Part 19

She seated herself at the table; I placed a chair close beside hers, put my right arm about her, and guided her hand with mine; my face touched her hair; her whole body was against mine; I inhaled her sweet breath, and I could count the beating of her heart. Ah! what pleasure that lesson afforded me! Unconsciously, without premeditation, I made her write _I love you_ again and again. My hand trembled as violently as the hand I was guiding. But a tear fell from her eyes. The pen dropped from our hands. I have no idea how it happened; but Nicette's pretty face was hidden against my breast, her two arms were about me, and mine pressed her fondly to my heart. At that moment I felt that even if Madame de Marsan, or any other woman, were present, I would not put Nicette's arms away.

We had been a long while in that position and did not think of changing it. Nicette was happy, and I--I must confess it--enjoyed a pleasure that I had never known before, a pleasure of which I had no conception, undisturbed by any desire for which I need blush. But, engrossed as I was by the present, I could not answer for the future; another caress might kindle a conflagration.

There came a loud knock at the door of the shop. Nicette started from my arms, and I looked at her with some disquietude.

"Who can have come to see you so late? You told me that you had no acquaintances."

"I don't know who it is; I don't expect anybody!"

Her eyes reassured me; they could not lie! But the knocking was repeated, and we distinguished these words:

"Open the door, open quick, Mamzelle Nicette! your mother's very sick and wants to see you."

Nicette ran to the door and recognized the daughter of one of Madame Jérôme's neighbors. The girl told her that her mother had had an apoplectic attack as the result of a violent quarrel with her daughter Fanchon; and feeling very ill, she longed to see the child she had so unjustly turned out of doors. Nicette flew about the shop; in an instant she had taken off her apron and put on her cap.

"Adieu, adieu, Monsieur Dorsan!" she said, in a trembling voice, and with eyes filled with tears; "my mother is sick and I must forget everything."

We left the shop; she took the little girl's arm and dragged her away; the child could hardly keep pace with her. I soon lost sight of them.

Sweet girl! she possessed all the virtues, and I loved her better than I thought, more dearly than I had ever loved. The most convincing proof that I really loved her was that I had thus far respected her innocence; but I felt that I must avoid going to see her at night; to be alone with her would be too dangerous. If it had not been for that knocking--I do not know what might have happened.

I decided to return to Madame de Marsan, so as to turn my thoughts from Nicette; I must give my brain occupation, in order to allow my heart to become calmer. By that means I should at least provide myself with a pardonable motive for my new follies.

XXIV

THE BOURGEOIS COMEDY.--THE REHEARSAL

For several days my conduct was really most exemplary; I paid court to Madame de Marsan, concerning whom my neighbor had told me too much. I did not go again to see Nicette at night; and when I passed her shop during the day, I bade her good-morning without stopping. Her black dress told me of the loss she had sustained, but I did not ask her for any details of Madame Jérôme's death.

Madame de Marsan was a very agreeable, lively, coquettish person; I found several young men assiduously attentive to her, but had no idea whether they were more fortunate than I. I was not sufficiently enamored of her to be jealous; and yet, it annoyed me to see that swarm of admirers who so often forced themselves between her and myself. Twenty times I was tempted to cease to augment their number, but a secret hope whispered to me that I was the preferred one and that I should distance all my rivals.

Madame de Marsan's receptions were delightful: the company was select, the women were pretty, the men well bred; courtesy without affectation or reserve was the ordinary rule; we were lively and cheerful without ceasing to be decent, gallant without mawkishness; and if anyone did say something a little spiteful, it was said in the good-natured tone in which one may say anything with impunity. The music was excellent, without being pretentious; sometimes they played for high stakes, but you could never detect the faintest emotion on the faces of the players; in good society, people know how to lose their money with a charming grace.

The month of October was drawing near, and before the winter should come and open the season for balls Madame de Marsan proposed to give a party at her country house, at which there were to be some theatricals. I had been hearing of this function for a long while, and extensive preparations were being made therefor. The matter of the plays to be given was thoroughly discussed, and at last they fixed upon _Le Barbier de Séville_ and _Fanchon la Vielleuse_. Madame de Marsan insisted that I should take part. I had never acted in anything but charades, but I could not refuse to do whatever she wished. I was cast for Lindor, and she for Rosine; I could not complain of that arrangement. The other parts were distributed, and Raymond was not forgotten; he was an invaluable man for bourgeois comedies. As for Monsieur de Marsan, he never took part in theatricals. In large parties, husbands are of no use except to provide the money.

On the appointed day, Madame de Marsan went to her country house, where all the actors were to report a week before the performance, in order to have plenty of time to rehearse and arrange the stage business. Raymond, who had left me in peace for some time, came to me now every morning to urge me to hear him repeat the rôle of Bartholo; and as he was to appear in _Fanchon_ also, in the part of the Abbé de Lattaignant, I must needs teach him the airs he had to sing; for, although he held himself out as a great musician, it took him a fortnight to learn a vaudeville couplet, even though he always had some score or other in his pocket.

"They'd have done much better to give some short new play instead of this interminable _Fanchon_," my neighbor said to me every morning. "I'd have written one myself! indeed, I have some all written, which would be just the thing for amateurs!"

"You ought to suggest them."

"Pshaw! there's that Madame Saint-Marc, Madame de Marsan's friend, who's determined to play Fanchon, because, I suppose, she thinks she's very pretty _en marmotte_. And that tall thin fellow who wants to play Sainte-Luce--we shall see how it goes. I myself could have played the officer much better than the abbé; the part's better suited to my figure and style; however, I'm willing to take the other part to oblige; I sacrifice myself. I hope, however, that if we have time, before the fête, they'll play my little opera, _Les Amants Protégés par Vénus_; there are only three short acts, but very spectacular. Listen, this is the first----"

"I'm studying my part."

"Never mind, I want you to judge of the effect. The stage represents a magnificent country house, where preparations for the wedding of the lovers are in progress. The princess begins and says:

"'Prince, 'tis here that we're to be united. How happy I am! how----'"

I listened no longer; and although the fête was not to come off for ten days, I rid myself of Raymond by leaving Paris for Madame de Marsan's country house, where I was not sorry to arrive in advance of the rest of the guests. I hoped there to find a more favorable opportunity; and opportunity is such a precious thing! Many people have owed their happiness to it; all that is necessary is to know enough to grasp it.

This time I had obtained such directions as were necessary to prevent my going astray, and in due time I arrived at Madame de Marsan's estate. It was almost a little château; the situation was delightful, the surroundings beautiful; the gardens seemed quite extensive and very well kept, the apartments decorated with refined taste, and so well arranged that a large number of guests could easily be accommodated. But I postponed my examination of these details, being in haste to present my respects to the mistress of the house.

"Madame is alone," said the maid; "none of the guests have arrived yet."

I had hoped that that would be the case.

"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.

XXV

ALMAVIVA AND ROSINE.--A SCENE ADDED TO _LE BARBIER DE SÉVILLE_