LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1964, 10 June 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE PRIM A DONNA’S HUSBAND.

[From the “Belgravia Annual.”]

Mdlle, Felicite Desoharmes possessed a noble soprano voice, very fluent execution, and a most impassioned manner. She promised to be indeed a great singer. She had been fulfilling an engagement at Brussels, impersonating in tnm the Leonora of Donizetti, the Rachel of Halevy, the Valentine and the Alice of Meyerbeer. The audience had exhibited a rare enthusiasm, the singer had been prodigiously applauded. Encored at every possible opportunity, she had been called before the curtain, and recalled, and called again after that. . . Upon the last night of her performance the stage had appeared quite carpeted with bouquets, wreaths, and garlands. Hats and handkerchiefs were waved, hands _ were clapped, unanimous voices cried,aloud in ber honor. It was a scene of special excitement. It was a veritable triumph. Even the lady herself was satisfied. The managers had been her masters in the past—they should be her slaves In the future. She looked forward to a long career of prosperity. She meditated forthwith visiting in turn London, Berlin, Vienna, St. Petersburg, New York, &0., possibly San Francisco, the Sandwich Islands, and other outlandish places. She would go, in short, wherever there was a public to listen to her, and a sufficient salary to he received. For the present she had sang her final note at the Brussels opera-house. The audience had at last permitted her to withdraw from before them. Bat even in her dressing-room she could still hear the echoes of the applause she had won, while the attendants continued to collect for her the flowers covering the stage. There had been some notion of a torchlight procession accompanying her carriage to the hotel, and afterwards a serenade t» be sung beneath her bedroom window by many thousand voices in chorns. Abandonment of this plan had become unavoidable, however—the rain fell heavily. Their enthusiasm damped and cooled, the audience issuing from the opera-house put up their umbrellas, plunged through the miry streets, and hurried heme to bed,

Mdlle. Descharmes occupied a suite of apartments at the Hotel d’Univers, Bue des Hirondelles. She was entertaining a few friends at supper after the opera. The only other lady present was the singers constant companion, Madame or Mdlle. ('t was not clearly known which) Catinka Kerzt. By some Catinka was viewed as the mother or at least the aunt of Felicite; but neither admitted that they were united by family ties; they professed to be simply dear friends. jCatinka Kertz was no longer young. It was understood that she had been In the past a singer, but never a great singer. People were found to add that she had once been pretty ; all agreed that she was now extremely plain. She was poor and dependent, There was a certain grand ahabbiness about her system of costume; she seemed arrayed always in second-hand or cast-off finery. Her silks, satins, and velvets were crumpled, smeared, and rusty. _ Her jewellery was of a cheap and auspicious sort, A card was brought to Mddle. Descharmes. It was inscribed with the name ' Alphonse,’ encircled with flourishes after a foreign manner. ‘ I’ll not see him!’ said the singer.

Something of a gasp attended upon this utterance, and it was observed afterwards that the colour had gone from her Ups. • I’ll not see him I’ she repeated ; but as she spoke she rose from her chair. She whispered for a moment in the ear of Oatinka Kertz, then she moved quickly to the door. A gentleman awaited her in an adjoining room; a tall, thin, pallid, even cadaverouslooking gentleman, rather bald, book-noosed, black-bearded, keen-eyed. He wore evening dress; one large diamond stud glittering

very brilliantly In the midst of his white expanse of shirt-front. His facial expression was somewhat mocking and sinister, but there was a certain suggestion of distinction about him i( His Gibus hat was tucked under his left arm; his blaclj-gloved hands toyed with his watch chain',,. He had flung his light overcoat upon the back of a chair. Mdlle. Descharmea entered, closing the door firmly behind her. ‘Why are you here?’ she demanded abruptly, the beautiful vqipe becoming very discordantly hard and sharp ; ‘ why are you here, and at this hour of the night V ‘ Pardon me for disturbing you,’ he said, bowing politely; ‘ bat I could rot come sooner.’

‘ Why come at all ? Is it that yon want money ?’ * One always wants money ; at least, one always takes it when it is offered. That is my experience. But I did not come here for money absolutely. I have been fortunate of late. I have not been to the tables for nothing. I even broke the bank at Spa.’ * Gambler. ’

* Precisely. Bat your tone is too scornful. Be like the rest of the world, Felicite. Beproach me when I fail, not when I succeed. The successful speculator is entitled to respect. Success, indeed, is always respectable. And consider to what an excellent use I have applied my winnings,’ ‘ 1 do not understand.’

* I will explain. I came to night, for one thing, to ask you if you are satisfied with your reception here? The Brussels public has been kind to yon ? Appreciative ? Ecttatic 1 Your triumph here has far surpassed yonr triumph in Paris ? Jnst so. Then my money has been well laid out.’

‘You mean ’ ‘• I mean—but surely yon understand—that trinmphs such as. yon enjoy have to be planned, organised, systematised, developed, carried out and paid for from the first bravo, to the last bouquet.’ The public applauded me greatly. It was plain they liked me very much,* she said simply, ‘ The public 7 Felicite, yon are absurd. The public donate for little or nothing in these matters. Left to itself, the public would spoil all. It is too timid to have an opinion, even when an opinion has been given it, or rather forced upon it. The public! It is, an imbecile—a great donkey. Yon can drive it which way yon will if you know how to handle the reins, when to ply the whip. Yonr success has been supreme, because no scrap of it was left to the pnblio or to chance- because all was arranged beforehand. Each encore, each recall, even the rapturous murmurs that accompanied hut did not disturb your bravura and foriture, the mild rapping of gold-headed canes upon the floor of the stalls, the gentle tapping together of feminine fingers in the boxes, the coarse clapping of bands in the pit, the roars and thunders of the gallery—l ■ flatter myself that I forgot nothing. I was indifferent as to the cost. I led an army of no fewer than two hundred claqueurs to victory. Cannot you in yonr turn bestow upon me a word ot congratulation, of approval, of gratitude ?' ‘ But if I don’t believe a word of this ?’ 'lt shall be as you please. Only, there is a time to believe and a time to disbelieve. It is a fine thing to deserve success; but it is better to buy it and make sure of it, taking care that you get value for your money.’ ‘ And yon would have me think that yon did this, all this, for love?’ ‘By no means. Surely I have outlived—surely we have both outgrown—such a weakness? You are superb, Felicite. Yonr eyes are as bright as your diamonds, and yon sing divinely. But you are not an angel, dear friend.’ ‘ There are degrees even among the angels.’ ‘ True; there are fallen angels, good angels, and evil angels; angels of light and angels of darkness. No, it was not for love, Felicite. Yon are a beautiful woman, it is true, bnt you ate not the only beantlfnl woman in the world. I may have thought so, once, |in a dream ; I am awake now, and I think differently. No, I have toiled, bnt not solely on yonr behalf. I have expended money, but I ’regard it as rather invested, and I count upon its bringing me in a handsome retnrn Love expires, but self-interest survives. Perhaps after one has reached forty—and I am more than forty years of ago—one loves chiefly, if not solely, oneself, I consider yonr exquisite voice, yonr admirable gifts and accomplishments, in the light of oar common property. We are a firm, in fact; yonr art, yonr singing, is our capital, our stock-in-trade. We go with it to market and make the most and the best of it. I assure you I think that when the time arrives for a division of our profits we shall each find onrselves really rich. Does it not strike yon so, my dear friend ?’ * You are a villain, Alphonse!’ ‘You think so? I am your husband, Felicite.’ ‘You said you did not come for money.* * I said simply what was true, Ido not ask for money—at present, I can wait. _ I came, for one thing, to say what I have said. I designed to inform you and warn you ; my task of informing yon completed, I proceed to the second object of my visit; you must be more careful, Felicite.’ ‘ Must be ?’

* Yes ; much more careful. Von have have been extremely indiscreet. I have told you so before ; I now tell yon again. You will ruin everything—onr common property, onr prospects of success—by your raahnessa ; I will even say your folly. ’

• What have I done ?’ • Your supper party here to-night—is that prudent, do you think V • Catinka is with me ; she will not quit me for a moment.’ • Catinka Is an admirable creature—tender, faithful, devoted; but will her character suffice for all of you ? Can so many find shelter under her respectability 1 You resemble a crowd in the rain, and only one umbrella amongst you, and that with rents in it.’

• It is a small party only.’ ‘I know your guests. Dr. Bourniquet, your physician; M. Phildor, one of the directors of the opera house; M. Boisduval ; and the young Yicomte Leon de Beaufond.’

‘ Yon are a spy, Alphonse.’ Ho simply shrugged his shoulders. ‘ Your fame is not yet sufficiently established, Felicite. You cannot afford scandal. It might utterly destroy your prospects —our prospects. There are moments, perhaps, when a scandal —even a terrible scandal—refreshes, fortifies, benefits a career. But that is not your case. Yet you have been guilty of this—folly this criminal folly. You have laid the train, and an explosion is imminent.’ * I do not understand.’

‘ "Why have you allowed M. Boisduval and the vicomte to meet 2 Ton mean them to quarrel. Yon think I know nothing. Yon aro a child, Felicite. ’ * You are a spy, Alphonse,’ she repeated, • I am curious, that is all; and I have good reason to be curious—l am your husband. Jealous ! No ;do not mistake; lam not jealous. I know that these men are nothing to you ; they are merely the counters with which you play yonr game, and I have no pity for them. If they are duped, be it remembered that they would dupe in their turn if they could. Possibly your young vicomte is not wholly undeserving of commiseration. He has loaded you with costly • 'ifts, and has even made you an offer of marriage. He is sincere, possibly; and I will do him the justice to say that I believe him to be sincere, and that he does not know that you are already provided with a husband; M. Boisduval has also proposed marriage to you, the while he has carefully concealed the fact that for his part he has been for some time possessed of a wife and even of three children. What! You did not know that ho was married ? You do not choose your friends well, Felicite; you have corresponded with both these men; you have allowed them each to hope ; you have invited them here to-night; and you would be rid of one of them—of which ? You will not answer ? Which of them has possession of the more compromising of your letters V

‘Yon misunderstand, Alphonse.’ ‘ Pardon me, I know more than you think; yon have written to the vicomte complaining of the attentions, the persecutions of M, Boisduval ; you have written to M. Boisduval describing the young vicomte as a fool, a coward ; they meet at your table ; what is to be the result? Ah! We are about to learn, 5 Voices were heard, loudly disputing, in the adjoining room. Men were quarrelling violently ; abusive terms were interchanged ; Catinka was crying, imploring, screaming ; then came the sounds of scuffling, the falling of chairs, the breaking of glasi and «hia»,

‘Tfak'ia a dangerons game yon have been playing, Felicite,’said her visitor, ‘and ife being played out to the end.’ ‘ What shall I do V demanded she despairingly. ‘lnterfere while there is time. Implore yonr friends to keep the peace and to depart. Defer all explanations. Separate the disputants, if you can. Promise them anything, everything. Promises are of no consequence —only get rid of your guests. Ah 1 it is too late. ’

A cry was heard of one desperately hurt. ‘ Come with me,’ she said with a scared, beseeching air.

‘ No—thank yon. I will see, but I will not be seen. Ido not wish to be called as a witness in a cause celebre.'

The prima donna returned to the room in which she had left her gnests at tuppe;. She found a scene of strange and dreadlt 3 disorder and excitement. There was mn. h and loud talking. The hotel-keeper and bta servants, disturbed and alarmed, had entered the apartment. The remains of the sapper strewed the floor; the cloth' had been halfdragged from the table, to the wrecking cf wine bottles, glasses, plates, dishes, and articles of food. The white damask wan stained with the wine—and with blood.

‘ What has happened ?’ demanded MdDc. Deschirmes; ‘tell me, someone. Catinks, have you lost your senses ?’ Catinka, panic stricken and hysterical, could do little but sob and gasp and moan. She contrived, however, to poi- t to where upon the sofa lay, stretched pale and insensible, the young Vicomte de Beau fond. Fig white cravat had been forcibly removed, hia dress-shirt-front torn open ; from a wound in his breast the blood had trickled on to hia white waistcoat. A waiter heid a lighted candle, while Dr. Bonrniqnet, npea his knees, made examination of the young man's in juries.

‘ He is dying,’ murmured Dr. Boumiqcet; ‘ nothing can save him.’ Farther medical advice and assistance had been sent for, however. A messenger bad also been despatched, to the police office. In a corner of the room stood M. BoJsdnval, a robust man, middle aged, dark complexioned, fferce-looking, wearing a heavy black moustache.

‘ Bear witness all,’ he said loudly, ‘ that the young man sought hia own death. I would have spared him if I could, even after he had struck me | The she ;th was left in his hand, the blade in mine. He flung himself upon me, and the mischief was done. I did not intend to injnre him. Bnt he was beside himself; he was drunk; he was mad. £ declare that I am guiltless in the matter.’ (To be continued.)