A horrible catastrophe occurred in Belgium, leaving
the inhabitants of the lower quarter of Brussels without
shelter or clothing. Relief was organized on
all sides, and the Theatre-Francaise announced a great
representation of Hernani to be given as a benefit
for the sufferers in the Royal Theatre de la Monnaie
in Brussels. The star who had undertaken “Dona
Sol” fell ill ten days before the performance
was due. The Comedie was much embarrassed, for
the usual understudy of the indisposed actress was
an amiable echo, with little talent. Mounet-Sully
thought immediately of Esperance and obtained permission
to make whatever arrangements he could with her.
His arrival at the Darbois home occasioned great excitement.
“I claim your indulgence in the name of charity,
Monsieur,” he said to Francois. “The
Comedie-Francaise finds itself in the most awkward
quandary. We have prepared a big gala performance
at La Monnaie, to raise money for all those poor Belgian
sufferers.”
“Oh! I have seen the notices,” said
Esperance, “with artistes of the Comedie, even
in the smaller roles. What would I not give to
see that production!”
Mounet-Sully smiled. “If your father will
give his permission, Mademoiselle, you can certainly
see it; for I have come to ask you to take part therein.”
“What do you mean?” asked M. Darbois curiously.
“Our ‘Dona Sol’ is sick,
very sick, and her understudy is not equal to such
an occasion. The last examination you passed in
Hernani delighted us with your manner of interpreting
the role. We will give you all the rehearsals
you need at the Comedie; you will be assisting at
a work of charity, and you will be recompensed for
whatever outlay or expense that you may incur.”
Esperance drew herself up. “If my father
will give his consent for me to make my own reply....”
“Yes,” said the professor simply.
“Then I will say ... thank you, father dear,”
she said, tremulously, “I will say that I am
happier than I can possibly tell you, at the great
honour you have done me, but that I do not want any
recompense.”
Mounet-Sully started to speak.
“Oh! no, I beg you, do not spoil my joy.”
“Then, we will take care of your travelling
expenses, and those of your party.”
She contracted her beautiful eyebrows a little.
“Oh! M. Mounet-Sully, I am rich just now,
think of all the money that I have made these four
months that we have been giving Victorien Sardou’s
play. I don’t want anything, I am glad,
so glad....”
She kissed her father and her mother impulsively,
and also the astonished old Mademoiselle.
“What about me?” asked Mounet-Sully gaily;
“do I not get my reward?”
She held up her forehead for a salutation from the
artist, who took leave of the family, glowing with
delight at the good news he had to carry back to the
Comedie.
