Gerald Fitzgerald: The Chevalier Part 36

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 and dreads, warred there with each other! At one moment all his former love came back, and she was the same Marietta he had wandered with through the chestnut groves, reciting in boyish ardour the verses he had learned to master; at the next, a shuddering shame reminded him that she had just confessed she loved another, making a very mockery of the memory of their former pa.s.sion. What, too, was she--what her life--that she did not dare to reveal it?

'And you,' cried she, suddenly springing up, 'what do you know of Riquetti? 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--been less p.r.o.ne 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 n.o.ble nature that can do generous things, yet seem to think them weakness! How widely different from your poets this--your men of high sentiment and sordid action--your coiners of fine phrases, hollow-hearted and empty!'

'True enough,' said Gerald bitterly; 'Gabriel de Mirabeau is at least consistent; his sentiments are all in harmony with his life--he is no hypocrite.'

It was with a quick gesture, like a tigress about to spring, that she now turned on him, her eyeb.a.l.l.s staring wildly, and her fingers closely clutched. 'Is it,' cried she in pa.s.sion, 'is it given to creatures like you or me to judge of a man like this? Do you imagine that by any strain of your fancy you can conceive the trials, the doubts, the difficulties, which beset him? To intellects like his what we call excess may give that repose which to sluggish natures comes of mere apathy. I, too,'

said she, drawing herself proudly up, 'I, too, have been his pupil; he saw me in the Cleopatra; he told me how I had misconceived the poet--or rather, how the poet had mistaken the character--for he loves not your Alfieri.'

'How should he? Whence could he draw upon the n.o.ble fund of emotions that 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 and distinguished, as I see you.'

'The human heart throbs alike beneath rags or purple. When I could make tears course down the rude cheeks that were gaunt with famine, the task was easy to move those whose natures yielded to lighter impulse. For a whole winter--it was the first after we parted--I was the actress of a little theatre in the cite. We dramatised the events of the day; and they whose hard toil estranged them from the world of active life, could see at evening the sorrows and sufferings of the n.o.bility they hated on "the scene." The sack of chateau and the guillotine were favourite themes; and mine was to portray some woman of the people, seduced, wronged, deserted, but avenged! A chance--a caprice of the moment--brought Riquetti one night to our theatre. He came behind the scenes and talked with me. My accent betrayed my birth, and we talked Italian. He questioned me closely, how and where I had learned to declaim. I spoke of you, though not by name. "Ah!" cried he, "a lover already!" The look which he gave me at the words was like a stab; I felt it here, in my heart. It was the careless scoff of one who deemed that to such as me no sense of delicacy need be observed. He might think and say as he pleased, my station was too ign.o.ble to suggest respect. I hated him, and turned away, vowing, if occasion served, to be revenged upon him. He came a few nights after, accompanied by several others--there were ladies too, handsome and splendidly dressed. This splendour shocked the meanness of our misery, and even outraged the meanly clad audience around. I saw this, and seized it as the opportunity of my vengeance. Our piece was, as usual, the story of our daily life; I represented a seduced peasant girl, left to starve in a chateau, 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 search of my seducer through the streets. I sat famished and s.h.i.+vering upon a door-sill, watching with half-listless gaze the rich tide of humanity that swept past. I heeded not the proud display of equipages; the gay groups; the gorgeous procession of life before me; till suddenly, as if on a balcony, I beheld him I sought, the centre of a knot of beautiful women, who, leaning over the bal.u.s.trade, seemed to criticise the world below. Addressing myself at once to where Riquetti sat, I made him part of the scene. I knew nothing of him, nor of his history; but in blind chance I actually invented some of the chief incidents of his life. I made him a profligate, a duellist, and a seducer. I represented how he had won the affections of his friend's wife, eloped with, and deserted her; and yet, covered with crime, debased by every iniquity, and degraded by every vice, there he sat, successful, triumphant, and esteemed.

'What was my amazement, as the curtain fell, to see him at my side. "I have come," said he, in that rich, deep voice of his--"I have come to make you my compliments; you have your country's gift, and can 'improvise' well!" I blushed deeply, and could not answer him; but he went on: "These, however, are not wise themes to dwell upon. Popular pa.s.sions are dangerous seas, and will often s.h.i.+pwreck even those whose breath has stirred them; besides, this is not art"; and with these words he launched forth into a grand description of what really should const.i.tute the artist's realm, to what his teachings might extend, where should be their limits. He showed how the strict imitation of nature was an essential, yet, that the true criterion of success in art lay in the combination of such ingredients as best suited the impression to be conveyed; no mean or petty detail, however truthful or accurate, being suffered to detract from the whole conception. He then warned me against exaggeration, the prime fault of all inexperienced minds. "Even this very moment," said he, "you marred a fine effect when you spoke of me as one capable of parricide." "Of you," said I, blus.h.i.+ng, and trying to disown the personality. "Yes," said he, "of me. Your biography was often very accurate--to any but myself it might seem painfully accurate: I have 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 owed you a vendetta for some cruel words you had spoken to me."--"I remember them," said he, smiling; "you may live to believe that such phrases are a flattery! But to yourself, come to me to-morrow; bring your books with you, that you may read me something I will select. I can and may befriend you!" And he did befriend me.

'There was with him a tall, dark man, of sombre aspect, and a deep voice, who questioned me long and closely as to my early studies, and who 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 gave way, and I was obliged to retire into the country, on the Loire, to recruit. Riquetti came to see me once there; he was coming up from the south, and happened to stop at Tours. His visit was scarcely an hour, but it left me with memories that endured for months. But why should I weary you with a recital which can only interest when all its daily chances and changes are duly weighed? I came out at the "Francais" as Zaire; my success was a triumph! Roxane followed, and was even a greater success. You do not care to hear by what flatteries I was surrounded, what temptations a.s.sailed me, what wealth laid at my feet, what protestations of devotion, what offers of splendour met me. We were in a world that, repudiating all its old traditions, had sworn allegiance to a new code! n.o.bility, birth, t.i.tle, were as nothing; genius alone could sway men's minds. Eloquence was deemed the grand exponent of intellect; and next after the splendid oratory of the Const.i.tuent came the declamation of the drama. You must know France in its aspect of generous youth--in this, its brightest hour of destiny--to understand how much of influence is wielded by those who once were deemed the mere creatures of a pampered civilisation. The artist is now a "puissance," as is every power that can move the pa.s.sions, influence the motives, and direct the actions of mankind. The choice of the piece we played at night was in accordance with the political exigency of the day; and often has it been my lot to complete by some grand declamation the eloquent appeal by which Mirabeau had moved the a.s.sembly. Oh, what a glorious life it was to feel no longer the mere mouthpiece of mock pa.s.sion, but a real, actual, living influence on men's hearts; what a triumph was it then to hear 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 the brand flare; denounce the treason, and leave the traitors to us!" It was in this life, as in an orgie, I have lived. If you fancy that I exaggerate this power, or overrate its extent, listen to one fact.

'I was one night at Mirabeau's--at one of those small, select receptions which none but his most intimate friends frequented. D'Entraiques was there, Lavastocque, Maurice de Talleyrand, De Noe, and a few more. We were talking of the fall of the Monarchy, and discussing whether there was in the story anything that future dramatists might successfully avail themselves of. The majority thought not, and gave their reasons.

I was not able to controvert by argument such subtle critics, but I replied by improvising a scene in the Temple of Marie Antoinette writing a last letter to her children. There was no incident to give story, no accessory of scenery to suggest a picture; but I felt that the theme had its own pathetic power, and I was right. D'Entraiques shed tears; Charles de Noe sobbed aloud. "She must never repeat this," muttered Riquetti.--"Not for a while at least," said Talleyrand, smiling, as he took a pinch of snuff. From that hour I felt what it was to stir men's hearts. Then, success became real; for it was certain and a.s.sured.

CHAPTER IV. SOME OF TIME'S CHANGES

Resisting all Marietta's entreaties to stay and sup with her--resisting blandishments that might have subjugated sterner moralists--Gerald quitted her to seek out his humble lodging in the 'Rue de Marais.' Like all men who have gained a victory over themselves, he was proud of his triumph, and almost boastfully contrasted his tattered dress and lowly condition with the splendour he had just left behind him.

'I suppose,' muttered he, 'I too might win success if I could stifle all sense of conscience within me, and be the slave of the vile thing they call the world. It is what men would call my own fault if I be poor and friendless--so, a.s.suredly, Mirabeau would say.'

'Mirabeau will not say so any more then,' said a voice close beside him in the dark street.

'Why so?' asked Gerald fiercely.

'Simply because that great moralist is dead.'

Not noticing the half sarcasm of the epithet, Gerald eagerly asked when the event occurred.

'I can tell you almost to a minute,' said the other. 'We were just coming to the close of the third act of the piece "L'Amour le veut,"

where I was playing Jostard, when the news came; and the public at once called out, "Drop the curtain."'

As the speaker had just concluded these words, the light of a street lamp fell full upon his figure, and Gerald beheld a meanly clad but good-looking man of about eight-and-twenty, whose features were not unfamiliar to him.

'We have met before, sir,' said he.

'It was because I recognised your voice I ventured to address you; you were a Garde du Corps once?'

'And you?'

'I was once upon a time the Viscount Alfred de Noe,' said the other lightly. 'It was a part my ancestors performed for some seven or eight centuries. Now I change my _role_ every night.'

Through all the levity of this remark there was also what savoured of courage, that bold defiance of the turns of fortune which sounded haughtily.

'I, too, have had my reverses; but not so great as yours,' said Gerald modestly.

'When a man is killed by a fall, what signifies it if the drop has been fifty feet or five hundred! _Mon cher_,' said the other, 'you and I were once gentlemen--we talked, ate, drank, and dressed as such; we have now the _canaille_ life, and the past is scarcely even a dream.'

'It is the present I would call a dream,' said Gerald.

'I 'd do so too if its cursed reality would let me,' said De Noe, laughing, 'or if I could throw off the cast of shop for one brief hour, and feel myself the man I once was.'

'What are you counting? Have you lost anything?' asked Gerald, as the other turned over some pieces of money in his hand, and then hastily searched pocket after pocket.

'No; I was just seeing if I had wherewithal to ask you to sup with me, and I find that I have.'

'Rather, come and share mine--I live here,' said Gerald, as he pushed a door which lay ajar. 'It's a very humble meal I invite you to partake of; but we 'll drink to the good time coming.'

'I accept frankly,' said the other, as he followed Gerald up the dark and narrow stairs.

'A bed and a looking-gla.s.s, as I live!' exclaimed De Noe, as he entered the room. 'What a sybarite! Why, my friend, you outrage the n.o.ble precepts of our glorious Revolution by these luxurious pretensions--you insult equality and fraternity together.'

'Let me at least conciliate liberty then,' said Gerald gaily, 'and ask you to feel yourself at home.'

'How am I to call thee, _mon cher?_' said De Noe, a.s.suming the familiar second person, which I beg the reader to supply in the remainder of the interview.

'Gerald Fitzgerald is my name.'

'Le Chevalier Fitzgerald was just becoming a celebrity when they changed the spectacle. Ah, what a splendid engagement we all had, if we only knew how to keep it!'

'The fault was not entirely ours,' protested Gerald.

'Perhaps not. The good public were growing tired of being always spectators; they wanted, besides, to see what was behind the scenes; and they found the whole machinery even more a sham than they expected, and so they smashed the stage and scattered the actors.'

Gerald had now covered the table with the materials of his frugal meal, and brought forth his last two bottles of Bordeaux, long reserved to celebrate the first piece of good fortune that might betide him.

'It is easy to see,' cried De Noe, 'that you serve a Prince; your fare is worthy of Royalty, my dear Fitzgerald. If you had supped with me, your meal had been a mess of _haricot_, washed down with the light wines of the "Pays Latin.'"