écarté, seemed inclined to try his luck against monsieur le baron, when
Lunel announced that Monsieur Durosey had arrived. Chambertin was
delighted; he left the room, and soon returned with his friend, whom he
introduced to the assembled company. Dubourg glanced at the new-comer
and recognized the former keeper of a restaurant in Paris, to whom he
owed a matter of four hundred francs, which had been standing two years,
and which he had not found himself in a position to pay. Monsieur
Chambertin, through vanity, had represented him as a wholesale merchant
instead of a retired restaurant keeper.
The meeting was exceedingly disagreeable to Dubourg, but he did not lose
his head; and when Chambertin came forward with Durosey, saying: "I
present you to Monsieur le Baron de Potoski, a Polish palatine," Dubourg
bowed and smirked, blinking his eyes, twisting his mouth, and making
such grimaces that it was improbable that his creditor could recognize
him.
Monsieur Durosey did not stop in front of Dubourg, who felt more at ease
and resumed his game more tranquilly. From time to time, however, he
glanced about the salon, and when he met his former entertainer's eye he
fancied that the latter was scrutinizing him carefully; whereupon he
resumed his facial contortions and grimacing, and tried to affect a sort
of Saint Vitus's dance by constantly twisting his nose and mouth toward
his left ear.
But his creditor's presence annoyed and embarrassed him; he could not
pay attention to his game, he lost his head completely, and his money
slowly but surely passed into his adversary's possession. Dubourg
suggested doubling, then trebling, the stakes; the rich squire agreed,
for he could not refuse monsieur le baron. A large part of the company
stood about the table, which was covered with five-hundred-franc notes;
and Monsieur Durosey planted himself exactly in front of Dubourg, who
could not raise his eyes without meeting his creditor's, and who, to
fill his cup to the brim, had the worst possible luck. In half an hour,
the travelling fund had passed into other hands, and Dubourg rose,
saying that he was going to get some more money.
But as he was looking about for his friend Chambertin, to borrow a few
thousand francs, with which he hoped to recover what he had lost,--for a
gambler continues to hope until he is on his death-bed,--the former
restaurant keeper, who had not lost sight of him, joined him in a window
recess. It was impossible to avoid him.
"How is Monsieur Dubourg?" he asked, with a roguish air.
"Dubourg? what do you mean by Dubourg?" replied the pretended baron,
working his nose and mouth more violently than ever.
"Oh! I have the honor to recognize monsieur," retorted the creditor, in
a louder tone; "but I didn't know that he was a Polish baron----"
"Hush! not another word, my dear Monsieur Durosey," said Dubourg, seeing
that it was impossible to hoodwink his interlocutor. "I didn't recognize
you at first, but now I place you perfectly. I am delighted to see you."
"The same with me, monsieur. You seem to be in very comfortable
circumstances now, staking five hundred francs at once at écarté, and I
trust that you will pay me the four hundred francs you----"
"Yes, yes, with great pleasure; I will give them to you this very
evening. When I left Paris, I forgot that trifling debt."
"But I called on monsieur more than twenty times when he lived on the
fifth floor on Rue d'Enfer, and again on Rue de----"
"Hush! I know all about that; silence, Monsieur Durosey! Since then, I
have come into my property, and my titles--I will pay you in a moment."
"Oh! in that case, monsieur le baron may be assured that this will
remain a secret between us."
Dubourg walked away from Monsieur Durosey and once more looked about for
Chambertin, when that gentleman entered the salon, crying:
"Come into the garden, everybody; we are going to set off the
fireworks."
"I have a favor to ask of you," said Dubourg, walking up to him.
"After the fireworks, monsieur le baron, I shall be entirely at your
service. Be good enough to go to the summer-house; I flatter myself that
you will be able to see as well there as you did before; my wife will
take you there."
And Chambertin hurried away, with a mischievous air, while Dubourg said
to himself:
"Parbleu! it's decidedly amusing that he should send me to the
summer-house with his wife."
He went into the garden and found Madame Chambertin, who remembered the
last pyrotechnic display and was waiting for monsieur le baron for the
second performance. Madame asked nothing better than to go again to the
little summer-house, where they could see so well, and where they had
such comfortable seats; which latter would be most essential, as she had
urged her husband to make the display last as long as possible.
Bombs were set off, and rockets, and transparencies. But when the moment
arrived for the closing piece, Monsieur Chambertin said to the company
assembled in the garden:
"Turn toward the summer-house, and look at what comes next; that's where
the surprise is to be."
Everybody turned in that direction, Monsieur Chambertin gave the signal,
the walls of the summer-house fell away as if by magic, leaving the roof
supported by four pillars, and a lighted match instantly set fire to
four Bengal-lights, which had been secretly placed inside, together with
a transparency on which were these words: _To Baron Potoski, from his
grateful friend Chambertin_.
This was the surprise which Monsieur Chambertin had been mysteriously
preparing for several days; but he did not expect the surprise that his
friend the baron had in reserve for him: the explosion and the
demolition of the summer-house had taken place so suddenly, that the
couple inside had not even had time to cease their conversation, and it
seemed to all the company to be exceedingly animated.
The men laughed, the ladies bit their lips to avoid imitating them.
Ménard, who was in the rear of the crowd, called out:
"Pray explain the transparency!"
And Monsieur Chambertin was struck dumb.
All this was the affair of a minute; Dubourg required no longer time to
realize what remained for him to do. He had not a sou, he had found a
creditor, he could expect nothing from his friend Chambertin except a
horsewhipping or a sword-thrust; so it behooved him to leave the house
instanter.
The Bengal-lights had gone out; Madame Chambertin had fainted, which was
the best thing that she could do. Dubourg took advantage of the smoke
which succeeded the bright light; he jumped down into the garden, lost
himself in the crowd about the summer-house, seized Ménard, who came
running after him, dragged him into a dark path, and ordered him to hold
his tongue at the risk of being murdered.
At the end of the path was a little gate leading into the fields;
Dubourg opened it and pushed Ménard through, who had no idea where he
was, and fancied that their friend Chambertin's house had caught fire.
His companion locked the little gate and threw away the key.
"Come," he said, "forward at the double-quick! We have drunk the cup of
pleasure, now we must put ourselves on a strict diet; it will do us
good. Now is the time for us to say: _Non est beatus qui cupida
possidet, sed qui negata non cupit._"
"Amen!" said Ménard, as he trotted along by his side.
XVI
THE IMPROMPTU ACTORS.--AN EVENT WHICH CHANGED THE WHOLE FACE OF AFFAIRS
After they had run for more than a league, as if they were pursued,
Ménard, utterly exhausted, stopped, declared that he could hold out no
longer, and dropped on the turf. Dubourg thought that they could safely
halt for a while, so he seated himself beside his companion.
"Will you kindly tell me now, monsieur le baron," said Ménard, when he
had recovered his breath, "why we are running away like thieves from our
friend Chambertin's, where we were overwhelmed with attentions,
luxuriously quartered, and fed like epicures; where, in a word, we were
treated with the regard we deserve?"
"My dear Monsieur Ménard, the jug that goes often to the well ends by
being broken or filled, as you choose; and in this case I rather think
both things have happened."
"What jug are you talking about? what have you broken? I don't
understand you, monsieur le baron."
"So I see, and I will explain my meaning in another way. Did you notice
that man they called Durosey, who didn't arrive at friend Chambertin's
until this evening?"
"Yes, monsieur le baron."
"Do you know who that man is?"
"I heard it said that he was a retired merchant."
"Yes, he represented himself as such, the better to deceive me, no
doubt. Did you notice what a forbidding face he had?"
"I noticed that he looked at you very often, monsieur le baron, with
close attention."
"Parbleu! I should say as much; and he recognized me. Monsieur Ménard,
that man is nothing else than a disguised Turkish spy, who has been sent
in pursuit of me."
"Is it possible?"
"It is well known that I have pleaded the cause of the Greeks at several
courts, and induced more than one prince to take up arms in their
behalf. The Turks have sworn to have my life; this man is one of their
agents, whom I recognized because I have often seen him at
Constantinople; his presence is always followed by some disaster to me;
I am sure that Monsieur Chambertin's house was surrounded by his
confederates. They would have kidnapped me during the night,--and you
too, because it is known that you are travelling with me,--and within a
fortnight our two heads would have adorned the Castle of the Seven
Towers, flanked by a horse's tail, the symbol of the Grand Turk's
might. Tell me, now, whether I was wise to fly!"
"Mon Dieu!" said Ménard, looking behind him; "I believe that my strength
has come back. Suppose we go on?"
"No, don't be alarmed, Monsieur Ménard; the rascals have lost our trail
and won't dare to follow us."
"But how does it happen that Monsieur Chambertin receives as a
guest----"
"Oh! my poor Ménard, you don't know mankind! With a dozen cashmere
shawls, a collection of pastilles, a box of little bottles of attar of
rose, you can make people do whatever you choose. However, I don't
accuse Chambertin; he may very well have been deceived; but, just as the
fireworks went off, I noticed several evil-looking men; and I at once
determined to fly."
"You acted very wisely. But our carriage?"
"I certainly shall not go after it."
"Nor I. But what about our landlord at Grenoble, who owns it?"
"He has our post chaise to pay for it."
"But what are we to travel with hereafter?"
"With our legs, I fancy. Indeed, when one hasn't a sou to pay for
horses, there's no use in having a post chaise."
"What's that, monsieur le baron? you haven't any money?"
"No, my dear Ménard; I lost all that I possessed, this evening. That
Turk's presence confused me; I didn't know what I was doing, and I
played like a fool."
"That was well done! Luckily, my pupil, Monsieur Frédéric de
Montreville, has the money for our journey, and the only thing for us to
do is to go and find him."
"How can we possibly rely on Frédéric's having any money. He has just
made a new acquaintance, and new acquaintances, Monsieur Ménard, are
always very expensive; we play the open-handed lover, we deny our
charmer nothing. I am sure that that girl is making him spend money like
water! At his age, a young man doesn't know the value of money, and has
no idea of economy."
"But, monsieur le baron, I don't quite see how they could spend much
money, living in the woods."
"You don't see? well, I do! It's first one thing, then another--no end
to the whims. You don't suppose that they have stayed in their little
cabin this whole month, do you? I can safely tell you, now, that
Frédéric proposed to hire an apartment for the girl."
"But, monsieur le baron, did you not point out to him----"
"He's old enough to do as he pleases. However, don't get excited; I'll
see him. I'll go alone first, so as not to anger him, and, if he is
willing to listen to me, I'll bring him back. But, meanwhile, we must
live. How much money have you?"
"About thirty francs."
"That isn't much; but if we are economical, it will last us some time;
we shall have to live very sparingly; but that will do us good. These
big dinners overheat our blood; it's very unhealthy to eat five or six
rich dishes and drink several kinds of wine every day."
"Still, monsieur le baron, I am inclined to think that we were both
getting fat at Monsieur Chambertin's."
"True; but that would have turned out badly for us; simple fare will
check this tendency to corpulence. The pleasures of Capua enervated the
Carthaginians; and Monsieur Chambertin's table would probably have
produced the same effect on us, and I should have been distressed. I
really must resume my incognito."
"Ah! I agree with you this time, monsieur le baron; for if those Turks
should find you----"
"That's the reason why I think it wouldn't be prudent to return to
Grenoble, where I might be arrested--I should say, kidnapped by those
cutthroats. Besides, having no money, we should be ill received by our
host, who would claim, I dare swear, that his carriage is worth more
than ours. We will avoid passing through the town, and with your thirty
francs we will take lodgings in some little village."
"But when that's all gone, monsieur le baron?"
"Parbleu! then we'll see; there's no use of worrying beforehand.
Frédéric can write to his father."
"I am afraid monsieur le comte will be angry----"
"I will write to my aunt."
"To your aunt, monsieur le baron?"
"I should say, to my steward. At all events, we will find some way out
of it. Besides, suppose we should groan and moan--would that help
matters at all? So let us make the best of it. Come, it's a superb
night, and we have had a good rest--let's push on. Faith! there's
nothing like travelling on foot, if you want to admire the landscape.
Come, my dear Ménard, summon your courage! Since we have been together,
we have had lots of ups and downs; have you ever seen me mope?"
"Ah! monsieur le baron, everybody isn't as philosophical as you are."
"I will train you. Think of the misfortunes of Marius, Hannibal, Prince
Edward; of the poverty of the grand-daughter of Henri IV; of the woes of
Marguerite of Anjou; and of all the other people who have found
themselves in much more difficult positions than ours--and complain
again, if you dare!"
The travellers resumed their journey. Dubourg was a curious sight in his
full dress, starched ruff, and thin pumps, walking beside Ménard, who
wore silk short-clothes, black stockings, and buckled shoes, and who was
compelled, in that costume, to climb hills, jump ditches, and plod along
over ground that, at the best, was very uneven. Luckily, they had taken
their hats when they went out to see the fireworks, otherwise they would
have had to traverse Dauphiné as if they were calling on their
neighbors.
At daybreak, they stopped at a peasant's house and obtained breakfast.
Dubourg ordered an omelet and some native wine. They ate their repast
under an arbor, surrounded by domestic animals who came to keep them
company.
"How pleasant it is in the open air!" said Dubourg; "are all the gilded
halls and antechambers on earth equal to this open country--to the
perfect liberty which is ours at this moment?"
"It is certain," rejoined Ménard, driving away a big cat that persisted
in putting its paws in his plate, "it is certain that we are entirely at
liberty here,--that there is no suspicion of restraint---- Well, well,
here's the dog now, trying to get my bread!"
"Well, Monsieur Ménard, every creature must live. In the time of our
first parents, these innocent beasts shared their masters' meals; the
lion ate from the hand of man, and the tiger gambolled at his feet."
"You must agree, monsieur le baron, that those animals have changed
greatly in their disposition."
"Never mind; I love everything that recalls those days of innocence.
When I look at this hen walking on our table, and this duck splashing in
the mud at our feet, I fancy that I am living in the Age of Gold. Not
until I feel in my pocket do I realize the delusion."
Unluckily, the eggs in the omelet were not fresh, and the wine was sour;
Ménard made a wry face at every mouthful and every swallow, while
Dubourg said:
"I know of no healthier food than an omelet. Whatever country you travel
in, wherever you may be, if there are eggs, you have an omelet!
Everybody knows how to make it; it's a universal dish, the dish of
nature."
"If only the eggs were fresh!"
"Faith! this little taste of straw isn't unpleasant; at need, it will
take the place of tarragon. And this wine--at all events, I'll guarantee
that it won't do us any harm."
"It's infernally sour!"
"A proof that it's unadulterated."
Despite all that Dubourg could say to make Ménard approve of the
breakfast, the tutor said, as they left the table:
"I think that we must go to hunt up Monsieur Frédéric de Montreville."
And Dubourg said to himself:
"He'll receive me cordially, when he knows that I have broken the bank
again in less than a month! How in the devil am I to get out of the
scrape? And how am I going to ask him for anything, when he gave it all
to me? I can't go and preach to him--that isn't in my line. Indeed, I
think that I shall have to induce Ménard to come and live in the woods
with me; we will become hermits, and I won't play écarté any more."
The travellers made a détour round Grenoble, without entering the city.
They halted in a small village, and Ménard spoke again of joining
Frédéric. Dubourg lost his patience, and told him that he would go alone
to Vizille to see what he could learn. He left the village, walked as
far as a small patch of forest, lay down on the grass, slept there all
day, and at night returned to Ménard, holding his handkerchief to his
eyes and sighing as if his heart were broken.
"Well, well! what in heaven's name has happened to him?" inquired the
tutor, anxiously.
"The ingrate! the harebrained fool!"
"Speak, monsieur le baron, I entreat you!"
"I suspected that he would do some insane thing. He has gone off with
his fair one. They left the forest a fortnight ago."
"Great heaven! what will monsieur le comte say? what answer shall I make
him, when he asks me what I have done with his son?"
"You must tell him that you lost him."
"Do you believe, monsieur le baron, that such an answer will satisfy
him?"
"Then you can tell him that he lost himself. But be calm, my dear
Ménard. I promise you that we will find Frédéric again. I have friends
in all the courts of Europe; the young man will be restored to us."
This promise pacified poor Ménard to some extent, and Dubourg continued:
"Before we consider what to do about him, let us think of ourselves, for
our position is not very splendid. We shall not find resources in this
wretched village; let us go to the nearest town; and, above all things,
my dear Ménard, do try to get rid of that heart-broken look, which will
inspire an exceedingly unfavorable opinion of us in every inn at which
we stop."
The travellers resumed their journey, and at nightfall arrived at
Voreppe, a small town about two leagues from Grenoble. Dubourg inquired
for the best inn, and went thither with his companion. They entered the
common-room, Dubourg with his head in the air and a determined bearing,
Ménard with downcast eyes and a very modest mien.
Several guests were talking together in the room, awaiting the supper
hour.
"Will the gentlemen eat at the table d'hôte?" the servant inquired.
"Yes, of course," replied Dubourg; "we like company--don't we, my
friend?"
"Yes, monsieur le ba--yes, my friend," said Ménard, being reminded by a
blow from his friend's elbow that there was to be no more mention of
barons.
Dubourg listened to what the other guests were saying, but the
conversation was far from interesting; the tradesmen discussed business,
the townspeople talked gossip, and Dubourg failed to discover any
Chambertin to dazzle. He paced the floor of the common-room, jingling
the few copper coins which he still had in his pocket, and halting now
and then in front of Ménard to offer him a pinch of snuff; and Ménard,
for all his depression, looked with unabated respect on the snuff-box
which was held out to him.
Suddenly a little man of some fifty years of age, in a cinnamon-colored
coat, green breeches, cavalry boots, and a cap with a visor that might
at need serve as an umbrella, entered the room, with the air of one full
of business, and said in a very loud tone:
"They won't come! they can't come! and my performance has fallen
through. I am desperate! my mind is going!"
The little man threw himself into a chair, and was instantly surrounded
by all the gossips and guests of the inn.
"What is it, Monsieur Floridor?" queried the hostess; "have your actors
gone back on you?"
"Yes, the most necessary and most important ones of the lot: the _jeune
premier_, and the noble father, two talented actors, who would have
completed my troupe. The _jeune premier_ was to come from Cambrai, where
he has played such parts as Colin and Elleviou for twenty years; he is a
man of the most charming, consummate talent. I saw him a month ago, in
_Sargine, or Love's Pupil_, for he has been playing the _ingénus_ and
young lovers for some years. Ah! how delighted I was! an affecting
voice, and a superb figure! a little taller than I am. And in tragic
parts--such fire! such spirit! I wept when I saw him do _Tartufe_. As
for the noble father, he is a most invaluable actor. For thirty years he
has been the delight of Beaugency, and I saw him act at Doyen's, in
Paris, with marvellous success. He takes all sorts of parts--kings,
fathers, tyrants, Cassandras--he can handle anything. He made a
specialty of the _noble fathers'_ rôles only because he lost his teeth,
which does not prevent his displaying plenty of _bite_ in his diction."
"And why ain't they coming?"
"Why, indeed! Because Colin has an attack of catarrh, forsooth! and the
noble father, having had a row in a wine shop, is locked up for a
fortnight. Such things never happen to anybody but me. After taking so
much pains to make a pretty theatre out of the old stable, and
succeeding too--for I flatter myself that our theatre is charming: an
orchestra, pit, three boxes, and a gallery--all on the same level, and
tastefully decorated! I would have left the Grenoble theatre out of
sight! The people of this town would have been so delighted! They know
a good thing when they see it, at Voreppe, and, although there's never
been a theatre here, I am sure I should have made a lot of money! I had
already let one box to the justice of the peace, who is admitted gratis
with his family; and the principal men of the town had sent me word that
perhaps they would come!"
The little man paused at last to take breath and wipe his face. Dubourg,
who had not lost a word of what he said, seated himself in a corner,
evidently meditating some new plan.
"It is annoying, sure enough," said the innkeeper; "I've ordered a new
dress for my daughter to wear to the play."
"Annoying, do you say!" repeated Floridor, twisting about on his chair
like one possessed; "why, it is enough to drive one to despair! I would
give a hundred francs if I could replace my two actors, and a hundred
francs is quite a sum, it's equal to one evening's receipts; but, no
matter, I would sacrifice it to be able to open my theatre."
These words were overheard by Dubourg, who still held aloof, however,
and seemed to pay no heed to what was being said.
"Ah!" said one of the servants; "I wish I knew how to act! it would just
suit me to be able to earn a hundred francs."
"I had engaged my two artists for a month, at sixty francs each," said
Floridor; "that's pretty high, but we have to pay for real talent."
"Can't you get anybody to take their places?"