The Eternal Adam and other stories (22 page)

‘Or to me,’ added Niklausse.

As they pronounced these words with a menacing
air, the two notables, with folded arms and bristling air, confronted Doctor
Ox, ready to do him some violence, if by a gesture, or even the expression of
his eye, he manifested any intention of contradicting them.

But the doctor did not budge.

‘At all events, monsieur,’ resumed the
burgomaster, ‘I propose to hold you responsible for what passes in your house.
I am bound to insure the tranquillity of this town, and I do not wish it to be
disturbed. The events of last evening must not be repeated, or I shall do my
duty, sir! Do you hear? Then reply, sir. ‘

The burgomaster, as he spoke, under the
influence of extraordinary excitement, elevated his voice to the pitch of
anger. He was furious, the worthy Van Tricasse, and might certainly be heard
outside. At last, beside himself, and seeing that Doctor Ox did not reply to
his challenge, ‘Come, Niklausse,’ said he.

And, slamming the door with a violence
which shook the house, the burgomaster drew his friend after him.

Little by little, when they had taken twenty steps on their road, the
worthy notables grew more calm. Their pace slackened, their gait became less
feverish. The flush on their faces faded away; from being crimson, they became
rosy. A quarter of an hour after quitting the gasworks, Van Tricasse said
softly to Niklausse, ‘An amiable man, Doctor Ox! It is always a pleasure to see
him!’

In which Frantz
Niklausse and Suzel Van Tricasse form certain projects for the future

Our readers know that the burgomaster had a
daughter, Suzel. But, shrewd as they may be, they cannot have divined that the
counsellor Niklausse had a son, Frantz; and had they divined this, nothing
could have led them to imagine that Frantz was the betrothed lover of Suzel. We
will add that these young people were made for each other, and that they loved
each other, as folks did love at Quiquendone.

It must not be thought that young hearts
did not beat in this exceptional place; only they beat with a certain
deliberation. There were marriages there, as in every other town in the world;
but they took time about it. Betrothed couples, before engaging in these
terrible bonds, wished to study each other; and these studies lasted at least
ten years, as at college. It was rare that any one was ‘accepted’ before this
lapse of time.

Yes, ten years! The courtships last ten
years! And is it, after all, too long, when the being bound for life is in
consideration? One studies ten years to become an engineer or physician, an
advocate or attorney, and should less time be spent in acquiring the knowledge
to make a good husband? Is it not reasonable? and, whether due to temperament
or reason with them, the Quiquendonians seem to us to be in the right in thus
prolonging their courtship. When marriages in other more lively and excitable
cities are seen taking place within a few months, we must shrug our shoulders,
and hasten to send our boys to the schools and our daughters to the
pensions
of Quiquendone.

For half a century but a single marriage
was known to have taken place after the lapse of two years only of courtship,
and that turned out badly!

Frantz Niklausse, then, loved Suzel Van
Tricasse, but quietly, as a man would love when he has ten years before him in
which to obtain the beloved object. Once every week, at an hour agreed upon,
Frantz went to fetch Suzel, and took a walk with her along the banks of the
Vaar. He took good care to carry his fishing-tackle, and Suzel never forgot her
canvas, on which her pretty hands embroidered the most unlikely flowers.

Frantz was a young man of twenty-two, whose
cheeks betrayed a soft, peachy down, and whose voice had scarcely a compass of
one octave.

As for Suzel, she was blonde and rosy. She
was seventeen, and did not dislike fishing. A singular occupation this,
however, which forces you to struggle craftily with a barbel. But Frantz loved
it; the pastime was congenial to his temperament. As patient as possible,
content to follow with his rather dreamy eye the cork which bobbed on the top
of the water, he knew how to wait; and when, after sitting for six hours, a
modest barbel, taking pity on him, consented at last to be caught, he was happy
- but he knew how to control his emotion.

On this day the two lovers – one might say,
the two betrothed were seated upon the verdant bank. The limpid Vaar murmured a
few feet below them. Suzel quietly drew her needle across the canvas. Frantz
automatically carried his line from left to right, then permitted it to descend
the current from right to left. The fish made capricious rings in the water,
which crossed each other around the cork, while the hook hung useless near the
bottom.

From time to time Frantz would say, without
raising his eyes, —

‘I think I have a bite, Suzel. ‘

‘Do you think so, Frantz?’ replied Suzel,
who, abandoning her work for an instant, followed her lover’s line with earnest
eye.

‘N-no,’ resumed Frantz; ‘I thought I felt a
little twitch; I was mistaken. ‘

‘You
will
have a bite, Frantz,’ replied
Suzel, in her pure, soft voice. ‘But do not forget to strike at the right moment.
You are always a few seconds too late, and the barbel takes advantage to
escape. ‘

 ‘Would you like to take my line, Suzel?’

 ‘Willingly, Frantz. ‘

‘Then give me your canvas. We shall see
whether I am more adroit with the needle than with the hook. ‘

And the young girl took the line with
trembling hand, while her swain plied the needle across the stitches of the
embroidery. For hours together they thus exchanged soft words, and their hearts
palpitated when the cork bobbed on the water. Ah, could they ever forget those
charming hours, during which, seated side by side, they listened to the murmurs
of the river?

The sun was fast approaching the western
horizon, and despite the combined skill of Suzel and Frantz, there had not been
a bite. The barbels had not shown themselves complacent, and seemed to scoff at
the two young people, who were too just to bear them malice.

‘We shall be more lucky another time,
Frantz,’ said Suzel, as the young angler put up his still virgin hook.

 ‘Let us hope so,’ replied Frantz.

Then walking side by side, they turned
their steps towards the house, without exchanging a word, as mute as their
shadows which stretched out before them. Suzel became very, very tall under the
oblique rays of the setting sun. Frantz appeared very, very thin, like the long
rod which he held in his hand.

They reached the burgomaster’s house. Green
tufts of grass bordered the shining pavement, and no one would have thought of
tearing them away, for they deadened the noise made by the passers-by.

As they were about to open the door, Frantz
thought it his duty to say to Suzel, —

 ‘You know, Suzel, the great day is
approaching?’

‘It is indeed, Frantz,’ replied the young
girl, with downcast eyes.

 ‘Yes,’ said Frantz, ‘in five or six years
-’

 ‘Good-bye, Frantz,’ said Suzel.

 ‘Good-bye, Suzel,’ replied Frantz.

And, after the door had been closed, the
young man resumed the way to his father’s house with a calm and equal pace.

In which the
Andantes become Allegros, and Allegros Vivaces

The agitation caused by the Schut and
Custos affair had subsided. The affair led to no serious consequences. It
appeared likely that Quiquendone would return to its habitual apathy, which
that unexpected event had for a moment disturbed.

Meanwhile, the laying of the pipes destined
to conduct the oxyhydric gas into the principal edifices of the town was
proceeding rapidly. The main pipes and branches gradually crept beneath the
pavements. But the burners were still wanting; for, as it required delicate
skill to make them, it was necessary that they should be fabricated abroad.
Doctor Ox was here, there, and everywhere: neither he nor Ygène, his assistant,
lost a moment, but they urged on the workmen, completed the delicate mechanism
of the gasometer, fed day and night the immense piles which decomposed the
water under the influence of a powerful electric current. Yes, the doctor was
already making his gas, though the pipe-laying was not yet done; a fact which,
between ourselves, might have seemed a little singular. But before long, – at
least there was reason to hope so, – before long Doctor Ox would inaugurate the
splendours of his invention in the theatre of the town.

For Quiquendone possessed a theatre – a
really fine edifice, in truth – the interior and exterior arrangement of which
combined every style of architecture. It was at once Byzantine, Roman, Gothic,
Renaissance, with semicircular doors, Pointed windows, Flamboyant rose-windows,
fantastic bell-turrets, – in a word, a specimen of all sorts, half a Parthenon,
half a Parisian Grand Café. Nor was this surprising, the theatre having been
commenced under the burgomaster Ludwig Van Tricasse, in 1175, and only finished
in 1837, under the burgomaster Natalis Van Tricasse. It had required 700 years
to build it. and it had been successively adapted to the architectural style in
vogue in each period. But for all that it was an imposing structure; the Roman
pillars and Byzantine arches of which would appear to advantage lit up by the
oxyhydric gas.

Pretty well everything was acted at the
theatre of Quiquendone; but the opera and the opera comique were especially
patronised. It must, however, be added that the composers would never have
recognized their own works, so entirely changed were the ‘movements’ of the
music.

In short, as nothing was done in a hurry at
Quiquendone, the dramatic pieces had to be performed in harmony with the
peculiar temperament of the Quiquendonians. Though the doors of the theatre
were regularly thrown open at four o’clock and closed again at ten, it had
never been known that more than two acts were played during the six intervening
hours.
Robert le Diable, Les Huguenots,
or
Guillaume Tell
usually
took up three evenings, so slow was the execution of these masterpieces. The
vivaces,
at the theatre of Quiquendone, lagged like real
adagios.
The
allegros
were ‘long-drawn out’ indeed. The demisemiquavers were scarcely equal to the
ordinary semibreves of other countries. The most rapid runs, performed
according to Quiquendonian taste, had the solemn march of a chant. The gayest
shakes were languishing and measured, that they might not shock the ears of the
dilettanti.
To give an example, the rapid air sung by Figaro, on his
entrance in the first act of
Le Barbier de Séville,
lasted fifty-eight
minutes – when the actor was particularly enthusiastic.

Artists from abroad, as might be supposed,
were forced to conform themselves to Quiquendonian fashions; but as they were
well paid, they did not complain, and willingly obeyed the leader’s baton,
which never beat more than eight measures to the minute in the
allegros.

But what applause greeted these artists,
who enchanted without ever wearying the audiences of Quiquendone! All hands
clapped one after another at tolerably long intervals, which the papers
characterised as ‘frantic applause’, and sometimes nothing but the lavish
prodigality with which mortar and stone had been used in the twelfth century
saved the roof of the hall from falling in.

Besides, the theatre had only one
performance a week, that these enthusiastic Flemish folk might not be too much
excited; and this enabled the actors to study their parts more thoroughly, and
the spectators to digest more at leisure the beauties of the masterpieces
brought out.

Such had long been the drama at
Quiquendone. Foreign artists were in the habit of making engagements with the
director of the town, when they wanted to rest after their exertions in other
scenes; and it seemed as if nothing could ever change these inveterate customs,
when, a fortnight after the Schut-Custos affair, an unlooked-for incident
occurred to throw the population into fresh agitation.

It was on a Saturday, an opera day. It was
not yet intended, as may well be supposed, to inaugurate the new illumination.
No; the pipes had reached the hall, but, for reasons indicated above, the burners
had not yet been placed, and the wax-candles still shed their soft light upon
the numerous spectators who filled the theatre. The doors had been opened to
the public at one o’clock, and by three the hall was half full. A queue had at
one time been formal, which extended as far as the end of the Place Saint
Ernuph, in front of the shop of Josse Lietrinck the apothecary. This eagerness
was significant of an unusually attractive performance.

‘Are you going to the theatre this
evening?’ inquired the counsellor the same morning of the burgomaster.

‘I shall not fail to do so,’ returned Van
Tricasse, ‘and I shall take Madame Van Tricasse, as well as our daughter Suzel
and our dear Tatanémance, who all dote on good music. ‘

‘Mademoiselle Suzel is going then?’

‘Certainly, Niklausse. ‘