Читать книгу The Last Cavalier: Being the Adventures of Count Sainte-Hermine in the Age of Napoleon - Александр Дюма, Alexandre Dumas - Страница 16

MADAME DE PERMON WALKED up to the First Consul and bowed with great ceremony. Bonaparte took her hand and kissed it most gallantly.

“What’s this I hear, my dear friend?” he said. “Did you really refuse to open the ball before I arrived? And what if I had not been able to come before one in the morning—would all these lovely children have had to wait for me?”

Glancing around the room, he saw that some of the women from the Faubourg Saint-Germain had failed to rise when he came in. He frowned, but showed no other signs of displeasure.

“Come now, Madame de Permon,” he said. “Let the ball begin. Young people need to have fun, and dancing is their favorite pastime. They say that Loulou can dance like Mademoiselle Chameroi. Who told me that? It was Eugene, wasn’t it?”

Eugene’s ears turned red; he was the beautiful ballerina’s lover.

Bonaparte continued: “If you wish, Madame de Permon, we shall dance the monaco. That’s the only dance I know.”

“Surely you are joking,” Madame de Permon answered. “I have not danced in thirty years.”

“Come now, you can’t mean that,” said Bonaparte. “This evening you look like your daughter’s sister.”

Then, noticing Monsieur de Talleyrand, Bonaparte said, “Oh, it’s you, Talleyrand. I need to talk to you.” And with his Foreign Affairs Minister he went into the boudoir where Madame Leclerc had endured her embarrassment just moments before.

Immediately, the music began, the dancers chose partners, and the ball was under way.

Mademoiselle de Beauharnais, who was dancing with Duroc, led him over to Claire and the Comte de Sainte-Hermine, for everything her friend had told her about the young man had piqued her interest.

Monsieur de Sainte-Hermine was proving to be no less talented on the ballroom floor than he was in other areas. He had studied with the second Vestris, the son of France’s own god of dance, and he did his teacher great honor.

During the Consulate years, a young man of fashion considered it requisite to perfect the art of dancing. I can still remember having seen, when I was a child, in 1812 or 1813, the two Monbreton brothers—the very same who were dancing at Madame de Permon’s ball this evening a dozen years earlier—in Villers-Cotterêts, where a grand ball brought together the entire beautiful new aristocracy. The Montbretons came from their castle in Corcy, three leagues away, and guess how they came. In their cabriolets. Yes, but their domestics rode inside the cabriolet, while they themselves, wearing their fine pump dancing shoes, held on to straps in the back, on the springboard where normally their valets stood, so that on the road they could continue to practice their intricate steps. Arriving at the ballroom door just in time to join the first quadrille, they had their domestics brush the dust off their clothes and threw themselves into the lively reel.

However brilliantly the Montbretons may have danced at Madame de Permon’s, it was Sainte-Hermine who impressed Mademoiselle de Beauharnais, and Mademoiselle de Sourdis was proud to see that the count, who had never before deigned to dance, with skill and grace could hold his own with the best dancers at the ball. Although Mademoiselle de Beauharnais was reassured on that point, there was still another that worried the curious Hortense: Had the young man spoken to Claire? Had he told her the cause of his long sadness, of his past silence, of his present joy?

Hortense ran to her friend and, pulling her into a bay window, asked: “Well, what did he say?”

“Something very important concerning what I told you.”

“Can you tell me?” Spurred by curiosity, Mademoiselle was using the informal tu form with her friend Claire, though normally in conversation they used formal address.

Claire lowered her voice. “He said he wanted to tell me a family secret.”

“You?”

“Me alone. Consequently, he begged me to get my mother to agree that he might be able to speak to me for an hour, with my mother watching but far enough away that she’d not be able to hear what he’d say. His life’s happiness, he said, depended on it.”

“Will your mother permit it?”

“I hope so, for she loves me dearly. I have promised to ask my mother this evening and to give him my answer at the end of the ball.”

“And now,” said Mademoiselle de Beauharnais, “do you realize how handsome your Comte de Sainte-Hermine is, and that he dances as well as Gardel?”

The music, signaling the second quadrille, called the girls back to their places. The two young friends had been, as we have seen, quite satisfied with how well Monsieur de Sainte-Hermine had danced the quadrille. But then, it was only a quadrille. There were yet two tests to which every unproven dancer was put: the gavotte and the minuet.

The young count had promised the gavotte to Mademoiselle de Beauharnais. It’s a dance we know today only by tradition, and though we may think it quite ridiculous, it was de rigeur during the Directory, the Consulate, and even the Empire. Like a snake that keeps twisting even after it has been cut into pieces, the gavotte could never quite die. It was, in fact, more a theatrical performance than a ballroom dance, for it had very complicated figures that were quite difficult to execute. The gavotte required a great deal of space, and even a large ballroom could accommodate no more than four couples at the same time.

Among the four couples dancing the gavotte in Madame de Permon’s grand ballroom, the two dancers whom everyone loudly applauded were the Comte de Sainte-Hermine and Mademoiselle de Beauharnais. They were applauded so enthusiastically, in fact, that they drew Bonaparte both out of his conversation with Monsieur de Talleyrand and out of the boudoir to which they’d withdrawn. Bonaparte appeared in the doorway just as his stepdaughter and her partner were completing the final figures, so he was able to witness their triumph.

When the gavotte ended, Bonaparte beckoned the girl over. She leaned forward so he could kiss her forehead. “I congratulate you, mademoiselle,” he said. “It is clear that you have had a graceful dancing master and that you have benefited from his lessons. But who is the handsome man with whom you were dancing?”

“I do not know him, General,” said Hortense. “We met for the first time this evening, and he invited me to dance when I was speaking with Mademoiselle de Sourdis. Or rather, he didn’t invite me; he put himself at my orders. I am the one who told him that I wanted to dance the gavotte and when I wanted to dance it.”

“But you surely know his name!”

“He calls himself the Comte de Sainte-Hermine.”

“Well,” said Bonaparte with an expression of ill humor, “another person from the Faubourg Saint-Germain. This dear Madame de Permon insists on filling her house with my enemies. When I came in, I chased off Madame de Contades, a crazy woman who thinks I am worth no more than the last second lieutenant in my army. When she talks about my victories in Italy and Egypt, she says that ‘I could do as much with my eyes as he can with his sword.’ That is unfortunate,” Bonaparte continued, looking at Hortense’s partner, “for he would make a handsome hussar officer.” Then, waving the girl back to her mother, he said: “Monsieur de Talleyrand, you who know so much, do you know anything about the Sainte-Hermine family?”

“Let me see,” said Monsieur de Talleyrand, putting his hand on his chin and leaning his head back, his customary way of reflecting. “In the Juras, near Besançon, we do have a Sainte-Hermine family. Yes, I met the father, a distinguished man who was guillotined in 1793. He left three sons. As to what has become of them, I have no idea. This man perhaps is one of those sons, or a nephew, though I was not aware the man I met had a brother. Would you like me to find out?”

“Oh, don’t bother.”

“It will be easy. I have seen him talking to Mademoiselle de Sourdis—look, he is speaking to her at this very moment. Nothing easier than asking her mother.…”

“No, that is not necessary, thanks. And how about the Sourdis family? Who are they?”

“Of excellent nobility.”

“That’s not what I am asking. What are their political leanings?”

“I believe there are only the two women, and they have joined us, or at least they would like nothing more than to be so counted. Two or three days ago Cabanis was speaking about them; he knows them well. The girl is marriageable, and has, I believe, a dowry of a million. It would be a good match for one of your aides-de-camp.”

“So it is your opinion that it would be appropriate for Madame Bonaparte to see them?”

“Perfectly appropriate.”

“Thank you. That’s what Bourrienne already told me.” Then, turning to his hostess, Bonaparte asked, “But what is wrong with Loulou? It looks to me as if she is near tears. Dear Madame de Permon, how can you make your daughter so sad on a day like this?”

“I want her to dance the queen’s minuet, and she won’t.”

At the mention of the queen’s minuet, Bonaparte smiled.

“And why won’t she?”

“How should I know? A caprice. Truly, Loulou, you aren’t being good. Your refusal to dance is not worth the cost of having Gardel and Saint-Amand as your instructors.”

“But, Mother,” Mademoiselle Permon answered, “I would be happy to dance your minuet, much though I hate it, only I don’t dare dance it with anyone but Monsieur de Trénis. I have promised the dance to him.”

“Well, then,” Madame de Permon asked. “Why isn’t he here? It is already half past twelve.”

“He said that he had two other balls to attend before ours and that he’d not get here until very late.”

“Ah,” said Bonaparte. “I am delighted to know there’s at least one man in France busier than I am. But just because the much-celebrated Monsieur de Trénis has not kept his word is not reason enough, Mademoiselle Loulou, to deprive us of the pleasure of seeing you dance the queen’s minuet. He is not here. That is not your fault, so choose another partner.”

“How about Gardel?” said Madame de Permon.

“But he’s my dance teacher,” objected Loulou.

“Well, then, take Laffitte. After Trénis, he is the best dancer in Paris.” She’d barely spoken his name when they espied Monsieur Laffitte walking close by in the ballroom. “Monsieur Laffitte! Monsieur Laffitte! Come over here,” Madame de Permon called out to him.

Monsieur Laffitte could not have been more gallant or obliging; he was also quite elegant and handsome. “Monsieur Laffitte,” said Madame de Permon, “please do me the pleasure of dancing the queen’s minuet with my daughter.”

“Of course, madame!” cried Monsieur Laffitte. “You fulfill my greatest desire, and I give my word of honor. Of course, it will mean a duel with Monseiur de Trénis,” he added with a laugh. “But I am happy to take the risk. However, not knowing I would be granted this honor, I failed to bring a hat.”

To understand Monsieur Laffitte’s last comment, the reader must know that the final bow of the minuet, its high point, the capstone of that monument to formal dancing, had to be executed with a Louis XV-style hat. No other hat would do. So there was a search, there was a flurry, and soon a hat was found.

The minuet was danced with immense success, and Monsieur Laffitte was leading Mademoiselle de Permon back to her mother when Monsieur de Trénis—late, flustered, out of breath—appeared. Having failed to keep his promise to Mademoiselle Loulou, he was more astonished than furious in encountering the two dancers. The minuet he was supposed to dance—and everyone knew he was supposed to dance the minuet—not only had been danced without him but, as was clear from the bravos just beginning to fade away, had been danced without him triumphantly.

“Ah, monsieur,” Mademoiselle de Permon said in great embarrassment, “I waited until after midnight for you, just look at the clock, and the minuet had been announced for eleven. Finally, at midnight, my mother insisted that I dance with Monsieur Laffitte,” and with a laugh, she added, “and the First Consul gave the order.”

“Mademoiselle,” said Monsieur de Trénis, “Madame de Permon could indeed require such a sacrifice of you since she is the mistress of the house. She owed her guests the minuet and unfortunately, I was late, so she was within her rights. But, as for the First Consul,” said Monsieur de Trénis, turning to Bonaparte and staring down at him, for he was five inches taller than the general, “to give the order to begin a dance which, in reality, cannot be danced consummately except by me, he mistakenly goes beyond his authority. I do not interfere with his doings on the battlefield, so he should leave affairs of the salon to me. I don’t pluck the leaves from his laurels, so he should likewise let mine be.”

Haughtily he walked over to Mademoiselle de Permon and, sitting beside her, said: “I am philosophical enough to be consoled at not having danced that dance with you, especially since it was my fault, late as I was. Neither can I be upset that you did not keep your word, yet there would have been a crown to be won had we danced the queen’s minuet together. I would have danced it gravely, seriously; not sadly as Monsieur Laffitte did. Still, I was pleased to see it, and having seen it, I shall never forget it.”

Around Monsieur de Trénis a large circle had gathered to listen to him expressing his disappointment. Among them was the First Consul, who was tempted to think he was dealing with a crazy man.

“But,” said Mademoiselle de Permon to Monsieur de Trénis, “you worry me. What have I done?”

“What have you done? Why do you ask, mademoiselle, you who dance so well that I am delighted to promise to dance the minuet with you? You who have practiced the minuet with Gardel! Oh, there’s no word to describe it. How you can dance the minuet with a man who is little more on the ballroom floor than a quadrille dancer. I repeat, a quadrille dancer. No, mademoiselle, no. Never in his life will Monsieur Laffitte be able to bow properly and execute the great hat step. No, I say it loud and clear, never, never has he been or will he be able to do that.”

Noticing smiles on several faces, Trénis continued: “So, does that surprise you? Well, I shall tell you why he has never been able to properly perform the bow, the bow by which we all judge a minuet dancer. It’s because he does not know how to put his hat on properly. Putting one’s hat on properly is everything, gentlemen. Ask these ladies who have their hats made by Leroy but who have Charbonnier put them on for them. Ah, ask Monsieur Garel about putting on the hat; he will explain it to you. Anyone can put a hat on. I can even say that everyone can put a hat on, but some do it better than others. But how many can do it with the proper dignity, with the proper composure governing the movement of the arm and forearm? … May I?”

And taking in hand the enormous three-cornered hat, Monsieur de Trénis went to stand before a mirror. Then, singing the music that accompanies the minuet’s bow, he executed the salute with perfect grace and supreme seriousness. After which, he placed the hat back on his head with all the pomp such an occasion requires.

Leaning on Monsieur de Talleyrand’s arm, Bonaparte said to the diplomat, “Ask him how he gets along with Monsieur Laffitte. After that outburst he directed toward me, I dare not ask him myself.”

Monsieur de Talleyrand asked the question with the same gravity he’d assume if he were asking how England and America were getting along since their last war.

“But of course we get along as well as two men of such equal talent can possibly manage,” he answered. “However, I must admit that he is a magnanimous rival, a good sport, never jealous of my much-acknowledged success. It is true that his own successes may make him indulgent. His dances are strong and lively, and he is better than I in the first eight measures of the Panurge gavotte—of that there’s no question. But in the jetés, for example, that is where I crush him. In general, he whips me in the calf muscles, but I stomp him in the marrow!”

“Well,” said Monsieur de Talleyrand, “you can rest easy, Citizen First Consul. There will be no war between Monsieur de Trénis and Monsieur Laffitte. I would like to be able to say as much about France and England.”

While the pause in the ball allowed Monsieur de Trénis the leisure to expand upon the niceties of putting on the hat, Claire undertook negotiations with her mother about a subject she considered far more important than the matter of concern to Monsieur de Talleyrand and the First Consul, whether or not there would be peace between Paris’s two best dancers or between France and the world. The young count, who kept his eyes on her the entire time, saw by the smile on Claire’s face that he had in all probability won his case with her mother.

He was not mistaken.

On the pretext of getting some air in one of the less crowded rooms, Mademoiselle de Sourdis took Mademoiselle de Beauharnais’s arm, and as they passed the Comte de Sainte-Hermine, she whispered these words: “My mother agrees that tomorrow at three in the afternoon you may present yourself at our door.”