The Son of Clemenceau, A Novel of Modern Love and Life — John Shaqi
The Son of Clemenceau, A Novel of Modern Love and LifeDumas, Alexandre
General
The Son of Clemenceau, A Novel of Modern Love and Life
Dumas, Alexandre
Fiction
What did she sing to the strains of the voluptuous-waltz made vocal? The
words mattered not; in Esquimaux they would have been as intelligible
from the intonation with which she imbued every note, and the restricted
but perfectly comprehensible gestures with which she emphasized the
phrases of double meaning--one for the literary censors who had "passed"
this corruption, the other for even the more obtuse of the common herd.
The rival whom, without having seen her, she had dethroned, was
obliterated. It was not a transfer of allegiance--it was Semiramis;
trampling an overthrown empress among the charred ruins of her palace,
acclaimed without one dissentient shout, in her stead, and as the
initial of a new line of sovereigns. She enchanted, interested and
amused, while Rebecca had awed, ravished and strove apparently in vain
to lift to a level where the élite alone soar without dread of a fall.
A witty cardinal has said that if a fly were seen in the drinking-cup by
an Italian, a Frenchman and a German, respectively, the first would send
it away, the second fish out the insect before he drank, while the
German would gulp liquor and fly, without demur.
The good audience of Freyers' Harmonista swallowed the so-called
Fraulein von Vieradlers, flies and all! Claudius saw no more clearly
than they; not only was the girl an unsurpassable idol, but to its very
feet it was pure gold and immaculate ivory. An insane idea seized him
not only to win her--a hundred around him shared that desire--but to
keep her spotless, as he thought her, whatever the gossips had said.
After all, slander had no opening to attack one whose youth was
manifest; who owed no complexion to the wax-mask, the bismuth powder,
and the carmine; whose hair was real and fine and of a shade which no
dye could imitate; and whose movements, though in a society dance far
removed from the wild whirl of the monads seen on this same stage, had
the freedom of the bacchantes.
After all, the unworthiness of the object no more changes the quality of
love than that of the glass alters the banquet of wine.
Oh, to withdraw her from this turbulent career, for which surely she was
not inextricably destined, and let her be the bright but flawless
ornament of a happy home and a choice circle--if not the lady of
fashion, in case the student realized one of his fantastic dreams of
aimless ambition. The quiet learner felt an immense flame usurp the
place of his blood; he seemed gifted with the powers of the athletic
Duke of Munich, Christopher the Leaper, whose statue adorned the
proscenium, and like him, clearing the orchestra with a bound of twelve
feet, he would have grasped the girl wasting her graces of voice and
person on these boors, and carried her off to a more congenial sphere.
Obliged to repeat her song and the dance which filled the gap between
two verses, the charmer held the spectators in a spell even more firm
than that she had first imposed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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