Chapter 2016: Chapter 186: Eld’s Heaven (2)
Arthur put down the teacup: "It’s not just about making her angry; it involves some matters related to the Duchess of Kent. That’s why I need to hurry to Paris and find her a few pianists who can cheer her up."
Eld blinked, as if hearing some tall tale: "Uh... did you have a tiff with her?"
Arthur didn’t answer immediately; his fingers gently caressed the floral patterns on the porcelain.
The dining room swayed gently with the waves of the English Channel, and his voice slowly dropped: "If it were just a tiff, that would be easy. The problem is, she’s not just angry; she feels I’m siding with her mother."
Arthur briefly explained the background of the matter to Eld, of course omitting many "irrelevant" details to avoid unnecessary misunderstandings and uncontrollable gossip.
Eld grinned and whistled: "So that’s what it was about..."
The "Nottingham Love Guru" leaned in, lowering his voice: "Arthur, you’re really playing with fire. At her age, she wouldn’t have so many political considerations. You might as well, like Viscount Melbourne, say a few nice words to her; maybe she’ll forget about the past when she’s in a good mood one day."
Arthur sighed: "Eld, you know me. I have no idea how to charm a girl."
"If you don’t know, you can ask me!" Eld excitedly jumped up, couldn’t help but give Arthur some advice: "Listen to me, don’t act all mysterious. Girls don’t buy that stuff! If she cries, you sigh along. If she fusses, you just admit your wrong. Even if it’s not your fault, you admit it. Once you admit fault, half the issue is resolved."
Arthur responded half-heartedly: "I’ve admitted to quite a few faults, but she might not truly forgive me."
"That’s because you didn’t admit convincingly enough." Eld analyzed seriously, as if the Duke of Wellington was deploying tactics at Waterloo: "I’ll teach you a few lines, take notes. When you see her, say: ’Your Majesty, you are the brightest sun in my life. If I ever strayed, it’s because your brilliance had me so dazzled that I lost my way.’ If she’s still angry, add: ’I live to see your smile.’
This time it was Arthur who was uncomfortable, couldn’t help but tease: "Really? These words sound like they’re from the last century."
Eld didn’t care if Arthur bought it or not. This British literature luminary, who just anonymously published the book "The Playboy of Nottingham, or The London Women’s Emotional Guide" last month, looked serious, as if lecturing: "Believe it or not, this works wonders! Back in Argentina, just with this trick, I led more than one girl out of the tavern."
"I’m more inclined to believe they were attracted to those British Pounds peeking out of your pocket."
"Of course, I don’t deny the Pounds might have played some marginal role."
Talk about girls, and Eld instantly came alive. Even his smile carried a hint of sea breeze saltiness: "Paris! Ah, Paris! Arthur, do you know how long I’ve waited for this day?"
He waved his hand, as if the crude ship cabin dining room had transformed into a magnificent hall like the Paris Opera House: "When Alexander was last in London, he didn’t leave my ears alone. The theaters in Paris, ballet women on stage, nobility, bankers, journalists, and politicians in the audience. Even before the curtain falls, people are already sending bouquets and jewelry backstage. Ah, those French folks."
In contrast to Eld, who hadn’t been to Paris, Arthur had a noticeably more composed attitude towards this heart of Europe city.
It’s not that he wasn’t aware of the infamous Paris showbiz; being a friend of the Great Dumas, if he were oblivious to the intricacies of the Paris entertainment circle, it would seem like fake modesty.
In a Paris theater, a pair of ballet shoes worn by a famous dancer could easily sell for 20 to 50 Francs, depending on fame.
If you convert, that’s roughly equivalent to half a month’s to a month’s wages for a skilled Paris worker.
For smaller items like gloves, fans, or ribbons, as long as they were used on stage, they could all sell for over 10 Francs.
Of course, if you wanted to get ahold of some intimate apparel, like petticoats or stockings, often with romantic connotations, the price would be higher. If these items belonged to renowned star actors, you’d have to be well-prepared financially. Without 200 Francs, you couldn’t easily acquire them.
Eld, as a second-class clerk in the Navy Department and deputy director of the Hydrographic Office, now boasted an annual salary of 250 British Pounds.
What’s the concept of this amount? It’s enough to buy a hundred sets of a hot Parisian actress’s full attire.
According to the Great Dumas, if someone wanted the symbolic promise of exclusivity over a certain actress’s personal item, some would offer prices as high as a thousand Francs, or directly gift a gold watch and diamond ring.
Of course, saying it’s exclusivity over a personal item, everyone knows what it really means.
After all, according to Parisian convention, such patrons, when present in the VIP suite, would often be invited by the actress backstage under the pretext of rehearsal.
Eld became more animated, even gesticulating as he spoke: "I’ve heard some actresses can’t even memorize their scripts, rehearsing just for show. Yet they still have endless money, champagne, and tokens gifted. The backstage in Paris is ten times more exciting than the stage itself. If we could somehow get in..."
Arthur, hearing this, put down his teacup, pulled out a stack of cards from his pocket, and slid them across the table: "Why sneak in? You could go in openly."
"Openly?" Eld stared dumbfounded at the stack of cards for a while: "What’s this?"
"This one’s for the Odéon Theatre, this one’s for the Italian Opera House, and this one’s for the Saint Martin Theater. Oh, and this one here belongs to Alexander’s Historical Theatre, located at Temple Street, No. 72. But you probably wouldn’t need to bring these business cards to enjoy VIP treatment there, just visiting backstage. Those under Alexander’s employ wouldn’t likely stop a good friend of the boss. However, whether you can enter the dressing room depends on whether the girls see you favorably."
Eld looked at the stack of cards as if seeing the golden key to Heaven’s gate and was so excited, perhaps due to insufficient blood flow to the brain, that he carefully cradled the cards but couldn’t utter a complete sentence.
"Arthur, are you really so well-connected in Paris? How come you never mentioned this to me before?"
Arthur glanced at Eld and poured himself some tea: "I’ve never inquired about your affairs with Lady Argentina either. Can’t friends have some mystery between them? Besides, when I was in Paris, I was under the prestigious banner of a British diplomat. You understand, although we all serve Her Majesty the Queen, those Foreign Office bastards are seen as above the police and sailors by outsiders. If theaters frequently have diplomats visiting, their status can significantly rise, so they’re always happy to offer us foreigners tickets. It’s nothing unusual."
Eld suddenly got excited again, as if remembering something remarkable: "In London, to meet a theater’s backstage girl, someone would have to wait at the door for three years, writing letters, sending flowers, waiting for replies... But in Paris, as long as you have a card and a sincere heart... no, a sincere wallet. With those, you can step behind the curtain and explore that artistic paradise."
Arthur sighed: "I gave you the cards to keep you in check, so you don’t get thrown out as a drunk. However, if you’re really interested in Parisian girls, I recommend accompanying me to Liszt’s solo concert. After all, there’s no other place with more girls."
