Captain Fracasse

T >> Theophile Gautier >> Captain Fracasse


Meanwhile Lampourde and Scapin had shown the duke's lackeys that it
would not be a very easy matter to put them out, and were handling them
rather roughly, when the cowardly fellows, seeing that their master was
wounded, and leaning against the wall, deathly pale, thought that he was
done for, and although they were fully armed, took to their heels and
fled, deaf to his feeble cry for assistance. While all this was going
on, the tyrant was making his way up the grand staircase, as fast as
his corpulence would permit, and reached the top just in time to see
Isabelle, pale, dishevelled, motionless, and apparently dead, being
borne along the corridor by two lackeys. Without stopping to make any
inquiries, and full of wrath at the thought that the sweet girl had
fallen a victim to the wickedness of the cruel Duke of Vallombreuse,
he drew his sword, and fell upon the two men with such fury that they
dropped their light burden and fled down the stairs as fast as their
legs could carry them. Then he knelt down beside the unconscious girl,
raised her gently in his arms, and found that her heart was beating,
though but feebly, and that she apparently had no wound, while she
sighed faintly, like a person beginning to revive after a swoon. In this
position he was found by de Sigognac, who had effectually gotten rid
of Vallombreuse, by the famous and well-directed thrust that had thrown
Jacquemin Lampourde into a rapture of admiration and delight. He knelt
down beside his darling, took both her hands in his, and said, in the
most tender tones, that Isabelle heard vaguely as if in a dream:

"Rouse yourself, dear heart, and fear nothing. You are safe now, with
your own friends, and your own true lover--nobody can harm or frighten
you again."

Although she did not yet open her eyes, a faint smile dawned upon the
colourless lips, and her cold, trembling, little fingers feebly returned
the tender pressure of de Sigognac's warm hands. Lampourde stood by,
and looked down with tearful eyes upon this touching group--for he was
exceedingly romantic and sentimental, and always intensely interested in
a love affair. Suddenly, in the midst of the profound silence that had
succeeded to the uproar of the melee, the winding of a horn was heard
without, and in a moment energetically repeated. It was evidently a
summons that had to be instantly obeyed; the drawbridge was lowered in
haste, with a great rattling of chains, and a carriage driven rapidly
into the court, while the red flaring light of torches flashed through
the windows of the corridor. In another minute the door of the vestibule
was thrown open, and hasty steps ascended the grand staircase. First
came four tall lackeys, in rich liveries, carrying lights, and directly
behind them a tall, noble-looking man, who was dressed from head to foot
in black velvet, with an order shining on his breast--of those that
are usually reserved for kings and princes of the blood, and only very
exceptionally bestowed, upon the most illustrious personages.

When the four lackeys reached the landing at the head of the stairs,
they silently ranged themselves against the wall, and stood like statues
bearing torches; without the raising of an eyelid, or the slightest
change in the stolid expression of their countenances to indicate that
they perceived anything out of the usual way--exhibiting in perfection
that miraculous imperturbability and self-command which is peculiar to
well-bred, thoroughly trained menservants. The gentleman whom they
had preceded paused ere he stepped upon the landing. Although age had
brought wrinkles to his handsome face, and turned his abundant dark hair
gray, it was still easy to recognise in him the original of the
portrait that had so fascinated Isabelle, and whose protection she had
passionately implored in her distress.

It was the princely father of Vallombreuse--the son bearing a different
name, that of a duchy he possessed, until he in his turn should become
the head of the family, and succeed to the title of prince.

At sight of Isabelle, supported by de Sigognac and the tyrant, whose
ghastly pallor made her look like one dead, the aged gentleman raised
his arms towards heaven and groaned.

"Alas! I am too late," said he, "for all the haste I made," and
advancing a few steps he bent over the prostrate girl, and took her
lifeless hand in his. Upon this hand, white, cold and diaphanous, as if
it had been sculptured in alabaster, shone a ring, set with an amethyst
of unusual size. The old nobleman seemed strangely agitated as it
caught his eye. He drew it gently from Isabelle's slender finger, with
a trembling hand signed to one of the torch-bearers to bring his light
nearer, and by it eagerly examined the device cut upon the stone; first
holding it close to the light and then at arm's length; as those whose
eyesight is impaired by age are wont to do. The Baron de Sigognac,
Herode and Lampourde anxiously watched the agitated movements of the
prince, and his change of expression, as he contemplated this jewel,
which he seemed to recognise; and which he turned and twisted between
his fingers, with a pained look in his face, as if some great trouble
had befallen him.

"Where is the Duke of Vallombreuse?" he cried at last, in a voice of
thunder. "Where is that monster in human shape, who is unworthy of my
race?"

He had recognised, without a possibility of doubt, in this ring, the one
bearing a fanciful device, with which he had been accustomed, long ago,
to seal the notes he wrote to Cornelia--Isabelle's mother, and his own
youthful love. How happened it that this ring was on the finger of
the young actress, who had been forcibly and shamefully abducted by
Vallombreuse? From whom could she have received it? These questions were
torturing to him.

"Can it be possible that she is Cornelia's daughter and mine?" said the
prince to himself. "Her profession, her age, her sweet face, in which I
can trace a softened, beautified likeness of her mother's, but which has
a peculiarly high bred, refined expression, worthy of a royal princess,
all combine to make me believe it must be so. Then, alas! alas! it is
his own sister that this cursed libertine has so wronged, and he has
been guilty of a horrible, horrible crime. Oh! I am cruelly punished for
my youthful folly and sin."

Isabelle at length opened her eyes, and her first look fell upon the
prince, holding the ring that he had drawn from her finger. It seemed to
her as if she had seen his face before--but in youth, without the gray
hair and beard. It seemed also to be an aged copy of the portrait over
the chimney-piece in her room, and a feeling of profound veneration
filled her heart as she gazed at him. She saw, too, her beloved de
Sigognac kneeling beside her, watching her with tenderest devotion; and
the worthy tyrant as well--both safe and sound. To the horrors of the
terrible struggle had succeeded the peace and security of deliverance.
She had nothing more to fear, for her friends or for herself--how could
she ever be thankful enough?

The prince, who had been gazing at her with passionate earnestness, as
if her fair face possessed an irresistible charm for him, now addressed
her in low, moved tones:

"Mademoiselle, will you kindly tell me how you came by this ring, which
recalls very dear and sacred memories to me? Has it been long in your
possession?"

"I have had it ever since my infancy; it is the only thing that my poor
mother left me," Isabelle replied, with gentle dignity.

"And who was your mother? Will you, tell me something about her?"
continued the prince, with increasing emotion.

"Her name was Cornelia, and she was an actress, belonging to the same
troupe that I am a member of now."

"Cornelia! then there is no possible doubt about it," murmured the
prince to himself, in great agitation. "Yes, it is certainly she whom I
have been seeking all these years--and now to find her thus!"

Then, controlling his emotion, he resumed his usual calm, majestic
demeanour, and turning back to Isabelle, said to her, "Permit me to keep
this ring for the present; I will soon give it back to you."

"I am content to leave it in your lordship's hands," the young actress
replied, in whose mind the memory of a face, that she had seen long
years ago bending over her cradle, was growing clearer and more distinct
every moment.

"Gentlemen," said the prince, turning to de Sigognac and his companions,
"under any other circumstances I might find your presence here, in my
chateau, with arms in your hands, unwarranted, but I am aware of the
necessity that drove you to forcibly invade this mansion, hitherto
sacred from such scenes as this--I know that violence must be met with
violence, and justifies it; therefore I shall take no further notice of
what has happened here to-night, and you need have no fears of any evil
consequences to yourselves because of your share in it. But where is the
Duke of Vallombreuse? that degenerate son who disgraces my old age."

As if in obedience to his father's call, the young duke at that moment
appeared upon the threshold of the door leading into what had been
Isabelle's apartment, supported by Malartic. He was frightfully pale,
and his clinched hand pressed a handkerchief tightly upon his wounded
chest. He came forward with difficulty, looking like a ghost. Only a
strong effort of will kept him from falling--an effort that gave to
his face the immobility of a marble mask. He had heard the voice of his
father, whom, depraved and shameless as he was, he yet respected and
dreaded, and he hoped to be able to conceal his wound from him. He bit
his lips so as not to cry out or groan in his agony, and resolutely
swallowed down the bloody foam that kept rising and filling his mouth.
He even took off his hat, in spite of the frightful pain the raising
of his arm caused him, and stood uncovered and silent before his angry
parent.

"Sir," said the prince, severely, "your misdeeds transcend all limits,
and your behaviour is such that I shall be forced to implore the king
to send you to prison, or into exile. You are not fit to be at large.
Abduction--imprisonment--criminal assault. These are not simple
gallantries; and though I might be willing to pardon and overlook many
excesses, committed in the wildness of licentious youth, I never could
bring myself to forgive a deliberate and premeditated crime. Do
you know, you monster," he continued approaching Vallombreuse, and
whispering in his ear, so that no one else could hear, "do you know
who this young girl is? this good and chaste Isabelle, whom you have
forcibly abducted, in spite of her determined and virtuous resistance!
She is your own sister!

"May she replace the son you are about to lose," the young duke replied,
attacked by a sudden faintness, and an agony of pain which he felt
that he could not long endure and live; "but I am not as guilty as you
suppose. Isabelle is pure--stainless. I swear it, by the God before whom
I must shortly appear. Death does not lie, and you may believe what I
say, upon the word of a dying gentleman."

These words were uttered loudly and distinctly, so as to be heard
by all. Isabelle turned her beautiful eyes, wet with tears, upon de
Sigognac, and read in those of her true and faithful lover that he had
not waited for the solemn attestation, "in extremis," of the Duke of
Vallombreuse to believe in the perfect purity of her whom he adored.

"But what is the matter?" asked the prince, holding out his hand to his
son, who staggered and swayed to and fro in spite of Malartic's efforts
to support him, and whose face was fairly livid.

"Nothing, father," answered Vallombreuse, in a scarcely articulate
voice, "nothing--only I am dying"--and he fell at full length on the
floor before the prince could clasp him in his arms, as he endeavoured
to do.

"He did not fall on his face," said Jacquemin Lampourde, sententiously;
"it's nothing but a fainting fit. He may escape yet. We duellists are
familiar with this sort of thing, my lord; a great deal more so than
most medical men, and you may depend upon what I say."

"A doctor! a doctor!" cried the prince, forgetting his anger as he saw
his son lying apparently lifeless at his feet. "Perhaps this man is
right, and there may be some hope for him yet. A fortune to whomsoever
will save my son!--my only son!--the last scion of a noble race. Go! run
quickly! What are you about there?--don't you understand me? Go, I say,
and run as fast as you can; take the fleetest horse in the stable."

Whereupon two of the imperturbable lackeys, who had held their torches
throughout this exciting scene without moving a muscle, hastened off
to execute their master's orders. Some of his own servants now came
forward, raised up the unconscious Duke of Vallombreuse with every
possible care and precaution, and by his father's command carried him to
his own room and laid him on his own bed, the aged prince following, with
a face from which grief and anxiety had already driven away all traces
of anger. He saw his race extinct in the death of this son, whom he
so dearly loved--despite his fault--and whose vices he forgot for the
moment, remembering only his brilliant and lovable qualities. A profound
melancholy took complete possession of him, as he stood for a few
moments plunged in a sorrowful reverie that everybody respected.

Isabelle, entirely revived, and no longer feeling at all faint, bad
risen to her feet, and now stood between de Sigognac and the tyrant,
adjusting, with a trembling hand, her disordered dress and dishevelled
hair. Lampourde and Scapin had retired to a little distance from them,
and held themselves modestly aloof, whilst the men within, still bound
hand and foot, kept as quiet as possible; fearful of their fate if
brought to the prince's notice. At length that aged nobleman returned,
and breaking the terrible silence that had weighed upon all, said,
in severe tones, "Let all those who placed their services at the
disposition of the Duke of Vallombreuse, to aid him in indulging
his evil passions and committing a terrible crime, quit this chateau
instantly. I will refrain from placing you in the hands of the public
executioner, though you richly deserve it. Go now! vanish! get ye back
to your lairs! and rest assured that justice will not fail to overtake
you at last."

These words were not complimentary, but the trembling offenders were
thankful to get off so easily, and the ruffians, whom Lampourde and
Scapin had unbound, followed Malartic down the stairs in silence,
without daring to claim their promised reward. When they had
disappeared, the prince advanced and took Isabelle by the hand, and
gently detaching her from the group of which she had formed a part, led
her over to where he had been standing, and kept her beside him.

"Stay here, mademoiselle," he said; "your place is henceforth by
my side. It is the least that you can do to fulfil your duty as my
daughter, since you are the innocent means of depriving me of my son."
And he wiped away a tear, that, despite all his efforts to control his
grief, rolled down his withered cheek. Then turning to de Sigognac, he
said, with an incomparably noble gesture, "Sir, you are at liberty to
withdraw, with your brave companions. Isabelle will have nothing to fear
under her father's protection, and this chateau will be her home for
the present. Now that her birth is made known it is not fitting that my
daughter should return to Paris with you. I thank you, though it
costs me the hope of perpetuating my race, for having spared my son a
disgraceful action--what do I say? An abominable crime. I would rather
have a bloodstain on my escutcheon than a dishonourable blot. Since
Vallombreuse was infamous in his conduct, you have done well to kill
him. You have acted like a true gentleman, which I am assured that you
are, in chivalrously protecting weakness, innocence and virtue. You
are nobly in the right. That my daughter's honour has been preserved
unstained, I owe to you--and it compensates me for the loss of my
son--at least my reason tells me that it should do so; but the father's
heart rebels, and unjust ideas of revenge might arise, which I should
find it difficult to conquer and set at rest. Therefore you had better
go your way now, and whatever the result may be I will not pursue or
molest you. I will try to forget that a terrible necessity turned your
sword against my son's life."

"My lord," said de Sigognac, with profound respect, "I feel so keenly
for your grief as a father, that I would have accepted any reproaches,
no matter how bitter and unjust, from you, without one word of protest
or feeling of resentment; even though I cannot reproach myself for my
share in this disastrous conflict. I do not wish to say anything to
justify myself in your eyes, at the expense of the unhappy Duke of
Vallombreuse, but I beg you to believe that this quarrel was not of
my seeking. He persistently threw himself in my way, and I have done
everything I could to spare him, in more than one encounter. Even
here it was his own blind fury that led to his being wounded. I leave
Isabelle, who is dearer to me than my own soul, in your hands, and shall
grieve my whole life long for this sad victory; which is a veritable and
terrible defeat for me, since it destroys my happiness. Ah! if only I
could have been slain myself, instead of your unhappy son; it would have
been better and happier for me."

He bowed with grave dignity to the prince, who courteously returned
his salute, exchanged a long look, eloquent of passionate love and
heart-breaking regret, with Isabelle, and went sadly down the grand
staircase, followed by his companions--not however without glancing back
more than once at the sweet girl he was leaving--who to save herself
from falling, leaned heavily against the railing of the landing,
sobbing as if her heart would break, and pressing a handkerchief to her
streaming eyes. And, so strange a thing is the human heart, the Baron
de Sigognac departed much comforted by the bitter grief and tears of her
whom he so devotedly loved and worshipped. He and his friends went on
foot to the little wood where they had left their horses tied to the
trees, found them undisturbed, mounted and returned to Paris.

"What do you think, my lord, of all these wonderful events?" said the
tyrant, after a long silence, to de Sigognac, beside whom he was
riding. "It all ends up like a regular tragi-comedy. Who would ever
have dreamed, in the midst of the melee, of the sudden entrance upon the
scene of the grand old princely father, preceded by torches, and coming
to put a little wholesome restraint on the too atrociously outrageous
pranks of his dissolute young son? And then the recognition of Isabelle
as his daughter, by means of the ring with a peculiar device of his own
engraved upon it; haven't you seen exactly the same sort of thing on the
stage? But, after all, it is not so surprising perhaps as it seems
at the first glance--since the theatre is only a copy of real life.
Therefore, real life should resemble it, just as the original does the
portrait, eh? I have always heard that our sweet little actress was of
noble birth. Blazius and old Mme. Leonarde remember seeing the prince
when he was devoted to Cornelia. The duenna has often tried to persuade
Isabelle to seek out her father, but she is of too modest and gentle a
nature to take a step of that kind; not wishing to intrude upon a family
that might reject her, and willing to content herself in her own lowly,
position."

"Yes, I knew all about that," rejoined de Sigognac, "for Isabelle
told me some time ago her mother's history, and spoke of the ring; but
without attaching any importance to the fact of her illustrious origin.
It is very evident, however, from the nobility and delicacy of her
nature, without any other proof, that princely blood flows in her veins;
and also the refined, pure, elevated type of her beauty testifies to
her descent. But what a terrible fatality that this cursed Vallombreuse
should turn out to be her brother! There is a dead body between us
now--a stream of blood separates us--and yet, I could not save her
honour in any other way. Unhappy mortal that I am! I have myself created
the obstacle upon which my love is wrecked, and killed my hopes of
future bliss with the very sword that defended the purity of the woman I
adore. In guarding her I love, I have put her away from me forever. How
could I go now and present myself to Isabelle with blood-stained hands?
Alas! that the blood which I was forced to shed in her defence should
have been her brother's. Even if she, in her heavenly goodness, could
forgive me, and look upon me without a feeling of horror, the prince,
her father, would repulse and curse me as the murderer of his only son.
I was born, alas! under an unlucky star."

"Yes, it is all very sad and lamentable, certainly," said the tyrant;
"but worse entanglements than this have come out all right in the end.
You must remember that the Duke of Vallombreuse is only half-brother
to Isabelle, and that they were aware of the relationship but for a
few minutes before he fell dead at our feet; which must make a great
difference in her feelings. And besides, she hated that overbearing
nobleman, who pursued her so cruelly with his violent and scandalous
gallantries. The prince himself was far from being satisfied with his
wretched son--who was ferocious as Nero, dissolute as Heliogabalus, and
perverse as Satan himself, and who would have been hanged ten times over
if he had not been a duke. Do not be so disheartened! things may turn
out a great deal better than you think now."

"God grant it, my good Herode," said de Sigognac fervently. "But
naturally I cannot feel happy about it. It would have been far better
for all if I had been killed instead of the duke, since Isabelle would
have been safe from his criminal pursuit under her father's care. And
then, I may as well tell you all, a secret horror froze the very marrow
in my bones when I saw that handsome young man, but a moment before so
full of life, fire, and passion, fall lifeless, pale and stiff at my
feet. Herode, the death of a man is a grave thing, and though I cannot
suffer from remorse for this one, since I have committed no crime,
still, all the time I see Vallombreuse before me, lying, motionless and
ghastly, with the blood oozing slowly from his wound. It haunts me. I
cannot drive the horrid sight away."

"That is all wrong," said the tyrant, soothingly--for the other was much
excited--"for you could not have done otherwise. Your conscience should
not reproach you. You have acted throughout, from the very beginning to
the end, like the noble gentleman that you are. These scruples are owing
to exhaustion, to the feverishness due to the excitement you have gone
through, and the chill from the night air. We will gallop on swiftly in
a moment, to set our blood flowing more freely, and drive away these sad
thoughts of yours. But one thing must be promptly done; you must quit
Paris, forthwith, and retire for a time to some quiet retreat, until all
this trouble is forgotten. The violent death of the Duke of Vallombreuse
will make a stir at the court, and in the city, no matter how much pains
may be taken to keep the facts from the public, and, although he was not
at all popular, indeed very much the reverse, there will be much regret
expressed, and you will probably be severely blamed. But now let us put
spurs to these lazy steeds of ours, and try to get on a little faster."

While they are galloping towards Paris, we will return to the
chateau--as quiet now as it had been noisy a little while before. In
the young duke's room, a candelabrum, with several branches, stood on a
round table, so that the light from the candles fell upon the bed, where
he lay with closed eyes, as motionless as a corpse, and as pale. The
walls of the large chamber, above a high wainscot of ebony picked out
with gold, were hung with superb tapestry, representing the history of
Medea and Jason, with all its murderous and revolting details. Here,
Medea was seen cutting the body of Pelias into pieces, under pretext of
restoring his youth--there, the madly jealous woman and unnatural
mother was murdering her own children; in another panel she was
fleeing, surfeited with vengeance, in her chariot, drawn by huge dragons
breathing out flames of fire. The tapestry was certainly magnificent in
quality and workmanship, rich in colouring, artistic in design, and very
costly--but inexpressibly repulsive. These mythological horrors gave
the luxurious room an intensely disagreeable, lugubrious aspect, and
testified to the natural ferocity and cruelty of the person who had
selected them. Behind the bed the crimson silk curtains had been drawn
apart, exposing to view the representation of Jason's terrible conflict
with the fierce, brazen bulls that guarded the golden fleece, and
Vallombreuse, lying senseless below them, looked as if he might have
been one of their victims. Various suits of clothes, of the greatest
richness and elegance, which had been successively tried on and
rejected, were scattered about, and in a splendid great Japanese vase,
standing on an ebony table near the head of the bed, was a bouquet of
beautiful flowers, destined to replace the one Isabelle had already
refused to receive--its glowing tints making a strange contrast with the
death-like face, which was whiter than the snowy pillow it rested
on. The prince, sitting in an arm-chair beside the bed, gazed at his
unconscious son with mournful intentness, and bent down from time to
time to listen at the slightly parted lips; but no fluttering breath
came through them; all was still. Never had the young duke looked
handsomer. The haughty, fierce expression, habitual with him, had given
place to a serenity that was wonderfully beautiful, though so like
death. As the father contemplated the perfect face and form, so soon to
crumble into dust, he forgot, in his overwhelming grief, that the soul
of a demon had animated it, and he thought sorrowfully of the great name
that had been revered and honoured for centuries past, but which could
not go down to centuries to come. More even than the death of his son
did he mourn for the extinction of his home.