Captain Fracasse

T >> Theophile Gautier >> Captain Fracasse


"Unless Mme. la Marquise comes quickly, I fear she will find only
a half-frozen lover, instead of an ardent, impatient one," murmured
Leander with chattering teeth; and even as the words escaped him
four dark shadows advanced noiselessly from behind upon the expectant
gallant. Two of these shadows, which were the substantial bodies of
stout rascals in the service of the Marquis de Bruyeres, seized him
suddenly by the arms, which they held pinioned closely to his sides,
while the other two proceeded to rain blows alternately upon his
back--keeping perfect time as their strokes fell thick and fast. Too
proud to run the risk of making his woes public by an outcry, their
astonished victim took his punishment bravely--without making a sound.
Mutius Scaevola did not bear himself more heroically while his right
hand lay among the burning coals upon the altar in the presence of
Porsenna, than did Leander under his severe chastisement. When it was
finished the two men let go of their prisoner, all four saluted him
gravely, and retired as noiselessly as they had come, without a single
word being spoken.

What a terrible fall was this! that famous one of Icarus himself,
tumbling down headlong from the near neighbourhood of the sun, was not
a greater. Battered, bruised, sore and aching all over, poor Leander,
crestfallen and forlorn, limping painfully, and suppressing his groans
with Spartan resolution, crept slowly back to his own room; but so
overweening as his self-conceit that he never even suspected that a
trick had been played upon him. He said to himself that without doubt
Mme. la Marquise had been watched and followed by her jealous husband,
who had overtaken her before she reached the rendezvous in the park,
carried her back to the chateau by main strength, and forced her, with a
poniard at her throat, to confess all. He pictured her to himself on
her knees, with streaming eyes, disordered dress and dishevelled hair,
imploring her stem lord and master to be merciful--to have pity upon
her and forgive her this once--vowing by all she held sacred never to be
faithless to him again, even in thought. Suffering and miserable as he
was after his tremendous thrashing, he yet pitied and grieved over the
poor lady who had put herself in such peril for his sake, never dreaming
that she was in blissful ignorance of the whole affair, and at that
very moment sleeping peacefully in her luxurious bed. As the poor fellow
crept cautiously and painfully along the corridor leading to his room
and to those of the other members of the troupe he had the misfortune to
be detected by Scapin, who, evidently on the watch for him, was peeping
out of his own half-open door, grinning, grimacing, and gesticulating
significantly, as he noted the other's limping gait and drooping figure.

In vain did Leander strive to straighten himself up and assume a gay,
careless air; his malicious tormentor was not in the least taken in by
it.

The next morning the comedians prepared to resume their journey; no
longer, however, in the slow-moving, groaning ox-cart, which they were
glad, indeed, to exchange for the more roomy, commodious vehicle that
the tyrant had been able to hire for them--thanks to the marquis's
liberality--in which they could bestow themselves and their belongings
comfortably, and to which was harnessed four stout draught horses.

Leander and Zerbine were both rather late in rising, and the last to
make their appearance--the former with a doleful countenance, despite
his best efforts to conceal his sufferings under a cheerful exterior,
the latter beaming with satisfaction, and with smiles for everybody.
She was decidedly inclined to be munificent towards her companions, and
bestow upon them some of the rich spoils that had fallen plentifully
to her share--taking quite a new position among them--even the duenna
treating her with a certain obsequious, wheedling consideration, which
she had been far from ever showing her before. Scapin, whose keen
observation nothing ever escaped, noticed that her box had suddenly
doubled in weight, by some magic or other, and drew his own conclusions
therefrom. Zerbine was a universal favourite, and no one begrudged
her her good fortune, save Serafina, who bit her lip till it bled, and
murmured indignantly, "Shameless creature!" but the soubrette pretended
not to hear it, content for the moment with the signal humiliation of
the arch-coquette.

At last the new Thespian chariot was ready for a start, and our
travellers bade adieu to the hospitable chateau, where they had been
so honourably received and so generously treated, and which they all,
excepting poor Leander, quitted with regret. The tyrant dwelt upon
the bountiful supply of pistoles he had received; the pedant upon
the capital wines of which he had drunk his fill; Matamore upon
the enthusiastic applause that had been lavished upon him by that
aristocratic audience; Zerbine upon the pieces of rich silk, the golden
necklaces and other like treasures with which her chest was replete--no
wonder that it was heavy--while de Sigognac and Isabelle, thinking only
of each other, and happy in being together, did not even turn their
heads for one last glimpse of the handsome Chateau de Bruyere.



CHAPTER VI. A SNOW-STORM AND ITS CONSEQUENCES

As may be readily supposed, the comedians were well satisfied with
the kind treatment they had received during their brief sojourn at the
Chateau de Bruyeres; such a piece of good fortune did not often fall
to their lot, and they rejoiced in it exceedingly. The tyrant had
distributed among them each one's share of the marquis's liberal
remuneration for their services, and it was wonderfully pleasant to them
to have broad pieces in the purses usually so scantily supplied, and not
infrequently quite empty. Zerbine, who was evidently rejoicing over some
secret source of satisfaction, accepted good-naturedly all the taunts
and jokes of her companions upon the irresistible power of her charms.
She was triumphant, and could afford to be laughed at--indeed, joined
heartily in the general merriment at her own expense--while Serafina
sulked openly, with "envy, hatred, and malice" filling her heart. Poor
Leander, still smarting from his severe beating, sore and aching, unable
to find an easy position, and suffering agonies from the jolting of the
chariot, found it hard work to join in the prevailing gaiety.

When he thought no one was looking at him, he would furtively rub
his poor, bruised shoulders and arms with the palm of his hand, which
stealthy manoeuvre might very readily have passed unobserved by the rest
of the company, but did not escape the wily valet, who was always on
the lookout for a chance to torment Leander; his monstrous self-conceit
being intensely exasperating to him. A harder jolt than usual having
made the unfortunate gallant groan aloud, Scapin immediately opened his
attack, feigning to feel the liveliest commiseration for him.

"My poor Leander, what is the matter with you this morning? You moan and
sigh as if you were in great agony! Are you really suffering so
acutely? You seem to be all battered and bruised, like the Knight of
the Sorrowful Countenance, after he had capered stark naked, for a love
penance, among the rocks in the Sierra Morena, in humble imitation of
his favourite hero, Amadis de Gaul. You look as if you had not slept
at all last night, and had been lying upon hard sticks, rods, or clubs,
instead of in a soft, downy bed, such as were given to the rest of us
in the fine chateau yonder. Tell us, I pray you, did not Morpheus once
visit you all the night through?"

"Morpheus may have remained shut up in his cavern, but Cupid is a
wanderer by night, who does not need a lantern to find the way to those
fortunate individuals he favours with a visit," Leander replied, hoping
to divert attention from the tell-tale bruises, that he had fancied were
successfully concealed.

"I am only a humble valet, and have had no experience in affairs of
gallantry. I never paid court to a fine lady in my life; but still, I do
know this much, that the mischievous little god, Cupid, according to all
the poets, aims his arrows at the hearts of those he wishes to wound,
instead of using his bow upon their backs."

"What in the world do you mean?" Leander interrupted quickly, growing
seriously uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking.

"Oh! nothing; only that I see, in spite of all your efforts to hide it
with that handkerchief knotted so carefully round your neck, that you
have there on the back of it a long, black mark, which to-morrow will
be indigo, the day after green, and then yellow, until it fades away
altogether, like any other bruise--a black mark that looks devilishly
like the authentic flourish which accompanies the signature of a good,
stout club on a calf's skin--or on vellum, if that term pleases you
better."

"Ah! my good Scapin, you do not understand such matters," Leander
replied, a scarlet flush mounting to the very roots of his hair, and
at his wits' ends to know how to silence his tormentor; "doubtless some
dead and gone beauty, who loved me passionately during her lifetime, has
come back and kissed me there while I was sleeping; as is well known,
the contact of the lips of the dead leave strange, dark marks, like
bruises, on human flesh, which the recipient of the mysterious caress is
astonished to find upon awaking."

"Your defunct beauty visited you and bestowed her mysterious caress very
apropos," remarked Scapin, incredulously; "but I would be willing to
take my oath that yonder vigorous kiss had been imprinted upon your
lily-white neck by the stinging contact of a stout club."

"Unmannerly jester and scoffer that you are! is nothing sacred to you?"
broke in Leander, with some show of heat.

"You push my modesty too far. I endeavoured delicately to put off upon
a dead beauty what I should have ascribed to a living one. Ignorant and
unsophisticated though you claim to be, have you never heard of kisses
so ardent that such traces of them are left?--where pearly teeth have
closed upon the soft flesh, and made their mark on the white skin?"

"Memorem dente notam," interrupted the pedant, charmed to have a chance
to quote Horace.

"This explanation appears to me very judicious," Scapin said; then,
with a low bow to the pedant, "and is sustained by unquestionable if
incomprehensible authority; but the mark is so long that this nocturnal
beauty of yours, dead or alive, must have had in her lovely mouth that
famous tooth which the three Gorgon sisters owned among them, and passed
about from one to the other."

This sally was followed by a roar of laughter, and Leander, beside
himself with rage, half rose, to throw himself upon Scopin, and chastise
him then and there for his insufferable impertinence; but he was so
stiff and sore from his own beating, and the pain in his back, which was
striped like a zebra's, was so excruciating, that he sank back into his
place with a suppressed groan, and concluded to postpone his revenge to
some more convenient season. Herode and Blazius, who were accustomed
to settle such little disputes, insisted upon their making up their
differences, and a sort of reconciliation took place-Scapin promising
never to allude to the subject again, but managing to give poor Leander
one or two more digs that made him wince even as he did so.

During this absurd altercation the chariot had been making steady
progress, and soon arrived at an open space where another great
post-road crossed the one they were following, at right angles. A large
wooden crucifix, much the worse for long exposure to the weather,
had been erected upon a grassy mound at the intersection of the two
highways. A group, consisting of two men and three mules, stood at its
foot, apparently awaiting some one's arrival. As they approached, one
of the mules, as if weary of standing still, impatiently shook its head,
which was gaily decorated with bright, many-coloured tufts and tassels,
and set all the little silver bells about it ringing sharply. Although
a pair of leather blinkers, decked with gay embroidery, effectually
prevented its seeing to the right or to the left, it evidently was aware
of the approach of the chariot before the men's senses had given them
any intimation of it.

"The Colonelle shakes her ear-trumpets and shows her teeth," said one of
them; "they cannot be far off now."

In effect, after a very few minutes the chariot was seen approaching,
and presently rolled into the open space. Zerbine, who sat in front,
glanced composedly at the little group of men and mules standing there,
without betraying any surprise at seeing them.

"By Jove! those are fine beasts yonder," exclaimed the tyrant, "splendid
Spanish mules, especially that foremost one; they can easily do their
fifteen or twenty leagues a day, I'll venture, and if we were mounted on
the like we should soon find ourselves in Paris. But what the devil are
they doing in this lonely place? it must be a relay, waiting for some
rich seignior travelling this way."

"No," said the duenna, "that foremost mule is intended for a lady--don't
you see the cushions and housings?"

"In that case," he replied, "there must be an abduction in the wind;
those two equerries, in gray liveries, certainly have a very mysterious,
knowing sort of an air."

"Perhaps you are right," said Zerbine, demurely, with a significant
little smile and shrug.

"Can it be possible that the lady is among us?" asked Scapin; "one of
the men is coming this way by himself, as if he desired to parley before
resorting to violence."

"Oh! there'll be no need," said Serafina, casting a scornful glance at
the soubrette, who returned it with interest.

"There are bold creatures that go of their own accord, without waiting
to be carried off."

"And there are others who are NOT carried off, that would like to be,"
retorted the soubrette, "but the desire is not sufficient; a few charms
are needed too."

At this point the equerry who had advanced to meet the chariot made a
sign to them to stop, and, cap in hand, politely asked if Mlle. Zerbine
was among them. The soubrette herself answered this inquiry in the
affirmative, and sprang to the ground as lightly as a bird.

"Mademoiselle, I am at your disposal," said the equerry to her, in a
respectful and gallant tone. Zerbine shook out her skirts, adjusted her
wraps, and then, turning towards the comedians, delivered this little
harangue: "My dear comrades, I pray you pardon me for quitting you
in this unceremonious manner. There are times when Opportunity offers
itself suddenly for our acceptance, and we must seize it without delay,
or lose it altogether; he would be a fool who let it slip through
his fingers, for once relinquished it returns not again. The face of
Fortune, which until now has always frowned upon me, at last vouchsafes
me a smile, and I am delighted to enjoy its brightness, even though it
may prove to be only fleeting. In my humble role of soubrette, I could
not aspire to, or expect to receive, the admiration of rich lords and
gentlemen--that is for my betters; and now that a happy chance has
thrown such an unhoped-for piece of good luck in my way, you will
not blame me, I am confident, for gladly accepting it. Let me take my
belongings then--which are packed in the chariot with the others--and
receive my adieux. I shall be sure to rejoin you some day, sooner or
later, at Paris, for I am a born actress; the theatre was my first love,
and I have never long been faithless to it."

The two men accordingly, aided by the comedians, took Zerbine's boxes
out of the chariot, and adjusted them carefully on the pack-mule. The
soubrette made a sweeping curtsey to her friends in the chariot, and
threw a kiss to Isabelle from her finger tips, then, aided by one of the
equerries, sprang to her place behind him, on the back of the Colonelle,
as lightly and gracefully as if she had been taught the art of mounting
in an equestrian academy, nodded a last farewell, and striking the mule
sharply with the high heel of her pretty little shoe, set off at a round
pace.

"Good-bye, and good luck to you, Zerbine," cried the comedians heartily,
one and all; save only Serafina, who was more furiously angry with her
than ever.

"This is an unfortunate thing for us," said the tyrant regretfully,
"a serious loss. I wish with all my heart that we could have kept that
capital little actress with us; we shall not easily find any one to
replace her, even in Paris; she is really incomparable in her own
role--but she was not in any way bound to stay with us a moment longer
than she chose. We shall have to substitute a duenna, or a chaperon, for
the soubrette in our pieces for the present; it will be less pleasing of
course, but still Mme. Leonarde here is a host in herself, and we shall
manage to get on very nicely, I dare say."

The chariot started on its way again as he spoke, at rather a better
pace than the lumbering old ox-cart. They were travelling through a part
of the country now which was a great contrast to the desolate Landes. To
the Baron de Sigognac, who had never been beyond their desolate expanse
before, it was a revelation, and he could not sufficiently admire the
richness and beauty of this region. The productive, red soil was
highly cultivated--not an inch of ground neglected--comfortable,
often handsome, stone houses scattered along their route at frequent
intervals, and surrounded by large, luxuriant gardens, spoke of a
well-to-do population. On each side of the broad, smooth road was a row
of fine trees, whose falling leaves lay piled upon the ground in yellow
heaps, or whirled in the wind before de Sigognac and Isabelle, as they
walked along beneath their spreading branches, finding the exercise a
welcome relief after sitting for a long time in the chariot in rather
a cramped position. One day as they were walking thus side by side,
de Sigognac said to his fair companion, "I wish you would tell me,
Isabelle, how it has happened that you, with all the characteristics
of a lady of lofty lineage in the innate modesty and dignity of your
manners, the refinement and purity of your language, the incomparable
grace of your carriage, the elevation of your sentiments upon all
subjects, to say nothing of the delicate, aristocratic type of your
beauty--should have become a member of a wandering band of players like
this--good, honest people no doubt, but not of the same rank or race as
yourself."

"Don't fancy that I am a princess in disguise, or a great lady reduced
to earn my living in this way," she replied, with an adorable smile,
"merely because of some good qualities you think you have discovered in
me. The history of my life is a very simple, uneventful one, but since
you show such kind interest in me I will gladly relate it to you. So
far from being brought down to the station I occupy by some grievous
catastrophe or romantic combination of adverse circumstances, I was born
to the profession of an actress--the chariot of Thespis was, so to say,
my birthplace. My mother, who was a very beautiful woman and finished
actress, played the part of tragic princess. She did not confine her
role to the theatre, but exacted as much deference and respect from
those around her when off the stage, as she received upon it, until she
came to consider herself a veritable princess. She had all the majesty
and grace of one, and was greatly admired and courted, but never would
suffer any of the gallants, who flutter about pretty actresses like
moths around a candle, to approach her--holding herself entirely above
them, and keeping her good name unsullied through everything. An account
of this unusual conduct on the part of a beautiful young actress chanced
to reach the ears of a certain rich and powerful prince, who was very
much struck and interested by it, and immediately sought an introduction
to my mother. As his actual rank and position equalled hers of imaginary
princess, she received his attentions with evident pleasure. He was
young, handsome, eloquent, and very much in love with her--what wonder
then that she yielded at last to his impassioned entreaties, and gave
herself to him, though, because of his high station, he could not do as
his heart dictated, and make her his wife. They were very happy in each
other's love, and after I was born my young father was devoted to me."

"Ah!" interrupted de Sigognac, eagerly, "that explains it all; princely
blood does flow in your veins. I knew it--was sure of it!"

"Their happiness continued," resumed Isabelle, "until reasons of state
made it necessary for him to tear himself away from her, to go on a
diplomatic mission to one of the great capitals of Europe; and ere his
return to France an illustrious marriage had been arranged for him by
his family, with the sanction of royalty, which he found it impossible
to evade. In these cruel circumstances he endeavoured to do
everything in his power to soften the pain of this rupture to my poor
mother--himself almost broken-hearted at being forced to leave her--and
made every possible arrangement for her comfort and well-being; settling
a generous income on her, and providing lavishly for my maintenance and
education. But she would accept nothing from him--she could not receive
his money without his love--'all or nothing' was her motto; and taking
me with her she fled from him, successfully concealing her place of
refuge. She soon after joined a band of players travelling through the
provinces, and resumed her old role; but her heart was broken, and she
gradually faded away, dying at last when I was only about seven years
old. Even then I used to appear upon the stage in parts suitable to my
age. I was a precocious little thing in many ways. My mother's death
caused me a grief far more acute than most children, even a good deal
older than I was then, are capable of feeling. How well I remember being
punished because I refused to act the part of one of Medea's children,
the day after she died. But my grief was not very long-lived--I was but
a child after all, and the actors and actresses of the troupe were so
good to me, always petting me, and devising all sorts of ways to please
and divert me--theatrical people are proverbially kind to comrades in
distress, you know. The pedant, who belonged to our company, and looked
just as old and wrinkled then as he does now, took the greatest interest
in me, constituted himself my master, and taught me thoroughly and
indefatigably all the secrets of the histrionic art--taking unwearied
pains with me. I could not have had a better teacher; perhaps you do not
know that he has a great reputation, even in Paris. You will wonder that
a man of his fame and attainments should be found in a strolling company
of players like this, but his unfortunate habits of intemperance have
been the cause of all his troubles. He was professor of elocution in one
of the celebrated colleges, holding an enviable and lucrative position,
but lost it because of his inveterate irregularities. He is his own
worst enemy, poor Blazius! In the midst of all the confusion and serious
disadvantages of a vagabond life, I have always been able to hold myself
somewhat apart, and remain pure and innocent. My companions, who have
known me from babyhood, look upon me as a sister or daughter, and treat
me with invariable affection and respect; and as for the men of the
outside world who haunt the coulisses, and seem to think that an actress
is public property, off the stage as well as upon it, I have thus far
managed to keep them at a distance--continuing in real life my role of
modest, ingenuous, young girl, without hypocrisy or false pretensions."

Thus, as they strolled along together, and could talk confidentially
without fear of listeners, Isabelle related the story of her life to de
Sigognac, who was a most attentive and delighted listener, and ever more
and more charmed with his fair divinity.

"And the name of the prince," said he, after a short pause, "do you
remember it?"

"I fear that it might be dangerous to my peace to disclose it," she
replied; "but it is indelibly engraven upon my memory."

"Are there any proofs remaining to you of his connection with your
mother?"

"I have in my possession a seal-ring bearing his coat of arms" Isabelle
answered; "it is the only jewel of all he had lavished upon her that my
mother kept, and that entirely on account of the associations connected
with it, not for its intrinsic value, which is small. If you would like
to see it I will be very glad to show it to you some day."

It would be too tedious to follow our travellers step by step on their
long journey, so we will skip over a few days--which passed quietly,
without any incidents worth recording--and rejoin them as they were
drawing near to the ancient town of Poitiers. In the meantime their
receipts had not been large, and hard times had come to the wandering
comedians. The money received from the Marquis de Bruyeres had all
been spent, as well as the modest sum in de Sigognac's purse-who had
contributed all that he possessed to the common fund, in spite of the
protestations of his comrades in distress. The chariot was drawn now
by a single horse-instead of the four with which they had set off
so triumphantly from the Chateau de Bruyeres--and such a horse! a
miserable, old, broken-down hack, whose ribs were so prominent that he
looked as if he lived upon barrel-hoops instead of oats and hay; his
lack-lustre eyes, drooping head, halting gait, and panting breath
combined to make him a most pitiable object, and he plodded on at a
snail's pace, looking as if he might drop down dead on the road at any
moment. Only the three women were in the chariot--the men all walking,
so as to relieve their poor, jaded beast as much as possible. The
weather was bitterly cold, and they wrapped their cloaks about them and
strode on in silence, absorbed in their own melancholy thoughts.