Читать книгу The Whites and the Blues - Alexandre Dumas - Страница 21

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Charles returned to Madame Teutch's house on a run, like the hare to his form, or the fox to his hole. It was his refuge; once there he thought himself safe; once upon the threshold of the Hôtel de la Lanterne he thought he had nothing more to fear.

He asked after his young friend, and learned that he was in his room, where he was taking a fencing-lesson of the sergeant-major of a Strasbourg regiment.

This sergeant-major had served under his father, the Marquis de Beauharnais, who had occasion to notice him three or four times for his extreme bravery.

As soon as he learned that his son was to go to Strasbourg to seek for papers which might be useful to him, the marquis advised him not to discontinue the exercises which were a part of the education of a young man of good family. He bade him ascertain whether Sergeant Pierre Augereau were still at Strasbourg, and if so, to ask him to practice fencing with him from time to time.

Eugene had found Pierre Augereau, but he had become a sergeant-major, and no longer practiced fencing except for his own amusement. As soon, however, as he learned that the young man who wished to take fencing lessons from him was the son of his old general, he insisted upon going to him at the Hôtel de la Lanterne. But what made the sergeant-major especially interested was the fact that in the young man he found, not a pupil, but a master who defended himself wonderfully well against the rough, incoherent play of the old tactician; and, furthermore—a thing which was by no means to be despised—every time he had a fencing-bout with his young pupil, the latter invited him to dinner; and a dinner at the Lanterne was far better than one at the barracks.

Pierre Augereau belonged to the regiment which had left the city that morning to give chase to the Austrians, and he had seen his pupil on the rampart, gun in hand. He had saluted him repeatedly with his sabre, but the lad had been too engrossed in sending balls after the Austrians to heed the telegraphic signals of the sergeant-major. From the citizeness Teutch, Augereau had learned how nearly Eugene had escaped being killed; she had shown him the bullet hole, and had told him how the boy had returned shot for shot—a return that had proved fatal to the Austrian. Therefore, Augereau had greatly complimented his pupil, and had been invited to the meal, which, coming between the great noon breakfast and the supper, which is generally eaten at ten in the evening, constitutes the dinner of Germany.

When Charles arrived the master and the pupil were in the act of saluting each other; the lesson was over, Eugene had been unusually full of vigor, strength and agility, and Augereau was therefore doubly proud of him. The table was laid in the little room where the two boys had breakfasted in the morning.

Eugene presented his new friend to the sergeant-major, who, seeing him so pale and thin, did not conceive a very exalted opinion of him. Eugene asked Madame Teutch to lay another cover; but Charles was not hungry, having just risen from table; he declared therefore that he would content himself with drinking to the sergeant-major's advancement, but that he did not care to eat. And to explain his preoccupation he related the scene which he had just witnessed.

Pierre Augereau in his turn related the story of his life: how he was born in the Faubourg Saint-Marceau, the son of a journeyman mason and a fruit-seller. From his infancy he had a decided talent for fencing, which he learned as the gamin of Paris learns everything. His adventurous life had led him to Naples, where he had taken service in the carabineers of King Ferdinand; then he had turned fencing-master, having combined the French and Neapolitan methods, which made his fencing extremely dangerous. In 1792, when the order was given for all Frenchmen to leave the city, he returned to France, where he arrived a few days after the 2d of September, in time to join the volunteers whom Danton was despatching to the armies from the Champ de Mars, and who played such a brilliant part in the victory of Jemmapes. Augereau had received his first promotion there; then he had passed to the Army of the Rhine, where the Marquis de Beauharnais raised him to sergeant, and in which he had just become a sergeant-major. He was thirty-six years old, and his great ambition was to reach the rank of captain.

Eugene had no tale to tell, but he had a proposition to make, which was received with enthusiasm; it was to go to the play in order to divert Charles from his melancholy.

Citizen Bergere's troupe was at that time playing, at the hall of Breuil, "Brutus," one of Voltaire's plays, and "Filial Love, or the Wooden Leg," by Demoustiers.

They hastened their dinner, and at six o'clock, protected by the sergeant, who was a head taller than they, and who possessed two strong fists, not only for his own service but also for his friends, the three entered the body of the theatre, and found with difficulty three places in the seventh or eighth row of the orchestra. At that period arm-chairs were unknown in the theatres.

The fortunate termination of the battle of the morning had made a sort of festival of the day, and the tragedy of "Brutus," which they were playing, seemed in the nature of a tribute to the courage of the populace. Several heroes of the day were pointed out among the audience, and it was universally known that the young actor who played the part of Titus had fought in the first ranks and been wounded.

In the midst of the confusion of sounds which always precedes a performance when the spectators are more numerous than the seats which the theatre contains, the manager struck his three raps, and instantly, as if by magic, everything was quiet. Following the three raps of the manager, Tétrell, in a voice of thunder, commanded silence. The latter was extremely proud of the victory he had gained over Schneider at the Propagande.

Charles recognized his protector of the previous night, and pointed him out to Eugene, but without speaking of his meeting with him, and the advice which he had given him.

Eugene knew Tétrell through having seen him in the streets of Strasbourg; he had heard that he was one of his father's denunciators, and he naturally regarded him with aversion.

As for Augereau, he saw him for the first time, and, caricaturist that he was, like all the children of the faubourgs, he immediately noticed the man's enormous nostrils, which seemed to extend over his cheeks in an exaggerated fashion, and which resembled those extinguishers on the end of poles which sacristans carry to put out the flame of the tall candles which they cannot reach with their breath.

Little Charles was seated just below Tétrell; Augereau, who sat on the other side of Eugene, proposed that he change places with Charles.

"Why?" asked Charles.

"Because you are just within range of citizen Tétrell's breath," replied Augereau. "And I am afraid that when he draws it in he will draw you in with it."

Tétrell was more feared than loved, and the remark, despite its poor taste, caused a laugh.

"Silence!" roared Tétrell.

"What did you say?" asked Augereau, in the mocking tone peculiar to Parisians. And as he stood up to look in his interlocutor's face, the audience recognized the uniform of the regiment that had made the sortie in the morning. They burst into applause, mingled with shouts of "Bravo, sergeant-major! Long live the sergeant-major!"

Augereau gave the military salute and sat down; and as the curtain rose just then, attracting the attention of the audience, nothing more was thought of Tétrell's nose, nor of the sergeant-major's interruption.

The curtain rises, it will be remembered, upon a session of the Roman senate, in which Junius Brutus, first consul of Borne with Publicola, announces that Tarquin, who is besieging Rome, has sent an ambassador.

From the beginning it was easy to see the spirit which animated the spectators. After the first few lines, Brutus pronounces these:

Rome knows I prize her liberty beyond!

All that is dear. Yet though my bosom glows

With the same ardor, my opinion differs.

I cannot but behold this embassy

As the first homage paid by sovereign power

To Rome's free sons; we should accustom thus

The towering and despotic power of kings

To treat on even terms with our republic;

Till, Heaven accomplishing its just decrees,

The time shall come to treat with them as subjects.

A thunder of applause burst forth; it seemed as if France, like Rome, could foresee her lofty destiny. Brutus, interrupted in his speech, had to wait nearly ten minutes before he could continue. He was interrupted a second time, and with still more enthusiasm, when he came to these lines:

The realm, long crushed beneath his iron rod,

Through dint of suffering hath regained its virtue.

Tarquin hath fixed again our native rights;

And from the uncommon rankness of his crimes

Each public blessing sprang. Yon Tuscans now

May follow, if they dare, the bright example,

And shake off tyrants.

Here the consuls returned to the altar with the senate, and their march was accompanied with cries and applause; then there was silence, in expectation of the invocation.

The actor who played the part of Brutus pronounced the words in a loud voice:

O immortal power,

God of heroic chiefs, of warring hosts,

And of illustrious Rome! O Mars! receive

The vows we pour forth on thy sacred altar,

In the consenting senate's mingled name,

In mine and that of all thy genuine sons,

Who do not disgrace their fire! If hid within

Rome's secret bosom there exists a traitor

Who with base mind regrets the loss of kings,

And would behold again a tyrant lord—

May the wretch expire beneath a thousand tortures!

His guilty ashes scattered through the air,

The sport of winds, while naught remains behind

But his vile name, more loathsome to the tongue

Of latest times than that which Rome condemns

To utmost infamy, detested Tarquin's.

In times of political excitement it is not the value of the lines which is applauded, but simply their accordance with the sentiments of the audience. Rarely have more common-place tirades proceeded from the human mouth, yet never were the splendid verses of Corneille and Racine welcomed with such enthusiasm. But this enthusiasm, which seemed as if it could not increase, knew no bounds when, the curtain rising on the second act, the audience saw the young actor who played the part of Titus enter with his arm in a sling. An Austrian ball had broken it. It seemed as if the play could never proceed, so incessant was the applause.

The few lines referring to Titus and his patriotism were encored, and then, repulsing the offers of Porsenna, Titus says:

Yet, born a Roman, I will die for Rome!

This vigorous senate, though to me unjust,

Pull of suspicious jealousy, and fear,

I love beyond the splendor of a court

And the proud sceptre of a single lord.

I am the son of Brutus, and my heart

Deep-graven bears the love of liberty,

And hate of kings.

Finally when, in the following scene, he exclaims, renouncing his love:

Banish far

The vain delusion! Rome with loud acclaim

Invites me to the Capitol; the people

Seek the triumphal arches raised on high,

Thick with my glory crowned, and full adorned

With all my labors; underneath their shade

Convened, they wait my presence to begin

The sacred rites, the strict coercive oath,

Inviolable surety of our freedom—

the most enthusiastic of the people darted upon the stage, in order to embrace the player and press his hand, while the ladies waved their handkerchiefs and threw bouquets. Nothing was lacking to the triumph of Voltaire and Brutus, and above all Fleury, the young actor, for he carried off the honors of the evening.

As has been said, the second piece was by the Frenchman Demoustier, and was called "Filial Love, or the Wooden Leg." It was one of those idyls prompted by the Republic's muse; for it is a remarkable fact that never was dramatic literature more roseate than during the years '92, '93 and '94—that is the time that produced "The Death of Abel," "The Peacemaker," and "The Farmer's Beautiful Wife." It seemed as if, after the blood-stained iniquities of the street, the people had need of these insipidities to restore their equilibrium. Nero crowned himself with flowers after the burning of Rome.

But an incident occurred which, though it had to do with the morning's battle, threatened to put an end to the performance. Madame Fromont, who played the part of Louise, the only woman in the piece, had lost both her father and her husband in the morning's skirmish. It was therefore almost impossible for her, under the circumstances, to play the part of a lover, or, in fact, any part at all.

The curtain rose between the two plays and Titus-Fleury reappeared. At first the audience applauded, then, seeing that he had something to say, they were silent. In fact he had come with tears in his eyes to say, in the name of Madame Fromont, that the management be allowed to replace "Filial Love" with "Rose and Colas," since Madame Fromont mourned her father and husband, who had been killed for the Republic. Cries of "Yes, yes!" mingled with cheers, were heard all over the house, and Fleury had already bowed to depart, when Tétrell, rising, made a sign that he wished to speak. At once several voices cried: "It is Tétrell, the friend of the people! Tétrell, the terror of the aristocrats! Let him speak! Long live Tétrell!"