CHAPTER III. THE DEMON CHANCE
St. Just would have given much to be back in his lonely squalid lodgingsnow. Too late did he realise how wise had been the dictum which hadwarned him against making or renewing friendships in France.
Men had changed with the times. How terribly they had changed! Personalsafety had become a fetish with most--a goal so difficult to attain thatit had to be fought for and striven for, even at the expense of humanityand of self-respect.
Selfishness--the mere, cold-blooded insistence forself-advancement--ruled supreme. De Batz, surfeited with foreign money,used it firstly to ensure his own immunity, scattering it to right andleft to still the ambition of the Public Prosecutor or to satisfy thegreed of innumerable spies.
What was left over he used for the purpose of pitting the bloodthirstydemagogues one against the other, making of the National Assembly agigantic bear-den, wherein wild beasts could rend one another limb fromlimb.
In the meanwhile, what cared he--he said it himself--whether hundredsof innocent martyrs perished miserably and uselessly? They were thenecessary food whereby the Revolution was to be satiated and de Batz'schemes enabled to mature. The most precious life in Europe even wasonly to be saved if its price went to swell the pockets of de Batz, orto further his future ambitions.
Times had indeed changed an entire nation. St. Just felt as sickenedwith this self-seeking Royalist as he did with the savage brutes whostruck to right or left for their own delectation. He was meditatingimmediate flight back to his lodgings, with a hope of finding therea word for him from the chief--a word to remind him that men did livenowadays who had other aims besides their own advancement--other idealsbesides the deification of self.
The curtain had descended on the first act, and traditionally, as theworks of M. de Moliere demanded it, the three knocks were heard againwithout any interval. St. Just rose ready with a pretext for partingwith his friend. The curtain was being slowly drawn up on the secondact, and disclosed Alceste in wrathful conversation with Celimene.
Alceste's opening speech is short. Whilst the actor spoke it Armand hadhis back to the stage; with hand outstretched, he was murmuring whathe hoped would prove a polite excuse for thus leaving his amiable hostwhile the entertainment had only just begun.
De Batz--vexed and impatient--had not by any means finished with hisfriend yet. He thought that his specious arguments--delivered withboundless conviction--had made some impression on the mind of the youngman. That impression, however, he desired to deepen, and whilst Armandwas worrying his brain to find a plausible excuse for going away, deBatz was racking his to find one for keeping him here.
Then it was that the wayward demon Chance intervened. Had St. Justrisen but two minutes earlier, had his active mind suggested thedesired excuse more readily, who knows what unspeakable sorrow, whatheartrending misery, what terrible shame might have been spared bothhim and those for whom he cared? Those two minutes--did he but knowit--decided the whole course of his future life. The excuse hovered onhis lips, de Batz reluctantly was preparing to bid him good-bye,when Celimene, speaking common-place words enough in answer to herquarrelsome lover, caused him to drop the hand which he was holding outto his friend and to turn back towards the stage.
It was an exquisite voice that had spoken--a voice mellow and tender,with deep tones in it that betrayed latent power. The voice had causedArmand to look, the lips that spoke forged the first tiny link of thatchain which riveted him forever after to the speaker.
It is difficult to say if such a thing really exists as love at firstsight. Poets and romancists will have us believe that it does; idealistsswear by it as being the only true love worthy of the name.
I do not know if I am prepared to admit their theory with regard toArmand St. Just. Mlle. Lange's exquisite voice certainly had charmedhim to the extent of making him forget his mistrust of de Batz and hisdesire to get away. Mechanically almost he sat down again, and leaningboth elbows on the edge of the box, he rested his chin in his hand, andlistened. The words which the late M. de Moliere puts into the mouthof Celimene are trite and flippant enough, yet every time that Mlle.Lange's lips moved Armand watched her, entranced.
There, no doubt, the matter would have ended: a young man fascinatedby a pretty woman on the stage--'tis a small matter, and one from whichthere doth not often spring a weary trail of tragic circumstances.Armand, who had a passion for music, would have worshipped at the shrineof Mlle. Lange's perfect voice until the curtain came down on the lastact, had not his friend de Batz seen the keen enchantment which theactress had produced on the young enthusiast.
Now de Batz was a man who never allowed an opportunity to slip by, ifthat opportunity led towards the furtherance of his own desires. Hedid not want to lose sight of Armand just yet, and here the good demonChance had given him an opportunity for obtaining what he wanted.
He waited quietly until the fall of the curtain at the end of Act II.;then, as Armand, with a sigh of delight, leaned back in his chair,and closing his eyes appeared to be living the last half-hour all overagain, de Batz remarked with well-assumed indifference:
"Mlle. Lange is a promising young actress. Do you not think so, myfriend?"
"She has a perfect voice--it was exquisite melody to the ear," repliedArmand. "I was conscious of little else."
"She is a beautiful woman, nevertheless," continued de Batz with asmile. "During the next act, my good St. Just, I would suggest that youopen your eyes as well as your ears."
Armand did as he was bidden. The whole appearance of Mlle. Langeseemed in harmony with her voice. She was not very tall, but eminentlygraceful, with a small, oval face and slender, almost childlike figure,which appeared still more so above the wide hoops and draped panniers ofthe fashions of Moliere's time.
Whether she was beautiful or not the young man hardly knew. Measuredby certain standards, she certainly was not so, for her mouth was notsmall, and her nose anything but classical in outline. But the eyeswere brown, and they had that half-veiled look in them--shaded with longlashes that seemed to make a perpetual tender appeal to the masculineheart: the lips, too, were full and moist, and the teeth dazzling white.Yes!--on the whole we might easily say that she was exquisite, eventhough we did not admit that she was beautiful.
Painter David has made a sketch of her; we have all seen it at the MuseeCarnavalet, and all wondered why that charming, if irregular, littleface made such an impression of sadness.
There are five acts in "Le Misanthrope," during which Celimene is almostconstantly on the stage. At the end of the fourth act de Batz saidcasually to his friend:
"I have the honour of personal acquaintanceship with Mlle. Lange. An youcare for an introduction to her, we can go round to the green room afterthe play."
Did prudence then whisper, "Desist"? Did loyalty to the leader murmur,"Obey"? It were indeed difficult to say. Armand St. Just was notfive-and-twenty, and Mlle. Lange's melodious voice spoke louder than thewhisperings of prudence or even than the call of duty.
He thanked de Batz warmly, and during the last half-hour, while themisanthropical lover spurned repentant Celimene, he was conscious of acurious sensation of impatience, a tingling of his nerves, a wild, madlonging to hear those full moist lips pronounce his name, and have thoselarge brown eyes throw their half-veiled look into his own.