Chapter XVIII: The House at Nogent.--The Rehearsal

Everything was made ready at Monsieur Glumeau’s country house for the festivities which he had announced long before to his friends and acquaintances. The day was fixed, the invitations issued. They had invited four times as many people as the house could hold; but in default of the house there was a garden, and over and above the garden there was a wood of about two acres; the guests who could not find room in the house had their choice between the wood and the garden; in the country there is always some way to arrange matters.

Monsieur Glumeau’s country house was nevertheless quite large and very well arranged. The garden was attractive and well filled with flowers; but the most attractive part of the whole estate was the little wood. Unfortunately it did not adjoin the garden; it was separated from it by a narrow path, not more than ten feet wide, which was open to the public. But the garden gate was opposite the gate leading into the wood, and the path was so quickly crossed that the separation was hardly noticeable. The one thing that the estate lacked was water; but pending the time when a river should appear, Monsieur Glumeau had had made behind his theatre a small basin, of about the capacity of two casks, in which one might at need have taken a foot bath.

It was in this little wood, enclosed by trellis work, which was supported by stone posts at intervals, that Monsieur Glumeau had conceived the idea of building a small theatre. The stage was supplied with all the accessories: wings, flies, arches, and drop curtain. But when the action of the play took place in a forest, instead of using a rear curtain, they simply used the wings, and the wood itself formed natural scenery, and afforded a lovely prospect which it is impossible to have in the city, even at the grand opera.

The theatre was covered with a board roof, which sheltered the scenery and the actors from possible storms. But as there was no auditorium, as the spectators simply sat or stood under the trees, in front of the drop curtain, it was most important for them that the weather should be fine, for rain would very speedily drive the audience away and leave the auditorium empty.

The friends who had accepted parts in the plays that were to be given came twice a week to pass the day with Glumeau, in order to rehearse.

Very often the time passed away and there was no rehearsal; the men played billiards or bouillotte, the women went out to ride, with or without donkeys; sometimes someone sat at the piano and sang. They dined very late and remained at the table a long while. When they left it, they had not the slightest desire to study their parts; but they began to dance a polka or a waltz; thus it was that almost all the rehearsals were held, but they enjoyed themselves, so that the desired result was attained.

But when they realized that the great day was near at hand, they began to say to themselves: “We really must rehearse.”--Monsieur Glumeau, who had been very well for some time, was in a charming mood and fluttered from one to another, looking at his feet; he gave counsel and advice to everyone, and insisted that they should introduce spoken pantomime in the plays and dancing in the pantomime; he transformed everything into a ballet.

The performance decided upon consisted of _Œil et Nez_, a farce in one act, with three characters, to be played by Madame Dufournelle, young Astianax, and Monsieur Mangeot.

This piece, being easy to rehearse, and having almost no mise-en-scène, was almost learned; young Astianax declared that it would go as if it were on wheels, and that it was not necessary to give any more thought to it.

The second play was also a farce: _Il y a plus d’un Ane à la Foire._--In this there were seven characters, four men and three women; the men’s parts were entrusted to Messieurs Glumeau, Mangeot, Astianax and Kingerie; the actresses were Mesdemoiselles Eolinde, Polymnie and Mangeot.

Monsieur Glumeau had the most important part, that of Pincette, created with much success by Serres at the Folies-Dramatiques. It was very long, and Monsieur Glumeau had decided that it was quite useless to try to drive it into his head, where he was certain that he could never succeed in introducing it; but he relied on the prompter to supplement his memory, and proposed to replace such parts of the dialogue as he did not know by pantomime and dancing.

But it was for the third play that they reserved all the striking effects, all the surprises, all the finest scenery and most amazing costumes that they had. This play was _Roderic et Cunégonde_, or _L’Ermite de Montmartre_, or _La Forteresse de Moulinos_, or _Le Revenant de la Galerie de l’Ouest_, an excellent parody of melodramas, in four tableaux, _larded_, as the book says, with dancing, fighting, manœuvring, conflagrations and destruction.

This play, the action of which takes place wherever you choose, allows the most fanciful costumes to be used. Wooden swords and daggers had been made, with which the combats were to be fought. Chambourdin, who was very intimate with several dramatic artists, had promised to bring the costumes; the non-speaking parts were to be represented by the gardener and his family and anyone else who chose. The élite of the troupe took part in this play: Mademoiselle Eolinde played Cunégonde, her brother, Roderic, and Monsieur Glumeau took the part of the tyrant Sacripandos; the leader of the brigands, Détroussandos, was entrusted to a young druggist of most promising talent, named Fourriette, who insisted upon always rehearsing his fights with the wooden swords. Monsieur Mangeot represented the hermit; the part of the valet Malinot fell as of right to young Kingerie. In order to have a second female part, they had transformed Petit-Colas into Petite-Colette, and Mademoiselle Polymnie had accepted this bit of a part, because of the costume. There was also a child’s part. The son of Pichet the gardener, a little boy of five, who never blew his nose, but whose parents had promised to do it for him on that day, was employed to represent the son of Roderic and Cunégonde. His father the gardener had undertaken to teach him the few words of which his part consisted; he beat it into his head with an accompaniment of kicks, which gave the little fellow small taste for the theatre. Lastly, the three speaking robbers in the play were to be acted by Chambourdin and two of his friends. As each rôle would be but four lines, it was hoped that those gentlemen would succeed in learning them.

The great day had arrived; the weather was fine and promised a magnificent day and evening, which were quite indispensable for the success of the party. At daybreak everybody was up at Monsieur Glumeau’s country house. Buxom Lolotte, although she did not act, was one of those who had most to do; as mistress of the house, she must overlook everything, see to it that everything needed for the play was provided, and attend to the preparations for the ball which was to follow it, and for the supper which was to follow the ball. For there is no such thing as a successful party without a supper; this principle is so fully admitted that those persons who entertain you without offering you that refection should be classed among people who do not know how to entertain.

Those who were to take part in the play were to arrive early, for it was felt that there should be another rehearsal, because there are innumerable things, innumerable details of the mise-en-scène, which one does not notice until the moment of the performance; it is then a little late to rehearse them, but the zeal of the actors makes up for the lack of time.

Monsieur Glumeau had risen as light as a feather, he was not conscious of the slightest ailment, and he continued to dance through his rôles; frequently confusing that of the tyrant Sacripandos with that of Pincette in the farce. But, after all, it was probable that the audience would not detect that confusion. As he was hurrying to the wood, to cast an eye over his stage, he met his wife, who was returning from a visit to the best caterer in the neighborhood.

“Well, my dear love, we are lucky, we are going to have splendid weather, weather which seems to have been made for us.”

“Yes, thank God! it is fine; but I can’t do any more; I am fagged out already; I doubt if I shall be able to stand up to-night.”

“Why fatigue yourself so? Haven’t you your maid, and the gardener and his wife to do whatever you want?”

“Oh, yes! that would be very nice; things would go splendidly this evening if I trusted to those people! The gardener’s wife is so stupid, she has already broken three lamp chimneys and a globe! Her husband is a little drunk already; if he keeps on he will be in fine condition to-night!”

“Don’t worry, I will speak to him. But what have you left to do? The supper is to consist almost entirely of cold dishes; you arranged all that in advance, and the caterer knows what he is to send.”

“And the dinner, monsieur--isn’t it necessary to think of that, too?”

“The dinner? Oh! there will only be our intimate friends, and there is no need of ceremony about that.”

“No ceremony, if you please, but there will be at least fourteen or fifteen of us, and it seems to me that we need something for that number!”

“I have difficulty in remembering my song to the tune of Le Maçon: ‘Je vais la revoir! Ha! ha!’--Never mind, I will execute a pirouette.--I say, Lolotte, I look pretty well, don’t I? Isn’t my complexion clear?”

“Yes, you are magnificent.--By the way, my dear, I forgot to tell you that I have invited that gentleman who owns the fine estate on the other side of our woods.”

“Who? Monsieur Malberg? that man who never speaks to anybody, who never walks where there is likely to be anybody; in short, who lives in his country house like a wolf, never seeing any of his neighbors?”

“I know very well that the people about here say all that; but people are so spiteful, so evil-tongued in these country places! They make a pumpkin of a walnut. This much is certain, that that gentleman has always been very courteous to us; he always bows first when we meet; and he has a very distinguished manner.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why, his whole air, and his dress; and then he employs a mulatto, and that is very distinguished!”

“It doesn’t cost any more than other servants.--‘Je vais la revoir! Ha! ha!’”

“And yesterday, during the day, I happened to meet him in the narrow path, and as he stood aside very politely to let me pass, I said to him: ‘Monsieur, we are to have some theatricals to-morrow in our little theatre in these woods; if it would give you any pleasure to come to look on, we should be flattered to have you in our audience.’--He bowed and replied: ‘You do me much honor, madame, and I shall try to take advantage of your kind invitation.’”

“Oh! he said that, did he? But he won’t come.”

“Perhaps not, but I have an idea that he will.”

“After all, you did well; there is always room in our theatre, and the larger the audience we have, the more they electrify the actors.--‘Je vais la revoir! Ha! ha!’--Tell me what comes next.”

“How do you suppose I know? You should learn your part.”

“Thanks! Tire out my brain and give myself a fever--I’m no such fool; if I don’t know it, I’ll say the first thing that comes into my head.--But Astianax and Eolinde,--where are they?”

“They are learning their parts, and it isn’t possible to get near them!”

About noon, the actors began to arrive. There were Dufournelle and his wife; the husband carried an enormous bundle, for the ladies all brought their stage costumes and their ball dresses. Next, Mademoiselle Polymnie appeared with her father, Monsieur Camuzard, who also carried a bundle; then Monsieur Mangeot and his sister, each of them with a bundle.

“Why have you brought so many things,” said Glumeau, “since Chambourdin promised the costumes?”

“Oh, yes! catch us relying on Monsieur Chambourdin!” said Madame Dufournelle; “I have made my own costume; I have the part of a cook, and I have borrowed my servant’s cap.”

Monsieur Camuzard, who was annoyed because no part had been given to him, kept repeating:

“You will be very lucky if someone does not fail you when it’s time to begin. On such an occasion as this, accidents always happen, sudden indispositions, just as they do at the theatre. I offered to take part, but they didn’t want me.”

“But you are to prompt, you know, Monsieur Camuzard; you prompt so well!”

“I am willing to prompt one play, but not three; that is too tiresome.”

“I will prompt as many as you please,” said stout Dufournelle; “don’t be afraid, I am solidly built, and my breath won’t give out.”

Monsieur Camuzard, seeing that the post of prompter was about to escape him, hastily rejoined:

“After all, when I have got started, it won’t be any more trouble to prompt all three plays.”

“Let’s rehearse, my friends, let’s rehearse, let’s not lose any more time,” said Monsieur Glumeau. “The two short pieces go well enough, but _Roderic et Cunégonde_ doesn’t go well at all. There is so much stage play. Astianax, go and get the wooden swords, so that we may rehearse the fights also.”

“Do you expect much company this evening?” asked Madame Dufournelle.

“Well, I should say so! A most select audience; I have invited more than a hundred people, more or less; journalists, artists; I don’t count the people of the village and the neighborhood, who come to see the play. When I don’t allow them to enter, they raise the devil; they besiege the place and break down my trellis.”

“They represent the audience in the upper gallery in the theatres in Paris; they are often the best judges of the performance.”

“Astianax, did you ask your neighbor, Monsieur Jéricourt, to come?”

“Yes, papa, and he will bring one of his friends, a young man you would take for a tailor’s model, he is so well dressed: Monsieur Arthur de Saint-Alfred--no, I am wrong, it is Alfred de Saint-Arthur.”

“Saint-Arthur! Alfred! that gentleman must be a humbug!”

“I assure you, madame, that he is a very good-looking fellow; at the theatre he never sits anywhere but in the proscenium boxes!”

“As he never sits anywhere but in the proscenium,” said Dufournelle, “he is necessarily a young man of very high station.”

“Let’s rehearse, my friends, let us rehearse.”

“But we are not all here yet, young Kingerie and Monsieur Fourriette the druggist are still missing.”

“I d--d--don’t want to f--f--fight with Monsieur F--F--Fourriette!” said Mademoiselle Eolinde; “he always hits me on the f--f--fingers with his sword.”

“The trouble is that he puts too much action into his part; these druggists are generally very warm, especially as they are almost always from the South. Why is it that the South supplies more druggists and more apothecaries than the North? That is a question I have often asked myself. What do you say upon that point, messieurs?”

“It seems to me easy enough to understand,” said Monsieur Dufournelle. “It’s because sun dials are always placed in the south.”

“Oh! excellent! excellent!”

“I don’t understand the joke,” said Monsieur Camuzard, blowing his nose.

At last, Messieurs Kingerie and Fourriette appeared on the road; the first, as awkward as ever, began by upsetting a box of cactus which stood in a path where there was much more room than he required. As for the druggist, a dark-haired, very good-looking youth, he was all curled and perfumed, and made eyes at all the ladies, to whom he did not fail to offer pastilles which he had made himself.

“Take care, madame, take care,” said Dufournelle, “it is very imprudent to accept monsieur’s pastilles; you don’t know what he may have put in them! He is quite capable of giving you something that will make you fall in love with him.”

“If I knew that secret, I should not fail to make use of it,” said Monsieur Fourriette, still offering his box and smiling at the ladies.

“Well! I don’t care, I will take the risk!” said Mademoiselle Mangeot, putting her fingers in the bonbonnière.

“It seems to me,” said Mademoiselle Dufournelle in an undertone, “that she isn’t the one who is taking the risk at this moment!--Well, I will take the risk myself.”

“Let’s rehearse, my friends, let’s rehearse; just see how the time is passing; let us go to the theatre at once, we are all here.”

“All except the three robbers with speaking parts.”

“We will omit that scene.”

“And the child,--we must have the child, we must make sure that he knows his part.”

“Astianax, go and fetch little Codinde, the gardener’s son.”

“Here’s the gardener himself coming this way; he looks as if he wanted to speak to you.”

“The deuce! the fellow looks to me as if he had already had a touch of sunstroke.”

Monsieur Pichet, the gardener, was in fact approaching the company, and as he was quite conscious of the fact that his legs wavered under him, he was walking very slowly to maintain his equilibrium, and was trying hard to keep his head back and his body upright.

“Pichet, go and get little Codinde, your son,” said Monsieur Glumeau; “we want him for the rehearsal; go at once.”

Instead of obeying his master and fetching Codinde, the gardener tried to straighten himself up, and answered in a thick voice:

“It’s impossible, monsieur; it’s impossible! Codinde is just what I wanted to talk to monsieur about.”

“Can it be that anything has happened to him?”

“An attack of indigestion has happened to him; we thought he was going to choke to death; he was purple.”

“The devil take you! Why do you stuff your son so’s to make him sick?”

“It wasn’t us, monsieur; the little glutton stuffs himself. As there’s a celebration going on in the house, he must have found lots of things to eat; bless my soul! children, you know, they ain’t reasonable.”

“And then, too, you set him such an excellent example!”

“Why, monsieur--I haven’t eaten as much as your thumb to-day, saving your presence.”

“No, but you have drunk enough to make up for it.”

“I’ve drunk very moderate; besides, wine never upsets me, I’m so used to it.”

“So, Pichet, your son won’t be in condition to act to-night?”

“You had better not rely on him; the little rascal has the fever and it don’t leave him a minute; it’s constantly going and coming.”

“Well, we are in a fix; and it’s too late now to teach anybody else Codinde’s part!”

“Monsieur, if you say so, I can take my boy’s part well enough; I know it, because I’ve been saying it to him all day.”

“You, Pichet,--you take the child’s part?”

“Why,” said Dufournelle, “in a play that is a parody of the melodramas, it seems to me that it will be even funnier to see the part played by a tall fellow like him.”

“Is that your opinion? Then I have no objection.--Can we rely on you, Pichet?”

“Don’t I tell you that I know the part? The child is hidden, the robbers come, and when he sees that they are going to kill his father, he rushes at them like a kid.”

“That’s right, and he says to the robbers: ‘Messieurs, in pity’s name, don’t hurt papa!’--Will you remember that sentence?”

“Yes, monsieur, I tell you I know it.”

“Then go and rest; don’t drink any more before this evening, and be presentable when the time comes for the play.”

“Monsieur will be satisfied with me.”

The gardener walked away, as proud as a peacock to play the part of a child, and the amateurs hurried to the theatre, where they tried to rehearse as well as possible; but while trying the combat with swords, which brought the play to an end, young Kingerie, playing the part of Malinot, and finding much difficulty in learning the _four blows_ which his adversary, Astianax, did his utmost to teach him, unexpectedly invented a fifth blow which landed on the nose of the son of the family.

Astianax shrieked, thinking that his nose was cut off. The others crowded about him and reassured him; he had suffered nothing worse than a swollen nose and a slight cut upon it. Fourriette made haste to bathe the wounded organ, and thought that with the aid of a compress, which he urged the wounded youth to wear until evening, the nose would resume its normal shape. But young Kingerie was strictly enjoined not to use his sword even for practice.

The dinner hour arrived, and with it four scene shifters from one of the Parisian theatres, whom Glumeau had hired to work the scenery on his stage. They were looking for the theatre.

“What, have you hired men from the theatre?” cried Dufournelle; “why, we would have set the scenes; we would have acted as scene shifters.”

“Oh, yes!” said Eolinde, “it’s very nice indeed when friends manage all those things. We trusted it to them once, and they never succeeded in setting the stage, except the wings representing a cavern and the background of a salon; and they couldn’t light but two lamps, because they had broken all the others.”

“What worries me is that Chambourdin doesn’t appear. What shall we do?” said Glumeau, looking at his feet. “I relied upon him, and I have no chevalier’s costume.”

“And he promised me, for the part of Roderic, the costume of Robin Hood,” said Astianax.

“Ah! you should do as I do, messieurs,” said the druggist, “and arrange your own costume for yourselves. I have transformed myself into an Italian bandit, and you must tell me what you think of him.”

“Does the action of the play take place in Italy?”

“I don’t know; but what difference does it make, as long as the costume is pretty?”

“Here he is!” cried Mademoiselle Eolinde; “a cabriolet is stopping at the gate, and there’s a big bundle in it. It’s Monsieur Chambourdin.”

“Yes, it is he; good! everything is all right,” said Glumeau; “he is more prompt than usual.”

Chambourdin appeared with an enormous bundle of costumes; there were helmets, cuirasses, tunics, long boots, wigs, doublets, small clothes, in short, enough to disguise the whole troupe. They all cheered, and carried Chambourdin in in triumph; they even proposed to embrace him, but he exclaimed that he preferred to dine. Thereupon they hastened to the table, but stout Dufournelle remarked that there was no need to hurry, because the audience was not likely to come early, and because by eating too hastily the actors ran the risk of suffocating on the stage.

Despite this advice, the ladies did hurry, and left the gentlemen at the table, in order to try on their costumes. The men took advantage of their absence to drink harder and to give their tongues greater liberty. Dufournelle, who had no part, made the champagne corks pop, saying:

“Come, messieurs, this will give you self-possession, verve! If you’re a little tipsy, you’ll act much better!”

Young Kingerie, who realized the necessity of overcoming his usual timidity, drank several glasses of champagne in rapid succession, and soon his eyes began to start from his head. Monsieur Camuzard drank in order to prompt better; little Astianax, who for some time past had affected very dissolute manners, proposed toasts to the dancers at the Porte-Saint-Martin and to the bareback riders at the Hippodrome. Chambourdin drank to whatever anyone suggested. Monsieur Mangeot drank to the success of the performance. Monsieur Glumeau proposed his own health; and stout Dufournelle, saying nothing, drank four times as much as the others.

But while drinking and laughing and talking, these gentlemen forgot the time; and suddenly little Astianax exclaimed:

“Mon Dieu! here are people coming already!”