Sarah Bernhardt, the Queen of the Parisian stage, had completely transformed into the mistress of the Lavalner estate.
Her gait appeared elegant and composed, but a closer look revealed an imperceptible fragility in every step, as if the wooden floor beneath her feet might collapse at any moment.
She didn't speak immediately, nor did she deliberately look at anyone in the audience.
She merely tilted her head slightly, her gaze sweeping vaguely across the opulent drawing-room.
It was in this brief silence and the shift of her eyes that a strange feeling began to germinate in the audience's hearts, continuously spreading.
She was beautiful, like a meticulously crafted piece of porcelain; she was elegant, possessing an inherent aristocratic bearing...
But beneath this beauty and elegance lay a bottomless desolation, helplessness, and fragility.
She seemed less like a living person and more like a bubble about to burst, encased in magnificent attire and graceful composure.
Only Lionel, sitting in his box, knew that this was the effect achieved after countless discussions and rehearsals with Sarah.
They had abandoned the outward, hysterical performances typical of female characters in traditional tragedy, opting instead for an introverted, almost desperate tranquility.
Beneath this calm lay surging undercurrents of pain, a silent lament of a soul being slowly crushed.
Lionel had required Sarah Bernhardt to present the deepest core of "Madam Madeleine's" soul—what would later be called "brokenness."
This quality inspired an instinctive sympathy and protectiveness in humans more effectively than any weeping.
The audience of this era could not resist this "brokenness"—and indeed, a murmur of pity and astonishment rose from the stalls.
When they first heard about the "haunting" incident from Guillaume, many had pictured a licentious, scheming, wicked woman.
However, the woman before them—her fragility was so real, her paleness so striking...
It made it impossible for them to associate her with words like "insidious" or "promiscuous."
A strong question arose in the audience's minds:
Why would such a seemingly delicate and helpless woman fall into an illicit affair with her stepson?
What profound despair and oppression must have forced her onto this seemingly impossible path?
The critics were completely enthralled, whispering to each other, their pens rapidly recording notes—
"Mademoiselle Bernhardt's acting has reached perfection!"
"She needs no lines; she shapes a complete tragic soul with just her breath and her gaze!"
"This is another leap forward for the art of performance!"
"Only on the stage of the Comédie-Française, under this lighting, could such a leap be achieved!"
The audience watched as "Madam Madeleine" walked to the center of the living room, exchanged a few words with "Fanny," and then noticed the medicine on the table.
[FANNY (holding up the medicine, timidly): Madam, please take your medicine.
MADAM MADELEINE (voice light, tinged with weariness): Who said I was taking medicine?
FANNY: The Master ordered it.]
The word "Master" snapped through the air like a whip.
Although Madam Madeleine tried desperately to maintain surface calm, her body still trembled slightly.
That deep-seated fear and annoyance leaked out through this momentary tremor, allowing the audience to feel it clearly.
The "Master of Lavalner," who had not yet appeared, his authority, his will, seemed to cast a heavy shadow over the luxurious estate.
He made everyone here—the mistress, the young master, the servants—feel an inescapable suffocation.
[MADAM MADELEINE (glancing at the medicine): I didn't send for a doctor, where did this medicine come from?
FANNY: The Master said you suffer from hysteria and recalled the medicine you took before this morning, so he had it prepared and told me to give it to you as soon as you woke up.
MADAM MADELEINE (picking up the medicine and taking a sip, immediately frowning): It's very bitter. Who brewed it?
FANNY: I did.
MADAM MADELEINE (pushing the medicine away): It tastes too awful, throw it away!
FANNY (hesitating): Throw it away?
MADAM MADELEINE: Hmm? Fine... (Pauses briefly, with disgust) Or, you can just put it there for now. No, (resolutely) just throw it away.
FANNY (still hesitating): Hmm...
MADAM MADELEINE (muttering to herself): After all these years drinking this bitter medicine, I suppose I've had enough.]
FANNY: You should bear with it and drink it. Bitter medicine cures illness.
MADAM MADELEINE (coldly): Who asked you to advise me? Throw it out!
...]
This exchange about the "medicine," seemingly ordinary, further compelled the audience to understand "Madam Madeleine's" inner world.
This "medicine" wasn't just for curing illness; it was Lavalner's dual control over her body and spirit.
Her resistance, her compromise, her line, "I suppose I've had enough," all revealed the long-term oppression and suffering she endured in this family.
After the initial shock, the audience's sympathy deepened.
They began to believe that Madam Madeleine's "fall" was absolutely not due to inherent nature, but the result of being long imprisoned in this cage.
Just then, a light, lively sound of footsteps and the cheerful chatter of a young man drifted in from the direction of the garden, breaking the suffocating gloom in the drawing-room.
["Fanny! Fanny! Look what I brought!"]
Following this sun-drenched shout, a figure entered the stage like a lark, riding a bicycle.
He circled the stage once on the bike, then carefully propped it against the wall before lightly hopping onto the steps to the side of the stage.
It was Antoine de Lavalner, the second young master of the house.
Unlike the gloom and anxiety of the other members of the household, Antoine wore a crisp white linen suit, his face flushed with healthy color, and his blue eyes were clear and bright.
His smile was so radiant it seemed capable of dispelling all shadows.
His entrance was like a scorching ray of sunlight suddenly illuminating this dark, stuffy mansion.
A relaxed chuckle and sigh of admiration even rose from the audience, infected by this sudden burst of brightness.
Especially the gleaming bicycle he rode—with wheels of equal size, it looked very light and fast, a fashionable item occasionally seen on the streets of Paris recently.
Sophie turned around in surprise, hugged Lionel tightly, and whispered:
"Lio, this is wonderful! This is the best advertisement!"
Lionel nodded:
"If the stage depth hadn't been extended to 14 meters and the proscenium width increased to 12 meters, the actors wouldn't have been able to complete a full circle."
The story on stage continued, but without the previous gloom—
[ANTOINE (excitedly approaching his mother): Mother! Why are you downstairs? Are you feeling any better? I just went cycling with friends to the Boulogne Forest; the air there is wonderful! I checked on you the past two days when I went upstairs; why do you always keep your door shut?
MADAM MADELEINE (looking at her son with affection): I wanted some quiet. Fanny, get the second young master a bottle of soda water. Look how red your face is.
ANTOINE (cheerfully): Thank you. Let me look at you. You look fine, not sick at all. Why do they always say you are ill? You hide away in your room alone. Look, Father has been home for three days, and you haven't seen him.
MADAM MADELEINE (growing more melancholy): I don't feel well in my heart.
ANTOINE (trying to comfort her): Oh, Mother, don't be like this. Father has wronged you, but he is old. I am your future. I will marry the very best person, Mother, and if you live with us, we will certainly feel happy.
MADAM MADELEINE (a bitter smile on her face): Happy? Oh, you're seventeen now, aren't you?
ANTOINE: Mother, look, if you forget my age again, I'm going to get angry with you!
MADAM MADELEINE (sinking into thought): Mother is not a good mother. Sometimes I forget where I even am myself. —Oh, eighteen years. In this old house, look, am I old now?]
This mother-son dialogue was filled with warmth, yet also tinged with sorrow.
Antoine's kindness and genuine love for his mother revealed a maternal side to Madam Madeleine.
And the subtle dissatisfaction Antoine expressed toward his father, coupled with Madam Madeleine's distraction and lament over her own situation...
All of this served as another reminder to the audience of the long, oppressive history of this family and the presence of the absent "tyrant."
This "tyrant" pressed heavily on the heart of every audience member like a huge stone.
(End of Chapter)