Mademoiselle Emma was really charming. She was twenty-two years old and owned to twenty, but no one had yet offered her his name and fortune. Although the mother was persuaded that a king or a prince of the blood would have been fortunate to possess such a treasure, the simple gentlemen found that this pearl was exacting, and had luxurious tastes a little too costly for men of moderate fortunes.
That was why, in her despair, Madame Wtorkowska, née Weinberg, went back to her Israelite friends, among whom she hoped to find a rich merchant who would marry her daughter.
Emma was very beautiful, of that ideal type taken by the painters for Rachel or Rebecca. She was a dark-eyed blonde, with a snowy complexion, features which were like sculptured marble, large, black eyes full of a mysterious fascination, and rosy lips whose charming smiles displayed teeth of pearl. Nature had made her an actress, and her mother had developed in her the art of simulating all emotions and playing all rôles.
This mother knew excellently how to appear a literary woman, without having read much. She gave herself out as an accomplished musician, though she hardly knew the notes. She posed as a lady of high degree, although she had seen the best society only en négligé at the baths and in some salons of doubtful distinction, and she masked her poverty under a deceitful elegance and an appearance of wealth.
Emma, of which the Polish is Emusia, called herself, for short, Musia, which she further transformed into the French, Muse, which gave her a stamp of originality, and expressed by a name her diverse talents and her dazzling accomplishments. At an early age she learned to play the piano, and initiated herself in light and easy literature. Provided that the book was written in French, in an elegant style, her mother asked no more; as for the morals they inculcated she was utterly indifferent. "This is not suitable. That can harm you. You must guard yourself well from this or from that." These were the rules of conduct that Madame Wtorkowska gave to her daughter, who soon became accomplished in all her refinements: the art of dissimulation, habitual and unblushing falsehood, elegant and perfumed deceit. She had a great natural talent for music. At six years she passed for a little prodigy, at twelve she played in public, and at eighteen she was proclaimed Chopin's most clever interpreter. She had so enchanted Liszt at Ems, to believe her mother, that he would have married her then and there had it not been for the double obstacles of the princess ... and his priesthood. Muse, the better to attract attention, had adopted a very beautiful, although somewhat eccentric, toilet. Her mother lost no occasion to show her beautiful daughter at the theatre, at charity concerts, at the industrial exhibitions, and at the art galleries. She also added the publicity of the press, by procuring, from time to time, a flattering mention of the beauty and talents of Muse in the Courrier de Varsovie.
In spite of all, she had no luck so far; all the artifices of coquetry had not obtained a proposal of marriage worthy of being taken into consideration. Two aspirants only had presented themselves in a legitimate and honourable manner: a youth of eighteen years all fire and flame, and an old man foolishly in love. As neither of them had any money they were quickly refused.
At the baths of Spa or Ems a count also had offered himself, but this noble had ruined himself by a dissipated life, and, as he could not return to Warsaw on account of his debts, lived "by his wits."
In a moment of discouragement Muse thought of becoming an actress. "With my beautiful voice and charms of person," said she, "success is certain, and I shall soon be rolling in gold." But this idea was extremely distasteful to her mother, whose ambition was for a solid establishment, and not for the precarious life of the theatre. She wept, and implored her daughter not to think of it, and assured her that their pecuniary resources were sufficient to keep them in luxury for another year. Much might be accomplished during a twelvemonth. They were sure to secure a rich husband by that time. Why not wait before leaving the social sphere to which they were accustomed? The scenic career would always remain open.
The same day that Jacob dined at the Segels Madame Wtorkowska returned from the city to her villa in radiant humour, and found her daughter at the window reading one of Féval's novels. She contemplated her a moment with admiration.
"How lovely you are to-day," said she; "more beautiful than ever! That is right; your beauty is your capital. I have a magnificent project. We must succeed. Conquer or die is our motto!"