After they had run for more than a league, as if they were pursued, Ménard, utterly exhausted, stopped, declared that he could hold out no longer, and dropped on the turf. Dubourg thought that they could safely halt for a while, so he seated himself beside his companion.
"Will you kindly tell me now, monsieur le baron," said Ménard, when he had recovered his breath, "why we are running away like thieves from our friend Chambertin's, where we were overwhelmed with attentions, luxuriously quartered, and fed like epicures; where, in a word, we were treated with the regard we deserve?"
"My dear Monsieur Ménard, the jug that goes often to the well ends by being broken or filled, as you choose; and in this case I rather think both things have happened."
"What jug are you talking about? what have you broken? I don't understand you, monsieur le baron."
"So I see, and I will explain my meaning in another way. Did you notice that man they called Durosey, who didn't arrive at friend Chambertin's until this evening?"
"Yes, monsieur le baron."
"Do you know who that man is?"
"I heard it said that he was a retired merchant."
"Yes, he represented himself as such, the better to deceive me, no doubt. Did you notice what a forbidding face he had?"
"I noticed that he looked at you very often, monsieur le baron, with close attention."
"Parbleu! I should say as much; and he recognized me. Monsieur Ménard, that man is nothing else than a disguised Turkish spy, who has been sent in pursuit of me."
"Is it possible?"
"It is well known that I have pleaded the cause of the Greeks at several courts, and induced more than one prince to take up arms in their behalf. The Turks have sworn to have my life; this man is one of their agents, whom I recognized because I have often seen him at Constantinople; his presence is always followed by some disaster to me; I am sure that Monsieur Chambertin's house was surrounded by his confederates. They would have kidnapped me during the night,—and you too, because it is known that you are travelling with me,—and within a fortnight our two heads would have adorned the Castle of the Seven Towers, flanked by a horse's tail, the symbol of the Grand Turk's might. Tell me, now, whether I was wise to fly!"
"Mon Dieu!" said Ménard, looking behind him; "I believe that my strength has come back. Suppose we go on?"
"No, don't be alarmed, Monsieur Ménard; the rascals have lost our trail and won't dare to follow us."
"But how does it happen that Monsieur Chambertin receives as a guest——"
"Oh! my poor Ménard, you don't know mankind! With a dozen cashmere shawls, a collection of pastilles, a box of little bottles of attar of rose, you can make people do whatever you choose. However, I don't accuse Chambertin; he may very well have been deceived; but, just as the fireworks went off, I noticed several evil-looking men; and I at once determined to fly."
"You acted very wisely. But our carriage?"
"I certainly shall not go after it."
"Nor I. But what about our landlord at Grenoble, who owns it?"
"He has our post chaise to pay for it."
"But what are we to travel with hereafter?"
"With our legs, I fancy. Indeed, when one hasn't a sou to pay for horses, there's no use in having a post chaise."
"What's that, monsieur le baron? you haven't any money?"
"No, my dear Ménard; I lost all that I possessed, this evening. That Turk's presence confused me; I didn't know what I was doing, and I played like a fool."
"That was well done! Luckily, my pupil, Monsieur Frédéric de Montreville, has the money for our journey, and the only thing for us to do is to go and find him."
"How can we possibly rely on Frédéric's having any money. He has just made a new acquaintance, and new acquaintances, Monsieur Ménard, are always very expensive; we play the open-handed lover, we deny our charmer nothing. I am sure that that girl is making him spend money like water! At his age, a young man doesn't know the value of money, and has no idea of economy."
"But, monsieur le baron, I don't quite see how they could spend much money, living in the woods."
"You don't see? well, I do! It's first one thing, then another—no end to the whims. You don't suppose that they have stayed in their little cabin this whole month, do you? I can safely tell you, now, that Frédéric proposed to hire an apartment for the girl."
"But, monsieur le baron, did you not point out to him——"
"He's old enough to do as he pleases. However, don't get excited; I'll see him. I'll go alone first, so as not to anger him, and, if he is willing to listen to me, I'll bring him back. But, meanwhile, we must live. How much money have you?"
"About thirty francs."
"That isn't much; but if we are economical, it will last us some time; we shall have to live very sparingly; but that will do us good. These big dinners overheat our blood; it's very unhealthy to eat five or six rich dishes and drink several kinds of wine every day."
"Still, monsieur le baron, I am inclined to think that we were both getting fat at Monsieur Chambertin's."
"True; but that would have turned out badly for us; simple fare will check this tendency to corpulence. The pleasures of Capua enervated the Carthaginians; and Monsieur Chambertin's table would probably have produced the same effect on us, and I should have been distressed. I really must resume my incognito."
"Ah! I agree with you this time, monsieur le baron; for if those Turks should find you——"
"That's the reason why I think it wouldn't be prudent to return to Grenoble, where I might be arrested—I should say, kidnapped by those cutthroats. Besides, having no money, we should be ill received by our host, who would claim, I dare swear, that his carriage is worth more than ours. We will avoid passing through the town, and with your thirty francs we will take lodgings in some little village."
"But when that's all gone, monsieur le baron?"
"Parbleu! then we'll see; there's no use of worrying beforehand. Frédéric can write to his father."
"I am afraid monsieur le comte will be angry——"
"I will write to my aunt."
"To your aunt, monsieur le baron?"
"I should say, to my steward. At all events, we will find some way out of it. Besides, suppose we should groan and moan—would that help matters at all? So let us make the best of it. Come, it's a superb night, and we have had a good rest—let's push on. Faith! there's nothing like travelling on foot, if you want to admire the landscape. Come, my dear Ménard, summon your courage! Since we have been together, we have had lots of ups and downs; have you ever seen me mope?"
"Ah! monsieur le baron, everybody isn't as philosophical as you are."
"I will train you. Think of the misfortunes of Marius, Hannibal, Prince Edward; of the poverty of the grand-daughter of Henri IV; of the woes of Marguerite of Anjou; and of all the other people who have found themselves in much more difficult positions than ours—and complain again, if you dare!"
The travellers resumed their journey. Dubourg was a curious sight in his full dress, starched ruff, and thin pumps, walking beside Ménard, who wore silk short-clothes, black stockings, and buckled shoes, and who was compelled, in that costume, to climb hills, jump ditches, and plod along over ground that, at the best, was very uneven. Luckily, they had taken their hats when they went out to see the fireworks, otherwise they would have had to traverse Dauphiné as if they were calling on their neighbors.
At daybreak, they stopped at a peasant's house and obtained breakfast. Dubourg ordered an omelet and some native wine. They ate their repast under an arbor, surrounded by domestic animals who came to keep them company.
"How pleasant it is in the open air!" said Dubourg; "are all the gilded halls and antechambers on earth equal to this open country—to the perfect liberty which is ours at this moment?"
"It is certain," rejoined Ménard, driving away a big cat that persisted in putting its paws in his plate, "it is certain that we are entirely at liberty here,—that there is no suspicion of restraint—— Well, well, here's the dog now, trying to get my bread!"
"Well, Monsieur Ménard, every creature must live. In the time of our first parents, these innocent beasts shared their masters' meals; the lion ate from the hand of man, and the tiger gambolled at his feet."
"You must agree, monsieur le baron, that those animals have changed greatly in their disposition."
"Never mind; I love everything that recalls those days of innocence. When I look at this hen walking on our table, and this duck splashing in the mud at our feet, I fancy that I am living in the Age of Gold. Not until I feel in my pocket do I realize the delusion."
Unluckily, the eggs in the omelet were not fresh, and the wine was sour; Ménard made a wry face at every mouthful and every swallow, while Dubourg said:
"I know of no healthier food than an omelet. Whatever country you travel in, wherever you may be, if there are eggs, you have an omelet! Everybody knows how to make it; it's a universal dish, the dish of nature."
"If only the eggs were fresh!"
"Faith! this little taste of straw isn't unpleasant; at need, it will take the place of tarragon. And this wine—at all events, I'll guarantee that it won't do us any harm."
"It's infernally sour!"
"A proof that it's unadulterated."
Despite all that Dubourg could say to make Ménard approve of the breakfast, the tutor said, as they left the table:
"I think that we must go to hunt up Monsieur Frédéric de Montreville."
And Dubourg said to himself:
"He'll receive me cordially, when he knows that I have broken the bank again in less than a month! How in the devil am I to get out of the scrape? And how am I going to ask him for anything, when he gave it all to me? I can't go and preach to him—that isn't in my line. Indeed, I think that I shall have to induce Ménard to come and live in the woods with me; we will become hermits, and I won't play écarté any more."
The travellers made a détour round Grenoble, without entering the city. They halted in a small village, and Ménard spoke again of joining Frédéric. Dubourg lost his patience, and told him that he would go alone to Vizille to see what he could learn. He left the village, walked as far as a small patch of forest, lay down on the grass, slept there all day, and at night returned to Ménard, holding his handkerchief to his eyes and sighing as if his heart were broken.
"Well, well! what in heaven's name has happened to him?" inquired the tutor, anxiously.
"The ingrate! the harebrained fool!"
"Speak, monsieur le baron, I entreat you!"
"I suspected that he would do some insane thing. He has gone off with his fair one. They left the forest a fortnight ago."
"Great heaven! what will monsieur le comte say? what answer shall I make him, when he asks me what I have done with his son?"
"You must tell him that you lost him."
"Do you believe, monsieur le baron, that such an answer will satisfy him?"
"Then you can tell him that he lost himself. But be calm, my dear Ménard. I promise you that we will find Frédéric again. I have friends in all the courts of Europe; the young man will be restored to us."
This promise pacified poor Ménard to some extent, and Dubourg continued:
"Before we consider what to do about him, let us think of ourselves, for our position is not very splendid. We shall not find resources in this wretched village; let us go to the nearest town; and, above all things, my dear Ménard, do try to get rid of that heart-broken look, which will inspire an exceedingly unfavorable opinion of us in every inn at which we stop."
The travellers resumed their journey, and at nightfall arrived at Voreppe, a small town about two leagues from Grenoble. Dubourg inquired for the best inn, and went thither with his companion. They entered the common-room, Dubourg with his head in the air and a determined bearing, Ménard with downcast eyes and a very modest mien.
Several guests were talking together in the room, awaiting the supper hour.
"Will the gentlemen eat at the table d'hôte?" the servant inquired.
"Yes, of course," replied Dubourg; "we like company—don't we, my friend?"
"Yes, monsieur le ba—yes, my friend," said Ménard, being reminded by a blow from his friend's elbow that there was to be no more mention of barons.
Dubourg listened to what the other guests were saying, but the conversation was far from interesting; the tradesmen discussed business, the townspeople talked gossip, and Dubourg failed to discover any Chambertin to dazzle. He paced the floor of the common-room, jingling the few copper coins which he still had in his pocket, and halting now and then in front of Ménard to offer him a pinch of snuff; and Ménard, for all his depression, looked with unabated respect on the snuff-box which was held out to him.
Suddenly a little man of some fifty years of age, in a cinnamon-colored coat, green breeches, cavalry boots, and a cap with a visor that might at need serve as an umbrella, entered the room, with the air of one full of business, and said in a very loud tone:
"They won't come! they can't come! and my performance has fallen through. I am desperate! my mind is going!"
The little man threw himself into a chair, and was instantly surrounded by all the gossips and guests of the inn.
"What is it, Monsieur Floridor?" queried the hostess; "have your actors gone back on you?"
"Yes, the most necessary and most important ones of the lot: the jeune premier, and the noble father, two talented actors, who would have completed my troupe. The jeune premier was to come from Cambrai, where he has played such parts as Colin and Elleviou for twenty years; he is a man of the most charming, consummate talent. I saw him a month ago, in Sargine, or Love's Pupil, for he has been playing the ingénus and young lovers for some years. Ah! how delighted I was! an affecting voice, and a superb figure! a little taller than I am. And in tragic parts—such fire! such spirit! I wept when I saw him do Tartufe. As for the noble father, he is a most invaluable actor. For thirty years he has been the delight of Beaugency, and I saw him act at Doyen's, in Paris, with marvellous success. He takes all sorts of parts—kings, fathers, tyrants, Cassandras—he can handle anything. He made a specialty of the noble fathers' rôles only because he lost his teeth, which does not prevent his displaying plenty of bite in his diction."
"And why ain't they coming?"
"Why, indeed! Because Colin has an attack of catarrh, forsooth! and the noble father, having had a row in a wine shop, is locked up for a fortnight. Such things never happen to anybody but me. After taking so much pains to make a pretty theatre out of the old stable, and succeeding too—for I flatter myself that our theatre is charming: an orchestra, pit, three boxes, and a gallery—all on the same level, and tastefully decorated! I would have left the Grenoble theatre out of sight! The people of this town would have been so delighted! They know a good thing when they see it, at Voreppe, and, although there's never been a theatre here, I am sure I should have made a lot of money! I had already let one box to the justice of the peace, who is admitted gratis with his family; and the principal men of the town had sent me word that perhaps they would come!"
The little man paused at last to take breath and wipe his face. Dubourg, who had not lost a word of what he said, seated himself in a corner, evidently meditating some new plan.
"It is annoying, sure enough," said the innkeeper; "I've ordered a new dress for my daughter to wear to the play."
"Annoying, do you say!" repeated Floridor, twisting about on his chair like one possessed; "why, it is enough to drive one to despair! I would give a hundred francs if I could replace my two actors, and a hundred francs is quite a sum, it's equal to one evening's receipts; but, no matter, I would sacrifice it to be able to open my theatre."
These words were overheard by Dubourg, who still held aloof, however, and seemed to pay no heed to what was being said.
"Ah!" said one of the servants; "I wish I knew how to act! it would just suit me to be able to earn a hundred francs."
"I had engaged my two artists for a month, at sixty francs each," said Floridor; "that's pretty high, but we have to pay for real talent."
"Can't you get anybody to take their places?"
"Who, pray? I have made a tyrant of the wigmaker, and a confidant of the carpenter's apprentice, who has a magnificent voice. I have persuaded the constable's wife to play the princesses, and I have made an ingénue of the cooper's widow; those are all I've been able to find in the town; but they do very well, they're jewels. As for myself, I act when it's necessary; but, as I have to prompt too, I can't take any long rôles. I have a well-supplied wardrobe: three Spanish costumes, with which the last rope-dancer paid his bill at the wine shop; an old lawyer's gown to make tunics with; two otter-skin caps to serve for turbans, and some curtains I bought at Grenoble to make into cloaks. We were to have opened day after to-morrow, with Phèdre and Le Devin du Village. In Phèdre, the carpenter was to do Aricie, because we have only two women; but he's a nice-looking boy, with no beard, and he'd have done very well. As for the other two confidants, Ismène and Panope, I intended to declaim their rôles from the prompter's box. We should have given Le Devin du Village without music, but that makes it all the prettier; the actors speak instead of singing, and it goes very well; I've seen it given so in many places. What a success we would have had! My Colin was to do Hippolyte; and my noble father would have been magnificent as Thésée. The wigmaker was cast for Théramène; the fellow has his lines at his tongue's end, he doesn't shave a customer that he doesn't recite 'em; and Hippolyte must needs have the catarrh, and Thésée get into a row at a wine shop! How am I to get out of the scrape? Oh! if some great actor from Paris or some foreign country would happen to stop here—one of those men who travel so much! But they never come to Voreppe!"
"Supper is served, messieurs," said the maid-servant.
"Your trouble won't interfere with your supper, I take it, Monsieur Floridor," said a tradesman.
"No, indeed. I shall eat my supper as a matter of habit, but I have no appetite. This calamity has cut off my arms and legs."
"But not his tongue," observed Ménard, in an undertone, as he prepared to take his place at the table; when Dubourg, stalking majestically forward, halted in front of him and declaimed, waving his right arm about as if he were trying to swim:
"'Oui, puisque je retrouve un ami so fidèle,Ma fortune va prendre une face nouvelle;
Et déjà mon courroux semble s'être adouci
Depuis qu'elle a pris soin de nous rejoindre ici.'"[C]
[C] Aye, since I find a friend so leal and true,
Methinks my fortune speedily will change;
Even now my wrath seems sensibly allayed,
Since she hath taken steps to join us here.
Ménard stared at Dubourg in dismay.
"You have found him?" he said; "who? my pupil? is he going to join us here?"
Dubourg trod on Ménard's foot, for he saw that Floridor, instead of taking his seat at the table, had stopped and was listening to him. He seized the tutor's arm, and cried:
"'Est-ce toi, chère Élise? O jour trois fois heureux!Que béni soit le ciel, qui te rend à mes vœux,
Toi qui, de Benjamin comme moi descendue,
Fus de mes premiers ans la compagne assidue.'"[D]
[D] Is it thou, O dear Élise? Thrice happy day!
Thank heaven, which doth restore thee to my prayers,
Thee, who, like me, Benjamin descended,
Wast of my early years the comrade true.
"Delicious! delicious!" cried Floridor, clapping his hands, while Ménard rolled his eyes about in amazement, looking for this Élise whom monsieur le baron addressed; and as he saw no one but the maid-servant, he asked her if her name was Élise.
"Is monsieur an actor?" inquired Floridor, walking toward Dubourg, cap in hand.
"I, monsieur!" he replied, pretending to be surprised and annoyed because he had been overheard. "I—I assure you, monsieur—what ground have you for such an opinion?" he demanded, in a gruff voice, like a villain of melodrama.
"What ground!" cried the little man, delighted beyond words, and seizing Dubourg's hand. "Ah! monsieur, you betrayed yourself just now without knowing it; but even without that I should have recognized you. That voice, that carriage, those noble and majestic attitudes! None but an actor of the first rank combines all these; and you are such a one; it is useless for you to deny it."
"I see," said Dubourg, smiling with an air of mock modesty, "that it is difficult to conceal anything from you. But my companion and I had fully resolved to retain our incognito."
"Your companion!" cried the little man, leaping for joy; "can it be that monsieur is an actor, too?"
"Unexcelled in tearful rôles, superb in tragedy, and absolutely natural in comedy," said Dubourg, while Ménard listened with the air of one listening to a language he does not understand. But Floridor did not allow him to remain in that benumbed condition; he threw his arms about Dubourg's neck, he threw his arms about Ménard's neck, and would have done the same by the maid if somebody had not stopped him.
"They are sent by heaven!" he cried, rushing about the room like a madman. "I shall open my theatre! we will play Phèdre, we will make the whole town weep with Le Devin du Village!—Master innkeeper, a bottle of your best wine. I have the honor of inviting to supper the two artists who are travelling incognito."
"What does this mean?" Ménard asked Dubourg, in an undertone.
"It means that we are the two first actors to the King of Poland, that yonder little magpie has already invited us to supper, and that he is going to do a great deal more for us; further, that you must support what I say, and try not to look like an idiot."
"What, monsieur le baron—you and I pass ourselves off as actors?"
"Actors are built like other men, Monsieur Ménard; Roscius was admitted to the presence of Sylla, Garrick is buried beside the kings of England, Molière was an actor, and none the less a great man; and two of the great authors of our own time have acted, and sacrificed none of their merit by so doing."
"But, monsieur le baron, I have never acted."
"Nor have I; but that doesn't alarm me."
"But suppose it should become known, what will people say?"
"It won't become known, as we are incognito."
"But I have no memory; I shall never be able to remember a rôle."
"They'll prompt you."
"But I am very timid, and I shall never dare to appear in public."
"When you are rouged and powdered, you'll be as bold as a page."
"I shall be execrable."
"We'll make him pay us a high price, and everybody will think we are superb."
"But——"
"Morbleu! there's enough buts. Just remember that it's only for three or four days; it's a little joke that will have no unpleasant consequences, and will give us the means of waiting for another remittance. Furthermore, when a man like myself, a Polish nobleman, an elector palatine, decides to do such a thing, I consider it very strange that a mere plebeian should presume to remonstrate with him. You will act with me, or I abandon you to the wrath of the Comte de Montreville, whose son you will never be able to find without assistance."
"I'll do it, monsieur le baron."
"That's very lucky for you!"
During this little dialogue, Monsieur Floridor had rushed into the next house, where the wigmaker lived, to tell him that two great actors, whose names he did not know as yet, but who were sure to be overflowing with talent, because they were travelling incognito, had arrived at the Soleil d'Or, and that he proposed to do his utmost to engage them to appear two or three times in the town. The wigmaker abandoned the town clerk's wife's hair, which he was engaged in curling, and hurried off to carry the news to all his customers; the customers told their neighbors, and the word was passed from house to house, as in the game of scandal. The town of Voreppe being rather small, all the townspeople knew before sundown that they had within their walls two dramatic geniuses who were travelling incognito.
Monsieur Floridor returned, and they took their places at the table. Dubourg seated Ménard at his side, so that he could whisper his replies to him, and the manager took his seat on Dubourg's other side. All the other guests treated the travellers with marked consideration, because they saw that Floridor did, and because we often do what we see others do, without very well knowing why.
The little manager talked incessantly, Dubourg from time to time declaimed such passages as came to his mind, and Ménard concentrated his attention upon his plate.
"May I not know," said Floridor, "with whom I have the honor of supping?"
"We did not intend to make ourselves known," said Dubourg; "but, after the flattering attentions with which you have honored us, it is difficult to conceal anything from you. You see in us the two first actors of Cracow, who are taking advantage of a furlough to travel in France and perfect ourselves in the French tongue, in which all our plays are given in Poland; so that our theatre is frequented only by the most distinguished people of the country—like the Bouffons in Paris."
"I understand, I understand! and what parts do you play?"
"Everything, from pantomime to grand opera. My comrade here, Wolowitz, is the Fleury of Poland, and I make bold to say that I am the Talma. Ah! if you should see us together in Les Chasseurs et la Laitière! but you don't give opera here, do you?"
"Pardon me: opéra-comique, without music, to be sure, because we have no orchestra as yet; but if you will deign to accede to our prayers, how happy our town will be to see two such artists as you!"
"It is true that we are terribly popular in Poland! Why, when we play anywhere, they always throw us something—it never fails.—Do you remember Smolensk, Wolowitz? We had given Le Déserteur and Le Chien de Montargis. You played the assassin. I say, do you remember the sensation we produced there?"
Wolowitz did not reply, because he had not yet learned his name; but Dubourg kicked him, under the table, and made him raise his head, whereupon he replied, still eating:
"Yes, monsieur le baron."
"You see, he continues to call me the baron," said Dubourg; "he imagines he is still on the stage."
Another kick informed Ménard that he had made a blunder, and he muttered in Dubourg's ear:
"Tell me your name, then; you can't expect me to guess it."
"When people saw on the bill-board: Boleslas and Wolowitz," continued Dubourg, with a glance at Ménard, "the theatre was always crowded to suffocation, and we staggered under the wreaths that were thrown to us."
"Oh! you'll get some here," said Floridor; "we will throw 'em to you. I've had a dozen made on purpose to have thrown on my actors' heads. You shall have verses too—quatrains; I've got all those things."
"You are right; they always have a good effect, they flatter the artist and dazzle the audience."
"Ah! Monsieur Boleslas, may I hope that you and your companion will consent to give us a few performances?"
Dubourg did not consent at once; they had made a vow, he said, not to act in any French theatre. Floridor urged them, implored them, and ordered a fresh bottle of wine. Ménard was touched by the supper and the little manager's compliments, and when they left the table he was ready to promise to play any part he was asked to take; but Dubourg did not yield so readily, because he desired to obtain a high price. Floridor did not leave his side, he was ready to kneel at his feet; he would make any sacrifice, he said, to open his theatre with such notable artists, and he finally offered them a hundred francs for four performances, which was a fabulous sum for acting in a stable. Dubourg surrendered, declaring that he did it solely to oblige him.
The little man was beside himself with joy; he instantly prepared three posters, which would be displayed in the town on the morrow, announcing to the people thereof that Messieurs Boleslas and Wolowitz, famous Polish actors, were to appear at their theatre.
"We should like to open with Phèdre or Le Devin du Village," said Floridor.
"Oh! bless my soul! it's a matter of indifference to us," replied Dubourg; "whatever you choose."
"Then we will begin with that."
"Very well, I will do Phèdre."
"Phèdre? do you mean to say that you play female parts too?"
"Oh, no! I meant Hippolyte. Wolowitz will make a glorious Thésée."
"Very good. For the Devin I only need a Colin."
"I'll undertake it. In four days we will be ready."
"Four days—that's rather too long."
"We must have a little rest."
"All right, four days it is. You will be announced to-morrow. Have you any wardrobe?"
"No; for we had no idea of acting."
"No matter; I will see that you have costumes."
With that, Floridor left our friends, and they went to bed, Dubourg laughing over this latest adventure, and Ménard murmuring:
"If monsieur le baron does it, why shouldn't I do it?"
When he woke the next morning, poor Ménard could not believe that he was really going to play Thésée; but Dubourg appeared, book in hand, and gave him his rôle, which the little manager had already sent, with the information that there would be a rehearsal at noon.
"Bah!" said Dubourg; "there aren't a hundred lines in your part. What's that to you, who have learned Horace and Virgil and so many other authors by heart?"
"That's all very well; but I have passed my life learning them, while I have only three days to commit this to memory."
"Don't be afraid, I'll answer for everything; besides, there's a prompter."
"That's true; I must depend on him."
"As long as you know your first speech, that's all that's necessary."
"Oh! as to that, I'm not at all alarmed:
"'La fortune à mes vœux cesse d'être opposée,Madame, et dans vos bras met——'"
"Bravo! you say it like an angel."
"It's the curse that bothers me."
"See that you gesticulate enough, and it will be all right."
At midday, Monsieur Floridor came to escort them to the theatre, where the rest of the troupe was waiting for them. The aspect of the little hall, which they reached through a dovecote, where the box-office was located, amused Dubourg mightily, while Ménard collided with two old hogsheads which did duty as mountains.
The troupe manifested the greatest respect for the two new-comers, who rehearsed book in hand. Dubourg did not say a word that the others did not exclaim:
"How well that was declaimed! what talent!"
It was the same with Ménard; and the tutor, bewildered by the applause that was lavished upon him, was persuaded that he possessed a hitherto unsuspected talent for acting.
"Do you take snuff while you are acting?" queried Floridor.
"Why not? I take the part of a king, and the King of Prussia took snuff; witness that box, which——"
"In Poland," interposed Dubourg, "we take as much of it as we please on the stage; it's a recognized thing; indeed, it's a matter of tradition in many rôles."
"How glad I am!" said the constable's wife, who played Phèdre; "I didn't dare to take it when I was the princess."
"In that case," said the carpenter's apprentice, "I'll put a little quid in my mouth when I play Aricie, as Monsieur Boleslas deigns to allow it."
"Whatever you please; great artists indulge in innumerable whims."
"Non est magnum ingenium, sine mixtura dementiæ," observed Ménard.
"Do you hear him? that's Polish," said the manager to his troupe.
Three days were occupied with rehearsals; at last, the day of the performance arrived. Ménard knew only his first speech by heart; but he knew that very well, and Dubourg had told him that that was enough. The latter did not know a word of his part, but he was not at all disturbed. On the morning of the performance, he took care to secure the hundred francs which Floridor had agreed to pay, saying that it was the custom in Poland. The little manager counted out the sum, and Dubourg put it in his pocket.
The costumes they were to wear in Phèdre were brought to the inn.
"Don't we dress at the theatre?" Dubourg asked the manager.
"We have no dressing-rooms, so everybody dresses at home; but the weather is fine, and there's no inconvenience in that."
"Do you mean that I must walk through the town dressed as Hippolyte?"
"The theatre is only a few steps from the inn, and you can play the part in boots, as Hippolyte is a hunter."
"True."
"In default of a bow, which we haven't, you will carry an old musket, which I have had brought here for you; the ramrod will represent the arrows."
"That will do very well."
"As for the wig, I think you will be pleased; as Hippolyte must have hair falling over his neck, I have prepared a Louis XIV wig, which will fill the bill perfectly."
The manager took his leave, and Dubourg was assisted to dress by Ménard, who, as he did not appear till the third act, had plenty of time for his own toilet. Dubourg retained his black trousers, in which were the hundred francs; he thought it best to have the money about him, in case of accident. Over them he drew a very large pair of nankeen trousers, donned a white piqué waistcoat, and threw over his shoulders an ample cloak covered with rabbit skins, representing the skin of a tiger; then he put on his wig, daubed his face with rouge, took the musket in one hand and his handkerchief in the other, and betook himself to the theatre, urging Ménard to make haste, so that he would not be late for his entrée.
The auditorium was full, which meant receipts of about eighty francs. Floridor was in ecstasies; he ran to and fro from the prompter's box to the stage, in full view of the audience; for there was no passage under the stage, and the sheet which did duty as a curtain was hung on a rod and drawn aside, like the curtain of a magic lantern.
Dubourg arrived, bathed in perspiration, because the cloak covered with rabbit skins was very heavy and the wig was immense. The actors uttered a cry of admiration when he appeared.
"How handsome he is!" could be heard on all sides; "how well he represents Hippolyte!"
"Ah! I shall play Phèdre by inspiration!" exclaimed the constable's wife, with a passionate glance at Dubourg. But as Phèdre had a slight squint, and an enormous nose covered with snuff, Hippolyte did not return that amorous glance. He drew the curtain aside to look into the hall; when his face appeared, shouts arose on all sides; the ladies thought he was a lion. Thereupon Floridor came forth from his box, and addressed the audience thus:
"I told you that you would be pleased, enchanted!"—and he applauded with all his might, the spectators followed suit, and Dubourg bowed with majestic dignity, then retired behind the curtain.
Everybody was ready. Phèdre had a gown à la Mary Stuart, a mob-cap, and was covered with mouches to the end of her nose. Œnone, to give herself a malignant aspect, was dressed in red and black, because Dubourg had told her that such a costume indicated a woman of character. The carpenter, on the contrary, had sacrificed a nascent whisker in order to represent Aricie; he was dressed in a white cambric gown, with a garland of roses in his hair, and he imitated a woman's voice reasonably well, although he constantly chewed tobacco.
The wigmaker, who was cast for the part of Théramène, wore a François I wig and a Spanish costume, with his National Guards sabre for a sword. The rôles of the other two confidants were to be read by Floridor from the prompter's box. Only Thésée was missing, and he did not appear; but he was not to come on till the third act.
"Let us begin, the audience is growing restive," said the manager; "we mustn't keep them waiting any longer. Thésée will certainly be on hand for the third act."
"It is undoubtedly his costume that detains him," said Dubourg; "he's very particular about having his costume just what it should be, and he never puts in a pin except in the way tradition demands."
The manager, who was also prompter, stage manager, and scene shifter, struck the traditional three blows, then drew the curtain, which at first disclosed only half of the stage; but with the assistance of two spectators, who came on the stage, he succeeded in drawing it entirely aside. Thereupon he went down into his box, with a candlestick in his hand, and the play began.
When Dubourg stalked upon the stage, majestically enveloped in his cloak, the audience emitted a murmur of surprise, which was not precisely admiration; for, with his huge wig, the rouge trickling down his cheeks, and his old musket over his shoulder, Dubourg was far from attractive to look upon. Judging from the head they had seen a moment before, they had expected to see a magnificent man of lofty stature; but, on the contrary, the cloak seemed to crush him, and Théramène, being very tall, made him appear even shorter than he was.
"He's a Pole," said the spectators.
"He's terribly ugly," said the young women; "but he is said to have great talent."
Dubourg rolled his eyes in terrifying fashion, to give character to his face; while the unlucky Théramène, whose head touched the flies, was obliged to stoop, so that his wig should not sweep the spiders' webs from the ceiling of the palace.
Dubourg, who was not at all timid, shouted his lines like a deaf man, and gesticulated so wildly that, before the end of the first scene, Théramène had been struck twice by him. At the third blow, the wigmaker began to lose his temper, and muttered between his teeth:
"Sacrebleu! look out what you're doing! if you go on like this, I shall be like a baked apple before the end of the play."
But the audience were delighted with his spirited acting; they applauded and cried bravo! Dubourg continued as he had begun, but not without alarming one woman in the pit who, being singularly affected by his contortions, left the place.
The first act went very well; but the audience manifested some little surprise when, instead of seeing Panope appear, they heard the prompter reading the rôle in his box; but, as it was not long, they let it pass, especially as Floridor, turning toward the pit, explained:
"Messieurs, the rôles of confidants are almost always given in this way in towns of the third order."
But Thésée had not arrived.
"What in the devil can he be doing at the inn?" said Dubourg; "do you suppose he can't put on his costume?"
"Impossible!" said the manager; "I sent him a superb yellow tunic, and trousers of the same stuff; for his diadem he has a turban of the same color, that I use in Mahomet."
"Oho! so Thésée will be all yellow, eh?"
"That's traditional, and tradition is never wrong. But let's go on with the second act; we must hope that he will turn up."
They began the second act, which did not go so well as the first. Aricie, in a moment of passion, spat her tobacco into Hippolyte's face, whereupon the latter kicked her viciously just as her lover said to her:
"'Modérez des bontés dont l'excès m'embarrasse!'"[E][E] Be not so kind to me; your excessive kindness embarrasses me.
"That will teach you to be more careful," said Dubourg.
"If I wasn't a woman, I'd answer you in another way," retorted the carpenter, shaking his fist at him.
"I advise you to keep quiet!"
Floridor hurried from his box to reconcile Hippolyte and Aricie; he succeeded at last in pacifying them, and the performance continued. But, a moment later, Dubourg, being on the stage with Phèdre, waited for the prompter to give him his cue; but the cue did not come, because the prompter could not see.
"Snuffers!" he cried; "give me some snuffers!"
"What a stupid!" said Phèdre, and she stooped and took the candle, and gracefully snuffed it with her fingers. "There, my boy, that's the way we do when we have any instinct." And she replaced the candlestick in the box.
This little interlude was not agreeable to the audience, who had already begun to murmur at the quarrel between Hippolyte and the princess; and one enthusiast, who was more exacting than the rest because he had occasionally attended the theatre at Grenoble, threw a raw potato, which struck Phèdre in the left eye. The constable's wife finished the scene in tears, and the second act came to an end at the same time, with indications that a storm was brewing.
Floridor, who came out of his box after each act, ran on to the stage to console Phèdre, who declared that she would not act any more. He tried to restore the courage of his actors by assuring them that the later acts would make amends for everything; he relied especially on the début of Thésée, who had not yet appeared, and to whom he looked to produce a prodigious effect. But Thésée did not arrive, and the anxiety became general.
"What can have happened to him? I'll run back to the inn," said Dubourg, "for his delay begins to surprise me; I'll bring him back with me at once."
"Make haste!" cried Floridor; "for if we keep the audience waiting, everything will be hopelessly ruined."
Let us see why Ménard, who was so scrupulously exact in everything he had to do, had not arrived at the theatre. After Dubourg left him, he turned his attention to his toilet; and that was no small matter to a man who had never been to a ball, had never disguised himself, and had worn the same costume for thirty years. Ménard scrutinized the tunic, the Turkish trousers, and the turban, in every part; he had some difficulty in making up his mind to put on those yellow garments and to besmear his venerable cheeks with rouge; he had to remind himself constantly of Roscius, Garrick, and Molière, else he would have abandoned the idea of acting. But he had promised, his word was pledged; monsieur le baron, a noble Pole, set the example, and he must needs adapt himself to circumstances.
After an infinitude of trouble, he succeeded at last in arraying himself in the costume of Thésée. He looked at himself in the mirror, smiled at himself, and concluded that he looked very well; he kindled his own ardor by reflecting that he was about to represent the King of Athens, repeated his lines to himself, especially his first speech, then left his room to go to the theatre, saying to himself:
"Thus the Fates decree!"
At that very moment, a traveller had arrived at the inn in a comfortable carriage. Everything about him denoted a man of wealth and of high rank. The innkeeper made haste to ask what he desired, and the traveller, who was a short, thin, old man, stern of face, inquired curtly what travellers had recently passed through the town, and, on receiving the landlord's reply, exclaimed:
"Shall I never learn what has become of them?"
"Will monsieur have supper?" inquired the innkeeper.
"No; I am not hungry. Let my horses be fed. I may go away again very soon. Give me a room where I can rest quietly for a few moments."
The traveller's tone did not invite conversation. The innkeeper at once took a light and escorted the new arrival to the stairs. As they were going up, they came face to face with Ménard, who was descending with majestic mien, declaiming:
"'La fortune à mes vœux cesse d'être opposée,Madame, et dans mes bras met——'"
The little old man raised his eyes when he heard Ménard's voice; he gazed at him for some time in surprise, and exclaimed at last:
"Can it be possible that it is Monsieur Ménard whom I see in such a costume as this!"
Ménard looked at the traveller, and was transfixed with amazement when he recognized the Comte de Montreville, Frédéric's father, whose eyes gleamed with anger, and who, taking Thésée by the arm, marched him back abruptly to his room, planted himself in front of him, and began sternly to question him.
"What does all this mean, Monsieur Ménard? what is the meaning of that turban on your head, and this yellow costume that makes you look like an escaped lunatic?"
"Monsieur le comte, yellow is not a color to be scorned; in China, the marks of highest distinction consist of yellow waistcoats and peacocks' feathers."
"Morbleu! monsieur, never mind the Chinese, but answer my question: why do I find you rigged out like this?"
"Because I am to play Thésée this evening, monsieur le comte."
"You, play Thésée!"
"Yes, monsieur le comte; in Phèdre, which is to be given at the local theatre."
"What! monsieur le précepteur, you propose to act?"
"Why not, monsieur le comte? circumstances—— Besides, Roscius was entertained by Sylla, Garrick is buried at Westminster, and Molière——"
"Do you consider yourself on a level with those men, monsieur? Do you suppose that I sent you with my son, with the idea of your being an actor? Was it with that end in view that you undertook this journey? Did you think, as well as Frédéric, that you could deceive me for long? In a fortnight, you spent the eight thousand francs I handed you——"
"We didn't spend them, monsieur le comte——"
"Silence, monsieur! I was willing to forgive that first escapade; I sent you more money, and I learned that, instead of continuing your journey, you had remained at Grenoble, and that my son was making the tour of Europe in Dauphiné."
"It's a superb country, monsieur le comte."
"I left Paris; I was determined to find out for myself what detained you in this neighborhood. I went to Grenoble, and failed to find you; I sought you in vain in that vicinity. And at last I find you here, in this absurd costume! I did not expect this, I admit.—But my son—where is he? is he acting, also?"
"No, monsieur le comte."
"Where is he, then?—speak!"
"He is lost, monsieur le comte."
"Lost! What do you mean? Answer me, monsieur!"
"That is to say, monsieur le comte, he has gone astray."
"Remember, monsieur, that I intrusted my son to you."
"We will find him, monsieur le comte. Monsieur le Baron Potoski is going to send couriers to all the European courts."
"Who is this Baron Potoski?"
"He's a Polish nobleman, a very intelligent young man, Palatine of Rava and Sandomir, who has a magnificent castle in the Krapach Mountains, which he heats with gas."
"Upon my word, Monsieur Ménard, I believe they have made you an absolute idiot!"
"No, monsieur le comte; I know what I am saying, and I am telling the simple truth."
"Where did you find this baron?"
"We found him on the road, near Paris; he overturned our carriage, by the way, and I was thrown into a ditch. But monsieur your son recognized Baron Potoski as one of his friends; so we joined him in King Stanislas's berlin, where I sat in the seat once occupied by the Princess of Hungary; and we have travelled with the baron ever since."
The Comte de Montreville paced the floor, stamping angrily, and looking up at the ceiling in despair. Ménard cowered in a corner, with his turban in his hand, afraid to move. After making the circuit of the room three or four times, the count returned to him.
"What has become of this baron?"
"He is playing Hippolyte, monsieur le comte; he is on the stage at this moment, and—— But, stay, here he is himself, monsieur le comte."
At this moment, in fact, Dubourg rushed into the room, crying:
"Come on, Thésée; we're waiting for you, to begin the third act."
But he stopped short when he saw the count, who exclaimed:
"I was sure of it! It's that scamp Dubourg!"
Ménard opened his eyes at that, and Dubourg contented himself with bowing low to Frédéric's father.
"Come, Monsieur Ménard, follow me," continued the count; "take off that costume, which you should never have put on, and let us leave this place at once."
The unhappy tutor did not wait for the order to be repeated; in an instant, he had cast aside the tunic and trousers; then he resumed his own clothes, took his hat, and stood humbly before the count, who said to Dubourg:
"As for you, monsieur, whose company has been so profitable to my son, remember that if I do not find Frédéric soon, my wrath will fall on you.—Come, Monsieur Ménard."
A moment later, the count and the tutor were in the carriage, from which the horses had not been taken; and they drove rapidly away from the inn toward Grenoble, where the count hoped to obtain news of his son.
Meanwhile, Dubourg, somewhat bewildered by what had taken place, considered what was likely to happen to him; the audience was waiting for Thésée, without whom the play could not go on, and the good people of Voreppe seemed disposed to be unamiable when they were dissatisfied. On the other hand, he had received from the manager his own pay and Ménard's; and now that Ménard had gone, how was their agreement to be kept?
While he reflected, a confused noise arose in the street. Dubourg ran to the window and saw Floridor approaching with several of the spectators, who were swearing and making a great uproar, declaring that the two Poles should act or they would thrash them.
"They will act," cried Floridor; "they will act, messieurs; I paid them in advance."
Dubourg realized the danger that threatened him; he hesitated whether he should give back the money, whether he should excuse himself by disclosing his colleague's departure, or whether he should leave the manager to settle with his audience. The last plan was the most agreeable to him; he was afraid of being beaten, even if he did return the money; moreover, he considered that his performance of Hippolyte was well worth what he had received. So he ran to another window, looking on the open country, and, hearing the crowd enter the innyard, he no longer wavered; he jumped down into the sorrel, picked himself up, wrapped himself in his cloak, and ran across the fields as if the whole town were at his heels.
The count and Ménard soon arrived at Grenoble, and alighted at the inn where our three travellers had sojourned, and which the tutor had pointed out to the count at his request. On the way, he had questioned Ménard closely concerning his son, and the replies he obtained satisfied him that it was nothing more than an amourette which detained Frédéric in that neighborhood; so that he was a little more at ease, having no doubt that his presence would suffice to bring his son to his senses.
When they reached the inn, Ménard had a scene with the landlord on the subject of the char-à-bancs which had been let to him and Dubourg. The landlord also spoke of Dubourg, saying that a creditor of the pretended Baron Potoski had come to Grenoble in search of him, and was now on his trail, meaning to have him arrested.
Poor Ménard had nothing to say; he was utterly overwhelmed when he learned that the man whom he had believed to be a Polish nobleman had done nothing but make sport of him ever since they had travelled together. The Comte de Montreville put an end to the innkeeper's talk by paying him what he demanded. They slept at Grenoble, the count proposing to go with Ménard the next day to the place where he had said that he last saw Frédéric.
But the next morning, as they were preparing to start, Ménard uttered a joyful exclamation, saying:
"Here he is, monsieur le comte; the lamb returns to the fold, the son to his father. Here is your son; let us kill the fatted calf!"
Frédéric was, in fact, entering the innyard at that moment, but he was very far from suspecting that he would find his father there.
The count hastened downstairs, followed by Ménard; he walked toward his son, with a stern expression, and the young man hung his head and seemed stricken dumb when he saw who was before him.
"I have found you at last, monsieur," said the count; "I have heard of your behavior, I have seen your boon companion, I have learned that your travels have been confined to a miserable village and a forest near by, where you consider, doubtless, that you have acquired sufficient knowledge of the world. But I will abstain from reproaching you; I deserve reproach myself for giving you such a companion as monsieur. Let us forget it all, and return to Paris."
These last words went to Frédéric's heart; he had endured bravely his father's reproaches, but now he became confused, seemed to be deeply distressed, glanced behind him, and stammered a request for a delay of a day or two. But the count pretended not to hear, and said in a harsh tone:
"I am waiting for you, my son."
The carriage was ready; what was he to do? How could he disobey his father? Frédéric trembled with agitation; he was still hesitating; but the count took him by the hand and led him toward the carriage, and he dared not resist. He had had no time for reflection before he was already at some distance from Grenoble. He put his head out of the window and gazed in the direction of Vizille; he heaved a profound sigh, his eyes filled with tears, as he thought of Sister Anne, and he said to himself again and again:
"Poor child! what will she think?"