CHAPTER XII.
THE MYSTERIOUS PRIMA DONNA.
All fashionable Paris was excited over the announcement of a new primadonna, whose wonderful achievements in Italian opera had set even theexacting critics of Italy wild with enthusiasm and delight.
This great artiste was no other than the renowned Louise d'Armilly. Shehad never before sung in the presence of a Parisian audience, but herfame had preceded her, and it was accepted as certain that her triumphat the Academie Royale would be both instantaneous and overwhelming.
She was to assume the role of Lucrezia Borgia, in Donizetti's brilliantopera of that name, a role in which the enterprising director of theAcademie Royale assured the expectant public that she possessed noequal.
For weeks every Parisian journal had been sounding her praises withunremitting zeal, and now her name was as familiar as a household wordin all the high society salons, where the ladies and their gallantscould talk of nothing but the approaching operatic event, while in thecafes and on the boulevards an equal degree of interest was exhibited.
Even the masses, notwithstanding the political agitation in which theywere involved, had caught the prevailing excitement, and the leaders ofthe contending parties themselves paused amid their heated discussionsto talk of Louise d'Armilly.
The career of this young and beautiful artiste had been remarkable. Herdebut had been made at Brussels, about two years before, in company withher brother, M. Leon d'Armilly, and there, as well as at all thetheatres of Italy, La Scala, Argentina and Valle, they had roused aperfect storm of operatic enthusiasm.
The origin of this young artiste was veiled in the deepest mystery.Rumor ascribed to her descent from one of the oldest and mostrespectable families of France; and domestic trials, among which was amatrimonial misadventure, no less than the arrest of an Italian Princewhom she was about to wed, on the bridal night, as an escaped galleyslave, were assigned as the cause which had given her splendid powers tothe stage.
At an earlier hour than usual--for Parisian fashion never fills theopera-house until the curtain falls on the second act--the RueLepelletier was crowded with carriages, La Pinon with fiacres, and theGrande Bateliere and the passages to the Boulevard des Italiens withpersons on foot, all hastening toward that magnificent edifice,constructed within the space of a single year by Debret, to replace thebuilding in the Rue de Richelieu ordered to be razed by the Governmentbecause of the assassination at its door of the Duke of Berri, in1820--that magnificent structure which accommodates two thousandspectators with seats.
Among the first in the orchestra stalls were Beauchamp and Debray, whoseattention was divided between the stage and the arrivals of splendidlyattired elegantes in the different loges, during the overture. All theelite of Paris seemed on the qui vive.
"It will be a splendid house," observed Debray.
"The debutante, be she whom she may, should feel flattered by such anunexampled assemblage of all the ton of Paris."
Orchestra, balcony, galleries, amphitheatres, lobbies and parterre werepacked; every portion of the vast edifice, in short, was thronged excepta few of the loges and baignoires, into which every moment brilliantcompanies were entering.
"Who is that tall, dark military man, with the heavy moustache, nowmaking his way into the Minister's box?" asked Beauchamp, after a pause.
"That man is no less a personage than the Governor of Algeria, EugeneCavaignac, Marshal of Camp," said Debray. "He reported himself at theWar Office this morning, and is the lion of the house."
"Ah!" cried the journalist; "and that is the hero of Constantine! What afrank, open countenance, and what a distingue bearing and manner!"
"You would not suppose all that man's life passed in a camp, would you?"
"His career has, I understand, been remarkable," said Beauchamp.
"Very. His father was a Conventionist of '92, a famous old fellow, who,among other terrible things laid at his door, is said to have pawned anold man's life, old Labodere, for his daughter's honor; somewhat, youremember, as Francis I. spared St. Valliar's life for the favor of thelovely Diana of Poitiers, his only child. His aged mother is yet living,a woman of strong mind, though seventy, and he does nothing without heradvice. His brother Godefroi's name was notorious as that of a powerfulRepublican leader for years before his decease. At eighteen Eugeneentered the Polytechnic School. At twenty-two he was a sub-lieutenant inthe engineer corps of the second regiment. In '28 he was firstlieutenant in France; in '29 he was captain; in '34 he was in Algeria;and, in '39, his cool, bold, decided but discreet conduct had made himchef de bataillon, despite the fact that he had incurred the Royaldispleasure some years before by a disloyal toast at a banquet. In '40he was lieutenant-colonel; in '41 marshal of camp, and first commanderof division of Tlemeen; in '43, he was conqueror of Constantine, at thefirst siege of which I so nearly lost my own valuable head, and he isnow Governor of Algeria, after service there of fourteen years."
"And the tall and sinewy man beside him, presenting such a contrast toCavaignac, with his light complexion, gray hair, and sullen and not veryintelligent expression?"
"Oh! that is General Bugeaud, by some deemed the real conqueror ofAlgeria. But he's not at all popular with the army. His manners aresimple and excessively blunt. He is a perfect despot with his staff,'tis said; yet he is quite a wag when in good-humor, and, at Ministerialdinners, can unbend and make himself as agreeable as need be wished. Hisvoice is as harsh as a Cossack's, and in perfect contrast to that ofCavaignac, which is the richest and most musical you ever heard, yetdistinct, emphatic and impressive."
"Bugeaud incurred intense odium with the opposition for his unwarrantedseverity as jailor of the Duchess of Berri, in '34, and his killingDulong in a duel, because of a deserved taunt on the subject."
"Bugeaud did his duty," said the Secretary, "though a man of his naturecould hardly perform such a duty with gentleness. Bugeaud is not agentleman; he knows it, and don't try to seem one. He is only a soldier.But there comes his very particular foe; General Lamoriciere. Thatmagnificent woman on his arm is his wife and the sister of the lady whofollows, with her husband, the ex-Minister, Adolphe Thiers."
"What a contrast!" cried Beauchamp. "The tall and elegant figure ofLamoriciere, in his brilliant uniform of the Spahis, half oriental, halfFrench, with his lovely wife, and the low, swarthy little ex-Minister incomplete black, with his huge round spectacles on his nose nearly twicethe size of his eyes, and a wife on his arm nearly double his stature.Why, Thiers reminds me of a Ghoul gallanting a Peri."
"And yet that same dark little ex-Minister has perhaps, in many respectsthe most powerful mind--at all events, the most available mind--impelledas it is by his restless ambition, in all France. Do you observe howincessantly his keen black eye flashes around the house, beneath hishuge glasses?"
"He seems perfectly aware that every eye in the house is directed towardhis loge. But is it true that his brother-in-law owes his rapid rise tohis influence at Court?"
"By no means," replied Debray. "If there is a man in the French army whohas achieved his own fortunes, that man is Lamoriciere. He went toAlgeria a lieutenant, and bravely and gallantly has he attained hispresent brilliant position. It was he who proposed the creation of acorps of native Arab troops, like the Sepoys of British India; and hewas appointed colonel of the first regiment of Spahis. Our quondamfriend, Maximilian Morrel, has a command in this regiment, and is aprotege of his illustrious exemplar."
"The hostility between Lamoriciere and Bugeaud arises, I suppose, fromthe latter's detestable disposition, his overbearing and dictatorialtemper. Lamoriciere is not a man, I take it, to be the slave of anyone."
"Rivalry in Africa is thought to have originated the feud," remarkedDebray, "and political differences in Paris to have inflamed it.Bugeaud is a Legitimist, and Lamoriciere a Republican."
"Silence!" cried the musical connoisseurs in the orchestra. "The curtainrises."
As the curtain rose a hush of expectation reigned over the
audience. Thehum and bustle ceased, and silence most profound succeeded. Theappearance of the fair cantatrice was the signal for such a reception asonly a Parisian audience can give, and the first strains that issuedfrom her lips assured them that their applause was not misplaced.
And surely never was the dark Duchess of Ferrara more faithfullypersonated than by the present artiste. This vraisemblance, which is soseldom witnessed in the opera, seemed to strike every eye. Her figurewas tall and majestic, and voluptuously developed. Her air and bearingwere haughty, dignified, and queen-like. Her complexion was very dark,but perfectly clear; her forehead broad and high; her brows heavy, butgracefully arched; her eyes large, black and flashing; her hair dark asnight, and arranged with great simplicity in glossy bands; and her mouthlarge, but filled with teeth of pearl-like whiteness, contrasted by lipsof coral wet with the spray. The entire outline of her face was Roman,and exhibited in its contour and lineaments even more than Romansternness and decision; and its effect was still more heightened by alarge mole at one corner of her mouth and the velvet robes in which shewas appropriately costumed.
The scene between the Duchess and the Spaniard, Gubetta, was receivedwith the utmost applause, and the pathos of that between the son and hisunknown mother, which succeeded, touched the audience to tears; but whenthe maskers rushed in and her vizard was torn off, and her true nameproclaimed, and, amid her heart-rending wailings, the curtain fell onthe first act, the shouts were perfectly thunderous with enthusiasm. Therole of Gennaro was performed by the brother of the cantatrice, Leond'Armilly, a young man of twenty, of delicate and graceful figure, andas decidedly blonde as his sister was brunette. Nature seemed to havemade a great mistake in sex when this brother and sister were fashioned.Indeed, it seemed hardly possible that they could be brother and sister,a remark constantly made by the audience, and the kindred announced onthe bills was generally viewed as one of those convenient relationshipsoften assumed on the stage, but having no more reality than those of thedramatis personae themselves.
"A second Pasta!" cried Chateau-Renaud, entering the stalls immediatelyon the descent of the curtain. "Heard you ever such a magnificentcontralto?"
"Saw you ever such a magnificent bust?" asked Beauchamp.
"Were it not for a few manifest impossibilities," thoughtfully remarkedDebray, "I should swear that this same angelic Louise d'Armilly was noother than a certain very beautiful, very eccentric and very talentedyoung lady whom we all once knew as a star of Parisian fashion, and who,the last time she was in this house, sat in the same loge where now sitthe African generals."
"Whom can you mean, Debray?" cried Beauchamp.
"A certain haughty young lady, who was to have married an ItalianPrince, but, on the night of the bridal, in the midst of thefestivities, the house being thronged with guests, and even while thecontract was receiving the signatures, the Prince was arrested as anescaped galley-slave, and at his trial proved to be the illegitimate sonof the bride's mother and a certain high legal functionary, theProcureur du Roi, now at Charenton, through whose burning zeal forjustice the horrible discovery transpired."
"Ha!" exclaimed Chateau-Renaud. "You cannot mean Eugenie Danglars,daughter of the bankrupt baron, whom our unhappy friend Morcerf was onceto have wed?"
"The very same," quietly rejoined the Secretary; "but this lady cannotbe Mlle. Danglars, I say absolutely, for many sufficient reasons," hequickly added; then, as if to turn the conversation, he hastilyremarked: "Ah! there are M. Dantes and M. Lamartine, as usual,together."
"M. Dantes!" exclaimed the Count, in surprise, looking around."Impossible!"
"And yet most true," observed Beauchamp; "in the third loge from theMinister's to the right. What a wonderful resemblance there is betweenthose men--the poet and the Deputy! One would suppose them brothers. Thesame tall and elegant figure, the same white and capacious brow, thesame dark, blazing eye, the same raven hair, and, above all, the samemost unearthly and spiritual pallor of complexion."
"No wonder M. Dantes is pale," said the Count. "Have you not heard ofthe occurrence of this evening in the Chamber? M. Dantes was in themidst of one of his powerful harangues against the Government, whensuddenly, in the middle of a sentence, he stopped--coughed violentlyseveral times, and pressed his handkerchief to his mouth; then taking asmall vial from his vest pocket, he placed it to his lips, andinstantaneously, as if new life had entered him, proceeded moreeloquently than ever to the conclusion of his speech."
"I heard something of this," said Beauchamp.
"As he descended from the tribune his friends thronged around him,anxious about his health. He quieted their apprehensions with hispeculiar smile of assurance, but I observed that his white handkerchiefwas spotted with blood, and he almost immediately left the Chamber."
"That man will kill himself in the cause he has espoused," remarkedDebray. "See how ghastly he now looks. But so much the better for theMinistry. He is a formidable foe. Indeed, that loge contains the twomost powerful opponents of the Government."
"And who are those men just entering the box?" asked Beauchamp.
"None other than the two rival astronomers of Europe," said Debray, "andyet most intimate friends. The taller and elder, the one with gray hair,a dark, sharp Bedouin countenance, and that large, wild, black eye, witha smile of mingled sarcasm and humor ever on his thin lip, is EmanuelArago. The other, the short, robust man, with fair complexion, sandyhair, bright blue eye and vivacious expression, is Le Verrier, the mosttireless star-gazer science has produced since Galileo. But hush! thecurtain is up."
"Oh! it matters not," said the Count; "only Gennaro and the Spaniardappear in the second act, and I have neither eyes nor ears save for theDuchess to-night. But who are those, Beauchamp?"
"Where?"
"In the loge on the first tier, next to the Minister's and directlyopposite to that of M. Dantes?"
"Ah! two officers of the Spahis and two most exquisite women!" exclaimedDebray. "They belong, doubtless, to the African party in the Minister'sloge. Your lorgnette, Count. What a splendid woman!"
Hardly had the Secretary raised the glass to his eyes before he droppedit with the exclamation:
"A miracle! a miracle!"
"What?" cried both of the other young men, turning to the box at whichDebray was gazing.
"Messieurs, do you remember the fair Valentine de Villefort, whoseuntimely and mysterious demise all the young people of Paris so muchbewailed, some two or three years ago, and whose lovely remains, we,with our own eyes, saw deposited in the Saint-Meran and de Villefortvault at Pere Lachaise, one bitter cold autumn evening, and therelistened most patiently and piously to a whole breviary of mournfulspeeches, declarative of the said Valentine's most superlativeexcellence?"
"Undoubtedly, we remember it well," was the reply.
"Then behold, and never dare to doubt the reappearance of the dead againto the ocular organs of humanity."
"Valentine de Villefort!" exclaimed the Count, after a careful andscrutinizing survey, "by all that's supernatural; and more exquisitelylovely than ever!"
"Then it was true, after all, the strange story we heard," saidBeauchamp, "of the young lady's resurrection and marriage to MaximilianMorrel, somewhere far away in parts unknown?"
"No doubt," replied the Count, "for, if I mistake not--and I'm sure Idon't mistake, now that I look more closely--that stalwart, splendidfellow, with the broad forehead, black eyes and moustache, and the orderof the Legion of Honor on his breast, to set off his rich uniform of theSpahis, and on whose arm the fair apparition is leaning, is no otherthan Maximilian Morrel himself--the identical man who saved myworthless neck from a yataghan in Algeria."
"How dark he's grown!" said Debray.
"No more so than all these African heroes--for instance, Cavaignac andLamoriciere."
"But what a splendid contrast there is between the young Colonel of theSpahis and his lovely bride, if such she be! He, dark as a Corsican;she, fair as an Englishwoman--he, upright as a poplar; she, droo
pinglike a willow--his hair and eyes black as midnight, while her soft,languishing orbs are as blue as the summer sky, and her glossy ringletsas brown as a chestnut!"
"On my word," said Beauchamp, "the Count grows poetical! Morrel hadbetter keep his beautiful wife out of the way! But have you discoveredwho are the other couple in the box?" he added to the Secretary, who hadhis lorgnette in most vigilant requisition. "Any more discoveries,Debray?"
A sigh might have been heard as the Secretary took his glass from hiseye, and replied simply:
"Yes."
"And who now?" asked Chateau-Renaud. "There seems no end to discoveriesto-night."
"The young man who, by his decorations, seems a chef de bataillon of theSpahis," replied Debray, "I cannot make out. But, be he whom he may, heis effectually disguised from his most intimate friends by his luxuriantbeard and moustache. As for the lady--there is but one woman in theworld I have ever had the good fortune to behold who could be mistakenfor her."
"And that is?" said Beauchamp.
"Herself."
"And who is herself, Lucien?" asked Chateau-Renaud.
"Have you forgotten the Countess de Morcerf?"
"The Countess de Morcerf?--the wife of the general who was convicted bythe peers of felony, treason and outrage in the matter of Ali Tebelen,Pacha of Yanina?" said Beauchamp.
"And who blew his brains out in despair?" added the Count.
"The same," said Debray. "She returned to Marseilles with her sonAlbert. You remember Albert and his strange conduct in the duel with theCount of Monte-Cristo?"
"One could hardly forget such chivalric generosity, such magnificentmagnanimity and such sublime self-control as were exhibited by the youngman on that occasion!" said Beauchamp. "It is to be hoped he was notequally forbearing toward the Arabs in his African campaigns, although,as his name has never been seen or heard since he entered the army, inall probability he was."
"Well, well," cried the Secretary, impatiently, "the Countess retired toMarseilles, and there she is said to have resided in utter seclusion, incompany only with Morrel's beautiful wife, devoting the vast wealth ofthe deceased Count to philanthropic objects, having received it, as hiswidow, only with the understanding it should be thus bestowed."
"But the rumor was," said Beauchamp, "and indeed I was so assured by M.de Boville himself, Receiver-General of the Hospitals, at the time, thatthe Countess gave all the Count's fortune to the hospitals, and that hehimself registered the deed of gift."
"Oh! that was only some twelve or thirteen hundred thousand francs,"said Debray. "Three months after her settlement at Marseilles, in asmall house in the Allees de Meillan, said to be her own by maternalinheritance, a letter came to her from Thomson and French, of Rome,stating that there was a deposit in their house, to the credit of theestate of the late Count, of the enormous sum of two millions of francs,subject to her sole control and order, as the Count's only heir, in theabsence of his son."
"Two millions of francs!" cried the two young men in a breath.
"Even so, Messieurs," said Debray. "The story does sound ratheroriental; but I have reason to know that it is entirely true, for I madediligent inquiry about it when last at Marseilles."
"And what took you to Marseilles, Lucien?" asked the Countsignificantly.
"The Ministry," replied Debray, with evident confusion, coloring deeply.
"But why does not the Countess marry again?" asked Chateau-Renaud,surveying her faultless form and face through his glass. "In the primeof life, rich, and, despite her past troubles, most exquisitelybeautiful, it is strange she don't make herself and some one elsehappy!"
"Especially as no one could ever accuse her of having very desperatelyloved her dear first husband," added the journalist. "Why don't shemarry, Lucien?"
"How the devil should I know!" replied the Secretary in great confusion."You don't suppose I ever asked her the question, do you?"
"Upon my word," exclaimed the Count, laughing, "I shall begin to thinkyou have, if you take it so warmly. But, hist! the bell! The curtainrises. We mustn't lose the third act of Donizetti's chef d'oeuvre,with such a Lucrezia, for any woman living."
But it was very evident that much of the magnificent performance of thedebutante and her companion, in the thrilling scene between the Duke andDuchess of Ferrara and the young Captain Gennaro, was lost to theSecretary.
"Do you observe, Beauchamp, how strangely fascinated with the newcantatrice seems the young officer of the Spahis who accompanies theCountess?" he whispered. "Do but look. He sits like one transfixed."
"And the Countess seems transfixed also, though not by the same object,"was the reply. "How excessively pale, yet how beautiful she is! Thatplain black dress, without ornament or jewel, and her raven hair, partedsimply on her forehead, enhance her voluptuous charms infinitely morethan could the most gorgeous costume. Heavens! what a happy man will hebe who can call her his!"
"Amen!" said Debray, and the word seemed to rise from the very depths ofhis heart. "But she will never marry. Some early disappointment, evenbefore her union with Morcerf, has withered her heart, and the terribledivorce which parted her from him, although she never loved him, willkeep her single forever. Her first and only love is either deador--worse--married to another."
"See, see, Lucien!" cried Beauchamp, hurriedly; "at whom does she gazeso intently, and yet so sadly? It cannot be Lamartine, for there sitshis lovely young English wife at his side; nor can it be old Arago, noryoung Le Verrier; and yet some one in that box it surely is."
"M. Dantes?" cried Debray.
"Impossible! That man seems hardly conscious that there are such beingsas women. His whole soul is in affairs of state."
"His whole soul seems somewhere else just at present," exclaimed theSecretary, bitterly. "Look!"
"How dreadfully pale he is!" said Beauchamp; "and yet his eyes fairlyblaze. Is it the Countess he gazes at?"
"Is it M. Dantes she gazes at?"
At that moment, amid the wild farewell of the mother to her son, uponthe stage, the curtain came down, and at the same instant, M. Danteshastily pressed his white handkerchief to his lips, and, leaning on thearms of Lamartine and Arago, hastily left the box.
"Ha! the Countess faints!" cried Debray, as the door closed on M.Dantes. "Do they know each other, then?"