CHAPTER V. ENTER SCARAMOUCHE
Dressed in the close-fitting suit of a bygone age, all black, from flatvelvet cap to rosetted shoes, his face whitened and a slight up-curledmoustache glued to his upper lip, a small-sword at his side and a guitarslung behind him, Scaramouche surveyed himself in a mirror, and wasdisposed to be sardonic--which was the proper mood for the part.
He reflected that his life, which until lately had been of a stagnant,contemplative quality, had suddenly become excessively active. In thecourse of one week he had been lawyer, mob-orator, outlaw, property-man,and finally buffoon. Last Wednesday he had been engaged in movingan audience of Rennes to anger; on this Wednesday he was to move anaudience of Guichen to mirth. Then he had been concerned to draw tears;to-day it was his business to provoke laughter. There was a difference,and yet there was a parallel. Then as now he had been a comedian; andthe part that he had played then was, when you came to think of it, akinto the part he was to play this evening. For what had he been at Rennesbut a sort of Scaramouche--the little skirmisher, the astute intriguer,spattering the seed of trouble with a sly hand? The only differencelay in the fact that to-day he went forth under the name that properlydescribed his type, whereas last week he had been disguised as arespectable young provincial attorney.
He bowed to his reflection in the mirror.
"Buffoon!" he apostrophized it. "At last you have found yourself. Atlast you have come into your heritage. You should be a great success."
Hearing his new name called out by M. Binet, he went below to find thecompany assembled, and waiting in the entrance corridor of the inn.
He was, of course, an object of great interest to all the company. Mostcritically was he conned by M. Binet and mademoiselle; by the formerwith gravely searching eyes, by the latter with a curl of scornful lip.
"You'll do," M. Binet commended his make-up. "At least you look thepart."
"Unfortunately men are not always what they look," said Climene, acidly.
"That is a truth that does not at present apply to me," saidAndre-Louis. "For it is the first time in my life that I look what Iam."
Mademoiselle curled her lip a little further, and turned her shoulderto him. But the others thought him very witty--probably because he wasobscure. Columbine encouraged him with a friendly smile that displayedher large white teeth, and M. Binet swore yet once again that he wouldbe a great success, since he threw himself with such spirit into theundertaking. Then in a voice that for the moment he appeared to haveborrowed from the roaring captain, M. Binet marshalled them for theshort parade across to the market-hall.
The new Scaramouche fell into place beside Rhodomont. The old one,hobbling on a crutch, had departed an hour ago to take the place ofdoorkeeper, vacated of necessity by Andre-Louis. So that the exchangebetween those two was a complete one.
Headed by Polichinelle banging his great drum and Pierrot blowing histrumpet, they set out, and were duly passed in review by the ragamuffinsdrawn up in files to enjoy so much of the spectacle as was to beobtained for nothing.
Ten minutes later the three knocks sounded, and the curtains were drawnaside to reveal a battered set that was partly garden, partly forest, inwhich Climene feverishly looked for the coming of Leandre. In the wingsstood the beautiful, melancholy lover, awaiting his cue, and immediatelybehind him the unfledged Scaramouche, who was anon to follow him.
Andre-Louis was assailed with nausea in that dread moment. He attemptedto take a lightning mental review of the first act of this scenario ofwhich he was himself the author-in-chief; but found his mind a completeblank. With the perspiration starting from his skin, he stepped back tothe wall, where above a dim lantern was pasted a sheet bearing thebrief outline of the piece. He was still studying it, when his armwas clutched, and he was pulled violently towards the wings. He had aglimpse of Pantaloon's grotesque face, its eyes blazing, and he caught araucous growl:
"Climene has spoken your cue three times already."
Before he realized it, he had been bundled on to the stage, and stoodthere foolishly, blinking in the glare of the footlights, with their tinreflectors. So utterly foolish and bewildered did he look that volleyupon volley of laughter welcomed him from the audience, which thisevening packed the hall from end to end. Trembling a little, hisbewilderment at first increasing, he stood there to receive that rollingtribute to his absurdity. Climene was eyeing him with expectantmockery, savouring in advance his humiliation Leandre regarded him inconsternation, whilst behind the scenes, M. Binet was dancing in fury.
"Name of a name," he groaned to the rather scared members of the companyassembled there, "what will happen when they discover that he isn'tacting?"
But they never did discover it. Scaramouche's bewildered paralysislasted but a few seconds. He realized that he was being laughed at, andremembered that his Scaramouche was a creature to be laughed with, andnot at. He must save the situation twist it to his own advantage asbest he could. And now his real bewilderment and terror was succeeded byacted bewilderment and terror far more marked, but not quite so funny.He contrived to make it clearly appear that his terror was of some oneoff the stage. He took cover behind a painted shrub, and thence, thelaughter at last beginning to subside, he addressed himself to Climeneand Leandre.
"Forgive me, beautiful lady, if the abrupt manner of my entrancestartled you. The truth is that I have never been the same since thatlast affair of mine with Almaviva. My heart is not what it used to be.Down there at the end of the lane I came face to face with an elderlygentleman carrying a heavy cudgel, and the horrible thought entered mymind that it might be your father, and that our little stratagem to getyou safely married might already have been betrayed to him. I think itwas the cudgel put such notion in my head. Not that I am afraid. I amnot really afraid of anything. But I could not help reflecting that, ifit should really have been your father, and he had broken my head withhis cudgel, your hopes would have perished with me. For without me, whatshould you have done, my poor children?"
A ripple of laughter from the audience had been steadily enhearteninghim, and helping him to recover his natural impudence. It was clear theyfound him comical. They were to find him far more comical than ever hehad intended, and this was largely due to a fortuitous circumstance uponwhich he had insufficiently reckoned. The fear of recognition by someone from Gavrillac or Rennes had been strong upon him. His face wassufficiently made up to baffle recognition but there remained hisvoice. To dissemble this he had availed himself of the fact that Figarowas a Spaniard. He had known a Spaniard at Louis le Grand who spokea fluent but most extraordinary French, with a grotesque excess ofsibilant sounds. It was an accent that he had often imitated, as youthswill imitate characteristics that excite their mirth. Opportunely he hadbethought him of that Spanish student, and it was upon his speechthat to-night he modelled his own. The audience of Guichen found it aslaughable on his lips as he and his fellows had found it formerly on thelips of that derided Spaniard.
Meanwhile, behind the scenes, Binet--listening to that glib impromptu ofwhich the scenario gave no indication--had recovered from his fears.
"Dieu de Dieu!" he whispered, grinning. "Did he do it, then, onpurpose?"
It seemed to him impossible that a man who had been so terror-strickenas he had fancied Andre-Louis, could have recovered his wits so quicklyand completely. Yet the doubt remained.
To resolve it after the curtain had fallen upon a first act that hadgone with a verve unrivalled until this hour in the annals of thecompany, borne almost entirely upon the slim shoulders of the newScaramouche, M. Binet bluntly questioned him.
They were standing in the space that did duty as green-room, the companyall assembled there, showering congratulations upon their new recruit.Scaramouche, a little exalted at the moment by his success, howevertrivial he might consider it to-morrow, took then a full revenge uponClimene for the malicious satisfaction with which she had regarded hismomentary blank terror.
"I do not wonder that you ask," said he. "Fai
th, I should have warnedyou that I intended to do my best from the start to put the audiencein a good humour with me. Mademoiselle very nearly ruined everything byrefusing to reflect any of my terror. She was not even startled.Another time, mademoiselle, I shall give you full warning of my everyintention."
She crimsoned under her grease-paint. But before she could find ananswer of sufficient venom, her father was rating her soundly for herstupidity--the more soundly because himself he had been deceived byScaramouche's supreme acting.
Scaramouche's success in the first act was more than confirmed asthe performance proceeded. Completely master of himself by now, andstimulated as only success can stimulate, he warmed to his work.Impudent, alert, sly, graceful, he incarnated the very ideal ofScaramouche, and he helped out his own native wit by many a rememberedline from Beaumarchais, thereby persuading the better informed among theaudience that here indeed was something of the real Figaro, and bringingthem, as it were, into touch with the great world of the capital.
When at last the curtain fell for the last time, it was Scaramouchewho shared with Climene the honours of the evening, his name that wascoupled with hers in the calls that summoned them before the curtains.
As they stepped back, and the curtains screened them again from thedeparting audience, M. Binet approached them, rubbing his fat handssoftly together. This runagate young lawyer, whom chance had blown intohis company, had evidently been sent by Fate to make his fortune forhim. The sudden success at Guichen, hitherto unrivalled, should berepeated and augmented elsewhere. There would be no more sleeping underhedges and tightening of belts. Adversity was behind him. He placed ahand upon Scaramouche's shoulder, and surveyed him with a smile whoseoiliness not even his red paint and colossal false nose could dissemble.
"And what have you to say to me now?" he asked him. "Was I wrong whenI assured you that you would succeed? Do you think I have followed myfortunes in the theatre for a lifetime without knowing a born actor whenI see one? You are my discovery, Scaramouche. I have discovered youto yourself. I have set your feet upon the road to fame and fortune. Iawait your thanks."
Scaramouche laughed at him, and his laugh was not altogether pleasant.
"Always Pantaloon!" said he.
The great countenance became overcast. "I see that you do not yetforgive me the little stratagem by which I forced you to do justice toyourself. Ungrateful dog! As if I could have had any purpose but to makeyou; and I have done so. Continue as you have begun, and you will end inParis. You may yet tread the stage of the Comedie Francaise, the rivalof Talma, Fleury, and Dugazon. When that happens to you perhaps you willfeel the gratitude that is due to old Binet, for you will owe it all tothis soft-hearted old fool."
"If you were as good an actor on the stage as you are in private," saidScaramouche, "you would yourself have won to the Comedie Francaise longsince. But I bear no rancour, M. Binet." He laughed, and put out hishand.
Binet fell upon it and wrung it heartily.
"That, at least, is something," he declared. "My boy, I have great plansfor you--for us. To-morrow we go to Maure; there is a fair there to theend of this week. Then on Monday we take our chances at Pipriac, andafter that we must consider. It may be that I am about to realize thedream of my life. There must have been upwards of fifteen louis takento-night. Where the devil is that rascal Cordemais?"
Cordemais was the name of the original Scaramouche, who had sounfortunately twisted his ankle. That Binet should refer to him by hissecular designation was a sign that in the Binet company at least he hadfallen for ever from the lofty eminence of Scaramouche.
"Let us go and find him, and then we'll away to the inn and crack abottle of the best Burgundy, perhaps two bottles."
But Cordemais was not readily to be found. None of the company hadseen him since the close of the performance. M. Binet went round to theentrance. Cordemais was not there. At first he was annoyed; then as hecontinued in vain to bawl the fellow's name, he began to grow uneasy;lastly, when Polichinelle, who was with them, discovered Cordemais'crutch standing discarded behind the door, M. Binet became alarmed.A dreadful suspicion entered his mind. He grew visibly pale under hispaint.
"But this evening he couldn't walk without the crutch!" he exclaimed."How then does he come to leave it there and take himself off?"
"Perhaps he has gone on to the inn," suggested some one.
"But he couldn't walk without his crutch," M. Binet insisted.
Nevertheless, since clearly he was not anywhere about the market-hall,to the inn they all trooped, and deafened the landlady with theirinquiries.
"Oh, yes, M. Cordemais came in some time ago."
"Where is he now?"
"He went away again at once. He just came for his bag."
"For his bag!" Binet was on the point of an apoplexy. "How long ago wasthat?"
She glanced at the timepiece on the overmantel. "It would be about halfan hour ago. It was a few minutes before the Rennes diligence passedthrough."
"The Rennes diligence!" M. Binet was almost inarticulate. "Could he...could he walk?" he asked, on a note of terrible anxiety.
"Walk? He ran like a hare when he left the inn. I thought, myself, thathis agility was suspicious, seeing how lame he had been since he felldownstairs yesterday. Is anything wrong?"
M. Binet had collapsed into a chair. He took his head in his hands, andgroaned.
"The scoundrel was shamming all the time!" exclaimed Climene. "His falldownstairs was a trick. He was playing for this. He has swindled us."
"Fifteen louis at least--perhaps sixteen!" said M. Binet. "Oh, theheartless blackguard! To swindle me who have been as a father to him--andto swindle me in such a moment."
From the ranks of the silent, awe-stricken company, each member ofwhich was wondering by how much of the loss his own meagre pay would bemulcted, there came a splutter of laughter.
M. Binet glared with blood-injected eyes.
"Who laughs?" he roared. "What heartless wretch has the audacity tolaugh at my misfortune?"
Andre-Louis, still in the sable glories of Scaramouche, stood forward.He was laughing still.
"It is you, is it? You may laugh on another note, my friend, if I choosea way to recoup myself that I know of."
"Dullard!" Scaramouche scorned him. "Rabbit-brained elephant! What ifCordemais has gone with fifteen louis? Hasn't he left you somethingworth twenty times as much?"
M. Binet gaped uncomprehending.
"You are between two wines, I think. You've been drinking," heconcluded.
"So I have--at the fountain of Thalia. Oh, don't you see? Don't you seethe treasure that Cordemais has left behind him?"
"What has he left?"
"A unique idea for the groundwork of a scenario. It unfolds itself allbefore me. I'll borrow part of the title from Moliere. We'll call it'Les Fourberies de Scaramouche,' and if we don't leave the audiences ofMaure and Pipriac with sides aching from laughter I'll play the dullardPantaloon in future."
Polichinelle smacked fist into palm. "Superb!" he said, fiercely. "Tocull fortune from misfortune, to turn loss into profit, that is to havegenius."
Scaramouche made a leg. "Polichinelle, you are a fellow after my ownheart. I love a man who can discern my merit. If Pantaloon had halfyour wit, we should have Burgundy to-night in spite of the flight ofCordemais."
"Burgundy?" roared M. Binet, and before he could get farther Harlequinhad clapped his hands together.
"That is the spirit, M. Binet. You heard him, landlady. He called forBurgundy."
"I called for nothing of the kind."
"But you heard him, dear madame. We all heard him."
The others made chorus, whilst Scaramouche smiled at him, and patted hisshoulder.
"Up, man, a little courage. Did you not say that fortune awaits us? Andhave we not now the wherewithal to constrain fortune? Burgundy, then,to... to toast 'Les Fourberies de Scaramouche.'"
And M. Binet, who was not blind to the force of the idea, yielded, tookcourage, an
d got drunk with the rest.