The Idol of Paris by Sarah Bernhardt

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After fifteen days of long walks, which grew longer every day, and
constant care, Albert became completely cured. They had a party at the
farm house to celebrate his recovery, with the garrison doctor for the
only outside guest.

The portrait of the Count that Maurice had done proved to be quite a
remarkable picture--life-like and natural. It was placed on the
mantel-piece in Mme. Styvens's room, where she found it when she
returned after lunch. It was accompanied by a very simple letter, but
a very sincere one, recalling the courage of the young Count and nobly
expressing the gratitude of all. It was written and signed by the
philosopher, Mme. Darbois and Maurice. The beautiful portrait, so
delicately presented, was a source of happy comfort to this lonely
woman.

The next day the Countess had a long talk with her son. He was sitting
at her feet.

"Reflect very carefully," she said to him, "reflect very carefully. I
believe that that child, whom I love, whom I find absolutely charming,
will not willingly renounce her art. However, I am ready to do all I
can to persuade her to accede to our desire and leave a career which
would be an endless source of worry and suffering for you, my dear
son."

"Mama, do not trouble her too much. She is honest and loyal, and I
have nothing to fear for the honour of my name."

And before his mother could speak he went on: "I am jealous, it is
true, but what happiness is not willing to pay for itself with a
little pain? Then, perhaps, she will understand. I love her so much,
dear, dear mother."

She took the head of the dearly loved son in her hands, and looking
deep in his eyes, said fervently--"Dear God! May happiness reward so
great a love!"

The young Count returned with his mother to the farm where Francois
Darbois and his wife waited for them by agreement. After a quarter of
an hour's conversation, Esperance was asked to come to her parents.
She was in her room. Her heart beat as if it would break. She had been
warned by Maurice of her family's interview with the Countess.
Genevieve was with her, extolling the advantages of such a union, at
the same time exalting the real goodness of the Count.

"Think also of your father, who at last will be able to realize his
dream of becoming a member of the Academy. You know as well as I do
that he has every chance of being elected, but he will never present
himself as long as you are on the stage. You know the straightlaced,
old-fashioned ways of that assembly...."

"But most of them are poets and dramatic writers," replied Esperance.
"Why should my father care to belong to the Academy at all?"

As Genevieve rebuked her, her eyes filled with tears. "You see,
Genevieve, I am becoming ungrateful. My nature, that I believed so
frank and straightforward, seems to get tangled in unexpected twists
trying to go the right way. Yes, yes, you are right; I must save
myself from myself."

Just then the maid came into the room.

"Monsieur wants to see Mademoiselle. Madame and Countess Styvens are
with him."

"Very well; say I will come immediately."

Esperance threw her arms around her friend's neck.

"If you could only know how I thank you."

She went to obey the summons of her parents, resolved and comforted by
her friend's words. Her father gave her in a few words the Countess's
message. She went forward, very much agitated, her lips trembling, her
voice uncertain--"Madame, I thank God for giving me another mother who
is so good, so lovable."

The Countess drew her to her, and held her in a long embrace. The
saintly woman was praying that happiness should descend on this little
creature who was to be her daughter.

Maurice, the Baron, Jean, Mlle. Frahender and Genevieve were all,
during this interview, walking nervously in different directions about
the farm Albert was in his mother's room, sitting down, his head in
his hands, awaiting the decision which was to settle the joy or sorrow
of his life. Maurice entered suddenly.

"Come on, cousin," he said, "they are waiting for you."

The young man sprang to his full height with complete command of his
over-excited nerves.

"Ah! Maurice, Maurice...."

He threw his arms about the young man and was off on a run for the
farm. He entered like one distraught, bent over his mother's hands,
and covering them with kisses, murmuring half-finished phrases.
Esperance was beside the Countess. He stood an instant in silence
before her, looking at her questioningly. Blushing and embarrassed the
young girl held out her hands to him and replied low to the question
in his eyes, "Yes."

Then he bent over her hand, and his lips murmured, "I thank you,
Esperance, oh! I thank you."

They all pressed the hands of the two fiances. Mlle. Frahender and
Genevieve kissed Esperance tenderly. The Baron thundered in his
military voice, "There has been no battle, and yet here is the breath
of victory. That is very good, but a little stifling. Let us have some
air!"

The good man had expressed the general sentiment.

The Darbois, Mlle. Frahender and Jean were sitting in the shade of a
little thicket of low, dark-needled pines and other trees with foliage
green like water. Climbing flowers interlaced in the branches, making
flecks of pink and white and violet. It was an ideal refuge from the
heat and the wind. Maurice and Genevieve walked on ahead. Esperance
and Albert sat down on the high point of rock that dominated the
little landscape. For an instant they looked quietly without speaking.

Albert broke this restless silence, and said, as he took Esperance's
hand, "I love you, Esperance, and I will do all that is in my power or
beyond it to make you happy."

"I believe you, Albert, and I hope to be worthy of so devoted a love."

He looked at her very penetratingly. "I know that you are not yet in
love with me."

"I do not know just how I love you, my dear, but I should always have
turned to you if I had been in trouble."

"Have you never been in love?"

"No, I have been and am deeply touched by Jean Perliez's devotion, but
I have never thought of the possibility of being happy with him."

"And the other?" asked Albert, looking straight at her with his clear
eyes.

She did not answer at once.

"The Duke?"

"Yes, the Duke."

"I do not love him," she answered frightened. "At moments I even hate
him, and...."

"And?" insisted the young man, pressing the hand he was still holding.

"... I am happy to be your fiancee!!!"

Her voice vibrated, her eyes were tender with gratitude.

During the dinner Countess Styvens announced that she must go next
day.

"I will take my mother to Brussels," said Albert, "and if you will
permit me, I will return immediately."

The dinner was very gay, for they were all happy. Esperance herself,
so restless, so disturbed only that morning, talked animatedly,
keeping them all delighted with her grace and indefinable charm.
Genevieve was astonished, doubting for a little while whether she was
simply purposely creating a false excitement. But no, she was really
happy.

Baron van Berger rose for a little toast.

"Dear friend," he said, bowing to the Countess, "I am delighted to see
that you are reinforcing the ranks and enlisting the younger class.
This reinforcement will bring you light, the joy of its twenty years.
I drink to your sun of Austerlitz."

Then, turning towards Albert, "I drink to the line of little soldiers
that you will give to Belgium, my boy."

The Count became scarlet. Esperance dropped her eyes. Maurice could
hardly restrain his desire to laugh.

"Do not forget that life is a battle," continued the General. "Do not
shut yourself up in your happiness, but be always on your guard...!"

"I drink to you, Lady Esperance, who bear a name of hope for the
future, for you will certainly understand that the most beautiful role
to play is that of wife and mother, which has nothing to do with your
theatrical fictions...."

Esperance rose, but Albert restrained her, looking at his mother. The
charming woman said tactfully, "My good friend, I think that you have
spoken according to your own convictions. Esperance will conduct
herself always as seems best to her."

"How kind you are, Madame!" And the young girl went and kissed her
hand.

This little incident had interfered with the quiet of the evening. But
Esperance resumed her serenity, as she understood that her future
mother-in-law had quite recognized the possibility that she might
remain faithful to her art.

As to Maurice, the Baron had put him in such spirits that he was
sparkling with wit, and the dinner ended in the most delightful
camaraderie and good feeling. Esperance, before they had time to ask
her, went gaily to the piano; Albert sat down beside her and begged
that she would sing.

She agreed sweetly, on condition that her fiancee should accompany
her. Her voice was very pure and clear, and she sang a simple ballad
with exquisite taste.

"You have no middle voice," objected the Baron.

"Quite true," agreed Esperance with a silvery laugh; "you are terribly
frank."

When the girls were alone together finally, Genevieve complimented her
friend upon all that had happened.

"You were adorably gracious, dear little Countess, and I believe in
your happiness!"

"No, Genevieve," said Esperance, "I shall not be happy, I know it,
except in so far as I can give happiness. I love Countess Styvens very
deeply. I am touched by Albert's love, I see that I shall be forced by
loyalty to renounce the theatre; I shall be torn by regret, for I fear
my life will be spoiled, and I am not yet twenty!"

She was sitting on her bed, looking so forlorn that Genevieve slipped
down beside her and drew the little blonde head to her shoulder.

"You, dear," asked Esperance, "will you renounce the theatre if
Maurice tells you that he wishes it?"

"I shall not even wait for him to tell me.... If Maurice wishes me to
be his companion through life, I will sacrifice everything for him,
with only one regret, that I have not enough to give up for him!"

"Oh!" said Esperance, miserably, "you are in love, but I am not."

And the unhappy child, stifling her sobs, hid her head in the pillow.

Two days later, the Countess, her son and the Baron left for Brussels.

Madame Styvens had questioned Esperance very adroitly, and she left
Penhouet with a pretty good idea of her tastes and preferences.

It was then the end of August, and the banns were to be published for
November. The Baron was to arrange for the marriage in Brussels, but
it was agreed that the young couple should live in Paris, and the
Countess proposed to pick out a pretty house to shelter the happiness
of her son. She herself would live in Paris; but she refused to share
their home.

"I shall look for a house or an apartment near by."

The adieux were tender on both sides. Esperance was so sensitive to
the charm of her mother-in-law that it made her seem devoted to her
fiancee....

CHAPTER XXI

The news of the engagement of Esperance and the Count Styvens was
known all over Paris. Letters came to the farm of Penhouet, done up in
packets. Many expressed to the philosopher and his wife their joy at
hearing that their daughter had decided to leave a career so ... so
very ... in which ... in fact that...! Every absurd prejudice, so
puritanly ingrained in the minds of most middle class divisions and
sections and even amongst the more cultivated, was endlessly repeated
upon with the usual banalities in the large correspondence of their
friends and others. Poor actors, so misunderstood! so misrepresented!
The philosopher showed all the letters to Esperance, who shrugged her
shoulders, astonished to find there was so much prejudice in the world
against her beloved calling. One letter, however, she took quite
seriously. It was written by the most eminent of all the Academicians.
One sentence in the epistle wounded the poor child very deeply. "Now I
shall be able to go about your election with more confidence and
security. Dare I admit to you, my dear Professor, that the only
obstacle I encountered, and which seemed to me insurmountable, was the
career chosen by that lovely child, your daughter, whose talent we all
admire so much! Now I can start my campaign, and I am very sure, my
dear Darbois, of achieving our ambition without much difficulty.
Therefore, perhaps, I shall not altogether deserve your thanks."

What Genevieve had said was patently true; her father had sacrificed
his dearest hope for her, and he had done it so all unostentatiously....
Ah! how she loved her father, who was unlike other men! He was standing
there before her, smiling, a little scornful of all these little souls.
And as he handed her another letter--"No, father dear, no, I beg you.
Pardon me the wrong that I have been doing you; I admire you and I love
you, dear papa, but leave me with the noble feeling of your supreme
kindness; I would rather not know any more of the little meannesses of
the world."

She climbed on her father's knees and covered his forehead with
kisses.

"Look," said Mme. Darbois, holding up a letter "eight pages from your
godfather."

Esperance jumped up laughing, "That I certainly shall not read."

"I am going to write to the Countess that I give up my art...." And
swift as a shadow she was gone.

The philosopher sat hesitating, his expression troubled. Had he the
right to compel this sacrifice, knowing, realizing, as he did, that
his child had based all the happiness of her life on the career she
was now voluntarily giving up for his sake? Germaine looked at him
questioningly.

"Do you believe, my dear, that I ought to let Esperance write to the
Countess, as she proposes? I fear that she is making this sacrifice to
gratify my vanity."

"Francois!" exclaimed Mme. Darbois indignantly.

"My pride, if you prefer it," he said. "But what is such a
satisfaction in comparison with the happiness of a life? To me it
seems very unjust!"

Germaine adored her husband and her daughter, but she believed more,
than in anything in the world, in the noble genius of the philosopher.

"Esperance's sacrifice," she said, "is very slight. She is making a
superb marriage into one of the noblest, richest families in Belgium.
Albert worships the ground she walks on. The Countess will be more
than indulgent to her. She is realizing the most perfect future a
young girl can hope for. I see nothing to regret, because she is
making a slight concession to her father."

Francois looked a little sadly at this mother who had never
comprehended her daughter's psychology. He knew that for this sweet
woman the happiness of life began with her husband and ended with him.

He did not want to argue and rose, saying, "I must do some work."

Ho kissed the unlined forehead of his beloved wife, and then as he was
leaving the room added, "Tell Esperance I should like to see her
letter before she sends it."

Esperance sat at her desk in her own room, but she sat with her head
in her hands, unable to begin her letter. Presently Genevieve came in.

"Is anything the matter, dear?"

Esperance told her what had just happened downstairs.

"I have learned once more that all your reasonings and counsels are
always wise, dear sister.... I am sitting trying how to write to the
Countess to tell her that I am not going back to the stage!"

Genevieve kissed her. Esperance let her head fall on her friend's
bosom, and raising her eyes to her face, said slowly, "But oh! I have
not the courage."

Genevieve knelt beside the desk, and dipping the pen in the ink, put a
fresh sheet of paper before Esperance, saying with a laugh, "Mlle.,
get on with your task. I am the school mistress to see that you write
properly!"

The smile she brought to Esperance's lips chased away the nebulous
uncertainties, and so she wrote her letter to her dear little
"Countess-mama," as she had called her since her engagement. When her
mother came with the philosopher's message and saw the letter, she was
delighted with the phrasing and thanked her daughter warmly for the
joy it would give her father.

"Ah! mama, I believe that I am the happiest of the three Darbois, dear
ridiculous mama!" And she gave her a quick embrace.

Life was again travelling the simple, daily country round. It was
after lunch, three days after Esperance had written her letter.

"Why so pensive, little daughter? Where were your thoughts?"

Esperance jumped up at this question from her father.

"I was dreaming. I am so sorry. I was in Belgium, near the Countess
Styvens when my letter would be brought in to her, for, as nearly as I
can make out, it ought to arrive to-day."

"No," said M. Darbois, "that letter has not been delivered; it is
still in my desk."

Their faces expressed the great astonishment that they felt.

"You did not like it, papa?"

"Very much, very much. It is quite good--and--and pathetic."

"Then, darling papa?"

"I want to talk with you a little more before you send it."

Everyone drank their coffee a little quicker, and five minutes later
Francois found himself alone with his daughter. Even Mme. Darbois had
withdrawn, afraid that she might show her own anxiety too much.

"I am listening to you, papa."

"You are going to answer my questions with perfect frankness,
Esperance?"

"Yes, father."

"Had you thought of writing to Countess Styvens before you read that
letter?"

He drew the Academician's letter from his portfolio and placed it
before her.

"No, father, dear."

"Then it was on my account, and to facilitate my admittance to the
Academy, that you wrote?"

"Oh! no," replied Esperance quickly, "I would not do you that
injustice, knowing how much you love me, and knowing the purity of
your heart, the nobility of your ambition. I am sacrificing what I
believe, perhaps wrongly, to be my happiness, to the demands of a
misunderstanding world. I knew, when I read that letter, that I had no
right to drag a man of your merit, my dear mother, and all the family,
into the troubles of a life in which they have no real interest. I did
not want you to have the sympathy of the world. Sympathy is too often
akin to scorn!"

Francois would have spoken, but Esperance interrupted him.

"Oh! father darling. You are so good. Don't torment me further, send
the letter. I am still so new to this role. I need your sincere, your
constant help."

Just then Marguerite came in and handed the philosopher a letter,
bearing an armorial seal, which had just come from Palais. He quickly
opened it, seemed surprised and passed it to his daughter.

"What! The Duchess de Castel-Montjoie is at Palais," she said. Then
she read: "My dear Philosopher, the Princess and I will come, if
agreeable to you, after five. I name this hour because the Princess's
yacht has to leave to take up friends who are waiting for us at Brehat."

"What time is it?" said Esperance, turning round.

The professor consulted his watch.

"Twenty minutes past three. Quick, Marguerite, tell the men to harness
the victoria with the two horses at once."

A quarter of an hour later the carriage was ready to leave. When it
had disappeared round the corner from the farm, Genevieve and her
friend prepared to go for a walk. Esperance told her mother and Mlle.
Frahender that they would be back again in half an hour. They climbed
down the cliff, and were soon out of earshot of everyone--they were
quite alone. "Genevieve, Genevieve," said Esperance, "I feel that a
new danger is threatening me, ready to destroy all my new illusions.
Do not leave me, darling."

"What is it that you fear?"

"I can only be sure of one thing, I am in such horrible distress, and
that is that the Duke de Morlay-La-Branche is at the bottom of this
visit. Ah! if I could be sure that I should never see him again,
never, never!..."

And she cried in her great distress like a little child.

Genevieve stayed at her side, without saying a word, only stroking her
hands from time to time. Presently Esperance grew calmer.

"Come," she said, rising from the boulder on which they had seated
themselves. "We must dress to receive the enemy's emissaries." Her
voice was light, but her heart was heavy.

Maurice, who had been strolling not far off with Jean, came up and
noticing Esperance's tearful eyes, said: "What is the matter?"

"I dread this visit," exclaimed Esperance.

"What is the reason of this sudden call?" ejaculated Maurice.

"I think I can guess," said the actor.

"Well, tell me!"

"But if I should be wrong?" said Jean.

"What a frightful lot of circumlocution," cried Maurice impatiently,
pretending to tear out his hair.

But Esperance replied, "No, Jean, you are not mistaken. I can guess
your thoughts. I am afraid, as I just now said to Genevieve, that the
Duke de Morlay-La-Branche is connected in some way with this visit of
the Princess and her friend!"

"If the Duke comes here, but I do not believe he will, Jean and I will
not leave him alone a minute. I assure you that he will get more of
our company than he will appreciate. But, knowing that the Count is
not here, I do not think he will come. He is too correct for that!
Come, let us dance in honour of Albert!"

Taking his cousin's hands and Genevieve's, he nodded his head to Jean
to do the same thing, and led them into a whirlwind dance upon the
sands of the beach, until the girls laughed as though no heavy
thoughts were weighing in their hearts.

Two hours later the victoria arrived from Palais. The young people
could see that it contained only two ladies and the philosopher, and
Genevieve breathed again.

The Princess descended lightly before the front door. She kissed
Esperance, and after speaking to Mme. Darbois, had Maurice, Jean and
Genevieve presented to her.

"You did the portrait of which the Duke de Morlay has spoken so
highly?"

Maurice bowed.

"Would it be impertinence if I asked you to let me see it?" she said
with a smile.

"I thank you, Madame; you flatter me by your request."

The Dowager Duchess, with whom the Princess had been spending three
weeks at her Chateau of Castel-Montjoie, was now presented to Mme.
Darbois. She was a lovable and delightful old lady, with a great
appreciation of art and science. Both ladies had been present with the
Duke at the last Conservatoire competition, and they expressed to
Esperance, Genevieve and Jean the enjoyment their performances had
given them. The Duchess was much struck by Genevieve's proud beauty,
and said to Maurice, "Ah! Monsieur, what another beautiful portrait
you could make! This young lady is much more beautiful close to than
even on the stage!" And she added a kind and appreciative word for the
classic talent of Jean Perliez.

Tea was to be served in the little beautiful convolvulus garden. When
they entered this shelter, which a poet might have designed, the
Duchess exclaimed enviously, "What a heavenly spot. Who is the
inspired person who has arranged this mysterious flowery retreat for
you?"

The philosopher pointed to Maurice and the girls.

The Princess admired it, and the conversation rippled on. "We are come
to trouble your bower with a plea for charity! Every year, the Duchess
gives a garden party in her beautiful park at Montjoie for the benefit
of the 'Orphans of the Fishermen.' There is a little open-air theatre,
where some of the greatest actors have appeared. Little rustic booths,
shops where you pay a great deal for nothing at all, and a thousand
other distractions. We are come, the Duchess and I, drawn by a very
pretty star, Esperance. She will not deny us her light, our lovely
little star?" she concluded, bending towards Esperance.

"But, Madame," murmured Esperance, "my decision--my promises do not
depend on myself alone, now."

The Duchess extracted a letter from her gold mesh bag and held it
towards her.

"You are perfectly right, my dear child," she said easily. "I also
foresaw that objection, so I wrote to your fiance, even before
speaking to you, for which I must apologize, and here is his answer."

Esperance read the little missive bearing the Styvens's arms and
handed it back to the Duchess.

"I will not be," she said smiling sadly, "more royalist than the king.
Madame, I am at the service of your work."

This was a great delight to the two kindly disposed women, but the
young girl's heart was torn because her fiance would not see! It is
true that his letter ended with the words, "I agree with both hands to
whatever Esperance shall decide," so that little choice was left.

The garden party was to be the twentieth of September. It was then the
end of August.

"And of what nature is to be the modest contribution I can make to
your fete?" asked Esperance, half humorously.

"Modest! Of course you will be the principal attraction. My guests,
knowing that they will see you for the last time before Count Styvens
carries his little idol away from the public...."

Esperance was saying to herself, "so this cultivated, broad-minded
lady thinks just as the others do."

The Princess continued, "We want you to play with your fiance the
Liszt symphonic poem that you played one evening at the Legation; and
to take part in some tableaux vivants that we are all to appear in. The
Duke de Morlay-La-Branche is directing and staging this part of the
programme. The performance will be given only by people we know--no
professionals."

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