The great day arrived. The ladies rose early; the thought of their
costumes had kept them awake. The men, who are sometimes as coquettish
as the ladies, were all absorbed by their costumes or their rôles. I was
less engrossed by the great affair of the evening, because my passion
for Madame de Marsan, intensified by the obstacles it had encountered,
occupied my thoughts quite as much as the play. But the busiest of all
was Raymond. He was out of bed at daybreak. He sought out the two little
peasants, and tried to make them move gracefully, and to teach them a
little stage business, while he told them what they would have to do in
the evening. The children stared at him, jumped into the air when he
told them to dance, fell on the ground when he tried to make them stand
on one leg, and began to cry when he told them to smile. My neighbor
took them to the gardener, now transformed into a scene shifter, and
repeated the lesson to him. The gardener was a dull-witted lout, who
knew nothing at all, but who chose to pretend to understand instantly
whatever was said to him.
"Do you know what you have to do to-night, my friend?" Raymond asked
him.
"Yes, monsieur."
"First, the wreath of flowers----"
"Yes, monsieur."
"Which you are to lower on Fanchon's head."
"Fanchon's--yes, monsieur."
"You are to fasten it to a cord hanging from the beam; do you know
whether there is one?"
"Oh! yes, monsieur; there was one for that gentleman with the syringes
they acted the last time, that was so funny! Monsieur Pourceau--Pourceau--the
man who wouldn't take physic before people, you know."
"Just so, my man, just so.--Well, when the wreath is all fixed, you must
make a dozen fresh, pretty bouquets, and give them to these children,
who will be dressed as Cupids."
"Say! I know 'em; they're Madeleine's boys."
"Pay attention to what I say."
"Yes, monsieur."
"When they have the bouquets, you'll take them to the prompter's box."
"Yes, monsieur, to the box, I understand."
"And they are to go out on the stage when I clap twice with my hands."
"Yes, monsieur, with your hands."
"Don't forget anything, my friend."
"No, monsieur. Oh! you needn't be afraid; I'm used to play-acting here!"
Raymond next betook himself, with the two children, to the costume room.
He found no knit flesh-colored tights, because such costumes are rarely
used by amateurs. He was obliged to be content with nankeen trousers,
over which they were to wear their little white tunics: these, with the
girdle, the band, the bow, and the quiver, should make the illusion
complete. After urging the wig-maker, who had come from Montmorency for
the occasion, to outdo himself in dressing the Cupids' locks, Raymond
forgot everything but his rôles, and set about learning them for the
evening. A numerous and select party of guests had arrived from Paris,
and they strolled about the house and gardens. Madame de Marsan, despite
the necessary preparations for the play, did the honors of her house
with no less grace than good breeding. Monsieur de Marsan did not arrive
until a few moments before dinner on the day of the fête. He was
detained in Paris by business on the Bourse; he knew that his wife was
spending a lot of money, and he had to devote his attention to making an
equal amount in order to maintain the equilibrium. In the evening, many
of the people of the neighborhood, carefully selected from the most
eligible, who had received invitations for the performance, were on hand
promptly. Thus the auditorium was certain to be entirely filled, for the
last rows of chairs were thrown open to some of the villagers. It is
much more agreeable to act before a large audience; empty benches are
never flattering to the actor, even at an amateur performance.
The hour to begin had arrived. Our little hall was full. Raymond kept
looking through the hole in the curtain, to see where the ladies were
sitting whom he proposed to ogle.
"Time to begin!"--Such was the cry of all who were ready; but everybody
was not ready, and it seemed as if Raymond would never finish dressing.
After each garment that he put on, he ran to look through the hole, with
his jar of rouge in one hand and his rôle in the other.
"Hurry! hurry!" we shouted at him from all sides, and pushed him back
toward his dressing room; then someone ran to Madame de Marsan's room,
to ask if Rosine was ready. The four amateurs who formed the orchestra
had twice played through the overture to _Richard Coeur de Lion_,
which served as overture to _Le Barbier_. They were about to begin it a
third time, because they had no other music with them; the audience
began to lose patience and some faint murmurs were heard. But at last we
were ready, and Raymond, who was the machinist, raised the curtain.
I knew my lines very well, and my feeling for Madame de Marsan, who
looked prettier than ever in the costume of Rosine, imparted to my
acting the warmth and genuineness which befit the rôle of a lover like
Almaviva. The young man who played Figaro was spirited, good-looking,
and daring. We played with great _verve_, our scenes went off
excellently, and the audience was delighted. At the moment when Bartholo
was to appear at the window with Rosine, Raymond, trying to raise the
blind, jerked it so violently that it was detached and fell on the lamps
which did duty as footlights; luckily, the sight of Madame de Marsan,
who was delicious in her Spanish costume, covered Raymond's
awkwardness. The first act went without a hitch. In the second, Raymond,
whose memory was fatigued already, could not say a word without the
prompter, and he stood in front of his box all the time, with his eyes
fixed upon it and his ears strained to hear. Often the prompter had to
repeat the words three times, Raymond meanwhile abusing him when he did
not prompt, and telling him to be quiet when he did prompt him in some
speech that he thought he knew. Thus he made of Bartholo a veritable
Cassandra; but such an audience as ours could not fail to be indulgent;
moreover, all the other rôles were well done; we entered into the spirit
of our parts and filled the stage with animation. We were wildly
applauded; and Raymond assumed his share of the applause, although he
confused us terribly when he was on the stage with us.
The third act began with Raymond on the stage. He walked forward and
took his stand in front of the prompter's box.
"'What temper! what temper! [_To the prompter_: Why don't you prompt
me?] She seemed appeased! Will someone tell me [Don't prompt me.]--will
someone tell me who in the devil put it into her head to--to [Prompt me,
will you?]--to refuse [What's that? I don't hear you.]--to refuse to
take lessons from Don Basile. [Don't prompt me!] She knows that he is
interfering about my marriage. Do everything in the world--do--do--[What?
what do I say next? What the devil! you don't know how to prompt at the
right time!]'"
The audience concluded to laugh at our Bartholo; whereat Raymond rubbed
his hands with a satisfied air, and, whenever he returned to the wings,
exclaimed:
"How pleased they are! how it amuses them! No audience at the Français
ever laughed so much!"
The play came to an end at last, in spite of Raymond, who did all that
he could to prevent it; but Rosine's grace, Figaro's hilarity, and,
lastly,--for one must do one's self justice,--the warmth, the passion,
the ardor which gave life to my performance of Almaviva made the
illusion complete; I obtained a brilliant triumph, and I read in Madame
de Marsan's eyes the pleasure that my success afforded her.
_Le Barbier_ at an end, the performance of _Fanchon_ was hurried
forward. All of the cast of the first play, with the exception of Madame
de Marsan and myself, were to appear in the second. We two had plenty of
time to change our costumes. All the dressing rooms opened on the
garden; those of the ladies were separated from ours only by an avenue
of lindens. Having resumed my civilian costume, I went out into the
garden for a breath of air. The second play had begun long before, and
everybody was on the stage or among the spectators. The solitude and
tranquillity of the garden were in refreshing contrast to the clamor not
far away. I was not sorry to be able to saunter there for a moment; but
as I crossed the avenue of lindens, I saw a lady come from one of the
dressing rooms opposite. I stopped; it was Madame de Marsan; it was my
Rosine. She recognized me and came toward me.
"Where is Monsieur le Comte Almaviva going, pray?"
"I came out to enjoy this cool shade a moment; but I missed something:
Almaviva cannot be happy without Rosine."
"Rosine is not at all sure that she ought to go with you."
"What! after consenting to allow yourself to be abducted?"
"In truth, I should play the cruel now with a bad grace; but remember
that you swore to be true to me! to love me always, to love none but
me!"
"Oh! I swear it again! I have no other desire than to repeat it every
moment!"
"But where are you taking me? we seem to be going a long way. Why do you
take the darkest paths? Why are we going in under these trees? It is too
dark here!"
"Dear Rosine, what can you fear, with me?"
"Dear Lindor, I am ill at ease."
"Did you not intrust yourself unreservedly to me?"
"Ah! I fear that I was not wise. What are you doing? Kissing me like
this! Oh! that isn't in the play."
"Do we refuse a kiss to the lover who is to be our husband?"
"Stop--Lindor--Dorsan---- Oh! this scene----"
"Dear Rosine, what is it but the natural sequel? ought it not to crown
our love?"
Madame de Marsan tried in vain to resist; it was too late; I had entered
too completely into the spirit of my rôle, and she had identified
herself with hers. We added to _Le Barbier de Séville_ the scene which
the audience does not see, but which it may well divine after the union
of Almaviva and Rosine. For some time the thicket had witnessed that
charming scene, half lighted by the moon. The fervor with which we
played our parts caused us to forget the world and the fête. I was
determined that Almaviva should obtain as great a triumph in the thicket
as on the stage, and Rosine was so prompt in response that I could not
lag behind. We had not begun to think of the dénouement, when it was
hastened by an unforeseen incident; but, to explain it, we must return
to the theatre.
_Fanchon_ was acted indifferently well; many of the actors, not knowing
their parts, had skipped several scenes; Raymond had done the same with
his lines; so that the play was soon done. Neither Madame de Marsan's
absence nor mine was noticed; the actors supposed that we were in the
audience, the spectators, that we were behind the scenes.
The vaudeville being finished, Raymond arranged his little scene in
honor of the lady who had played Fanchon, and whose birthday it was.
Everyone sang his or her couplet, and Raymond called for Madame de
Marsan and myself to sing ours. As he did not find us, and as the
dénouement was at hand, he ran into the wings and seized the cord to
which was attached the surprise that was to descend upon Fanchon's head.
He pulled it slightly, and the weight that he felt above set his mind at
rest, convincing him that the gardener had not forgotten to attach the
wreath.