Scere” ee Eset ere yLIBRARY OF THE | | UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA : GIFT OF HARCOURT PARRISH, B.A. ’20 IN MEMORY OF HIS MOTHER FANNIE HARCOURT PARRISHSe SSS SS Sa IN Sa = S S ‘ ee. aeSe een Re AN est ahi asa RR ee eee ARAL ” OR THE LADY OF PEARLS FROM THE FRENCH OF ALEXANDER DUMAS, Jp. BY THE TRANSLATOR OF “DAMES AUX CAMELIAS,” THE “* DEMI-MONDE,” “LE FILS NATUREL,” “‘ITZA,” ETC. w we a “oC eGue eeus NEW YORK INTERNATIONAL BOOK COMPAN* B, 44 § AND 6 MISSION PLACEINTRODUCTION. Tue Dame aux Perles was written by the younger Dumas, as a pefidant to the Dame aux Camelias, better known in this country as ‘* The Lady of the Camelias.’”? In England and here, as well as in France, the Dame aux Camelias had a sale scarcely paralleled in the history of iiterature, Verdi, as it is well known, made it the basis of his Opera, La Traviata It was dramatized in Paris, where it ran for over two hundred nights, and where it is still reproduced, from time to time, when other dramas fail to fill the theaters. In this country a dramatic version, under the title of Camille, has been made familiar to the public through the inter- pretation of Matilda Heron, Laura Keene, J. M. Davenport, ete. ‘The Lady of Fearls has all the artistic skill and dramatic power of the Camelias, but its characters are drawn from a higher sphere of society than those which figure in the latter work. Sensible of the justice of the criticisms on some of the scenes and positions in the Dame aux Camelias, where the realities of certain phases of society were rather too strongly indicated, Dumas, in his new work, has studiously avoided anything in langiage or in situations which might disturb the conventionalisms of the public, or conflict with the severest taste. The story is not with- out its frequent counterpart in real life, and exposes the follies and dan- gers which attend on badly assorted marriages, made to suit family pride or interest, and has a useful and impressive moral. The accessories of the story are drawn in with all the glow of Dumus’ genius. They are often roseate, and frequentiy worked up with consummate dramatic skill. Altogether, the Dame aux Ferles is a work of higher standard than the Dame aux Camelias, while being equally exciting and brilliant. It is now, for the first time, presented to the public in an English translation. Its popularity can hardly fail to equal, if it does not exceed, that of the previous work of the same author, _Sk SA SS So init era eaANNETTE: 3 Poe AY OF PHAR. FROM THE FRENCH OF ALEXANDER DUMAS, JR. CHAPTER I. A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. _ EARLY in December, 184-, just after my return from the South of France, I was invited to dine with a lady whom I had met several times before my departure, under circum- stances which placed us at once on a footing of entire con- fidence. The fact is, I had been presented to her by my bosom friend, James de Feuil, who, having no secrets from me, had informed me of the relations which they bore toward each other. The following Tuesday at six, I was announced in Madame de Wine’s drawing-room. James was there before me, as was his right and duty. There was music in the parlor, for I must tell you that James was a musician, and if I should mention some of his works, you would be surprised to recognize, under the name which I have given him, one of the most popular composers of the age. We embraced, ag became good comrades who had been a long time separated. A few moments after, Madame de Wine made her appearance. She was beautiful, in the fullest sense of the word; how could she fail to be so with her magnificent liquid black eyes, shaded by long, dark lashes; her mass of glossy, silken hair gathered in a knot behind, and resting on full, white shoulders, which Venus herself might have envied; a nose, classic, as Minerva’s; a bow-shaped, rosy mouth, which, when the full lips parted, displayed teeth of dazzl- ing whiteness; a slender but exquisitely rounded form, the graceful undulations of which were discernible through her gilken bodice; and, added to all this, an arm, full, firm,ANNETTE. and beautifully molded. But that which rendered Madame de Wine remarkable above all, that for which one would have loved even an ugly woman, had she possessed them, were her tiny feet. These feet were a marvelous freak of nature. It seemed an impossibility for them to serve any useful purpose, and yet Madame de Wine walked much and often to display them; and I would have defied any one, the son just disinherited, the merchant at the moment of failure, the lover hastening to his first ren- dezvous, to have avoided turning as they passed him. Madame de Wine was about twenty-six or twenty-seven yearsofage. There were days when you would have searcely imagined her eighteen, and the Tuesday when I dined at her house was one of these. She received me very graciously, and even warmly. The conversation turned upon my late journey, and on a trip which she had made to Bangeres during the month of July, when, suddenly addressing me, she exclaimed: ‘‘Do you believe it possible! M. de Feuil would not even spend a week with me there, and yet it would not have cost him much of a sacrifice!” As she uttered these words, her face assumed an expression of deep sadness. lat once inferred that my friend James did not always behave exactly as he should do, but attached little importance to her reproach. So I turned the conversation, while awaiting the arrival of the three other guests, con- sisting of the mother of our hostess, a female friend, and a Ree gentleman of sixty, with whom Madame de Wine ad become acquainted at Bagneres. As for James, who during our conversation had been listlessly turning over the leaves of an album, he wasa tall, handsome fellow of twenty-seven. Our friendship dated back to our college days. Usually, boyish fancies, like our first teeth, soon disappear to make place for friend- ships, less tender, perhaps, but stronger, and more lasting. But with us, time had only served to strengthen our attachment. It must be admitted that his was an except- ional nature, outside even of his talent. An enthusiast in turn gay and sad, often profound, always original, always artistic, with a noble heart, an independent spirit, and an iron constitution, he had everything to render life useful and agreeable. At college he passed fora handsome idle fellow. brilliant but not practical. He loved just those studies which it was not deemed advisable for him to pur- sue: music, drawing, nature. 1 can recall him now to my und, mate his ee his large, blue eyes, and his pale ace, which seemed to prophesy an earl alt. only ne ae Fanos. ee a oe 8 e had lost his father when very young. Som comrades maliciously insinuated Leta father had wereans aint sateetsdinnss dest napaSbeaMb ls Me aannr ca sce Sei sce ANNETTE. existed. But that matters little. At this day, thank God, a man has the right to de the moment that he 7s; and, with talent and honesty, he has the best and noblest heritage which man possibly can have; and so much the worse for his father if he does not know him! A lady, then still young and beautiful, came two or three times every week tosee James. She was his mother. Al- ways alone, always in black, and always closely veiled. They would sit alone together for half an hour ata time, and almost always, after those interviews, James’ eyes were red with weeping. Why these tears? Had his mother re- proached him for neglect of his studies? No, that mother was not one to utter reproaches! I think most probably their conversation turned on some sad remembrances to both, for often when they separated the cheeks of the mother were as moist as those of the child. Doubtless they had talked of that dead or unknown father; one thing at least was certain, the beart of our young comrade alread concealed a sorrow, or one of those first secrets of life oie induce precocious pallor and melancholy. But why dwell upon James’ boyhood? At the time when we, or rather when you, reader, make his acquaintance, he is no longer the dreaming student, the sad orphan, the sickly child. He is a handsome, noble fellow, full of heart and talent, already renowned for his works, still devoted to his mother, and adored by one of the most beautiful women in Paris. Ican not conceive that his condition is a very sad one. The expected guests soon came in. Madame de Wine’s mother was an exceedingly disagreeable person. Dyed hair, small eyes, pinched lips, hanging cheeks, a crooked nose, and a receding chin; the whole set off by a purple silk dress and a cap with ribbons of the same color. Such was the mother of Madame de Wine, to whom James paid his respects, but whom he left immediately. As to the other lady, she was quite a different person. She appeared to me likea little princess in distress, come to visit a friend incognito. Her toilet was perfectly simple but elegant . Mademoiselle de Norcy, for the lady was not married, was about thirty years of age. She was a perfect model of taste and quiet elegance. In point of beauty she was in no way comparable to Madame de Wine, and yet there was an expression in her face which the other’s lacked, and which rendered her peculiarly fascinating. Tenderness, benevolence, all true and womanly feelings, a good heart, wit, high breeding, were all delineated in her elicate fea- tures, and expressed in a gentle bearing, which made up a soft, harmonious picture. inexpressibly touching and pleas- lng. Madame de Wine did not appear to advantage besideANNETTE. elected the less beautiful of the two. thousand a year. ame de Wine, James, and myself. ou together.” her visit. evening. after leaving my house?” * To his own home, Madame.” ** Not so!” tranquillize the lady, this lady; and if I had been called upon to choose between the opulent beauty of the one and the indescribable fascin- ation of the other, my sympathy would probably have triumphed over my self-love, and I should, I think, have Such was our party, with a provincial gentleman, who still carried a red and yellow handkerchief, and whose time was divided between his daily newspaper, whist-parties, his municipal duties, and’ the cares of an income of twelve : The dinner was a pleasant one, and we had music in the are - evening. When ten o’clock struck, Mile. de Norcy retired, ot accompanied hy M. Gabert, who offered her his arm; the A mother also left with them, and we remained alone—Mad- We talked in turn of art, poetry, and love, till the candles began to burn down, and I began to fancy that there was one too many in our little party, so as midnight struck I rose. amazcment, James did what I certainly should not have done in his place, he rose also; and, after kissing Madame de Wine’s hand (who looked sadly at me, as much as to say, ‘‘ You see how he acts”), he took my arm and went out with me hurriedly, as if he feared being detained. Madame de Wine accompanied us as far as the door; she even bent over the banisters to look after us, as we de- scended the stairs; and asshe bade us adieu for the last time, unless I mistake greatly, two large tears glistened in her dark eyes. At last she entered her room, and I heard her door close slowly, as if to recall James, who, not ap- pearing to notice this, shook hands with me when we got in the street, and said: ‘‘ Good-night, we are going in different a. directions; to-morrow I will see you.” Then, as if to pre- | vent any inquiry on my part, he added: ‘‘I have much to tell you, I will call for you at five to-morrow, we will dine To my utter Next morning my servant informed me that the lady with i whom I had dined the day previously desired admittance. i I sent for her to come in, and a moment after Madame de Wine entered. She was much agitated, and deadly pale. ' Pardon me,” she said, ‘but must speak with you,” I begged her to be seated, divining at once the object of “Listen to me, sir; you are J ames’ friend, you know his every action. Tell me, I beg of you, where he went last I was much embarrassed, but my first thought wae toANNETTE. “You are mistaken, Madame, for I accompanied James: She interrupted me: ‘Thanks, sir, but, unfortunately, I know to the contrary. I waited at his door until four this morning.” *‘ He had doubtless entered the house before you reached there.” ‘* No, sir, for I inquired.” FE had nothing further to say. : ‘‘ James has ceased to love me, sir!” and the poor woman could no longer restrain her tears. ‘‘He is deceiving me: he loves another, Iam sure. If you only knew how heis changed! Oh!lamvery miserable. And itis cruelin him to cause me so much sorrow, forno one will ever love him asIdo. During the fifteen months that we have been ac- quainted he has not had a single cause of complaint. I have tried in every way to please him, have studied his tastes, conformed to his habits, anticipated his wishes, yielded to his caprices! I have no will but his! He dislikes my mother, so I see her as rarely as possible. My doors are closed to all my own friends, and opened to all of his. I am no obstacle to his labors or his relations. I know what it is to be an artist; and at his age above all! Ihave done everything that he has ever requested me to do. Well, he seems bored in my society. He spends five minutes with me, then rises to take his leave. He passes all his evenings out. He is unjust to-me, he wounds me in all my little womanly vanities. If I put on a new dress, he complains of my want of taste; he criticizes all I do, not only when we are alone but before others. WhenI ask him toaccom- pany me anywhere, he refuses under pretext that I am too eautiful, and that every one looks at me, which humiliates him. A pretty reason to giveto a woman! Is not this the conduct of a man who no longer loves! But I could for- give allthis, did I not suspect thas he has formed another attachment. Did I not, yesterday evening, do everything possible to retain him? ‘*T could not resist the desire to convince myself. I took a carriage and drove to his house. Oh! if I could only have seen him enter it, I should have said to mysclf: ‘He has returned home to work; a mind like his has frequent need of solitude.’ But he did not return. What a night I assed! Where was he? What was he doing? I cannot ive and suffer thus. IT returned home crushed, sick with cold and despair; I have a burning fever; I have wept the whole livelong night! Render me, sir, a service for which T shall be grateful all my life. See James, learn from him the truth, and confide it to me. I swear to you that he ghall never know that I am informed of it; but when I] am dee eeANNETTE. Bein. / convinced that he no longer cares for me, or that he loves Wie / another, I will leave Paris. My health, never very robust, : j i will afford me a pretext, and in some distant spot ) “ I will seek to forget the hopes which I had formed, ) for, to speak frankly to you, I had connected all my dreams of the future with James. I was so proud of his talent, I encouraged, I sustained, I incited him, to the utmost of my ability. “I think him the greatest of men, and would have all the world indorse my judgment. ina word,llove him. Irely, sir, upon you; deal frankly | \;ibh me, do not encourage me with false hopes, and what- ae ever may be the nature of your communication to me, be- Lal lieve me, I shall be deeply grateful for your kindness.” re _ , IT was touched with what she had said, for it was the lan- suage of one who wished to be deceived, and only craveda sincle word to encourage her in her self-deception. ‘* James loves you, madame, I feel assured. The uneven- ness of his disposition, of which you complain, is natural to him. Besides, we artists are capricious and fitful. I have no doubt James could satisfactorily explain how he passed last night; perhaps at the house of a friend, at a ball, or even at thecard-table. Heused to befond ofplay. Mental labor demands frequently powerful distractions. Then his profession puts him in relation with actresses and danseuses. He may have been obliged to visit some of these, and have feared toinform you, lest your love might attach some im- portance to amatter so trivial to him. However, madame, I will see him to-day; I will question him, and whatever he tells me, you shall know at once.” The encouracement I had given to Madame de Wine, I was tar from feeling myself; but I hoped to beable to eon- vince James that he was trifling with his own happiness. a lior Madame de Wine was young, beautiful, a widow, rich, free, a woman of the world, and I could not conceive of a i imore agreeable or judicious mode for my friend to dispose Lat of his heart than by placing it in her care. Doubtless James had been guilty of some infidelity; butit was probi- bly some caprice for an actress, and a caprice only. Madame de Wine was much more composed when she le!t me; and made me promise not to mention her visit to James. At five, he came in, Smiling and singing with on air of perfect happiness. This gayety argued illfor Madame de \Wine. ‘‘ How lively you appear!” I observed. ‘* Yes, 1 am perfectly happy 1” e Where have you been?” . ** On horseback.” ‘and what do you propose to do this evening?” ‘“T do not know yet.”ANNETTE. “ And to-night where are you going?” ‘‘ Where I went last night.” ‘‘ And where may that be?” ‘‘You are too inquisitive!” “Then what I suspect is true?” ‘* And what do you suspect?” ‘That you are deceiving Madame de Wine.” ‘*Perhaps I am.” ‘“You are wrong. She loves you.” ‘‘She imagines that she does, no doubt: “‘T am sure of it.” ‘Well, you will see that she will survive our separation.” ‘““Then you are about to leave her?” ‘“T am obliged to do so.” ‘“‘Poor woman!” “You pity her?” 66 Yes. ? ‘Vou are right,” said James, suddenly becoming grave; for his transitions of feeling were rapid in the extreme; ‘vou are right, and I also pity her! But I cannot help it, my dear fellow, my heart is full, for now I am really in love! Well, IL assure you I did everything possible to become at- tached to Madame de Wine. I sought to love her above all others, but the thing was impossible. I never composed a decent piece of music while with her; now if you wish a masterpiece like William Tell or Don Giovanni, just give me @ pen and paper!” ‘‘ Perhaps you are deceiving yourself. How long has this been going on?” ‘¢ Six weeks.” ‘«‘ And during that time Madame de Wine——” ‘““T invent every day some new pretext for absenting my- self from her. I know Iam unjust to her, but how can I act otherwise! When I think of all the little pieces of infamy of which I have been guilty, in order to steal from her a day oran hour of my time, I blush for myself and feel humiliated. Yet what can I do? I cannot bluntly tell her that I do not, that I never did love her. And yet to do so would be more loyal and less cruel than thus to deceive her, and cause her pain, for she 1s suffering—I can see it. Oh! if she would only take the initiative in breaking off the connection; if she would but love some one else: if she would only be happy with another, what a good friend I would be- come to her! Why is it that aman can never see a pretty woman without paying court to her, even when he does not love her! What an absurd tradition! If I had only avoided doing this, I_ should have gained the devoted friendship of Madame de Wine as | have that of Mademoiselle de Norcy, who is truly attached tome. True, Mademoiselle de Norcy’s as RS donee ER aE IRIE Sem inrere “a Se Bg Snes oe