THE BLUE SUN INN
It was in front of the largest house in a wretched little hamlet that
the weary oxen drawing the chariot of Thespis stopped of their own
accord. The wooden sign that creaked distractingly as it swung to and
fro at every breath of wind bore a large, blue sun, darting its rays,
after the most approved fashion, to the utmost dimensions of the board
on which it was painted. Rather an original idea, one would say, to
have a blue orb of day instead of a golden one—such as adorned so many
other inns on the great post-road—but originality had had nothing
whatever to do with it. The wandering painter who produced this
remarkable work of art happened to have no vestige of any colour but
blue left upon his palette, and he discoursed so eloquently of the
superiority of this tint to all others that he succeeded in persuading
the worthy innkeeper to have an azure sun depicted on his swinging
sign. And not this one alone had yielded to his specious arguments, for
he had painted blue lions, blue cocks, blue horses, on various signs in
the country round, in a manner that would have delighted the
Chinese—who esteem an artist in proportion to the unnaturalness of his
designs and colouring.
The few scrawny, unwholesome-looking children feebly playing in the
muddy, filthy, little street, and the prematurely old, ghastly women
standing at the open doors of the miserable thatched huts of which the
hamlet was composed, were but too evidently the wretched victims of a
severe type of malarial fever that prevails in the Landes. They were
truly piteous objects, and our travellers were glad to take refuge in
the inn—though it was anything but inviting—and so get out of sight of
them.
The landlord, a villainous looking fellow, with an ugly crimson scar
across his forehead, who rejoiced in the extraordinary name of
Chirriguirri, received them with many low obeisances, and led the way
into his house, talking volubly of the excellent accommodations to be
found therein.
The Baron de Sigognac hesitated ere he crossed the threshold, though
the comedians had all drawn back respectfully to allow him to precede
them. His pride revolted at going into such a place in such company,
but one glance from Isabelle put everything else out of his head, and
he entered the dirty little inn at her side with an air of joyful
alacrity. In the happy kingdom of France the fortunate man who escorted
a pretty woman, no matter where, needed not to fear ridicule or
contumely, and was sure to be envied.
The large low room into which Maître Chirriguirri ushered the party,
with much ceremony and many bows, was scarcely so magnificent as he had
given them reason to expect, but our strolling players had long ago
learned to take whatever came in their way without grumbling, and they
seated themselves quietly on the rude wooden settles ranged round a
rough, stone platform in the centre of the apartment, upon which a few
sticks of wood were blazing the smoke escaping through an opening in
the roof above. From an iron bar which crossed this opening a strong
chain was suspended, and fastened to it was the crane, so that it hung
at the proper height over the fire—for this was the kitchen as well as
the reception room. The low ceiling was blackened with the smoke that
filled the upper part of the room and escaped slowly through the hole
over the fire, unless a puff of wind drove it back again. A row of
bright copper _casseroles_ hanging against the wall—like the burnished
shields along the sides of the ancient triremes, if this comparison be
not too noble for such a lowly subject—gleamed vaguely in the flashing
of the red fire-light, and a large, half-empty wine-skin lying on the
floor in one corner looked like a beheaded body carelessly flung down
there. Certainly not a cheerful looking place, but, the fire being
newly replenished burned brightly, and our weary travellers were glad
to bask in its genial warmth.
At the end of one of the wooden benches a little girl was sitting,
apparently sound asleep. She was a poor, thin, little creature, with a
mass of long, tangled, black hair, which hung down over her face and
almost concealed it, as she sat with her head drooping forward on her
breast. Her scanty clothing was tattered and dirty, her feet and poor,
thin, little legs brown and bare, and covered with scratches—some still
bleeding which bore witness to much running through the thorny furze
thickets.
Isabelle, who chanced to sit down near her, cast many pitying glances
upon this forlorn little figure, but took care not to disturb the quiet
sleep she seemed to be enjoying in her uncomfortable resting-place.
After a little, when she had turned to speak to Serafina, who sat
beside her, the child woke with a start, and pushing back the mass of
dishevelled hair revealed a sad little face, so thin that the cheek
bones were painfully prominent, and pale to ghastliness. A pair of
magnificent, dark brown eyes, with heavy sweeping lashes, looked
preternaturally large in her woe-begone little countenance, and at this
moment were filled with wondering admiration, mingled with fierce
covetousness, as she stared at Serafina’s mock jewels—and more
especially at Isabelle’s row of pearl beads. She seemed fairly dazzled
by these latter, and gazed at them fixedly in a sort of ecstasy—having
evidently never seen anything like them before, and probably thinking
they must be of immense value. Occasionally her eyes wandered to the
dresses of the two ladies, and at last, unable to restrain her ardent
curiosity any longer, she put out her little brown hand and softly felt
of Isabelle’s gown, apparently finding exquisite delight in the mere
contact of her finger-tips with the smooth, glossy surface of the silk.
Though her touch was so light Isabelle immediately turned towards the
child and smiled upon her encouragingly, but the poor little vagabond,
finding herself detected, in an instant had assumed a stupid, almost
idiotic look—with an instinctive amount of histrionic art that would
have done honour to a finished actress. Then dropping her eyelids and
leaning her shoulders against the hard back of the wooden settle she
seemed to fall into a deep sleep, with her head bent down upon her
breast in the old attitude.
Meanwhile Maître Chirriguirri had been talking long and loudly about
the choice delicacies he could have set before his guests if they had
only come a day or two earlier, and enumerating all sorts of fine
dishes—which doubtless had existed only in his own very vivid
imagination—though he told a high-sounding story about the noblemen and
grandees who had supped at his house and devoured all these dainties
only yesterday. When at length the flow of his eloquence was checked by
a display of ferocity on the part of the tyrant, and he was finally
brought to the point, he acknowledged that he could only give them some
of the soup called garbure—with which we have already made acquaintance
at the Château de Sigognac, some salt codfish, and a dish of bacon;
with plenty of wine, which according to his account was fit for the
gods. Our weary travellers were so hungry by this time that they were
glad of even this frugal fare, and when Mionnette, a gaunt,
morose-looking creature, the only servant that the inn could boast,
announced that their supper was ready in an adjoining room, they did
not wait to be summoned a second time.
They were still at table when a great barking of dogs was heard
without, together with the noise of horses’ feet, and in a moment three
loud, impatient knocks upon the outer door resounded through the house.
Mionnette rushed to open it, whereupon a gentleman entered, followed by
a number of dogs, who nearly knocked the tall maid-servant over in
their eagerness to get in, and rushed into the dining-room where our
friends were assembled, barking, jumping over each other, and licking
off the plates that had been used and removed to a low side table,
before their master could stop them. A few sharp cuts with the whip he
held in his hand distributed promiscuously among them, without
distinction between the innocent and the guilty ones, quieted this
uproar as if by magic, and the aggressive hounds, taking refuge under
the benches ranged along the walls, curled themselves round on the
floor and went comfortably to sleep, or lay panting, with their red
tongues hanging out of their mouths and heads reposing on their
fore-paws—not daring to stir.
The obstreperous dogs thus disposed of, the cavalier advanced into the
room, with the calm assurance of a man who feels perfectly at his ease;
his spurs ringing against the stone floor at every step. The landlord
followed him obsequiously, cap in hand, cringing and bowing in most
humble fashion—having entirely laid aside his boasting air and
evidently feeling very ill at ease—this being a personage of whom he
stood in awe. As the gentleman approached the table he politely saluted
the company, before turning to give his orders to Maître Chirriguirri,
who stood silently awaiting them.
The newcomer was a handsome man of about thirty, with curly light hair,
and a fair complexion, somewhat reddened by exposure to the sun. His
eyes were blue, and rather prominent, his nose slightly retroussi; his
small blond mustache was carefully turned up at the ends, and scarcely
shaded a well-formed but sensual mouth, below which was a small,
pointed beard—called a royal in those days, an imperial in these. As he
took off his broad felt hat, richly ornamented with long sweeping
plumes, and threw it carelessly down on one of the benches, it was seen
that his smooth, broad forehead was snowy white, and the contrast with
his sunburnt cheeks was not by any means displeasing. Indeed it was a
very handsome, attractive face, in which an expression of frank gaiety
and good humour tempered the air of pride that pervaded it.
The dress of this gay cavalier was extremely rich and elegant; almost
too much so for the country. But when we say that the marquis—for such
was his title—had been following the hounds in company with the
beautiful Yolande de Foix, we feel that his costume, of blue velvet
elaborately decorated with silver braid, is fully accounted for. He was
one of the gallants that shone at court in Paris—where he was in the
habit of spending a large portion of every year—and he prided himself
on being one of the best dressed noblemen in France.
His order to the obsequious landlord was in few words. “I want some
broth for my dogs, some oats for my horses, a piece of bread and a
slice of ham for myself, and something or other for my grooms”—and then
he advanced smilingly to the table and sat down in a vacant place
beside the pretty _soubrette_, who, charmed with such a gay, handsome
seignior, had been pleased to bestow a languishing glance and a
brilliant smile upon him.
Maître Chirriguirri hastened to fetch what he had demanded, while the
_soubrette_, with the grace of a Hebe, filled his glass to the brim
with wine; which he accepted with a smile, and drank off at a single
draught. For a few minutes he was fully occupied in satisfying his
hunger—which was veritably that of a hunter—and then looking about him
at the party assembled round the table, remarked the Baron de Sigognac,
with whom he had a slight acquaintance, seated beside the fair
Isabelle—in whose company indeed he had seen him already once before
that day. The two young people were talking together in low tones, and
quite absorbed in each other; but the language of their eyes was
unmistakable, and the marquis smiled to himself as he took note of what
he supposed to be a very promising intrigue—wherein he did the youthful
pair great injustice. As a thorough man of the world he was not at all
surprised at finding de Sigognac with this band of vagabond players,
from such a motive, and the half-pitying contempt he had formerly felt
for the shabby, retiring young baron was straightway changed to a
certain admiration and respect by this evidence of his gallantry. When
he caught his eye he made a little gesture of recognition and
approval—to show that he understood and appreciated his position—but
paid no further attention to him, evidently meaning to respect his
incognito, and devoted himself to the _soubrette_. She received his
high-flown compliments with peals of laughter, and paid him back in his
own coin with considerable wit and much merriment, to the great delight
of the marquis—who was always delighted to meet with any adventure of
this sort.
Wishing to pursue this one, which opened so well, he declared loudly
that he was passionately fond of the theatre, and complained
pathetically of being deprived altogether of this, his favourite
amusement, in the country; then addressing himself to the tyrant he
asked whether the troupe had any pressing engagements that would
prevent their turning aside a little from the usual route to visit the
Château de Bruyères and give one of their best plays there—it would be
an easy matter to rig up a theatre for them in the great hall or the
orangery.
The tyrant hastened to reply that nothing could be easier, and that the
troupe, one of the best that had ever travelled through the provinces,
was entirely at his lordship’s disposition—“from the king to the
_soubrette_”—he added, with a broad grin.
“That is capital,” said the marquis, “and as to money matters, you can
arrange them to suit yourself. I should not think of bargaining with
the votaries of Thalia—a muse so highly favoured by Apollo, and as
eagerly sought after, and enthusiastically applauded, at the court of
his most gracious majesty as in town and country everywhere.”
After arranging the necessary preliminaries, the marquis, who had
meantime surreptitiously squeezed the _soubrette’s_ hand under the
table, rose, called his dogs together, put on his hat, waved his hand
to the company in token of adieu, and took his departure amid much
barking and commotion—going directly home, in order to set on foot his
preparations to receive the comedians on the morrow at his château.
As it was growing late, and they were to make an early start the next
morning, our tired travellers lost no time in going to rest; the women
in a sort of loft, where they had to make themselves as comfortable as
they could with the bundles of straw that were to serve them for beds,
whilst the men slept on the benches in the room where they had supped.