CHAPTER IV
TO the west of Castel-le-Gâchis four rows of venerable lime-trees formed,in this starry night, a twilit avenue with two side aisles of pitchdarkness. Here and there stone benches were disposed between the trunks.There was not a breath of wind; a heavy atmosphere of perfume hung aboutthe alleys; and every leaf stood stock-still upon its twig. Hither,after vainly knocking at an inn or two, the Berthelinis came at length topass the night. After an amiable contention, Léon insisted on giving hiscoat to Elvira, and they sat down together on the first bench in silence.Léon made a cigarette, which he smoked to an end, looking up into thetrees, and, beyond them, at the constellations, of which he tried vainlyto recall the names. The silence was broken by the church bell; it rangthe four quarters on a light and tinkling measure; then followed a singledeep stroke that died slowly away with a thrill; and stillness resumedits empire.
“One,” said Léon. “Four hours till daylight. It is warm; it is starry;I have matches and tobacco. Do not let us exaggerate, Elvira—theexperience is positively charming. I feel a glow within me; I am bornagain. This is the poetry of life. Think of Cooper’s novels, my dear.”
“Léon,” she said fiercely, “how can you talk such wicked, infamousnonsense? To pass all night out-of-doors—it is like a nightmare! Weshall die.”
“You suffer yourself to be led away,” he replied soothingly. “It is notunpleasant here; only you brood. Come, now, let us repeat a scene.Shall we try Alceste and Célimène? No? Or a passage from the ‘TwoOrphans’? Come, now, it will occupy your mind; I will play up to you asI never have played before; I feel art moving in my bones.”
“Hold your tongue,” she cried, “or you will drive me mad! Will nothingsolemnise you—not even this hideous situation?”
“Oh, hideous!” objected Léon. “Hideous is not the word. Why, wherewould you be? ‘Dites, la jeune belle, où voulez-vous aller?’” hecarolled. “Well, now,” he went on, opening the guitar-case, “there’sanother idea for you—sing. Sing ‘Dites, la jeune belle!’ It willcompose your spirits, Elvira, I am sure.”
And without waiting an answer he began to strum the symphony. The firstchords awoke a young man who was lying asleep upon a neighbouring bench.
“Hullo!” cried the young man, “who are you?”
“Under which king, Bezonian?” declaimed the artist. “Speak or die!”
Or if it was not exactly that, it was something to much the same purposefrom a French tragedy.
The young man drew near in the twilight. He was a tall, powerful,gentlemanly fellow, with a somewhat puffy face, dressed in a grey tweedsuit, with a deer-stalker hat of the same material; and as he now cameforward he carried a knapsack slung upon one arm.
“Are you camping out here too?” he asked, with a strong English accent.“I’m not sorry for company.”
Léon explained their misadventure; and the other told them that he was aCambridge undergraduate on a walking tour, that he had run short ofmoney, could no longer pay for his night’s lodging, had already beencamping out for two nights, and feared he should require to continue thesame manœuvre for at least two nights more.
“Luckily, it’s jolly weather,” he concluded.
“You hear that, Elvira,” said Léon. “Madame Berthelini,” he went on, “isridiculously affected by this trifling occurrence. For my part, I findit romantic and far from uncomfortable; or at least,” he added, shiftingon the stone bench, “not quite so uncomfortable as might have beenexpected. But pray be seated.”
“Yes,” returned the undergraduate, sitting down, “it’s rather nice thanotherwise when once you’re used to it; only it’s devilish difficult toget washed. I like the fresh air and these stars and things.”
“Aha!” said Léon, “Monsieur is an artist.”
“An artist?” returned the other, with a blank stare. “Not if I know it!”
“Pardon me,” said the actor. “What you said this moment about the orbsof heaven—”
“Oh, nonsense!” cried the Englishman. “A fellow may admire the stars andbe anything he likes.”
“You have an artist’s nature, however, Mr.—I beg your pardon; may I,without indiscretion, inquire your name?” asked Léon.
“My name is Stubbs,” replied the Englishman.
“I thank you,” returned Léon. “Mine is Berthelini—Léon Berthelini,ex-artist of the theatres of Montrouge, Belleville, and Montmartre.Humble as you see me, I have created with applause more than oneimportant _rôle_. The Press were unanimous in praise of my Howling Devilof the Mountains, in the piece of the same name. Madame, whom I nowpresent to you, is herself an artist, and I must not omit to state, abetter artist than her husband. She also is a creator; she creatednearly twenty successful songs at one of the principal Parisianmusic-halls. But, to continue, I was saying you had an artist’s nature,Monsieur Stubbs, and you must permit me to be a judge in such a question.I trust you will not falsify your instincts; let me beseech you to followthe career of an artist.”
“Thank you,” returned Stubbs, with a chuckle. “I’m going to be abanker.”
“No,” said Léon, “do not say so. Not that. A man with such a nature asyours should not derogate so far. What are a few privations here andthere, so long as you are working for a high and noble goal?”
“This fellow’s mad,” thought Stubbs; “but the woman’s rather pretty, andhe’s not bad fun himself, if you come to that.” What he said wasdifferent. “I thought you said you were an actor?”
“I certainly did so,” replied Léon. “I am one, or, alas! I was.”
“And so you want me to be an actor, do you?” continued the undergraduate.“Why, man, I could never so much as learn the stuff; my memory’s like asieve; and as for acting, I’ve no more idea than a cat.”
“The stage is not the only course,” said Léon. “Be a sculptor, be adancer, be a poet or a novelist; follow your heart, in short, and do somethorough work before you die.”
“And do you call all these things _art_?” inquired Stubbs.
“Why, certainly!” returned Léon. “Are they not all branches?”
“Oh! I didn’t know,” replied the Englishman. “I thought an artist meanta fellow who painted.”
The singer stared at him in some surprise.
“It is the difference of language,” he said at last. “This Tower ofBabel, when shall we have paid for it? If I could speak English youwould follow me more readily.”
“Between you and me, I don’t believe I should,” replied the other. “Youseem to have thought a devil of a lot about this business. For my part,I admire the stars, and like to have them shining—it’s so cheery—but hangme if I had an idea it had anything to do with art! It’s not in my line,you see. I’m not intellectual; I have no end of trouble to scrapethrough my exams., I can tell you! But I’m not a bad sort at bottom,” headded, seeing his interlocutor looked distressed even in the dimstarshine, “and I rather like the play, and music, and guitars, andthings.”
Léon had a perception that the understanding was incomplete. He changedthe subject.
“And so you travel on foot?” he continued. “How romantic! Howcourageous! And how are you pleased with my land? How does the sceneryaffect you among these wild hills of ours?”
“Well, the fact is,” began Stubbs—he was about to say that he didn’t carefor scenery, which was not at all true, being, on the contrary, only anathletic undergraduate pretension; but he had begun to suspect thatBerthelini liked a different sort of meat, and substituted somethingelse—“The fact is, I think it jolly. They told me it was no good uphere; even the guide-book said so; but I don’t know what they meant. Ithink it is deuced pretty—upon my word, I do.”
At this moment, in the most unexpected manner, Elvira burst into tears.
“My voice!” she cried. “Léon, if I stay here longer I shall lose myvoice!”
“You shall not stay another moment,” cried the actor. “I
f I have to beatin a door, if I have to burn the town, I shall find you shelter.”
With that he replaced the guitar, and comforting her with some caresses,drew her arm through his.
“Monsieur Stubbs,” said he, taking of his hat, “the reception I offer youis rather problematical; but let me beseech you to give us the pleasureof your society. You are a little embarrassed for the moment; you must,indeed, permit me to advance what may be necessary. I ask it as afavour; we must not part so soon after having met so strangely.”
“Oh, come, you know,” said Stubbs, “I can’t let a fellow like you—” Andthere he paused, feeling somehow or other on a wrong tack.
“I do not wish to employ menaces,” continued Léon, with a smile; “but ifyou refuse, indeed I shall not take it kindly.”
“I don’t quite see my way out of it,” thought the undergraduate; andthen, after a pause, he said, aloud and ungraciously enough, “All right.I—I’m very much obliged, of course.” And he proceeded to follow them,thinking in his heart, “But it’s bad form, all the same, to force anobligation on a fellow.”