In spite of all this praise, however, we shall not undertake to enter into the details of this play for the reader’s benefit. Such fugitive compositions are like all oral or musical improvisations; it is a mistake to suppose that they would appear so well if transcribed and preserved. Their unexpectedness is a chief part of their attractiveness, and it is just because we can only recall them indistinctly, and that the imagination, therefore, has full opportunity to embellish them, that we remember them as so charming. Whatever Christian produced in these extempore efforts had always spirit, character, and taste. And as for the imperfections inseparable from an impromptu recitation, the rapid movement of the piece, and the artist’s adroitness in introducing new characters as soon as he found himself growing weary of those already upon the stage, caused them to be entirely overlooked.
As for M. Goefle, his genuine natural eloquence, his ready wit, when excited, and extensive and varied information, made it very easy for him to do his part, when he had once recovered from his fright. His promptness in seizing any fancy of his interlocutor, and making the most of it, gave rise to the most entertaining digressions; and the usual amazement at the variety and knowledge displayed in Waldo’s dialogue, was greater than ever.
Although declining to enter into the particulars of Christian’s comedy, we must at least explain how it was he had changed the first act; with which, in its original form, M. Goefle, it will be remembered, had been so deeply impressed.
Restrained by the fear of really compromising the advocate by some unintentional allusion, he had made the villain of the piece a comic character, a sort of Cassandre, deceived by his ward, and constantly seeking the corpus delicti—the Child of Mystery—but without any criminal designs against him. Christian was very much surprised, therefore, as he began the last scene of the first act, to hear a movement in the audience, as if a sort of shudder had passed over it, and a general whispering, which, to his practised ear, skilled in detecting the sentiments of his spectators, even while he himself was speaking, seemed to express blame rather than praise.
“What can have happened?” he asked himself.
Glancing at M. Goefle, he saw that he looked troubled, and was tapping the floor with one foot, as if vexed, while he moved his marionette nervously about upon the stage.
Christian, imagining that he had forgotten some part of the plot, hastened to relieve him by bringing forward the boatman, and, hurrying up the conclusion of the act, he lowered the curtain. This was followed neither by applause nor hisses, but there was a general rush in the audience, as if they were hurrying out, to avoid hearing anything further. Peeping through his eye-hole, before withdrawing the theatre behind the door for the intermission, he saw, in fact, that his whole audience, although not yet dispersed, had risen; and, with their backs turned towards the theatre, were discussing some event in low voices. The only words he could distinguish were: “Gone out! He has gone out!” And glancing round the room to see who could be meant, he saw that the baron was no longer in the gallery.
“Come,” said M. Goefle, nudging him with his elbow, “let’s move back into the green-room. Why are you waiting? It’s the intermission.”
The theatre, therefore, rolled back within the saloon, the doors were closed; and as he rapidly shifted his scenes for the second act, Christian asked M. Goefle if he had noticed anything in particular.
“The deuce!” said the lawyer, with a good deal of excitement; “I have done it finely this time! What do you say?”