
himself at seven-fifteen, having been preceded by two great bunches of
flowers, for Madame Darbois and Esperance, who was at the piano when
he came into the room. The Count entered with Madame Darbois, whom her
husband had just presented to her, and they stopped silent to listen
to Mendelssohn's beautiful nocturne, "Song of a Summer Night." When
the last echoes of the last phrase had died away, discreet applause
was wafted to her. She swung quickly on her stool and found herself
before the young man who was bowing, and taking the hand she held out
to him. She had not yet overcome that terror he inspired in her, and
was surprised to find him so much at ease. After dinner they talked of
music, and Esperance, praising a magnificent duet of Liszt, from the
symphony of Orpheus, was overcome when the young man rose, took her
hand and led her towards the piano.

"Come, let us try to play it together." He looked towards François
Darbois and received his nod of acquiescence from the depths of the
arm-chair where the professor sat clasping his long, fine hands.

The Count was intoxicated by the light perfume of Esperance's body
there so near him that he seemed almost to touch her. His strong hands
rose and fell beside her delicate fingers, making the young girl think
of a great hawk fluttering over white pigeons, at the farm of Penhouet
in Brittany, where for years she had spent her holidays. The fragment
was executed brilliantly, for these two persons, united in their
enthusiasm for art, although so different in personal reactions, gave
the two auditors of this musical treat a magnificent interpretation of
Liszt's genius. François Darbois and his wife, both distinguished in
their appreciation of the beautiful, could not sufficiently thank the
Count, dividing his praises with congratulations to their daughter.

"You surpassed yourself, my dear," said the philosopher, "but then I
admit that you have never before had such a partner. It was really
remarkable."

When the young man had left, Esperance excused herself, saying that
she was tired. She kissed her parents tenderly, although for the first
time she felt an unjust and unfounded resentment against them. She was
aggrieved that they should see nothing of Count Styvens's manoeuvres.

The maid, helping her to undress, exclaimed, "How grand it was this
evening, Mademoiselle, and what a fine young gentleman!"

Esperance shrugged her shoulders disdainfully. Marguerite, coming in
to see that the young mistress whom she adored wanted nothing, could
not help saying, "Ah! Mademoiselle, what talent he has, that young
Count! How well you two did look, your backs, sitting side by side! I
just said to myself...."

Esperance shivered, guessing what was coming, and interrupted the good
woman quickly, "Don't talk to me Marguerite, to-night. I am tired and
I must go to sleep."

But she did not sleep.




CHAPTER XIII


The last presentation of Sardou's play was a veritable ovation for
Esperance. Flowers were presented to her on the stage. Two baskets
attracted special attention, one overflowing with white orchids; the
other, with gardenias, so powerful in their sweetness that even the
first rows of the orchestra felt their strength. It was rumoured in
the boxes that the white orchids were sent by the Countess Styvens and
her son Albert, who were sitting in a stall in the auditorium. As to
the gardenias, the card attached to the green ribbons of the basket
revealed the name of the most elegant clubman of Paris, the Duke
Charles de Morlay-La-Branche. He was a handsome man of thirty-two,
very wealthy, adored by women, popular with men. A ripple ran through
the audience.

"You know the Duke, they say that he is very much taken...."

"They know each other?"

"No, he has never been presented."

"No, look out for the love of the immaculate Albert," said mockingly a
beautiful woman with bold eyes, glancing toward the stall occupied by
Albert and his mother; but her eyes widened at seeing the Duke enter
to present his compliments to the Countess Styvens. A few minutes
later he was seen to go out with Count Albert. He was going to be
presented to the young artist.

Count Styvens's love was known to all Paris, as was also the respect
with which he surrounded his idol. It was also known that the young
girl did not return this love; likewise that the son of the chemist
Perliez was devoting his life to Esperance. But what would be the end
of these two gallants, both so timid, so full of silent ardour? But
now had entered upon the scene a rival possessed of beauty, of
confidence, one who had toyed lightly with women's hearts, until he
had wearied of the facile love his physical charm and wit attracted.

"That should be good sport to watch," said an old beau. "I am betting
on the Duke."

A newly married bride turned towards him, "I am betting on the young
girl."

A journalist, thin, blonde, very young, just beginning his career, had
followed the Duke and the Count behind the scenes. He accompanied them
into Esperance's little room and described what happened us follows:--

"She was holding the two cards, there in the midst of the overpowering
odour of gardenias. She blushed when she heard the name of the Duke,
Albert Styvens was presenting to her. She thanked them both very
prettily, but without showing any preference for either. The Duke
began complimentary speeches without making any impression. When they
took leave, he wanted to kiss Esperance's hand, but she withdrew it
looking very much surprised. This rather confused the Duke. As soon as
these gentlemen departed I was presented, and her manner was just as
charming. Jean Perliez came in just then to tell her that the curtain
would go up in three minutes. He brought her a bunch of Parma violets,
and she took them from him and put them in her girdle; you will see
her wearing them on the stage. Perliez is desperately in love with
her, and he grew very pale. He went out without a word. I think he
must have gone to cry out his emotion in a corner. That is all,"
concluded the rising journalist.

Copyright (c) 2007. famouswriterz.com. All rights reserved.