Part 27

Christian was familiar with Marivaux, whose works present such a striking union of elaborate thought, with simplicity of feeling and passionate emotion. He had been deeply penetrated with all that is true and great in this charming genius, and he really excelled in representing the part of a lover. The scene was too short. It was encored vehemently, and Christian, yielding to the wish of the public, picked up Alonzo again--he had already pulled him off his fingers--and brought him back upon the stage in a manner at once ingenious and natural.

“Did you call me?” he said to the young girl, and this simple phrase was uttered with an expression so timid, so profoundly loving, and so heart-felt, that Margaret hid her face behind her hand, to conceal a deep blush.

The fact is, that the young girl was passing through a strange experience. Out of all the audience, she alone had recognized in the voice of Alonzo that of Christian Goefle; perhaps because she alone had conversed with him sufficiently to remember his voice distinctly. It is true that Christian Waldo made his young lover talk in a higher key than his own natural intonation, but still there were certain inflections and vibrations that startled Margaret every moment. When the love scene came, she was absolutely certain; and yet Christian Goefle had not said a single word of love to her. She kept her thoughts to herself, however; and when Olga, who was cold and sarcastic, nudged her with her elbow, and asked if she was crying, the innocent child replied with artless hypocrisy that she had caught a bad cold, and was trying to smother her cough.

As for Olga, she, too, was dissimulating, though in a very different way. When the play was over, she pretended to feel a great contempt for the little gentleman, who was such a “bashful lover,” and yet her heart had been beating violently. In fact, there are some Russian women who are habitually heartless and calculating, but who, nevertheless, have very ardent passions. Olga had resolutely committed herself to an interested marriage; and yet, in spite of herself, she could not help feeling a secret horror of the baron, ever since she had been engaged to him. When he spoke to her after the play, his harsh voice and icy look gave her a chill, and she remembered without, or even against her intention, the soft tones and vivid expressions of Christian Waldo.

Upon his side, the baron seemed to be in excellent humor. The unfortunate Don Sancho, who was to have made his appearance again towards the close of the piece, had prudently been suppressed by M. Goefle. Between the first and second acts, he and Christian had agreed together as to this modification. They arranged to make Rosita the daughter of Don Sancho, who was supposed to have died during the intermission. She turned out to be the heiress of his vast fortune, and marries Alonzo at the end of the play, so as to make up for the spoliation which he had suffered. Adventures, blunders, romantic incidents, and comic scenes, and most of all Stentarello, with his ingenuous selfishness and his cowardice, filled out the slender framework of the little comedy, which was received with general enthusiasm, notwithstanding the dissent of M. Stangstadius, who did not listen to a single word, and pooh-poohed everything from beginning to end. He was quite out of patience to think that anybody could be interested in a frivolous affair in which there was nothing scientific.

Meanwhile, M. Goefle had thrown himself into an arm-chair in the green-room, where he was shut up with Christian; and while the latter, always active and industrious, busied himself with taking down, arranging, and folding all the different parts and implements of his theatre--packing the dramatis personæ into their box, and folding the theatre itself into one bundle, which, although heavy, could easily be carried--the advocate wiped the perspiration from his forehead, sipped his Spanish wine, and, in short, gave himself up, heart and soul, to enjoyment and relaxation, as he was in the habit of doing at home when he took off his professional robe and cap, to retire, as he was accustomed to phrase it, into the bosom of private life.

This charming man had experienced few disappointments in public life, and few private troubles. What he had really felt the want of, since he had settled down to the sober, tranquil career of a middle-aged man, was novelty, the element of adventure. This he pretended to hate, and thought he did hate it; and yet he suffered from the monotony of his existence, because he possessed a vivid imagination, and great versatility of talent. Naturally, therefore, at the present moment, he was in unusually high spirits, without knowing why. Although fatigued, and bathed in perspiration, he was sorry that the play was over; for at least ten additional acts, ready for performance, were floating in his mind.

“I ought to be ashamed of myself,” he said; “here am I resting, while you are hard at work setting things to rights. Cannot I help you?”

“No, no, M. Goefle, you would not know how. Besides, I have done already. Are you still too warm to think of walking back to Stollborg?”

“To Stollborg! Must we return there, and go off stupidly to bed, excited as we are?”

“Why, as to that, M. Goefle, it rests with you to step out of the door at the foot of this side stairway, and then go round to the main entrance and take supper (they have just rung the bell), and enjoy the amusements which, I presume, have been prepared for the remainder of the evening. But my part is played. Since you have denied your own blood, since I can no longer appear by your side under the name of Christian Goefle, I must go and take something or other to eat, and study a little mineralogy until I grow sleepy.”

“Sure enough, my poor boy, you must be tired.”

“I was before we began; now I am excited, just as you are, M. Goefle. In improvising, one is always most wound up when it is time to stop. Exactly when the curtain falls is just the right time to begin; you are full of fire, of feeling, of wit.”

“Very true, and I’ll stay with you for that reason, for you would be uncomfortable enough by yourself. I understand all about that state of mind. It is just so when one has concluded an argument; but this is even more stimulating. I would like myself to do I don’t know what, this very minute: recite a tragedy, compose a poem, set the house on fire, get drunk--anything to satisfy this craving of the mind after something out of the ordinary line.”

“Take care, M. Goefle,” said Christian, laughing, “the last may happen to you.”

“To me? Never! never! I am sorry to say that I am sober to excess--stupidly so, in fact.”

“But see there--that bottle is half empty!”

“Half a bottle of port for two--there is nothing scandalous in that, I hope?”

“I beg your pardon, but I haven’t touched it. I drank nothing but lemonade.”

“If that is so,” said M. Goefle, pushing away the glass he was about to fill, “hence, perfidious beverage! To get tipsy alone is the most melancholy business in the world. Will you come over to Stollborg and drink with me? Or--stay, when I was here this morning I heard somebody saying that there was to be a race by torchlight on the lake to-night, unless there should be more snow; but, on the contrary, the weather was magnificent when I came over. Let us join the party. Every one is privileged, you know, to appear disguised during the Christmas entertainments, and faith! I remember this moment that Countess Elveda said something about a masquerade.”

“A good idea,” said Christian, “and exactly in my line--the man in the mask! But what shall we do for costumes? I have a hundred or more there in my box, but neither of us could very well bring himself down to the size of a marionette.”

“Oh, perhaps we can find something over at Stollborg.”

“Not in my wardrobe then, most assuredly.”

“Well, in mine, perhaps. If we can’t do anything else, we can put on our clothes wrong side out. But a little imagination--”

“Very well! Go on, then, M. Goefle, I will follow you. I have still to load up Jean and receive my money. Take this mask; I have another. Possibly there may be some inquisitive fellows on the stairs.”

“Or some inquisitive ladies--on your account. Be quick, Christian! I’ll go on in advance.”

And M. Goefle, as springy and active as if but twenty years old, darted down stairs, pushing his way past the servants, and even jostling certain ladies, very carefully wrapped up, who had quietly crept in to try and see the famous Christian Waldo as he should pass. Christian himself, consequently, attracted no attention at all, and met comparatively few persons, when a moment afterwards he followed, carrying his box and his great bundle.

“That must be the assistant,” they said, “since he’s carrying the things. He must needs wear a mask too, the booby!”

And they lamented their ill-success in failing to catch the least glimpse of the face or even of the figure of Waldo himself, who had shot off like lightning.

When Christian had finished loading his ass, he returned to the green-room, and had scarcely entered it when M. Johan made an effort to take him by surprise, so as to satisfy his curiosity about him. The major-domo tried the door stealthily, hoping to enter without knocking, on the pretext of paying the amount due for the exhibition. Christian, conjecturing who his visitor was, resolved to have a little amusement at the expense of this insinuating gentleman. Accordingly, he masked himself carefully, and, leaving but one candle burning, opened the door, which he had not forgotten to lock, with a great deal of politeness.

“Have I the pleasure of speaking with M. Christian Waldo himself?” asked the major-domo, as he handed him the sum agreed on.

“The same!” said Christian; “you must surely remember my voice and dress, since you saw me only a little while ago.”

“Certainly, my dear fellow, but your assistant masks himself too, it seems; he passed me a while ago on the stairs, looking as mysterious as yourself, and wrapped up in much better style, by George! than he was yesterday, when you arrived.”

“The fact is that the rascal, instead of carrying my cloak on his arm, takes the liberty of putting it on his back. I let him do it, for he is a chilly sort of fellow.”

“Ah, indeed! Well, there is one thing about this chilly fellow that surprises me greatly. That is, that yesterday he was a full head shorter than you.”

“Does that surprise you?” said Christian, drawing on his powers of improvisation; “then you cannot have noticed his feet to-day.”

“Why no, really. Was he on stilts?”

“Not exactly, but on pattens four or five inches high.”

“But what for?”

“Why, M. Major-domo! How can a man as intelligent as yourself ask such a question as that?”

“I confess I don’t understand it,” said Johan, biting his lips.

“Well, then, M. Major-domo, you will easily see that if the two operators in a theatre like mine are not pretty nearly of the same height, one of them would have to let his head appear, which would not produce a good effect among the _burattini_, but would rather look as if an inhabitant of Saturn had come amongst them; or else the other, the shorter of the two, would have to stretch his arms up so high, that he could not endure the fatigue through two scenes.”

“Then your assistant wears pattens to bring him up to your height! Upon my word that’s very ingenious!” And Johan added, with a sceptical air:

“It’s singular that I did not hear the noise of those pattens, when he was going down stairs a while ago.”

“There again, M. Major-domo, your natural shrewdness seems to be slumbering! If those pattens were not well shod with felt they would make an insupportable clattering in the theatre.”

“Oh, that’s the reason, is it? But you don’t explain to me how it is that this fellow, vulgar and stupid as he is, can support you so brilliantly?”

“It can’t be explained,” answered Christian; “but, nevertheless, it is almost always the way with an artist. He shines on the stage--or I should say, in this case, under the stage--but once outside the theatre, he turns dark again, particularly if he happens to have the bad habit of drinking with the servants in the families where he may happen to stop.”

“What! Do you imagine that he has been drinking here with--”

“With some of your footmen. They must have given you a report of his interesting conversation, M. Major-domo, since you are so well informed about the low grade of his intelligence.”

Johan bit his lips again; and Christian felt convinced either that Puffo, in his drunkenness, had betrayed his incognito in a measure, or that Massarelli, for a sum of money, had done so without any reserve.

The only name that Puffo knew him by was Dulac, but Massarelli had known him under all his successive names, except, perhaps, that of Christian Goefle, so recently improvised. Christian tried to conjecture how this might be, while observing closely the major-domo’s evident and keen desire to see his face. He soon came to the conclusion that he was not so curious to satisfy his doubts as to his death’s head, as to ascertain whether or not the performer was one and the same person with M. Goefle’s pretended nephew, whose face the major-domo had seen plainly the evening before.

“Come, confess,” the latter said at last, after many insidious questions, to all of which the adventurer had replied very guardedly; “if some agreeable lady--a charming young person--say the Countess Margaret, for instance, should ask to see your face, would you be equally obstinate in refusing?”

“Who is the Countess Margaret?” asked Christian, in the most innocent manner in the world, though he felt a great inclination to give M. Johan a box on the ear.

“_Mon Dieu!_” rejoined the major-domo, “I mentioned her because she is by all odds the most beautiful woman in the chateau at the present time. Did you not see her?”

“Pray where could I have seen her?”

“In the front row of ladies.”

“Why! do you suppose that when I am playing a piece with twenty actors in it, almost entirely alone, I have time to look at the women?--”

“I don’t say that, but really now, would you not like to please a beautiful young lady?”

“To please her? M. Johan,” exclaimed Christian, with well-affected emotion, “without meaning it, you are asking me a very painful question. You do not seem to know that nature has been pleased to make me frightfully ugly, and that my unfortunate appearance is my only reason for taking so much pains to conceal myself.”

“It is so reported,” replied Johan, “but the contrary is also asserted; and his lordship, as well as all the company, and the ladies particularly, are extremely anxious to know what they are to believe.”

“I certainly could not subject myself to the pain of gratifying such a misplaced desire as that. I prefer to supply you with evidence which will enable you to dissuade them.”

As he spoke, Christian, relying upon the dim light which he had provided, lifted his black silk mask, and, as it were precipitately, and with a kind of desperate effort, suffered the major-domo to behold, for a moment, a second mask of waxed cloth, so skilfully made that it bore every resemblance to an actual human face; without close examination by a strong light, no one would have suspected the cheat. And what a face was thus disclosed--flat-nosed, sallow, and horribly blemished by a great wine-colored birth-mark! Johan, in spite of his suspicious nature, was deceived, and could not refrain from an exclamation of disgust.

“I really beg your pardon, my dear friend,” he exclaimed, recovering himself, “you are much to be pitied; and yet, your talent and your wit are advantages which I envy you.”

The major-domo was himself so ugly that Christian could scarcely refrain from bursting into a laugh at the idea that he should consider himself so much handsomer than the mask.

“And now,” he said, after replacing the black mask, “tell me frankly why you were so anxious to know the extent of my ugliness.”

“_Mon Dieu!_” exclaimed Johan, after a moment’s hesitation, assuming a confiding air, “I’ll tell you. And, by the way, if you would help me to find out a certain secret--a foolish joke which more than one person here is interested in discovering, you would confer a great obligation--you know what I mean--an obligation that would be munificently rewarded by the master of the house. It’s a mere piece of pleasantry; there’s a bet about it.”

“I would like nothing better,” answered Christian, curious to hear the communication, whose nature, however, he anticipated; “what is it?”

“You are lodging at Stollborg, are you not?”

“Yes; you would not take me in here.”

“Where did you sleep--in the bear-room?”

“I did, and capitally too.”

“Capitally, did you? The ghost they talk about--”

“It is not about a ghost that you want to question me. You don’t believe in them any more than I do.”

“True; but there was a strange apparition here at the ball, whom nobody knew. This you might have met at Stollborg.”

“No, I have seen no apparition.”

“But when I say an apparition--Did you not see a lawyer there, one M. Goefle, a very able man?”

“Yes; I had the honor of conversing with him this morning. He occupies the room there with two beds in it.”

“With his nephew?”

“I saw nothing of any nephew.”

“Nephew or not, a young man of about your height, whose voice I did not notice particularly, but with a very agreeable face, dressed in a black suit throughout--a very good-looking young fellow--”

“Good-looking? I wish to heaven it could have been myself, M. Johan! But I was so very sleepy that I should hardly have known it even if he had been there. I only saw a drunken fellow whom they call Ulphilas.”

“And did M. Goefle see nothing of this stranger?”

“I don’t think he did.”

“Did he know nothing of him?”

“Ah! that reminds me--yes, I recollect. I heard M. Goefle complaining about some person who had made use of his name to attend the ball. Is that it?”

“Exactly.”

“But, M. Major-domo, if you were so puzzled about this unknown, why didn’t you have him followed?”

“We were not puzzled at the time. He had given himself out for a near relative of the advocate, and, as a matter of course, we expected to see him again. It was only this morning, when the lawyer had disavowed him, that the baron thought of inquiring who the unknown could be, who, under a feigned name, had ventured to introduce himself into the house. No doubt it was some impertinent fellow who had laid a wager about it; one of the students from the Falun Mining-school, perhaps--unless, indeed, he really should be a natural son of the advocate--as he himself, it seems, intimated--whom his father, however, does not permit to assume his name.”

“All that seems to me hardly worth the trouble of so much inquiry,” observed Christian, with an air of indifference. “Will you allow me now, M. Major-domo, to go and have some supper?”

“Yes, by all means. You shall come and take supper with me.”

“No, thank you. I am very much fatigued; I must beg you to excuse me.”

“So you insist on going back to Stollborg. You must be very poorly accommodated there.”

“Very well, on the contrary.”

“But have you a bed, even?”

“I am to have one to-night.”

“Does that drunken Ulphilas provide you a decent table?”

“It could not be better.”

“Will you repeat your performance for us to-morrow?”

“At what time?”

“The same as this evening.”

“With great pleasure. Your obedient servant!”

“Ah, a single word, M. Waldo. Would it be an indiscretion to inquire what is your real name?”

“By no means, M. Johan. My real name is Stentarello, very much at your service.”

“You are a wag. I suppose it is you who always play that part in a comedy?”

“Always, except when it is my assistant.”

“You are mysterious!”

“Certainly, in matters that relate to the secrets of my theatre. Otherwise, I should have neither reputation nor success.”

“Well, at any rate, will you allow me to inquire why you named one of your characters the baron?”

“Ah, as to that, you must ask the footman who made Puffo drunk. For my part, I am used to his blunders, and I should never have noticed it, if he had not told me about it himself, in a great fright.”

“Had he perhaps picked up some foolish gossip or other?”

“About what? Will you be so good as to explain?”

“No, no, it is not worth the trouble,” replied Johan, who saw--thanks to Christian’s adroitness, or perhaps his carelessness--that their relative positions had become inverted, and that he himself, instead of asking questions, was being compelled to answer them. But still he could not help returning to a subject to which he had already referred.

“So, then,” he said, “it seems you have a scene so much like Stollborg as to be mistaken for it.”

“I had one that happened to look a little like Stollborg, yes, it is true; but I completed the resemblance on purpose.”

“Why?”

“Why, as I told you, by way of a compliment to the baron. I always make a point of representing some locality in the neighborhood wherever I may happen to be performing, so as to add to the attractiveness of my exhibitions. At my next stopping-place Stollborg will be changed again, and a new scene displayed. Did the baron think it poorly painted? No wonder, I had so very little time.”

While talking, Christian had amused himself by studying the disagreeable countenance of Johan. He was a man of about fifty, rather stout, vulgar in manner, and with features whose expression seemed at first good-natured and apathetic. But even the night before, Christian, as he handed him the letter of invitation found in M. Goefle’s pocket, had detected a sort of inquisitorial watchfulness, veiled by an assumed indifference, in his oblique glance. He was still more struck at present by these indications of a false, hypocritical character--a sort of caricature, as it seemed, of his master’s, the baron. Still, as Johan was nothing after all but an upper servant, without education or real finesse, Christian had no difficulty in playing a better comedy than he, and in effectually persuading him of the perfect innocence of his intentions. And in the meanwhile, for his own part, he obtained from the interview a quasi-certitude in regard to the story of Baroness Hilda. It seemed to him perfectly evident that a drama of some kind had been enacted at Stollborg, and that the baron had either been terrified or enraged at witnessing his performance; since it had represented in dramatic form, no matter with what intention, this triple conjunction: a prison, a victim, and a jailer.

X.

AS for Johan, he was assuredly the baron’s confidant, and perhaps had been one of the actors in this drama. He had tried to discover how far Christian Waldo, as a wandering story-teller, had become acquainted with the mystery; but Christian had adroitly insinuated that the servants of the chateau had been guilty of an indiscretion, and, for the present at least, had freed both himself and M. Goefle from any supposed participation in the matter.

We will now leave Christian, who proceeded philosophically to drive the heavily-laden Jean from the new chateau, and revert to certain matters that had been occurring during his interview with the major-domo. Let us go back to the moment when M. Goefle set out for Stollborg: the moon was rising, and the aurora borealis beginning to shine with renewed splendor, and lighted on his way by their combined effulgence, he walked rapidly across the lake, humming a tune, and every now and then unconsciously gesticulating.