Part 39

After the collation, they declared that they had heard enough about the feats of the hunters, and Martina proposed that they should play hide-and-seek, a game that they had enjoyed very much the evening before, partly, perhaps, because they had to go to a different part of the chateau to play it. Instinctively, they avoided a certain isolated pavilion occupied by the master of the house, and perhaps, without openly admitting it, they were not sorry to have an excuse--that of not disturbing the host--for avoiding as well the stately apartments occupied by their parents and relatives. In the upper story of the outer circle of buildings, which was connected by numerous passages with the lower rooms--the latter were used for various domestic purposes, as wine-cellars, bleaching-rooms, etc.--there were a number of long, gloomy, and almost deserted galleries, where they had plenty of room to look for each other, and plenty of dark corners to hide in. They drew lots for the different parties, and Margaret found herself with Martina and her fiancée, the lieutenant.

XVI.

WHILE the young people at the new chateau were enjoying their innocent games, M. Goefle and Christian were making all sorts of comments upon the discoveries relative to his birth which the latter thought he had made. M. Goefle did not agree with his young friend. His ideas, he said, were altogether fanciful, and more ingenious than logical. For his own part, he seemed more than ever tormented by some idea which he at the same time wished and feared to explain.

“Christian, Christian!” he said, shaking his head, “do not torment yourself by dwelling on this nightmare. No, no; you are not the son of Baron Olaus! I would stake putting my hand in the fire on that.”

“And yet,” replied Christian, “is it not true that there is a certain resemblance between his features and mine? When he had fainted, and while his blood was dropping on the snow, his cruel and sardonic face assumed the expression of supreme repose which is given by death, and I gazed upon him in terror. No man, it is true (or so it seems to me), at least unless he has passed all his life before a mirror, or is a portrait-painter, can have a very exact idea of his own appearance; but still his face seemed familiar to me in a vague sort of way, and gradually it began to appear like my own. I had the same feeling when I saw him for the first time. I did not say to myself, ‘I have seen him somewhere;’ I said, ‘I know him, I have always known him.’”

“Well, well,” said M. Goefle, “and I too, by heavens! when I saw you the first time, noticed the same thing. And now again, at this very moment, when your face is serious and abstracted, I recognize, if not a resemblance, at least a similarity of outline that is striking--extraordinary. But it is precisely that, my dear friend, which makes me tell you: ‘No, you are not his son!’”

“Really, M. Goefle, I do not understand you at all.”

“Oh! that is not your case alone! I don’t understand myself. And yet I have an idea, a fixed idea!--If that obstinate Stenson would only speak! But it was all in vain that I tormented him again to-day for two hours; he told me nothing of the slightest importance. Either he begins to wander at moments, or he pretends resolutely to be deaf and abstracted, when he does not wish to answer. If I had heard of this Karine, and had known that she was mixed up in our affairs, I might, perhaps, have drawn something out of him, at least in regard to her. You say that the danneman’s son pretends that she could tell a great many secrets if she chose. Unluckily, she also is crazy, it seems, or else so intimidated and enfeebled that she is afraid to confess! However, it is absolutely necessary that we succeed in clearing up our doubts, for either I am a fool, Christian, or you are now in your own country, and perhaps are upon the point of discovering who you are. Come, then! think, help me! that is, listen to me. Your appearance at the new chateau has caused a great deal of trouble and anxiety there, and you must know--”

At this moment some one knocked at the door, after having tried in vain to open it without knocking. M. Goefle, unobserved by Christian, had cautiously drawn the bolt. Christian was going to open the door, when M. Goefle stopped him.

“Go under the staircase,” he said, “and leave me to manage this business.”

Christian, who was exceedingly preoccupied, obeyed mechanically, and M. Goefle went to open the door, but without allowing the unexpected visitor to enter. It was Johan.

“You again!” he said curtly, and in a severe tone. “What do you want, Monsieur Johan?”

“Excuse me, Monsieur Goefle, I want to speak to Christian Waldo.”

“He is not here.”

“He has, however, returned here; I know it, Monsieur Goefle.”

“Look for him, but not in my apartment. I am at work, and wish to be quiet. This is the third time that you have disturbed me.”

“I ask a thousand pardons, monsieur, but since you share your room with him, I thought I might come again to convey his lordship’s orders to this comedian.”

“His orders--what orders?”

“In the first place, to get ready his entertainment; then to be at the new chateau at eight precisely, as yesterday; and, in conclusion, to play something very gay.”

“You repeat yourself, my good fellow; you have already told me the same thing twice, and in precisely the same terms--But are you sure that you know what you are saying? Is not the baron seriously ill this evening? While you are prowling round the old chateau like a shadow, are you aware of what is occurring at the new chateau?”

“I have just seen his lordship this very moment,” replied Johan, with his eternal smile of impertinent humility. “His lordship is quite well; and it is because he sent me here that I am forced, to my great regret, to be excessively importunate. Notwithstanding, I must add that his lordship is very desirous of conversing with the honorable M. Goefle during the comedy of marionettes.”

“Very good; I will attend to it. I wish you good-evening.”

Thereupon M. Goefle shut the door in the face of the disappointed Johan.

“Why all these precautions?” said Christian, coming from his retreat, where he had listened to this dialogue.

“Because something is going on here--I was about to tell you so when we were interrupted--that I do not understand. All day long, this Johan--the most detestable wretch alive, if I can judge from his appearance, and from Stenson’s opinion--has done nothing but prowl around Stollborg, and you are the object of his curiosity. In the first place he questioned Stenson about you, who does not know you at all, and who only learned to-day (precisely from this Johan) that you and I were both of us stopping here. Then he had a long talk in the stable with your servant Puffo, and another in the kitchen of the _gaard_, with Ulphilas. He would have made Nils talk if I had not kept him close by me the whole day. I really believe this spy tried to make your ass confess.”

“Luckily, my honest Jean is discretion itself,” said Christian. “But I do not see why the efforts of this lackey to see my face should make you uneasy. Since I have worn a mask, I have been accustomed to excite just such curiosity; but I intend to have done forever with this puerile mystery and with these childish persecutions. As I am obliged to return to the chateau this evening, I will go with my face uncovered.”

“No, Christian, you must not do that; I forbid it. You must be patient for a few days longer! An important secret is challenging our investigation; it is our business to discover it, and I will discover it, or lose my reputation; but you must not show your face. You must not even let Ulph see you again. You are certainly threatened by some danger. Johan, with his stealthy, sidelong glance, is not the only person I have seen gliding about the passages of Stollborg. Either I am very much mistaken, or I noticed a thorough blackguard walking around the donjon on the ice, at just about nightfall--a certain fellow who has been honored by the baron his master with the fantastic name of Captain Chimère. With our comedy last evening, we may have put fire to powder. The baron unquestionably is suspicious about you, for some cause or other; and if you will take my advice, you will pretend to be ill, and not go to the new chateau at all.”

“Oh, as to that, Monsieur Goefle, I beg your pardon, but the baron cannot frighten me, no matter what he may do. If I am so fortunate as not to be related to him, I am in precisely the mood to defy him, and to squeeze vigorously any hand that ventures so much as to touch the tapestry of my theatre, if I choose to remain incognito. Remember that I have killed two bears to-day, and consequently that my nerves are a little excited. Come, come, pardon me, my dear uncle, but it is getting late, and I have only two hours to prepare for my exhibition. I am going to look for a play in my library; that is to say, in the bottom of my box, and you must be so good as to play it with me, somehow or other.”

“Christian, I don’t feel like it to-day. I am no longer an actor, but a lawyer; that is to say, a seeker of actual facts, to the very marrow of the bones. Your servant Puffo did not seem to me to be very drunk when I saw him, and he is here, no doubt, in the _gaard_. Stay, I am going out, and I will call him as I pass, and send him to help you, since you insist upon performing. It will do no harm, perhaps--it will keep you busy, and may avert suspicions. Puffo is devoted to you, is he not?”

“I don’t know, I am sure.”

“But if they should try to fasten a quarrel upon you, he would not leave you in the lurch? He is not a coward?”

“I don’t think so: but feel no anxiety upon that point, Monsieur Goefle. This good Norwegian knife, which my friends lent me for the hunt, is still by my side, and I answer for it that I will make myself respected without the help of any one.”

“Beware of a surprise. That is the only thing I am afraid of for you. For my part, I cannot remain quiet for two minutes. Since you have told me about a child brought up secretly at the danneman’s house, a child with fingers like yours--”

“Oh, nonsense!” said Christian, “I only dreamed the whole story, perhaps; and, at any rate, I must not think about it now. I see at the bottom of this box my poor little marionettes, whom I am now going to exhibit for the last time, or the time before the last; for this, M. Goefle, is the only real and sensible conclusion to which I have been led by all my reflections. I will give up the fool’s cap, and take the hammer of the miner, the axe of the wood-cutter, or the whip of the travelling peasant! And for the rest, I laugh at it! What difference does it make, whether I am the son of an amiable fairy or a wicked iarl? I will be the son of my works; and one need not rack one’s brains to come to a conclusion so simple and so logical.”

“That is right, Christian, that is right!” cried M. Goefle. “I love to hear you talk so; but still, for all that, I have my idea--I hold on to it, I dig into it, I feed it, and now I am going to give it an airing. It may be absurd, but still it is possible! I feel a constant anxiety to see Stenson; I will tear his secret from him! I know, at present, how to set to work. I will return in an hour at the most, and we will go together to the chateau. I will call on the baron to find out what he wants with me, and will observe him carefully. He thinks himself shrewd, but I will be shrewder than he. Yes, that’s the idea--courage! Au revoir, Christian! Come, Nils, light me.--Ah, stay, Christian! here, it seems to me, is Master Puffo!”

In fact, M. Goefle passed Puffo as he went out.

“So, here you are!” said Christian to his servant. “Are you doing better to-day?”

“I am doing capitally, master,” replied the Livornese, in an even ruder tone than usual.

“Well then, my lad, to work! we have not a moment to lose. We shall play _The Marriage of Folly_, the piece that you know best: you know it by heart, and will not need a rehearsal.”

“No, if you don’t put in too many of your new gags.”

“I’ll do as I choose about that; but I will not fail to give you your cues, so don’t be alarmed. Go at once to the new chateau with the ass and baggage; put up the theatre, arrange the scenery. Stay--since we have selected the piece, you may as well take the manuscript. For my part, I will dress the actors, and follow you. If you must absolutely run through the scenes, we shall have time enough over there. The audience, you know, always takes a quarter of an hour to find seats and get quiet.”

Puffo started to go out; but, after taking a few steps, paused and hesitated. Johan, while keeping him a prisoner at Stollborg without his knowing it, had aroused him against his master by his insinuations, and Puffo was impatient to get into a quarrel with him. Still, he knew him to be agile and determined, and perhaps also a feeling of involuntary affection for Christian had glided, unperceived, into some hidden corner of his brutal and corrupt soul. He took courage, however.

“That is not all, Master Christian,” he said; “I want to know who the rascal was who exhibited the marionettes with you last evening?”

“Oh, ho!” replied Christian, “you are beginning to be uneasy, are you? What makes you suspect that there was any performance last evening?”

“I know there was one, and that I took no part in it.”

“Are you quite sure?”

“I was a little drunk,” said Puffo, raising his voice, “I confess; but I have heard the truth to-day, and I know all about it.”

“The truth,” said Christian, laughing; “would not one say that I had concealed it from your excellency? I have not seen you to-day, Signor Puffo, and even if I had, I am not aware that I owe you an account--”

“I want to know who took the liberty of touching my marionettes?”

“_Your_ marionettes, which belong to me, though you seem to forget it, will tell you, perhaps; ask them.”

“I don’t need to question them to know that some one or other took the liberty of replacing me, and, apparently, of earning my wages.”

“Suppose it were so? were you in condition to say a single word last evening?”

“You ought, at least, to have tried me, or else to have given me warning.”

“I must confess that I did not show you that consideration,” replied Christian, impatiently; “but I omitted to do so on purpose, so as to avoid the temptation of punishing you, as you deserved, for your drunkenness.”

“Punishing me!” cried Puffo, advancing upon him in a threatening manner. “Try it a little! Come on!”

At the same time he caught up a marionette, and brandished it over his master’s head like a club. The weapon, though comical, was none the less dangerous, for the head of the _burattino_ is necessarily made of very hard wood, so as to prevent it from being broken in the stage fights. Holding the little figure by its leathern skirt, and hurling it like a flail, Puffo might have broken his adversary’s head, and, perhaps, wished to do so. Christian seized the marionette as it came, and, with the other hand, caught Puffo by the throat, and threw him at his feet.

“Cursed drunkard!” he said, putting his knee on his breast, “you deserve a sound beating, but I scorn to strike you. Off with you! I discharge you on the spot, and never want to hear of you again. I have paid you your week’s wages, and owe you nothing; but as you may have spent it all for drink, I will give you enough to return to Stockholm. Get up, and don’t try any more of your deviltries, or I will strangle you!”

Puffo, who was a good deal bruised, got up in silence. Though brutal, he was not naturally an assassin, and he was humiliated and cowed. Perhaps he felt that he was in the wrong; but his first and great anxiety was to pick up a dozen pieces of gold that had slipped from his belt, and rolled over the floor.

“What is that?” cried Christian, noticing what he was about, and seizing him by the arm. “Stolen money?”

“No!” cried the Livornese, lifting his hand with an heroic gesture, which was sufficiently absurd; “I have not stolen anything here. That money is mine. They gave it to me.”

“What for? Come, speak--I insist upon it!”

“They gave it to me because they wanted to. It is nobody’s business.”

“Who gave it to you? Was it not?--”

Christian paused, fearing to betray suspicions which it was more prudent to conceal.

“Out of my sight!” he said, “and go quickly; for if I discover that you are something worse than a drunkard, I will kill you on the spot! Go, and woe to you if you ever let me see you again!”

Puffo retreated in a great fright. Christian, to keep him at a distance, had laid his hand, purposely, on the major’s large Norwegian knife, and the sight of this terrible weapon was quite sufficient to alarm the Bohemian, whose great fear was that Christian would take his money from him, and insist upon knowing how he had obtained this unexplained wealth.

The Livornese left the donjon in a very undecided state of mind. Johan, who sometimes took the liberty of exceeding the baron’s secret instructions, had not given him this money with a precise understanding that he was to undertake what the trembling Puffo, in the language of the road, called _a bad job_; but to persuade him to remain quiet in case his master should be provoked, and drawn into some unequal scuffle. Johan had got everything out of him that he knew; he had learned, through him, that Christian was fiery and intrepid. Without compromising the baron, he had given him to understand that his master had offended some very powerful person at the chateau, and that they had discovered him to be a French spy, and a very mysterious and dangerous person. The lie, although glaring, was not sufficiently gross to have much effect upon Puffo, for he did not know or care anything about politics; but what he did understand was, the sum of money slipped into his pocket. He was intelligent enough to follow out the following course of reasoning: “If they pay me for standing by, they will pay me more for acting!” Accordingly, he resolved to get the start of any one else. He attacked Christian, supposing that he would be without weapons, or means of defence; but he lost courage, and, perhaps, also faltered a little in his wicked purpose. Christian was so good, that the scoundrel’s hand trembled, in spite of himself. Now that he was defeated and humiliated, what should he do?

While Puffo was reflecting to the best of his very limited ability, Christian, more depressed and fatigued in mind than in body, sat down to his coffee, and sank into a melancholy revery.

“What a sad life!” he said to himself, gazing mechanically upon the marionette lying upon the floor, which had come so near cutting his head open. “What poor company men without education are! And yet I shall have to be with them now more than ever! If I return to the dregs of the people, whence I probably emerged, after trying in vain to elevate my condition, I shall often be obliged, I suppose, to put down, by the force of my fist, brutal wretches like this Puffo, who cannot be influenced by kindness and affection. Oh, Jean Jacques! was it such a life as this that you dreamed of for your Emile? And yet you yourself were stoned in your humble chalet, and were forced to abandon the rustic life you loved, because you could not make yourself feared by those who were incapable of comprehending you!

“Come, let me see you! Which of you was it who came so near killing me just now?” he continued, raising his voice to revive his spirits, and picking up the marionette, which was lying with its face to the floor. “O Jupiter! you, my poor little Stentarello! you, my favorite, my protégé, my best servant! you, the oldest of my troupe, lost at Paris and found again so miraculously in the forests of Bohemia! No, it is impossible! you would not have harmed me; you would rather have turned against the assassin. You are worth much more than a host of gigantic marionettes I know of; stupid and wicked marionettes, who claim to belong to the human race, and whose hearts are as hard as their heads. Come, my little friend, put on a white collar, and let me brush your coat, which is covered with dust. I swear that I will never again abandon you! You shall travel with me, though it must be in secret, since otherwise serious people would laugh at us. But still you shall go, and when you feel sad and lonely, because you miss the blaze of the footlights, we two will talk together and console each other. I will confide my sorrows to you, and your sweet smile and bright eyes will recall to my mind the follies of the past; the dreams of love born and vanished within the gloomy walls of Stollborg!”

A child’s laugh made Christian start and turn round. It was Master Nils, who had come in on tip-toe, and who was jumping with joy and clapping his hands at the sight of the animated, and, as it were, living marionette, moving and gesticulating on Christian’s nimble fingers.

“Oh! give me that pretty little boy,” cried the delighted child; “lend him to me a moment, so that I can play with him!”

“No, no!” said Christian, who was in a hurry to arrange Stentarello’s toilet; “my little boy plays with no one but myself; and besides, there is no time. Is not M. Goefle coming back?”

“Oh! let me see all that!” resumed the enraptured Nils, casting a dazzled glance into the box that Christian had just opened, and where glittered, pell-mell, the laced hats, swords, plumed turbans, and pearl coronets of his miniature company. Christian tried to get rid of Nils by gentle means; but the child was so crazy to see and touch all these wonders, that he was obliged to speak in a loud voice, and roll his eyes fiercely, to keep him from running away with his actors and their wardrobe. Then he began to pout, and, going to the other side of the table, said he would complain to M. Goefle that no one would amuse him. His aunt Gertrude had told him that he would be amused when he went travelling, and he wasn’t amused at all.

“But I don’t care for you, you great wretch!” he said, making a face at Christian; “I am going to make some pretty paper boats, and I won’t let you see any of them.”

“All right, all right!” replied Christian, who kept at work arranging the costumes of the marionettes under the supposition that he could rely on M. Goefle’s assistance; “make your boats, my child; make a great many of them, and leave me in peace.”

While pinning hats and cloaks to the heads and around the necks of his little people, Christian glanced every moment at the clock, and grew impatient for M. Goefle’s return. He wanted to send Nils to the _gaard_ to beg him to make haste, but Nils pouted, and pretended not to hear.

“Provided,” said Christian to himself, “we have time to read over the play once, it will be sufficient; without that, I shall be lucky if I can recall it myself, I have had so much on my mind to-day. Ah! I promised the major a hunting-scene; where shall I introduce it? No matter where! An interlude, stolen from the scene of Moron with the bears, in the _Princesse d’Elide_. Stentarello shall be brave, charming; he shall laugh at people who kill bears through a net--like the baron, for instance. But, good heavens! I hope Puffo has not carried away the manuscript; I put it in his hands.”