When it was dark, we went to the salon; she refused to rehea.r.s.e in the garden, on the pretext that it was too cool there. Was that really her reason? She took her part; I did not need mine, as I knew it perfectly.

We rehea.r.s.ed our scenes; I acted with such vigor and earnestness, such truth to nature, that she was struck dumb. Now it was my turn to scold her; I was obliged to correct her, to show her what to do; but she was delighted with my talent, and did whatever I bade her--let me take her hand, squeeze it, kiss it, throw myself at her feet.

"What! is all this in the play?" she asked, deeply moved.

"Yes, madame, it's all there."

And, taking advantage of my position, of all the privileges that my role of stage lover gave me, I was in a fair way to make rapid progress, when we heard a commotion out of doors. In a moment the door of the salon opened and Raymond appeared.

"The devil take the man!" I muttered; "upon my word, he was born to be always in my way!"

Seeing me at Madame de Marsan's feet, he whipped his part out of his pocket, and began to shout at the top of his lungs:

"'Ah! malediction! that savage, piratical villain, Figaro! How can one leave his home one moment, and not be sure that on returning----'

Madame, I have the honor of presenting my respects; I am punctual, you see.--Good-evening, my dear Dorsan! Why on earth did you start off yesterday afternoon without me? I would gladly have come with you. Well!

I know my lines already, you see. I have a superb memory! With the prompter's help, I am all right."

Madame de Marsan thanked Raymond for his prompt.i.tude and complimented him upon his ease. Her agitation had disappeared; we went on with our rehearsal, and she was engrossed by her part. My hopes were crushed again! Infernal Raymond!

The next day all the members of the troupe arrived; it was impossible to find a moment for a tete-a-tete; we were rehearsing from morning till night, and when _Fanchon_, in which Madame de Marsan did not appear, was being rehea.r.s.ed, she had so many orders to give about costumes and the details of the fete, that I could not obtain the briefest interview with her. Alas! but for Raymond I should have been happy, I am sure; the auspicious moment had arrived; and he who would subdue a cruel fair must not allow such moments to escape him; they may recur with an emotional woman, but they are very rare with a coquette.

Raymond was in the seventh heaven: he was immersed in business to his ears; first of all, he had his two parts to learn, which was no small thing for him; then, Madame de Marsan had given him the general supervision of the scenery and the orchestra; moreover, as the young woman who was to play Fanchon was her intimate friend, and as the performance happened to come on her birthday, she requested him to compose a scene referring to that coincidence, to be added to the vaudeville which was to close the performance. Raymond sweated blood and water to produce that little impromptu. In the morning, as soon as I was awake, he came to tell me what he had done; he always had the beginning of his couplets, but he could not succeed in completing one; and he transferred that task to me, begging me to make use of him whenever I wished to celebrate anyone's birthday. After breakfast he hurried to the theatre, turned everything topsy-turvy, examined the scenery, and regretted that he had not the necessary time to arrange some new mechanism, because he would have liked to put a transformation scene in his little contribution; but, in default of demons--for Madame de Marsan would not hear of them, for fear of fire--and of nymphs,--an article not to be found in the neighborhood,--Raymond confined his efforts to having a wreath descend upon Fanchon's head; and he urged the gardener, who had charge of the machinery, to be sure to make a superb one, and to suspend it by a cord from one of the roof timbers on the day of the performance.

Then my neighbor proposed to introduce two little Cupids, who, instead of appearing from a cloud, were to come up from the prompter's box--which was likely to produce more effect--and to present bouquets to all the actors and actresses on the stage.

The great day drew near; the rehearsals proceeded with great zeal and activity; everyone considered that his honor was at stake, and determined to outdo the others. How much occupation an amateur theatrical performance affords! what anxiety and toil! what a world of details! how much trouble people take! But, on the other hand, what joy to win applause! and one is certain of that in advance, even though one acts wretchedly. We all knew our parts, except Raymond, who stumbled through Bartholo's lines and could not remember a single one of Lattaignant's. The ladies scolded him, but his reply was always the same:

"With the prompter's help, you'll see how glibly I'll rattle it off."

On the night before the performance we were to have a dress rehearsal on the stage, with all the lights. Raymond had not been seen since morning; at six o'clock, the hour appointed for the rehearsal, he had not come. We waited in vain; they searched the whole house, the garden, the wood; everybody was engaged in the search; the servants were sent around the neighborhood, with orders to bring Monsieur Raymond back, dead or alive. We could not begin without him; we were in despair, at our wits' end; for there was no one to take his place. How could anyone learn two long parts between night and morning? The ladies were on the point of weeping with indignation, when, about eight o'clock, Raymond at last appeared, drenched with perspiration, covered with dust, and leading by the hand two chubby, rosy-cheeked little boys, five or six years old, smeared with dirt and dressed in dirty, mud-stained blouses.

"Where have you been?" was the general cry; the ladies were for beginning operations by beating him.

"That's right!" said Raymond; "scold me savagely, when I have nearly killed myself finding two Cupids for you! I have been scouring the neighborhood ever since morning; I am sure that I have travelled a good ten leagues! But nothing but sulky faces, squint eyes, flat noses everywhere! At last I found what I wanted at Saint-Denis; but see how fresh and plump they are! they'll make two first-cla.s.s Cupids."

The aspect of the two little fellows, for whom Raymond had bought candy to bribe them, and who were smeared with it to the ears, soon allayed the wrath of the company.

"What about their mother?" asked Madame de Marsan.

"She's a dairywoman at Saint-Denis. She's overjoyed to have her children play two little Cupids, and she's coming to see them to-morrow; I promised her a place behind the rear curtain. Now, just have these little rascals cleaned up a bit, and you'll see how pretty they are!"

The young lady who was to play Fanchon did not understand why Cupids were needed, not knowing that a little surprise was being prepared for her. Madame de Marsan tried to repair Raymond's indiscretion. The rehearsal went on and lasted until one in the morning, when, being thoroughly exhausted, we all went to bed, longing ardently for the morrow; and Raymond intrusted his two Cupids to the housekeeper, with instructions to cleanse them and make them get up early, so that he would have time to teach them what they had to do.

XXV

ALMAVIVA AND ROSINE.--A SCENE ADDED TO _LE BARBIER DE SeVILLE_

The great day arrived. The ladies rose early; the thought of their costumes had kept them awake. The men, who are sometimes as coquettish as the ladies, were all absorbed by their costumes or their roles. I was less engrossed by the great affair of the evening, because my pa.s.sion for Madame de Marsan, intensified by the obstacles it had encountered, occupied my thoughts quite as much as the play. But the busiest of all was Raymond. He was out of bed at daybreak. He sought out the two little peasants, and tried to make them move gracefully, and to teach them a little stage business, while he told them what they would have to do in the evening. The children stared at him, jumped into the air when he told them to dance, fell on the ground when he tried to make them stand on one leg, and began to cry when he told them to smile. My neighbor took them to the gardener, now transformed into a scene shifter, and repeated the lesson to him. The gardener was a dull-witted lout, who knew nothing at all, but who chose to pretend to understand instantly whatever was said to him.

"Do you know what you have to do to-night, my friend?" Raymond asked him.

"Yes, monsieur."

"First, the wreath of flowers----"

"Yes, monsieur."

"Which you are to lower on Fanchon's head."

"Fanchon's--yes, monsieur."

"You are to fasten it to a cord hanging from the beam; do you know whether there is one?"

"Oh! yes, monsieur; there was one for that gentleman with the syringes they acted the last time, that was so funny! Monsieur Pourceau--Pourceau--the man who wouldn't take physic before people, you know."

"Just so, my man, just so.--Well, when the wreath is all fixed, you must make a dozen fresh, pretty bouquets, and give them to these children, who will be dressed as Cupids."

"Say! I know 'em; they're Madeleine's boys."

"Pay attention to what I say."

"Yes, monsieur."

"When they have the bouquets, you'll take them to the prompter's box."

"Yes, monsieur, to the box, I understand."

"And they are to go out on the stage when I clap twice with my hands."

"Yes, monsieur, with your hands."

"Don't forget anything, my friend."

"No, monsieur. Oh! you needn't be afraid; I'm used to play-acting here!"

Raymond next betook himself, with the two children, to the costume room.

He found no knit flesh-colored tights, because such costumes are rarely used by amateurs. He was obliged to be content with nankeen trousers, over which they were to wear their little white tunics: these, with the girdle, the band, the bow, and the quiver, should make the illusion complete. After urging the wig-maker, who had come from Montmorency for the occasion, to outdo himself in dressing the Cupids' locks, Raymond forgot everything but his roles, and set about learning them for the evening. A numerous and select party of guests had arrived from Paris, and they strolled about the house and gardens. Madame de Marsan, despite the necessary preparations for the play, did the honors of her house with no less grace than good breeding. Monsieur de Marsan did not arrive until a few moments before dinner on the day of the fete. He was detained in Paris by business on the Bourse; he knew that his wife was spending a lot of money, and he had to devote his attention to making an equal amount in order to maintain the equilibrium. In the evening, many of the people of the neighborhood, carefully selected from the most eligible, who had received invitations for the performance, were on hand promptly. Thus the auditorium was certain to be entirely filled, for the last rows of chairs were thrown open to some of the villagers. It is much more agreeable to act before a large audience; empty benches are never flattering to the actor, even at an amateur performance.

The hour to begin had arrived. Our little hall was full. Raymond kept looking through the hole in the curtain, to see where the ladies were sitting whom he proposed to ogle.

"Time to begin!"--Such was the cry of all who were ready; but everybody was not ready, and it seemed as if Raymond would never finish dressing.

After each garment that he put on, he ran to look through the hole, with his jar of rouge in one hand and his role in the other.

"Hurry! hurry!" we shouted at him from all sides, and pushed him back toward his dressing room; then someone ran to Madame de Marsan's room, to ask if Rosine was ready. The four amateurs who formed the orchestra had twice played through the overture to _Richard Coeur de Lion_, which served as overture to _Le Barbier_. They were about to begin it a third time, because they had no other music with them; the audience began to lose patience and some faint murmurs were heard. But at last we were ready, and Raymond, who was the machinist, raised the curtain.

I knew my lines very well, and my feeling for Madame de Marsan, who looked prettier than ever in the costume of Rosine, imparted to my acting the warmth and genuineness which befit the role of a lover like Almaviva. The young man who played Figaro was spirited, good-looking, and daring. We played with great _verve_, our scenes went off excellently, and the audience was delighted. At the moment when Bartholo was to appear at the window with Rosine, Raymond, trying to raise the blind, jerked it so violently that it was detached and fell on the lamps which did duty as footlights; luckily, the sight of Madame de Marsan, who was delicious in her Spanish costume, covered Raymond's awkwardness. The first act went without a hitch. In the second, Raymond, whose memory was fatigued already, could not say a word without the prompter, and he stood in front of his box all the time, with his eyes fixed upon it and his ears strained to hear. Often the prompter had to repeat the words three times, Raymond meanwhile abusing him when he did not prompt, and telling him to be quiet when he did prompt him in some speech that he thought he knew. Thus he made of Bartholo a veritable Ca.s.sandra; but such an audience as ours could not fail to be indulgent; moreover, all the other roles were well done; we entered into the spirit of our parts and filled the stage with animation. We were wildly applauded; and Raymond a.s.sumed his share of the applause, although he confused us terribly when he was on the stage with us.