CHAPTER VII. THE CONQUEST OF NANTES
The Binet Troupe opened in Nantes--as you may discover in survivingcopies of the "Courrier Nantais"--on the Feast of the Purification with"Les Fourberies de Scaramouche." But they did not come to Nantesas hitherto they had gone to little country villages and townships,unheralded and depending entirely upon the parade of their entranceto attract attention to themselves. Andre-Louis had borrowed from thebusiness methods of the Comedie Francaise. Carrying matters with a highhand entirely in his own fashion, he had ordered at Redon the printingof playbills, and four days before the company's descent upon Nantes,these bills were pasted outside the Theatre Feydau and elsewhereabout the town, and had attracted--being still sufficiently unusualannouncements at the time--considerable attention. He had entrusted thematter to one of the company's latest recruits, an intelligent young mannamed Basque, sending him on ahead of the company for the purpose.
You may see for yourself one of these playbills in the CarnavaletMuseum. It details the players by their stage names only, with theexception of M. Binet and his daughter, and leaving out of account thathe who plays Trivelin in one piece appears as Tabarin in another, itmakes the company appear to be at least half as numerous again as itreally was. It announces that they will open with "Les Fourberies deScaramouche," to be followed by five other plays of which it gives thetitles, and by others not named, which shall also be added should thepatronage to be received in the distinguished and enlightened city ofNantes encourage the Binet Troupe to prolong its sojourn at the TheatreFeydau. It lays great stress upon the fact that this is a company ofimprovisers in the old Italian manner, the like of which has not beenseen in France for half a century, and it exhorts the public of Nantesnot to miss this opportunity of witnessing these distinguished mimes whoare reviving for them the glories of the Comedie de l'Art. Their visitto Nantes--the announcement proceeds--is preliminary to their visit toParis, where they intend to throw down the glove to the actors of theComedie Francaise, and to show the world how superior is the art of theimproviser to that of the actor who depends upon an author for what heshall say, and who consequently says always the same thing every timethat he plays in the same piece.
It is an audacious bill, and its audacity had scared M. Binet out ofthe little sense left him by the Burgundy which in these days he couldafford to abuse. He had offered the most vehement opposition. Part ofthis Andre-Louis had swept aside; part he had disregarded.
"I admit that it is audacious," said Scaramouche. "But at your time oflife you should have learnt that in this world nothing succeeds likeaudacity."
"I forbid it; I absolutely forbid it," M. Binet insisted.
"I knew you would. Just as I know that you'll be very grateful to mepresently for not obeying you."
"You are inviting a catastrophe."
"I am inviting fortune. The worst catastrophe that can overtake youis to be back in the market-halls of the country villages from which Irescued you. I'll have you in Paris yet in spite of yourself. Leave thisto me."
And he went out to attend to the printing. Nor did his preparationsend there. He wrote a piquant article on the glories of the Comedie del'Art, and its resurrection by the improvising troupe of the great mimeFlorimond Binet. Binet's name was not Florimond; it was just Pierre.But Andre-Louis had a great sense of the theatre. That article was anamplification of the stimulating matter contained in the playbills;and he persuaded Basque, who had relations in Nantes, to use all theinfluence he could command, and all the bribery they could afford, toget that article printed in the "Courrier Nantais" a couple of daysbefore the arrival of the Binet Troupe.
Basque had succeeded, and, considering the undoubted literary merits andintrinsic interest of the article, this is not at all surprising.
And so it was upon an already expectant city that Binet and his companydescended in that first week of February. M. Binet would have made hisentrance in the usual manner--a full-dress parade with banging drums andcrashing cymbals. But to this Andre-Louis offered the most relentlessopposition.
"We should but discover our poverty," said he. "Instead, we will creepinto the city unobserved, and leave ourselves to the imagination of thepublic."
He had his way, of course. M. Binet, worn already with battling againstthe strong waters of this young man's will, was altogether unequal tothe contest now that he found Climene in alliance with Scaramouche,adding her insistence to his, and joining with him in reprobation of herfather's sluggish and reactionary wits. Metaphorically, M. Binet threwup his arms, and cursing the day on which he had taken this young maninto his troupe, he allowed the current to carry him whither it would.He was persuaded that he would be drowned in the end. Meanwhile hewould drown his vexation in Burgundy. At least there was abundance ofBurgundy. Never in his life had he found Burgundy so plentiful. Perhapsthings were not as bad as he imagined, after all. He reflected that,when all was said, he had to thank Scaramouche for the Burgundy. Whilstfearing the worst, he would hope for the best.
And it was very much the worst that he feared as he waited in the wingswhen the curtain rose on that first performance of theirs at the TheatreFeydau to a house that was tolerably filled by a public whose curiositythe preliminary announcements had thoroughly stimulated.
Although the scenario of "Lee Fourberies de Scaramouche" has notapparently survived, yet we know from Andre-Louis' "Confessions" that itis opened by Polichinelle in the character of an arrogant and fiercelyjealous lover shown in the act of beguiling the waiting-maid, Columbine,to play the spy upon her mistress, Climene. Beginning with cajolery, butfailing in this with the saucy Columbine, who likes cajolers to be atleast attractive and to pay a due deference to her own very piquantcharms, the fierce humpbacked scoundrel passes on to threats of theterrible vengeance he will wreak upon her if she betrays him or neglectsto obey him implicitly; failing here, likewise, he finally has recourseto bribery, and after he has bled himself freely to the very expectantColumbine, he succeeds by these means in obtaining her consent to spyupon Climene, and to report to him upon her lady's conduct.
The pair played the scene well together, stimulated, perhaps, by theirvery nervousness at finding themselves before so imposing an audience.Polichinelle was everything that is fierce, contemptuous, and insistent.Columbine was the essence of pert indifference under his cajolery,saucily mocking under his threats, and finely sly in extorting the verymaximum when it came to accepting a bribe. Laughter rippled throughthe audience and promised well. But M. Binet, standing trembling in thewings, missed the great guffaws of the rustic spectators to whom theyhad played hitherto, and his fears steadily mounted.
Then, scarcely has Polichinelle departed by the door than Scaramouchebounds in through the window. It was an effective entrance, usuallyperformed with a broad comic effect that set the people in a roar. Notso on this occasion. Meditating in bed that morning, Scaramouche haddecided to present himself in a totally different aspect. He would cutout all the broad play, all the usual clowning which had delightedtheir past rude audiences, and he would obtain his effects by subtletyinstead. He would present a slyly humorous rogue, restrained, and of acertain dignity, wearing a countenance of complete solemnity, speakinghis lines drily, as if unconscious of the humour with which he intendedto invest them. Thus, though it might take the audience longer tounderstand and discover him, they would like him all the better in theend.
True to that resolve, he now played his part as the friend and hiredally of the lovesick Leandre, on whose behalf he came for news ofClimene, seizing the opportunity to further his own amour with Columbineand his designs upon the money-bags of Pantaloon. Also he had takencertain liberties with the traditional costume of Scaramouche; he hadcaused the black doublet and breeches to be slashed with red, and thedoublet to be cut more to a peak, a la Henri III. The conventional blackvelvet cap he had replaced by a conical hat with a turned-up brim, and atuft of feathers on the left, and he had discarded the guitar.
M. Binet listened desperately for the roar of
laughter that usuallygreeted the entrance of Scaramouche, and his dismay increased whenit did not come. And then he became conscious of something alarminglyunusual in Scaramouche's manner. The sibilant foreign accent was there,but none of the broad boisterousness their audiences had loved.
He wrung his hands in despair. "It is all over!" he said. "The fellowhas ruined us! It serves me right for being a fool, and allowing him totake control of everything!"
But he was profoundly mistaken. He began to have an inkling of this whenpresently himself he took the stage, and found the public attentive,remarked a grin of quiet appreciation on every upturned face. It wasnot, however, until the thunders of applause greeted the fall of thecurtain on the first act that he felt quite sure they would be allowedto escape with their lives.
Had the part of Pantaloon in "Les Fourberies" been other than that ofa blundering, timid old idiot, Binet would have ruined it by hisapprehensions. As it was, those very apprehensions, magnifying as theydid the hesitancy and bewilderment that were the essence of his part,contributed to the success. And a success it proved that more thanjustified all the heralding of which Scaramouche had been guilty.
For Scaramouche himself this success was not confined to the public. Atthe end of the play a great reception awaited him from his companionsassembled in the green-room of the theatre. His talent, resource, andenergy had raised them in a few weeks from a pack of vagrant mountebanksto a self-respecting company of first-rate players. They acknowledged itgenerously in a speech entrusted to Polichinelle, adding the tribute tohis genius that, as they had conquered Nantes, so would they conquer theworld under his guidance.
In their enthusiasm they were a little neglectful of the feelings ofM. Binet. Irritated enough had he been already by the overriding ofhis every wish, by the consciousness of his weakness when opposedto Scaramouche. And, although he had suffered the gradual process ofusurpation of authority because its every step had been attended byhis own greater profit, deep down in him the resentment abode to stifleevery spark of that gratitude due from him to his partner. To-nighthis nerves had been on the rack, and he had suffered agonies ofapprehension, for all of which he blamed Scaramouche so bitterly thatnot even the ultimate success--almost miraculous when all the elementsare considered--could justify his partner in his eyes.
And now, to find himself, in addition, ignored by this company--his owncompany, which he had so laboriously and slowly assembled and selectedamong the men of ability whom he had found here and there in thedregs of cities--was something that stirred his bile, and aroused themalevolence that never did more than slumber in him. But deeply thoughhis rage was moved, it did not blind him to the folly of betraying it.Yet that he should assert himself in this hour was imperative unless hewere for ever to become a thing of no account in this troupe over whichhe had lorded it for long months before this interloper came amongstthem to fill his purse and destroy his authority.
So he stepped forward now when Polichinelle had done. His make-upassisting him to mask his bitter feelings, he professed to add his ownto Polichinelle's acclamations of his dear partner. But he did it insuch a manner as to make it clear that what Scaramouche had done, hehad done by M. Binet's favour, and that in all M. Binet's had been theguiding hand. In associating himself with Polichinelle, he desired tothank Scaramouche, much in the manner of a lord rendering thanks to hissteward for services diligently rendered and orders scrupulously carriedout.
It neither deceived the troupe nor mollified himself. Indeed, hisconsciousness of the mockery of it but increased his bitterness. But atleast it saved his face and rescued him from nullity--he who was theirchief.
To say, as I have said, that it did not deceive them, is perhaps to saytoo much, for it deceived them at least on the score of his feelings.They believed, after discounting the insinuations in which he took allcredit to himself, that at heart he was filled with gratitude, as theywere. That belief was shared by Andre-Louis himself, who in his brief,grateful answer was very generous to M. Binet, more than endorsing theclaims that M. Binet had made.
And then followed from him the announcement that their success in Nanteswas the sweeter to him because it rendered almost immediately attainablethe dearest wish of his heart, which was to make Climene his wife.It was a felicity of which he was the first to acknowledge his utterunworthiness. It was to bring him into still closer relations withhis good friend M. Binet, to whom he owed all that he had achieved forhimself and for them. The announcement was joyously received, for theworld of the theatre loves a lover as dearly as does the greater world.So they acclaimed the happy pair, with the exception of poor Leandre,whose eyes were more melancholy than ever.
They were a happy family that night in the upstairs room of their inn onthe Quai La Fosse--the same inn from which Andre-Louis had set out someweeks ago to play a vastly different role before an audience of Nantes.Yet was it so different, he wondered? Had he not then been a sort ofScaramouche--an intriguer, glib and specious, deceiving folk, cynicallymisleading them with opinions that were not really his own? Was it atall surprising that he should have made so rapid and signal a successas a mime? Was not this really all that he had ever been, the thing forwhich Nature had designed him?
On the following night they played "The Shy Lover" to a full house, thefame of their debut having gone abroad, and the success of Monday wasconfirmed. On Wednesday they gave "Figaro-Scaramouche," and on Thursdaymorning the "Courrier Nantais" came out with an article of more thana column of praise of these brilliant improvisers, for whom it claimedthat they utterly put to shame the mere reciters of memorized parts.
Andre-Louis, reading the sheet at breakfast, and having no delusionson the score of the falseness of that statement, laughed inwardly. Thenovelty of the thing, and the pretentiousness in which he had swaddledit, had deceived them finely. He turned to greet Binet and Climene, whoentered at that moment. He waved the sheet above his head.
"It is settled," he announced, "we stay in Nantes until Easter."
"Do we?" said Binet, sourly. "You settle everything, my friend."
"Read for yourself." And he handed him the paper.
Moodily M. Binet read. He set the sheet down in silence, and turned hisattention to his breakfast.
"Was I justified or not?" quoth Andre-Louis, who found M. Binet'sbehaviour a thought intriguing.
"In what?"
"In coming to Nantes?"
"If I had not thought so, we should not have come," said Binet, and hebegan to eat.
Andre-Louis dropped the subject, wondering.
After breakfast he and Climene sallied forth to take the air upon thequays. It was a day of brilliant sunshine and less cold than it hadlately been. Columbine tactlessly joined them as they were setting out,though in this respect matters were improved a little when Harlequincame running after them, and attached himself to Columbine.
Andre-Louis, stepping out ahead with Climene, spoke of the thing thatwas uppermost in his mind at the moment.
"Your father is behaving very oddly towards me," said he. "It is almostas if he had suddenly become hostile."
"You imagine it," said she. "My father is very grateful to you, as weall are."
"He is anything but grateful. He is infuriated against me; and I think Iknow the reason. Don't you? Can't you guess?"
"I can't, indeed."
"If you were my daughter, Climene, which God be thanked you are not, Ishould feel aggrieved against the man who carried you away from me. Poorold Pantaloon! He called me a corsair when I told him that I intend tomarry you."
"He was right. You are a bold robber, Scaramouche."
"It is in the character," said he. "Your father believes in havinghis mimes play upon the stage the parts that suit their naturaltemperaments."
"Yes, you take everything you want, don't you?" She looked up at him,half adoringly, half shyly.
"If it is possible," said he. "I took his consent to our marriage bymain force from him. I never waited for him to give it. When, in fact,he refus
ed it, I just snatched it from him, and I'll defy him now to winit back from me. I think that is what he most resents."
She laughed, and launched upon an animated answer. But he did not heara word of it. Through the bustle of traffic on the quay a cabriolet, theupper half of which was almost entirely made of glass, had approachedthem. It was drawn by two magnificent bay horses and driven by asuperbly livened coachman.
In the cabriolet alone sat a slight young girl wrapped in a lynx-furpelisse, her face of a delicate loveliness. She was leaning forward, herlips parted, her eyes devouring Scaramouche until they drew his gaze.When that happened, the shock of it brought him abruptly to a dumfoundedhalt.
Climene, checking in the middle of a sentence, arrested by his ownsudden stopping, plucked at his sleeve.
"What is it, Scaramouche?"
But he made no attempt to answer her, and at that moment the coachman,to whom the little lady had already signalled, brought the carriage to astandstill beside them. Seen in the gorgeous setting of that coach withits escutcheoned panels, its portly coachman and its white-stockingedfootman--who swung instantly to earth as the vehicle stopped--its daintyoccupant seemed to Climene a princess out of a fairy-tale. And thisprincess leaned forward, with eyes aglow and cheeks aflush, stretchingout a choicely gloved hand to Scaramouche.
"Andre-Louis!" she called him.
And Scaramouche took the hand of that exalted being, just as he mighthave taken the hand of Climene herself, and with eyes that reflected thegladness of her own, in a voice that echoed the joyous surprise of hers,he addressed her familiarly by name, just as she had addressed him.
"Aline!"
Scaramouche: A Romance of the French Revolution Page 16
