by Eugène Sue
CHAPTER XIII. UP WITH THE CURTAIN.
The usual bell sounded with solemnity behind the scenes the overturebegan, and, to say the truth, but little attention was paid to it. Theinterior of the theatre offered a very animated view. With the exceptionof two stage-boxes even with the dress circle, one to the left, theother to the right of the audience, every seat was occupied. A greatnumber of very fashionable ladies, attracted, as is always the case, bythe strange wildness of the spectacle, filled the boxes. The stalls werecrowded by most of the young men who; in the morning, had walked theirhorses on the Champs-Elysees. The observations which passed from onestall to another, will give some idea of their conversation.
"Do you know, my dear boy, there would not be so crowded or fashionablean audience to witness Racine's Athalia?"
"Undoubtedly. What is the beggarly howling of an actor, compared to theroaring of the lion?"
"I cannot understand how the authorities permit this Morok to fasten hispanther with a chain to an iron ring in the corner of the stage. If thechain were to break?"
"Talking of broken chains--there's little Mme. de Blinville, who is notigress. Do you see her in the second tier, opposite?"
"It becomes her very well to have broken, as you say, the marriagechain; she looks very well this season."
"Oh! there is the beautiful Duchess de Saint-Prix; all the world is hereto-night--I don't speak of ourselves."
"It is a regular opera night--what a festive scene!"
"Well, after all, people do well to amuse themselves, perhaps it willnot be for long."
"Why so?"
"Suppose the cholera were to come to Paris?"
"Oh! nonsense!"
"Do you believe in the cholera?"
"To be sure I do! He's coming from the North, with his walking-stickunder his arm."
"The devil take him on the road! don't let us see his green visagehere."
"They say he's at London."
"A pleasant journey to him."
"Come, let us talk of something else; it may be a weakness, if youplease, but I call this a dull subject."
"I believe you."
"Oh! gentlemen--I am not mistaken--no--it is she!"
"Who, then?"
"Mdlle. de Cardoville! She is coming into the stage-box with Morinvaland his wife. It is a complete resuscitation: this morning on theChamps-Elysees; in the evening here."
"Faith, you are right! It is Mdlle. de Cardoville."
"Good heaven! how lovely she is!"
"Lend me your eyeglass."
"Well, what do you think of her?"
"Exquisite--dazzling."
"And in addition to her beauty, an inexhaustible flow of wit, threehundred thousand francs a year, high birth, eighteen years of age,and--free as air."
"Yes, that is to say, that, provided it pleased her, I might be tomorrow--or even to-day--the happiest of men."
"It is enough to turn one's brain."
"I am told that her mansion, Rue d'Anjou, is like an enchanted palace; agreat deal is said about a bath-room and bedroom, worthy of the ArabianNights."
"And free as air--I come back to that."
"Ah! if I were in her place!"
"My levity would be quite shocking."
"Oh! gentlemen, what a happy man will he be who is loved first!"
"You think, then, that she will have many lovers?"
"Being as free as air--"
"All the boxes are full, except the stage-box opposite to that in whichMdlle. de Cardoville is seated. Happy the occupiers of that box!"
"Did you see the English ambassador's lady in the dress circle?"
"And the Princess d'Alvimar--what an enormous bouquet!"
"I should like to know the name--of that nosegay."
"Oh!--it's Germigny."
"How flattering for the lions and tigers, to attract so fashionable anaudience."
"Do you notice, gentlemen, how all the women are eye-glassing Mdlle. deCardoville?"
"She makes a sensation."
"She is right to show herself; they gave her out as mad."
"Oh! gentlemen, what a capital phiz!"
"Where--where?"
"There--in the omnibus-box beneath Mdlle. de Cardoville's."
"It's a Nuremburg nutcracker."
"An ourang-outang!"
"Did you ever see such round, staring eyes?"
"And the nose!"
"And the forehead!"
"It's a caricature."
"Order, order! the curtain rises."
And, in fact, the curtain rose. Some explanation is necessary for theclear understanding of what follows. In the lower stage-box, to the leftof the audience, were several persons, who had been referred to by theyoung men in the stalls. The omnibus-box was occupied by the Englishman,the eccentric and portentous bettor, whose presence inspired Morok withso much dread.
It would require Hoffman's rare and fantastic genius to describeworthily that countenance, at once grotesque and frightful, as it stoodout from the dark background of the box. This Englishman was about fiftyyears old; his forehead was quite bald, and of a conical shape; beneaththis forehead, surmounted by eyebrows like parenthesis marks, glitteredlarge, green eyes, remarkably round and staring, and set very close to ahooked nose, extremely sharp and prominent; a chin like that on the oldfashioned nutcrackers was half-hidden in a broad and ample white cravat,as stiffly-starched as the round-cornered shirt-collar, which nearlytouched his ears. The face was exceedingly thin and bony, and yet thecomplexion was high-colored, approaching to purple, which made thebright green of the pupils, and the white of the other part of theeyes, still more conspicuous. The mouth, which was very wide, sometimeswhistled inaudibly the tune of a Scotch jig (always the same tune),sometimes was slightly curled with a sardonic smite. The Englishman wasdressed with extreme care; his blue coat, with brass buttons, displayedhis spotless waistcoat, snowy, white as his ample cravat; his shirt wasfastened with two magnificent ruby studs, and his patrician hands werecarefully kid gloved.
To any one who knew the eccentric and cruel desire which attracted thisman to every representation, his grotesque face became almost terrific,instead of exciting ridicule; and it was easy to understand the dreadexperience by Morok at sight of those great, staring round eyes, whichappeared to watch for the death of the lion-tamer (what a horribledeath!) with unshaken confidence. Above the dark box of the Englishman,affording a graceful contrast, were seated the Morinvals and Mdlle.de Cardoville. The latter was placed nearest the stage. Her head wasuncovered, and she wore a dress of sky-blue China crepe, ornamented atthe bosom with a brooch of the finest Oriental pearls--nothing more; yetAdrienne, thus attired, was charming. She held in her hand an enormousbouquet, composed of the rarest flowers of India: the stephanotis andthe gardenia mingled the dead white of their blossoms with the purplehibiscus and Java amaryllis.
Madame de Morinval, seated on the opposite side of the box, was dressedwith equal taste and simplicity; Morinval, a fair and very handsomeyoung man, of elegant appearance, was behind the two ladies. M. deMontbron was expected to arrive every moment. The reader will pleaseto recollect that the stage-box to the right of the audience, oppositeAdrienne's, had remained till then quite empty. The stage representedone of the gigantic forests of India. In the background, tall exotictrees rose in spiral or spreading forms, among rugged masses ofperpendicular rocks, with here and there glimpses of a tropical sky. Theside-scenes formed tufts of trees, interspersed with rocks; and at theside which was immediately beneath Adrienne's box appeared the irregularopening of a deep and gloomy cavern, round which were heaped huge blocksof granite, as if thrown together by some convulsion of nature. Thisscenery, full of a wild and savage grandeur, was wonderfully "built up,"so as to make the illusion as complete as possible; the footlightswere lowered, and being covered with a purple shade, threw over thislandscape a subdued reddish light, which increased the gloomy andstartling effect of the whole. Adrienne, leaning forward from the box,with cheeks slightly flu
shed, sparkling eyes, and throbbing heart,sought to trace in this scene the solitary forest described by thetraveller who had eulogized Djalma's generosity and courage, when hethrew himself upon a ferocious tigress to save the life of a poor blackslave. Chance coincided wonderfully indeed with her recollections.Absorbed in the contemplation of the scenery and the thoughts itawakened in her heart, she paid no attention to what was passing in thehouse. And yet something calculated to excite curiosity was taking placein the opposite stage-box.
The door of this box opened. A man about forty years of age, of a yellowcomplexion, entered; he was clothed after the East Indian fashion, in along robe of orange silk, bound round the waist with a green sash, andhe wore a small white turban. He placed two chairs at the front of thebox; and, having glanced round the house for a moment, he started, hisblack eyes sparkled, and he went out quickly. That man was Faringhea.His apparition caused surprise and curiosity in the theatre; themajority of the spectators not having, like Adrienne, a thousand reasonsfor being absorbed in the contemplation of a picturesque set scene.The public attention was still more excited when they saw the box whichFaringhea had just left, entered by a youth of rare beauty, also dressedOriental fashion, in a long robe of white Cashmere with flowing sleeves,with a scarlet turban striped with gold on his head, and a sash tocorrespond, in which was stuck a long dagger, glittering with preciousstones. This young man was Prince Djalma. For an instant he remainedstanding at the door, and cast a look of indifference upon the immensetheatre, crowded with people; then, stepping forward with a majesticand tranquil air, the prince seated himself negligently on one of thechairs, and, turning his head in a few moments towards the entrance,appeared surprised at not seeing some person whom he doubtless expected.This person appeared at length; the boxkeeper had been assisting her totake off her cloak. She was a charming, fair-haired girl, attiredwith more show than taste, in a dress of white silk, with broadcherry-colored stripes, made ultra fashionably low, and with shortsleeves; a large bow of cherry-colored ribbon was placed on each sideof her light hair, and set off the prettiest, sprightliest, most wilfullittle face in the world.
It was Rose-Pompon. Her pretty arms were partly covered by long whitegloves, and ridiculously loaded with bracelets: in her hand she carriedan enormous bouquet of roses.
Far from imitating the calm demeanor of Djalma, Rose-Pompon skipped intothe box, moved the chairs about noisily, and fidgeted on her seat forsome time, to display her fine dress; then, without being in the leastintimidated by the presence of the brilliant assembly, she, with alittle coquettish air, held her bouquet towards Djalma, that he mightsmell it, and appeared finally to establish herself on her seat.Faringhea came in, shut the door of the box, and seated himself behindthe prince. Adrienne, still completely absorbed in the contemplation ofthe Indian forest, and in her own sweet thoughts, had not observed thenewcomers. As she was turning her head completely towards the stage, andDjalma could not, for the moment, see even her profile, he, on his side,had not recognized Mdlle. de Cardoville.
