The “Opéra Comique” and the “Gymnase Dramatique” possess _foyers_
of which the prudery has become proverbial. The life of the
vocalist is one of protracted labor, rewarded, however, in a very
liberal style. The comparative prudence of lyric _artistes_ can be
easily explained. They have little leisure, and a great deal of
money to spend. This is why cantatrices more frequently contract
honorable alliances with men of position than other women of the
theatrical world. A faulty construction adds to the dulness of the
evenings spent at the “Opéra Comique.” The _foyer des artistes_
is small, gloomy, and inconvenient. The visitors are often forced
to talk to themselves,--which is a wearisome occupation. Still,
notwithstanding the seeming dulness of this narrow place, it is
very rare that the evening passes without some incident of an
interesting character occurring there, owing to the peculiarities
of the company assembled.
In this atmosphere, so novel to him, Eusebe learned more in one
month than he could have learned elsewhere in ten years.
Astonishment, doubt, and disenchantment succeeded each other with
desolating rapidity. The first of Eusebe’s sentiments which yielded
to a forced dissection was his love for Adéonne. In proportion as
the affection of the cantatrice was increased by the success of
her lover, whose manly beauty was only equalled by the freshness
of his simplicity, that of the young man diminished before stern
realities, the existence of which he had never before suspected.
Adéonne prepared her face for the stage by the use of rouge,
powder, &c. Eusebe did not comprehend that the glare of the
footlights rendered this necessary.
The cantatrice covered her hands, arms, and shoulders with powder.
Eusebe said that she deceived the public; and when she put carmine
on her nails and vermilion on her lips, he shrugged his shoulders.
“I like you better without all this plaster,” remarked the
provincial.
“My dear Eusebe,” responded the singer, “I also would prefer to
dispense with it; but it is necessary----”
“I assure you that without this paint you are a hundred times
handsomer.”
“That I do not deny; but we cannot do without it.”
“Why?”
“Because----”
“You can give me no good reason. If you love me, go on the stage,
one evening, with your pretty face just as nature made it. You will
see the result.”
“You do not understand the necessities of the stage.”
“That is to say that you refuse to grant the first favor I have
ever asked of you.”
“Absolutely. Embrace me, and be silent.”
“Thank you: I do not wish to daub my lips.”
Adéonne went upon the stage with a heavy heart, murmuring,--
“His love is vanishing.”
Eusebe, on his part, was very angry, and insisted that Adéonne had
refused to make a very small sacrifice to please him.
When lovers begin to count the sacrifices refused, and when friends
take account of money loaned each other, love and friendship fly to
regions where hearts are made of more generous stuff.