Colin was startled. He took his hands off the keys and turned around and smiled. “Well, you do sneak up on a man, Annette.”
“That’s good for you,” Annette said. She moved closer and leaned against him, the rich curves of her body pressing against his shoulder. He suddenly stood, and she looked up at him and asked, “What was that you were playing?”
“Oh, something the marquis wrote for the new opera.”
“Is he ever going to finish that? He’s been working on it for a long time.”
“You know, I think it’s really finished. I wouldn’t be surprised if he published it.”
“Will you be singing in it?”
“I doubt it. He can have anyone he wants, with his reputation.”
Annette reached up and brushed his shoulder as if there were something there. But her touch lingered, and she lowered her voice and said, “Colin, do you only think of music? Don’t other thoughts ever cross your mind?”
“Why, of course.”
“No,” Annette said, shaking her head in disapproval, “I don’t think you ever think like most young men do.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, you’ve never tried to kiss me or even once touched me. I’ve been waiting for two years, but it’s never happened.”
“You know I wouldn’t do a thing like that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, because—” Colin broke off and looked embarrassed. Suddenly he grinned and said, “All right. I’ll behave like other young men.” He reached forward, pulled her into a tight embrace, and kissed her on the lips firmly. Stepping back, he said, “Now, I’m like all the rest of the fellows who chase you around.”
“You’re not very good at kissing. You haven’t had enough experi-ence.” Humor lit Annette eyes, and she said, “Let’s go out this evening. You haven’t asked me out a single time.”
“Where would we go?”
“We’d go have fun. You don’t know what it is to have fun.”
“Of course I do.”
“No, you don’t. You go hunting sometimes with Philippe and fishing by yourself, but aside from that, all you do is sing.”
“I have to take advantage of the marquis’ teaching. He’s a hard master.”
Annette looked disgusted. “Poof!” she said. “You’re nothing but a machine. You don’t even know how to kiss.” She turned around and left the room, huffily slamming the door behind her.
For a long moment Colin stared at the door, then scratched his head thoughtfully. What’s wrong with her, I wonder? I guess she wants me to chase her like all the young bucks in the neighborhood do. I don’t have time for that.
Going back to the piano, Colin looked over the music. He sang softly the words to the solo until he was interrupted when the door opened, and the marquis entered. Colin stopped playing at once and stood. “Good morning, sir. A fine day.”
“Yes, it is. I’ve been thinking I might go out for a ride. Would you like to join me?”
“Very much. We’ve good weather for it.”
Armand looked at the music on the pianoforte. “You’re playing the new solo. Do you like it?”
“I think it’s one of the best things I ever heard.”
“You’re not very critical, Colin. You never find fault with anything I do.”
“That would be wrong of me indeed, for all that you do is right.”
The marquis smiled. Smiles had come rarely to him since his wife had died, but during the past year he had found a great deal of con-solation in pouring himself into the young man who stood before him. “You’re wrong about that, but keep on thinking it if it pleases you. Now, go ahead. Sing that as it should be sung.”
Colin sat down and began to play. He had a natural gift for the piano, and the marquis had hired a master for him. It had been a pleasure for Colin to learn so that he could accompany himself. He was not an accomplished pianist, of course, but he did well enough. He lifted up his voice and poured himself into the song. When he was fin-ished, he struck the last chord, then shook his head ruefully. “I didn’t do the phrasing on that very well.”
“You’re never satisfied with yourself—which is what I taught you.” Armand smiled. “Never be satisfied. There’s always something better.” He hesitated, then said, “I’ve got something to tell you.”
“Yes, sir. What is it?”
“Actually one never finishes a work. At some point you just have to stop and say, ‘At this point in my life, this is the best I can do.’ Don’t you agree?”
“Well, that’s what I have to say to myself. I’m never happy with my singing.”
“I’ve been waiting for two years for you to show some signs of artis-tic temperament or vanity, but I haven’t seen any. That’s a miracle.”
Armand shook his head, and wonder was in his eyes. “You don’t seem to care for anything but learning and singing.”
“That’s why I came to France.”
“Well, I’ve got a bit of news for you. We’re going on a journey.”
“Where to, sir?”
“We’re going back to your home in America. New Orleans, to be specific.”
“New Orleans! Do you mean it, sir?”
“Yes. I’ve decided to take this new opera to New Orleans. They are a rather rough, crude bunch, though they would never admit it, but I thought it would be interesting to try out my new work on them before we perform it here.”
“Why, it will be a tremendous success. I know they’ve been trying to get you to come to America for a long time.”
Armand smiled and laid his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “So, you’ll be seeing home again and old friends. You never talk about things like that.”
“Actually,” he said, “I don’t have all that many people. I didn’t have many friends.”
Armand understood that Colin’s life had been an unhappy one, hard and harsh in a land that was noted for such things. “Well,” he said, “I’ve got another surprise for you. You’re going to sing the second lead.”
Colin stared at Armand with astonishment. “You mean it, sir? Of course you mean it.” He shook himself, and his eyes glowed with excitement. “Do you think I can do it?”
“I think you could do the first lead, but it would be better to get a more established figure. This will be a good introduction to your career. We’ll have to be careful, though.”
“Careful about what, sir?”
“Whomever we get for the first tenor, you’ll be better. And you know how these opera singers are—jealous as Caesar. Well, we’ll be leaving in a month. Then, when we get there, I’ve made arrangements with a man called Herzhaft, Enoch Herzhaft, to get things ready.”
“I know that name from when I worked in the opera house.”
“Yes, he’s the owner of the largest opera house in New Orleans. I’ve met him a few times. He had ambitions of being a singer himself, but he didn’t have the voice for it. So, he’s become the biggest figure in opera in America. Even though he can’t sing, he has good judg-ment. I’ve told him not to worry about the second tenor—that I’ll take care of that.” He put his hand again on Colin’s shoulder and said, “It will be a change. I’ve needed it for a long time now. Get yourself ready.”
“I could leave today.”
“Well, I can’t leave quite that quickly, but the voyage will be good for us, and you can show me around New Orleans.”
The Marquis Armand de Cuvier leaned on the rail of the Diana, his eyes fixed on the teeming harbor of New Orleans. “A crowded place,” he remarked. “I hardly see where the captain can find room to dock.”
Colin was excited at the first sight of his native land. He avidly took in the mixture of steamships and sailing ships that seemed in competition for spaces along the wharf. Turning to the marquis, he said, “This trip over was a little different from my voyage to France two years ago. Then I slept in the foul straw of the cattle on the cattle boat, but this time I ate at the captain’s table and slept
between clean sheets. I’ve come up in the world.”
The two stood on deck until finally the Diana was tied up to the dock. “Come along,” said the marquis. “I’m anxious to see this city of New Orleans. I hear it’s like no other city in the world.”
“It can be a very rough place, sir. I’m afraid you won’t find much polish here.”
As they walked off the dock, Armand asked, “Who are those fel-lows over there? They’re a rough-looking bunch.”
Colin followed the marquis’ gesture. “Oh, those are what are called Kaintocks.”
“Kaintock? What does that mean?”
“Well, Kentucky is a state, and many people find their way down-river hauling freight from that place. But it doesn’t matter which state they’re from—they all are called Kaintocks.”
“They look like wild men,” the marquis murmured. “But we have our own gangs of criminals, called apaches, in Paris, and they’re probably wilder than these fellows.”
The two disembarked, and Colin saw that the luggage was located and stored in one of the many carriages that were for hire. Etienne, the marquis’ valet for years, had remained at home, protesting that he was too old for such a trip. Colin had vowed that he would see to it that his master did not have to deal with the problems of travel. Then they got into the carriage, and he said, “St. Louis Hotel, driver.”
“Yes sir.” The driver was a small, dark-skinned man with flashing white teeth and a ferocious mustache. He touched his top hat with his whip and then touched the horses with it, calling for them to step out.
As they made their way through the city toward the hotel, Armand was fascinated by it all. “It’s a very cosmopolitan place, isn’t it?”
“Sir?”
“I mean there are many nationalities here. I see a great many Spanish people and even more black people.”
“Well, there are Cajuns and Creoles and just about any other peoples that you’d like to meet. They come in on the big ships, and some of them stay.”
“Who are the Creoles?”
“Creoles are people who are descended from both the French and Spanish,” Colin said. “There are always some very prominent Creole people here. Many of them are interested in the arts, from what little I picked up. Of course, you understand, sir, I wasn’t moving in high circles in those days. They would have thrown me out of their homes.”
“Well, they won’t throw you out this time.”
“No, sir, not as long as I’m in your company.”
The driver pulled up in front of a block-long building simple and dignified in design. “St. Louis Hotel, sir.” He hopped out, unloaded the carriage, and Colin asked a porter to take their luggage inside. “I think you’ll find the hotel impressive,” Colin told the marquis. He led Armand into the lobby, past a large rotunda covered by a magnificent dome sixty-five feet in diameter. The ceiling rose at least ninety feet.
“What going on in there, Colin?”
“Well sir, I’m afraid it’s a slave auction. They use the rotunda for that sometimes. It’s not a pretty sight.”
The marquis insisted on stopping, and for a while the two men watched as the blacks were led up to the slave block and auc-tioned off.
“Why, it’s as if they were vegetables or animals!” the marquis exclaimed.
“It’s very bad, sir. New Orleans is the slave market for the rest of the country. A very bad thing. I never liked to see it.”
The marquis shook his head sadly. Colin led to him the desk, where they registered, then to their rooms upstairs. He asked, “Would you like to lie down and rest, sir?”
“No. We should get ready for the reception.”
Enoch Herzhaft, a portly man, presided over the reception for the marquis. His hair and beard were blond, and his eyes were electric blue. Every sentence seemed to be a proclamation rather than a mere statement of fact. He had greeted the marquis effusively, and when introduced to Colin, he had been fully as enthusiastic. He was a man who lived in a constant state of excitement.
“My dear marquis, you honor us with your presence, and the opera—what a triumph it will be!” Herzhaft exclaimed, waving his hands. “The entire world will hear of it.”
“Well, I would be content with a little less success than that, but I am very interested in my protégé’s doing well.”
“He will be fantastic, I am sure. I have persuaded Dominic Elfonso to sing the leading role. You have heard him?”
“Oh yes, I have heard Señor Elfonso many times. A fine voice indeed. Not much of an actor.”
“No, indeed, he is not, but never tell him so. His ego is even larger than his body.” Enoch Herzhaft turned to Colin. “Have you had much experience, may I ask?”
“None whatsoever,” Colin answered. He saw Herzhaft’s surprise and smiled. “I hope I will not ruin the performance.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will not.” There was less assurance in Herzhaft’s voice than before. “Come. We will eat, and then there will be speeches.”
“I hope I’m not expected to make one,” the marquis murmured.
“But of course you are! They have all come to hear you. Come now. We have the finest chefs in New Orleans, and you will taste Creole cooking.”
The meal was indeed unusual. It consisted of shrimp Creole, a spicy dish that the marquis tasted for the first time. There was shrimp remoulade and pompano en papilote. Colin said to Armand, “This Creole cooking, is it too spicy for you?”
“I don’t think I’ll have any taste buds left after I get through with this, but it is good.”
The meal ended with small cakes served with black chicory cof-fee. The marquis took one swallow, and his eyes flew open. “This is strong stuff, Colin!”
“Yes, it is. You can barely stir it with a spoon! But you’ll get used to it.”
Finally, when the meal was over, Herzhaft made a glowing speech proclaiming that the Marquis de Cuvier was the greatest composer the world had ever seen. He painted a picture that no man could have lived up to, and when Armand stood amid the applause, he said, “I will disclaim 90 percent of all of my friend, Mr. Herzhaft, has said. Not even Mozart and Beethoven rolled into one could live up to such a reputation.” The marquis was a good speaker, though his remarks were brief. He knew how to address a crowd, and when he sat down, the applause was enthusiastic.
After more speeches, Herzhaft said, “Now I must introduce you to our guests. I know they are anxious to meet you.”
Colin stood away from the pair but followed closely enough to hear the introductions. He lost track of the names, but he did see a young woman who stood out from all the rest somehow. She was of medium height; her blonde hair was as fair as anything he had ever seen. Her complexion was perfect. But the most striking thing about her was her large, well-shaped, dark-blue eyes. For some reason she seemed familiar. Colin put that thought aside. He had not moved in society such as this before going to France!
The woman glanced at him once, then looked back at the mar-quis, and Colin heard Herzhaft say, “And this is Monsieur Louis d’Or and his wife, Renee. This is their son, Bayard, and this is Mademoiselle Simone d’Or.” He waved his hand toward the mar-quis, saying, “Of course, Lord Beaufort needs no introduction.”
Colin watched as the marquis bowed to the family and called them each by name—but he saw that Armand’s eyes were fixed on the young woman. It struck him that she bore a resemblance to Jeanne de Cuvier! The facial structure was the same, the hair was the same color; the eyes were different, but there was a general resemblance.
The marquis could spend little time with the d’Or family, as others were waiting to be introduced. When Armand turned to greet another family, Louis d’Or approached Colin and asked, “Pardon me, Monsieur, are you a relative of the marquis?”
“Oh no, sir. Merely a pupil.”
“Ah,” Louis d’Or said. “Enoch has told me about you. You will be singing in the master’s new opera.”
“Yes, sir. My name is Colin Seymour.”
“No, as a matter of fact, I’m an American.”
“Oh, let me introduce you to my family. We are all aficionados of the opera.” He introduced Colin to his wife, his son, and his daugh-ter, and said, “Simone will ask you a million questions. She is a great fan of the opera.”
“I’m afraid you would be disappointed, Miss d’Or. I have very little background.”
Simone d’Or looked at the young man curiously. She stepped for-ward and said, “I will interrogate him, Father.”
“Be careful of her, Mr. Seymour. She’s a dangerous woman.”
“Pay no attention to Bayard, sir. Now, you must tell me all about yourself. Where are you from?”
“Well, mostly from Louisiana.”
“Oh, you must have been in France a long time then.”
“No. Only two years. Before that I lived here in New Orleans.”
Simone gave Colin an odd look and tilted her head to one side. She was the most provocative woman Colin had ever seen. It was not just her outward beauty, which was great indeed, but there was a fiery spirit within her that he had never seen before.
“But I never met you. Who was your family?”
Colin hesitated. He had an inkling that the truth would not endear him to Simone d’Or, but he said rather bluntly, “I was an orphan, Miss d’Or. Mostly I was raised by a distant relation. He was a fisherman.”
Something changed in the woman’s eyes then, and Colin knew that she had placed him in a completely different category than before. She lifted her chin and said, “A fisherman?” in a voice of disdain.
“Yes. I left here on a cattle boat to go to France. I was determined to become a singer and to study under the marquis, and that’s what I did.”
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