The Idol of Paris by Sarah Bernhardt

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Jean intervened, "May I say something?"

"Certainly, my boy."

"Well then. I heard the Duke de Morlay-La-Branche make fun of the
honesty of Count Styvens, and at that Esperance abruptly broke off the
conversation."

Francois turned towards Esperance.

"That is so," she said, kissing her father, "so tell me that you are
not angry with your little daughter."

For answer he kissed her tenderly.

"Ah! if I could find a way to shelter you from so much admiration,
from being so much sought after. Yet I don't know very well how to
defend you."

"Do not reproach yourself, dear father, you have been so good, so
trusting. I will never betray that confidence, and my godfather will
be obliged to consume all his own horrid prophecies."

CHAPTER XVIII

When Esperance's portrait was finished, the family could not admire it
enough. Maurice who was for himself, as for others, a severe critic,
said, "It is the first time that I have been satisfied with my own
work. Little cousin, you have brought me luck, so if my uncle will
permit me I am going to teach you to ride a horse."

"My goodness!" said Madame Darbois, "still more anxiety for us!"

But Esperance clasped her hands with delight.

The first riding lessons were a source of new joy for Esperance.
Maurice was an excellent rider, and his passion for horses had made
him expert in handling them. He had chosen a horse for his cousin from
a stable in the Cotes-du-Nord, the private stable of the Count Marcus
de Treilles, the horse had been secured at a bargain on account of
some blemishes of his coat. He was very gentle, however, and the
Darbois soon felt confidence in him. Doctor Potain had recommended a
great deal of physical exercise for the patient, to counteract the
excess of mental work which had weakened her heart.

"Riding, fishing, walking, tennis," the great specialist had said to
Francois Darbois, "will be the best thing for your daughter, and,"
pressing his hand, "let her get married as soon as possible."

Long excursions about the little island became for Esperance the most
delightful part of their country life. Very often M. and Madame
Darbois, Mlle. Frahender and Genevieve Hardouin would follow in the
brake. They carried their lunch with them and ate it sometimes in the
little wood of Loret, sometimes on the cliffs amidst the broom, furze
and asters with their golden flowers and silver foliage.

The philosopher's fishing fleet was composed, as he laughingly said,
of a blue boat with blue sails, and a little Swedish whaler. Francois
went every evening about six o'clock to set the nets with the farmer's
eldest son, whose portrait Maurice intended doing for the following
Salon. All the little colony gathered at nine in the morning on the
beach, ready with baskets to bear away the catch.

Maurice, Jean and Esperance went out with the Professor to get the
nets. Sometimes they had been put far out and then Esperance would row
with the others, for which rough sport her delicate arms seemed out of
place. The young people would cry out with delight every time they saw
the fish under the transparent water held by the meshes. Sometimes
they had quite a big draught; two or three rays, several magnificent
soles, with mullets, and flounders. Sometimes a great lobster would
give the net such tweaks that they guessed his presence before they
saw him. And sometimes it happened that the catch was nothing but a
few sea crabs, who would half devour the other unfortunate fish
imprisoned with them. Another day a great octopus appeared, and
Esperance grew pale with fright at sight of his long clinging
tentacles.

Esperance often made a selection of the seaweeds in the net, and she
and Genevieve commenced an album in which they pasted, in fanciful
designs, these plants, fine as straws or solid and sharp of colour.
This album was intended for Mme. Styvens, and the girls worked at it
lovingly. Maurice would sometimes assist them with his advice or make
them a sketch which they could copy as carefully as their beautiful
materials would admit. Mlle. Frahender devoted infinite patience to
gluing the tiniest fibres of the sea plants. Some were bright pink,
suggesting in formation and colour the little red fishing boats.
Others were gold with their slender little flowers rising in clusters.
The long supple green algaes, swelling along their stems into little
round beads, like beads of jade, looked as though they wore some
Chinese costume. As the album grew it gave promise of wonderful
surprises.

On the first of September Francois Darbois received a letter from
Count Styvens, asking permission to come and submit to him a
philosophical work that he had just finished. He begged to present his
compliments to Mme. and Mlle. Darbois. The professor read the letter
aloud after dinner.

"I hardly think," he queried, "that I can well refuse this pleasure to
my favourite pupil?"

Maurice, Jean, the old Mademoiselle and Mme. Darbois seemed very happy
at the prospect of a visit from the Count.

"He is a very good musician...." "He can row splendidly...." "He has a
heart of gold...." concluded the philosopher.

A dispatch was sent to Albert Styvens, telling him they would all be
delighted to see him. Only Esperance showed some reserve, and Maurice
cried out, "My cousin is in dread of musical evenings, I see!"

They all laughed at this quip, which had a very close resemblance to
the truth.

"Yes, papa, but no music after dinner: our evenings would be lost! It
is so pleasant to go for long walks on these wonderful moonlight
nights! The piano is for the town, here we only want to enjoy the
harmonious music of nature, the sea that croons or roars, the wind
that whistles, whistles or scolds, the plaint of the sea-gulls in the
storm, the cry of the frightened gulls and cormorants, the clicking of
the pebbles rolled over by the waves; all these charm me strangely and
I often sleep on the little beach, soothed by these melodies which you
will find echoed in the themes of our great masters."

The philosopher drew his daughter on his knee.

"Very well. We will not mention music to your lover."

The word had slipped out but it stung the young girl, however, she
would not let her resentment appear.

"So," she thought, "they all accept the courting of Albert Styvens. My
father himself is part of the conspiracy against me."

She led Genevieve outside and confided to her her apprehensions. Her
young friend did not deny that the coming of Count Styvens had the
appearance to all of an approaching proposal of marriage.

"My God," said Esperance, pressing her friend's arm, "it seems to me
that I shall never be able to say 'Yes.' I am so happy as I am."

The two girls were sitting on a little mound. The moon was reflected
in a sea as quiet as the sky.

"See," said Esperance, "that is the image of my life. At this moment I
am calm, happy, and my art is like that bright star. It brightens
everything for me without troubling me.... I do not love Count
Styvens. Oh!" she went on in answer to a movement from Genevieve, "I
like him as a friend, but I do not love him. I know he is a gallant
gentleman, a fine musician, and a splendid athlete; I recognize that
he is very generous and that he is entirely unselfish--for these I
greatly respect him, but these qualities alone have nothing to do with
love."

"He is a very good-looking man," said Genevieve.

"His arms are too long and he has not any decided colour. His face,
his hair, his eyes are all of a neutral tint which you cannot define."

"But handsome men are very rare!"

Esperance did not answer.

"There is the Duke de Morlay-La-Branche, too. Do you like him any
better?"

The moon shone full on Esperance's face.

"Great Heavens, dearie," exclaimed Genevieve quickly, "you are not in
love with that man, I hope."

"Don't speak so loud," said Esperance, frightened. "No, I am not in
love with the Duke, but he bothers me, I confess. He is continually in
my mind, and the thought of him makes the blood rush to my heart. When
he is present I can struggle against him, but I have no strength
against the picture of him I so often conjure up. That dominates me
more than he can do himself. That seems innocent enough, but I know
very well all the same, that I find every excuse for dwelling on the
thought of him. No, I do not love him ... but still...." she murmured
very low.

Genevieve took her friend in her arms.

"Esperance, darling, save yourself! Think of the downfall of your
mother's happiness, think of the fearful remorse of your father. Think
of your godfather's iniquitous triumph. Ah! I beg of you, accept the
Count's love, become his wife, you will be constrained by your loyalty
to save your father's honour. But the Duke...."

"My father's honour is precious to me, and you see, I am defending it
badly," said Esperance. She wept quietly. Genevieve drew her head down
on her shoulder. Esperance kissed her.

"Come, we must go back, it is getting late. I thank you, Genevieve,
and I love you."

A letter arrived the next morning which announced that the Count would
pay them his visit on Thursday.

There were just three days before his coming. Esperance had made up
her mind, after her talk with Genevieve, to accede to her parents'
wishes. She and Genevieve went to inspect the room that had been
prepared for the Count. It was a little square apartment very nicely
arranged. On the floor was a mat with red and white squares. The
windows looked out on the rocky coast. The young people decided to
hang some small variegated laurels from the ceiling to decorate it. On
the mantel they put some flower vases on either side of a plaque
representing the golden wedding of a Breton couple. Mme. Darbois
opened for them what Esperance called her "reliquary," and they found
there flowers and ribbons. They chose wisteria, and lavender and white
ribbons, then went to work on their wreath. A large crown of pretty
bunches was hung from satin ribbons. When it was ready the four young
people went with ladder and tools to hang the wreaths, Maurice
standing high up on the ladder drove in the peg intended to hold the
crown.

"As reward for this service, you know," he said, "I must be allowed to
put the wreath on your pretty head, the day that you are married."

Esperance blushed and sighed sadly.

The room was charming in its decoration, though when it was finished
it seemed more fit for a young girl than for a big, broad-shouldered
man.

M. and Mme. Darbois went to meet Count Styvens at Palais. Francois had
taken his glasses and pointed out the boat to his wife.

"There is the Count," said Mme. Darbois. "I recognize his tall
figure."

In truth, Albert Styvens was stepping ashore, holding in his arms a
child of two or three years. He put it down carefully, and held out
his hand to a poor, bent old woman, who tried to straighten up to
thank the kind gentleman.

Francois and Germaine came up to the young man, who pressed the
philosopher's hand and presented his respects to Mme. Darbois: and
seeing them look with some curiosity at the old woman, he said, "Here,
Madame, are some good people deserving of your kindness. Mme. Borderie
is this little chap's grandmother. Her widowed son died five months
ago of tuberculosis, and as the child was coughing she gave everything
she had to take him to a specialist in Nantes. The rough sea to-day
made the poor little fellow ill, bringing on a horrible coughing
attack. The poor woman was too weak to hold him during his
convulsions, and he rolled away from her, and she was so frightened
when he did not move, that she was going to throw herself overboard. I
rushed with the other passengers to stop her, we calmed her finally,
and after some little time I was able to resuscitate the child, who
had gone off in a fit."

The poor woman wept as he talked, and showed a banknote he had slipped
into her hand when he said good-bye.

"You must put that away. You will need it," said the young Count,
smiling.

"Where do you live?" enquired Germaine.

"At Pont-Herlin."

"That is some distance away?"

The old woman shook her head and feebly shrugged her thin shoulders.

"I must go there."

"Well, Mme. Borderie, we will take you there."

Without further parley, Albert picked the old woman up lightly and set
her down in the brake. The baby was deposited on her knees where he
promptly fell asleep. The Count's little trunk found place beside the
farmer on the front seat. A basket of osier, which the young man had
handled very carefully, was also placed in the brake, and then they
set off for Pont-Herlin.

They were growing anxious at the farm of Penhouet, at the non-appearance
of M. and Mme. Darbois, Pont-Herlin lies some way from the Point des
Poulains and the roads are not in very good condition, especially for
a two horse brake. But soon the wind brought the sound of horse's hoofs
and shortly after the brake drew up before the farm. Albert went white
at sight of Esperance. She had come forward first, fearful on account
of the delay. Mme. Darbois explained the cause, and spoke of the Count's
great kindness, to the old woman and her boy.

Esperance raised her pretty eyes, damp with emotion; she looked at
Albert, wishing she could admire his person as much as she did his
mind. And, somehow, as she looked she was agreeably surprised.

"After all, he is not ugly, if he is not handsome," she thought, "and
he is so genuinely good."

In this state of mind she left her hand an instant in his and he
trembled.

The young people were anxious to lead Styvens to his room. Francois,
however, was not allowed to accompany them. They marched two ahead,
two behind, with the Count between, like a prisoner. Never before had
Albert seen Esperance so naturally gay, never had he found her more
fascinating. He was almost delirious with happiness. Life seemed to
him only possible with this lovely creature for his wife! His wife!
Such an accession of blood gushed into his heart at the thought that
he stopped giddily.

Jean and Genevieve, who closed the order of march, bumped against him,
for he stopped so suddenly that they thought something must be wrong.

"Good Heavens! are you ill?" asked Genevieve.

The Count smiled. "Excuse me, I am sorry. It was my mistake."

As they went on again Maurice whispered to his cousin, "You know,
Esperance, you have it in your power to make that man happy for ever.
I can see it. Why it seems to be almost a duty. It will be like
offending Providence to refuse the wonderful future that lies open
before you."

Esperance was very thoughtful, but her gay spirits returned when they
arrived at the "Five Divisions of the World." The little cortege
climbed the narrow staircase, crossed the little ante-chamber which
opened on the opposite side on a court cut out of the rock. Each room
had a door on this natural court. Stopping before the last door, on
which was written "Oceania," the young people bowed before the Count.

"Behold the prison of your Highness!"

When he was left alone the Count examined his surroundings. His simple
chamber seemed to him sumptuous. He smelt the flowers on the
mantelpiece, half suspecting that they were an attention of the young
girls. The wreath suspended from the ceiling made him smile. It had
been hung there in his honour, there could be no doubt about that.
There was a knock on the door. Marguerite entered, followed by the
farmer bringing the trunk and the osier basket.

He stopped the old servant as she was going out. "Wait a moment and
help me, please."

He cut the string which held the basket and took out four bouquets as
fresh as if they had just been gathered.

"See, Marguerite, the name is pinned on each bouquet; be so good as to
give them to the ladies."

At half-past one the Count appeared walking up and down before the
door of the dining-room. He did not want to be the first one to enter.
Maurice joined him.

"I would love to see the portrait of your cousin," said Albert.

"I will show it to you after lunch."

"Is it finished?"

"Yes; but I still have some retouching to do to the background, and I
shall be glad to have your advice upon it. It is not perhaps exactly
necessary, yet every time that I look at it, I feel the need of some
slight change."

Genevieve and Esperance came in together. The contrast of this double
entry was striking. Genevieve, dark, with regular features, framed by
a mass of heavy black hair; Esperance, shell pink, aureoled by her
wavy blonde hair. Genevieve was so beautiful that Maurice was moved.
Esperance was so dazzling that the Count mentally praised God at the
sight of her. He was warmly thanked for his pretty flowers, several
blossoms of which each girl had pinned to her dress.

When the fish appeared, Maurice rose gravely.

"This magnificent fish, sir," he said to Albert Styvens, "was caught
by me for you; it is for you to decide whether to share it with us or
whether you prefer to eat it alone."

The young attache arose and with more humour than they expected from
him, took the platter and bowed with it towards Mme. Darbois. The
conversation raced merrily along, and they were soon disputing about
sports. The Count learned that Esperance rode on horseback. He was
delighted, and inquired if he would be able to procure a mount. Jean
offered his, but the Count, who knew of his love for Esperance and
divined what a joy these excursions must be to him, refused this
sacrifice. The farmer's wife, who helped to wait at table and was
ignorant of social customs, forthwith entered the conversation.

"Ah! if Madame will permit me, I can bring you to the Commandant, who
has a fine horse to sell."

"You may have no fish this evening," said the professor genially. "As
I was away meeting you, I could not put out my net."

"But we did it, father," said Esperance, "and I hope that Count
Styvens will have some magnificent luck. We go fishing this evening."

"So, you are a fisherwoman too, Mademoiselle?"

"We fish every morning, and we shall be very glad to have you join
us," said the girl quietly.

After lunch the Count joined the four young people in a ramble along
the cliffs. Esperance and Genevieve went arm in arm, the three young
men followed; with Styvens in a dream of delight, happier than he had
ever been in his life. Maurice was watching Genevieve every day seeing
her more beautiful, and abandoning himself without much effort to this
new passion. Jean Perliez contemplated Esperance and smiled sadly, if
gladly too, at the thought that she was going to be delivered from the
dangerous Duke de Morlay-La-Branche. They sat down on a high rock
overlooking the little beach of Penhouet and remained silent for a
while.

"How very beautiful it is," murmured Albert at last. "You love the
sea, do you not, Mlle. Esperance?"

"More than anything else in nature. I love great plains too, but I
like them best because they are like the sea when they billow under
the breeze."

"You don't like the mountains at all?" asked Genevieve.

"Oh! no, I stifle there. I dream at night that they are pressing in to
strangle me. I went to Cauterets with mama after she had bronchitis. I
spent all my time climbing to get a view of a horizon and breathe
better. As soon as mama was well the Doctor sent us away saying that
it was not good for me."

"And the forest?" asked Albert.

"The forest hides the sky too much. Nothing makes me as sad as the
deep woods."

"And the lakes, cousin, what do you say of them?"

"A lake makes me shiver. I feel constrained before a lake as before a
person whom I know to be false and perfidious. Of course, the sea is
dangerous, but no one is ignorant of its caprices, its violence, its
tragic love bouts with the wind. The sea is open, whether in laughter
or fury. See, look off there," she said, standing upon the rock. "This
evening it is calm as a lake, and still the waves are all rippling,
preparing for an assault on this rock! It is so immensely alive, even
in its great reserve!"

The silhouette of the young girl, cut against the horizon, was blurred
by the passing night mist. She seemed a flower blooming by moon-light.
Maurice said in a low tone to Genevieve, "See if you can realize this
picture. It is beyond the power of any painter."

"One of the aboriginals might have succeeded. He would not have been
guided by any of the conventions that are introduced in all the arts
and bar the way to the realism of the ideal, which is dear to all true
artists."

"The realism of the ideal is very true, but how are you going to make
amateurs or critics feel that?"

"Oh!" replied Genevieve, with much conviction, "There is always an
amateur of the beautiful, there is always a critic who describes his
emotion sincerely, it is for them that I give my tears when I am on
the stage."

Esperance dropped on her knees, and taking her friend's head in her
hands, "You are always right, Genevieve," she said. "It is a great
gift to have you for a friend."

"My little cousin speaks truth," concluded Maurice.

Genevieve stretched out her hand with a smile to thank him. The young
man kept the contact of that charming strong hand and kissed it with
more warmth than convention required.

"Monsieur Maurice," murmured the girl with trembling lips. But she
could not voice a reproach. She got up to hide her blushes.

"Is not this the time for us to go back? The air is getting sharp, and
you have no wraps, Esperance."

Count Styvens stood up to his full height and stretched his hands to
his little idol to help her up, but she had withdrawn before the two
arms stretched towards her, and recoiled in a kind of fright.

"Did I startle you?"

"Oh! No," she said nervously, "But I was dreaming, I was far away...."

"Where were you, cousin?"

"I don't know. Thoughts are sometimes so scattered that it is hardly
possible to give a clear impression."

Putting her hands in the Count's she jumped lightly to her feet. The
young men led the girls back to the farm, and silence descended upon
the Five Divisions of the Globe.

But love made every one of these young creatures somewhat unsettled,
and it was long before either of them slept. Esperance and Genevieve
talked low, and long silences broke their confidences. Count Styvens
had brought cigarettes for Maurice and Jean. All three stayed and
talked a long time in the painter's room. Alone with men, Styvens lost
all the timidity that sometimes made him awkward. His broad and
cultivated mind, his humanitarian philosophy unaffected by his
religious beliefs, the sincere simplicity with which he expressed
himself, made a great impression on Jean and Maurice.

"That man," said the latter to his friend, "is of another epoch, an
epoch when he would have been a hero or a martyr!"

"Perhaps he may yet be both," murmured Jean.

CHAPTER XIX

Next morning Albert Styvens asked Maurice to show him the portrait of
Esperance. He gazed at it a long time in silent admiration. He could
gaze his fill at a portrait without outraging the conventions.

"What marvellous delicacy! Oh! the blue of the eyes! The mother of
pearl of the temples!"

He sat down, quivering with emotion, and looked frankly at Maurice.

"I love your cousin; you know that, don't you?"

Maurice nodded.

"I have loved her for a year, and you see me here, still hesitating to
speak to her father."

"Why?"

"Because I know that she does not love me.... Oh! I believe," he went on
sadly, "I hope, at least that she does feel some friendship for me--but
if she declines my proposal... what else would ever matter to me?"

Maurice came and sat down beside him.

"Your mother?" he queried.

"My mother loves Esperance devotedly, and she has a very real
admiration for your uncle as well. She is very religious. M. Darbois's
philosophical books, which deny nothingness and proclaim the ideal,
have been a great comfort to her in her voluntary solitude. She would
be very happy to know if I could be happy."

"But," objected Maurice. "I am afraid that my cousin does not wish to
give up her art--the stage."

"Yes, I am aware of that, but my mother and I have not the stupid
prejudices of the multitude. Undoubtedly, this union, under such
conditions, would estrange us from many of our so called friends, and
I should have to give up the diplomatic service, but that would not
trouble me. No," he went on, resting his hand on Maurice's knee, "the
hard part would be to see her every evening surrounded by the
admiration of so many men. I suffered when she was playing at the
Vaudeville, and then she was scarcely more than a child, but I heard
them all commenting on her beauty and it was all I could do to control
myself. What shall I be if she becomes my wife? Ah! my wife! my wife!
I really believe, M. Renaud, that her refusal would drive me mad; so,
I hesitate. Hope is the refuge of the sick; and I am very sick--sick
at heart."

Maurice felt strangely drawn to this man, so simple, and so frank, and
so innately refined in thought.

"From to-day I am your ally, and I hope soon to be able to call you
'dear cousin.' As to her artistic career, Esperance will have to
sacrifice that for you. We will all try to lead her to this decision,
but you must not make her unhappy about it."

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