CHAPTER VI. A SNOW-STORM AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
As may be readily supposed, the comedians were well satisfied withthe kind treatment they had received during their brief sojourn at theChateau de Bruyeres; such a piece of good fortune did not often fallto their lot, and they rejoiced in it exceedingly. The tyrant haddistributed among them each one's share of the marquis's liberalremuneration for their services, and it was wonderfully pleasant to themto have broad pieces in the purses usually so scantily supplied, and notinfrequently quite empty. Zerbine, who was evidently rejoicing over somesecret source of satisfaction, accepted good-naturedly all the tauntsand jokes of her companions upon the irresistible power of her charms.She was triumphant, and could afford to be laughed at--indeed, joinedheartily in the general merriment at her own expense--while Serafinasulked openly, with "envy, hatred, and malice" filling her heart. PoorLeander, still smarting from his severe beating, sore and aching, unableto find an easy position, and suffering agonies from the jolting of thechariot, found it hard work to join in the prevailing gaiety.
When he thought no one was looking at him, he would furtively rubhis poor, bruised shoulders and arms with the palm of his hand, whichstealthy manoeuvre might very readily have passed unobserved by the restof the company, but did not escape the wily valet, who was always onthe lookout for a chance to torment Leander; his monstrous self-conceitbeing intensely exasperating to him. A harder jolt than usual havingmade the unfortunate gallant groan aloud, Scapin immediately opened hisattack, feigning to feel the liveliest commiseration for him.
"My poor Leander, what is the matter with you this morning? You moan andsigh as if you were in great agony! Are you really suffering soacutely? You seem to be all battered and bruised, like the Knight ofthe Sorrowful Countenance, after he had capered stark naked, for a lovepenance, among the rocks in the Sierra Morena, in humble imitation ofhis favourite hero, Amadis de Gaul. You look as if you had not sleptat all last night, and had been lying upon hard sticks, rods, or clubs,instead of in a soft, downy bed, such as were given to the rest of usin the fine chateau yonder. Tell us, I pray you, did not Morpheus oncevisit you all the night through?"
"Morpheus may have remained shut up in his cavern, but Cupid is awanderer by night, who does not need a lantern to find the way to thosefortunate individuals he favours with a visit," Leander replied, hopingto divert attention from the tell-tale bruises, that he had fancied weresuccessfully concealed.
"I am only a humble valet, and have had no experience in affairs ofgallantry. I never paid court to a fine lady in my life; but still, I doknow this much, that the mischievous little god, Cupid, according to allthe poets, aims his arrows at the hearts of those he wishes to wound,instead of using his bow upon their backs."
"What in the world do you mean?" Leander interrupted quickly, growingseriously uneasy at the turn the conversation was taking.
"Oh! nothing; only that I see, in spite of all your efforts to hide itwith that handkerchief knotted so carefully round your neck, that youhave there on the back of it a long, black mark, which to-morrow willbe indigo, the day after green, and then yellow, until it fades awayaltogether, like any other bruise--a black mark that looks devilishlylike the authentic flourish which accompanies the signature of a good,stout club on a calf's skin--or on vellum, if that term pleases youbetter."
"Ah! my good Scapin, you do not understand such matters," Leanderreplied, a scarlet flush mounting to the very roots of his hair, andat his wits' ends to know how to silence his tormentor; "doubtless somedead and gone beauty, who loved me passionately during her lifetime, hascome back and kissed me there while I was sleeping; as is well known,the contact of the lips of the dead leave strange, dark marks, likebruises, on human flesh, which the recipient of the mysterious caress isastonished to find upon awaking."
"Your defunct beauty visited you and bestowed her mysterious caress veryapropos," remarked Scapin, incredulously; "but I would be willing totake my oath that yonder vigorous kiss had been imprinted upon yourlily-white neck by the stinging contact of a stout club."
"Unmannerly jester and scoffer that you are! is nothing sacred to you?"broke in Leander, with some show of heat.
"You push my modesty too far. I endeavoured delicately to put off upona dead beauty what I should have ascribed to a living one. Ignorant andunsophisticated though you claim to be, have you never heard of kissesso ardent that such traces of them are left?--where pearly teeth haveclosed upon the soft flesh, and made their mark on the white skin?"
"Memorem dente notam," interrupted the pedant, charmed to have a chanceto quote Horace.
"This explanation appears to me very judicious," Scapin said; then,with a low bow to the pedant, "and is sustained by unquestionable ifincomprehensible authority; but the mark is so long that this nocturnalbeauty of yours, dead or alive, must have had in her lovely mouth thatfamous tooth which the three Gorgon sisters owned among them, and passedabout from one to the other."
This sally was followed by a roar of laughter, and Leander, besidehimself with rage, half rose, to throw himself upon Scopin, and chastisehim then and there for his insufferable impertinence; but he was sostiff and sore from his own beating, and the pain in his back, which wasstriped like a zebra's, was so excruciating, that he sank back into hisplace with a suppressed groan, and concluded to postpone his revenge tosome more convenient season. Herode and Blazius, who were accustomedto settle such little disputes, insisted upon their making up theirdifferences, and a sort of reconciliation took place-Scapin promisingnever to allude to the subject again, but managing to give poor Leanderone or two more digs that made him wince even as he did so.
During this absurd altercation the chariot had been making steadyprogress, and soon arrived at an open space where another greatpost-road crossed the one they were following, at right angles. A largewooden crucifix, much the worse for long exposure to the weather,had been erected upon a grassy mound at the intersection of the twohighways. A group, consisting of two men and three mules, stood at itsfoot, apparently awaiting some one's arrival. As they approached, oneof the mules, as if weary of standing still, impatiently shook its head,which was gaily decorated with bright, many-coloured tufts and tassels,and set all the little silver bells about it ringing sharply. Althougha pair of leather blinkers, decked with gay embroidery, effectuallyprevented its seeing to the right or to the left, it evidently was awareof the approach of the chariot before the men's senses had given themany intimation of it.
"The Colonelle shakes her ear-trumpets and shows her teeth," said one ofthem; "they cannot be far off now."
In effect, after a very few minutes the chariot was seen approaching,and presently rolled into the open space. Zerbine, who sat in front,glanced composedly at the little group of men and mules standing there,without betraying any surprise at seeing them.
"By Jove! those are fine beasts yonder," exclaimed the tyrant, "splendidSpanish mules, especially that foremost one; they can easily do theirfifteen or twenty leagues a day, I'll venture, and if we were mounted onthe like we should soon find ourselves in Paris. But what the devil arethey doing in this lonely place? it must be a relay, waiting for somerich seignior travelling this way."
"No," said the duenna, "that foremost mule is intended for a lady--don'tyou see the cushions and housings?"
"In that case," he replied, "there must be an abduction in the wind;those two equerries, in gray liveries, certainly have a very mysterious,knowing sort of an air."
"Perhaps you are right," said Zerbine, demurely, with a significantlittle smile and shrug.
"Can it be possible that the lady is among us?" asked Scapin; "one ofthe men is coming this way by himself, as if he desired to parley beforeresorting to violence."
"Oh! there'll be no need," said Serafina, casting a scornful glance atthe soubrette, who returned it with interest.
"There are bold creatures that go of their own accord, without waitingto be carried off."
"And there are others who are NOT carried off, th
at would like to be,"retorted the soubrette, "but the desire is not sufficient; a few charmsare needed too."
At this point the equerry who had advanced to meet the chariot made asign to them to stop, and, cap in hand, politely asked if Mlle. Zerbinewas among them. The soubrette herself answered this inquiry in theaffirmative, and sprang to the ground as lightly as a bird.
"Mademoiselle, I am at your disposal," said the equerry to her, in arespectful and gallant tone. Zerbine shook out her skirts, adjusted herwraps, and then, turning towards the comedians, delivered this littleharangue: "My dear comrades, I pray you pardon me for quitting youin this unceremonious manner. There are times when Opportunity offersitself suddenly for our acceptance, and we must seize it without delay,or lose it altogether; he would be a fool who let it slip throughhis fingers, for once relinquished it returns not again. The face ofFortune, which until now has always frowned upon me, at last vouchsafesme a smile, and I am delighted to enjoy its brightness, even though itmay prove to be only fleeting. In my humble role of soubrette, I couldnot aspire to, or expect to receive, the admiration of rich lords andgentlemen--that is for my betters; and now that a happy chance hasthrown such an unhoped-for piece of good luck in my way, you willnot blame me, I am confident, for gladly accepting it. Let me take mybelongings then--which are packed in the chariot with the others--andreceive my adieux. I shall be sure to rejoin you some day, sooner orlater, at Paris, for I am a born actress; the theatre was my first love,and I have never long been faithless to it."
The two men accordingly, aided by the comedians, took Zerbine's boxesout of the chariot, and adjusted them carefully on the pack-mule. Thesoubrette made a sweeping curtsey to her friends in the chariot, andthrew a kiss to Isabelle from her finger tips, then, aided by one of theequerries, sprang to her place behind him, on the back of the Colonelle,as lightly and gracefully as if she had been taught the art of mountingin an equestrian academy, nodded a last farewell, and striking the mulesharply with the high heel of her pretty little shoe, set off at a roundpace.
"Good-bye, and good luck to you, Zerbine," cried the comedians heartily,one and all; save only Serafina, who was more furiously angry with herthan ever.
"This is an unfortunate thing for us," said the tyrant regretfully,"a serious loss. I wish with all my heart that we could have kept thatcapital little actress with us; we shall not easily find any one toreplace her, even in Paris; she is really incomparable in her ownrole--but she was not in any way bound to stay with us a moment longerthan she chose. We shall have to substitute a duenna, or a chaperon, forthe soubrette in our pieces for the present; it will be less pleasing ofcourse, but still Mme. Leonarde here is a host in herself, and we shallmanage to get on very nicely, I dare say."
The chariot started on its way again as he spoke, at rather a betterpace than the lumbering old ox-cart. They were travelling through a partof the country now which was a great contrast to the desolate Landes. Tothe Baron de Sigognac, who had never been beyond their desolate expansebefore, it was a revelation, and he could not sufficiently admire therichness and beauty of this region. The productive, red soil washighly cultivated--not an inch of ground neglected--comfortable,often handsome, stone houses scattered along their route at frequentintervals, and surrounded by large, luxuriant gardens, spoke of awell-to-do population. On each side of the broad, smooth road was a rowof fine trees, whose falling leaves lay piled upon the ground in yellowheaps, or whirled in the wind before de Sigognac and Isabelle, as theywalked along beneath their spreading branches, finding the exercise awelcome relief after sitting for a long time in the chariot in rathera cramped position. One day as they were walking thus side by side,de Sigognac said to his fair companion, "I wish you would tell me,Isabelle, how it has happened that you, with all the characteristicsof a lady of lofty lineage in the innate modesty and dignity of yourmanners, the refinement and purity of your language, the incomparablegrace of your carriage, the elevation of your sentiments upon allsubjects, to say nothing of the delicate, aristocratic type of yourbeauty--should have become a member of a wandering band of players likethis--good, honest people no doubt, but not of the same rank or race asyourself."
"Don't fancy that I am a princess in disguise, or a great lady reducedto earn my living in this way," she replied, with an adorable smile,"merely because of some good qualities you think you have discovered inme. The history of my life is a very simple, uneventful one, but sinceyou show such kind interest in me I will gladly relate it to you. Sofar from being brought down to the station I occupy by some grievouscatastrophe or romantic combination of adverse circumstances, I was bornto the profession of an actress--the chariot of Thespis was, so to say,my birthplace. My mother, who was a very beautiful woman and finishedactress, played the part of tragic princess. She did not confine herrole to the theatre, but exacted as much deference and respect fromthose around her when off the stage, as she received upon it, until shecame to consider herself a veritable princess. She had all the majestyand grace of one, and was greatly admired and courted, but never wouldsuffer any of the gallants, who flutter about pretty actresses likemoths around a candle, to approach her--holding herself entirely abovethem, and keeping her good name unsullied through everything. An accountof this unusual conduct on the part of a beautiful young actress chancedto reach the ears of a certain rich and powerful prince, who was verymuch struck and interested by it, and immediately sought an introductionto my mother. As his actual rank and position equalled hers of imaginaryprincess, she received his attentions with evident pleasure. He wasyoung, handsome, eloquent, and very much in love with her--what wonderthen that she yielded at last to his impassioned entreaties, and gaveherself to him, though, because of his high station, he could not do ashis heart dictated, and make her his wife. They were very happy in eachother's love, and after I was born my young father was devoted to me."
"Ah!" interrupted de Sigognac, eagerly, "that explains it all; princelyblood does flow in your veins. I knew it--was sure of it!"
"Their happiness continued," resumed Isabelle, "until reasons of statemade it necessary for him to tear himself away from her, to go on adiplomatic mission to one of the great capitals of Europe; and ere hisreturn to France an illustrious marriage had been arranged for him byhis family, with the sanction of royalty, which he found it impossibleto evade. In these cruel circumstances he endeavoured to doeverything in his power to soften the pain of this rupture to my poormother--himself almost broken-hearted at being forced to leave her--andmade every possible arrangement for her comfort and well-being; settlinga generous income on her, and providing lavishly for my maintenance andeducation. But she would accept nothing from him--she could not receivehis money without his love--'all or nothing' was her motto; and takingme with her she fled from him, successfully concealing her place ofrefuge. She soon after joined a band of players travelling through theprovinces, and resumed her old role; but her heart was broken, and shegradually faded away, dying at last when I was only about seven yearsold. Even then I used to appear upon the stage in parts suitable to myage. I was a precocious little thing in many ways. My mother's deathcaused me a grief far more acute than most children, even a good dealolder than I was then, are capable of feeling. How well I remember beingpunished because I refused to act the part of one of Medea's children,the day after she died. But my grief was not very long-lived--I was buta child after all, and the actors and actresses of the troupe were sogood to me, always petting me, and devising all sorts of ways to pleaseand divert me--theatrical people are proverbially kind to comrades indistress, you know. The pedant, who belonged to our company, and lookedjust as old and wrinkled then as he does now, took the greatest interestin me, constituted himself my master, and taught me thoroughly andindefatigably all the secrets of the histrionic art--taking unweariedpains with me. I could not have had a better teacher; perhaps you do notknow that he has a great reputation, even in Paris. You will wonder thata man of his fame and attainments should be found in a strolling companyof players like this, b
ut his unfortunate habits of intemperance havebeen the cause of all his troubles. He was professor of elocution in oneof the celebrated colleges, holding an enviable and lucrative position,but lost it because of his inveterate irregularities. He is his ownworst enemy, poor Blazius! In the midst of all the confusion and seriousdisadvantages of a vagabond life, I have always been able to hold myselfsomewhat apart, and remain pure and innocent. My companions, who haveknown me from babyhood, look upon me as a sister or daughter, and treatme with invariable affection and respect; and as for the men of theoutside world who haunt the coulisses, and seem to think that an actressis public property, off the stage as well as upon it, I have thus farmanaged to keep them at a distance--continuing in real life my role ofmodest, ingenuous, young girl, without hypocrisy or false pretensions."
Thus, as they strolled along together, and could talk confidentiallywithout fear of listeners, Isabelle related the story of her life to deSigognac, who was a most attentive and delighted listener, and ever moreand more charmed with his fair divinity.
"And the name of the prince," said he, after a short pause, "do youremember it?"
"I fear that it might be dangerous to my peace to disclose it," shereplied; "but it is indelibly engraven upon my memory."
"Are there any proofs remaining to you of his connection with yourmother?"
"I have in my possession a seal-ring bearing his coat of arms" Isabelleanswered; "it is the only jewel of all he had lavished upon her that mymother kept, and that entirely on account of the associations connectedwith it, not for its intrinsic value, which is small. If you would liketo see it I will be very glad to show it to you some day."
It would be too tedious to follow our travellers step by step on theirlong journey, so we will skip over a few days--which passed quietly,without any incidents worth recording--and rejoin them as they weredrawing near to the ancient town of Poitiers. In the meantime theirreceipts had not been large, and hard times had come to the wanderingcomedians. The money received from the Marquis de Bruyeres had allbeen spent, as well as the modest sum in de Sigognac's purse-who hadcontributed all that he possessed to the common fund, in spite of theprotestations of his comrades in distress. The chariot was drawn nowby a single horse-instead of the four with which they had set offso triumphantly from the Chateau de Bruyeres--and such a horse! amiserable, old, broken-down hack, whose ribs were so prominent that helooked as if he lived upon barrel-hoops instead of oats and hay; hislack-lustre eyes, drooping head, halting gait, and panting breathcombined to make him a most pitiable object, and he plodded on at asnail's pace, looking as if he might drop down dead on the road at anymoment. Only the three women were in the chariot--the men all walking,so as to relieve their poor, jaded beast as much as possible. Theweather was bitterly cold, and they wrapped their cloaks about them andstrode on in silence, absorbed in their own melancholy thoughts.
Poor de Sigognac, well-nigh discouraged, asked himself despondinglywhether it would not have been better for him to have remained in thedilapidated home of his fathers, even at the risk of starving to deaththere in silence and seclusion, than run the risk of such hardships incompany with these Bohemians. His thoughts flew back to his good oldPierre, to Bayard, Miraut, and Beelzebub, the faithful companions of hissolitude; his heart was heavy within him, and at the suddenremembrance of his dear old friends and followers his throat contractedspasmodically, and he almost sobbed aloud; but he looked back atIsabelle, wrapped in her cloak and sitting serenely in the front of thechariot, and took fresh courage, feeling glad that he could be near herin this dark hour, to do all that mortal man, struggling against suchodds, could compass for her comfort and protection. She responded to hisappealing glance with a sweet smile, that quickened his pulses andsent a thrill of joy through every nerve. She did not seem at alldisheartened or cast down by the greatness of their misery. Her heartwas satisfied and happy; why should she be crushed by mere physicalsuffering and discomforts? She was very brave, although apparently sodelicate and fragile, and inspired de Sigognac, who could have fallendown and worshipped her as he gazed up into her beautiful eyes, withsome of her own undaunted courage.
The great, barren plain they were slowly traversing, with a few drearyskeletons of misshapen old trees scattered here and there, and not adwelling in sight, was not calculated to dissipate the melancholy of theparty. Save one or two aged peasants trudging listlessly along, bendingunder the weight of the fagots they carried on their backs, they had notseen a human being all day long. The spiteful magpies, that seemed tobe the only inhabitants of this dreary waste, danced about in front ofthem, chattering and almost laughing at them, as if rejoicing in andmaking fun of their miseries. A searching north wind, that penetratedto the very marrow in their bones, was blowing, and the few white flakesthat flew before it now and then were the avantcouriers of the steadyfall of snow that began as nightfall approached.
"It would appear," said the pedant, who was walking behind the chariottrying to find shelter from the icy wind, "that the celestial housewifeup above has been plucking her geese, and is shaking the feathers out ofher apron down upon us. She might a great deal better send us the geesethemselves. I for one would be glad enough to eat 114 them, withoutbeing very particular as to whether they were done to a turn, andwithout sauce or seasoning either."
"Yes, so would I, even without salt," added the tyrant, "for my stomachis empty. I could welcome now an omelette such as they gave us thismorning, and swallow it without winking, though the eggs were so fargone that the little chicks were almost ready to peep."
By this time de Sigognac also had taken refuge behind thechariot--Isabelle having been driven from her seat in front to a placein the interior by the increasing violence of the storm-and Blazius saidto him, "This is a trying time, my lord, and I regret very much thatyou should have to share our bad fortune; but I trust it will be only ofbrief duration, and although we do get on but slowly, still every stepbrings us nearer to Paris."
"I was not brought up in the lap of luxury," de Sigognac answered, "andI am not a man to be frightened by a few snowflakes and a biting wind;but it is for these poor, suffering women that I am troubled; they areexposed to such severe hardships--cold, privations, fatigue--and wecannot adequately shelter and protect them, do what we will."
"But you must remember that they are accustomed to roughing it, my dearbaron, and what would be simply unendurable to many of their sex, whohave never been subjected to such tests, they meet bravely, and makelight of, in a really remarkable manner."
The storm grew worse and worse; the snow, driven with great force bythe wind, penetrated into the chariot where Isabelle, Serafina, and Mme.Leonarde had taken refuge among the luggage, in spite of all that couldbe done to keep it out, and had soon covered their wraps with a coatingof white. The poor horse was scarcely able to make any headway at allagainst the wind and snow; his feet slipped at every step, and he pantedpainfully. Herode went to his head, and took hold of the bridle with hisstrong hand to lead him and try to help him along, while the pedant,de Sigognac, and Scapin put their shoulders to the wheels at everyinequality in the road and whenever he paused or stumbled badly, andLeander cracked the whip loudly to encourage the poor beast; it wouldhave been downright cruelty to strike him. As to Matamore, he hadlingered behind, and they were expecting every moment to see his tall,spare figure emerge from the gloom with rapid strides and rejoin them.Finally the storm became so violent that it was impossible to face itany longer; and though it was so important that they should reach thenext village before the daylight was all gone, they were forced to halt,and turn the chariot, with its back to the wind. The poor old horse,utterly exhausted by this last effort, slipped and fell, and withoutmaking any attempt to rise lay panting on the ground. Our unhappytravellers found themselves in a sad predicament indeed--wet, cold,tired and hungry, all in the superlative degree--blinded by the drivingsnow, and lost, without any means of getting on save their own powers oflocomotion, in the midst of a great desert--for the white coveri
ng whichnow lay upon everything had obliterated almost all traces of the road;they did not know which way to turn, or what to do. For the momentthey all took refuge in the chariot, until the greatest violence of thetempest should be over, huddled close together for warmth, and strivingnot to lose heart entirely. Presently the wind quieted down all of asudden, as if it had expended its fury and wanted to rest; but the snowcontinued to fall industriously, though noiselessly, and as far as theeye could reach through the gathering darkness the surface of the earthwas white, as if it had been wrapped in a winding sheet.
"What in the world has become of Matamore?" cried Blazius suddenly; "hasthe wind carried him off to the moon I wonder?"
"Yes; where can he be?" said the tyrant, in an anxious tone; "I can'tsee him anywhere--I thought he was among us; perhaps he is lying asleepamong the stage properties at the back of the chariot; I have known himcurl himself down there for a nap before now. Holloa! Matamore! whereare you? wake up and answer us!" But no Matamore responded, and therewas no movement under the great heap of scenery, and decorations of allsorts, stowed away there.
"Holloa! Matamore!" roared Herode again, in his loudest tones, whichmight have waked the seven sleepers in their cavern, and roused theirdog too.
"We have not seen him here in the chariot at all today," said one of theactresses; "we thought he was walking with the others."
"The deuce!" exclaimed Blazius, "this is very strange. I hope noaccident has happened to the poor fellow."
"Undoubtedly he has taken shelter in the worst of the storm on the leeside of the trunk of a tree somewhere," said de Sigognac, "and will sooncome up with us."
After a short discussion, it was decided to wait where they were a fewminutes longer, and then if he did not make his appearance go in searchof him. They anxiously watched the way by which they had come, but nohuman form appeared on the great expanse of white, and the darknesswas falling rapidly upon the earth, as it does after the short days ofDecember. The distant howling of a dog now came to their ears, to addto the lugubrious effect of their surroundings, but they were allso troubled at the strange absence of their comrade that their ownindividual miseries were for the moment forgotten. The doleful howling,so far away at first, gradually became louder, until at last a large,black dog came in sight, and sitting down upon the snow, still a longdistance from them, raised his head so that his muzzle pointed upward tothe sky and howled, as if in the greatest distress.
"I'm afraid something terrible has happened to our poor Matamore," criedthe tyrant, and his voice trembled a little; "that dog howls as if for adeath."
At this speech the two young women turned even paler than they had beenbefore, if that were possible, and made the sign of the cross devoutly,while Isabelle murmured a prayer.
"We must go in search of him without a moment's delay," said Blazius,"and take the lantern with us; it will as a guiding star to him if hehas wandered off from the road, as is very probable, with everythingcovered with snow like this."
They accordingly lighted their horn lantern, and set off with allpossible speed--the tyrant, Blazius, and de Sigognac--whilst Scapin andLeander remained with the three women in the chariot. The dog, meantime,kept up his dismal howling without a moment's intermission as the threemen hastened towards him. The darkness and the newfallen snow, which hadcompletely obliterated all traces of footsteps, made the task of lookingfor the missing actor a very difficult one, and after walking nearly amile without seeing a sign of him, they began to fear that their searchwould prove fruitless. They kept calling, "Matamore! Matamore!" butthere was no reply, nothing to be heard but the howling of the largeblack dog, at intervals now, or the scream of an owl, disturbed by thelight of the lantern. At last de Sigognac, with his penetrating vision,thought he could make out a recumbent figure at the foot of a tree, alittle way off from the road, and they all pressed forward to the spothe indicated.
It was indeed poor Matamore, sitting on the ground, with his backagainst the tree, and his long legs, stretched out in front of him,quite buried under the snow; he did not stir at the approach of hiscomrades, or answer their joyful shout of recognition, and when Blazius,alarmed at this strange apathy, hastened forward and threw the light ofthe lantern upon his face, he had nearly let it fall from fright at whatit revealed. Poor Matamore was dead, stiff and stark, with wide-open,sunken eyes staring out vaguely into the darkness, and his ghastly facewearing that pinched, indescribable expression which the mortal puts onwhen the spirit that dwelt within has fled. The three who had found himthus were inexpressibly shocked, and stood for a moment speechlessand motionless, in the presence of death. The tyrant was the first torecover himself, and hoping that some sign of life might yet remain hestooped and took the cold hand into his, and essayed to find a pulse atthe wrist--in vain! it was still and icy. Unwilling yet to admit thatthe vital spark was extinct, he asked Blazius for his gourd, which healways carried with him, and endeavoured to pour a few drops of wineinto his mouth--in vain! the teeth were tightly locked together, and thewine trickled from between his pale lips, and dropped slowly down uponhis breast.
"Leave him in peace! do not disturb these poor remains!" said deSigognac in trembling tones; "don't you see that he is dead?" "Alas!you are right," Blazius added, "he is dead; dead as Cheops in the greatpyramid. Poor fellow! he must have been confused by the blinding snow,and unable to make his way against that terrible wind, turned aside andsat down under this tree, to wait until its violence should be spent;but he had not flesh enough on his bones to keep them warm, and musthave been quickly frozen through and through. He has starved himselfmore than ever lately, in hopes of producing a sensation at Paris, andhe was thinner than any greyhound before. Poor Matamore! thou art outof the way of all trouble now; no more blows, and kicks, and curses forthee, my friend, whether on or off the stage, and thou wilt be laughedat no more forever."
"What shall we do about his body?" interrupted the more practicaltyrant. "We cannot leave it here for dogs, and wolves, and birds of preyto devour--though indeed I almost doubt whether they would touch it,there is so little flesh upon his bones."
"No, certainly, we cannot leave him here," Blazius replied; "he was agood and loyal comrade; he deserves better of us than that; we will notabandon him, poor Matamore! He is not heavy; you take his head and Iwill take his feet, and we will carry him to the chariot. To-morrowmorning we will bury him as decently as we can in some quiet, retiredspot, where he will not be likely to be disturbed. Unfortunately wecannot do better for him than that, for we, poor actors, are excludedby our hard-hearted and very unjust step-mother, the church, from hercemeteries; she denies us the security and comfort of being laid to restfor our last long sleep in consecrated ground. After having devoted ourlives to the amusement of the human race--the highest as well as the morelowly among them, and faithful sons and daughters of holy church too--wemust be thrown into the next ditch when the end comes, like dead dogsand horses. Now, Herode, are you ready? and will you, my lord, lead theway with the lantern?"
The mournful little procession moved slowly forward; the howling dogwas quiet at last, as if his duty was done, and a deathlike stillnessprevailed around them. It was well that there were no passers-by at thathour; it would have been a strange sight, almost a frightful one, forany such, for they might well have supposed that a hideous crime hadbeen committed; the two men bearing the dead body away at night, lightedby the third with his lantern, which threw their shadows, long, blackand misshapen, upon the startling whiteness of the snow, as theyadvanced with measured tread. Those who had remained with the chariotsaw from afar the glimmer of de Sigognac's lantern, and wondered whythey walked so slowly, not perceiving at that distance their sad burden.Scapin and Leander hastened forward to meet them, and as soon asthey got near enough to see them distinctly the former shouted tothem--"Well, what is the matter? why are you carrying Matamore likethat? is he ill, or has he hurt himself?"
"He is not ill," answered Blazius, quietly, as they met, "and nothing canever hurt
him again--he is cured forever of the strange malady we calllife, which always ends in death."
"Is he really dead?" Scapin asked, with a sob he did not even try tosuppress, as he bent to look at the face of the poor comic actor, forhe had a tender heart under his rough exterior, and had cherished a verysincere affection for poor Matamoie.
"Very dead indeed, for he is frozen as well," Blazius replied, in avoice that belied the levity of his words.
"He has lived! as they always say at the end of a tragedy," said Herode;"but relieve us, please, it is your turn now; we have carried the poorfellow a long way, and it is well for us that he is no heavier."
Scapin took Herode's place, reverently and tenderly, while Leanderrelieved the pedant--though this office was little to his taste--andthey resumed their march, soon reaching the chariot. In spite of thecold and snow, Isabelle and Serafina sprang to the ground to meet them,but the duenna did not leave her seat--with age had come apathy, andselfishness had never been wanting. When they saw poor Matamore stiffand motionless, and were told that he was dead, the two young women weregreatly shocked and moved, and Isabelle, bursting into tears, raised herpure eyes to heaven and breathed a fervent prayer for the departed soul.
And now came the question, what was to be done? The village for whichthey were bound was still a league away; but they could not stay wherethey were all night, and they decided to go on, even if they had toabandon the chariot and walk--anything would be better than freezingto death like poor Matamore. But after all, things were not at such adesperate pass as they supposed; the long rest, and a good feed of oatsthat Scapin had been thoughtful enough to give their tired horse, had sorevived the poor old beast that he seemed to be ready and willing to goforward again--so their most serious difficulty was removed. Matamore'sbody was laid in the chariot, and carefully covered with a largepiece of white linen they fortunately happened to have among theirheterogeneous belongings, the women resumed their seats, not without aslight shudder as they thought of their ghastly companion, and the menwalked--Scapin going in front with the lantern, and Herode leading thehorse. They could not make very rapid progress, but at the end of twohours perceived--oh, welcome sight!--the first straggling houses ofthe village where they were to spend the night. At the noise of theapproaching vehicle the dogs began to bark furiously, and more than onenightcapped head appeared at the windows as they passed along throughthe deserted street--so the pedant was able to ask the way to the inn,which proved to be at the other end of the hamlet--and the worn-outold horse had to make one more effort; but he seemed to feel that thestable, where he should find shelter, rest and food, was before him, andpushed on with astonishing alacrity.
They found it at last--the inn--with its bunch of holly for a sign. Itlooked a forlorn place, for travellers did not usually stop over nightin this small, unimportant village; but the comedians were not in amood to be fastidious, and would have been thankful for even a moreunpromising house of entertainment than this one. It was all shut upfor the night, with not a sign of life to be seen, so the tyrant appliedhimself diligently to pounding on the door with his big fists, untilthe sound of footsteps within, descending the stairs, showed that he hadsucceeded in rousing somebody. A ray of light shone through the cracksin the rickety old door, then it was cautiously opened just a little,and an aged, withered crone, striving to protect the flame of herflaring candle from the wind with one skinny hand, and to hold the ragsof her most extraordinary undress together with the other, peered out atthem curiously. She was evidently just as she had turned out of her bed,and a more revolting, witch-like old hag it would be hard to find; butshe bade the belated travellers enter, with a horrible grimace that wasintended for a smile, throwing the door wide open, and telling themthey were welcome to her house as she led the way into the kitchen. Shekindled the smouldering embers on the hearth into a blaze, threw on somefresh wood, and then withdrew to mount to her chamber and make herselfa little more presentable--having first roused a stout peasant lad,who served as hostler, and sent him to take the chariot into the court,where he was heard directly unharnessing the weary horse and leading himinto the stable.
"We cannot leave poor Matamore's body in the chariot all night, likea dead deer brought home from the chase," said Blazius; "the dogs outthere in the court might find it out. Besides, he had been baptized, andhis remains ought to be watched with and cared for, like any other goodChristian's."
So they brought in the sad burden tenderly, laid it on the long table,and covered it again carefully with the white linen cloth. When theold woman returned, and saw this strange and terrible sight, she wasfrightened almost to death, and, throwing herself on her knees, beganbegging volubly for mercy--evidently taking the troupe of comedians fora band of assassins, and the dead man for their unfortunate victim.It was with the greatest difficulty that Isabelle finally succeededin calming and reassuring the poor, distracted, old creature, who wasbeside herself with terror, and made her listen to the story of poorMatamore's death. When, at last, she fully understood the true stateof the case, she went and fetched more candles, which she lighted anddisposed symmetrically about the dead body, and kindly offered to sit upand watch it with Mme. Leonarde--also to do all that was necessary andusual for it--adding that she was always sent for in the village whenthere was a death, to perform those last, sad offices. All this beingsatisfactorily arranged--whereat they were greatly relieved--the wearytravellers were conducted into another room, and food was placed beforethem; but the sad scenes just enacted had taken away their appetites,though it was many long hours since they had eaten. And be it hererecorded that Blazius, for the first time in his life, forgot to drinkhis wine, though it was excellent, and left his glass half full. Hecould not have given a more convincing proof of the depth and sincerityof his grief.
Isabelle and Serafina spent the night in an adjoining chamber, sharingthe one small bed it contained, and the men lay down upon bundlesof straw that the stable-boy brought in for them. None of them sleptmuch--being haunted by disturbing dreams inspired by the sad and tryingevents of the previous day--and all were up and stirring at an earlyhour, for poor Matamore's burial was to be attended to. For want ofsomething more appropriate the aged hostess and Mme. Leonarde hadenveloped the body in an old piece of thick canvass--still bearingtraces of the foliage and garlands of flowers originally painted inbright colours upon it--in which they had sewed it securely, so that itlooked not unlike an Egyptian mummy. A board resting on two crosspieces of wood served as a bier, and, the body being placed upon it, wascarried by Herode, Blazius, Scapin and Leander. A large, black velvetcloak, adorned with spangles, which was used upon the stage bysovereign pontiffs or venerable necromancers, did duty as a pall--notinappropriately surely. The little cortege left the inn by a small doorin the rear that opened upon a deserted common, so as to avoid passingthrough the street and rousing the curiosity of the villagers, and setoff towards a retired spot, indicated by the friendly old woman, whereno one would be likely to witness or interfere with their proceedings.The early morning was gray and cold, the sky leaden--no one had venturedabroad yet save a few peasants searching for dead wood and sticks, wholooked with suspicious eyes upon the strange little procession makingits way slowly through the untrodden snow, but did not attempt toapproach or molest it. They reached at last the lonely spot where theywere to leave the mortal remains of poor Matamore, and the stable-boy,who had accompanied them carrying a spade, set to work to dig the grave.Several carcasses of animals lay scattered about close at hand, partlyhidden by the snow--among them two or three skeletons of horses, pickedclean by birds of prey; their long heads, at the end of the slendervertebral columns, peering out horribly at them, and their ribs, likethe sticks of an open fan stripped of its covering, appearing abovethe smooth white surface, bearing each one its little load of snow. Thecomedians observed these ghastly surroundings with a shudder, as theylaid their burden gently down upon the ground, and gathered roundthe grave which the boy was industriously digging. He made but slowpr
ogress, however, and the tyrant, taking the spade from him, went towork with a will, and had soon finished the sad task. Just at the lasta volley of stones suddenly startled the little group, who, intent uponthe mournful business in hand, had not noticed the stealthy approach ofa considerable number of peasants.
These last had been hastily summoned by their friends who had firstperceived the mysterious little funeral procession, without priest,crucifix, or lighted tapers, and taken it for granted that there must besomething uncanny about it.
They were about to follow up the shower of stones by a charge upon thegroup assembled round the open grave, when de Sigognac, outraged at thisbrutal assault, whipped out his sword, and rushed upon them impetuously,striking some with the flat of the blade, and threatening others withthe point; while the tyrant, who had leaped out of the grave at thefirst alarm, seized one of the cross pieces of the improvised bier, andfollowed the baron into the thick of the crowd, raining blows right andleft among their cowardly assailants; who, though they far outnumberedthe little band of comedians, fled before the vigorous attack of deSigognac and Herode, cursing and swearing, and shouting out violentthreats as they withdrew. Poor Matamore's humble obsequies werecompleted without further hindrance. When the first spadeful of earthfell upon his body the pedant, with great tears slowly rolling downhis cheeks, bent reverently over the grave and sighed out, "Alas! poorMatamore!" little thinking that he was, using the very words of Hamlet,prince of Denmark, when he apostrophized the skull of Yorick, an ancientking's jester, in the famous tragedy of one Shakespeare--a poet of greatrenown in England, and protege of Queen Elizabeth.
The grave was filled up in silence, and the tyrant--after havingtrampled down the snow for some distance around it, so that its exactwhereabouts might not be easy to find in case the angry peasants shouldcome back to disturb it--said as they turned away, "Now let us get outof this place as fast as we can; we have nothing more to do here, andthe sooner we quit it the better. Those brutes that attacked us mayreturn with reinforcements--indeed I think it more than likely that theywill--in which case your sword, my dear baron, and my stick might notbe enough to scatter them again. We don't want to kill any of them,and have the cries of widows and orphans resounding in our ears; andbesides, it might be awkward for us if we were obliged to do it inself-defence, and then were hauled up before the local justice of peaceto answer for it."
There was so much good sense in this advice that it was unanimouslyagreed to follow it, and in less than an hour, after having settledtheir account at the inn, they, were once more upon the road.
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