LA DAME AUX CAMELLIAS
"My dear, you _must_ go to this ball," said Sir Harry to his daughter,
as they sat over their morning chocolate in a spacious room with a small
glazed stove, very handsome, very luxurious, and _very cold_. "You have
seen everything else here; you have been a good deal in society. I have
taken you everywhere, although you know how 'going out' bores me; and
now you refuse to go to the best thing of the year. My dear, you
_must_!"
"But a masked ball, papa," urged Constance. "I never went to one in my
life; indeed, if you please, I had rather not."
"Nonsense, child, everybody goes; there's your friend Countess Valerie
wild about it, and Victor, and even sober Vere Egerton, but of course
_he_ goes in attendance on the young Countess--besides, Ropsley wishes
it."
Constance flushed crimson, then grew white, and bit her lip. "Captain
Ropsley's wishes have nothing to do with me, papa," said she, with more
than her usual stateliness; "I do not see what right he has to express a
wish at all."
Sir Harry rose from his chair; he was getting very feeble in his limbs,
though he stoutly repudiated the notion that he grew a day older in
strength and spirits. He walked twice across the room, went to his
daughter's chair, and took her hand in his. She knew what was coming,
and trembled all over.
"My dear child," said he, with a shaky attempt at calmness, and a
nervous quivering of his under lip--for loving, obedient, devoted as she
was; Sir Harry stood in awe of his daughter--"you remind me I wish to
speak to you on the subject of Captain Ropsley, and his intimacy with
ourselves. Constance, has it never occurred to you what all this must
eventually lead to?"
She looked up at him with her clear, shining eyes, and replied--
"It has, papa, and I quite dread the end of it."
"You know, dear, how I have encouraged him," continued her father,
without noticing the unpropitious remark; "you can guess my wishes
without my speaking more plainly. He is an excellent fellow--clever,
popular, agreeable, and good-looking. There can be no objection, of
course, on _your_ side. I think your old father has not done so badly
for you after all--eh, Constance?" and Sir Harry made a feeble attempt
at a laugh, which stopped, and, as it were, "went out" all of a sudden.
She looked him full in the face. Truth shone brightly in the depths of
those clear eyes.
"Papa," said she, slowly and steadily, "do you really mean you wish me
to--to marry Captain Ropsley?"
"You ladies jump at conclusions very fast," answered the Baronet, still
striving, shakingly, to be jocose. "_Rem acu tetigisti_. Ha, ha! I
have not forgotten my Latin, or that I was young once, my dear. You
have run your needle into the very heart of the matter, you little
witch! That is indeed my earnest wish and intention."
He changed at once into a tone of majestic and uncompromising decision,
but he only looked at her askance, and once more left his place to amble
up and down the room. She never took her eye off his face.
"And suppose I should tell you, papa, that I cannot comply with your
wish; that I hate and loathe the very sight of the man whom you would
make my husband; that I fear and distrust his intimacy with you more
than anything in the world; that I implore you, papa, dear papa, to give
up this dreadful idea; that for this once, and once only, you would
listen to me, be guided by me, and, at any sacrifice, that you would
break immediately and for ever with that bad, reckless, unprincipled
man--what should you say then?"
She looked at him for an instant with a vague sort of half-hope in her
truthful, shining eyes; but it was more resignation than disappointment
that clouded her face over immediately afterwards.
"Say, my dear," answered the Baronet, gaily, but his teeth were set
tight as he spoke; "why I should say that my girl was a romantic little
fool, instead of one of the cleverest women of my acquaintance; or, more
likely still, I should say she was joking, in order to try her father's
patience and indulgence to the utmost. Listen to me, Constance. I have
reasons of my own for wishing to see you married--of course I mean well
married, and safely settled in life--never mind what they are; it may be
that I am getting old, and feel that I have not much time to lose.
Well, I have promised you to Ropsley--of course with your own consent.
In these days we don't lock up our refractory children, or use force
when persuasion alone is necessary. Heaven forbid!" Sir Harry said it
with an expression of countenance somewhat contradictory of his
language. "But I feel sure I need only point out to you what my wishes
are to have your sincere co-operation. You behaved so well once before,
you will behave well this time. Constance, I am not used to entreat;
you cannot surely refuse me now?"
She burst into tears
"Oh, papa," she said, "anything--anything but this."
He thought to try the old sarcastic mood that had done him good service
with many a woman before.
"What, we are premature, are we, Miss Beverley? We cannot forget old
days and childish absurdities. We must, of course, be more sensitive
than our boyish adorer. Psha! my dear, it's perfectly absurd; why, you
can see with your own eyes that Vere Egerton is hopelessly entangled
with that bold Hungarian girl, and I can tell you, to my certain
knowledge, that he is to marry her forthwith. What she can see in his
ugly face is more than I can make out; but this I suppose is prejudice
on my part. Good Heaven! Constance, are you really afraid of seeing
them together to-night? You! _my_ daughter! the proud Miss Beverley?"
The old reprobate knew how to manage a woman still. He had served a long
apprenticeship to the trade, and paid pretty dearly for his lessons in
his time.
She did not cry now.
"Papa, I will go to the ball," was all she said; and Sir Harry thought
it wiser to push matters no further for the present.
Our little party had been established in Vienna for several weeks when
the above-mentioned conversation took place; and the De Rohans were
living on terms of close intimacy with the Beverleys. Ropsley made no
secret of his engagement to Constance, and bestowed all the attentions
of a future husband on the unwilling girl with a tact which made escape
impossible. Victor took his place as an old friend by her side, and she
seemed to find the more pleasure in his society that it relieved her
from the Guardsman's sarcastic though amusing conversation, and, as I
once overheard her remark, with a deep sigh, "reminded her of old
times." Valerie and I were, as usual, inseparable; but there was
something of late in the manner of the young Countess which grated on my
feelings. She was gay, volatile, demonstrative as ever; but I missed
those fits of abstraction, that restless, preoccupied air which seems so
charming when we fancy we can guess the cause; and altogether I never
was so much in danger of falling in love with Valerie as now, when,
piqued, hopeless, and miserable, I felt I was uncared for by every one
on earth--even by her. I was one too many in the party. Sir Harry
seemed worldly, sharp, and in good spirits, as usual. Ropsley scheming,
composed, self-contained, and successful. Victor lively, careless, and
like his former self again. Constance haughty and reserved, habitually
silent, and preserving an exterior of icy calmness. Valerie sparkling,
triumphant, and _coquette_ as possible. Only Bold and I were out of
spirits; the old dog resenting with truly British energy the indignity
of an enforced muzzle, without which no animal of his species was
allowed to go at large in the streets of Vienna; whilst his master was
wearied and ill at ease, tired of an aimless, hopeless life, and longing
for the excitement of action, or the apathy of repose.
Such were the ingredients of the party that dined together at that
well-known hotel rejoicing in the appellation of "Munsch," on the day of
the masked ball, to which all Vienna meant to go, to be mystified for
pleasure, and have its secrets told and its weaknesses published for
amusement.
Many were the glances of admiration cast at our table, and many, I doubt
not, were the comparisons made between the stately beauty of the
Englishwoman and the brilliant charms of her Hungarian friend. I sat
next to Valerie, and opposite Miss Beverley--the latter scarcely ever
spoke to me now, and, save a formal greeting when we met and parted,
seemed completely to ignore my existence; but she tolerated Bold, and
the dog lay curled up under the table at her feet, keeping watch and
ward over her--faithful Bold!--as he used to do long, long ago. Ropsley
held forth upon the political state of Europe; and although Victor and
Sir Harry expressed loudly their admiration of his sentiments, and the
lucid manner in which he expressed them, I have yet reason to believe
that, as he spoke in English, a very garbled and eccentric translation
of his remarks reached the imperial and kingly bureau of police.
Constance and Valerie seemed to have some secret understanding which
called forth a smile even on the pale face of the former, whilst the
latter was exuberant in mirth and spirits, and was ardently anticipating
the pleasures of the ball. I was roused from my dreamy state of
abstraction by her lively voice.
"Vere," she exclaimed, with a sly glance across the table at her friend,
"we are engaged for the first dance, you know."
She always called me "Vere," now, in imitation of her brother.
"Are we?" was my somewhat ungallant reply. "I was not aware of it, I do
not think I shall go to the ball."
"Not go to the ball!" exclaimed Valerie; "and I have told you the colour
of my dress and everything. Not go to the ball! do you hear him,
Victor? do you hear him, Sir Harry? do you hear him, Captain Ropsley?"
"We can hardly believe it," replied the latter, with a quiet smile;
"but, Countess Valerie, he does not deserve your confidence: will you
not tell _us_ what your dress is to be?"
"Nobody but Vere," persisted the Countess, with another arch smile at
Constance; "you know he is engaged to me, at least for this evening.
But he is cross and rude, and deserves to be mystified and made unhappy.
But seriously, Vere, you _will_ go? Ask him, Miss Beverley; he won't
refuse _you_, although he is so ungallant towards _me_."
Constance looked up for a moment, and in a dry, measured voice, like a
child repeating a lesson, said, "I hope you will go, Mr. Egerton;" and
then resumed the study of her plate, paler and more reserved than ever.
I heard Bold's tail wagging against the floor. "What have I done to
offend her," I thought, "that she will thus scarcely even deign to speak
to me?" I bowed constrainedly, and said nothing; but the torture was
beginning to get more severe than I could bear, and making an excuse
that I should be late for the opera, whither none of my companions were
going, I hurried from the table, Valerie giving me as I rose a camellia
from her bouquet, and charging me to return it to her at the ball. "I
shall count upon you, Vere," she said, as I adjusted it in my coat, "and
keep myself disengaged."
I threaded my way through the dirty streets to the opera. I ensconced
myself in the corner of the De Rohans' box; and resting my head on my
hand, I began to reflect for the first time for many weeks on my
position and my prospects. I could not conceal from myself that I was
no longer justified in living on the terms of intimacy with Victor and
his sister which had so long constituted such an agreeable distraction
in my life. It was evident that Valerie considered me in the light of
something more than a friend, and it was due to the lady, to her
brother, and to myself, that such a misconception should be rectified at
once and for ever. I was well aware in my heart of hearts that
Constance Beverley was still, as she would always be, the idol of my
life, but I was too proud to confess this even to myself. It was
evident that she cared no longer for the friend of her childhood, that
she was totally indifferent as to what became of the nameless,
ill-starred adventurer who had once presumed to ask her to be his; and I
ground my teeth as I told myself I was too proud, far too proud, to care
for any woman that did not care for me. But I could not lead this life
of inaction and duplicity any longer. No, I was well now, I was able to
walk again (and I thought of my gentle nurse with a sigh). I would not
go to the ball to-night; I would leave Vienna to-morrow; it was far
better not to see Miss Beverley again, better for me at least, and ought
I not to consult my own interest first? Others were selfish. I would be
selfish too! Even Valerie, I had no doubt, was just like all other
women; she wouldn't care, not she! And yet she was a frank,
open-hearted girl, too. Poor Valerie! And mechanically I placed the
camellia she had given me to my lips, and raised my eyes to examine the
house for the first time since my entrance.
What was my surprise to remark the action I have just described imitated
exactly by a lady in a box opposite mine, but whose face was so turned
away from me, and so masked, moreover, by a bouquet she held in her
hand, that I could not identify her features, or even make out whether
she was young or old, handsome or plain! All I could see was a
profusion of rich brown hair, and a well-turned arm holding the bouquet
aforesaid, with the odours of which she seemed much gratified, so
perseveringly did she apply it to her face. After a short interval, I
adjusted my opera-glass and took a long survey of the flower-loving
dame. As soon as she was sure she had attracted my attention, she once
more applied the white camellia to her lips with much energy and
fervour, still, however, keeping her face as far as possible turned away
from me, and shaded by the curtains of her box. Three times this absurd
pantomime was enacted. So strong a partiality for so scentless a flower
as the camellia could not be accidental; and at last I made up my mind
that, in all probability, she mistook me for somebody else, and would
soon find out her error without my giving myself any further trouble on
the subject. I had too much to occupy my own mind to distress myself
very long about the _Dame aux Camellias_; and I turned my attention to
the stage, to seek relief, if only for half-an-hour, from the thoughts
that were worrying at my heart.
The ballet of _Sattinella_ was being enacted, and a man must have been
indeed miserable who could entirely withdraw his attention from the
magnificent figure of Marie Taglioni, as she bounded about in the
character of that fire-born Temptress, a very impersonation of grace,
symmetry, beauty, and _diablerie_. The moral of the piece is very
properly not developed till the end, and it is too much to expect of a
human heart that it shall sympathise with the unfortunate victim of
Satan's charming daughter as long as his tortures are confined to
performing wondrous bounds towards the footlights in her fiendish
company, and resting her diabolical form upon his knee in the most
graceful and bewitching attitude that was ever invented below, and sent
up expressly for the delectation of a Viennese audience. Neither did I
think the "first male dancer" very much to be pitied when he was
inveigled into a beautiful garden by moonlight, where he discovered the
whole _corps de ballet_ arranged in imitation of statues, in the most
fascinating of _poses plastiques_, and so well drilled as scarcely even
to wink more than the very marble it was their part to represent. Soft
music playing the whole time, and fountains, real fountains, spouting
and splashing the entire depth of the stage, constituted the voluptuous
accessories of the scene, and it was not till the senses of the
spectators had been thoroughly entranced by beauty and melody--by all
that could fascinate the eye and charm the ear, that the whole spectacle
changed to one of infernal splendour; the fountains becoming fireworks,
the pure and snowy statues turning to gorgeous she-devils of the most
diabolical beauty and fierceness, whilst Sattinella herself, appearing
in a bewitching costume of crimson and flames, carried off the
bewildered victim of her blandishments, to remain bound to her for ever
in the dominions of her satanic father.
Having once got him, it is understood that she will never let him go
again, and I could not pity him very sincerely notwithstanding.
The opera was over, the company rapidly departing, and I stood alone at
the stove in the crush-room, wondering why the house was not burnt down
every time this beautiful ballet was performed, and speculating lazily
between whiles as to whether I was ever likely to witness an opera
again. I was one of the last spectators left in the house, and was
preparing to depart, when a female figure, cloaked and hooded, passed
rapidly under my very nose, and as she did so, pressed a camellia to her
lips in a manner which admitted of no misconception as to her motive. I
could not see her face, for a black satin hood almost covered it, but I
recognised the rounded arm and the handsome bouquet which I had before
remarked in the opposite box. Of course I gave instantaneous chase, and
equally of course came up with the lady before she reached her carriage.
She turned round as she placed her foot on the step, and dropped her fan
upon the muddy pavement; I picked it up, and returned it to her with a
bow. She thanked me in French, and whispered hurriedly, "Monsieur will
be at the Redouten-Saal to-night?" I was in no humour for an adventure,
and answered "No." She repeated in a marked manner, "Yes, monsieur will
be at the ball; monsieur will find himself under the gallery of the
Emperor's band at midnight. _De grace_, monsieur will not refuse this
_rendezvous_."
"I had not intended to go," was my unavoidable reply, "but of course to
please Madame it was my duty to make any sacrifice. I would be at the
appointed place at the appointed time."
She thanked me warmly and earnestly. "She had travelled night and day
for a week, the roads were impassable, frightful, the fatigue unheard
of. She had a _migraine_, she had not slept for nights, and yet she was
going to this ball. I would not fail her, I would be sure to be there.
_Adieu_--no, _au revoir_."
So the carriage drove off, splashing no small quantity of mud over my
face and toilet. As I returned to my hotel to dress, I wondered what
was going to happen _now_.