THE MOUNTEBANK AND THE HUNCHBACK
Up the Mount with shambling step, head down-bent and the same stupid
expression on his face, the mountebank went docilely, though not
silently. To one of the soldiers at his side he spoke often, voicing
that dull apprehension he had manifested when first ordered into
custody.
"Do you think they'll put me in a dungeon?"
"Dungeon, indeed!" the man answered not ill-naturedly. "For such as
you! No, no! They'll keep the oubliettes, calottes, and all the dark
holes for people of consequence--traitors, or your fine gentry
consigned by _lettres de cachet_."
"Then what do you think they _will_ do with me?"
"Wait, and find out!" returned the soldier roughly, and the mountebank
spoke no more for some time; held his head lower, until, regarding him,
his guardian must needs laugh. "Here's a craven-hearted fellow! Well,
if you really want to know, they'll probably lock you up for the night
with the rest of rag-tag," indicating the other prisoners, a short
distance ahead, "in the cellar, or almonry, or _auberge des voleurs_;
and in the morning, if you're lucky and the Governor has time to attend
to such as you, it may be you'll escape with a few stripes and a
warning."
"The _auberge des voleurs_!--the thieves' inn!" said the man. "What is
that?"
"Bah! You want to know too much! If now your legs only moved as fast
as your tongue--" And the speaker completed the sentence with a
significant jog on the other's shoulder. Whereupon the mountebank
quickened his footsteps, once more ceased his questioning. It was the
soldier who had not yet spoken, but who had been pondering a good deal
on the way up, who next broke the silence.
"How did it end, Monsieur Mountebank?--the scene with the devil, I
mean."
The man who had begun to breathe hard, as one not accustomed to
climbing, or wearied by a long pilgrimage to the Mount, at the question
ventured to stop and rest, with a hand on the granite balustrade of the
little platform they had just reached. "In the death of the peasant,
and a comic chorus of frogs," he answered.
"A comic chorus!" said the soldier. "That must be very amusing."
"It is," the mountebank said, at the same time studying, from where he
stood, different parts of the Mount with cautious, sidelong looks; "but
my poor frogs!--all torn! trampled!"
"Well, well!" said the other not unkindly. "You can mend them when you
get out."
"'_When_!' If I only knew when that would be! What if I should have
to stay here like some of the others?--_pour etre oublie_!--to be
forgotten?"
"If you don't get on faster," said the soldier who had first spoken,
"you won't be buried alive for some time to come, at least!"
"Pardon!" muttered the mountebank. "The hill--it is very steep."
"You look strong enough to climb a dozen hills, and if you're holding
back for a chance to escape--"
"No, no!" protested the man. "I had no thought--do I not know that if
I tried, your sword--"
"Quite right. I'd--"
"There, there!" said the other soldier, a big, good-natured appearing
fellow. "He's harmless enough, and," as once more they moved on, "that
tune of yours, Monsieur Mountebank," abruptly; "it runs in my head.
Let me see--how does it go? The second verse, I mean--"
"Beat! beat!
Mid marsh-muck and mire,
For if any note
Escapes a frog's throat,
Beware my lord's ire!"
"Yes; that's the one. Not bad!" humming--
"For if any note
Escapes a frog's throat
Beware my lord's ire!"
"Are the verses your own?"
"Oh, no! I'm only a poor player," said the mountebank humbly. "But an
honest one," he added after a pause, "and this thieves' inn, Monsieur?"
returning to the subject of his possible fate, "this _auberge des
voleurs_--that sounds like a bad place for an honest lodging."
"It was once under the old monks, who were very merry fellows; but
since the Governor had it restored, it has become a sober and quiet
place. It is true there are iron bars instead of blinds, and you can't
come and go, as they used to, but--"
"Is that it--up there?" And the mountebank pointed toward a ledge of
rock, with strong flanking buttresses, out jutting beneath a
mysterious-looking wall and poised over a sparsely-wooded bit of the
lower Mount. "The gray stone building you can just see above the
ramparts, and that opening in the cliff to the right, with something
running down--that looks like planking--"
"Oh, that is for the wheel--"
"The wheel?"
"The great wheel of the Mount! It was built in the time of the monks,
and was used for--"
"Hold your tongue!" said the other soldier, and the trio entered the
great gate, which had opened at their approach, and now closed quickly
behind them.
For the first time in that isolated domain of the dreaded Governor, the
mountebank appeared momentarily to forget his fears and gazed with
interest around him. On every side new and varying details unfolded to
the eye; structures that from below were etched against the sky in
filmy lines, here resolved themselves into vast, solid, but harmonious
masses.
Those ribbons of color that had seemed to fall from the wooing sky, to
adorn these heights, proved, indeed, fallacious; more somber effects,
the black touches of age, confronted the eye everywhere, save on one
favored front--that of a newer period, an architectural addition whose
intricate carvings and beautiful roses of stone invited and caught the
warmer rays; whose little balcony held real buds and flowers, bright
spots of pink dangling from, or nestling at, the window's edge.
"Yonder looks like some grand lady's bower," as he followed his captors
past this more attractive edifice, the mountebank ventured to observe.
"Now, perhaps, lives there--"
"Hark you, my friend," one of the soldiers bruskly interrupted; "a
piece of advice! His Excellency likes not babblers, neither does he
countenance gossip; and if you'd fare well, keep your tongue to
yourself!"
"I'll--I'll try to remember," said the mountebank docilely, but as he
spoke, looked back toward the balcony; at the gleaming reflection full
on its windows; then a turn in the way cut off the pleasing prospect,
and only the grim foundations of the lofty, heavier structure on one
hand and the massive masonry of the ramparts on the other greeted the
eye.
For some distance they continued along the narrow way, the mountebank
bending lower under his load and observing the injunction put upon him,
until the path, broadening, led them abruptly on to a platform where a
stone house of ancient construction barred their further progress. But
two stories in height, this building, an alien edifice amid loftier
piles, stood sturdily perched on a precipitous cliff. The rough
stonework of its front, darkened by time, made it seem almost a part of
the granite itself, although the roof, partly demolished and restored,
imparted to it an anomalous distinctness, the bright new tile prominent
as patches on some dilapidated garment. In its doorway, beneath a
monkish inscription, well-nigh obliterated, stood a dwarf, or
hunchback, who, jingling a bunch of great keys, ill-humoredly regarded
the approaching trio.
"What now?" The little man's welcome, as mountebank and soldiers came
within earshot, was not reassuring. "Isn't it enough to make prisoners
of all the scamps in Christendom without taking vagabond players into
custody?"
"Orders, good Jacques!" said one of the soldiers in a conciliatory
tone. "The commandant's!"
"The commandant!" grumbled the grotesque fellow. "It is all very
well," mimicking: "'Turn them over to Jacques. He'll find room.' If
this keeps on, we'll soon have to make cages of confessionals, or turn
the wine-butts in the old cellar into oubliettes."
"If any of the ancient flavor lingers in the casks, your guests would
have little reason to complain!" returned the other soldier. "But this
fellow, he'll make no trouble--"
"Oh, I suppose we'll have to take care of him!" muttered the dwarf.
"In the thieves' inn there's always room for one more!" Obeying the
gesture, at once menacing and imperious, that accompanied these words,
the mountebank, who had been eying his prospective host not without
visible signs of misgiving, reluctantly entered.
But as he did so, he looked back; toward the soldier who had displayed
half-friendly interest in the play.
"If you care to know more about the piece--" he began, when the
maledictions and abuse of the misshapen keeper put a stop to further
conversation and sent the mountebank post-haste into the darkness of
the cavern-like hall intersecting the ground floor.
On either side closed doors, vaguely discerned, hinted at the secrets
of the chambers they guarded; the atmosphere, dark and close,
proclaimed the sunlight long a stranger there. At the end of the hall
the dwarf, who had walked with the assurance of one well acquainted
with that musty interior and all it contained, paused; shot sharply a
bolt and threw open a door. The action was the signal for a chorus of
hoarse voices from within, and the little man stayed not on the order
of his going, but, thrusting the mountebank across the threshold,
leaped nimbly back, slammed hard the door, and locked it.
Cries of disappointment and rage followed, and, facing the company that
crowded the dingy little room almost to suffocation, the latest comer
found himself confronted by unkempt people who shook their fists
threateningly and execrated in no uncertain manner. A few, formerly
spectators of his little play, inclined again to vent their humor on
him, but he regarded them as if unaware of their feeling; pushed none
too gently to a tiny window, and, depositing his burden on the stone
floor, seated himself on a stool with his back to the wall.
As a squally gust soon blows itself out, so their temper, mercurial,
did not long endure; from a ragged coat one produced dice, another
cards, and, although there were few sous to exchange hands, the hazard
of tossing and shuffling exercised its usual charm and held them. The
minutes wore away; motionless in his corner, the mountebank now
watched; then with his head on his elbow, seemed sunk in thought. Once
he rose; stood on his stool and looked out between the heavy bars of
the narrow window.
"Not much chance to get out that way," observed a fellow prisoner.
"What did you see?"
"Only a chasm and the sands."
"The sands!" said the man. "Cursed the day I set foot on them!"
To this malediction the other did not answer; stepped down and, again
seated in his corner, waited, while the light that had grudgingly
entered the narrow aperture grew fainter. With the growing darkness
the atmosphere seemed to become closer, more foul; but although he
breathed with difficulty, the mountebank suffered no sign of impatience
or concern to escape him; only more alertly looked, and listened--to a
night bird cleaving the air without; to muttered sounds, thieves'
patois, or snatches of ribald mirth within; and, ere long, to new
complainings.
"Our supper! What of our supper?"
"The foul fiend take the _auberge des voleurs_ and its landlord?"
"_Vrai dieu_! Here he comes!" as footsteps were heard without.
And the door, opening, revealed, indeed, in the rushlight, now dimly
illuminating the hall, the hunchback; not laden, however, with the
longed-for creature comforts, but empty-handed; at his back the
commandant and a number of soldiers.
"You fellow with the dolls!" Blinking in the glare of the torches, the
dwarf peered in. "Where are you? Come along!" as the mountebank rose,
"you are wanted."
"Wanted?" repeated the player, stepping forward. "Where?"
"At the palace," said the commandant.
"The palace!" stopping short. "Who can want me there?"
"Who?" The dwarf made a grimace. "Who?" he repeated mockingly.
"Her ladyship," said the commandant, with a reproving glance at the
jailer.
"Her ladyship!"
"Haven't you ears, my man?" The commandant frowned and made an
impatient gesture. "Come, bestir yourself! The Governor's daughter
has commanded your presence."