Grangeville laughed on the wrong side of her mouth. Monsieur de Merval,
while doing his best not to listen, could not, unless he had stuffed his
ears, help hearing a stentorian voice shout:
“I won’t go away! I want my money! I said to my wife: ‘They’ll send you
to the devil with your bill; I’m going myself!--_Fichtre!_ I won’t go
away without the money!”
Monsieur de Merval, who had been pensive and preoccupied for several
minutes, suddenly said to his old friend:
“Mon Dieu! how thoughtless I am, madame! I knew that I had something
else to say to you, but while we were talking I forgot it; it is a mere
trifle, an old debt that I desire to pay, if you will allow me.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand you.”
“This is how it is: the last time that I was with Monsieur de Brévanne,
a very long time ago, we played cards, and I lost five hundred francs to
him on credit, for I had no money with me. After that, I tried in vain
to find the count; he had left Paris suddenly. Now, as I have found his
wife to-day, I ask permission to cancel a debt which troubles me. If you
will allow me to hand you that amount, you will do me a favor.”
Madame de Grangeville blushed slightly as she replied:
“But I don’t know whether I ought to accept; Monsieur de Brévanne and I
no longer have any property in common.”
“Oh! I don’t go into all those details,” replied Monsieur de Merval, as
he took from his wallet a five-hundred-franc note and laid it on the
table. “I am only paying an old debt which I had on my conscience, and
surely an old friend like you would not prevent me from accomplishing
that duty.--Adieu, madame, I am obliged to leave you; pray receive the
homage of my respect.”
Monsieur de Merval kissed the baroness’s hand and hurried out of the
room; as he passed through the reception room, he saw a man pacing the
floor with his hat on his head, paying no heed to Mademoiselle Lizida’s
entreaties.
This personage stared in an impertinent fashion at the gentleman going
out; but Monsieur de Merval paid little heed to him; he was pleased to
have put his old friend in a position to get rid of her visitor.
Madame de Grangeville had not been deceived by the little fable invented
by Monsieur de Merval in order to oblige her; she had said to herself:
“That was very nice on his part; it was a very delicate proceeding; but
after all, he is rich; he guessed that I needed money, and he has lent
me some; it’s a simple matter.--Lizida! Lizida!”
The lady’s maid hurried into the room, and was stupefied when her
mistress handed her a bank note.
“Here, my dear, go out and change this!”
“O madame! five hundred francs! How lovely!”
“Who is that wretched creature outside?”
“Your dressmaker’s husband; he demands the total of the bill, one
hundred and twenty-three francs!”
“Take him with you, and pay him.”
“The whole amount?”
“There’s no help for it; his wife works beautifully, and I always need
her. Go, and bring back a coupé when you come; I will go out to buy a
hat.”
“Yes, madame.--By the way, what about the grocer opposite?”
“What do we owe him?”
“Ninety-six francs.”
“Give him ten francs on account, that is quite enough.”
XVIII
THE HOUSE AT NOGENT.--THE REHEARSAL
Everything was made ready at Monsieur Glumeau’s country house for the
festivities which he had announced long before to his friends and
acquaintances. The day was fixed, the invitations issued. They had
invited four times as many people as the house could hold; but in
default of the house there was a garden, and over and above the garden
there was a wood of about two acres; the guests who could not find room
in the house had their choice between the wood and the garden; in the
country there is always some way to arrange matters.
Monsieur Glumeau’s country house was nevertheless quite large and very
well arranged. The garden was attractive and well filled with flowers;
but the most attractive part of the whole estate was the little wood.
Unfortunately it did not adjoin the garden; it was separated from it by
a narrow path, not more than ten feet wide, which was open to the
public. But the garden gate was opposite the gate leading into the wood,
and the path was so quickly crossed that the separation was hardly
noticeable. The one thing that the estate lacked was water; but pending
the time when a river should appear, Monsieur Glumeau had had made
behind his theatre a small basin, of about the capacity of two casks,
in which one might at need have taken a foot bath.
It was in this little wood, enclosed by trellis work, which was
supported by stone posts at intervals, that Monsieur Glumeau had
conceived the idea of building a small theatre. The stage was supplied
with all the accessories: wings, flies, arches, and drop curtain. But
when the action of the play took place in a forest, instead of using a
rear curtain, they simply used the wings, and the wood itself formed
natural scenery, and afforded a lovely prospect which it is impossible
to have in the city, even at the grand opera.
The theatre was covered with a board roof, which sheltered the scenery
and the actors from possible storms. But as there was no auditorium, as
the spectators simply sat or stood under the trees, in front of the drop
curtain, it was most important for them that the weather should be fine,
for rain would very speedily drive the audience away and leave the
auditorium empty.
The friends who had accepted parts in the plays that were to be given
came twice a week to pass the day with Glumeau, in order to rehearse.
Very often the time passed away and there was no rehearsal; the men
played billiards or bouillotte, the women went out to ride, with or
without donkeys; sometimes someone sat at the piano and sang. They dined
very late and remained at the table a long while. When they left it,
they had not the slightest desire to study their parts; but they began
to dance a polka or a waltz; thus it was that almost all the rehearsals
were held, but they enjoyed themselves, so that the desired result was
attained.
But when they realized that the great day was near at hand, they began
to say to themselves: “We really must rehearse.”--Monsieur Glumeau, who
had been very well for some time, was in a charming mood and fluttered
from one to another, looking at his feet; he gave counsel and advice to
everyone, and insisted that they should introduce spoken pantomime in
the plays and dancing in the pantomime; he transformed everything into a
ballet.
The performance decided upon consisted of _Œil et Nez_, a farce in one
act, with three characters, to be played by Madame Dufournelle, young
Astianax, and Monsieur Mangeot.
This piece, being easy to rehearse, and having almost no mise-en-scène,
was almost learned; young Astianax declared that it would go as if it
were on wheels, and that it was not necessary to give any more thought
to it.
The second play was also a farce: _Il y a plus d’un Ane à la Foire._--In
this there were seven characters, four men and three women; the men’s
parts were entrusted to Messieurs Glumeau, Mangeot, Astianax and
Kingerie; the actresses were Mesdemoiselles Eolinde, Polymnie and
Mangeot.
Monsieur Glumeau had the most important part, that of Pincette, created
with much success by Serres at the Folies-Dramatiques. It was very long,
and Monsieur Glumeau had decided that it was quite useless to try to
drive it into his head, where he was certain that he could never succeed
in introducing it; but he relied on the prompter to supplement his
memory, and proposed to replace such parts of the dialogue as he did not
know by pantomime and dancing.
But it was for the third play that they reserved all the striking
effects, all the surprises, all the finest scenery and most amazing
costumes that they had. This play was _Roderic et Cunégonde_, or
_L’Ermite de Montmartre_, or _La Forteresse de Moulinos_, or _Le
Revenant de la Galerie de l’Ouest_, an excellent parody of melodramas,
in four tableaux, _larded_, as the book says, with dancing, fighting,
manœuvring, conflagrations and destruction.
This play, the action of which takes place wherever you choose, allows
the most fanciful costumes to be used. Wooden swords and daggers had
been made, with which the combats were to be fought. Chambourdin, who
was very intimate with several dramatic artists, had promised to bring
the costumes; the non-speaking parts were to be represented by the
gardener and his family and anyone else who chose. The élite of the
troupe took part in this play: Mademoiselle Eolinde played Cunégonde,
her brother, Roderic, and Monsieur Glumeau took the part of the tyrant
Sacripandos; the leader of the brigands, Détroussandos, was entrusted to
a young druggist of most promising talent, named Fourriette, who
insisted upon always rehearsing his fights with the wooden swords.
Monsieur Mangeot represented the hermit; the part of the valet Malinot
fell as of right to young Kingerie. In order to have a second female
part, they had transformed Petit-Colas into Petite-Colette, and
Mademoiselle Polymnie had accepted this bit of a part, because of the
costume. There was also a child’s part. The son of Pichet the gardener,
a little boy of five, who never blew his nose, but whose parents had
promised to do it for him on that day, was employed to represent the son
of Roderic and Cunégonde. His father the gardener had undertaken to
teach him the few words of which his part consisted; he beat it into his
head with an accompaniment of kicks, which gave the little fellow small
taste for the theatre. Lastly, the three speaking robbers in the play
were to be acted by Chambourdin and two of his friends. As each rôle
would be but four lines, it was hoped that those gentlemen would succeed
in learning them.
The great day had arrived; the weather was fine and promised a
magnificent day and evening, which were quite indispensable for the
success of the party. At daybreak everybody was up at Monsieur Glumeau’s
country house. Buxom Lolotte, although she did not act, was one of those
who had most to do; as mistress of the house, she must overlook
everything, see to it that everything needed for the play was provided,
and attend to the preparations for the ball which was to follow it, and
for the supper which was to follow the ball. For there is no such thing
as a successful party without a supper; this principle is so fully
admitted that those persons who entertain you without offering you that
refection should be classed among people who do not know how to
entertain.
Those who were to take part in the play were to arrive early, for it was
felt that there should be another rehearsal, because there are
innumerable things, innumerable details of the mise-en-scène, which one
does not notice until the moment of the performance; it is then a little
late to rehearse them, but the zeal of the actors makes up for the lack
of time.
Monsieur Glumeau had risen as light as a feather, he was not conscious
of the slightest ailment, and he continued to dance through his rôles;
frequently confusing that of the tyrant Sacripandos with that of
Pincette in the farce. But, after all, it was probable that the audience
would not detect that confusion. As he was hurrying to the wood, to cast
an eye over his stage, he met his wife, who was returning from a visit
to the best caterer in the neighborhood.
“Well, my dear love, we are lucky, we are going to have splendid
weather, weather which seems to have been made for us.”
“Yes, thank God! it is fine; but I can’t do any more; I am fagged out
already; I doubt if I shall be able to stand up to-night.”
“Why fatigue yourself so? Haven’t you your maid, and the gardener and
his wife to do whatever you want?”
“Oh, yes! that would be very nice; things would go splendidly this
evening if I trusted to those people! The gardener’s wife is so stupid,
she has already broken three lamp chimneys and a globe! Her husband is a
little drunk already; if he keeps on he will be in fine condition
to-night!”
“Don’t worry, I will speak to him. But what have you left to do? The
supper is to consist almost entirely of cold dishes; you arranged all
that in advance, and the caterer knows what he is to send.”
“And the dinner, monsieur--isn’t it necessary to think of that, too?”
“The dinner? Oh! there will only be our intimate friends, and there is
no need of ceremony about that.”
“No ceremony, if you please, but there will be at least fourteen or
fifteen of us, and it seems to me that we need something for that
number!”
“I have difficulty in remembering my song to the tune of Le Maçon: ‘Je
vais la revoir! Ha! ha!’--Never mind, I will execute a pirouette.--I
say, Lolotte, I look pretty well, don’t I? Isn’t my complexion clear?”
“Yes, you are magnificent.--By the way, my dear, I forgot to tell you
that I have invited that gentleman who owns the fine estate on the other
side of our woods.”
“Who? Monsieur Malberg? that man who never speaks to anybody, who never
walks where there is likely to be anybody; in short, who lives in his
country house like a wolf, never seeing any of his neighbors?”
“I know very well that the people about here say all that; but people
are so spiteful, so evil-tongued in these country places! They make a
pumpkin of a walnut. This much is certain, that that gentleman has
always been very courteous to us; he always bows first when we meet; and
he has a very distinguished manner.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Why, his whole air, and his dress; and then he employs a mulatto, and
that is very distinguished!”
“It doesn’t cost any more than other servants.--‘Je vais la revoir! Ha!
ha!’”
“And yesterday, during the day, I happened to meet him in the narrow
path, and as he stood aside very politely to let me pass, I said to him:
‘Monsieur, we are to have some theatricals to-morrow in our little
theatre in these woods; if it would give you any pleasure to come to
look on, we should be flattered to have you in our audience.’--He bowed
and replied: ‘You do me much honor, madame, and I shall try to take
advantage of your kind invitation.’”
“Oh! he said that, did he? But he won’t come.”
“Perhaps not, but I have an idea that he will.”
“After all, you did well; there is always room in our theatre, and the
larger the audience we have, the more they electrify the actors.--‘Je
vais la revoir! Ha! ha!’--Tell me what comes next.”
“How do you suppose I know? You should learn your part.”
“Thanks! Tire out my brain and give myself a fever--I’m no such fool; if
I don’t know it, I’ll say the first thing that comes into my head.--But
Astianax and Eolinde,--where are they?”
“They are learning their parts, and it isn’t possible to get near them!”
About noon, the actors began to arrive. There were Dufournelle and his
wife; the husband carried an enormous bundle, for the ladies all brought
their stage costumes and their ball dresses. Next, Mademoiselle Polymnie
appeared with her father, Monsieur Camuzard, who also carried a bundle;
then Monsieur Mangeot and his sister, each of them with a bundle.
“Why have you brought so many things,” said Glumeau, “since Chambourdin
promised the costumes?”
“Oh, yes! catch us relying on Monsieur Chambourdin!” said Madame
Dufournelle; “I have made my own costume; I have the part of a cook, and
I have borrowed my servant’s cap.”
Monsieur Camuzard, who was annoyed because no part had been given to
him, kept repeating:
“You will be very lucky if someone does not fail you when it’s time to
begin. On such an occasion as this, accidents always happen, sudden
indispositions, just as they do at the theatre. I offered to take part,
but they didn’t want me.”
“But you are to prompt, you know, Monsieur Camuzard; you prompt so
well!”
“I am willing to prompt one play, but not three; that is too tiresome.”
“I will prompt as many as you please,” said stout Dufournelle; “don’t be
afraid, I am solidly built, and my breath won’t give out.”
Monsieur Camuzard, seeing that the post of prompter was about to escape
him, hastily rejoined:
“After all, when I have got started, it won’t be any more trouble to
prompt all three plays.”
“Let’s rehearse, my friends, let’s rehearse, let’s not lose any more
time,” said Monsieur Glumeau. “The two short pieces go well enough, but
_Roderic et Cunégonde_ doesn’t go well at all. There is so much stage
play. Astianax, go and get the wooden swords, so that we may rehearse
the fights also.”
“Do you expect much company this evening?” asked Madame Dufournelle.
“Well, I should say so! A most select audience; I have invited more than
a hundred people, more or less; journalists, artists; I don’t count the
people of the village and the neighborhood, who come to see the play.
When I don’t allow them to enter, they raise the devil; they besiege the
place and break down my trellis.”
“They represent the audience in the upper gallery in the theatres in
Paris; they are often the best judges of the performance.”
“Astianax, did you ask your neighbor, Monsieur Jéricourt, to come?”
“Yes, papa, and he will bring one of his friends, a young man you would
take for a tailor’s model, he is so well dressed: Monsieur Arthur de
Saint-Alfred--no, I am wrong, it is Alfred de Saint-Arthur.”
“Saint-Arthur! Alfred! that gentleman must be a humbug!”
“I assure you, madame, that he is a very good-looking fellow; at the
theatre he never sits anywhere but in the proscenium boxes!”
“As he never sits anywhere but in the proscenium,” said Dufournelle, “he
is necessarily a young man of very high station.”
“Let’s rehearse, my friends, let us rehearse.”
“But we are not all here yet, young Kingerie and Monsieur Fourriette the
druggist are still missing.”
“I d--d--don’t want to f--f--fight with Monsieur F--F--Fourriette!” said
Mademoiselle Eolinde; “he always hits me on the f--f--fingers with his
sword.”
“The trouble is that he puts too much action into his part; these
druggists are generally very warm, especially as they are almost always
from the South. Why is it that the South supplies more druggists and
more apothecaries than the North? That is a question I have often asked
myself. What do you say upon that point, messieurs?”
“It seems to me easy enough to understand,” said Monsieur Dufournelle.
“It’s because sun dials are always placed in the south.”
“Oh! excellent! excellent!”
“I don’t understand the joke,” said Monsieur Camuzard, blowing his nose.
At last, Messieurs Kingerie and Fourriette appeared on the road; the
first, as awkward as ever, began by upsetting a box of cactus which
stood in a path where there was much more room than he required. As for
the druggist, a dark-haired, very good-looking youth, he was all curled
and perfumed, and made eyes at all the ladies, to whom he did not fail
to offer pastilles which he had made himself.
“Take care, madame, take care,” said Dufournelle, “it is very imprudent
to accept monsieur’s pastilles; you don’t know what he may have put in
them! He is quite capable of giving you something that will make you
fall in love with him.”
“If I knew that secret, I should not fail to make use of it,” said
Monsieur Fourriette, still offering his box and smiling at the ladies.
“Well! I don’t care, I will take the risk!” said Mademoiselle Mangeot,
putting her fingers in the bonbonnière.
“It seems to me,” said Mademoiselle Dufournelle in an undertone, “that
she isn’t the one who is taking the risk at this moment!--Well, I will
take the risk myself.”
“Let’s rehearse, my friends, let’s rehearse; just see how the time is
passing; let us go to the theatre at once, we are all here.”
“All except the three robbers with speaking parts.”
“We will omit that scene.”
“And the child,--we must have the child, we must make sure that he knows
his part.”
“Astianax, go and fetch little Codinde, the gardener’s son.”
“Here’s the gardener himself coming this way; he looks as if he wanted
to speak to you.”
“The deuce! the fellow looks to me as if he had already had a touch of
sunstroke.”
Monsieur Pichet, the gardener, was in fact approaching the company, and
as he was quite conscious of the fact that his legs wavered under him,
he was walking very slowly to maintain his equilibrium, and was trying
hard to keep his head back and his body upright.
“Pichet, go and get little Codinde, your son,” said Monsieur Glumeau;
“we want him for the rehearsal; go at once.”
Instead of obeying his master and fetching Codinde, the gardener tried
to straighten himself up, and answered in a thick voice:
“It’s impossible, monsieur; it’s impossible! Codinde is just what I
wanted to talk to monsieur about.”
“Can it be that anything has happened to him?”
“An attack of indigestion has happened to him; we thought he was going
to choke to death; he was purple.”
“The devil take you! Why do you stuff your son so’s to make him sick?”
“It wasn’t us, monsieur; the little glutton stuffs himself. As there’s a
celebration going on in the house, he must have found lots of things to
eat; bless my soul! children, you know, they ain’t reasonable.”
“And then, too, you set him such an excellent example!”
“Why, monsieur--I haven’t eaten as much as your thumb to-day, saving
your presence.”
“No, but you have drunk enough to make up for it.”
“I’ve drunk very moderate; besides, wine never upsets me, I’m so used to
it.”
“So, Pichet, your son won’t be in condition to act to-night?”
“You had better not rely on him; the little rascal has the fever and it
don’t leave him a minute; it’s constantly going and coming.”
“Well, we are in a fix; and it’s too late now to teach anybody else
Codinde’s part!”
“Monsieur, if you say so, I can take my boy’s part well enough; I know
it, because I’ve been saying it to him all day.”
“You, Pichet,--you take the child’s part?”
“Why,” said Dufournelle, “in a play that is a parody of the melodramas,
it seems to me that it will be even funnier to see the part played by a
tall fellow like him.”
“Is that your opinion? Then I have no objection.--Can we rely on you,
Pichet?”
“Don’t I tell you that I know the part? The child is hidden, the robbers
come, and when he sees that they are going to kill his father, he rushes
at them like a kid.”
“That’s right, and he says to the robbers: ‘Messieurs, in pity’s name,
don’t hurt papa!’--Will you remember that sentence?”
“Yes, monsieur, I tell you I know it.”
“Then go and rest; don’t drink any more before this evening, and be
presentable when the time comes for the play.”
“Monsieur will be satisfied with me.”
The gardener walked away, as proud as a peacock to play the part of a
child, and the amateurs hurried to the theatre, where they tried to
rehearse as well as possible; but while trying the combat with swords,
which brought the play to an end, young Kingerie, playing the part of
Malinot, and finding much difficulty in learning the _four blows_ which
his adversary, Astianax, did his utmost to teach him, unexpectedly
invented a fifth blow which landed on the nose of the son of the family.
Astianax shrieked, thinking that his nose was cut off. The others
crowded about him and reassured him; he had suffered nothing worse than
a swollen nose and a slight cut upon it. Fourriette made haste to bathe
the wounded organ, and thought that with the aid of a compress, which he
urged the wounded youth to wear until evening, the nose would resume its
normal shape. But young Kingerie was strictly enjoined not to use his
sword even for practice.
The dinner hour arrived, and with it four scene shifters from one of the
Parisian theatres, whom Glumeau had hired to work the scenery on his
stage. They were looking for the theatre.
“What, have you hired men from the theatre?” cried Dufournelle; “why, we
would have set the scenes; we would have acted as scene shifters.”
“Oh, yes!” said Eolinde, “it’s very nice indeed when friends manage all
those things. We trusted it to them once, and they never succeeded in
setting the stage, except the wings representing a cavern and the
background of a salon; and they couldn’t light but two lamps, because
they had broken all the others.”
“What worries me is that Chambourdin doesn’t appear. What shall we do?”
said Glumeau, looking at his feet. “I relied upon him, and I have no
chevalier’s costume.”
“And he promised me, for the part of Roderic, the costume of Robin
Hood,” said Astianax.
“Ah! you should do as I do, messieurs,” said the druggist, “and arrange
your own costume for yourselves. I have transformed myself into an
Italian bandit, and you must tell me what you think of him.”
“Does the action of the play take place in Italy?”