CHAPTER II. THE SERVICE OF THESPIS
They were, thought Andre-Louis, as he sat down to breakfast with thembehind the itinerant house, in the bright sunshine that tempered thecold breath of that November morning, an odd and yet an attractive crew.An air of gaiety pervaded them. They affected to have no cares, and mademerry over the trials and tribulations of their nomadic life. Theywere curiously, yet amiably, artificial; histrionic in their mannerof discharging the most commonplace of functions; exaggerated in theirgestures; stilted and affected in their speech. They seemed, indeed, tobelong to a world apart, a world of unreality which became real onlyon the planks of their stage, in the glare of their footlights.Good-fellowship bound them one to another; and Andre-Louis reflectedcynically that this harmony amongst them might be the cause of theirapparent unreality. In the real world, greedy striving and the emulationof acquisitiveness preclude such amity as was present here.
They numbered exactly eleven, three women and eight men; and theyaddressed each other by their stage names: names which denoted theirseveral types, and never--or only very slightly--varied, no matter whatmight be the play that they performed.
"We are," Pantaloon informed him, "one of those few remaining staunchbands of real players, who uphold the traditions of the old ItalianCommedia dell' Arte. Not for us to vex our memories and stultify ourwit with the stilted phrases that are the fruit of a wretched author'slucubrations. Each of us is in detail his own author in a measure as hedevelops the part assigned to him. We are improvisers--improvisers of theold and noble Italian school."
"I had guessed as much," said Andre-Louis, "when I discovered yourehearsing your improvisations."
Pantaloon frowned.
"I have observed, young sir, that your humour inclines to the pungent,not to say the acrid. It is very well. It is I suppose, the humour thatshould go with such a countenance. But it may lead you astray, asin this instance. That rehearsal--a most unusual thing with us--wasnecessitated by the histrionic rawness of our Leandre. We are seekingto inculcate into him by training an art with which Nature neglected toendow him against his present needs. Should he continue to fail in doingjustice to our schooling... But we will not disturb our present harmonywith the unpleasant anticipation of misfortunes which we still hopeto avert. We love our Leandre, for all his faults. Let me make youacquainted with our company."
And he proceeded to introduction in detail. He pointed out the long andamiable Rhodomont, whom Andre-Louis already knew.
"His length of limb and hooked nose were his superficial qualificationsto play roaring captains," Pantaloon explained. "His lungs havejustified our choice. You should hear him roar. At first we called himSpavento or Epouvapte. But that was unworthy of so great an artist. Notsince the superb Mondor amazed the world has so thrasonical a bully beenseen upon the stage. So we conferred upon him the name of Rhodomontthat Mondor made famous; and I give you my word, as an actor and agentleman--for I am a gentleman, monsieur, or was--that he has justifiedus."
His little eyes beamed in his great swollen face as he turned their gazeupon the object of his encomium. The terrible Rhodomont, confused by somuch praise, blushed like a schoolgirl as he met the solemn scrutiny ofAndre-Louis.
"Then here we have Scaramouche, whom also you already know. Sometimes heis Scapin and sometimes Coviello, but in the main Scaramouche, to whichlet me tell you he is best suited--sometimes too well suited, I think.For he is Scaramouche not only on the stage, but also in the world. Hehas a gift of sly intrigue, an art of setting folk by the ears, combinedwith an impudent aggressiveness upon occasion when he considers himselfsafe from reprisals. He is Scaramouche, the little skirmisher, to thevery life. I could say more. But I am by disposition charitable andloving to all mankind."
"As the priest said when he kissed the serving-wench," snarledScaramouche, and went on eating.
"His humour, like your own, you will observe, is acrid," said Pantaloon.He passed on. "Then that rascal with the lumpy nose and the grinningbucolic countenance is, of course, Pierrot. Could he be aught else?"
"I could play lovers a deal better," said the rustic cherub.
"That is the delusion proper to Pierrot," said Pantaloon,contemptuously. "This heavy, beetle-browed ruffian, who has grown old insin, and whose appetite increases with his years, is Polichinelle. Eachone, as you perceive, is designed by Nature for the part he plays. Thisnimble, freckled jackanapes is Harlequin; not your spangled Harlequininto which modern degeneracy has debased that first-born of Momus,but the genuine original zany of the Commedia, ragged and patched, animpudent, cowardly, blackguardly clown."
"Each one of us, as you perceive," said Harlequin, mimicking the leaderof the troupe, "is designed by Nature for the part he plays."
"Physically, my friend, physically only, else we should not have so muchtrouble in teaching this beautiful Leandre to become a lover. Thenwe have Pasquariel here, who is sometimes an apothecary, sometimes anotary, sometimes a lackey--an amiable, accommodating fellow. He is alsoan excellent cook, being a child of Italy, that land of gluttons. Andfinally, you have myself, who as the father of the company very properlyplay as Pantaloon the roles of father. Sometimes, it is true, I am adeluded husband, and sometimes an ignorant, self-sufficient doctor.But it is rarely that I find it necessary to call myself other thanPantaloon. For the rest, I am the only one who has a name--a real name.It is Binet, monsieur.
"And now for the ladies... First in order of seniority we have Madamethere." He waved one of his great hands towards a buxom, smiling blondeof five-and-forty, who was seated on the lowest of the steps of thetravelling house. "She is our Duegne, or Mother, or Nurse, as the caserequires. She is known quite simply and royally as Madame. If she everhad a name in the world, she has long since forgotten it, which isperhaps as well. Then we have this pert jade with the tip-tilted noseand the wide mouth, who is of course our soubrette Columbine, andlastly, my daughter Climene, an amoureuse of talents not to be matchedoutside the Comedie Francaise, of which she has the bad taste to aspireto become a member."
The lovely Climene--and lovely indeed she was--tossed her nut-browncurls and laughed as she looked across at Andre-Louis. Her eyes, he hadperceived by now, were not blue, but hazel.
"Do not believe him, monsieur. Here I am queen, and I prefer to be queenhere rather than a slave in Paris."
"Mademoiselle," said Andre-Louis, quite solemnly, "will be queenwherever she condescends to reign."
Her only answer was a timid--timid and yet alluring--glance from underfluttering lids. Meanwhile her father was bawling at the comely youngman who played lovers--"You hear, Leandre! That is the sort of speech youshould practise."
Leandre raised languid eyebrows. "That?" quoth he, and shrugged. "Themerest commonplace."
Andre-Louis laughed approval. "M. Leandre is of a readier wit than youconcede. There is subtlety in pronouncing it a commonplace to call Mlle.Climene a queen."
Some laughed, M. Binet amongst them, with good-humoured mockery.
"You think he has the wit to mean it thus? Bah! His subtleties are allunconscious."
The conversation becoming general, Andre-Louis soon learnt what yetthere was to learn of this strolling band. They were on their way toGuichen, where they hoped to prosper at the fair that was to open onMonday next. They would make their triumphal entry into the town atnoon, and setting up their stage in the old market, they would givetheir first performance that same Saturday night, in a new canevas--orscenario--of M. Binet's own, which should set the rustics gaping. Andthen M. Binet fetched a sigh, and addressed himself to the elderly,swarthy, beetle-browed Polichinelle, who sat on his left.
"But we shall miss Felicien," said he. "Indeed, I do not know what weshall do without him."
"Oh, we shall contrive," said Polichinelle, with his mouth full.
"So you always say, whatever happens, knowing that in any case thecontriving will not fall upon yourself."
"He should not be difficult to replace," said Harlequin.
"Tru
e, if we were in a civilized land. But where among the rusticsof Brittany are we to find a fellow of even his poor parts?" M. Binetturned to Andre-Louis. "He was our property-man, our machinist, ourstage-carpenter, our man of affairs, and occasionally he acted."
"The part of Figaro, I presume," said Andre-Louis, which elicited alaugh.
"So you are acquainted with Beaumarchais!" Binet eyed the young man withfresh interest.
"He is tolerably well known, I think."
"In Paris, to be sure. But I had not dreamt his fame had reached thewilds of Brittany."
"But then I was some years in Paris--at the Lycee of Louis le Grand. Itwas there I made acquaintance with his work."
"A dangerous man," said Polichinelle, sententiously.
"Indeed, and you are right," Pantaloon agreed. "Clever--I do not deny himthat, although myself I find little use for authors. But of a sinistercleverness responsible for the dissemination of many of these subversivenew ideas. I think such writers should be suppressed."
"M. de La Tour d'Azyr would probably agree with you--the gentleman whoby the simple exertion of his will turns this communal land into his ownproperty." And Andre-Louis drained his cup, which had been filled withthe poor vin gris that was the players' drink.
It was a remark that might have precipitated an argument had it not alsoreminded M. Binet of the terms on which they were encamped there, andof the fact that the half-hour was more than past. In a moment he was onhis feet, leaping up with an agility surprising in so corpulent a man,issuing his commands like a marshal on a field of battle.
"Come, come, my lads! Are we to sit guzzling here all day? Time flees,and there's a deal to be done if we are to make our entry into Guichenat noon. Go, get you dressed. We strike camp in twenty minutes. Bestir,ladies! To your chaise, and see that you contrive to look your best.Soon the eyes of Guichen will be upon you, and the condition of yourinterior to-morrow will depend upon the impression made by your exteriorto-day. Away! Away!"
The implicit obedience this autocrat commanded set them in a whirl.Baskets and boxes were dragged forth to receive the platters and remainsof their meagre feast. In an instant the ground was cleared, and thethree ladies had taken their departure to the chaise, which was setapart for their use. The men were already climbing into the house onwheels, when Binet turned to Andre-Louis.
"We part here, sir," said he, dramatically, "the richer by youracquaintance; your debtors and your friends." He put forth his podgyhand.
Slowly Andre-Louis took it in his own. He had been thinking swiftly inthe last few moments. And remembering the safety he had found from hispursuers in the bosom of this company, it occurred to him that nowherecould he be better hidden for the present, until the quest for himshould have died down.
"Sir," he said, "the indebtedness is on my side. It is not every dayone has the felicity to sit down with so illustrious and engaging acompany."
Binet's little eyes peered suspiciously at the young man, in quest ofirony. He found nothing but candour and simple good faith.
"I part from you reluctantly," Andre-Louis continued. "The morereluctantly since I do not perceive the absolute necessity for parting."
"How?" quoth Binet, frowning, and slowly withdrawing the hand which theother had already retained rather longer than was necessary.
"Thus," Andre-Louis explained himself. "You may set me down as a sortof knight of rueful countenance in quest of adventure, with no fixedpurpose in life at present. You will not marvel that what I have seen ofyourself and your distinguished troupe should inspire me to desire yourbetter acquaintance. On your side you tell me that you are in need ofsome one to replace your Figaro--your Felicien, I think you called him.Whilst it may be presumptuous of me to hope that I could discharge anoffice so varied and so onerous..."
"You are indulging that acrid humour of yours again, my friend," Binetinterrupted him. "Excepting for that," he added, slowly, meditatively,his little eyes screwed up, "we might discuss this proposal that youseem to be making."
"Alas! we can except nothing. If you take me, you take me as I am. Whatelse is possible? As for this humour--such as it is--which you decry, youmight turn it to profitable account."
"How so?"
"In several ways. I might, for instance, teach Leandre to make love."
Pantaloon burst into laughter. "You do not lack confidence in yourpowers. Modesty does not afflict you."
"Therefore I evince the first quality necessary in an actor."
"Can you act?"
"Upon occasion, I think," said Andre-Louis, his thoughts upon hisperformance at Rennes and Nantes, and wondering when in all hishistrionic career Pantaloon's improvisations had so rent the heart ofmobs.
M. Binet was musing. "Do you know much of the theatre?" quoth he.
"Everything," said Andre-Louis.
"I said that modesty will prove no obstacle in your career."
"But consider. I know the work of Beaumarchais, Eglantine, Mercier,Chenier, and many others of our contemporaries. Then I have read, ofcourse, Moliere, Racine, Corneille, besides many other lesser Frenchwriters. Of foreign authors, I am intimate with the works of Gozzi,Goldoni, Guarini, Bibbiena, Machiavelli, Secchi, Tasso, Ariosto,and Fedini. Whilst of those of antiquity I know most of the work ofEuripides, Aristophanes, Terence, Plautus..."
"Enough!" roared Pantaloon.
"I am not nearly through with my list," said Andre-Louis.
"You may keep the rest for another day. In Heaven's name, what can haveinduced you to read so many dramatic authors?"
"In my humble way I am a student of man, and some years ago I made thediscovery that he is most intimately to be studied in the reflections ofhim provided for the theatre."
"That is a very original and profound discovery," said Pantaloon, quiteseriously. "It had never occurred to me. Yet is it true. Sir, it is atruth that dignifies our art. You are a man of parts, that is clear tome. It has been clear since first I met you. I can read a man. I knewyou from the moment that you said 'good-morning.' Tell me, now: Doyou think you could assist me upon occasion in the preparation of ascenario? My mind, fully engaged as it is with a thousand details oforganization, is not always as clear as I would have it for such work.Could you assist me there, do you think?"
"I am quite sure I could."
"Hum, yes. I was sure you would be. The other duties that wereFelicien's you would soon learn. Well, well, if you are willing, you maycome along with us. You'd want some salary, I suppose?"
"If it is usual," said Andre-Louis.
"What should you say to ten livres a month?"
"I should say that it isn't exactly the riches of Peru."
"I might go as far as fifteen," said Binet, reluctantly. "But times arebad."
"I'll make them better for you."
"I've no doubt you believe it. Then we understand each other?"
"Perfectly," said Andre-Louis, dryly, and was thus committed to theservice of Thespis.