The Blue Duchess

ad fallen in love with Camille Favier the moment I saw her on the stage with her fine beautiful face so like the art type of a master whom I have studied much. This little

as a very cunning innocent, since by my companion’s confession the siege of her virtue had nothing in common, either in length or in d

love. I never could lie to a mistress, even one engaged like an extra cook for a week. Actually I have not known many of that sort. My caprices have lasted for eight years, and I have experienced deception which ought to make me indulgent where the ruses of men against women are concerned. People like Jacques Molan revenge us others who have never made ourselves loved, simply because we love. Perhaps I ought to have experienced in this box at the Vaudeville on this strange evening that not very delicate but very natural feeling, the joy of the a

has acted so well in this scene. Hardly is her back turned when he deceives her. This treachery doubles the pleasure he experiences in man?uvring with the other woman. No coquette ever had her eyes so lit with desire to please as the famous author then. He is cordially

usted me like this. Had it been applied to any other person than the little Burne-Jones girl of the Vaudeville, I should have

mph I expected, but everything seem

ders. “Madam de Bonnivet has invited me t

little Favi

47replied. “I have promised to see her ho

s not play in the piece, and as you admitted just now,

s when one has to take a high hand with them, while at others one must obey their lightest caprice. So I repeat I have accepted. I must find a way of getting rid of Camille. Good,” he sai

se,” I replied. “But I do

e me the pleasure of scheming and promise to do something else for me. Oh, it is nothing wrong, noble person. This is the interva

f the attraction the pretty actress had for me. A person should never be too severe about another’s deceit. The most scrupulous are ready to accept and aid their schemes, when they are in accordance with their own secret desires. The real cynical truth was that we went into the wings to reach the retreat where the pseudo-Burne-Jones was waiting for us, as an actress waits. Though the actress’ affection for her lover was sincere, she was none the less the fashionable com

s not alon

ill prefer to talk to you more privately, and

ot of vanity. Tournade is the son of the great candle maker; everybody burns Tournade candles. Of course he is worth millions of francs, and I am inclined to think he is willing to lay a few at Camille’s feet. Ah,” he went on still more maliciously, “you are goi

n his knock. “Decidedly there is more in it than he is willing to admit,” I said to myself while the door was opening. Two lamps and several candles all

bring to a life of elegant debauchery the ignobly positive soul of a usurer’s son with a porter’s temperament. The other one, Figon, was thin and weak, with a never-ending nose, and every tooth in his head was a masterpiece of gold stopping. His eyes were green and twinkling. His sparse hair, narrow shoulders, and worn-out spine were a fine example of the exhaustion found in every race which would justify the anger of the workers against the middle classes if they themselves, who are n

stume 51of the picture after which the play was called, all in blue from the satin of her shoes to the ribbon in her hair. The only long chair and couch had a dress and cloak spread out on them. Evidently the persons had intruded upon her, had not been asked to sit down, and she was about to dismiss them. This sign of her independence cau

is always agreeable however common it may be, even when it is in th

cene and outrageously mediocre writer with whom the fool associated poor Jacques. The la

, and she continued: “If Molan does not bring you into his next play, he will be good to you. What do you think he has 52just told me, Jacques, about Gladys, his old mistress; you know her, the woman you called t

treated with a lack of respect in the presence of ordinary literary men or painters; “you know very well that Louis was

know this is my dressing-room.” She had such an ugly look as she uttered, with increasing bitterness in her voice, these insolent remarks, and her intention of getting rid of these two young men was so obvious, that I had a feeling of shame and almos

, little 53Duchess, but it does not ap

more, and her shining eyes which uttered, proclaimed, and cried aloud this phrase: “Here is my lover whom

iciently fed. It displeased him to triumph too openly over a Tourn

remarks I had made concerning the excessive emphasis at two places in her part. One of them concerned the manner in which the actress had to say

eir art. They had forgotten the existence of Tournade, Figon, and myself. On their part the two men 54about town pretended to talk of things which interested them, which we could not understand. I heard the names of horses, no doubt famous at that time, mentioned: Farfadet, Shannon, Little

for he has s

may be neither a Christian nor a martyr. You saw that she conceals a little roughness under her pre-Raphaelite profile, like many of her fellows. Now we have gone, those

hat?” I asked him; “and why do those t

ourting her. Do you think that in their eyes the pleasure of saying while they are standing at a bar about midnight imbibing a drink through a straw, ‘We 55were with little Favie

only sort which succeed, because they do not believe any one would have the audacity to invent such stories. Presently during the last act I shall have a letter brought to me which I shall pretend to read. You are there! I shall display great astonishment and scribble a few words upon my card which I leave with you. Then I shall go out. Camille will have seen it all and will be uneasy. She will play her great scene with nervous force. That is what is required. Afterwards you will take my card t

he knock was more deferential than the one ju

Bonnivet, and then to the Vicomte de Senneterre, who was the “beater.” I was soon sitting upon one of the chairs vacated by one of these gentlemen. The lady wa

She is a pretty girl. I hope you will give her another expression though. If the dear master were no

the voice of 57her eyes, was pretty but metallic, clear but implacable, a gay laugh which sounded frightfully brutal to me! If one could not—I repeat this as it was the striking impression of this first meeting—imagine real warm tears from those eyes of stony blue, neit

iliar manners? This pretty delicate head, with its haughty and fragile grace, which had at once evoked in me the image of a queen of elfs with its blonde hair and flowerlike complexion, was, I have since understood, the victim of the most terrible ennui in the world, that which absolute insensibility in the midst of all the good things of the world, and the radical incapacity of enjoying anything when one possesses all one desires, inflicts upon us. Since then, I have thought t

n Molan long?”

een years,”

en him in love ex

dam,” my friend replied for me. “He

ng her eyes fixed on Mol

e Favier a

. Jacques listened to me as I sang the praises of his mistress in a stupor which Madam de Bonnivet construed into a sense of umbrage. She was not the woman to neglect this opportunity of sowing the seeds of discord between two friends. It is my test for all feminine

h exercise, you are getting fat. It makes you look ten years older than you really are. You should take Senneterre as your example.” This evening the “beater” was polished and fastened

motion at all costs, the result of secret licentiousness, which had made her blasé, and her lack of heart. Have I mentioned that she was a mother, and that she did not love her child, who had been at a boarding school for years? She could not dispense with astonishment, and she had that strange taste for fear, that singular pleasure of provoking man’s anger, that joy of feeling that 60

ss and the woman of the world had exactly the same bad tone. Only the bad tone of the delicate Burne-Jones girl betrayed a depth of passionate soul, and an extraordinary facility for allurement, while in the case of Madam de Bonnivet it was

e are done with. But an old husband and an old fri

and almost her accent, with a prodigious suddenness, she asked me in the most simple way possible a question about the school of painting to which I belonged. It was a starting point for her to talk of my art, without much knowledge, but strange to say with as much intelligence and good sense as before she had displayed lack of it in her jeering chaff. She talked of the danger to us artists in going much into society, and she spoke according to my idea, with a perfectly accurate view of the failings of vanity and charlatan

er? For she is interested in you. You could see that by Senneterre’s ill-humour. He hardly returned your greeting.” The game he did not bring was not to his liking, nor was the

she invite m

u talk about Camille

le to ask me. It did not please her. That is an excellent sign fo

“But what do you th

shed that he does so on account of his broad shoulders. He might

and the jealous ones, who wish to profit by this coquetry to have a full drawing-room and elegant dinners. Besides, they go into a cold sweat at the thought that their wife might take a lover. That was Bonnivet’s case. He accepted all the flirtations of Queen Anne with a good grace. He shook my hand. He assisted in silence like the most complaisant of men his better half’s man?uvres. Very well, I am of opinion that if he suspected this woman of the least physical familiarity beyond this moral familiarity, he would kill her on the spot like a rabbit.

er tragic picture he was painting to me, “if that is your opinion of M. de

cidents, runaway horses, typhoid fevers, and jealous husbands because I love to travel quickly, to refresh and amuse myself. Then Madam de Bonnivet knows her tyrant, her Pierre, who rejoices in the idyllic names of Pierre Amédié Placidi; she knows of what he is capable. She amuses herself by exciting him just far enough to procure for herself that little tremor of fear. When she wants t

hand her a letter which he took from his pocket-book. At this moment his face assumed its real expres

girl! She will be so disappointed! Write me a line to-morrow or come and see me to let me know how she takes it. I am not at all uneasy as to the

is accomplice weighed upon my conscience, and I was upon the point of refusing

ot guess,”

ts and demands my

! To think that if I might have——But no, there is an old French saying, that the woman a man adores is not the one he possesses, but one he has not yet posse

ntensified her playing as an actress. She suddenly ceased to look in the direction of the box which her lover had left. The entire strength of her being appeared to be concentrated in her part, and in the great final scene very ingeniously borrowed from La Princesse Georges, she displayed a power of pathos which roused the audience to a delirium of enthusiasm. Only when she was recalled by an enthusiastic audience and return

?” she asked. “Whe

card for you,” I a

, “I want to speak to you.” Her impatience was so keen that I fo

point-blank. “Is Fomberteau g

you do,” I replied still w

ll me about it? He knows how interested I am in his friends, especially Fomberteau. He is such a loya

as surprised as yo

n emotional tones she said: “But you would not give your friend away; I know him too.” And after a short silence

making some excuse and leaving her! How sure I was, in spite of her words upon the duty of friendship, that this passionate child would try to make me say something I did not want and ought not say! It would have been better perhaps if this fear had been verified and the profligate had appeared in her at once beneath the lover. But do I sincerely regret the strange minutes of that night? Do I regret that walk beneath the cold and starry January sky, unexpected as it was, for at seven o’clock that evening I

ss reappeared enveloped in a large black cloak with a big cape at the shoulders. A thick black silk ruff was around her neck, and her head, on 69which she wore a dark blue bonnet, looked almost too small as it emerged from her heavy wrap. She appeared to me to be taller and youn

alked about, leaving the theat

not worry me. Everybody at the theatre knows that I am Jacques’ mistress. I do

he loved you

as right. All the same, it is good of you to want me to think that he speaks tenderly of me. I repeat to you that I shall be very quiet. I shall not try to question you. After all, th

loved presence which is in itself a pleasure. The warmth of her arm in mine made my blood flow to my heart. In what a discreet pose this pretty arm leant upon mine, but with a reserve so different from the abandon of love! But her step instinctively kept time with mine. We kept in step as we walked, and this fusion of our movements, by making me feel the light rhythm of her body, revealed to me, too, that though she knew very little of me, she

assionate insatiable avidity to hear the story of her life. Though her confidences were very singular when addressed to a stranger almost an unknown, I did not think of doubting them, nor of rating them as impudence or acting. But time goes backward and the months which separate us from that hour disappear. The sky of that winter’s night again palpitates with its crowd of stars. Our steps, which seem almost joined together, sound upon the empty pavements. Her voice rises and falls in turn with its tender

how painful 72it is to me to lie about little things, more so perhaps than about important matters. The meanness of certain tricks makes one understand better how ugly and wretched deception is. I have to say that my cou

y suspect nothi

e when we had a house, carriages and horses, though I was only a little girl then. My father was a business man, one of the largest outside brokers in Paris

d her fine shoulders. What disillusion there was already in that sad and gentle gestu

art of the story is that 73mother sacrificed her fortune to preserve my father’s honour. It is true it was a fortune he had settled upon her and it had come from him. That makes no difference. There are not many women in

oing on the stage ente

d not go out in the street but for the thought of events which lead to a meeting.” She smiled as she uttered this phrase which awakened in me a very

and 74he treated me without any more ceremony than he would his own niece. After my second effort at reciting he had a long conversation with mother. We were poor. We might become worse off still. We had nothing to expect from our relatives, who had been very hard on my poor father. A talent is a livelihood, and to-day the stage is a career like painting and literature. The days of prejudice are past. You can imagine the arguments of the old Parisian and my mother’s objections. But the latter could not outweigh the

ier,” I corrected her,

s a person who has never had much good sense, and now she has still less than she used to have,” she ad

sisters and cousins never forgave. Poor father and poor Camille! But you can see”—she said this with a smile—“that I have no good sense at all by my t

realized that it has

r for being one day a great actress, and I worked. How I worked! Then as one does not reach the age of eighteen without dreaming, without ears to hear and eyes to see, on the day I left there, 76you can understand, if I was virtuous it was not the virtue of ignorance. I had seen, I think, as many ugly happenings as I shall see in the course of my life. I shall not be courted more brutally than I was by some of my companions, nor more hypocritically than by some of the professors. I shall not receive more depraved advice than I did then from some of my friends, nor less enchanting confidences. But my environment has never had much influence over me. What I was told went in at one ear and out of the other. I listen to the little inner voice of conscience which speaks to me when I am alone. It was t

that I l

s desire to say this sweet care

in books. There is something contagious in a poet’s suffering. We imitate them unconsciously, and we

ve myself up to my part madly! Why? Because I had seen Jacques leave your box and I did not understand. If you only knew what anguish I suffered at the moment I looked at that frightful Madam de Bonnivet’s box! How I hate that woman! She is my bad genius and that of Jacques as well. You see, if she had left the theatre before the end of the play with her fool of a husband, I should have thought that she and 78Jacques had gone away together; I should have fallen down on the stage. Forgive me, I will go on with my story if it does not weary you. All these romantic, confused and vague sentiments which moved in me while I worked hard at my studies on leaving the

; to meet Racine and create for him 'Phé

and thus go through the world together, and attain glory together in a legend of love, that was my dream. Do you think 79there can be blue enough for the heavens and your pictures in the head of a little actress, who rehearses her part in an old street in the Faubourg Saint Germain by her old mother’s side, with

wered her. “If you had heard

I know very well that he does not love me. He loves the love