A troop of poverty-stricken actors came to Villers-Cotterets (you will understand they must have been poor indeed to come to Villers-Cotterets), and there they pretty nearly died of starvation. They consisted of but one family named Robba. These poor devils were possessed with the idea of giving a benefit for themselves, and they thought of begging two or three young ladies and young gentlemen of the town to play with them and for them. Naturally I was applied to. Nature had already implanted in my heart that fountain of goodwill through which everything that I had, that I have, that I shall have, passed, passes, and always will pass. I agreed to undertake the rôle of Don Ramire. All the other mothers refused to allow their boys and girls to act. Were their children going to mount the boards and play with ordinary actors? No indeed! My mother alone kept her promised word, and I was the only artiste on this special occasion whose name, printed in big letters on the bills, was utilised in the philanthropic mission of obtaining a good audience for them.
I had to concoct a costume. It was a lengthy business to bring such an operation to a conclusion. Happily, no one was very exacting at that period, above all at Villers-Cotterets. Even Talma, who was a great renovator, played Hamlet in white satin breeches, bottes à cœur and a polonaise. But of this wardrobe I only had the bottes à cœur: I could not play Don Ramire with the aid only of the boots. We made a tunic,—everybody played in tunics at that epoch,—and a splendid tunic it was, indeed, for it was made out of two red cashmere shawls, ornamented with a great gold-flowered pattern; my father had brought the shawls from Egypt, and I believe I have already referred to them. We contented ourselves with sewing them together, leaving an opening on each side for my arms, a sword-belt at the waist serving as a girdle; out of each arm-hole appeared a satin sleeve, and Don Ramire was, if not exactly sufficiently, at least sumptuously and modestly, clad from the shoulders to half-way down his thighs. A turned-down collar and a satin toque to match the tunic in colour completed the upper part of the costume. But the question of the lower half was more serious. Tights were rare in Villers-Cotterets; I might even say that they were unknown; so it was of no use wishing to procure tights: it would have been time wasted, a vision, a dream. The longest pair of silk stockings that could be found, sewed into a pair of drawers, did the business. Then came the laced boots. Ah! these laced boots, they were an invention of my own. A second pair of silk stockings were dyed red; soles were sewed to them; they were put over the first pair, then turned back, rolled up to within three inches of the ankle; the roll was tied fast to make a pad; we imitated the lacing of a laced boot with green ribbon; and then this footgear formed the base of a presentable-looking Don Ramire, who, atop, indulged in the luxury of a satin toque with an ostrich plume. Finally came the sword. My father's sword, the sword of a Republican, with its cap of Liberty, looked somewhat odd when compared with the rest of Don Ramire's attire. The mayor, M. Mussart, lent me a silver-mounted Louis XV. sword: the chain which had fastened it was detached; but, though the guard had disappeared, the hilt and the sheath were left, and this was sufficient to satisfy the most exacting.
The announcement of this important entertainment made a great sensation: people came from all the towns and all the villages round, even from Soissons. I looked perfectly absurd, having never seen any play but Paul et Virginie at the age of three, and the Jeunesse de Henri V. when I was eleven. But the Robbas took eight hundred francs at the doors—a fortune to them; and a mother, a father, children and grandchildren had wherewithal to keep themselves in food for two-thirds of a year.
Poor Robbas! I recollect that the whole of their répertoire only consisted of Adolphe et Clara and the Déserteur. God alone knows what became of the poor things! That was how I came to know Hariadan Barberousse, which, with the Vampire, whose last act I was about to see, completed the sum total of my melodramatic equipment.
The third act was but a repetition of what had passed in the first. Ruthven, whom his friend Aubrey believed dead at
Marsden's farm, comes to life again, a sepulchral Endymion, under the kisses of the moon. He returns to the castle before Malvina's brother and urges forward his marriage; then Aubrey comes back and finds the bride adorned and the chapel prepared. He approaches his sister to tell her the terrible news of the death of her betrothed, and, seeing him pale and distressed, Malvina exclaims—
"Dear brother, you are in trouble!... For heaven's sake, tell me all!"
"Rally your courage, then," says Aubrey.
"You terrify me!" exclaims Malvina.
Then, turning towards the door—