is pretty?”
“Here he is!” cried Mademoiselle Eolinde; “a cabriolet is stopping at
the gate, and there’s a big bundle in it. It’s Monsieur Chambourdin.”
“Yes, it is he; good! everything is all right,” said Glumeau; “he is
more prompt than usual.”
Chambourdin appeared with an enormous bundle of costumes; there were
helmets, cuirasses, tunics, long boots, wigs, doublets, small clothes,
in short, enough to disguise the whole troupe. They all cheered, and
carried Chambourdin in in triumph; they even proposed to embrace him,
but he exclaimed that he preferred to dine. Thereupon they hastened to
the table, but stout Dufournelle remarked that there was no need to
hurry, because the audience was not likely to come early, and because
by eating too hastily the actors ran the risk of suffocating on the
stage.
Despite this advice, the ladies did hurry, and left the gentlemen at the
table, in order to try on their costumes. The men took advantage of
their absence to drink harder and to give their tongues greater liberty.
Dufournelle, who had no part, made the champagne corks pop, saying:
“Come, messieurs, this will give you self-possession, verve! If you’re a
little tipsy, you’ll act much better!”
Young Kingerie, who realized the necessity of overcoming his usual
timidity, drank several glasses of champagne in rapid succession, and
soon his eyes began to start from his head. Monsieur Camuzard drank in
order to prompt better; little Astianax, who for some time past had
affected very dissolute manners, proposed toasts to the dancers at the
Porte-Saint-Martin and to the bareback riders at the Hippodrome.
Chambourdin drank to whatever anyone suggested. Monsieur Mangeot drank
to the success of the performance. Monsieur Glumeau proposed his own
health; and stout Dufournelle, saying nothing, drank four times as much
as the others.
But while drinking and laughing and talking, these gentlemen forgot the
time; and suddenly little Astianax exclaimed:
“Mon Dieu! here are people coming already!”
XIX
A PLAY IN THE WOODS
It was midsummer, when the days were longest; and so, although it was
nearly eight o’clock, the gardens were not yet dark, and they could see
outside the gate a large number of persons who had come to see the
performance. The ladies were in full dress, because they knew that after
the play there would be dancing; the men too had taken pains with their
costumes; for while saying to themselves: “In the country there is no
ceremony;” they were quite as anxious to please there as in the city.
“The devil! the devil!” said Chambourdin, ogling the ladies who arrived.
“Why, some of them are passably good-looking. Who is that brunette, with
high color and her hair dressed _à la Fontange_? She has a saucy little
air which attracts me immensely. Is she a product of the neighborhood?”
“Yes, she belongs here, or at all events she has property here.”
“Has she a husband?”
“She has one who is three times her age.”
“Then, it’s about the same as if she hadn’t any!”
“She is very gay, very fond of laughing; she rides and fences and dances
admirably.”
“Sapristi! why on earth didn’t you give her a part in the play, Monsieur
Glumeau? I should have been delighted to fence with her, to try the
_four blows_ with her.”
Monsieur Glumeau was no longer there; he had gone to receive his guests;
but little Astianax, made exceedingly loquacious by the champagne,
replied:
“My mother and sister aren’t very fond of Madame Boutillon--that is the
pretty brunette’s name; they say that her manner with men is too free.”
“Oh! of course! that’s just like the women; when one of them happens to
be a little more lively, a little less prudish, and doesn’t pick her
expressions, but says frankly what she thinks, why she is voted bad form
at once! she is too free! I snap my fingers at it; I like them that way
myself, and I will look after the little Boutillon!”
“Ah! here is Miaulard, messieurs.”
“Good-evening, Miaulard; are you still hoarse?”
“I am getting better, much better.”
“The deuce you say! you seem hardly able to speak to-day.”
“Yes, but the last time I couldn’t speak at all.”
“Ah! here is the baroness, messieurs, the famous Baroness de--de--what’s
her name?”
“De Grangeville.--What a beautiful dress!”
“What style! that woman must have been extremely pretty once.”
“Ah! here is my friend Jéricourt, the literary man, with Monsieur Alfred
de Saint-Arthur.”
Astianax ran to meet his friend, who was already looking about with a
mocking air at the gardens and at the people whom he saw in them.
“Good-evening, my dear neighbor; it is very kind of you to have
remembered my invitation.”
“I should have been very sorry not to accept it, my dear Astianax; I am
told that there is always much entertainment at your house, and that the
supper is always excellent.--By the way, allow me to introduce my
friend, Monsieur de Saint-Arthur.”
“Highly flattered, monsieur; I have had the honor of seeing you with
monsieur.”
“True, we met on the boulevard.”
“At the booth of a pretty flower girl.”
“Yes, I am not ashamed to say that I am one of her admirers.”
“I was, but she has fallen infernally in my esteem, since that day--you
remember the occasion, Monsieur Jéricourt?”
“Oh! very well, indeed; but after all, why should that make any
difference to you? The flower girl is none the less pretty.”
“Of course not! But, you see, I thought that she was innocence
personified.”
“Oh! oh!” cried the dandified Saint-Arthur, trying to stuff the head of
his cane into his nose, “the idea of a flower girl being a model of
virtue! That would be the eighth wonder of the world.--But where is your
theatre, monsieur?”
“You will see it in a moment.--But I see my mother and sister; I will
introduce you, messieurs.”
“That long bean-pole is his sister,” whispered Saint-Arthur in
Jéricourt’s ear.
“Yes, my dear fellow, and I don’t advise you to give her your arm, you
would look like her doll!”
“Never fear, I haven’t any desire to do it. What a pity that Zizi isn’t
with us! I see that there will be plenty to laugh at here. How she would
enjoy it! I fancy that we shall find their comedy decidedly ridiculous!
But what are they going to do with all the chairs they are taking out of
the garden? Are they moving?”
“Those are the seats being taken to the theatre,” said Madame Glumeau,
graciously saluting the two gentlemen, who, although they had just
arrived, were already busily engaged in making sport of whatever they
saw; “seats for the spectators, I mean. It would be very kind of you,
messieurs, to help a little, to take a few chairs into the wood.”
“What an astonishing woman!” murmured the dandified Saint-Arthur,
turning to Jéricourt; “as if we came here to carry chairs!”
“Come, come, Alfred, be decent, or I won’t take you into the country
again. Look about; there are some very pretty women here, and I
sacrifice myself,--I am going to carry some chairs.”
The garden began to fill with guests, some from Paris, others who lived
in the neighborhood. The darkness was coming on, and the semi-obscurity
added to the charm of the occasion. Some ladies, by chance or by
design, had wandered away from their husbands, whom they were careful
not to find again; but gallant cavaliers zealously offered their arms,
to assist them in their search.
Chambourdin did not fail to take advantage of the opportunity to
approach Madame Boutillon; the pretty little brunette had lost no time
in losing her husband very soon after her arrival, and the bald young
man hastened to offer her his arm, saying:
“You are looking for monsieur your husband? accept my arm, madame, and
I’ll guide you; I know the house.”
“Oh! I am not looking for my husband at all, monsieur,” replied the
little lady, laughing; “I am not afraid that he will get lost.”
“Ah! that makes a difference; pray come into the woods, madame; I will
take you to the theatre and find you a seat.”
“With pleasure, monsieur.”
At that moment, Madame Glumeau walked toward the gate with a large
number of ladies, exclaiming:
“Come to the woods, messieurs, everybody to the theatre; we must take
seats, for it will begin very soon.”
The company followed Madame Glumeau to the enclosure facing the stage.
All the seats were very soon occupied, but most of the men took their
places behind, and leaned against the trees. The creaking of the trellis
work which enclosed the auditorium indicated that there was also an
audience outside, which proposed to enjoy the spectacle although
uninvited.
The male actors dressed in the billiard room, the ladies in the house.
As they were about to begin, they discovered that various indispensable
accessories were lacking; thereupon there was much running from the
theatre to the house, and from the house to the theatre; one saw nothing
but people hurrying back and forth, shouting:
“The basket! we must have a basket!”
“And the letter for Monsieur Astianax!”
“And a table! we must have a table, and a cloth on it!”
“We want a stove,--where’s the stove?”
“There isn’t one; take an empty cask, that will represent a stove well
enough!”
“We must have a pie! there’s a supper in the play.”
“Take an empty flower pot, that will do very well for the pie.”
“We want a bottle of champagne.”
“There’s a bottle of Seltzer behind the first wing; that will pop like
champagne.”
All these incidents delayed the rising of the curtain; but the audience
did not grumble, they laughed and found amusement in all that they saw.
At last an amateur musician armed with a violin, and another carrying a
clarinet in his arms like a baby, took their seats in front of the
stage.
As for the prompter, there being no hole under the stage for him, he
stood behind the drop curtain.
“This theatre in the midst of a forest is really very pretty!” said
Madame de Grangeville, who was seated beside Madame Glumeau.
“Oh! you will see how pretty it is, madame la baronne, when the curtain
rises; we have some lovely scenery: a Pompadour salon, painted by
Monsieur Devoir; it is perfectly lovely.”
“What plays are they going to give us?”
“They begin with _Œil et Nez_, a little farce acted by Madame
Dufournelle, my son and Monsieur Mangeot.--But it is very strange,--look
about as I will, I don’t see Madame Boutillon; and yet I am very sure
that she came with her husband.”
“Who is Madame Boutillon?”
“She is a young lady who lives here in summer, as we do; she had on a
very original, very pretty dress.”
“If she has on a pretty dress, it isn’t possible that she has hidden
herself; she must be somewhere here.”
“But no, I can’t see her.”
“Hush! they are beginning.”
The three knocks were given. The amateur with the violin started off and
played the overture to Fra Diavolo; the clarinet started a few measures
later, and played the overture to Jeune Henri; the two men played thus
for some time, seeing who could go the faster, persuaded that they would
finally overtake each other and play together. The audience opened their
ears in amazement, but the wiser ones stuffed theirs.
“Sapristi! what on earth are they playing?” murmured a native, looking
at his neighbor, who answered in an undertone:
“I don’t know, but it’s a terrible mixture.”
At last the violin stopped, but the clarinet went on.
“We are not playing the same thing, that isn’t right!” cried the
violinist, waving his bow.
The clarinet refused to listen; he went on with his _Jeune Henri_.
Luckily the curtain rose, the actors came on the stage; but as the
clarinet kept on, they were obliged to rush upon him and snatch his
instrument away.
The little farce would have gone very well if Madame Dufournelle had
laughed less, and if Monsieur Mangeot had looked less often at the
prompter, which, by the way, did him no good, because Monsieur Camuzard,
who filled that post, having drunk too freely of the champagne, found
his mouth so dry that he could hardly speak, and passed his time turning
over the play-book, and saying to the actor who was waiting for his
lines:
“Wait till I find the place; I can’t find it; we have time enough; they
won’t ask for their money back!”
Luckily the actors did not follow this advice, and despite the prompter,
the first play, which was very amusing, came to an end amid the applause
of the spectators.
As soon as the first play was at an end, Madame Glumeau rose, in order
to make further search for Madame Boutillon, whose husband was chatting
tranquilly with a group of men who had gathered on the outskirts of the
audience.
“As her husband is there, the lady must also be in the audience, unless
she has gone on the stage; she is quite capable of it.”
“I say! look at that lady sitting on the branch of a tree!” cried the
clarinet at that moment to his neighbor the violin. “There’s an idea for
you! if the branch should break, we should see some fine things.”
“That is she! that is Madame Boutillon!” said Madame Glumeau, looking at
the person who had deemed it advisable to adopt that position.
Chambourdin, who had taken the little brunette’s arm on the pretext of
finding her a good place to see the play, had in fact led her into the
wood, of which he knew every nook and corner; but instead of taking her
toward the stage, he had taken her in the opposite direction, and had
soon found himself with Madame Boutillon in the deserted paths, where
they could hardly see their hands before their faces, for lanterns had
been placed only in the paths leading to the theatre.
The little brunette, noticing somewhat tardily that her guide was not
taking her toward the company, and that he held her arm as if he
proposed to waltz with her, chose to stop, saying:
“Where on earth are you taking me, monsieur? I can hardly see anything
here.”
“That makes no difference, madame; don’t be afraid I’ll lose my way; I’m
like a cat, I can see in the dark.”
“But I am not like a cat, monsieur, and I prefer to walk where it is
light; we did not take the path leading to the theatre.”
“We shall arrive there all the same this way; all the paths lead
there.”
“This must be the longest one.”
“With you, madame, the longest will always be the shortest.”
“That is very polite of you; but don’t hold me like that, I beg.”
“Suppose we should waltz a bit?”
“You are mad! the idea of waltzing when we can’t see!”
“That makes no difference; on the contrary, you get less dizzy.”
“Really, monsieur, you have some very original ideas; but I want to see
the play, and you will be responsible, monsieur, for my not finding a
seat.”
“As for that, madame, I will undertake to give you one of the best
places.--Come, madame.”
“Oh! you shall not lead me astray again, monsieur; that isn’t the way to
go, this is the way.”
The little brunette chose the right road this time, and refusing to
listen to Chambourdin, she arrived in front of the stage at last; but as
she had anticipated, all the chairs were occupied.
“Well! what did I tell you, monsieur? Come, show me that excellent seat
which you reserved for me.”
“This way, madame; I will show you.”
And Chambourdin led the young lady to an enormous chestnut, the branches
of which reached out a long way, forming a thousand odd figures.
“See, madame, do you want a really good seat? Look at this tree; this
first branch, which is very low, will afford you a chair, yes, an
armchair, for the branches behind seem placed there expressly for a
support. As for the strength of the branch, you need have no fear, it
would bear fifteen people like you. From there, you will overlook
everybody, and will have an infinitely better view than all the ladies
in the chairs. Will you allow me to put you up there, madame? Nothing
could be easier; I will make a step for you.”
Madame Boutillon roared with laughter at the suggestion of her escort;
but as she was a very original person herself, and as she was especially
fond of making herself as whimsical as possible, she accepted the
suggestion and replied:
“All right, monsieur, give me a back, and let me climb up to my box.”
The young man at once obeyed, offering his hands and his shoulders. That
method of climbing a tree was slightly risqué for a lady, and all the
men who witnessed the scene envied the opportunity of the one who acted
as Madame Boutillon’s ladder; but she mounted so rapidly, and turned
about in the tree with such aplomb, that everybody applauded her ascent.
Chambourdin remained standing near the pretty brunette, who used his
shoulders as a bench to rest her feet upon; and not for anything on
earth would he have abandoned his position.
Madame Glumeau, who had turned toward the chestnut tree, called to
Madame Boutillon:
“Mon Dieu, madame! what on earth are you doing there? What an idea to
climb up into that tree!”
“I did it to have a good view of the play, madame; all the seats below
were taken, and I love to have a good place.”
“For heaven’s sake, come down, Madame Boutillon! I will give you my
chair, and find another. Come, you can’t stay up in the air.”
“Why not, pray? I don’t see that I am in anybody’s way; and as I am
perfectly comfortable, I propose to stay here.”
“She is an extraordinary creature!” said Madame Glumeau, turning to the
people near her. “She always wants to do differently from others!”
“If that lady desires to put herself in evidence,” said Madame de
Grangeville, “it seems to me that she couldn’t have a better place.”
The mistress of the house left her seat for a moment, and approached the
group of which Monsieur Boutillon was one; she made her way to the old
gentleman’s side and said to him:
“Monsieur Boutillon, do look at your wife, sitting on the branch of a
tree! I am afraid some accident will happen to her. Tell her to get
down. I have begged her to but she won’t listen to me.”
“What! what! Is that my wife up there?” replied the husband, looking
into the air. “Oh! that doesn’t surprise me; she has always been fond of
climbing trees; she’s a regular squirrel, is Zéphirine! She is strong,
and yet she is very light. One day, at a village fête, she insisted upon
climbing a greased pole. She put on trousers, and she would have
reached the prize, if they hadn’t torn, so that she had to come down! We
had a good laugh over it!”
“But Monsieur Boutillon, if madame should fall,--it isn’t probable that
she has put on trousers to come here to dance.”
“No matter! never fear, I’ll answer for everything.”
“If the husband answers for everything, madame,” observed Jéricourt with
a mocking expression, “it seems to me that you have no right to worry!”
“Let’s go and stand by the chestnut tree, Jéricourt,” said little
Saint-Arthur, leading his literary friend away.
“Ah! my dear Alfred, you are a sad rake! you want to see the foliage
upside down!--Well, I will let you take me where you will.”
As she returned to her seat, Madame Glumeau saw her son rush into the
woods with an air of dismay, crying:
“Miaulard! Miaulard! where’s Miaulard?”
“What’s the matter, Astianax? you look all upset. What do you want of
Monsieur Miaulard?”
“Why, we want him to take Kingerie’s place. Just as we were ready to
begin _Il y a plus d’un Ane à la Foire_, we noticed that Kingerie wasn’t
on the stage; we called him and hunted everywhere for him; at last
Dufournelle heard groaning from the direction of the pond; he ran there
and found that Kingerie had fallen in. It seems that he had remained at
the billiard room to dress, and discovered that he was late; thereupon
he started to run, and didn’t remember that there was a small pond in
the woods; so he fell into it.”
“Upon my word! did he do it on purpose? A pond that isn’t ten feet in
circumference! Did he find a way to drown himself in it, too?”
“No, he couldn’t have done it if he had wanted to; there isn’t three
feet of water; but the champagne he had drunk--everything together made
him sick; he is in no state to act, and Miaulard must take his
place.--Tell the audience to be patient.--Miaulard! Miaulard!”
Madame Glumeau returned to her seat and informed the company of the
accident that had happened to one of the amateur actors, and requested
indulgence for the one who was to take his place. This little speech at
an end, the mistress of the house was on the point of resuming her seat,
when she saw a gentleman standing against a tree a little apart from the
company, and apparently engaged in passing in review the assembled
guests.
“Ah! I was very certain that he would come, myself,” said Madame
Glumeau, sitting down beside Madame de Grangeville. “It’s a great favor
that he does us, for hitherto he has refused every invitation; he hasn’t
been anywhere.”
“Of whom are you speaking, madame?”
“Of one of our neighbors, named Monsieur Malberg, who owns a fine estate
near ours, and who has the reputation of living like a bear, of never
seeing anybody. But he makes a very good appearance, none the less.”
“Where is this bear of yours?”
“Over yonder, at the right. Turn a little and you can see him at your
ease; he isn’t looking this way now.”
Madame de Grangeville followed the indication that Madame Glumeau had
given her and soon she saw Monsieur Malberg, who was quite alone,
evidently determined to hold himself aloof from the assemblage, at which
he was looking as if he were seeking someone there.
The baroness’s eyes rested upon him; she seemed unable to remove them,
and as she gazed at him, her features altered, her face became ghastly
pale, and her whole person betrayed the most profound agitation. Madame
Glumeau did not observe her neighbor’s confusion, because she was
talking with the violin and the clarinet players, who proposed to play
something to beguile the tedium of the intermission; but, luckily for
the audience, the signal was given and the second play soon began.
Madame Glumeau gently nudged her neighbor, who was still looking toward
the right, and said:
“They’ve begun, they’ve begun. You’ll see my husband act now, he has a
very important part; he is splendid in it; he cuts a thousand capers. My
daughter and my son act also, and the play is very well mounted!”
Madame de Grangeville did not seem to hear what Madame Glumeau said, for
she continued to look toward the right, apparently paying no attention
to the stage; but suddenly she turned her head and resumed her former
position; it was because Monsieur Malberg had looked in her direction
and she had not dared to meet his glance.
The second farce was _enlevé_, as they say on the stage. The
substitution of Miaulard for young Kingerie did not injure the play in
the least. The former being extremely hoarse, nobody heard him speak,
which made it unnecessary for him to know his part. But it was noticed
that Monsieur Glumeau, who had danced his part through three-fourths of
the play, was much less animated toward the end.
After the farce, as they expected a long intermission, to prepare the
scenery for the important play and to give the actors time to change
their costumes, there was a general movement among the audience. The men
went to walk in the woods, to smoke their cigars, the ladies gathered in
groups to chat, and some of them also walked away under the trees, where
they were frequently heard laughing heartily,--for what reason, nobody
knew.
“This idea of a theatre in the woods is very original,” said Jéricourt
to his friend Alfred; “really I did not imagine that it would be so
amusing. Come, Saint-Arthur, let us take a turn around the theatre to
look at it all at close quarters. Do you intend to stay planted by this
chestnut tree? Why, my dear fellow, it would do no good for you to shake
the tree, the lady won’t fall like a plum; besides, she has a cavalier
at her feet, who doesn’t seem inclined to lose sight of her.”
“But suppose I should climb the tree myself?”
“Ah! that would be one way of approaching the lady, it is true; but
reserve that until a little later, wait until the last play begins.”
The little dandy allowed his friend to lead him on the stage, where they
did not find a single actress, those ladies having gone to dress; but by
way of compensation, they saw the young druggist in the costume of
Détroussandos, chief of bandits, who was rehearsing his part, his
battles, his manœuvres, with Miaulard, the latter having undertaken also
the rôle of Malinot, which the unfortunate Kingerie was to have played
in _Roderic et Cunégonde_.