The Whites and the Blues (9 page)

Little Charles was seated just below Tetrell; 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 Tetrell's breath," replied Augereau. "And I am afraid that when he draws it in he will draw you in with it."

Tetrell was more feared than loved, and the remark, de spite its poor taste, caused a laugh.

"Silence!" roared Tetrell.

"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 Terrell's nose, nor of the sergeant-major's interruption.

The curtain rises, it will be remembered, upon a session of the Eoman senate, in which Junius Brutus, first consul of Eome with Publicola, announces that Tarquin, who is besieging Eome, 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 Eome, could foresee her lofty destiny. Brutus, inter rupted 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:

0 immortal power,

G-od of heroic chiefs, of warring hosts, And of illustrious Rome! 0 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 1 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. Earely have more common place tirades proceeded from the human mouth, yet never were the splendid verses of Corneille and Eacine welcomed with such enthusiasm. But this enthusiasm, which seemed as if it could not increase, knew no bounds when, the cur tain 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, Full 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, re nouncing his love:

Banish far

The vain delusion! Home 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 Yoltaire 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 French man 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 circum stances, 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 lie 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 re place "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 al ready bowed to depart, when Terrell, rising, made a sign that he wished to speak. At once several voices cried: "It is Tdtrell, the friend of the people! Tetrell, the terror of the aristocrats 1 Let him speak! Long live Terrell 1"

CHAPTER VIII

THE PROVOCATION

TfiTRELL was more elegant than ever on this evening; he wore a blue coat with large lapels and gold but tons, and a white pique* vest, which turned back until it covered almost the whole front of his coat. A tri color belt, with gold fringe, encircled his waist, and in it he had stuck pistols with ivory-chased butts and barrels inlaid with gold. His sabre with its scabbard of red morocco, insolently thrown over the balcony, hung over the parterre like another sword of Damocles.

Tetrell began by striking the railing of the balcony until the dust flew from the velvet. Then he cried angrily:

4 ' Citizens, what does all this mean ? I thought I was at Lacedaemona, but it seems that I am mistaken, and that this is Corinth or Sybaris. Does a republican woman dare shel ter herself behind such excuses in the presence of Republi cans ? We mistake ourselves for those miserable slaves on the other bank of the Rhine, these dogs of aristocrats, who, when we have whipped them, tire their lungs out, crying "Libra!" Two men have died for their country, leaving a memory of immortal glory. The women of Sparta when

they presented their shields to their sons and husbands v did so with these words: 'With them, or upon them!' And when they returned upon them, that is to say dead, they attired themselves in their most gorgeous raiment. Citizeness Fromont is pretty; she will not long want for lovers I All the handsome fellows have not been killed at the ELaguenau gate; as for her father, there is not an old patriot but envies him the honor of his death. Therefore, citizen Fleury, do not hope to move us with the pretended grief of a citizeness favored by the destiny of war, who, by a single cannon-shot, has acquired a crown for her dowry and a great people for her family. Go tell her to appear; go tell her to sing; and, above all, bid her spare us her tears; to-day is the people's feast-day, and tears are aristocratic!'*

Every one was silent. Tetrell, as we have said, was the third power in Strasbourg, and more to be feared, perhaps, than either of the others. Citizen Fleury retired behind the curtain, and five minutes later it rose upon the first scene of "Filial Love," thus proving that Tetrell had been obeyed.

The play opens with the following well-known lines:

Young lovers, pick flowers For the brow of your love; Love gives sweet reward In tender favors.

An old soldier has retired to his hut at the foot of the Alps; he was wounded on the battlefield of Nefeld, and his life was saved by another old soldier whom he has not seen since. He lives with his son, who, after having sung the four preceding lines, follows them up with these, which, complete the train of thought:

Full of a sweet hope, When the sun rises I also pluck flowers For my father's brow.

An occupation still more absurd for the great fellow of twenty, from the fact that the old soldier awakes before the

wreath is finished, and we do not see how the water-lilies and myosotis, of which the wreath is composed, would have become him. Instead, we enjoy a duet in which the son re pudiates all idea of love and marriage which the old fellow Seeks to implant in him, saying only:

The sweetest love in all the world Is the love I have for you!

But he is soon to change his mind; for while, after pick ing flowers for his father's brow, he is plucking fruit for breakfast, a young girl rushes upon the scene, singing:

Ah, good old man,

Ah, share my grief!

Have you seen a traveller pass this way?

This traveller, whom the girl is pursuing, is her father. The old man has not seen him; and, as she is inconsolable, she eats her breakfast and then goes to sleep; then every one else goes in search of the lost father, whom Armand, the young man who picks flowers for the paternal brow, finds all the more easily from the fact that the man he is looking for has a wooden leg and is sixty years old.

Louise's happiness at sight of her recovered father can be imagined—a happiness all the greater because Armand's father, after a short explanation is made, recognizes in him the old soldier who saved his life at the battle of Nefeld, and thereby lost the leg which royal munificence has re placed with a wooden one. This unexpected turn of fortune justifies the double title, "Filial Love, or the "Wooden Leg."

As long as poor Madame Fromont's part required her to rouse the echoes of the Alps with her demands for her fa ther, and to mourn because she had lost him, her grief and tears stood her in good stead. But as soon as she found him, the contrast between her actual and her theatrical situ ation, since she had lost her father forever, looked her in the face with all its appalling truth. The actress ceased to be an actress, and the woman became wholly the daughter and wife. She uttered a cry of agony, repulsed her stage father,