Читать книгу Paula Monti; or, The Hôtel Lambert - Эжен Сю - Страница 4

In 1837 the Opera-ball in Paris was not as yet entirely invaded by that mob of wild and crazed dancers, chicards[1] and chicandards (as they style themselves), who, in the present day, have almost entirely driven from these assemblies the old traditions for mystification, and that tone of good society which did not detract from the piquancy of adventure.

Then, as now, the fashionables of the day congregated around a large chest, placed in the corridor of the first circle of boxes, between the two doors of the Opera "crush-room."

The privileged made a seat of this chest, and frequently shared it with certain sprightly dominoes, who were not always of the haut ton, but who knew it well enough by hearsay to be able to chatter scandal as fluently as the most scandalous.

At the last ball in the month of January 1837, about two o'clock in the morning, a tolerably large party of men were collected round a female in a domino, seated on the chest to which we have alluded.

Loud bursts of laughter hailed the sallies of this lady. She was not deficient in wit, but certain vulgar expressions, and the manner of tutoiement which she employed, proved that she did not appertain to the leading circles; although she appeared perfectly well informed as to all that passed in the highest and most exclusive society.

They were still laughing at one of the last smart comments of this domino, when, looking towards a young man who was passing through the corridor with great haste to enter the "crush-room," this female said,—

"Good evening, Fierval! whither so fast? you appear in great haste. Are you seeking the lovely Princess de Hansfeld, to whom you pay such constant attention? You will lose your time, I can assure you. She is not the woman to come to an Opera-ball—her virtue is of the old-fashioned sort; and you will all but singe your wings in the flame, like delicate butterflies."

M. de Fierval paused, and replied, with a smile,—

"Lovely mask, I will own that I do greatly admire the Princess de Hansfeld; but I am too humble an individual to have the slightest pretension to be noticed by her."

"Ah, indeed, what a formal and respectful tone! why one would say that you were in hopes that the princess would hear you!"

"I never speak of Madame de Hansfeld but with that respect with which she inspires all the world!" was M. de Fierval's reply.

"Perhaps you think I am the princess?"

"To make that possible, charming mask, you require her figure, which you certainly have not yet attained."

"Madame de Hansfeld at an Opera-ball!" said one of the loungers of the group that surrounded the domino; "that would, indeed, be something singular!"

"Why so?" inquired the domino.

"She lives too far off—at the Hôtel Lambert, fronting the Ile Louviers—almost as far off as London."

"That jest on the forsaken quarters is worn threadbare," replied the domino. "The truth is, that Madame de Hansfeld is too great a prude to be guilty of such a folly; she whom one sees every day at church—"

"But the Opera-ball was only invented in order that once a-year, at least, it should conceal the folly of prudes," said a new comer who had mingled with the circle unnoticed.

This personage was accosted with loud exclamations of surprise.

"What you, Brévannes! why, where did you spring from?"

"Oh, no doubt, just arrived from Lorraine."

"Here you are again, eh, you sad fellow?"

"His first visit is to the Opera! but that is quite de règle."

"He comes to see his ancient rollicking acquaintances."

"Or to learn news of them."

"He has been out to grass on his country estates."

"And no doubt has greatly profited by the 'run!'"

"They will not know him again in the green-room."

"I'll bet a wager that he has left his wife in the country, in order that he may more easily lead a bachelor's life here."

"This is the usual termination to your love-matches."

"Brévannes, we have made all arrangements for a little supper this evening."

"You'll come, of course! for then we can tell you all that has been, and has not been, done in Paris during your exile."

M. de Brévannes was a man about five-and-thirty, of dark complexion, almost olive-coloured; his features, which were regular, had a singular expression of energy: his hair, his eyebrows, and his beard, were of jet-black, and gave his face an air of sternness; his manners were easy and gentlemanly; and he was dressed simply, but in the best possible taste.

After having listened to the numberless salutations with which his friends accosted him, M. de Brévannes said, laughingly,—

"Now I will try and reply, since you give me an opportunity at last, and my reply shall not be, by any means, a tedious one. I am just come from Lorraine, and I am a better husband than you give me credit for—I have brought my wife back to Paris with me."

"Perhaps Madame de Brévannes might have thought you a better husband still if you had left her in Lorraine," said the domino; "but you are too jealous to do that."

"Indeed!" replied M. de Brévannes, looking at the mask with curiosity; "I am jealous, am I?"

"As jealous as obstinate! and that's the fact."

"The fact is," said M. de Fierval, "that when this fellow, Brévannes, takes any thing in his head——"

"Why, it stays there!" said M. de Brévannes, laughing: "I deserve to be a Breton. And since, charming mask, you know me so well, you must know my motto, 'vouloir c'est pouvoir' (to will is to be able to do).

"And as you are afraid, that in her turn, your wife may also prove to you that vouloir c'est pouvoir, why you are as jealous of her as a tiger."

"Jealous?—I? well, now you are praising me. I really do not deserve such an eulogium."

"It is no eulogium, for you are as unfaithful as you are jealous; or, if you like it better, as haughty as you are inconstant. Oh! it was a fine thing to make a love-match, and marry a daughter of the middle classes! Poor Bertha Raimond! I am sure she pays dearly enough for what the fools call her elevation!" said the domino, with much irony.

M. de Brévannes frowned almost imperceptibly; but the cloud passed quickly, and he added, gaily,—

"Charming mask, you are mistaken; my wife is the happiest of women, I am the happiest of men, and thus our ménage offers no hold for the fangs of slander. But do not talk any more of one who was but a fashion of the year that is past."

"You are too modest. You are always, at least, so says slander, the very pink of fashion. Would you rather that we should talk of your journey to Italy?"

M. de Brévannes repressed a fresh impulse of impatience. The domino seemed to know precisely all the vulnerable points of the man she was mystifying.

"Come, cruel mask," replied M. de Brévannes, "at least be generous, and immolate a few other victims. You seem to be very well informed, be so kind as tell me the news of the day. Who are the women most in vogue? do their adorers of last season still sigh at their feet? have they undergone with impunity the proofs of absence, summer, and travel?"

"Well, I will have pity on you! or, rather, I will reserve you for a better opportunity," replied the domino. "You speak of fresh beauties! well, we were talking just now of the female who is most in fashion this winter—a handsome foreigner, the Princess de Hansfeld."

"By her name," said M. de Brévannes, "it is easy to guess that she is a German; fair, and full of conceits as a melody of Schubert, I am sure."

"You mistake," said the domino; "she is dark and wild as Othello's jealousy, to follow out your musical and high-flown comparison."

"Is there also a Prince de Hansfeld?" inquired M. de Brévannes.

"Most certainly."

"And to what school does this darling prince belong? the German or Italian school, or to the school of—husbands?"

"You ask a question which no one can answer."

"What! is this lovely princess wedded to a prince in partibus?"

"Certainly not," said M. de Fierval; "the prince is here, but no one has yet seen him, he never goes into the world. He is talked of as a whimsical, eccentric being, and some very extraordinary tales are told of him."

"It is said that he is quite an idiot," said one of the party.

"I have heard it stoutly maintained that he is a man of genius," said another.

"To reconcile the two assertions, gentlemen," said Brévannes, "it must be confessed they are somewhat similar, especially when the man of genius is in repose. Tell me, is this prince young or old?"

"No one knows," said Fierval; "some declare that he is kept from society for fear his whims should excite laughter."

"And others assert that he has so profound a contempt for the world, or so much love for science, that he never leaves the house."

"The devil!" said M. de Brévannes; "then this German must be a very mysterious personage—as a husband he must be very agreeable. Does any one know who plays the cavalier to the princess?"

"No one!" said Fierval.

"Every body!" exclaimed the domino.

"That's the same thing," resumed M. de Brévannes. "But this Madame de Hansfeld, is she really so very captivating?"

"I am a woman, and I must confess that nothing can be seen more strikingly handsome," said the domino.

"She has such eyes—such eyes!—oh! there never were such eyes!" said M. de Fierval.

"As to her figure," added the domino, "it is a perfection of contrasts—dignified as a queen, and as graceful as a Bayadère."

"Such praises are very like Scandal's damning breath," said Brévannes.

"But, in truth," continued Fierval, "there is no one comparable to the princess for shape, dignity, grace, and distinguished features. Her look has in it something sombre, enthusiastic, and proud, which contrasts with the habitual placidity of her countenance."

"I confess that there seems to me something sinister in Madame de Hansfeld's look; handsome as are her eyes, yet they are almost diabolic in expression."

"Peste! this becomes interesting!" cried M. de Brévannes; "the princess is the real heroine of a modern romance. After all I have heard of her countenance, I dare not ask you as to her mind. It is the custom to magnify certain miraculous qualities at the expense of the most marked imperfections."

"You are mistaken," said the domino; "those who have heard speak of Madame de Hansfeld, and they are few, say that she is as clever as she is handsome."

"It is true," added Fierval; "all that can be said against her is her prudery, which displays itself at the most harmless pleasantries."

"The princess must be on her guard," said the domino; "if her affectation of prudery lasts some time longer, she will find herself as entirely forsaken by the men as she will be sought by the women, who at this present time dread her very much, not knowing if her formality of manner is real or affected."

"But," said M. de Brévannes, "what can make you suppose the princess guilty of hypocrisy?"

"Nothing: for she is very pious," said M. de Fierval.

"Say dévote," said the domino, "which is, by no means, the same thing."

"When," said another, "one loves the church so passionately, one loves parties less, and one bestows less care on one's toilette."

"That is very unjust!" said M. de Fierval, with a smile. "The princess dresses always alike, and with the utmost simplicity. In the evening she wears a gown of black velvet, or dark, garnet-coloured silk, with her hair braided."

"Yes, but those gowns are admirably made! displaying faultless shoulders, arms exquisitely turned, the figure of a Creole, a foot like Cinderella,—and then such splendid jewels!"

"Another injustice!" exclaimed M. de Fierval; "she only wears a plain black or ruby velvet riband round her neck, matching the colour of her gown."

"Yes," added the domino, "and this poor little riband is fastened by a modest clasp, consisting of a single stone. But then that stone is a diamond, a ruby, or a sapphire, worth 1000 l. or 1500 l. The princess has, amongst other marvels, an emerald as large as a nut."

"That is still only the clasp to the velvet riband," said M. de Fierval, gaily.

"But the prince—the prince disquiets me!" continued M. de Brévannes. "Seriously, now, is he as mysterious as they say?"

"Seriously," answered M. de Fierval; "after having lived for some time in the Rue Saint-Guillaume, he has betaken himself to live on the Quai d'Anjou, at the Diable Vert, in the old and vast Hôtel Lambert. A lady of my acquaintance, Madame de Lormoy, went there to pay the princess a visit, but she did not see the prince, who, she was told, was indisposed. It appears that nothing can be more dull than this enormous palace, where one is lost, as it were, and where one hears no more noise than in the midst of a wide plain, so deserted are these streets and quays."

"Since you know persons who have penetrated this mysterious habitation, my dear Fierval," said another lounger, "is it true that the princess has always at her side a sort of dwarf male or female negro or negress, who is deformed?"

"What an exaggeration!" said M. de Fierval, laughing; "and this is just the way history is written!"

"Does the dwarf, male or female, exist or not?"

"I am distressed beyond measure, gentlemen, to destroy your delusions. Madame de Lormoy, who, I repeat to you, often visits at the Hôtel Lambert, has only seen a young girl, who is the companion of Madame de Hansfeld; she is very young, and not a negress, but her complexion is very dark, and her features are of the Arab cast."

"No doubt this is the source whence the black and deformed dwarf proceeded."

"What a pity! I do so regret the little negro dwarf; it was so completely of the middle ages!" said M. de Brévannes.

[1]These words have no precise synonyms in English, but they are nearly equivalent to our slang phrase of "out-and-outers."