“Very good,” she said: and then she added, calmly, “will you give me the box, Sarah, that you will find at the bottom of the wardrobe? The key of it is here.”
“But, grandmother,” I exclaimed, “the smoke is beginning to come in here. We have not any time to lose.”
“Well, do as you like, I shall not leave without my box!” With the help of Charles Haas and of Arthur Meyer, we put my grandmother on Sohège’s back, in spite of herself. He was of medium height, and she was extremely tall, so that her long legs touched the ground, and I was afraid she might get them injured. Sohège, therefore, took her in his arms, and Charles Haas carried her legs. We then set off, but the smoke stifled us, and after descending about ten stairs I fell down in a faint.
When I came to myself, I was in my mother’s bed. My little boy was asleep in my sister’s room, and my grandmother was installed in a large armchair. She sat bolt upright, frowning, and with an angry expression on her lips. She did not trouble about anything but her box, until at last my mother was angry, and reproached her severely in Dutch with only caring for herself. She answered excitedly, and her neck craned forward, as though to help her head to peer through the perpetual darkness which surrounded her. Her thin body wrapped in an Indian shawl of many colors, the hissing of her strident words, which flowed freely, all contributed to make her resemble a serpent in some terrible nightmare. My mother did not like this woman, who had married my grandfather when he had six big children, the eldest of whom was sixteen and the youngest, my uncle, five years. This second wife had never had any children of her own, and she had been indifferent and even hard toward those of her husband, and consequently she was not liked in the family. I had taken her in because smallpox had broken out in the family with whom she had been boarding. She had then wished to stay with me, and I had not had courage enough to oppose her. On the occasion of the fire, though, I considered she behaved so badly that a strong dislike to her came over me, and I resolved not to have her any longer in my house.
News of the fire was brought to us. It continued to rage, and burned everything in my flat, absolutely everything, even to the very last book in my library. My greatest trouble was that I lost a magnificent portrait of my mother by Bassompierre Severin, a pastelist very much in vogue under the Empire; an oil portrait of my father, and a very pretty pastel of my sister Jeanne. I had not much jewelry, and all that was found of the bracelet given to me by the Emperor was a huge shapeless mass which I still have. I had a very pretty diadem, set with diamonds and pearls, given to me by Kabil Bey, after a performance at his house. The ashes of this had to be riddled in order to find the stones. The diamonds were there, but the pearls had melted.
I was absolutely ruined, for the money that my father and his mother had left me I had spent in furniture, curiosities, and a hundred other useless things, which were the delight of my life. I had, too, and I own it was absurd, a tortoise named Chrysagère. Its back was covered with a shell of gold, set with very small blue, pink, and yellow topazes. Oh, how beautiful it was and how droll! It used to wander round my flat, accompanied by a small tortoise named Zerbinette, which was its servant, and I amused myself for hours watching Chrysagère, flashing with a hundred lights under the rays of the sun or the moon. Both my tortoises died in this fire.
Duquesnel, who was very kind to me at that time, came to see me a few weeks later, for he had just received a summons from the fire insurance company, whose papers I had refused to sign the day before the catastrophe. The company claimed a heavy sum from me for damages to the other tenants of the house. The second story was almost entirely destroyed, and for many months the whole building had to be propped up. I did not possess the forty thousand francs claimed. Duquesnel offered to give a benefit performance for me, which would, he said, free me from my difficulty. De Chilly was very walling to agree to anything that would be of service to me. This benefit was a wonderful success, thanks to the presence of the adorable Adelina Patti. The young singer, who was then the Marquise de Caux, had never before sung at a benefit performance, and it was Arthur Meyer who brought me the news that “La Patti” was going to sing for me. Her husband came during the afternoon, to tell me how glad she was of this opportunity of proving to me her sympathy. As soon as the “fairy bird” was announced, every seat in the house was promptly taken, at prices which were higher than those originally fixed. She had no reason to regret her friendly action, for never was any triumph more complete. The students greeted her with three cheers as she came on the stage. She was a little surprised at this noise of bravos in rhythm. I can see her now coming forward, her two little feet encased in pink satin. She was like a bird hesitating as to whether it would fly or remain on the ground. She looked so pretty, so smiling, and when she trilled out the gemlike notes of her wonderful voice the whole house was delirious with excitement. Everyone sprang up and the students stood on their seats, waved their hats and handkerchiefs, nodded their young heads, in their feverish enthusiasm for art, and encored with intonations of the most touching supplication. The divine singer then began again, and three times over she had to sing the cavatina from the “Barber of Seville,” Una voce poco fa.
I thanked her affectionately afterwards, and she left the theater escorted by the students, who followed her carriage for a long way, shouting over and over again: “Long live Adelina Patti!” Thanks to that evening’s performance I was able to pay the insurance company. I was ruined all the same, or very nearly so.
I stayed a few days with my mother, but we were so cramped for room there that I took a furnished flat in the Rue de l’Arcade. It was a wretched house and the flat was dark. I was wondering how I should get out of my difficulties, when one morning M. C——, my father’s notary, was announced. This was the man I disliked so much, but I gave orders that he should be shown in. I was surprised that I had not seen him for so long a time. He told me that he had just returned from Hombourg, that he had seen in the newspaper an account of my misfortune, and had now come to put himself at my service. In spite of my distrust, I was touched by this, and I related to him the whole drama of my fire. I did not know how it had started, but I vaguely suspected my maid Josephine of having placed my lighted candle on the little table to the left of the head of my bed. I had frequently warned her not to do this, but it was on this little piece of furniture that she always placed my water bottle and glass, and a dessert dish with a couple of raw apples, for I like eating apples when I wake in the night. On opening the door there was always a terrible draught, as the windows were left open until I went to bed. On closing the door after her the lace bed curtains had probably caught fire. I could not explain the catastrophe in any other way. I had several times seen the young servant do this stupid thing, and I supposed that on the night in question she had been in a hurry to go to bed on account of her bad headache. As a rule, when I was going to undress myself, she prepared everything and then came in and told me, but this time she had not done so. As a rule, too, I just went into the room myself to see that everything was right, and several times I had been obliged to move the candle. That day, however, was destined to bring me misfortune of some kind, though it was not a very great one.
“But,” said the notary, “you were not insured, then?”