aspasia's toilet
aurélie de saint-amour might very well have called coster de saint-victor by his name, since she had recognized him; but the handsome young man had many rivals, and consequently many enemies, and to utter his name might have given the signal for his death.
coster on his side, on regaining consciousness, had recognized her; for, celebrated as she already was for her beauty, she was becoming even better known for her charm of manner and wit—that indispensable complement to beauty that desires to be called queen.
coster found her marvellously beautiful, but he could vie with barras neither in point of magnificence nor generosity. charm and beauty stood him instead of fortune, and he often succeeded with tender words where the most powerful men failed with more material means. coster was acquainted with all the shameful mysteries of parisian life, and was incapable of sacrificing a woman's position to a moment of egotism and a mere spark of passion.
perhaps the beautiful aspasia, now mistress of an independent fortune sufficient to gratify her desires, and which she was sure of increasing with the notoriety she had already acquired, would have preferred less delicacy and more passion on the young man's part. but in any case she wished to appear beautiful, so that he should love her the more if he remained, and regret her doubly if he were obliged to go away. but whatever her motive, suzette obeyed her to the letter, uniting all the mysteries of her art to the marvels of nature in making her beautiful, to use her mistress's expression, in that same boudoir into which we introduced our readers in the preceding chapter.
the modern aspasia, about to assume the dress of the[pg 276] aspasia of antiquity, was lying on the same sofa on which they had placed coster de saint-victor; but its position had been changed. it now stood between a small mantel-shelf covered with sèvres statuettes, and a psyche in a round frame forming an immense wreath of roses in dresden china. enveloped in a cloud of transparent muslin, aurélie had abandoned her head to suzette, who was arranging a greek coiffure; this fashion had been revived by political reminiscences, and particularly by the pictures of david, who was then at the height of his fame. a narrow, blue velvet ribbon covered with diamond stars was drawn about the forehead, and above the chignon, from which fell little curls so light that the faintest breath sufficed to set them waving.
thanks to the flowers of youth which bloomed in her face, and the peach-like down of her complexion, aurélie could afford to dispense with the powders and cosmetics with which women in those days, as well as the present, plastered their faces.
she would indeed have lost by them; for the skin of her breast and throat had reflections like mother-of-pearl and silver, whose rosy freshness would have been destroyed by even the smallest touch of cosmetics. her arms, molded in alabaster, slightly tinted by the rays of dawning day, harmonized marvellously with her bust. each detail of her body, in fact, seemed like a defiance of the most beautiful models of antiquity and the renaissance; only that nature, that wonderful sculptress, seemed to have blended the severity of antique art with the grace and delicacy of the modern.
this beauty was so genuine that its possessor seemed herself not quite accustomed to it; and every time that suzette took off an article of clothing, uncovering some new portion of her mistress's body, aurélie smiled at herself complacently, but without pride.
she would sometimes remain hours lying on her couch in the warm atmosphere of her boudoir, like the hermaph[pg 277]rodite of farnese or the venus of titian. this admiration of herself, which was shared by suzette, who could not refrain from looking at her young mistress with the admiring eyes of a young page, was this time shortened by the vibrating chimes of the clock, as well as by suzette, who now approached with a chemise of that filmy fabric which is woven only in the east.
"come, mistress," said suzette, "i know you are beautiful, no one better. but half-past nine has struck. never mind, your hair is done, and a very little will finish you."
aurélie shook her shoulders, like a statue removing a veil, and murmured these two questions, addressed to the supreme power which is called love: "what is he doing now? will he succeed?"
what coster de saint-victor was doing—for we will not wrong the beautiful aurélie by implying that she meant barras—we are about to inform you.
as we have already said, the feydeau was giving the first representation of "toberne, or the swedish fisherman," preceded by a little one-act opera called "the good son." barras, when he left mademoiselle de saint-amour, had only to cross the rue des colonnes. he arrived when the short piece was about half finished, and, as he was well known as one of the members who had most energetically supported the constitution, and was likely to be one of the members of the future directory, his entrance was greeted by murmurs and cries of: "down with the decrees! down with the two-thirds! long live the sections!"
the theatre was above all others the theatre of reactionary paris. however, those who had come to see the play overcame those who wished to disturb it. cries of "down with the interrupter!" rose above the others and quiet was restored. the short piece was finished quietly enough. but the curtain had scarcely fallen, when a young man mounted upon an orchestra-chair, and pointing to the bust of marat which was opposite that of lepelletier de saint-fargeau, exclaimed: "citizens, why do we suffer this mon[pg 278]ster with a human face, who is called marat, to pollute this spot, when, in the place which it usurps and defiles, we might see the citizen of geneva, the illustrious author of 'emile,' 'the social contract,' and 'the new héloise'?"
scarcely had the speaker finished this address, when, from balconies, gallery and pit, a thousand throats took up the cry: "it is he! it is coster de saint-victor! bravo, coster, bravo!"
and thirty or more young men from the group which the patrol had dispersed rose and waved their hats and brandished their canes.
coster drew himself up still higher, and, placing one foot on the back of the stalls, he continued: "down with the terrorists! down with marat! down with the bloody monster with three thousand heads! long live the author of 'emile,' of 'the social contract,' and 'the new héloise'!"
suddenly a voice shouted: "here is a bust of jean-jacques rousseau!"
two hands raised the bust above the audience. how did the bust of rousseau come there just when it was wanted? no one knew; but its appearance was hailed none the less with shouts of enthusiasm.
"down with the bust of marat! long live charlotte corday! down with the terrorists! down with the assassin! long live rousseau!"
