Captain Fracasse

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CAPTAIN FRACASSE


by Theophile Gautier




CONTENTS

I. Castle Misery
II. The chariot of Thespis
III. The Blue Sun Inn
IV. An adventure with brigands
V. At the Chateau de Bruyeres
VI. A snow-storm and its consequences
VII. Captain Fracasse
VIII. The Duke of Vallombreuse
IX. A melee and a duel
X. A midnight adventure
XI. The Pont-Neuf
XII. The Crowned Radish
XIII. A double attack
XIV. Lampourde's delicacy
XV. Malartic at work
XVI. Vallombreuse
XVII. The amethyst ring
XVIII. A family party
XIX. Nettles and cobwebs
XX. Chiquita's declaration of love
XXI. "Hymen! Oh Hymen!"
XXII. The castle of happiness




CAPTAIN FRACASSE



CHAPTER I. CASTLE MISERY

Upon the southern slope of one of those barren hills that rise abruptly
here and there in the desolate expanse of the Landes, in South-western
France, stood, in the reign of Louis XIII, a gentleman's residence, such
as abound in Gascony, and which the country people dignify by the name
of chateau.

Two tall towers, with extinguisher tops, mounted guard at the angles of
the mansion, and gave it rather a feudal air. The deep grooves upon
its facade betrayed the former existence of a draw-bridge, rendered
unnecessary now by the filling up of the moat, while the towers were
draped for more than half their height with a most luxuriant growth of
ivy, whose deep, rich green contrasted happily with the ancient gray
walls.

A traveller, seeing from afar the steep pointed roof and lofty towers
standing out against the sky, above the furze and heather that crowned
the hill-top, would have pronounced it a rather imposing chateau--the
residence probably of some provincial magnate; but as he drew near would
have quickly found reason to change his opinion. The road which led to
it from the highway was entirely overgrown with moss and weeds, save a
narrow pathway in the centre, though two deep ruts, full of water, and
inhabited by a numerous family of frogs, bore mute witness to the fact
that carriages had once passed that way.

The roof, of dark red tiles, was disfigured by many large,
leprous-looking, yellow patches, while in some places the decayed
rafters had given way, leaving formidable gaps. The numerous
weather-cocks that surmounted the towers and chimneys were so rusted
that they could no longer budge an inch, and pointed persistently in
various directions. The high dormer windows were partially closed by
old wooden shutters, warped, split, and in every stage of dilapidation;
broken stones filled up the loop-holes and openings in the towers; of
the twelve large windows in the front of the house, eight were boarded
up; the remaining four had small diamond-shaped panes of thick, greenish
glass, fitting so loosely in their leaden frames that they shook and
rattled at every breath of wind; between these windows a great deal of
the stucco had fallen off, leaving the rough wall exposed to view.

Above the grand old entrance door, whose massive stone frame and lintel
retained traces of rich ornamentation, almost obliterated by time and
neglect, was sculptured a coat of arms, now so defaced that the most
accomplished adept in heraldry would not be able to decipher it. Only
one leaf of the great double door was ever opened now, for not many
guests were received or entertained at the chateau in these days of its
decadence. Swallows had built their nests in every available nook about
it, and but for a slender thread of smoke rising spirally from a chimney
at the back of this dismal, half-ruined mansion, the traveller would
have surely believed it to be uninhabited. This was the only sign of
life visible about the whole place, like the little cloud upon the
mirror from the breath of a dying man, which alone gives evidence that
he still lives.

Upon pushing open the practicable leaf of the great worm-eaten door,
which yielded reluctantly, and creaked dolefully as it turned upon
its rusty hinges, the curious visitor entered a sort of portico, more
ancient than the rest of the building, with fine, large columns of
bluish granite, and a lofty vaulted roof. At the point of intersection
of the arches was a stone shield, bearing the same coat of arms that was
sculptured over the entrance without. This one was in somewhat better
preservation than the other, and seemed to bear something resembling
three golden storks (cigognes) on an azure field; though it was so much
in shadow, and so faded and dingy, that it was impossible to make it out
clearly. Fastened to the wall, at a convenient height from the ground,
were great iron extinguishers, blackened by the smoke from torches in
long by-gone years, and also iron rings, to which the guests' horses
were made fast in the olden times, when the castle was in its glory. The
dust that lay thick upon them now showed that it was long since they had
been made use of.

From this portico--whence a door on either side opened into the main
building; one leading into a long suite of apartments on the ground
floor, and the other into what had probably been a guard-room--the
explorer passed into an interior court, dismal, damp, and bare. In the
corners nettles and various rank weeds were growing riotously amid the
great heaps of rubbish fallen from the crumbling cornice high above, and
grass had sprung up everywhere in the crevices of the stone pavement.
Opposite the entrance a flight of dilapidated, shaky steps, with a heavy
stone balustrade, led down into a neglected garden, which was gradually
becoming a perfect thicket. Excepting in one small bed, where a few
cabbages were growing, there was no attempt at cultivation, and nature
had reasserted her rights everywhere else in this abandoned spot,
taking, apparently, a fierce delight in effacing all traces of man's
labour. The fruit trees threw out irregular branches without fear of
the pruning knife; the box, intended to form a narrow border to the
curiously shaped flower-beds and grass-plots, had grown up unchecked
into huge, bushy shrubs, while a great variety of sturdy weeds had
usurped the places formerly devoted to choice plants and beautiful,
fragrant flowers. Brambles, bristling with sharp thorns, which had
thrown their long, straggling arms across the paths, caught and tried
to hold back any bold adventurer who attempted to penetrate into the
mysterious depths of this desolate wilderness. Solitude is averse to
being surprised in dishabille, and surrounds herself with all sorts of
defensive obstacles.

However, the courageous explorer who persisted in following the ancient,
overgrown alley, and was not to be daunted by formidable briers that
tore his hands and clothing, nor low-hanging, closely interlaced
branches that struck him smart blows in the face as he forced his
way through them, would have reached at last a sort of rocky niche,
fancifully arranged as a grotto. Besides the masses of ivy, iris and
gladiolus, that had been carefully planted long ago in the interstices
of the rock, it was draped with a profusion of graceful wild vines and
feathery ferns, which half-veiled the marble statue, representing some
mythological divinity, that still stood in this lonely retreat. It must
have been intended for Flora or Pomona, but now there were tufts of
repulsive, venomous-looking mushrooms in the pretty, graceful, little
basket on her arm, instead of the sculptured fruit or flowers that
should have filled it. Although her nose was broken, and her fair body
disfigured by many dark stains, and overgrown in part with clinging
mosses, it could still plainly be seen that she had once been very
lovely. At her feet was a marble basin, shaped like a shell, half full
of discoloured, stagnant water; the lion's head just above it, now
almost entirely concealed by a thick curtain of leaves, no longer poured
forth the sparkling stream that used to fall into it with a musical
murmur. This little grotto, with its fountain and statue, bore witness
to former wealth; and also to the aesthetic taste of some long-dead
owner of the domain. The marble goddess was in the Florentine style of
the Renaissance, and probably the work of one of those Italian sculptors
who followed in the train of del Rosso or Primaticcio, when they came
to France at the bidding of that generous patron of the arts, Francis I;
which time was also, apparently, the epoch of the greatest prosperity of
this noble family, now so utterly fallen into decay.

Behind the grotto rose a high wall, built of stone, crumbling and mouldy
now, but still bearing some broken remains of trellis-work, evidently
intended to be covered with creepers that would entirely conceal the
wall itself with a rich tapestry of verdure. This was the limit of the
garden; beyond stretched the wide expanse of the sandy, barren Landes,
flecked here and there with patches of scanty heather, and scattered
groves of pine trees.

Turning back towards the chateau it became apparent that this side of
it was even more neglected and ruinous than the one we have already
described; the recent poverty-stricken owners having tried to keep up
appearances as far as possible, and concentrated their efforts upon the
front of their dilapidated abode. In the stable, where were stalls for
twenty horses, a miserable, old, white pony stood at an empty manger,
nibbling disconsolately at a scanty truss of hay, and frequently turning
his sunken, lack-lustre eyes expectantly towards the door. In front of
an extensive kennel, where the lord of the manor used to keep a whole
pack of hounds, a single dog, pathetically thin, lay sleeping tranquilly
and soundly, apparently so accustomed to the unbroken solitude of the
place that he had abandoned all habits of watchfulness.

Entering the chateau the visitor found himself in a broad and lofty
hall, containing a grand old staircase, with a richly carved, wooden
balustrade--a good deal broken and defaced now, like everything else
in this doleful Castle Misery. The walls had been elaborately frescoed,
representing colossal figures of Hercules supporting brackets upon which
rested the heavily ornamented cornice. Springing from it fantastic vines
climbed upward on the arched ceiling, and above them the blue sky, faded
and dingy, was grotesquely variegated with dark spots, caused by
the water filtering through from the dilapidated roof. Between the
oft-repeated figures of Hercules were frescoed niches, wherein heads
of Roman emperors and other illustrious historical characters had been
depicted in glowing tints; but all were so vague and dim now that they
were but the ghosts of pictures, which should be described with the
shadows of words--ordinary terms are too substantial to apply to them.
The very echoes in this deserted hall seemed startled and amazed as they
repeated and multiplied the unwonted sound of footsteps.

A door near the head of the first flight of stairs opened into what had
evidently been the great banqueting hall in the old days when sumptuous
repasts and numerous guests were not uncommon things in the chateau. A
huge beam divided the lofty ceiling into two compartments, which were
crossed at regular intervals by smaller joists, richly carved, and
retaining some traces of gilding. The spaces between had been originally
of a deep blue tint, almost lost now under the thick coating of dust and
spiders' webs that no housemaid's mop ever invaded. Above the grand old
chimney-piece was a noble stag's head, with huge, spreading antlers, and
on the walls hung rows of ancient family portraits, so faded and mouldy
now that most of the faces had a ghastly hue, and at night, by the dim,
flickering lamp-light, they looked like a company of spectres. Nothing
in the world is sadder than a collection of old portraits hanging
thus, neglected and forgotten, in deserted halls--representations, half
obliterated themselves, of forms and faces long since returned to dust.
Yet these painted phantoms were most appropriate inhabitants of this
desolate abode; real living people would have seemed out of place in the
death-stricken house.

In the middle of the room stood an immense dining-table of dark,
polished wood, much worm-eaten, and gradually falling into decay. Two
tall buffets, elaborately carved and ornamented, stood on opposite sides
of the room, with only a few odd pieces of Palissy ware, representing
lizards, crabs, and shell-fish, reposing on shiny green leaves, and two
or three delicate wine-glasses of quaint patterns remaining upon the
shelves where gold and silver plate used to glitter in rich profusion,
as was the mode in France. The handsome old chairs, with their high,
carved backs and faded velvet cushions, that had been so firm and
luxurious once, were tottering and insecure; but it mattered little,
since no one ever came to sit in them now round the festive board, and
they stood against the wall in prim order, under the rows of family
portraits.

A smaller room opened out of this one, hung round with faded, moth-eaten
tapestry. In one corner stood a large bed, with four tall, twisted
columns and long, ample curtains of rich brocade, which had been
delicate green and white, but now were of a dingy, yellowish hue, and
cut completely through from top to bottom in every fold. An ebony table,
with some pretty gilded ornaments still clinging to it, a mirror
dim with age, and two large arm-chairs, covered with worn and faded
embroidery, that had been wrought by the fair fingers of some noble dame
long since dead and forgotten, completed the furniture of this dismal
chamber.

In these two rooms were the latticed windows seen in the front of the
chateau, and over them still hung long sweeping curtains, so tattered
and moth-eaten that they were almost falling to pieces. Profound silence
reigned here, unbroken save by occasional scurrying and squeaking
of mice behind the wainscot, the gnawing of rats in the wall, or the
ticking of the death-watch.

From the tapestried chamber a door opened into a long suite of deserted
rooms, which were lofty and of noble proportions, but devoid of
furniture, and given up to dust, spiders, and rats. The apartments on
the floor above them were the home of great numbers of bats, owls, and
jackdaws, who found ready ingress through the large holes in the roof.
Every evening they flew forth in flocks, with much flapping of wings,
and weird, melancholy cries and shrieks, in search of the food not to be
found in the immediate vicinity of this forlorn mansion.

The apartments on the ground floor contained nothing but a few bundles
of straw, a heap of corn-cobs, and some antiquated gardening implements.
In one of them, however, was a rude bed, covered with a single, coarse
blanket; presumably that of the only domestic remaining in the whole
establishment.

It was from the kitchen chimney that the little spiral of smoke escaped
which was seen from without. A few sticks were burning in the wide,
old-fashioned fireplace, but the flames looked pale under the bright
light that streamed down upon them through the broad, straight flue. The
pot that hung from the clumsy iron crane was boiling sleepily, and if
the curious visitor could have peeped into it he would have seen that
the little cabbage bed in the garden had contributed of its produce to
the pot-au-feu. An old black cat was sitting as close to the fire as he
could without singeing his whiskers, and gravely watching the simmering
pot with longing eyes. His ears had been closely cropped, and he had
not a vestige of a tail, so that he looked like one of those grotesque
Japanese chimeras that everybody is familiar with. Upon the table, near
at hand, a white plate, a tin drinking cup, and a china dish, bearing
the family arms stamped in blue, were neatly arranged, evidently in
readiness for somebody's supper. For a long time the cat remained
perfectly motionless, intently watching the pot which had almost ceased
to boil as the fire got low, and the silence continued unbroken; but
at last a slow, heavy step was heard approaching from without, and
presently the door opened to admit an old man, who looked half peasant,
half gentleman's servant. The black cat immediately quitted his place
by the fire and went to meet him; rubbing himself against the newcomer's
legs, arching his back and purring loudly; testifying his joy in every
way possible to him.

"Well, well, Beelzebub," said the old man, bending down and stroking him
affectionately, "are you really so glad to see me? Yes, I know you are,
and it pleases me, old fellow, so it does. We are so lonely here, my
poor young master and I, that even the welcome of a dumb beast is not
to be despised. They do say that you have no soul, Beelzebub, but you
certainly do love us, and understand most times what we say to you too."
These greetings exchanged, Beelzebub led the way back to the fire, and
then with beseeching eyes, looking alternately from the face of his
friend to the pot-au-feu, seemed mutely begging for his share of its
contents. Poor Beelzebub was growing so old that he could no longer
catch as many rats and mice as his appetite craved, and he was evidently
very hungry.

Pierre, that was the old servant's name, threw more wood on the
smouldering fire, and then sat down on a settle in the chimney corner,
inviting his companion--who had to wait still for his supper as
patiently as he might--to take a seat beside him. The firelight shone
full upon the old man's honest, weather-beaten face, the few scattered
locks of snow-white hair escaping from under his dark blue woollen
cap, his thick, black eyebrows and deep wrinkles. He had the usual
characteristics of the Basque race; a long face, hooked nose, and dark,
gipsy-like complexion. He wore a sort of livery, which was so old and
threadbare that it would be impossible to make out its original colour,
and his stiff, soldier-like carriage and movements proclaimed that he
had at some time in his life served in a military capacity. "The young
master is late to-night," he muttered to himself, as the daylight faded.
"What possible pleasure can he find in these long, solitary rambles over
the dunes? It is true though that it is so dreary here, in this lonely,
dismal house, that any other place is preferable."

At this moment a joyous barking was heard without, the old pony in the
stable stamped and whinnied, and the cat jumped down from his place
beside Pierre and trotted off towards the door with great alacrity. In
an instant the latch was lifted, and the old servant rose, taking off
his woollen cap respectfully, as his master came into the kitchen. He
was preceded by the poor old dog, trying to jump up on him, but falling
back every time without being able to reach his face, and Beelzebub
seemed to welcome them both--showing no evidence of the antipathy
usually existing between the feline and canine races; on the contrary,
receiving Miraut with marks of affection which were fully reciprocated.

The Baron de Sigognac, for it was indeed the lord of the manor who now
entered, was a young man of five or six and twenty; though at first
sight he seemed much older, because of the deep gravity, even sadness,
of his demeanour; the feeling of utter powerlessness which poverty
brings having effectually chased away all the natural piety and
light-heartedness of youth. Dark circles surrounded his sunken eyes, his
cheeks were hollow, his mustache drooped in a sorrowful curve over his
sad mouth. His long black hair was negligently pushed back from his
pale face, and showed a want of care remarkable in a young man who was
strikingly handsome, despite his doleful desponding expression. The
constant pressure of a crushing grief had drawn sorrowful lines in a
countenance that a little animation would have rendered charming. All
the elasticity and hopefulness natural to his age seemed to have been
lost in his useless struggles against an unhappy fate. Though his frame
was lithe, vigorous, and admirably proportioned, all his movements were
slow and apathetic, like those of an old man. His gestures were entirely
devoid of animation, his whole expression inert, and it was evidently
a matter of perfect indifference to him where he might chance to find
himself at home, in his dismal chateau, or abroad in the desolate
Landes.

He had on an old gray felt hat, much too large for him, with a dingy,
shabby feather, that drooped as if it felt heartily ashamed of itself,
and the miserable condition to which it was reduced. A broad collar
of guipure lace, ragged in many places, was turned down over a
just-au-corps, which had been cut for a taller and much stouter man than
the slender, young baron. The sleeves of his doublet were so long that
they fell over his hands, which were small and shapely, and there were
large iron spurs on the clumsy, old-fashioned riding-boots he wore.
These shabby, antiquated clothes had belonged to his father; they were
made according to the fashion that prevailed during the preceding
reign; and the poor young nobleman, whose appearance in them was both
ridiculous and touching, might have been taken for one of his own
ancestors. Although he tenderly cherished his father's memory, and tears
often came into his eyes as he put on these garments that had seemed
actually a part of him, yet it was not from choice that young de
Sigognac availed himself of the paternal wardrobe. Unfortunately he had
no other clothes, save those of his boyhood, long ago outgrown, and so
he was thankful to have these, distasteful as they could not fail to be
to him. The peasants, who had been accustomed to hold them in respect
when worn by their old seignior, did not think it strange or absurd to
see them on his youthful successor; just as they did not seem to notice
or be aware of the half-ruined condition of the chateau. It had come so
gradually that they were thoroughly used to it, and took it as a matter
of course. The Baron de Sigognac, though poverty-stricken and forlorn,
was still in their eyes the noble lord of the manor; the decadence of
the family did not strike them at all as it would a stranger; and yet it
was a grotesquely melancholy sight to see the poor young nobleman pass
by, in his shabby old clothes, on his miserable old pony, and followed
by his forlorn old dog.

The baron sat down in silence at the table prepared for him, having
recognised Pierre's respectful salute by a kindly gesture. The old
servant immediately busied himself in serving his master's frugal
supper; first pouring the hot soup--which was of that kind, popular
among the poor peasantry of Gascony, called "garbure"--upon some bread
cut into small pieces in an earthen basin, which he set before the
baron; then, fetching from the cupboard a dish of bacon, cold, and
cooked in Gascon fashion, he placed that also upon the table, and had
nothing else to add to this meagre repast. The baron ate it slowly,
with an absent air, while Miraut and Beelzebub, one on each side of him,
received their full share from his kind hand.

The supper finished, he fell into a deep reverie. Miraut had laid his
head caressingly upon his master's knee, and looked up into his face
with loving, intelligent eyes, somewhat dimmed by age, but still seeming
to understand his thoughts and sympathize with his sadness. Beelzebub
purred loudly meantime, and occasionally mewed plaintively to attract
his attention, while Pierre stood in a respectful attitude, cap in hand,
at a little distance, motionless as a statue, waiting patiently until
his master's wandering thoughts should return. By this time the darkness
had fallen, and the flickering radiance from the few sticks blazing
in the great fireplace made strange effects of light and shade in the
spacious old kitchen. It was a sad picture; this last scion of a noble
race, formerly rich and powerful, left wandering like an uneasy ghost in
the castle of his ancestors, with but one faithful old servant remaining
to him of the numerous retinue of the olden times; one poor old dog,
half starved, and gray with age, where used to be a pack of thirty
hounds; one miserable, superannuated pony in the stable where twenty
horses had been wont to stand; and one old cat to beg for caresses from
his hand.

At last the baron roused himself, and signed to Pierre that he wished to
retire to his own chamber; whereupon the servant lighted a pine knot at
the fire, and preceded his master up the stairs, Miraut and Beelzebub
accompanying them. The smoky, flaring light of the torch made the faded
figures on the wall seem to waver and move as they passed through the
hall and up the broad staircase, and gave a strange, weird expression to
the family portraits that looked down upon this little procession as
it moved by below them. When they reached the tapestried chamber Pierre
lighted a little copper lamp, and then bade the baron good-night,
followed by Miraut as he retraced his steps to the kitchen; but
Beelzebub, being a privileged character, remained, and curled himself up
comfortably in one of the old arm-chairs, while his master threw himself
listlessly into the other, in utter despair at the thought of his
miserable loneliness, and aimless, hopeless life. If the chamber seemed
dreary and forlorn by day, it was far more so by night. The faded
figures in the tapestry had an uncanny look; especially one, a hunter,
who might have passed for an assassin, just taking aim at his victim.
The smile on his startlingly red lips, in reality only a self-satisfied
smirk, was fairly devilish in that light, and his ghastly face horribly
life-like. The lamp burned dimly in the damp heavy air, the wind sighed
and moaned along the corridors, and strange, frightful sounds came
from the deserted chambers close at hand. The storm that had long been
threatening had come at last, and large, heavy rain-drops were driven
violently against the window-panes by gusts of wind that made them
rattle loudly in their leaden frames. Sometimes it seemed as if the
whole sash would give way before the fiercer blasts, as though a giant
had set his knee against it, and was striving to force an entrance. Now
and again, when the wind lulled for a moment while it gathered strength
for a fresh assault, the horrid shriek of an owl would be heard above
the dashing of the rain that was falling in torrents.