As for Signora Luigia, dressed in black, which was customary with her, and having had the good sense to reject the services of a coiffeur, she was royally beautiful. An air of melancholy gravity, expressed by her whole person, inspired a sentiment of respect which surprised the men who on Bixiou’s invitation were there to judge of her. The only special presentation that was made among the guests was that of Desroches to Vautrin, which Bixiou made in the following lively formula: —
“Maitre Desroches, the most intelligent solicitor of modern times — Comte Halphertius of Sweden.”
As for Sir Francis Drake, he seemed at first inclined to disdain the influence of the dramatic newspapers, whose representatives were there assembled; but presently recognizing Felicien Vernou and Lousteau, two noted men of that secondary press, he greeted them heartily and shook them by the hand.
Before dinner was announced, Comte Halphertius judged it advisable to make a little speech.
“Dear madame,” he said to his aunt, “you are really a fairy godmother. This is the first time I have ever been in a Parisian salon, and here you have assembled to meet me all that literature, the arts, and the legal profession can offer of their best. I, who am only a northern barbarian, — though our country, too, can boast of its celebrities, — Linnaeus, Berzelius, Thorwaldsen, Tegner, Franzen, Geier, and the charming novelist Frederika Bremer, — I find myself a cipher in such company.”
“But in Bernadotte France and Sweden clasped hands,” replied Madame de Saint-Esteve, whose historical erudition went as far as that.
“It is very certain,” said Vautrin, “that our beloved sovereign, Charles XIV. — ”
The announcement of dinner by a majordomo, who threw open the double doors of the salon, put an end to this remark. Jacqueline took Vautrin’s arm, saying in a whisper as they walked along, —
“Have I done things all right?”
“Yes,” replied Vautrin, “it is all in good style, except that devil of a turban of yours, which makes you look like a poll-parrot.”
“Why, no,” said Jacqueline, “not at all; with my Javanese face” (she was born on the island of Java), “oriental things set me off.”
Madame de Saint-Esteve placed Sir Francis Drake upon her right, and Desroches on her left; Vautrin sat opposite, flanked on either side by Emile Blondet, of the “Debats,” and the Signoria Luigia; the rest of the company placed themselves as they pleased. The dinner, on the whole, was dull; Bixiou, at Madame de Saint-Esteve’s request, had warned the party to risk nothing that might offend the chaste ears of the pious Italian. Forced to mind their morals, as a celebrated critic once observed, these men of wit and audacity lost their spirit; and, taking refuge in the menu, which was excellent, they either talked together in a low voice, or let the conversation drag itself along in bourgeois commonplaces. They ate and they drank, but they did not dine. Bixiou, incapable of bearing this state of things during a whole dinner, determined to create a reaction. The appearance of this Swedish magnate, evidently on intimate terms with the Saint-Esteve, puzzled him. He noticed a certain insufficiency in Vautrin, and thought to himself that if he were really a great nobleman, he would be more equal to the occasion, and give a tone to the feast. He determined, therefore, to test him, and thus provide amusement, at any rate, for himself. So, at the end of the second course, he suddenly said from his end of the table, —
“Monsieur le comte, you are too young, of course, to have known Gustavus III., whom Scribe and Auber have set in opera, while the rest of us glorify him in a galop.”
“I beg your pardon,” replied Vautrin, jumping at the chance thus given him, “I am nearly sixty years of age, which makes me thirteen in 1792, when our beloved sovereign was killed by the assassin Ankarstroem, so that I can well remember that period.”
Thus, by means of a little volume entitled “Characters and Anecdotes of the Court of Sweden,” printed in 1808, and bought on the quays in the interests of his Swedish incarnation, the chief of the detective police evaded the trap. He did better. The faucet being open, he poured forth such an abundance of erudition and detailed circumstances, he related so many curious and secret anecdotes, especially relating to the coup d’etat by which, in 1772, Gustavus III. had freed his crown, — in short, he was so precise and so interesting that as they left the table Emile Blondet said to Bixiou, —
“I thought, as you did, that a foreign count in the hands of a marriage agent was a very suspicious character; but he knows the court of Sweden in a way that it was quite impossible to get out of books. He is evidently a man well born; one might make some interesting articles out of the stories he has just told.”
“Yes,” said Bixiou, “and I mean to cultivate his acquaintance; I could make a good deal out of him in the Charivari.”
“You have better find out first,” said Desroches, “whether he has enough French humor to like being caricatured.”
Presently the first notes of the piano gave notice that the Signora Luigia was about to mount the breach. She first sang the romance in “Saul” with a depth of expression which moved the whole company, even though that areopagus of judges were digesting a good dinner, as to which they had not restrained themselves. Emile Blondet, who was more of a political thinker than a man of imagination, was completely carried away by his enthusiasm. As the song ended, Felicien Vernou and Lousteau went up to Sir Francis Drake and reproached him for wishing to take such a treasure from France, at the same time flattering him for his cleverness as an impresario.
La Luigia then sang an air from the “Nina” of Paesiello; and in that — the part being very dramatic — she showed a talent for comedy second only to her vocal gift. It was received with truly genuine applause; but what assured and completed her success with these trained judges was her modesty and the sort of ignorance in which she still remained of her amazing talent, — in the midst, too, of praises which might have turned her head. Accustomed to frenzied self-love and the insolent pretensions of the veriest sparrow of the opera, these journalists were amazed and touched by the humility, the simplicity of this empress, who seemed quite astonished at the effect she produced.
The success of the trial passed all expectation. There was but one voice as to the desirability of immediately engaging her; and Sir Francis Drake, Vautrin, and Desroches presently passed into an adjoining room to draw up the terms of the contract. As soon as that was done, Vautrin returned to the salon for la diva, requesting her to hear the contract read and to affix her signature. Her departure for London without further delay was fixed for the following day in company with Sir Francis Drake.
A few days later the packet-boat from Boulogne conveyed to England another personage of this history. Jacques Bricheteau, having obtained Sallenauve’s present address from Madame de l’Estorade, and considering the danger which threatened the new deputy extremely urgent, decided not to write, but to go himself to England and confer with him in person. When he reached London, he was surprised to learn that Hanwell was the most celebrated insane asylum in Great Britain. Had he reflected on the mental condition of Marie-Gaston, he might have guessed the truth. As it was, he felt completely bewildered; but not committing the blunder of losing his time in useless conjectures, he went on without a moment’s delay to Hanwell, which establishment is only about nine miles from London, pleasantly situated at the foot of a hill on the borders of Middlesex and Surrey.
After a long detention in the waiting-room, he was at last enabled to see his friend at a moment when Marie-Gaston’s insanity, which for several days had been in the stages of mania, was yielding to the care of the doctor, and showed some symptoms of a probable recovery. As soon as Sallenauve was alone with the organist, he inquired the reason that led him to follow him; and he heard, with some emotion, the news of the intrigues which Maxime de Trailles had apparently organized against him. Returning to his original suspicions, he said to Jacques Bricheteau, —
“Are you really sure that that person who declared himself my father was
the Marquis de Sallenauve, and that I am truly his son?”
“Mother Marie-des-Anges and Achille Pigoult, by whom I was warned of this plot, have no more doubt than I have of the existence of the Marquis de Sallenauve; this gossip with which they threaten you has, in my judgment, but one dangerous aspect. I mean that by your absence you are giving a free field to your adversaries.”
“But,” replied the deputy, “the Chamber will not condemn me without a hearing. I wrote to the president and asked for leave of absence, and I took the precaution to request de l’Estorade, who knows the reason of my absence, to be kind enough to guarantee me, should my absence be called in question.”
“I think you also wrote to Madame de l’Estorade, didn’t you?”
“I wrote only to her,” replied Sallenauve. “I wanted to tell her about the great misfortune of our mutual friend, and, at the same time, I asked her to explain to her husband the kind service I requested him to do for me.”
“If that is so,” said Bricheteau, “you need not count for one moment on the l’Estorades. A knowledge of this trick which is being organized against you has reached their ears and affected their minds, I am very sure.”
He then related the reception he had met with from Madame de l’Estorade, and the uncivil remarks she had made about Sallenauve, from which he concluded that in the struggle about to take place no assistance could be relied on from that direction.
“I have every reason to be surprised,” said Sallenauve, “after the warm assurances Madame de l’Estorade has given me of an unfailing good-will. However,” he added, philosophically, “everything is possible in this world; and calumny has often undermined friendship.”
“You understand, therefore,” said Bricheteau, “that it is all-important to start for Paris, without a moment’s delay. Your stay here, all things considered, is only relatively necessary.”
“On the contrary,” said Sallenauve, “the doctor considers that my presence here may be of the utmost utility. He has not yet let me see the patient, because he expects to produce some great result when I do see him.”
“That is problematical,” returned Jacques Bricheteau; “whereas by staying here you are compromising your political future and your reputation in the most positive manner. Such a sacrifice no friendship has the right to demand of you.”
“Let us talk of it with the doctor,” said Sallenauve, unable to deny the truth of what Bricheteau said.
On being questioned, the doctor replied that he had just seen symptoms in the patient which threatened another paroxysm.
“But,” cried Sallenauve, eagerly, “you are not losing hope of a cure, are you, doctor?”
“Far from that. I have perfect faith in the ultimate termination of the case; but I see more delay in reaching it than at first I expected,” replied the doctor.
“I have recently been elected to our Chamber of deputies,” said Sallenauve, “and I ought to be in my seat at the opening of the session; in fact, my interests are seriously concerned, and my friend Monsieur Bricheteau has come over to fetch me. If therefore I can be sure that my presence here is not essential — ”
“By all means go,” said the doctor. “It may be a long time before I could allow you to see the patient; therefore you can leave without the slightest self-reproach. In fact, you can really do nothing here at present. Trust him to Lord Lewin and me; I assure you that I shall make his recovery, of which I have no doubt, a matter of personal pride and self-love.”
Sallenauve pressed the doctor’s hand gratefully, and started for London without delay. Arriving there at five o’clock, the travellers were unable to leave before midnight; meantime their eyes were struck at every turn by those enormous posters which English puffism alone is able to produce, announcing the second appearance in Her Majesty’s theatre of the Signora Luigia. The name alone was enough to attract the attention of both travellers; but the newspapers to which they had recourse for further information furnished, as is customary in England, so many circumstantial details about the prima donna that Sallenauve could no longer doubt the transformation of his late housekeeper into an operatic star of the first magnitude.
Going to the box-office, which he found closed, every seat having been sold before mid-day, Sallenauve considered himself lucky to obtain two seats from a speculator, at the enormous cost of five pounds apiece. The opera was “La Pazza d’Amore” of Paesiello. When the curtain rose, Sallenauve, who had spent the last two weeks at Hanwell, among the insane, could all the more appreciate the remarkable dramatic talent his late housekeeper displayed in the part of Nina. Even Bricheteau, though annoyed at Sallenauve’s determination to be present, was so carried away by the power of the singer that he said to his companion rather imprudently, —
“Politics have no triumphs as that. Art alone is deity — ”
“And Luigia is its prophet!” added Sallenauve.
Never, perhaps, had the Italian opera-house in London presented a more brilliant sight; the whole audience was in a transport of enthusiasm, and bouquets fairly rained upon the stage.
As they left the theatre, Bricheteau looked at his watch; it was a quarter to eleven; they had thus ample time to take the steamer leaving, as the tide served, at midnight. But when the organist turned to make this remark to Sallenauve, who was behind him, he saw nothing of his man; the deputy had vanished!
Ten minutes later the maid of the Signora Luigia entered her mistress’s dressing-room, which was filled with distinguished Englishmen presented by Sir Francis Drake to the new star, and gave her a card. On reading the name the prima donna turned pale and whispered a few words to the waiting-woman; then she seemed so anxious to be rid of the crowd who were pressing round her that her budding adorers were inclined to be angry. But a great singer has rare privileges, and the fatigue of the part into which the diva had just put so much soul seemed so good an excuse for her sulkiness that her court dispersed without much murmuring.
Left alone, the signora rapidly resumed her usual dress, and the directors’ carriage took her back to the hotel where she had stayed since arriving in London. On entering her salon she found Sallenauve, who had preceded her.
“You in London, monsieur!” she said; “it is like a dream!”
“Especially to me,” replied Sallenauve, “who find you here, after searching hopelessly for you in Paris — ”
“Did you take that pains? — why?”
“You left me in so strange a manner, and your nature is so rash, you knew so little of Paris, and so many dangers might threaten your inexperience, that I feared for you.”
“Suppose harm did happen to me; I was neither your wife, nor your sister, nor your mistress; I was only your — ”
“I thought,” said Sallenauve, hastily, “that you were my friend.”
“I was — under obligation to you,” she replied. “I saw that I was becoming an embarrassment in your new situation. What else could I do but release you from it?”
“Who told you that you were an embarrassment to me? Have I ever said or intimated anything of the kind? Could I not speak to you, as I did, about your professional life without wounding so deeply your sensibility?”
“People feel things as they feel them,” replied Luigia. “I had the inward consciousness that you would rather I were out of your house than in it. My future you had already given me the means to secure; you see for yourself it is opening in a manner that ought to reassure you.”
“It seems to me so brilliant that I hope you will not think me indiscreet if I ask whose hand, more fortunate than mine, has produced this happy result.”
“That of a great Swedish nobleman,” replied Luigia, without hesitation. “Or rather, I should say, as the friend of a lady who took an interest in me, he procured me an engagement at Her Majesty’s Theatre; the kind encouragement of the public has done the rest.”
“Say, rather, your own talent; I was present at the performance this evening.”
Making him a coquettish courtesy, Lui
gia said, —
“I hope you were satisfied with your humble servant.”
“Your musical powers did not surprise me, for those I knew already; but those transports of dramatic passion, your powerful acting, so sure of itself, did certainly astonish me.”
“It comes from having suffered much,” replied Luigia; “suffering is a great teacher.”
“Suffered? Yes, I know you did, in Italy. But I have liked to feel that after your arrival in France — ”
“Always; I have always suffered,” she said in a voice of emotion. “I was not born under a happy star.”
“That ‘always’ seems like a reproach to me,” said Sallenauve, “and yet I do not know what wrong I can have done you.”
“You have done me no wrong; the harm was there!” she cried, striking her breast, — ”within me!”
“Probably some foolish fancy, such as that of leaving my house suddenly, because your mistaken sense of honor made you think yourself in my way.”
“Not mistaken,” she replied. “I know what was in your thoughts. If only on account of what you had done for me, I knew I could never aspire to your esteem.”
“But, my dear Luigia, I call such ideas absurd. Have I ever shown you any want of consideration? How could I? Your conduct has always been exemplary.”
“Yes, I tried to do everything that would give you a good opinion of me; but I was none the less the widow of Benedetto.”
“What! can you suppose that that misfortune, the result of a just vengeance — ”
“Ah! no, it is not the death of that man that lowered me in your eyes; on the contrary. But I had been the wife of a buffoon, of a police-spy, of a base man, ready to sell me to any one who would give him money.”
“As long as that situation lasted, I thought you deeply to be pitied; but despised, never!”
Works of Honore De Balzac Page 932