CHARCOAL
Eveline had resolved to make a great effort. She recognized that there
was truth in what Arpad had said; only in one particular he was wrong:
he had not measured the gulf between "can" and "must."
She felt herself possessed by sudden energy; her resolution to succeed
grew in proportion as her chance of success was less. Many people have
found strength in the thought, "If I have no one to care for me, I, at
least, am master of myself." She would carve her own future; she
_would_ be an actress. She would show the world what was in her. She
would nerve herself to courage before the footlights. The very
circumstances which had deprived her of all courage would now give her
strength; she would sing to the public as if she were alone. The crowd
should go for nothing, except in being sharers in her triumph.
She spent a miserable night. The luxury which surrounded her, the
works of art which lay upon her tables, in her cabinets, the costly
vases, seemed silently to reproach her; the cups set with precious
stones recalled Arpad's words. Better to be a glass of fifteen sous
than a goblet of silver!
At last sleep fell upon her tired eyelids, and in the morning she
awoke refreshed and full of fresh energy.
This day the opera in which she had sung the day before yesterday was
to be repeated. The rehearsal was to take place in the morning. At
this rehearsal, then, she would show what she could do; she would look
at no one; she would sing like a blind nightingale.
She ordered her carriage. When she reached the theatre she told the
servants to return for her in two hours.
As she entered the vestibule the stage-manager came to meet her, and
told her that her part had been given to another singer.
Eveline flew into a passion. Why had it been taken away from her, and
in such a manner, without asking her permission? Such a want of proper
deference towards her!
The man regretted the circumstance, but either could not or would not
offer any explanation. Would she like to see the manager?
Eveline, in a very excited frame of mind, went to look for him; but he
was not in his office. His secretary, however, handed her a letter,
which the manager had desired him to send to her address.
Eveline took the letter, and when she was in the hall she broke the
seal and read it. It was a dismissal, immediate, discourteous, on the
grounds that she was quite unequal to fill the position of prima
donna.
How she got out of the theatre and into the street she did not know;
she came to herself when she saw the crowd of passers-by staring at
her. She felt that it was no wonder they looked at her. She was
walking like one who was dead; her body moved forward, but her mind
was lifeless. It was strange to feel one's self thus annihilated.
Then it was true; the cruel boy was right. The clouds were golden only
so long as the sun shone. All her splendor had been on the outside.
There was nothing tangible; nothing came from herself. The whole thing
had been a _fata morgana_; it had now vanished forever.
Eveline wandered, she didn't know where. Suddenly she found herself
opposite her own house. She would not have thought it strange if some
one had told her at the door of the hotel that no one of her name
lived there, that she had been dead and buried years ago. She thought
she was too stunned to feel either astonishment or pain, but her
composure soon gave way under a new trial.
She walked up-stairs, still in a dream, and through her apartment
until she reached her dressing-room. When she entered it she saw,
stretched in an arm-chair, Prince Waldemar.
He was faultlessly attired, with a most elegant _tournure_, carefully
arranged hair, and fair whiskers, hanging down on both sides in what
were then called "cutlets"; his mustache was pointed and waxed.
Eveline called out, in a voice of fear, mixed with anger:
"May I ask, sir, what you want here?"
"I was waiting to see you," said the prince, with well-bred
nonchalance; but he never rose from the seat in which he lounged so
comfortably.
"Who gave you permission to enter my room?"
"I asked for no permission."
"What right have you to intrude yourself here?"
With a lazy air the prince put his hand into the pocket of his coat
and drew out a red paper like a bill; this he handed to Eveline with a
slight motion of his head, which conveyed, "This is the cause of my
presence here."
Eveline took the paper, which trembled in her hand.
"What is it? I do not understand it."
"It is, however, very intelligible," said the prince, at last getting
out of the chair. "The creditors of Kaulmann have seized your things.
Kaulmann was careless or thoughtless enough--I really cannot say
which--to announce that what belonged to his wife was _his_, and
therefore his creditors have seized everything here, believing it is
his. During your absence this morning they got the law officers to
break open your door and to take possession. They affixed a notice
outside, inviting all passers-by to come in and inspect the things for
sale. In consequence of this invitation I am here. I came in to look
about me. You will observe that there are government seals upon
everything. I am here in the right of purchaser."
Eveline looked round, and saw that what he said was true.
"But, sir, it is impossible. Kaulmann knew perfectly that nothing here
was his property."
"I am sure of that. It was gross negligence on your lawyer's side; he
should have protected your interests better. Every one knows that
Kaulmann brought the goods here; it was supposed that he bought them.
In any case, he cannot testify in your favor. A misfortune has
happened to him. When he saw that the police were after him he jumped
out of the railway-carriage he was in. Unfortunately, he broke his
neck and died immediately."
Eveline fell back upon the sofa and hid her face in her hands.
"If you wish to shed a few tears to the memory of Kaulmann I will
retire to the window," remarked Prince Waldemar, with ironical
courtesy.
Eveline made him no answer. In her mind everything was in confusion;
she could think of nothing. Let everything go; what did it matter?
Should she institute a law-suit to recover her property? Should she
bring witnesses to prove that this ornament, these costly hangings,
these rich carpets were not the property of her husband, but the gifts
to her from a gray-beard--the most upright, the dearest of men, a
Hungarian magnate, who had adopted her, an actress, to be his own
child, with no self-seeking, no sinful gratification, but out of pure
affection? No one would credit her story. She would tell it to no one.
She would not subject the name of her benefactor to the jeers and
laughter of the incredulous. Sooner let everything go.
"I am not weeping, sir," she said to the prince. "If you have anything
further to tell me I am ready to listen."
"I could tell you many other unfortunate circumstances," returned
Waldemar, leaning against the fireplace with the silver grate. "For
one thing, Prince Theobald, your former patron, has been placed by his
family under legal restraint, and cannot take any active part in the
affairs of this world."
"I know that."
"The shares which he took as a provision for you in the Bondavara
Company have been also sequestrated by law."
"That has been told to me already."
"This loss, however, has a compensation: those shares are now almost
worthless. Since the colliery explosion, and the impossibility of
extinguishing the fire in the mine, they have fallen to nothing."
"That does not concern me."
"I have not quite finished. The clergyman who was your friend, whose
dreams were of a bishop's mitre, has returned to his monastery."
"I have known that some time."
"You seem to have learned everything. Perhaps you know also that your
manager has cancelled your engagement and given your part to another
actress?"
"Here is the letter," answered Eveline, drawing a crumpled paper from
her pocket. And then she looked at the prince with proud contempt. She
was wondrously beautiful. "Have you taken the trouble to come here to
tell me all this?" she asked, her eyes gleaming not through tears but
with indignation.
"I did not come here on that account," answered the prince, sitting
down on the sofa and bending over her. "I came to speak to you
frankly. Do you not see that the whole fabric upon which your golden
dreams were built has crumbled? The Bondavara mine is on fire; the
shares are falling; the prime-minister is disgraced; the prince is
under restraint; your husband is dead; your property will be sold by
auction; you are dismissed from the theatre. The five acts of the
drama are played out. Let us applaud the finish, if we are so minded,
and let us begin again. I can give you back your shares. I can get you
a palace in the Maximilian Strasse. I can buy back for you all your
seized goods--your furniture, your diamonds, your horses. I can
arrange matters with the manager of the theatre; you shall be
reinstated as prima donna on better terms than before. I can give you
a far greater position than you have ever enjoyed, and I can offer you
a truer, more self-sacrificing, more adoring lover than you have
possessed. His name is Waldemar Sondersheim." He bowed low before her.
Eveline looked with intense gravity at the top of his boots.
Waldemar was now certain that he was master of the situation. He took
from his waistcoat-pocket a watch, and pressed it into her hand.
"My sweetest love, my time is precious. I am expected at the
stock-exchange. The Kaulmann speculation has to be crushed. It is just
twelve o'clock. I give you one hour to think over what I have said and
to decide your own fate. I am content to wait until then; it is only
one word I ask for--yes or no."
Eveline gave him a yet shorter answer. She dashed the timepiece which
he had put into her hand with such force on the floor that it flew
into a hundred pieces. That was her answer!
Prince Waldemar laughed, put his hand in his left-hand
waistcoat-pocket, took out another watch, and said, dryly:
"I expected just such an answer, and therefore I brought with me
another watch. I beg of you to break this one also. I shall be only
too happy to provide you with a third."
This time, however, Eveline did not take the timepiece in her hand.
She sprang to her feet, and, pointing with her hand towards the door,
cried out:
"If you have bought my things, take everything away; but the apartment
is still mine. _Go!_"
Prince Waldemar looked at her haughtily, although he was still
smiling.
"My dear lady, this is easily said; but reflect a moment. What will
become of you if you reject me? You have no other expedient."
"I have a shelter," returned the girl, bitterly, "to which I can turn,
and that is charcoal."
Prince Waldemar made her a low bow, and, without uttering another
word, took his hat and left her.
A woman who appeals to charcoal needs no man's friendship. In the
metropolis of fashion many poor wretches have found their last refuge
there.
That evening Eveline paid a visit to her jeweller. She brought him a
pair of diamond ear-rings. They were all she had; her ornaments had
been seized by the law officers. She sold these to the jeweller, and
left the purchase-money in his care, to be spent in a yearly sum on
her little brother's grave in Père la Chaise, to have sods of green
grass round it, and have fresh flowers placed there on All-Souls' Day.
The jeweller promised, for she had been a good customer. She told him
she was going to travel. Apparently it was a long journey, for the
next morning a bundle was found by the police on the banks of the
Seine. It was tied up in a cashmere shawl, which her maid recognized
as belonging to the lost actress.
Prince Waldemar offered a large reward to whoever found the body. But
it was never found, for the bundle laid at the water-side was only a
pretence; and while every one was dragging the river, Eveline had kept
her word and sought refuge in the charcoal pit.
Prince Waldemar never heard of her again. He and his household wore
mourning in memory of her for six weeks.