by Eugène Sue
“Much in the same degree as the surprise your royal highness would excite among your new acquaintances in the Rue du Temple, were you to proceed thither, as now attired, to pay a friendly visit to Madame Pipelet, and to inquire after the health of Cabrion’s victim, the poor melancholy Alfred!”
“My lord has drawn so lively a sketch of Alfred, attired in his long-skirted green coat and bell-crowned hat,” said the baron, “that I can well imagine him seated in magisterial dignity in his dark and smoky lodge. Let me hope that your royal highness’s visit to the Rue du Temple has fully answered your expectations, and that you are in every way satisfied with the researches of my agent?”
“Perfectly so,” answered Rodolph. “My success was even beyond my expectations.”
Then, after a moment’s painful silence, and to drive away the train of thought conjured up by the recollection of the probable guilt of Madame d’Harville, he resumed, in a tone more gay:
“I am almost ashamed to own to so much childishness, but I confess myself amused with the contrast between my treating Madame Pipelet in the morning to a glass of cordial, and then proceeding in the evening to a grand fête, with all the pomp and prestige of one of those privileged beings who, by the grace of God, ‘reign over this lower world.’ Some men of small fortune would speak of my revenues as those of a millionaire,” added Rodolph, in a sort of parenthesis, alluding to the limited extent of his estates.
“And many millionaires, my lord, might not have the rare, the admirable good sense, of the man of narrow means.”
“Ah, my dear De Graün, you are really too good, much too good! You really overwhelm me,” replied Rodolph, with an ironical smile, while the baron glanced at Murphy with the consciousness of a man who has just discovered he has been saying a foolish thing.
“Really, my dear De Graün,” resumed Rodolph, “I know not how to acknowledge the weight of your compliment, or how to repay such delicate flattery in its own way.”
“My lord, let me entreat of you not to take the trouble,” exclaimed the baron, who had for the instant forgotten that Rodolph, who detested every species of flattery, always revenged himself by the most unsparing raillery on those who, directly or indirectly, addressed it to him.
“Nay, baron, I cannot allow myself to remain in your debt. You have praised my understanding, — I will, in return, admire your countenance; for by my honour, as I sit beside you, you look like a youth of twenty. Antinous himself could not boast of finer features, or a more captivating expression.”
“My lord! my lord! I cry your mercy!”
“Behold him, Murphy, and say whether Apollo could display more graceful limbs, more light, and youthful proportions!”
“I beseech you, my lord, to pardon me, from the recollection of how long it is since I have permitted myself to utter the slightest compliment to your royal highness.”
“Observe, Murphy, this band of gold which restrains, without concealing, the locks of rich black hair flowing over this graceful neck, and—”
“My lord! my lord! for pity’s sake spare me! I repent, most sincerely, of my involuntary fault,” said the unfortunate baron, with an expression of comic despair on his countenance truly ludicrous.
It must not be forgotten that the original of this glowing picture was at least fifty years of age; his hair gray, frizzled and powdered; a stiff white cravat round his throat; a pale, withered countenance; and golden spectacles upon the horny bridge of his sharp, projecting nose.
“Pardon, my lord! pardon, for the baron,” exclaimed the squire, laughing. “I beseech you not to overwhelm him beneath the weight of your mythological allusions. I will be answerable to your royal highness that my unlucky friend here will never again venture to utter a flattery, since so truth is translated in the new vocabulary of Gerolstein.”
“What! old Murphy, too? Are you going to join in the rebellion against sincerity?”
“My lord, I am so sorry for the position of my unfortunate vis-à-vis, that — I beg I may divide his punishment with him.”
“Charcoal-man in ordinary, your disinterested friendship does you honour. But seriously now, my dear De Graün, how have you forgotten that I only allow such fellows as D’Harneim and his train to flatter, for the simple reason that they know not how to speak the truth? That cuckoo-note of false praise belongs to birds of such feather as themselves, and the species they claim relationship with; but for a person of your mind and good taste to descend to its usage — oh, fie! baron, fie!”
“It is all very well, my lord,” said the baron, sturdily; “but I must be allowed to say (with all due apology for my boldness) that there is no small portion of pride in your royal highness’s aversion to receive even a just compliment.”
“Well said, baron! Come, I like you better now you speak plain truths. But tell me how you prove your assertion?”
“Why, just so, my lord; because you repudiate it upon the same principle that might induce a beautiful woman, well aware of her charms, to say to one of her most enthusiastic admirers, ‘I know perfectly well how handsome I am, and therefore your approval is perfectly uncalled for and unnecessary. What is the use of reiterating what everybody knows? Is it usual to proclaim in the open streets that the sun shines, when all may see and feel certain of his midday brightness?’”
“Now, baron, you are shifting your ground, and becoming more dangerous as you become more adroit; and, by way of varying your punishment, I will only say that the infernal Polidori himself could not have more ingeniously disguised the poisonous draught of flattery, when seeking to persuade some poor victim to swallow it.”
“My lord, I am now effectually silenced.”
“Then,” said Murphy (and this time with an air of real seriousness), “your royal highness has now no doubt as to its being really Polidori you encountered in the Rue du Temple?”
“I have ceased to have the least doubt on the subject, since I learned through you that he had been in Paris for some time past.”
“I had forgotten, or, rather, purposely omitted to mention to your lordship,” said Murphy in a sorrowing tone, “a name that never failed to awaken painful feelings; and knowing as I do how justly odious the remembrance of this man was to your royal highness, I studiously abstained from all reference to it.”
The features of Rodolph were again overshadowed with gloom, and, plunged in deep reverie, he continued to preserve unbroken the silence which prevailed until the carriage stopped in the courtyard of the embassy. The windows of the hôtel were blazing with a thousand lights, which shone brightly through the thick darkness of the night, while a crowd of lacqueys, in full-dress liveries, lined the entrance-hall, extending even to the salons of reception, where the grooms of the chamber waited to announce the different arrivals.
M. le Comte —— , the ambassador, with his lady, had purposely remained in the first reception-room until the arrival of Rodolph, who now entered, followed by Murphy and M. de Graün.
Rodolph was then in his thirty-sixth year, in the very prime and perfection of manly health and strength. His regular and handsome features, with the air of dignity pervading his whole appearance, would have rendered him, under any circumstances, a strikingly attractive man; but, combined with the éclat of high birth and exalted rank, he was a person of first-rate importance in every circle in which he presented himself, and whose notice was assiduously sought for. Dressed with the utmost simplicity, Rodolph wore a white waistcoat and cravat; a blue coat, buttoned up closely, on the right breast of which sparkled a diamond star, displayed to admiration the light yet perfect proportions of his graceful figure, while his well-fitting pantaloons, of black kerseymere, defined the finely formed leg and handsome foot in its embroidered stocking.
From the rareness of the Grand Duke’s visits to the haut monde, his arrival produced a great sensation, and every eye was fixed upon him from the moment that, attended by Murphy and Baron de Graün, he entered the first salon at the embassy. An attaché, deputed to watch f
or his arrival, hastened immediately to appraise the ambassadress of the appearance of her illustrious guest. Her excellency instantly hurried, with her noble husband, to welcome their visitor, exclaiming:
“Your royal highness is, indeed, kind, thus to honour our poor entertainment.”
“Nay, madame,” replied Rodolph, gracefully bowing on the hand extended to him, “your ladyship is well aware of the sincere pleasure it affords to pay my compliments to yourself; and as for M. le Comte, he and I are two old friends, who are always delighted to meet. Are we not, my lord?”
“Your royal highness, in deigning to continue to me so flattering a place in your recollection, makes it still more impossible for me ever to forget your many acts of condescending kindness.”
“I assure you, M. le Comte, that in my memory the past never dies; or, at least, the pleasant part of it; for I make it a strict rule never to preserve any reminiscences of my friends but such as are agreeable and gratifying.”
“Your royal highness has found the secret of being happy in your thoughts, and rendering others so at the same time,” rejoined the ambassador, smiling with gratified pride and pleasure at a conference so cordially carried on before a gathering crowd of admiring auditors.
“Thus, then, madame,” replied Rodolph, “will your flattering reception of to-night live long in my memory; and I shall promise myself the happiness of recalling this evening’s fête, with its tasteful arrangements and crowd of attending beauties. Ah, Madame la Comtesse, who like you can effect such a union of taste and elegance as now sparkles around us?”
“Your royal highness is too indulgent.”
“But I have a very important question to ask you: Why is it that, lovely as are your fair guests, their charms are never seen to such perfection as when assembled beneath your hospitable roof?”
“Your royal highness is pleased to view our fair visitants through the same flattering medium with which you are graciously pleased to behold our poor endeavours for your and their amusement,” answered the ambassador, with a deferential bow.
“Your pardon, count,” replied Rodolph, “if I differ with you in opinion. According to my judgment, the cause proceeds wholly from our amiable hostess, Madame l’Ambassadrice.”
“May I request of your royal highness to solve this enigma?” inquired the countess, smiling.
“That is easily given, madame, and may be found in the perfect urbanity and exquisite grace with which you receive your lovely guests, and whisper to each a few charming and encouraging words, which, if the least bit exceeding strict truth,” said Rodolph, smiling with good-tempered satire, “renders those who are even praised above their merits more radiant in beauty from your kind commendations, while those whose charms admit of no exaggeration are no less radiant with the happiness of finding themselves so justly appreciated by you; thus each countenance, thanks to the gentle arts you practise, is made to exhibit the most smiling delight, for perfect content will set off even homely features. And thus I account for why it is that woman, all lovely as she is, never looks so much so as when seen beneath your roof. Come, M. l’Ambassadeur, own that I have made out a good case, and that you entirely concur with me in opinion.”
“Your royal highness has afforded me too many previous reasons to admire and adopt your opinions for me to hesitate in the present instance.”
“And for me, my lord,” said the countess, “at the risk of being included among those fair ladies who get a little more praise or flattery (which was it your highness styled it?) than they deserve, I accept your very flattering explanation with as much qualified pleasure as if it were really founded on truth.”
“In order more effectually to convince you, madame, that nothing is more correct than all I have asserted, let us make a few observations touching the fine effect of praise in animating and lighting up the countenance.”
“Ah, my lord, you are laying a very mischievous snare for me,” said the countess, smiling.
“Well, then, I will abandon that idea; but upon one condition, that you honour me by taking my arm. I have been told wonderful things of a ‘Winter Garden,’ — a work from Fairyland. May I put up my humble petition to be allowed to see this new wonder of a ‘hundred and one nights?’”
“Oh, my lord, with the utmost pleasure. But I see that your highness had received a most exaggerated account. Perhaps you will accompany me, and judge for yourself. Only in this instance I would fain hope that your habitual indulgence may induce you to feel as little disappointment as possible at finding how imperfectly the reality equals your expectations.”
The ambassadress then took the offered arm of Rodolph, and proceeded with him to the other salons, while the count remained conversing with the Baron de Graün and Murphy, whom he had been acquainted with for some time.
And a more beautiful scene of enchantment never charmed the eye than that presented by the aspect of the winter garden, to which Rodolph had conducted his noble hostess. Let the reader imagine an enclosure of about forty feet in length, and thirty in width (leading out of a long and splendid gallery), surmounted by a glazed and vaulted roof, the building being securely covered in for about fifty feet. Round the parallelogram it described, the walls were concealed by an infinite number of mirrors, over which was placed a small and delicate trellis of fine green rushes, which, thanks to the strong light reflected on the highly polished glass, resembled an arbour, and were almost entirely hidden by a thick row of orange-trees, as large as those of the Tuileries, mixed with camellias of equal size; while the golden fruit and verdant foliage of the one contrasted beautifully with the rich clusters of waxen flowers, of all colours, with which the other was loaded. The remainder of the garden was thus devised:
Five or six enormous clumps of trees, and Indian or other tropical shrubs, planted in immense cases filled with peat earth, were surrounded by alleys paved with a mosaic shell-work, and sufficiently wide for two or three persons to walk abreast. It is impossible to describe the wondrous effect produced by this rich display of tropical vegetation in the midst of a European winter, and almost in the very centre of a ballroom. Here might be seen gigantic bananas stretching their tall arms to the glass roof which covered them, and blending the vivid green of their palms with the lanceolated leaves of the large magnolias, some of which already displayed their matchless and odoriferous flowers with their bell-shaped calices, purple without and silvery white within, from which started forth the little gold-threaded stamens. At a little distance were grouped the palm and date-trees of the Levant; the red macaw, and fig-trees from India; all blooming in full health and vigour, and displaying their foliage in all its luxuriance, gave to the tout ensemble a mass of rich, brilliant tropical verdure, which, glittering among the thousand lights, sparkled with the colours of the emerald.
Along the trellising, between the orange-trees, and amid the clumps, were trained every variety of rare climbing plants; sometimes hanging their long wreaths of leaves and flowers in graceful festoons, then depending like blooming serpents from the tall boughs; now trailing at their roots, then ambitiously scaling the very walls, till they hung their united tresses round the transparent and vaulted roof, from which again they floated in mingled masses, waving in the pure, light breeze loaded with so many odours. The winged pomegranate, the passion-flower, with its large purple flowers striated with azure, and crowned with its dark violet tuft, waved in long spiral wreaths over the heads of the admiring crowd, then, as though fatigued with the sport, threw their colossal garlands of delicate flowers across the hard, prickly leaves of the gigantic aloes.
The bignonia of India, with its long, cup-shaped flower of dark sulphur colour, and slight, slender leaves, was placed beside the delicate flesh-coloured petals of the stephanotis, so justly appreciated for its exquisite perfume; the two stems mutually clinging to each other for support, and mingling their leaves and flowers in one confused mass, disposed them in elegant festoons of green fringe spangled with gold and silver spots, around the im
mense velvet foliage of the Indian fig. Farther on, started forth, and then fell again in a sort of variegated and floral cascade, immense quantities of the stalks of the asclepias, whose leaves, large, umbellated, and in clusters of from fifteen to twenty star-shaped flowers, grew so thickly, so evenly, that they might have been mistaken for bouquets of pink enamel surrounded with leaves of fine green porcelain. The borders of the cases containing the orange sand camellias were filled with the choicest cape heaths, the tulips of Thol, the narcissus of Constantinople, the hyacinth, irides, and cyclamina of Persia; forming a sort of natural carpet, presenting one harmonious blending of the loveliest tints.
Chinese lanterns of transparent silk, some pale blue, others pink, partly concealed amid the foliage, threw a soft and gentle light over this enchanting scene; nor could a more ingenious idea have been resorted to than in the happy amalgamation of these two colours, by which a charming and almost unearthly light was produced combining the clear cerulean blue of a summer’s night with the rose-coloured coruscations emitted from sparkling rays of an aurora borealis.
The entrance to this immense hothouse was from a long gallery glittering with gold, with mirrors, crystal vases filled with the choicest perfumes, and brilliantly lighted, and also raised a few steps above the fairy palace we have been endeavouring to describe. The dazzling brightness of the approach served as a sort of penumbra, in which were indistinctly traced out the gigantic exotics discernible through a species of arch, partly concealed by two crimson velvet curtains looped back with golden cords so as to give a dim and misty view of the enchanted land that lay beyond. An imaginative mind might easily have persuaded himself he stood near a huge window opening on some beautiful Asiatic landscape during the tranquillity of a summer’s twilight.
The sounds of the orchestra, weakened by distance, and broken by the joyous hum proceeding from the gallery, died languidly away among the motionless foliage of the huge trees. Insensibly each fresh visitant to this enchanting spot lowered his voice until his words fell in whispers; for the light genuine air, embalmed with a thousand rich odours, appeared to cast a sort of somnolency over the senses; every breath seemed to speak of the clustering plants whose balmy sweetness filled the atmosphere. Certainly two lovers, seated in some corner of this Eden, could conceive no greater happiness to be enjoyed on earth, than thus dreamily to rest beneath the trees and flowers of this terrestrial paradise.