ROBECCAL'S IDEA.
The frequenters of the theatres and circuses of the present day would
consider this establishment of Gudel's very modest, with its single
gallery, a little red serge, and its shabby velvet curtain. There was an
orchestra, but what an orchestra! All the actors when not occupied on
the stage assisted in it. Gudel at intervals played the trombone. The
gallery was crowded; so crowded that, from time to time, there were
ominous crackings, but the people in their excitement did not notice
this.
But a great silence fell on the spectators, when Irene de Salves
entered. Erect and haughty, she moved through the crowd, with the
slightest possible inclination of the head in apology for disturbing
them.
A word here in regard to this young lady. She was looked upon as a very
eccentric person. Her father had followed Bonaparte's fortunes, and had
fallen in Russia, leaving his widow sole guardian of this girl, then
only four years of age.
The Countess, broken-hearted at her loss, shut herself up in the
chateau, and devoted herself to her daughter. Irene seemed to have
inherited her father's adventurous spirit, and her mother encouraged
rather than restrained it, so great was her joy in the resemblance. She
had his exuberant vitality, his contempt for danger, and his pride of
race. Irene, possessing an enormous fortune and accustomed to the
indulgence of every caprice, soon began to look upon herself as of
superior clay to these peasants who doffed their hats to her as she
passed. She believed in the great power of money, and the Countess
encouraged this belief. But illness came, and the Countess was confined
to her sofa by paralysis. She lived now only for her daughter, and it
was the one bright spot in her day when Irene rushed in, bringing with
her fresh air and the sweet scents of the woods.
The child had become a woman, a woman full of contradictions. She was by
turns charitable or pitiless, benevolent or disdainful. Sometimes, gay
as a child, she rode all over the country--other days she hid herself in
the woods or climbed to some inaccessible height, and there, with ardent
eyes, indifferent to the wind that tossed her dark hair, she dreamed
those dreams in which girls delight. She had moods of motiveless
irritation, and of unreasonable indulgence. One day a village boy threw
a stone at her horse. She pursued him with uplifted whip. Suddenly he
turned, and folding his arms, defied her. She laughed aloud, and tossed
him her purse.
Another time she was told that a fire had destroyed a village. She
hardly seemed to hear. It was winter. In the middle of the night she
arose and saddled her horse with her own hands, and rode off to the
sufferers, working over them for hours.
She was not liked--none could tell why. Suddenly she learned, after a
visit made by the Notary to her sick mother, that she was to marry the
Vicomte Talizac. She cared nothing about it one way or the other. If her
mother's heart was set upon it she was perfectly willing. The only thing
she disliked in the plan was that she must leave her beautiful
mountains. She had never been attracted by Paris, the streets and the
people frightened her, but she was consoled by the thought that it would
be a new world to conquer. On her return to the chateau, the daring
words uttered by Fanfar dwelt in her memory: "Make yourself beloved."
She had entered the booth where the exhibition had taken place, in a
moment of idle curiosity, and was surprised at the impression made on
her by the place and the people. She was greatly irritated withal. This
mountebank, this rope-dancer, had taken a great deal upon himself,
certainly. Why had she not answered him as he deserved? What did he
mean--"Make yourself beloved"--as if she were not already beloved! She
remembered the eyes which the peasants riveted on her. Could it be that
they did not love her? And now she was seated on a wooden bench, Madame
Ursula, who had at last arrived, on one side, and on the other a pretty
but dirty child, who was playing with the fringe of her dress.
Meanwhile the entertainment was going on. Gudel gave more than he
promised in his handbill. Before the curtain went up, he called together
the members of his troupe, and encouraged them to do their best. La
Roulante went up to him, and to his great amazement said a few
conciliatory words. As Gudel was by no means ill-natured, he shook
hands with her. The giantess turned her face toward Robeccal and winked
at him.
Poor Gudel was very happy in this reconciliation. After all, things
would go smoothly if he once got rid of Robeccal. Then Caillette kissed
him, in her lace and spangles. Light as a bird, she skipped up to him
and whispered in his ear:
"Am I not lovely to-night, papa?"
"Adorable!" he answered. He did not know that his darling was comparing
herself with Irene.
Fanfar had his hands full, and seemed so little interested in the
audience that Caillette was enchanted, for in her heart lurked a fear
that some one would love her Fanfar. But after all it did not matter,
for he cared little for all the beauties in the world. He handed La
Roulante the stones which were to form her apparent nutriment. He
whispered a new witticism to Bobichel, and gave Robeccal some advice as
to the manner in which he should hold his sword. Then he took a position
where he could see without being seen.
"Now, Fanfar," said Iron Jaws, "it is your turn! Look out for
Caillette!"
The girl was to execute a new step on the tight-rope, and when she
appeared, led forward by Fanfar, and made the three deep "reverences,"
there was a hum of admiration. She was charming--her delicacy was
fairy-like. She lightly placed her foot on Fanfar's hand and sprang upon
the rope. Standing there, she looked at Irene, who was leaning back with
an air of indifference.
Fanfar now took up a violin, and raising the instrument to his shoulder,
he began. He played at first very slowly. Caillette, with her arms
folded--she had long before renounced the balancing pole--advanced up
the rope. She knelt, and remained absolutely motionless. Then there came
a peremptory summons from the violin. She arose and extended her arms
above her head, and began to dance. Fanfar was an artist, his playing
was wonderful. The music became faster and faster, and Caillette's
little feet seemed hardly to touch the rope, they twinkled like stars,
while Fanfar's bow looked only like a silver thread. He dropped the
violin, and Caillette leaped into his arms. As she touched the ground,
she threw at Irene a glance of laughing triumph.
Then came Robeccal's turn. He was a horrible object when he swallowed
the swords. It was not admiration, it was horror, that he inspired. He
seemed to enjoy this, and had imitated drops of blood on the sabres that
he put down his throat. A few delicate persons shouted "Enough!" and
Gudel appeared, not as Gudel, be it understood, but as Iron Jaws, the
athlete. His enormous shoulders, his bull neck, contrasted with Fanfar's
delicate form. Gudel tossed heavy weights and bent iron bars, and did
all sorts of wonderful things. No one noticed the agility with which
Fanfar, in his subordinate _role_, passed these weights to his employer.
And now, the principal feat was to be performed. Fanfar rolled a barrel
upon the stage, on which already stood a curious apparatus of bars and
chains. Over this was a platform. The barrel was placed under this
platform, and filled with stones. A rim was fitted to this barrel, and
it was hoisted a little distance from the ground by a chain. It was this
enormous weight that Gudel was to lift with his teeth.
Iron Jaws placed himself on this platform.
Fanfar blew a blast from his trumpet, and Iron Jaws grasped the chain in
his teeth. The barrel moved up and up. The crowd was absolutely silent,
this excess of strength inspired them with terror. Suddenly, a strange
sound was heard.
What was it? No one knew. No one had time to see. Gudel lay insensible
on the ground. And Fanfar had caught this barrel in his iron arms. Had
it absolutely fallen, for the chain had broken, nothing could have saved
Gudel. As it was, the shock deprived him of consciousness. Fanfar
himself could hardly stand.
Caillette and Bobichel ran to Gudel. La Roulante knelt at his side, and
uttered shriek after shriek. Robeccal did not appear.
The peasants gathered around the injured man. They thought him dead.
Fanfar drew Caillette away, and then leaned over his friend.
La Roulante pushed him aside.
"Don't interfere," she said, "he is my husband."
Fanfar looked her in the face, and continued his examination. He opened
Gudel's vest and shirt, and laid his hand on his heart. There was a
moment of silence.
"He is living," said Fanfar.
Caillette uttered a little cry, and would have fallen had not a hand
caught her. She turned, and saw it was Irene.
"Will you give these salts to Monsieur Fanfar?" said Irene.
"Ah! thanks!" cried Fanfar, without waiting for Caillette to give it to
him, and took it, as he spoke, from the young lady's hand.
"Pshaw! I have something better than that," said Bobichel, and dashing
to the inn he returned with a bottle of brandy.
"Two drops of this," he said, "will do more than all the salts in the
world."
Fanfar administered a few drops to Gudel, who presently uttered a long
sigh.
"Living!" cried Fanfar.
"Heaven be praised!" shouted Bobichel. Then, turning swiftly toward La
Roulante, he added,
"Made a mistake, eh?"
The giantess started.
"Ah! he is better," said a treacherous voice. It was Robeccal who spoke.
He feared lest his absence would look badly, and he had come back.
"A physician is wanted," exclaimed Fanfar, turning to Schwann, who was
weeping like a child.
"There is none in the village, none nearer than Vagney, a league away."
"Then I will go for him."
"But the inundation. Fanfar, you can't do it."
"I must try it, at all events."
"Monsieur Fanfar," said Irene, "I beg you to take my horse. She is a
splendid animal, and goes like the wind!"
Madame Ursula raised her hands to heaven. "A splendid animal indeed!"
she thought, "it cost two thousand francs."
Caillette wrung her hands in despair.
"I accept your kindness," answered Fanfar, simply. "You are very good,
Mademoiselle, and I thank you."
"I remembered your words of advice," she replied.
Fanfar looked at her a moment. Then, passing his hand over his brow, he
seemed to try to shake himself together.
"Let him be carried to the inn, and the doctor shall see him as quickly
as possible," he said.
The peasants slowly raised the injured man, and as they crossed the
Square, they beheld a singular scene. Bobichel had Robeccal by the
throat, and pressed his knees on his adversary's chest.
"Ah! Bobichel," cried Schwann, "is this the time to fight?"
Bobichel rose, and seemed to hesitate, then he flung the scoundrel from
him, with contempt and loathing.
Fanfar leaped upon Irene's horse, and dashed off in the direction of
Vagney.
"My father, and he," murmured Caillette, "all that I love and have in
the world."
And with her handkerchief to her eyes, she followed the sad procession.