"And Monsieur de Marsan?"
"Oh! monsieur won't come until the day of the party or the day before.
He never meddles in such things."
I could not have chosen my time better. I hastened to surprise her. The
welcome I received satisfied me that she was flattered by my zeal.
"It is very good of you to come first," she said; "we can rehearse a
scene from _Le Barbier_ together. Our parts are very long, you know,
and, for my part, I have a very poor memory."
"I will do whatever you please, madame."
"Come first of all to look at our theatre. I am sure that you expect to
find a cramped little place, where your head touches the flies, and the
houses are smaller than the actors. Come, monsieur; I am determined that
the sight of our playhouse shall arouse a spirit of emulation in you."
She laughingly led me into the garden; the theatre was in the centre. It
was large, convenient, and excellently arranged. The auditorium was
tastefully decorated and would hold about three hundred people.
"Well, monsieur! what do you say to our theatre?"
"That it would put many provincial theatres to shame."
"And we flatter ourselves, too, that we give better performances than
one sees in the provinces. We do not shrink from anything: comedy,
vaudeville, opéra-comique! We play everything except tragedy."
"Why that exception?"
"You will agree that in the best amateur company at least half of the
performers are good for nothing and provoke laughter, which in our
theatre is never prohibited; but we noticed that the audience always
laughed more at tragedies than at other plays; and as we could not
mistake that for applause, we have ceased to play any but merry pieces;
now, when we cause laughter we can persuade ourselves that it is a sign
of approval. There is always some way of sparing one's self-esteem, you
see. At our last performance we had a most complete success! We gave
_Porceaugnac_, with all the scenic accessories; nothing was forgotten; I
fancy that we bought all the syringes in Montmorency. But it was
charming, and it made a great sensation. It was spoken of in Paris; we
even had an article in the paper. You will agree, monsieur, that our
honor is involved now in maintaining our reputation."
I promised Madame de Marsan to do my best to make myself worthy to
appear upon her stage; and we left it, to stroll through the garden. It
was almost a park; it was possible to lose one's self there, and I hoped
to take advantage of that fact. There was a little clump of trees, a
grotto, a bridge, which lacked nothing but water, dense, bosky groves,
shaded paths, turf that was always green, several pretty little
elevations, a subterranean path, a cliff, a waterfall, and all the games
that can be played in a garden. It was a delicious spot, into which it
seemed to me that ennui could never find its way. Madame de Marsan gave
me a small bedroom overlooking the fields. I should have been delighted
with it, except that it was a long way from hers. I reproached her for
it, and she answered with a jest. Patience! perhaps my turn would come.
Meanwhile, it was incumbent on me to learn my part. Madame de Marsan
wished to rehearse some scenes that night, and she left me to study. No
constraint, no etiquette in the country.
"Here," she said, "everyone does what he pleases--rises in the morning,
goes out to walk, stays in the house, goes away, returns, as his fancy
bids him. So long as you are prompt at meals, and, above all, at
rehearsals, you are absolutely your own master."
I promised to conform to the established rules, and buried myself among
the trees to study the rôle of Almaviva. But the thought that I was
alone in that house with Madame de Marsan--for servants and workmen do
not count--that thought made my mind wander. What! I was under the same
roof with a pretty woman, who allowed me to make love to her without
apparent displeasure, who seemed indeed to manifest something more than
interest in me--and I could be satisfied with anything less than a
complete victory!--I saw that I had to do with an accomplished coquette,
who perhaps pretended to be sensible to my attentions in order to keep
me bound to her chariot for a longer time.
I looked forward to dining tête-à-tête with Madame de Marsan, but a
tiresome neighbor came to call, and he dined with us. I had an idea that
his presence was as disagreeable to her as to me, but, of course, she
must seem to be delighted to see him. Luckily, at the table the neighbor
talked for three; we were able to think of whatever was in our minds,
and still the conversation did not languish. The old gentleman hardly
gave himself time to breathe: he described his property to us in detail,
from the main entrance to the garden wall; we knew just how many acres
of land he had, and what his kitchen garden brought him in; how many
trees he had planted, the number of his hens, how many eggs they laid in
a week, what they were worth in the market, and a thousand other details
no less interesting to us. But while he was talking, my eyes carried on
a very different sort of conversation with Madame de Marsan. The
neighbor, engrossed by his crops and his betterments, did not notice it.
I discovered that loquacious people are sometimes very convenient. At
last, about half-past seven, the neighbor concluded to go home, to see
how many eggs his hens had laid during the day. He took his leave, and I
was alone with Madame de Marsan. We went out for a walk in the garden;
the verdure, the shadows, the silence, everything was conducive to
tenderness. I tried to speak of love; the coquette replied only by
repeating some of Rosine's lines. I continued, paying no heed to her.
She rebuked me.
"That isn't right, monsieur," she said; "you haven't studied your part;
you don't know a word of it."
"But, madame, I am not talking about our play."
"What's that, monsieur! didn't we agree to rehearse?"
"We have plenty of time."
"No; I have a bad memory."
"Then you refuse to listen to me?"
"On the contrary, but give me my cue."
"You have known a long while that I love you, that I adore you."
"I know that all that is in your part, but you ought to say it
differently."
"I see, madame, that you take pleasure in tormenting me."
"Anger--passion--that's right! I assure you that you will act
splendidly!"
What a woman! it was impossible to make her reply to the question that
interested me. We returned to the salon; I was in an execrable humor. I
rehearsed with the book in my hand, but I said my lines so badly that
Madame de Marsan laughed at me incessantly. I left her and went to bed;
I was almost tempted to remain no longer in that house. However, I did
remain; but I cursed womankind, all of whom played fast and loose with
me. The only one who combined all the estimable qualities, the only one
who manifested genuine affection for me, was the very one of all who
could neither be my wife nor my mistress.
The next day I decided to learn my rôle; perhaps that complaisance on my
part would be considered worthy of recompense; at all events, as I was
to act, I did not choose to make a more awkward appearance than the
others; so I studied Count Almaviva. I went into the garden, my _Barbier
de Séville_ in my hand. I have always been able to learn easily when I
chose; in less than four hours I was able to act almost the whole play.
I said nothing at dinner; I wished to surprise Madame de Marsan, who
asked me laughingly if I knew it as well as I did the previous evening.
When it was dark, we went to the salon; she refused to rehearse in the
garden, on the pretext that it was too cool there. Was that really her
reason? She took her part; I did not need mine, as I knew it perfectly.
We rehearsed our scenes; I acted with such vigor and earnestness, such
truth to nature, that she was struck dumb. Now it was my turn to scold
her; I was obliged to correct her, to show her what to do; but she was
delighted with my talent, and did whatever I bade her--let me take her
hand, squeeze it, kiss it, throw myself at her feet.
"What! is all this in the play?" she asked, deeply moved.
"Yes, madame, it's all there."
And, taking advantage of my position, of all the privileges that my rôle
of stage lover gave me, I was in a fair way to make rapid progress, when
we heard a commotion out of doors. In a moment the door of the salon
opened and Raymond appeared.
"The devil take the man!" I muttered; "upon my word, he was born to be
always in my way!"
Seeing me at Madame de Marsan's feet, he whipped his part out of his
pocket, and began to shout at the top of his lungs:
"'Ah! malediction! that savage, piratical villain, Figaro! How can one
leave his home one moment, and not be sure that on returning----'
Madame, I have the honor of presenting my respects; I am punctual, you
see.--Good-evening, my dear Dorsan! Why on earth did you start off
yesterday afternoon without me? I would gladly have come with you. Well!
I know my lines already, you see. I have a superb memory! With the
prompter's help, I am all right."
Madame de Marsan thanked Raymond for his promptitude and complimented
him upon his ease. Her agitation had disappeared; we went on with our
rehearsal, and she was engrossed by her part. My hopes were crushed
again! Infernal Raymond!
The next day all the members of the troupe arrived; it was impossible to
find a moment for a tête-à-tête; we were rehearsing from morning till
night, and when _Fanchon_, in which Madame de Marsan did not appear, was
being rehearsed, she had so many orders to give about costumes and the
details of the fête, that I could not obtain the briefest interview with
her. Alas! but for Raymond I should have been happy, I am sure; the
auspicious moment had arrived; and he who would subdue a cruel fair must
not allow such moments to escape him; they may recur with an emotional
woman, but they are very rare with a coquette.
Raymond was in the seventh heaven: he was immersed in business to his
ears; first of all, he had his two parts to learn, which was no small
thing for him; then, Madame de Marsan had given him the general
supervision of the scenery and the orchestra; moreover, as the young
woman who was to play Fanchon was her intimate friend, and as the
performance happened to come on her birthday, she requested him to
compose a scene referring to that coincidence, to be added to the
vaudeville which was to close the performance. Raymond sweated blood and
water to produce that little impromptu. In the morning, as soon as I was
awake, he came to tell me what he had done; he always had the beginning
of his couplets, but he could not succeed in completing one; and he
transferred that task to me, begging me to make use of him whenever I
wished to celebrate anyone's birthday. After breakfast he hurried to
the theatre, turned everything topsy-turvy, examined the scenery, and
regretted that he had not the necessary time to arrange some new
mechanism, because he would have liked to put a transformation scene in
his little contribution; but, in default of demons--for Madame de Marsan
would not hear of them, for fear of fire--and of nymphs,--an article not
to be found in the neighborhood,--Raymond confined his efforts to having
a wreath descend upon Fanchon's head; and he urged the gardener, who had
charge of the machinery, to be sure to make a superb one, and to suspend
it by a cord from one of the roof timbers on the day of the performance.
Then my neighbor proposed to introduce two little Cupids, who, instead
of appearing from a cloud, were to come up from the prompter's
box--which was likely to produce more effect--and to present bouquets to
all the actors and actresses on the stage.
The great day drew near; the rehearsals proceeded with great zeal and
activity; everyone considered that his honor was at stake, and
determined to outdo the others. How much occupation an amateur
theatrical performance affords! what anxiety and toil! what a world of
details! how much trouble people take! But, on the other hand, what joy
to win applause! and one is certain of that in advance, even though one
acts wretchedly. We all knew our parts, except Raymond, who stumbled
through Bartholo's lines and could not remember a single one of
Lattaignant's. The ladies scolded him, but his reply was always the
same:
"With the prompter's help, you'll see how glibly I'll rattle it off."
On the night before the performance we were to have a dress rehearsal on
the stage, with all the lights. Raymond had not been seen since
morning; at six o'clock, the hour appointed for the rehearsal, he had
not come. We waited in vain; they searched the whole house, the garden,
the wood; everybody was engaged in the search; the servants were sent
around the neighborhood, with orders to bring Monsieur Raymond back,
dead or alive. We could not begin without him; we were in despair, at
our wits' end; for there was no one to take his place. How could anyone
learn two long parts between night and morning? The ladies were on the
point of weeping with indignation, when, about eight o'clock, Raymond at
last appeared, drenched with perspiration, covered with dust, and
leading by the hand two chubby, rosy-cheeked little boys, five or six
years old, smeared with dirt and dressed in dirty, mud-stained blouses.
"Where have you been?" was the general cry; the ladies were for
beginning operations by beating him.
"That's right!" said Raymond; "scold me savagely, when I have nearly
killed myself finding two Cupids for you! I have been scouring the
neighborhood ever since morning; I am sure that I have travelled a good
ten leagues! But nothing but sulky faces, squint eyes, flat noses
everywhere! At last I found what I wanted at Saint-Denis; but see how
fresh and plump they are! they'll make two first-class Cupids."
The aspect of the two little fellows, for whom Raymond had bought candy
to bribe them, and who were smeared with it to the ears, soon allayed
the wrath of the company.
"What about their mother?" asked Madame de Marsan.
"She's a dairywoman at Saint-Denis. She's overjoyed to have her children
play two little Cupids, and she's coming to see them to-morrow; I
promised her a place behind the rear curtain. Now, just have these
little rascals cleaned up a bit, and you'll see how pretty they are!"
The young lady who was to play Fanchon did not understand why Cupids
were needed, not knowing that a little surprise was being prepared for
her. Madame de Marsan tried to repair Raymond's indiscretion. The
rehearsal went on and lasted until one in the morning, when, being
thoroughly exhausted, we all went to bed, longing ardently for the
morrow; and Raymond intrusted his two Cupids to the housekeeper, with
instructions to cleanse them and make them get up early, so that he
would have time to teach them what they had to do.