CHAPTER VI. CLIMENE
Diligent search among the many scenarios of the improvisers which havesurvived their day, has failed to bring to light the scenario of "LesFourberies de Scaramouche," upon which we are told the fortunes of theBinet troupe came to be soundly established. They played it for thefirst time at Maure in the following week, with Andre-Louis--who wasknown by now as Scaramouche to all the company, and to the publicalike--in the title-role. If he had acquitted himself well asFigaro-Scaramouche, he excelled himself in the new piece, the scenarioof which would appear to be very much the better of the two.
After Maure came Pipriac, where four performances were given, twoof each of the scenarios that now formed the backbone of the Binetrepertoire. In both Scaramouche, who was beginning to find himself,materially improved his performances. So smoothly now did the two piecesrun that Scaramouche actually suggested to Binet that after Fougeray,which they were to visit in the following week, they should temptfortune in a real theatre in the important town of Redon. The notionterrified Binet at first, but coming to think of it, and his ambitionbeing fanned by Andre-Louis, he ended by allowing himself to succumb tothe temptation.
It seemed to Andre-Louis in those days that he had found his realmetier, and not only was he beginning to like it, but actually to lookforward to a career as actor-author that might indeed lead him in theend to that Mecca of all comedians, the Comedie Francaise. And therewere other possibilities. From the writing of skeleton scenarios forimprovisers, he might presently pass to writing plays of dialogue, playsin the proper sense of the word, after the manner of Chenier, Eglantine,and Beaumarchais.
The fact that he dreamed such dreams shows us how very kindly he hadtaken to the profession into which Chance and M. Binet between them hadconspired to thrust him. That he had real talent both as author andas actor I do not doubt, and I am persuaded that had things fallen outdifferently he would have won for himself a lasting place among Frenchdramatists, and thus fully have realized that dream of his.
Now, dream though it was, he did not neglect the practical side of it.
"You realize," he told M. Binet, "that I have it in my power to makeyour fortune for you."
He and Binet were sitting alone together in the parlour of the inn atPipriac, drinking a very excellent bottle of Volnay. It was on the nightafter the fourth and last performance there of "Les Feurberies." Thebusiness in Pipriac had been as excellent as in Maure and Guichen. Youwill have gathered this from the fact that they drank Volnay.
"I will concede it, my dear Scaramouche, so that I may hear the sequel."
"I am disposed to exercise this power if the inducement is sufficient.You will realize that for fifteen livres a month a man does not sellsuch exceptional gifts as mine.
"There is an alternative," said M. Binet, darkly.
"There is no alternative. Don't be a fool, Binet."
Binet sat up as if he had been prodded. Members of his company did nottake this tone of direct rebuke with him.
"Anyway, I make you a present of it," Scaramouche pursued, airily."Exercise it if you please. Step outside and inform the police that theycan lay hands upon one Andre-Louis Moreau. But that will be the end ofyour fine dreams of going to Redon, and for the first time in your lifeplaying in a real theatre. Without me, you can't do it, and you knowit; and I am not going to Redon or anywhere else, in fact I am not evengoing to Fougeray, until we have an equitable arrangement."
"But what heat!" complained Binet, "and all for what? Why must youassume that I have the soul of a usurer? When our little arrangement wasmade, I had no idea how could I?--that you would prove as valuable to meas you are? You had but to remind me, my dear Scaramouche. I am a justman. As from to-day you shall have thirty livres a month. See, I doubleit at once. I am a generous man."
"But you are not ambitious. Now listen to me, a moment."
And he proceeded to unfold a scheme that filled Binet with a paralyzingterror.
"After Redon, Nantes," he said. "Nantes and the Theatre Feydau."
M. Binet choked in the act of drinking. The Theatre Feydau was a sortof provincial Comedie Francaise. The great Fleury had played there toan audience as critical as any in France. The very thought of Redon,cherished as it had come to be by M. Binet, gave him at moments a crampin the stomach, so dangerously ambitious did it seem to him. And Redonwas a puppet-show by comparison with Nantes. Yet this raw lad whomhe had picked up by chance three weeks ago, and who in that time hadblossomed from a country attorney into author and actor, could talk ofNantes and the Theatre Feydau without changing colour.
"But why not Paris and the Comedie Francaise?" wondered M. Binet, withsarcasm, when at last he had got his breath.
"That may come later," says impudence.
"Eh? You've been drinking, my friend."
But Andre-Louis detailed the plan that had been forming in his mind.Fougeray should be a training-ground for Redon, and Redon should be atraining-ground for Nantes. They would stay in Redon as long as Redonwould pay adequately to come and see them, working hard to perfectthemselves the while. They would add three or four new players of talentto the company; he would write three or four fresh scenarios, and theseshould be tested and perfected until the troupe was in possession of atleast half a dozen plays upon which they could depend; they would layout a portion of their profits on better dresses and better scenery, andfinally in a couple of months' time, if all went well, they should beready to make their real bid for fortune at Nantes. It was quite truethat distinction was usually demanded of the companies appearing atthe Feydau, but on the other hand Nantes had not seen a troupe ofimprovisers for a generation and longer. They would be supplying anovelty to which all Nantes should flock provided that the work werereally well done, and Scaramouche undertook--pledged himself--thatif matters were left in his own hands, his projected revival ofthe Commedia dell' Arte in all its glories would exceed whateverexpectations the public of Nantes might bring to the theatre.
"We'll talk of Paris after Nantes," he finished, supremelymatter-of-fact, "just as we will definitely decide on Nantes afterRedon."
The persuasiveness that could sway a mob ended by sweeping M. Binet offhis feet. The prospect which Scaramouche unfolded, if terrifying, wasalso intoxicating, and as Scaramouche delivered a crushing answer toeach weakening objection in a measure as it was advanced, Binet ended bypromising to think the matter over.
"Redon will point the way," said Andre-Louis, "and I don't doubt whichway Redon will point."
Thus the great adventure of Redon dwindled to insignificance. Insteadof a terrifying undertaking in itself, it became merely a rehearsal forsomething greater. In his momentary exaltation Binet proposed anotherbottle of Volnay. Scaramouche waited until the cork was drawn before hecontinued.
"The thing remains possible," said he then, holding his glass to thelight, and speaking casually, "as long as I am with you."
"Agreed, my dear Scaramouche, agreed. Our chance meeting was a fortunatething for both of us."
"For both of us," said Scaramouche, with stress. "That is as I wouldhave it. So that I do not think you will surrender me just yet to thepolice."
"As if I could think of such a thing! My dear Scaramouche, you amuseyourself. I beg that you will never, never allude to that little joke ofmine again."
"It is forgotten," said Andre-Louis. "And now for the remainder of myproposal. If I am to become the architect of your fortunes, if I am tobuild them as I have planned them, I must also and in the same degreebecome the architect of my own."
"In the same degree?" M. Binet frowned.
"In the same degree. From to-day, if you please, we will conductthe affairs of this company in a proper manner, and we will keepaccount-books."
"I am an artist," said M. Binet, with pride. "I am not a merchant."
"There is a business side to your art, and that shall be conducted inthe business manner. I have thought it all out for you. You shall notbe troubled with details that might hinder the due exercise of your
art.All that you have to do is to say yes or no to my proposal."
"Ah? And the proposal?"
"Is that you constitute me your partner, with an equal share in theprofits of your company."
Pantaloon's great countenance grew pale, his little eyes widened totheir fullest extent as he conned the face of his companion. Then heexploded.
"You are mad, of course, to make me a proposal so monstrous."
"It has its injustices, I admit. But I have provided for them. It wouldnot, for instance, be fair that in addition to all that I am proposingto do for you, I should also play Scaramouche and write your scenarioswithout any reward outside of the half-profit which would come to me asa partner. Thus before the profits come to be divided, there is a salaryto be paid me as actor, and a small sum for each scenario with which Iprovide the company; that is a matter for mutual agreement. Similarly,you shall be paid a salary as Pantaloon. After those expenses arecleared up, as well as all the other salaries and disbursements, theresidue is the profit to be divided equally between us."
It was not, as you can imagine, a proposal that M. Binet would swallowat a draught. He began with a point-blank refusal to consider it.
"In that case, my friend," said Scaramouche, "we part company at once.To-morrow I shall bid you a reluctant farewell."
Binet fell to raging. He spoke of ingratitude in feeling terms; heeven permitted himself another sly allusion to that little jest of hisconcerning the police, which he had promised never again to mention.
"As to that, you may do as you please. Play the informer, by allmeans. But consider that you will just as definitely be deprived ofmy services, and that without me you are nothing--as you were before Ijoined your company."
M. Binet did not care what the consequences might be. A fig for theconsequences! He would teach this impudent young country attorney thatM. Binet was not the man to be imposed upon.
Scaramouche rose. "Very well," said he, between indifference andresignation. "As you wish. But before you act, sleep on the matter. Inthe cold light of morning you may see our two proposals in their properproportions. Mine spells fortune for both of us. Yours spells ruin forboth of us. Good-night, M. Binet. Heaven help you to a wise decision."
The decision to which M. Binet finally came was, naturally, the only onepossible in the face of so firm a resolve as that of Andre-Louis, whoheld the trumps. Of course there were further discussions, before allwas settled, and M. Binet was brought to an agreement only after aninfinity of haggling surprising in one who was an artist and not aman of business. One or two concessions were made by Andre-Louis; heconsented, for instance, to waive his claim to be paid for scenarios,and he also consented that M. Binet should appoint himself a salary thatwas out of all proportion to his deserts.
Thus in the end the matter was settled, and the announcement dulymade to the assembled company. There were, of course, jealousies andresentments. But these were not deep-seated, and they were readilyswallowed when it was discovered that under the new arrangement the lotof the entire company was to be materially improved from the pointof view of salaries. This was a matter that had met with considerableopposition from M. Binet. But the irresistible Scaramouche swept awayall objections.
"If we are to play at the Feydau, you want a company of self-respectingcomedians, and not a pack of cringing starvelings. The better we paythem in reason, the more they will earn for us."
Thus was conquered the company's resentment of this too swift promotionof its latest recruit. Cheerfully now--with one exception--they acceptedthe dominance of Scaramouche, a dominance soon to be so firmlyestablished that M. Binet himself came under it.
The one exception was Climene. Her failure to bring to heel thisinteresting young stranger, who had almost literally dropped into theirmidst that morning outside Guichen, had begotten in her a malice whichhis persistent ignoring of her had been steadily inflaming. She hadremonstrated with her father when the new partnership was first formed.She had lost her temper with him, and called him a fool, whereupon M.Binet--in Pantaloon's best manner--had lost his temper in his turn andboxed her ears. She piled it up to the account of Scaramouche, andspied her opportunity to pay off some of that ever-increasing score. Butopportunities were few. Scaramouche was too occupied just then. Duringthe week of preparation at Fougeray, he was hardly seen save at theperformances, whilst when once they were at Redon, he came and went likethe wind between the theatre and the inn.
The Redon experiment had justified itself from the first. Stimulated andencouraged by this, Andre-Louis worked day and night during the monththat they spent in that busy little town. The moment had been wellchosen, for the trade in chestnuts of which Redon is the centre was justthen at its height. And every afternoon the little theatre was packedwith spectators. The fame of the troupe had gone forth, borne by thechestnut-growers of the district, who were bringing their wares to Redonmarket, and the audiences were made up of people from the surroundingcountry, and from neighbouring villages as far out as Allaire,Saint-Perrieux and Saint-Nicholas. To keep the business from slackening,Andre-Louis prepared a new scenario every week. He wrote three inaddition to those two with which he had already supplied the company;these were "The Marriage of Pantaloon," "The Shy Lover," and "TheTerrible Captain." Of these the last was the greatest success. It wasbased upon the "Miles Gloriosus" of Plautus, with great opportunitiesfor Rhodomont, and a good part for Scaramouche as the roaring captain'ssly lieutenant. Its success was largely due to the fact that Andre-Louisamplified the scenario to the extent of indicating very fully in placesthe lines which the dialogue should follow, whilst here and there hehad gone so far as to supply some of the actual dialogue to be spoken,without, however, making it obligatory upon the actors to keep to theletter of it.
And meanwhile as the business prospered, he became busy with tailors,improving the wardrobe of the company, which was sorely in need ofimprovement. He ran to earth a couple of needy artists, lured them intothe company to play small parts--apothecaries and notaries--and set themto beguile their leisure in painting new scenery, so as to be readyfor what he called the conquest of Nantes, which was to come in the newyear. Never in his life had he worked so hard; never in his life had heworked at all by comparison with his activities now. His fund of energyand enthusiasm was inexhaustible, like that of his good humour. He cameand went, acted, wrote, conceived, directed, planned, and executed,what time M. Binet took his ease at last in comparative affluence, drankBurgundy every night, ate white bread and other delicacies, and beganto congratulate himself upon his astuteness in having made thisindustrious, tireless fellow his partner. Having discovered how idlehad been his fears of performing at Redon, he now began to dismiss theterrors with which the notion of Nantes had haunted him.
And his happiness was reflected throughout the ranks of his company,with the single exception always of Climene. She had ceased to sneer atScaramouche, having realized at last that her sneers left him untouchedand recoiled upon herself. Thus her almost indefinable resentment of himwas increased by being stifled, until, at all costs, an outlet for itmust be found.
One day she threw herself in his way as he was leaving the theatre afterthe performance. The others had already gone, and she had returned uponpretence of having forgotten something.
"Will you tell me what I have done to you?" she asked him, point-blank.
"Done to me, mademoiselle?" He did not understand.
She made a gesture of impatience. "Why do you hate me?"
"Hate you, mademoiselle? I do not hate anybody. It is the most stupid ofall the emotions. I have never hated--not even my enemies."
"What Christian resignation!"
"As for hating you, of all people! Why... I consider you adorable. Ienvy Leandre every day of my life. I have seriously thought of settinghim to play Scaramouche, and playing lovers myself."
"I don't think you would be a success," said she.
"That is the only consideration that restrains me. And yet, giventhe inspiration that is given Le
andre, it is possible that I might beconvincing."
"Why, what inspiration do you mean?"
"The inspiration of playing to so adorable a Climene."
Her lazy eyes were now alert to search that lean face of his.
"You are laughing at me," said she, and swept past him into the theatreon her pretended quest. There was nothing to be done with such a fellow.He was utterly without feeling. He was not a man at all.
Yet when she came forth again at the end of some five minutes, she foundhim still lingering at the door.
"Not gone yet?" she asked him, superciliously.
"I was waiting for you, mademoiselle. You will be walking to the inn. IfI might escort you..."
"But what gallantry! What condescension!"
"Perhaps you would prefer that I did not?"
"How could I prefer that, M. Scaramouche? Besides, we are both going thesame way, and the streets are common to all. It is that I am overwhelmedby the unusual honour."
He looked into her piquant little face, and noted how obscured it was byits cloud of dignity. He laughed.
"Perhaps I feared that the honour was not sought."
"Ah, now I understand," she cried. "It is for me to seek these honours.I am to woo a man before he will pay me the homage of civility. It mustbe so, since you, who clearly know everything, have said so. It remainsfor me to beg your pardon for my ignorance."
"It amuses you to be cruel," said Scaramouche. "No matter. Shall wewalk?"
They set out together, stepping briskly to warm their blood againstthe wintry evening air. Awhile they went in silence, yet each furtivelyobserving the other.
"And so, you find me cruel?" she challenged him at length, therebybetraying the fact that the accusation had struck home.
He looked at her with a half smile. "Will you deny it?"
"You are the first man that ever accused me of that."
"I dare not suppose myself the first man to whom you have been cruel.That were an assumption too flattering to myself. I must prefer to thinkthat the others suffered in silence."
"Mon Dieu! Have you suffered?" She was between seriousness and raillery.
"I place the confession as an offering on the altar of your vanity."
"I should never have suspected it."
"How could you? Am I not what your father calls a natural actor? I wasan actor long before I became Scaramouche. Therefore I have laughed. Ioften do when I am hurt. When you were pleased to be disdainful, I acteddisdain in my turn."
"You acted very well," said she, without reflecting.
"Of course. I am an excellent actor."
"And why this sudden change?"
"In response to the change in you. You have grown weary of your part ofcruel madam--a dull part, believe me, and unworthy of your talents. WereI a woman and had I your loveliness and your grace, Climene, I shoulddisdain to use them as weapons of offence."
"Loveliness and grace!" she echoed, feigning amused surprise. But thevain baggage was mollified. "When was it that you discovered this beautyand this grace, M. Scaramouche?"
He looked at her a moment, considering the sprightly beauty of her, theadorable femininity that from the first had so irresistibly attractedhim.
"One morning when I beheld you rehearsing a love-scene with Leandre."
He caught the surprise that leapt to her eyes, before she veiled themunder drooping lids from his too questing gaze.
"Why, that was the first time you saw me."
"I had no earlier occasion to remark your charms."
"You ask me to believe too much," said she, but her tone was softer thanhe had ever known it yet.
"Then you'll refuse to believe me if I confess that it was this graceand beauty that determined my destiny that day by urging me to join yourfather's troupe."
At that she became a little out of breath. There was no longer anyquestion of finding an outlet for resentment. Resentment was allforgotten.
"But why? With what object?"
"With the object of asking you one day to be my wife."
She halted under the shock of that, and swung round to face him. Herglance met his own without, shyness now; there was a hardening glitterin her eyes, a faint stir of colour in her cheeks. She suspected him ofan unpardonable mockery.
"You go very fast, don't you?" she asked him, with heat.
"I do. Haven't you observed it? I am a man of sudden impulses. See whatI have made of the Binet troupe in less than a couple of months. Anothermight have laboured for a year and not achieved the half of it. Shall Ibe slower in love than in work? Would it be reasonable to expect it? Ihave curbed and repressed myself not to scare you by precipitancy. Inthat I have done violence to my feelings, and more than all in using thesame cold aloofness with which you chose to treat me. I have waited--oh!so patiently--until you should tire of that mood of cruelty."
"You are an amazing man," said she, quite colourlessly.
"I am," he agreed with her. "It is only the conviction that I am notcommonplace that has permitted me to hope as I have hoped."
Mechanically, and as if by tacit consent, they resumed their walk.
"And I ask you to observe," he said, "when you complain that I go veryfast, that, after all, I have so far asked you for nothing."
"How?" quoth she, frowning.
"I have merely told you of my hopes. I am not so rash as to ask at oncewhether I may realize them."
"My faith, but that is prudent," said she, tartly.
"Of course."
It was his self-possession that exasperated her; for after that shewalked the short remainder of the way in silence, and so, for themoment, the matter was left just there.
But that night, after they had supped, it chanced that when Climene wasabout to retire, he and she were alone together in the room abovestairsthat her father kept exclusively for his company. The Binet Troupe, yousee, was rising in the world.
As Climene now rose to withdraw for the night, Scaramouche rose with herto light her candle. Holding it in her left hand, she offered him herright, a long, tapering, white hand at the end of a softly rounded armthat was bare to the elbow.
"Good-night, Scaramouche," she said, but so softly, so tenderly, that hecaught his breath, and stood conning her, his dark eyes aglow.
Thus a moment, then he took the tips of her fingers in his grasp, andbowing over the hand, pressed his lips upon it. Then he looked ather again. The intense femininity of her lured him on, invited him,surrendered to him. Her face was pale, there was a glitter in her eyes,a curious smile upon her parted lips, and under its fichu-menteur herbosom rose and fell to complete the betrayal of her.
By the hand he continued to hold, he drew her towards him. She cameunresisting. He took the candle from her, and set it down on thesideboard by which she stood. The next moment her slight, lithe body wasin his arms, and he was kissing her, murmuring her name as if it were aprayer.
"Am I cruel now?" she asked him, panting. He kissed her again for onlyanswer. "You made me cruel because you would not see," she told him nextin a whisper.
And then the door opened, and M. Binet came in to have his paternal eyesregaled by this highly indecorous behaviour of his daughter.
He stood at gaze, whilst they quite leisurely, and in a self-possessiontoo complete to be natural, detached each from the other.
"And what may be the meaning of this?" demanded M. Binet, bewildered andprofoundly shocked.
"Does it require explaining?" asked Scaramouche. "Doesn't it speak foritself--eloquently? It means that Climene and I have taken it into ourheads to be married."
"And doesn't it matter what I may take into my head?"
"Of course. But you could have neither the bad taste nor the bad heartto offer any obstacle."
"You take that for granted? Aye, that is your way, to be sure--to takethings for granted. But my daughter is not to be taken for granted.I have very definite views for my daughter. You have done an unworthything, Scaramouche. You have betrayed my trust in you.
I am very angrywith you."
He rolled forward with his ponderous yet curiously noiseless gait.Scaramouche turned to her, smiling, and handed her the candle.
"If you will leave us, Climene, I will ask your hand of your father inproper form."
She vanished, a little fluttered, lovelier than ever in her mixtureof confusion and timidity. Scaramouche closed the door and faced theenraged M. Binet, who had flung himself into an armchair at the headof the short table, faced him with the avowed purpose of asking forClimene's hand in proper form. And this was how he did it:
"Father-in-law," said he, "I congratulate you. This will certainly meanthe Comedie Francaise for Climene, and that before long, and you shallshine in the glory she will reflect. As the father of Madame Scaramoucheyou may yet be famous."
Binet, his face slowly empurpling, glared at him in speechlessstupefaction. His rage was the more utter from his humiliatingconviction that whatever he might say or do, this irresistible fellowwould bend him to his will. At last speech came to him.
"You're a damned corsair," he cried, thickly, banging his ham-like fistupon the table. "A corsair! First you sail in and plunder me of half mylegitimate gains; and now you want to carry off my daughter. But I'll bedamned if I'll give her to a graceless, nameless scoundrel like you, forwhom the gallows are waiting already."
Scaramouche pulled the bell-rope, not at all discomposed. He smiled.There was a flush on his cheeks and a gleam in his eyes. He was verypleased with the world that night. He really owed a great debt to M. deLesdiguieres.
"Binet," said he, "forget for once that you are Pantaloon, and behaveas a nice, amiable father-in-law should behave when he has secured ason-in-law of exceptionable merits. We are going to have a bottle ofBurgundy at my expense, and it shall be the best bottle of Burgundyto be found in Redon. Compose yourself to do fitting honour to it.Excitations of the bile invariably impair the fine sensitiveness of thepalate."