Gerald Fitzgerald, the Chevalier: A Novel

  CHAPTER III. 'LA GABRIELLE'

  By one of those inconsistencies which sway the popular mind in times oftrouble, the gorgeous splendour and wasteful extravagance which were notpermitted to an ancient nobility were willingly conceded to those whonow ministered to public amusement, and the costly magnificence whichaided the downfall of a monarchy was deemed pardonable in one whoseearly years had been passed in misery and in want.

  It was in the ancient hotel of the Duc de Noailles that Gabrielle waslodged, and all the splendour of that princely residence remained asin the time of its former owners; even to the portraits of the haughtyancestry upon the walls, and the proud emblazonry of armorial bearingsover doors and chimneys, nothing was changed; the embroidered crestsupon chairs and tablecovers, the gilded coronets that ornamented everyarchitrave and cornice, stood forth in testimony of those in whosehonour those insignia were fashioned.

  Preceding Gerald, and walking at a rapid pace, Gabrielle passed throughseveral splendid rooms, till she came to one whose walls, hung inpurple velvet with a deep gold fringe, had an air of almost sombremagnificence, the furniture being all of the same grave tint, and eventhe solitary lamp which lighted the apartment having a glass shade of adeep purple colour.

  'This is my chamber of study, Gherardi,' said she, as they entered.'None ever come to disturb me when here. Here, therefore, we are aloneto question and to reply to each other--to render account of the pastand speculate on the future--and, first of all, tell me, am I changed?'

  As she spoke she tossed aside her bonnet, and loosening her long hairfrom its bands, suffered it to fall upon her neck and shoulders in thewild masses it assumed in girlhood. She crossed her arms, too, upon herbreast in imitation of a gesture familiar to her, and stood motionlessbefore him.

  Long and steadfastly did Gerald continue to stare at her.. It was likethe look of one who would read if he might every trait and lineamentbefore him, and satisfy his mind what characters had time written upon anature he had once known so well.

  'You do not answer me,' said she at last; 'am I then changed?'

  A faint low sigh escaped him, but he uttered no word.

  'Be frank with me as a brother ought; tell me wherein is this change?You thought me handsome once; am I less so?'

  'Oh! no, no! not that, not that!' cried he passionately; 'you are morebeautiful than ever.'

  'Is there in my expression aught that gives you grief? has the worldwritten boldness upon my brow? or do you fancy that you can trace thecost of all the splendour around us in some faint lines of shame andsorrow? Speak, sir, and be honest with me.'

  'I have no right to call you to such a reckoning, Marietta,' said he,half proudly.

  'I know it, and would have resented had you dared to do it of a right;but I stand here as one equal to such questioning. It will be your ownturn soon,' added she, smiling, 'and it will be well if you can standthe test so bravely.'

  'I accept the challenge,' cried Gerald eagerly; 'I take you at yourword. Some years back, Marietta, I left you poor, friendless, and awayworn wanderer through the world. Our fortunes were alike in thosedays, and I can remember when we deemed the day a lucky one that did notsend us supperless to bed. We had sore trials, and we felt them, thoughwe bore them bravely. When we parted, our lot was misery, and now, whatdo I see? I find you in the splendour of a princely house; your dressthat which might become the highest rank; the very jewels on your wristand on your fingers a fortune. I know well,' added he, bitterly, 'thatin this brief interval of time destiny has changed many a lot; greatand glorious men have fallen; and mean, ignoble, and unworthy ones havetaken their places. You, however, as a woman, could have taken no sharein these convulsions. How is it, then, that I see you thus?'

  'Say on, sir,' said she, with a disdainful gesture; 'these words meannothing, or more than they ought.'

  He did not speak, but he bent his eyes upon her in reproachful silence.

  'You lack the courage to say the word. Well, I 'll say it for you: Whosemistress are you to be thus splendidly attired? What generous patron haspurchased this princely house--given you equipage, servants, diamonds?Against how much have you bartered your heart? Who has paid the price?Ay, confess it, these were the generous thoughts that filled yourmind--these the delicate questions your timidity could not master. Well,as I have spoken, so will I answer them. Only remember this,' added shesolemnly, 'when I have made this explanation, when all is told, there isan end for ever between us of that old tie that once bound us: we trusteach other no more. It is for you to say if you accept this contract.'

  Gerald was silent; if he could not master the suspicions that impressedhim, as little could he resolve to forget for ever his hold uponMarietta. That she was one to keep her word he well knew; and if shedecided to part, he felt that the separation was final. She watched himcalmly, as he sat in this conflict with himself; so far from showingany sense of impatience at the struggle, she seemed rather to enjoy thepainful difficulty of his position.

  'Well, have you made your choice?' cried she at length, as with a slightsmile she stood in front of him.

  'It would be a treachery to my own heart, and to you, too, were I to saythat all this magnificence I see here suggested no thought of evil. Wewere poor even to misery once, Marietta--I am still so; and well I knowthat in such wretchedness as ours temptation is triply dangerous. Totell me that you have yielded is, then, no more than to confess you werelike others.'

  'Of what, then, do you accuse me? Is it that I am Mirabeau's mistress?Would that I were!' cried she passionately; 'would that by my devotionI could share his love and give him all my own! You would cry shameupon me for this avowal. You think more highly of your own pettycontrivances, your miserable attempts to sustain a mock morality--yourboasted tie of marriage--than of the emotions that are born with you,that move your infancy, sway your manhood, and temper your old age. Youhold that by such small cheats you supply the insatiable longings of thehuman heart. But the age of priestcraft is over; throne, altar, purple,sceptre, incense and all, have fled; and in the stead of man's mummerieswe have installed Man himself, in the might of his intellect, theglorious grandeur of his great conceptions, and the noble breadth of hisphilanthropy; and who is the type of these, if not Gabriel Riquetti? Hismistress! what have I not done to win the proud name? Have I not strivenhard for it? These triumphs, as they call them, my great successes, hadno other promptings. If my fame as an actress stands highest in Europe,it was gained but in his cause. Your great Alfieri himself has taught meno emotions I have not learned in my own deep love; and how shadowy andweak the poet's words beside the throbbing ecstasies of one true heart!You ask for a confession: you shall have one. But why do you go? Wouldyou leave me?'

  'Would that we had never met again!' said Gerald sadly. 'Through many adark and sad hour have I looked back upon our life, when, as little morethan children, we journeyed days long together. I pictured to myselfhow the same teachings that nerved my own heart in trouble must havesupported and sustained yours. If you knew how I used to dwell upon thememory of that time; its very privations were hallowed in my memory,telling how through all our little cares and sorrows our love sufficedus!'

  'Our love,' broke she in scoffingly. 'What a mockery! The poor offspringof some weak sentimentality, the sickly cant of some dreamy sonneteer.These men never knew what love was, or they had not dared to profaneit by their tawdry sentiments. Is it in nature,' cried she wildly, 'todeclare trumpet-tongued to the world the secrets on which the heartfeeds to live, the precious thoughts that to the dearest could not berevealed? These are your poets! Over and over have I wished for you totell you this--to tear out of your memory that wretched heresy we thenbelieved a faith.'

  'You have done your work well,' said he sorrowfully. 'Good-bye forever!'

  'I wish you would not go, Gherardi,' said she, laying her hand on hisarm, and gazing at him with a look of the deepest meaning. 'To me,alone and orphaned, you represent a family and kindred. The old ties aretender ones.'

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p; 'Why will you thus trifle with me?' said he, half angrily.

  'Is it to rekindle the flame you would extinguish afterward?'

  'And why not return to that ancient faith? You were happier when youloved me--when I learned my verses by your side, and sang the wild songsof my own wild land. Do you remember this one; it was a favourite oncewith you?' And, turning to the piano, she struck a few chords, and ina voice of liquid melody sang a little Calabrese peasant song, whoserefrain ended with the words--

  'Ti am' ancor, ti am' ancor.'

  'After the avowal you have made me, Marietta, it were base in me to bebeguiled thus,' said he, moving away. 'You love another: be it so. Livein that love, and be happy.'

  'This, too, Gherardi, we used to sing together,' said she, beginninganother air. 'Let us see if your memory, of which you boast so much,equals mine. Come, this is your verse,' said she caressingly. 'Ah,fratello mio, how much more lovable you were long ago! I remember acertain evening, that glided into a long night, when we leaned together,with arms around each other's necks, out of a little window; it was apoor, melancholy street beneath, but to us it was like an alley betweencedar-trees. Well, on that same night, you swore to me a vow of eternallove; you told me a miraculous story: that, though poor and friendless,you were of birth and blood; and that birth and blood meant rank andfortune in some long hereafter, for which neither of us was impatient.It was on that same night you drew a picture to my mind of our life ofhappiness--a bright and gorgeous picture it was too--ay, and I believedit all; and yet, and yet--on the very day after you deserted me.' As sheuttered the last words, her head fell upon his shoulder, and her longhair in waving masses dropped down over his chest and on his arm; aviolent sobbing seemed to choke her utterance, and her frame shook witha strong tremor.

  Gerald sank into a chair, and pressed her gently to his heart. Oh,what a wild conflict raged within him; what hopes and fears, wishes anddreads, warred there with each other! At one moment all his former lovecame back, and she was the same Marietta he had wandered with throughthe chestnut groves, reciting in boyish ardour the verses he had learnedto master; at the next, a shuddering shame reminded him that she hadjust confessed she loved another, making a very mockery of the memoryof their former passion. What, too, was she--what her life--that she didnot dare to reveal it?

  'And you,' cried she, suddenly springing up, 'what do you know ofRiquetti? How came you to be with him?'

  'I have known him long, Marietta. Would that I had never known him!Without him and his teachings I had thought better of the world--beenless prone to suspect--less ready to distrust. You may remember how,long ago, I told you of a certain Gabriel----'

  'It was he, then, who befriended you in the Maremma? Oh, the noblenature that can do generous things, yet seem to think them weakness! Howwidely different from your poets this--your men of high sentiment andsordid action--your coiners of fine phrases, hollow-hearted and empty!'

  'True enough,' said Gerald bitterly; 'Gabriel de Mirabeau is at leastconsistent; his sentiments are all in harmony with his life--he is nohypocrite.'

  It was with a quick gesture, like a tigress about to spring, that shenow turned on him, her eyeballs staring wildly, and her fingers closelyclutched. 'Is it,' cried she in passion, 'is it given to creatures likeyou or me to judge of a man like this? Do you imagine that by any strainof your fancy you can conceive the trials, the doubts, the difficulties,which beset him? To intellects like his what we call excess may givethat repose which to sluggish natures comes of mere apathy. I, too,'said she, drawing herself proudly up, 'I, too, have been his pupil; hesaw me in the Cleopatra; he told me how I had misconceived the poet--orrather, how the poet had mistaken the character--for he loves not yourAlfieri.'

  'How should he? Whence could he draw upon the noble fund of emotionsthat fill that great heart?'

  A smile of proud, ineffable scorn was all her reply.

  'Tell me rather of yourself, Marietta mia,' said he, taking her hand,and placing her at his side. 'I long to hear how you became great anddistinguished, as I see you.'

  'The human heart throbs alike beneath rags or purple. When I could maketears course down the rude cheeks that were gaunt with famine, the taskwas easy to move those whose natures yielded to lighter impulse. For awhole winter--it was the first after we parted--I was the actress ofa little theatre in the cite. We dramatised the events of the day; andthey whose hard toil estranged them from the world of active life, couldsee at evening the sorrows and sufferings of the nobility they hatedon "the scene." The sack of chateau and the guillotine were favouritethemes; and mine was to portray some woman of the people, seduced,wronged, deserted, but avenged! A chance--a caprice of themoment--brought Riquetti one night to our theatre. He came behind thescenes and talked with me. My accent betrayed my birth, and we talkedItalian. He questioned me closely, how and where I had learned todeclaim. I spoke of you, though not by name. "Ah!" cried he, "a loveralready!" The look which he gave me at the words was like a stab; I feltit here, in my heart. It was the careless scoff of one who deemed thatto such as me no sense of delicacy need be observed. He might thinkand say as he pleased, my station was too ignoble to suggest respect. Ihated him, and turned away, vowing, if occasion served, to berevenged upon him. He came a few nights after, accompanied by severalothers--there were ladies too, handsome and splendidly dressed. Thissplendour shocked the meanness of our misery, and even outragedthe meanly clad audience around. I saw this, and seized it as theopportunity of my vengeance. Our piece was, as usual, the story of ourdaily life; I represented a seduced peasant girl, left to starve in achateau, from which the owners had gone to enjoy the delights of Paris.I had wandered on foot to the capital, and was supposed to be in searchof my seducer through the streets. I sat famished and shivering upon adoor-sill, watching with half-listless gaze the rich tide of humanitythat swept past. I heeded not the proud display of equipages; the gaygroups; the gorgeous procession of life before me; till suddenly, as ifon a balcony, I beheld him I sought, the centre of a knot of beautifulwomen, who, leaning over the balustrade, seemed to criticise the worldbelow. Addressing myself at once to where Riquetti sat, I made him partof the scene. I knew nothing of him, nor of his history; but in blindchance I actually invented some of the chief incidents of his life. Imade him a profligate, a duellist, and a seducer. I represented how hehad won the affections of his friend's wife, eloped with, and desertedher; and yet, covered with crime, debased by every iniquity, anddegraded by every vice, there he sat, successful, triumphant, andesteemed.

  'What was my amazement, as the curtain fell, to see him at my side. "Ihave come," said he, in that rich, deep voice of his--"I have cometo make you my compliments; you have your country's gift, and can'improvise' well!" I blushed deeply, and could not answer him; but hewent on: "These, however, are not wise themes to dwell upon. Popularpassions are dangerous seas, and will often shipwreck even those whosebreath has stirred them; besides, this is not art"; and with thesewords he launched forth into a grand description of what really shouldconstitute the artist's realm, to what his teachings might extend, whereshould be their limits. He showed how the strict imitation of nature wasan essential, yet, that the true criterion of success in art lay inthe combination of such ingredients as best suited the impression to beconveyed; no mean or petty detail, however truthful or accurate, beingsuffered to detract from the whole conception. He then warned me againstexaggeration, the prime fault of all inexperienced minds. "Even thisvery moment," said he, "you marred a fine effect when you spoke of meas one capable of parricide." "Of you," said I, blushing, and trying todisown the personality. "Yes," said he, "of me. Your biography was oftenvery accurate--to any but myself it might seem painfully accurate: Ihave done all that you ascribe to me, and more!"--"But I never knew it,"cried I; "I never heard it; my improvisation was pure chance. I owedyou a vendetta for some cruel words you had spoken to me."--"I rememberthem," said he, smiling; "you may live to believe that such phrases area flattery! But to yourself, come to me to-morro
w; bring your bookswith you, that you may read me something I will select. I can and maybefriend you!" And he did befriend me.

  'There was with him a tall, dark man, of sombre aspect, and a deepvoice, who questioned me long and closely as to my early studies, andwho undertook from that hour to teach me. This was Talma.

  'And now a life of glorious labour opened upon me. I worked unceasingly,with such ardour, indeed, as to affect my health, which at last gaveway, and I was obliged to retire into the country, on the Loire, torecruit. Riquetti came to see me once there; he was coming up from thesouth, and happened to stop at Tours. His visit was scarcely an hour,but it left me with memories that endured for months. But why shouldI weary you with a recital which can only interest when all its dailychances and changes are duly weighed? I came out at the "Francais" asZaire; my success was a triumph! Roxane followed, and was even a greatersuccess. You do not care to hear by what flatteries I was surrounded,what temptations assailed me, what wealth laid at my feet, whatprotestations of devotion, what offers of splendour met me. We were in aworld that, repudiating all its old traditions, had sworn allegiance toa new code! Nobility, birth, title, were as nothing; genius alone couldsway men's minds. Eloquence was deemed the grand exponent of intellect;and next after the splendid oratory of the Constituent came thedeclamation of the drama. You must know France in its aspect of generousyouth--in this, its brightest hour of destiny--to understand how much ofinfluence is wielded by those who once were deemed the mere creaturesof a pampered civilisation. The artist is now a "puissance," as is everypower that can move the passions, influence the motives, and direct theactions of mankind. The choice of the piece we played at night was inaccordance with the political exigency of the day; and often has itbeen my lot to complete by some grand declamation the eloquent appeal bywhich Mirabeau had moved the Assembly. Oh, what a glorious life itwas to feel no longer the mere mouthpiece of mock passion, but a real,actual, living influence on men's hearts; what a triumph was it then tohear that wild outburst of applause, that seemed to say: "Here are we,ready at your call; speak but the word and the blade shall flash and thebrand flare; denounce the treason, and leave the traitors to us!" Itwas in this life, as in an orgie, I have lived. If you fancy that Iexaggerate this power, or overrate its extent, listen to one fact.

  'I was one night at Mirabeau's--at one of those small, select receptionswhich none but his most intimate friends frequented. D'Entraiques wasthere, Lavastocque, Maurice de Talleyrand, De Noe, and a few more. Wewere talking of the fall of the Monarchy, and discussing whether therewas in the story anything that future dramatists might successfullyavail themselves of. The majority thought not, and gave their reasons.I was not able to controvert by argument such subtle critics, but Ireplied by improvising a scene in the Temple of Marie Antoinette writinga last letter to her children. There was no incident to give story, noaccessory of scenery to suggest a picture; but I felt that the themehad its own pathetic power, and I was right. D'Entraiques shed tears;Charles de Noe sobbed aloud. "She must never repeat this," mutteredRiquetti.--"Not for a while at least," said Talleyrand, smiling, as hetook a pinch of snuff. From that hour I felt what it was to stir men'shearts. Then, success became real; for it was certain and assured.