Captain Fracasse

T >> Theophile Gautier >> Captain Fracasse


Herode was overjoyed, and his face shone like the full moon as he rubbed
his hands together and grinned broadly in his exuberant delight; for the
receipts were immense, and the cash-box was full to bursting. Everybody
had rushed to the theatre to see and applaud the now famous Captain
Fracasse--the capital actor and high-spirited gentleman--who feared
neither cudgels nor swords; and had not shrunk from encountering the
dreaded Duke of Vallombreuse, the terror of all the country round, in
mortal combat, as the champion of offended beauty. Blazius, however, did
not share the tyrant's raptures, but on the contrary foreboded no good
from all this, for he feared, and not without reason, the vindictive
character of the Duke of Vallombreuse, and was apprehensive that
he would find some means of revenging himself for his defeat at de
Sigognac's hands that would be detrimental to the troupe. "Earthen
vessels," said he, "should be very careful how they get in the way of
metal ones, lest, if they rashly encounter them, they be ignominiously
smashed in the shock." But Herode, relying upon the support and
countenance of the Baron de Sigognac and the Marquis de Bruyeres,
laughed at his fears, and called him faint-heart, a coward, and a
croaker.

When the comedians returned to their hotel, after the play was over, de
Sigognac accompanied Isabelle to the door of her room, and, contrary to
her usual custom, the young actress invited him to enter it with her.
When they found themselves quite alone, and safe from all curious eyes,
Isabelle turned to de Sigognac, took his hand in both of hers, and
pressing it warmly said to him in a voice trembling with emotion,

"Promise me never to run such a fearful risk for my sake again, de
Sigognac; promise me! Swear it, if you really do love me as you say."

"That is a thing I cannot do," the baron replied, "even to please you,
sweet Isabelle! If ever any insolent fellow dares to show a want of
proper respect for you, I shall surely chastise him for it, as I ought,
be he what he may--duke, or even prince."

"But remember, de Sigognac, that I am nothing but an actress, inevitably
exposed to affronts from the men that haunt the coulisses. It is the
generally received opinion, which alas! is but too well justified by the
usual ways of the members of my profession, that an actress is no
better than she should be; in fine, not a proper character nor worthy of
respect. From the moment that a woman steps upon the stage she becomes
public property, and even if she be really pure and virtuous it is
universally believed that she only affects it for a purpose. These
things are hard and bitter, but they must be borne, since it is
impossible to change them. In future trust to me, I pray you, to
repel those who would force their unwelcome attentions upon me in the
green-room, or endeavour to make their way into my dressing-room. A
sharp rap over the knuckles with a corset board from me will be quite as
efficacious as for you to draw your sword in my behalf."

"But I am not convinced," said de Sigognac, with a smile; "I must still
believe, sweet Isabelle, that the sword of a chivalrous ally would be
your best weapon of defence, and I beg you not to deprive me of the
precious privilege of being your devoted knight and champion."

Isabelle was still holding de Sigognac's hand, and she now raised her
lovely eyes, full of mute supplication, to meet his adoring gaze,
hoping yet to draw from him, the much desired promise. But the baron was
incorrigible; where honour was concerned he was as firm and unyielding
as a Spanish hidalgo, and he would have braved a thousand deaths rather
than have allowed an affront to the lady of his love to pass unpunished;
he wished that the same deference and respect should be accorded to
Isabelle upon the stage, as to a duchess in her drawing-room.

"Come, de Sigognac, be reasonable," pleaded the young actress, "and
promise me not to expose yourself to such danger again for so frivolous
a cause. Oh! what anxiety and anguish I endured as I awaited your return
this morning. I knew that you had gone out to fight with that dreadful
duke, who is held in such universal terror here; Zerbine told me all
about it. Cruel that you are to torture my poor heart so! That is always
the way with men; they never stop to think of what we poor, loving women
must suffer when their pride is once aroused! off they go, as fierce as
lions, deaf to our sobs and blind to our tears. Do you know, that if you
had been killed I should have died too?"

The tears that filled Isabelle's eyes, and the excessive trembling of
her voice, showed that she was in earnest, and that she had not even
yet recovered her usual calmness and composure. More deeply touched
than words can express by her emotion, and the love for himself it bore
witness to, de Sigognac, encircling her slender form with the arm that
was free, drew her gently to him, and softly kissed her fair forehead,
whilst he could feel, as he pressed her to his breast, how she was
panting and trembling. He held her thus tenderly embraced for a blissful
few seconds of silent ecstasy, which a less respectful lover would
doubtless have presumed upon; but he would have scorned to take
advantage of the unreserved confidence bestowed upon him in a moment of
such agitation and sorrowful excitement.

"Be comforted, dear Isabelle," said he at last, tenderly. "I was not
killed you see, nor even hurt; and I actually wounded my adversary,
though he does pass for a tolerably good swordsman hereabouts, I
believe."

"Yes, I well know what a strong hand is yours, and what a brave, noble
heart," Isabelle replied; "and I do not scruple to acknowledge that I
love you for it with all my heart; feeling sure that you will respect
my frank avowal, and not endeavour to take advantage of it. When I
first saw you, de Sigognac, dispirited and desolate, in that dreary,
half-ruined chateau, where your youth was passing in sadness and
solitude, I felt a tender interest in you suddenly spring into being in
my heart; had you been happy and prosperous I should have been afraid of
you, and have shrunk timidly from your notice. When we walked together
in that neglected garden, where you held aside the brambles so carefully
for me to pass unscathed, you gathered and presented to me a little
wild rose--the only thing you had to give me. As I raised it to my lips,
before putting it in my bosom, and kissed it furtively under pretence of
inhaling its fragrance, I could not keep back a tear that dropped upon
it, and secretly and in silence I gave you my heart in exchange for it."

As these entrancing words fell upon his ear, de Sigognac impulsively
tried to kiss the sweet lips so temptingly near his own, but Isabelle
withdrew herself gently from his embrace; not with any show of excessive
prudery, but with a modest timidity that no really gallant lover would
endeavour to overcome by force.

"Yes, I love you, de Sigognac," she continued, in a voice that was
heavenly sweet, "and with all my heart, but not as other women love;
your glory is my aim, not my own pleasure. I am perfectly willing to be
looked upon as your mistress; it is the only thing that would account
satisfactorily to the world at large for your presence in this troupe of
strolling players. And why should I care for slanderous reports, so long
as I keep my own self-esteem, and know myself to be virtuous and true?
If there were really a stain upon my purity it would kill me; I could
not survive it. It is the princely blood in my veins doubtless that
gives rise to such pride in me; very ridiculous, perhaps, in an actress,
but such is my nature."

This enchanting avowal, which would not have taught anything new to a
more conceited or bolder suitor, but was a wonderful revelation to de
Sigognac, who had scarcely dared to hope that his passionate, devoted
love might some day be returned, filled him with such rapturous,
overwhelming delight, that he was almost beside himself. A burning flush
overspread his usually pale face; he seemed to see flames before his
eyes; there was a strange ringing in his ears, and his heart throbbed
so violently that he felt half suffocated. Losing control of himself in
this moment of ecstasy, so intense that it was not unmixed with pain,
he suddenly seized Isabelle passionately in his arms, strained her
trembling form convulsively to his heaving breast, and covered her face
and neck with burning kisses. She did not even try to struggle against
this fierce embrace, but, throwing her head back, looked fixedly at him,
with eyes full of sorrow and reproach. From those lovely eyes, clear and
pure as an angel's, great tears welled forth and rolled down over her
blanched cheeks, and a suppressed sob shook her quivering frame as a
sudden faintness seemed to come over her. The young baron, distracted at
the sight of her grief, and full of keen self-reproach, put her gently
down into a low, easy-chair standing near, and kneeling before her, took
in both his own the hands that she abandoned to him, and passionately
implored her pardon; pleading that a momentary madness had taken
possession of him, that he repented of it bitterly, and was ready to
atone for his offence by the most perfect submission to her wishes.

"You have hurt me sadly, my friend!" said Isabelle at last, with a
deep-drawn sigh. "I had such perfect confidence in your delicacy and
respect. The frank, unreserved avowal of my love for you ought to have
been enough, and have shown you clearly, by its very openness, that I
trusted you entirely. I believed that you would understand me and let
me love you in my own way, without troubling my tenderness for you by
vulgar transports. Now, you have robbed me of my feeling of security.
I do not doubt your words, but I shall no longer dare to yield to the
impulses of my own heart. And yet it was so sweet to me to be with you,
to watch you, to listen to your dear voice, and to follow the course of
your thoughts as I saw them written in your eyes. I wished to share your
troubles and anxieties, de Sigognac, leaving your pleasures to others.
I said to myself, among all these coarse, dissolute, presuming men
that hover about us, there is one who is different--one who believes
in purity, and knows how to respect it in the woman he honours with his
love. I dared to indulge in a sweet dream--even I, Isabelle the actress,
pursued as I am constantly by a gallantry that is odious to me--I dared
to indulge in the too sweet dream of enjoying with you a pure mutual
love. I only asked to be your faithful companion, to cheer and comfort
you in your struggles with an adverse fate until you had reached the
beginning of happiness and prosperity, and then to retire into obscurity
again, when you had plenty of new friends and followers, and no longer
needed me. You see that I was not very exacting."

"Isabelle, my adored Isabelle," cried de Sigognac, "every word that you
speak makes me reproach myself more and more keenly for my fault, and
the pain I have given you. Rest assured, my own darling, that you have
nothing further to fear from me. I am not worthy to kiss the traces of
your footprints in the dust; but yet, I pray you, listen to me! Perhaps
you do not fully understand all my thoughts and intentions, and will
forgive me when you do. I have nothing but my name, which is as pure
and spotless as your sweet self, and I offer it to you, my own beloved
Isabelle, if you will deign to accept it."

He was still kneeling at her feet, and at these ardently spoken words
she leaned towards him, took his upraised face between her hands with a
quick, passionate movement, and kissed him fervently on the lips; then
she sprang to her feet and began, hurriedly and excitedly, pacing back
and forth in the chamber.

"You will be my wife, Isabelle?" cried de Sigognac in agitated tones,
thrilling in every nerve from the sweet contact of her pure, lovely
mouth--fresh as a flower, ardent as a flame.

"Never, never," answered Isabelle, with a clear ring of rapture in her
voice. "I will show myself worthy of such an honour by refusing it.
I did mistake you for a moment, my dearest friend; I did mistake you;
forgive me. Oh! how happy you have made me; what celestial joy fills
my soul! You do respect and esteem me, then, to the utmost? Ah! de
Sigognac, you would really lead me, as your wife, into the hall where
all the portraits of your honoured ancestors would look down upon us?
and into the chapel, where your dead mother lies at rest? I could
meet fearlessly, my beloved, the searching gaze of the dead, from whom
nothing is hidden; the crown of purity would not be wanting on my brow."

"But what!" exclaimed the young baron, "you say that you love me,
Isabelle, with all that true, faithful heart of yours, yet you will not
accept me! either as lover or husband?"

"You have offered me your name, de Sigognac, your noble, honoured name,
and that is enough for me. I give it back to you now, after having
cherished it for one moment in my inmost heart. For one instant I was
your wife, and I will never, never be another's. While my lips were
on yours I was saying yes to myself, and oh! I did not deserve such
happiness. For you, my beloved, it would be a sad mistake to burden
yourself with a poor little actress like me, who would always be taunted
with her theatrical career, however pure and honourable it may have
been. The cold, disdainful mien with which great ladies would be sure
to regard me would cause you keen suffering, and you could not challenge
THEM, you know, my own brave champion! You are the last of a noble race,
de Sigognac, and it is your duty to build up your fallen house. When, by
a tender glance, I induced you to quit your desolate home and follow me,
you doubtless dreamed of a love affair of the usual sort, which was but
natural; but I, looking into the future, thought of far other things.
I saw you returning, in rich attire, from the court of your gracious
sovereign, who had reinstated you in your rights, and given you an
honourable office, suitable to your exalted rank. The chateau had
resumed its ancient splendour. In fancy I tore the clinging ivy from its
crumbling walls, put the fallen stones back in their places, restored
the dilapidated roof and shattered window-panes, regilded the three
storks on your escutcheon over the great entrance door, and in the grand
old portico; then, having installed you in the renovated home of your
honoured ancestors, I retired into obscurity, stifling a sigh as I
bade you adieu, though sincerely rejoicing in your well merited good
fortune."

"And your dream shall be accomplished, my noble Isabelle; I feel sure of
it--but not altogether as you relate it to me; such an ending would be
too sad and grievous. You shall be the first, you, my own darling, with
this dear hand clasped in mine, as now, to cross the threshold of that
blessed abode, whence ruin and desolation shall have disappeared, and
have been replaced by prosperity and happiness."

"No, no, de Sigognac, it will be some great, and noble, and beautiful
heiress, worthy of you in every way, who will accompany you then; one
that you can present with just pride to all your friends, and of whom
none can say, with a malicious smile, I hissed or applauded her at such
a time and place."

"It is downright cruelty on your part to show your self so adorable, so
worthy of all love and admiration, my sweet Isabelle, and at the same
time to deprive me of every hope," said de Sigognac, ruefully; "to give
one glimpse of heaven and then shut me out again; nothing could be more
cruel. But I will not despair; I shall make you yield to me yet."

"Do not try, I beseech you," continued Isabelle, with gentle firmness,
"for I never shall; I should despise myself if I did. Strive to be
content, de Sigognac, with the purest, truest, most devoted love that
ever filled a woman's heart, and do not ask for more. Is it such an
unsatisfactory thing to you," she added, with a bright smile, "to be
adored by a girl that several men have had the bad taste to declare
charming? Why, even the Duke of Vallombreuse himself professes that he
would be proud of it."

"But to give yourself to me so absolutely, and to refuse yourself to
me as absolutely! to mingle such sweet and bitter drops in the same
cup--honey and wormwood--and present it to my lips! only you, Isabelle,
could be capable of such strange contradictions."

"Yes, I AM an odd girl," she replied, "and therein I resemble my poor
mother; but such as I am you must put up with me. If you should persist
in persecuting me, I know well how I could elude and escape you, and
where I could hide myself from you so that you would never be able to
find me. But there will be no need of that, we will not talk of it; our
compact is made. Let it be as I say, de Sigognac, and let us be happy
together while we may. It grows late now, and you must go to your own
room; will you take with you these verses, of a part that does not suit
me at all, and remodel them for me? they belong to a piece that we are
to play very soon. Let me be your faithful little friend, de Sigognac,
and you shall be my great, and well-beloved poet."

Isabelle, as she spoke, drew forth from a bureau a roll of manuscript,
tied with a rose-coloured ribbon, which she gave to the baron with a
radiant smile.

"Now kiss me, and go," she said, holding up her cheek for his caress.
"You are going to work for me, and this is your reward. Good-night, my
beloved, good-night."

It was long after he had regained the quiet of his own room ere de
Sigognac could compose himself sufficiently to set about the light task
imposed upon him by Isabelle. He was at once enchanted and cast down;
radiant with joy, and filled with sorrow; in a seventh heaven
of ecstasy, and in the depths of despair. He laughed and he wept
alternately, swayed by the most tumultuous and contradictory emotions.
The intense happiness of at last knowing himself beloved by his adored
Isabelle made him exultant and joyful, while the terrible thought that
she never would be his made his heart sink within him. Little by little,
however, he grew calmer, as his mind dwelt lovingly upon the picture
Isabelle had drawn of the Chateau de Sigognac restored to its ancient
splendour, and as he sat musing he had a wonderful vision of it--so
glowing and vivid that it was like reality. He saw before him the facade
of the chateau, with its large windows shining in the sunlight, and its
many weather-cocks, all freshly gilded, glistening against the bright
blue sky, whilst the columns of smoke rising from every chimney, so
long cold and unused, told of plenty and prosperity within, and his good
faithful Pierre, in a rich new suit of livery, stood between Miraut and
Beelzebub at the great entrance door awaiting him. He saw himself, in
sumptuous attire, proudly leading his fair Isabelle by the hand towards
the grand old home of his forefathers; his beautiful Isabelle, dressed
like a princess, wearing ornaments bearing a device which seemed to be
that of one of the greatest, most illustrious families of France, and
with a ducal coronet upon her shapely head. But with it all she did
not appear to be proud or haughty--she was just her own sweet, modest
self--and in the hand that was free she carried the little wild rose,
fresh as when it was first plucked, that he had given her, and from time
to time raised and pressed it tenderly to her lips as she inhaled its
fragrance; it seemed more precious to her than all the superb jewels
that she wore. As they approached the chateau a most stately and
majestic old man, whose breast was covered with orders, and whose face
seemed not entirely unfamiliar to de Sigognac, stepped forth from the
portico to meet and welcome them. But what greatly surprised him was
that a remarkably handsome young man, of most proud and lofty
bearing, accompanied the old prince, who closely resembled the Duke
of Vallombreuse, and who smilingly advanced and offered a cordial
salutation and welcome to Isabelle and himself. A great crowd of
tenantry stationed near at hand hailed them with lusty cheers, making
many demonstrations of hearty joy and delight, and his own happiness
seemed to be complete. Suddenly the sound of a horn was heard, and at
a little distance he saw the beautiful Yolande de Foix, radiant and
charming as ever, riding slowly by--apparently returning from the chase.
He followed her with his eyes admiringly, but felt no regret as her
figure was lost to view amid the thick gorse bushes bordering the road
down which she was going, and turned with ever increasing love and
adoration to the sweet being at his side. The memory of the fair
Yolande, whom he had once worshipped in a vague, boyish way, faded
before the delicious reality of his passionate love for Isabelle;
who satisfied so fully every requirement of his nature, and had so
thoroughly healed the wound made by the scorn and ridicule of the other,
that it seemed to be entirely forgotten then.

It was not easy for de Sigognac to rouse himself after this entrancing
vision, which had been so startlingly real, and fix his attention upon
the verses he had promised to revise and alter for Isabelle, but when at
last he had succeeded, he threw himself into his task with enthusiasm,
and wrote far into the night--inspired by the thought of the sweet lips
that had called him her poet, and that were to pronounce the words he
penned; and he was rewarded for his exertions by Isabelle's sweetest
smile, and warmest praise and gratitude.

At the theatre the next evening the crowd was even greater than before,
and the crush unprecedented. The reputation of Captain Fracasse, the
valiant conqueror of the Duke of Vallombreuse; increased hourly, and
began to assume a chimerical and fabulous character. If the labours of
Hercules had been ascribed to him, there would have been some credulous
ones to believe the tale, and he was endowed by his admirers with the
prowess of a dozen good knights and brave, of the ancient times of
chivalrous deeds. Some of the young noblemen of the place talked of
seeking his acquaintance, and giving a grand banquet in his honour; more
than one fair lady was desperately in love with him, and had serious
thoughts of writing a billet-doux to tell him so. In short, he was
the fashion, and everybody swore by him. As for the hero of a this
commotion, he was greatly annoyed at being thus forcibly dragged forth
from the obscurity in which he had desired to remain, but it was not
possible to avoid it, and he could only submit. For a few moments he did
think of bolting, and not making his appearance again upon the stage in
Poitiers; but the remembrance of the disappointment it would be to the
worthy tyrant, who was in an ecstasy of delight over the riches pouring
into the treasury, prevented his carrying out this design. And, indeed,
as he reminded himself, were not these honest comedians, who had rescued
him from his misery and despair, entitled in all fairness to profit, so
far as they could, by this unexpected and overwhelming favour which he
had all unwittingly gained? So, resigning himself as philosophically as
he could to his fate, he buckled his sword-belt, draped his cloak over
his shoulder, put on his mask and calmly awaited his call to the stage.

As the receipts were so large, Herode, like a generous manager, had
doubled the usual number of lights, so that the theatre was almost as
radiant as if a flood of sunshine had been poured into it. The fair
portion of the audience, hoping to attract the attention of the valiant
Captain Fracasse, had arrayed themselves in all their splendour; not a
diamond was left in its casket; they sparkled and flashed, every one, on
necks and arms more or less white and round, and on heads more or less
shapely, but all filled with an ardent desire to please the hero of the
hour; so the scene was a brilliant one in every way. Only one box yet
remained unoccupied, the best situated and most conspicuous in the whole
house; every eye was turned upon it, and much wonder expressed at the
apathy manifested by those who had secured it, for all the rest of the
spectators had been long settled in their places. At length, just as the
curtain was rising, a young lady entered and took her seat in the much
observed box, accompanied by a gentleman of venerable and patriarchal
appearance; apparently an indulgent old uncle, a slave to the caprices
of his pretty niece, who had renounced his comfortable after-dinner nap
by the fire, in order to obey her behest and escort her to the theatre.
She, slender and erect as Diana, was very richly and elegantly dressed,
in that peculiar and exquisite shade of delicate sea green which can
be worn only by the purest blondes, and which seemed to enhance the
dazzling whiteness of her uncovered shoulders, and the rounded, slender
neck, diaphanous as alabaster, that proudly sustained her small,
exquisitely poised head. Her hair, clustering in sunny ringlets round
her brow, was like living gold, it made a glory round her head, and the
whole audience was enraptured with her beauty, though an envious mask
concealed so much of it; all, indeed, save the snow-white forehead, the
round dimpled chin, the ripe red lips, whose tint was rendered yet
more vivid by the contrast with the black velvet that shaded them,
the perfect oval of the face, and a dainty little ear, pink as a
sea-shell--a combination of charms worthy of a goddess, and which made
every one impatient to see the radiant, beauteous whole. They were soon
gratified; for the young deity, either incommoded by the heat, or else
wishing to show a queenly generosity to the gazing throng, took off the
odious mask, and disclosed to view a pair of brilliant eyes, dark
and blue as lapis lazuli, shaded with rich golden fringes, a piquant,
perfectly cut little nose, half Grecian, half aquiline, and cheeks
tinged with a delicate flush that would have put a rose-leaf to shame.
In fine, it was Yolande de Foix, more radiantly beautiful than ever,
who, leaning forward in a negligent, graceful pose, looked nonchalantly
about the house, not in the least discomposed by the many eyes fixed
boldly and admiringly upon her. A loud burst of applause, that greeted
the first appearance of the favourite actor, drew attention from her
for a moment, as de Sigognac stalked forward upon the stage in the
character of Captain Fracasse. As he paused, to wait until his admirers
would allow him to begin his first tirade, he looked negligently round
the eager audience, and when his eyes fell upon Yolande de Foix, sitting
tranquil and radiant in her box, calmly surveying him with her glorious
eyes, he suddenly turned dizzy and faint; the lights appeared first
to blaze like suns, and then sink into darkness; the heads of the
spectators seemed sinking into a dense fog; a cold perspiration started
out on him from head to foot; he trembled violently, and felt as if his
legs were giving way under him; composure, memory, courage, all seemed
to have failed him, as utterly as if he had been struck by lightning.