Captain Fracasse

T >> Theophile Gautier >> Captain Fracasse


The master of this dismal mansion paid little attention to this
lugubrious symphony, but Beelzebub was very uneasy, starting up at every
sound, and peering into the shadowy corners of the room, as if he could
see there something invisible to human eyes. The baron took up a little
book that was lying upon the table, glanced at the familiar arms stamped
upon its tarnished cover, and opening it, began to read in a listless,
absent way. His eyes followed the smooth rhythm of Ronsard's ardent
love-songs and stately sonnets, but his thoughts were wandering far
afield, and he soon threw the book from him with an impatient gesture,
and began slowly unfastening his garments, with the air of a man who is
not sleepy, but only goes to bed because he does not know what else to
do with himself, and has perhaps a faint hope of forgetting his troubles
in the embrace of Morpheus, most blessed of all the gods. The sand runs
so slowly in the hour-glass on a dark, stormy night, in a half-ruined
castle, ten leagues away from any living soul.

The poor young baron, only surviving representative of an ancient and
noble house, had much indeed to make him melancholy and despondent. His
ancestors had worked their own ruin, and that of their descendants,
in various ways. Some by gambling, some in the army, some by undue
prodigality in living--in order that they might shine at court--so that
each generation had left the estate more and more diminished. The fiefs,
the farms, the land surrounding the chateau itself, all had been sold,
one after the other, and the last baron, after desperate efforts to
retrieve the fallen fortunes of the family--efforts which came too late,
for it is useless to try to stop the leaks after the vessel has gone
down--had left his son nothing but this half-ruined chateau and the few
acres of barren land immediately around it. The unfortunate child
had been born and brought up in poverty. His mother had died young,
broken-hearted at the wretched prospects of her only son; so that he
could not even remember her sweet caresses and tender, loving care. His
father had been very stern with him; punishing him severely for the
most trivial offences; yet he would have been glad now even of his sharp
rebukes, so terribly lonely had he been for the last four years; ever
since his father was laid in the family vault. His youthful pride would
not allow him to associate with the noblesse of the province without
the accessories suitable to his rank, though he would have been received
with open arms by them, so his solitude was never invaded. Those who
knew his circumstances respected as well as pitied the poor, proud young
baron, while many of the former friends of the family believed that it
was extinct; which indeed it inevitably would be, with this its only
remaining scion, if things went on much longer as they had been going
for many years past.

The baron had not yet removed a single garment when his attention was
attracted by the strange uneasiness of Beelzebub, who finally jumped
down from his arm-chair, went straight to one of the windows, and
raising himself on his hind legs put his fore-paws on the casing
and stared out into the thick darkness, where it was impossible to
distinguish anything but the driving rain. A loud howl from Miraut at
the same moment proclaimed that he too was aroused, and that something
very unusual must be going on in the vicinity of the chateau, ordinarily
as quiet as the grave. Miraut kept up persistently a furious barking,
and the baron gave up all idea of going to bed. He hastily readjusted
his dress, so that he might be in readiness for whatever should happen,
and feeling a little excited at this novel commotion.

"What can be the matter with poor old Miraut? He usually sleeps from
sunset to sunrise without making a sound, save his snores. Can it be
that a wolf is prowling about the place?" said the young man to
himself, as he buckled the belt of his sword round his slender waist.
A formidable weapon it was, that sword, with long blade, and heavy iron
scabbard.

At that moment three loud knocks upon the great outer door resounded
through the house. Who could possibly have strayed here at this hour, so
far from the travelled roads, and in this tempest that was making
night horrible without? No such thing had occurred within the baron's
recollection. What could it portend?



CHAPTER II. THE CHARIOT OF THESPIS

The Baron de Sigognac went down the broad staircase without a moment's
delay to answer this mysterious summons, protecting with his hand the
feeble flame of the small lamp he carried from the many draughts that
threatened to blow it out. The light, shining through his slender
fingers, gave them a rosy tinge, so that he merited the epithet applied
by Homer, the immortal bard, to the laughing, beautiful Aurora, even
though he advanced through the thick darkness with his usual melancholy
mien, and followed by a black cat, instead of preceding the glorious god
of day.

Setting down his lamp in a sheltered corner, he proceeded to take down
the massive bar that secured the door, cautiously opened the practicable
leaf, and found himself face to face with a man, upon whom the light of
the lamp shone sufficiently to show rather a grotesque figure, standing
uncovered in the pelting rain. His head was bald and shining, with a
few locks of gray hair clustering about the temples. A jolly red nose,
bulbous in form, a small pair of twinkling, roguish eyes, looking out
from under bushy, jet-black eyebrows, flabby cheeks, over which was
spread a network of purplish fibres, full, sensual lips, and a scanty,
straggling beard, that scarcely covered the short, round chin, made up
a physiognomy worthy to serve as the model for a Silenus; for it was
plainly that of a wine-bibber and bon vivant. Yet a certain expression
of good humour and kindness, almost of gentleness, redeemed what would
otherwise have been a repulsive face. The comical little wrinkles
gathering about the eyes, and the merry upward turn of the comers of the
mouth, showed a disposition to smile as he met the inquiring gaze of
the young baron, but he only bowed repeatedly and profoundly, with
exaggerated politeness and respect.

This extraordinary pantomime finished, with a grand flourish, the
burlesque personage, still standing uncovered in the pouring rain,
anticipated the question upon de Sigognac's lips, and began at once the
following address, in an emphatic and declamatory tone:

"I pray you deign to excuse, noble seignior, my having come thus to
knock at the gates of your castle in person at this untimely hour,
without sending a page or a courier in advance, to announce my approach
in a suitable manner. Necessity knows no law, and forces the most
polished personages to be guilty of gross breaches of etiquette at
times."

"What is it you want?" interrupted the baron, in rather a peremptory
tone, annoyed by the absurd address of this strange old creature, whose
sanity he began to doubt.

"Hospitality, most noble seignior; hospitality for myself and my
comrades--princes and princesses, heroes and beauties, men of letters
and great captains, pretty waiting-maids and honest valets, who travel
through the provinces from town to town in the chariot of Thespis, drawn
by oxen, as in the ancient times. This chariot is now hopelessly stuck
in the mud only a stone's throw from your castle, my noble lord."

"If I understand aright what you say," answered the baron, "you are a
strolling band of players, and have lost your way. Though my house is
sadly dilapidated, and I cannot offer you more than mere shelter, you
are heartily welcome to that, and will be better off within here than
exposed to the fury of this wild storm."

The pedant--for such seemed to be his character in the troupe--bowed his
acknowledgments.

During this colloquy, Pierre, awakened by Miraut's loud barking, had
risen and joined his master at the door. As soon as he was informed of
what had occurred, he lighted a lantern, and with the baron set forth,
under the guidance of the droll old actor, to find and rescue the
chariot in distress. When they reached it Leander and Matamore were
tugging vainly at the wheels, while his majesty, the king, pricked up
the weary oxen with the point of his dagger. The actresses, wrapped in
their cloaks and seated in the rude chariot, were in despair, and much
frightened as well--wet and weary too, poor things. This most welcome
re-enforcement inspired all with fresh courage, and, guided by Pierre's
suggestions, they soon succeeded in getting the unwieldy vehicle out
of the quagmire and into the road leading to the chateau, which was
speedily reached, and the huge equipage safely piloted through the grand
portico into the interior court. The oxen were at once taken from before
it and led into the stable, while the actresses followed de Sigognac up
to the ancient banqueting hall, which was the most habitable room in the
chateau. Pierre brought some wood, and soon had a bright fire blazing
cheerily in the great fireplace. It was needed, although but the
beginning of September and the weather still warm, to dry the dripping
garments of the company; and besides, the air was so damp and chilly in
this long disused apartment that the genial warmth and glow of the fire
were welcome to all.

Although the strolling comedians were accustomed to find themselves in
all sorts of odd, strange lodgings in the course of their wanderings,
they now looked with astonishment at their extraordinary surroundings;
being careful, however, like well-bred people, not to manifest too
plainly the surprise they could not help feeling.

"I regret very much that I cannot offer you a supper," said their young
host, when all had assembled round the fire, "but my larder is so bare
that a mouse could not find enough for a meal in it. I live quite alone
in this house with my faithful old Pierre; never visited by anybody;
and you can plainly perceive, without my telling you, that plenty does
not abound here."

"Never mind that, noble seignior," answered Blazius, the pedant, "for
though on the stage we may sit down to mock repasts--pasteboard fowls
and wooden bottles--we are careful to provide ourselves with more
substantial and savoury viands in real life. As quartermaster of
the troupe I always have in reserve a Bayonne ham, a game pasty, or
something, of that sort, with at least a dozen bottles of good old
Bordeaux."

"Bravo, sir pedant," cried Leander, "do you go forthwith and fetch in
the provisions; and if his lordship will permit, and deign to join us,
we will have our little feast here. The ladies will set the table for us
meanwhile I am sure."

The baron graciously nodded his assent, being in truth so amazed at the
whole proceeding that he could not easily have found words just then;
and he followed with wondering and admiring eyes the graceful movements
of Serafina and Isabelle, who, quitting their seats by the fire,
proceeded to arrange upon the worn but snow-white cloth that Pierre
had spread on the ancient dining-table, the plates and other necessary
articles that the old servant brought forth from the recesses of the
carved buffets. The pedant quickly came back, carrying a large basket
in each hand, and with a triumphant air placed a huge pasty of most
tempting appearance in the middle of the table. To this he added a large
smoked tongue, some slices of rosy Bayonne ham, and six bottles of wine.

Beelzebub watched these interesting preparations from a distance with
eager eyes, but was too much afraid of all these strangers to approach
and claim a share of the good things on the table. The poor beast was
so accustomed to solitude and quiet, never seeing any one beyond his
beloved master and Pierre, that he was horribly frightened at the sudden
irruption of these noisy newcomers.

Finding the feeble light of the baron's small lamp rather dim, Matamore
bad gone out to the chariot and brought back two showy candelabra, which
ordinarily did duty on the stage. They each held several candles, which,
in addition to the warm radiance from the blazing fire, made quite
a brilliant illumination in this room, so lately dark, cheerless, and
deserted. It had become warm and comfortable by this time; its family
portraits and tarnished splendour looked their best in the bright, soft
light, which had chased away the dark shadows and given a new beauty to
everything it fell upon; the whole place was metamorphosed; a festive
air prevailed, and the ancient banqueting hall once more resounded with
cheery voices and gay laughter.

The poor young baron, to whom all this had been intensely disagreeable
at first, became aware of a strange feeling of comfort and pleasure
stealing over him, to which, after a short struggle, he finally yielded
himself entirely. Isabelle, Serafina, even the pretty soubrette, seemed
to him, unaccustomed as he was to feminine beauty and grace, like
goddesses come down from Mount Olympus, rather than mere ordinary
mortals. They were all very pretty, and well fitted to turn heads far
more experienced than his. The whole thing was like a delightful dream
to him; he almost doubted the evidence of his own senses, and every few
minutes found himself dreading the awakening, and the vanishing of the
entrancing vision.

When all was ready de Sigognac led Isabelle and Serafina to the table,
placing one on each side of him, with the pretty soubrette opposite.
Mme. Leonarde, the duenna of the troupe, sat beside the pedant,
Leander, Matamore, his majesty the tyrant, and Scapin finding places
for themselves. The youthful host was now able to study the faces of his
guests at his ease, as they sat round the table in the full light of the
candles burning upon it in the two theatrical candelabra. He turned his
attention to the ladies first, and it perhaps will not be out of place
to give a little sketch of them here, while the pedant attacks the
gigantic game pasty.

Serafina, the "leading lady" of the troupe, was a handsome young woman
of four or five and twenty, who had quite a grand air, and was as
dignified and graceful withal as any veritable noble dame who shone
at the court of his most gracious majesty, Louis XIII. She had an oval
face, slightly aquiline nose, large gray eyes, bright red lips--the
under one full and pouting, like a ripe cherry---a very fair complexion,
with a beautiful colour in her cheeks when she was animated or excited,
and rich masses of dark brown hair most becomingly arranged. She wore
a round felt hat, with the wide rim turned up at one side, and trimmed
with long, floating plumes. A broad lace collar was turned down over
her dark green velvet dress, which was elaborately braided, and fitted
closely to a fine, well-developed figure. A long, black silk scarf was
worn negligently around her shapely shoulders and although both velvet
and silk were old and dingy, and the feathers in her hat wet and limp,
they were still very effective, and she looked like a young queen who
had strayed away from her realm; the freshness and radiant beauty of her
face more than made up for the shabbiness of her dress, and de Sigognac
was fairly dazzled by her many charms.

Isabelle was much more youthful than Serafina, as was requisite for her
role of ingenuous young girl, and far more simply dressed. She had a
sweet, almost childlike face, beautiful, silky, chestnut hair, with
golden lights in it, dark, sweeping lashes veiling her large, soft eyes,
a little rosebud of a mouth, and an air of modesty and purity that was
evidently natural to her--not assumed. A gray silk gown, simply made,
showed to advantage her slender, graceful form, which seemed far too
fragile to endure the hardships inseparable from the wandering life she
was leading. A high Elizabethan ruff made a most becoming frame for her
sweet, delicately tinted, young face, and her only ornament was a string
of pearl beads, clasped round her slender, white neck. Though her beauty
was less striking at first sight than Serafina's, it was of a higher
order: not dazzling like hers, but surpassingly lovely in its exquisite
purity and freshness, and promising to eclipse the other's more
showy charms, when the half-opened bud should have expanded into the
full-blown flower.

The soubrette was like a beautiful Gipsy, with a clear, dark complexion,
rich, mantling colour in her velvety cheeks, intensely black hair--long,
thick, and wavy--great, flashing, brown eyes, and rather a large mouth,
with ripe, red lips, and dazzling white teeth--one's very beau-ideal of
a bewitching, intriguing waiting-maid, and one that might be a dangerous
rival to any but a surpassingly lovely and fascinating mistress. She was
one of the beauties that women are not apt to admire, but men rave about
and run after the world over. She wore a fantastic costume of blue and
yellow, which was odd, piquant, and becoming, and seemed fully conscious
of her own charms.

Mme. Leonarde, the "noble mother" of the troupe dressed all in black,
like a Spanish duenna, was portly of figure, with a heavy, very pale
face, double chin, and intensely black eyes, that had a crafty, slightly
malicious expression. She had been upon the stage from her early
childhood, passing through all the different phases, and was an actress
of decided talent, often still winning enthusiastic applause at the
expense of younger and more attractive women, who were inclined to think
her something of an old sorceress.

So much for the feminine element. The principal roles were all
represented; and if occasionally a re-enforcement was required, they
could almost always pick up some provincial actress, or even an
amateur, at a pinch. The actors were five in number: The pedant, already
described, who rejoiced in the name of Blazitis; Leander; Herode, the
tragic tyrant; Matamore, the bully; and Scapin, the intriguing valet.

Leander, the romantic, irresistible, young lover--darling of the
ladies--was a tall, fine-looking fellow of about thirty, though
apparently much more youthful, thanks to the assiduous care he bestowed
on his handsome person. His slightly curly, black hair was worn long,
so that he might often have occasion to push it back from his forehead,
with a hand as white and delicate as a woman's, upon one of whose taper
fingers sparkled an enormous diamond--a great deal too big to be real.
He was rather fancifully dressed, and always falling into such graceful,
languishing attitudes as he thought would be admired by the fair sex,
whose devoted slave he was. This Adonis never for one moment laid aside
his role. He punctuated his sentences with sighs, even when speaking of
the most indifferent matters, and assumed all sorts of preposterous airs
and graces, to the secret amusement of his companions. But he had great
success among the ladies, who all flattered him and declared he was
charming, until they had turned his head completely; and it was his firm
belief that he was irresistibly fascinating.

The tyrant was the most good-natured, easy-going creature imaginable;
but, strangely enough, gifted by nature with all the external signs of
ferocity. With his tall, burly frame, very dark skin, immensely thick,
shaggy eyebrows, black as jet, crinkly, bushy hair of the same hue, and
long beard, that grew far up on his cheeks, he was a very formidable,
fierce-looking fellow; and when he spoke, his loud, deep voice made
everything ring again. He affected great dignity, and filled his role to
perfection.

Matamore was as different as possible, painfully thin--scarcely more
than mere skin and bones--a living skeleton with a large hooked nose,
set in a long, narrow face, a huge mustache turned up at the ends, and
flashing, black eyes. His excessively tall, lank figure was so emaciated
that it was like a caricature of a man. The swaggering air suitable to
his part had become habitual with him, and he walked always with immense
strides, head well thrown back, and hand on the pommel of the huge sword
he was never seen without.

As to Scapin, he looked more like a fox than anything else, and had a
most villainous countenance; yet he was a good enough fellow in reality.

The painter has a great advantage over the writer, in that he can so
present the group on his canvas that one glance suffices to take in the
whole picture, with the lights and shadows, attitudes, costumes, and
details of every kind, which are sadly wanting in our description--too
long, though so imperfect--of the party gathered thus unexpectedly round
our young baron's table. The beginning of the repast was very silent,
until the most urgent demands of hunger had been satisfied. Poor de
Sigognac, who had never perhaps at any one time had as much to eat as
he wanted since he was weaned, attacked the tempting viands with an
appetite and ardour quite new to him; and that too despite his great
desire to appear interesting and romantic in the eyes of the beautiful
young women between whom he was seated. The pedant, very much amused at
the boyish eagerness and enjoyment of his youthful host, quietly heaped
choice bits upon his plate, and watched their rapid disappearance with
beaming satisfaction. Beelzebub had at last plucked up courage and crept
softly under the table to his master, making his presence known by a
quick tapping with his fore-paws upon the baron's knees; his claims were
at once recognised, and he feasted to his heart's content on the savoury
morsels quietly thrown down to him. Poor old Miraut, who had followed
Pierre into the room, was not neglected either, and had his full share
of the good things that found their way to his master's plate.

By this time there was a good deal of laughing and talking round the
festive board. The baron, though very timid, and much embarrassed, had
ventured to enter into conversation with his fair neighbours. The pedant
and the tyrant were loudly discussing the respective merits of tragedy
and comedy. Leander, like Narcissus of old, was complacently admiring
his own charms as reflected in a little pocket mirror he always had
about him. Strange to say he was not a suitor of either Serafina's or
Isabelle's; fortunately for them he aimed higher, and was always hoping
that some grand lady, who saw him on the stage, would fall violently in
love with him, and shower all sorts of favours upon him. He was in the
habit of boasting that he had had many delightful adventures of the
kind, which Scapin persistently denied, declaring that to his certain
knowledge they had never taken place, save in the aspiring lover's own
vivid imagination. The exasperating valet, malicious as a monkey, took
the greatest delight in tormenting poor Leander, and never lost
an opportunity; so now, seeing him absorbed in self-admiration, he
immediately attacked him, and soon had made him furious. The quarrel
grew loud and violent, and Leander was heard declaring that he could
produce a large chest crammed full of love letters, written to him
by various high and titled ladies; whereupon everybody laughed
uproariously, while Serafina said to de Sigognac that she for one did
not admire their taste, and Isabelle silently looked her disgust. The
baron meantime was more and more charmed with this sweet, dainty young
girl, and though he was too shy to address any high-flown compliments to
her, according to the fashion of the day, his eyes spoke eloquently for
him. She was not at all displeased at his ardent glances, and smiled
radiantly and encouragingly upon him, thereby unconsciously making poor
Matamore, who was secretly enamoured of her, desperately unhappy,
though he well knew that his passion was an utterly hopeless one. A more
skilful and audacious lover would have pushed his advantage, but our
poor young hero had not learned courtly manners nor assurance in his
isolated chateau, and, though he lacked neither wit nor learning, it
must be confessed that at this moment he did appear lamentably stupid.

All the bottles having been scrupulously emptied, the pedant turned the
last one of the half dozen upside down, so that every drop might run
out; which significant action was noted and understood by Matamore, who
lost no time in bringing in a fresh supply from the chariot. The baron
began to feel the wine a little in his head, being entirely unaccustomed
to it, yet he could not resist drinking once again to the health of the
ladies. The pedant and the tyrant drank like old topers, who can
absorb any amount of liquor--be it wine, or something stronger--without
becoming actually intoxicated. Matamore was very abstemious, both in
eating and drinking, and could have lived like the impoverished
Spanish hidalgo, who dines on three olives and sups on an air upon his
mandoline. There was a reason for his extreme frugality; he feared
that if he ate and drank like other people he might lose his phenomenal
thinness, which was of inestimable value to him in a professional
point of view. If he should be so unfortunate as to gain flesh, his
attractions would diminish in an inverse ratio, so he starved himself
almost to death, and was constantly seen anxiously examining the buckle
of his belt, to make sure that he had not increased in girth since his
last meal. Voluntary Tantalus, he scarcely allowed himself enough to
keep life in his attenuated frame, and if he had but fasted as carefully
from motives of piety he would have been a full-fledged saint.