The next day all the members of the troupe arrived; it was impossible to find a moment for a tête-à-tête; we were rehearsing from morning till night, and when Fanchon, in which Madame de Marsan did not appear, was being rehearsed, she had so many orders to give about costumes and the details of the fête, that I could not obtain the briefest interview with her. Alas! but for Raymond I should have been happy, I am sure; the auspicious moment had arrived; and he who would subdue a cruel fair must not allow such moments to escape him; they may recur with an emotional woman, but they are very rare with a coquette.
Raymond was in the seventh heaven: he was immersed in business to his ears; first of all, he had his two parts to learn, which was no small thing for him; then, Madame de Marsan had given him the general supervision of the scenery and the orchestra; moreover, as the young woman who was to play Fanchon was her intimate friend, and as the performance happened to come on her birthday, she requested him to compose a scene referring to that coincidence, to be added to the vaudeville which was to close the performance. Raymond sweated blood and water to produce that little impromptu. In the morning, as soon as I was awake, he came to tell me what he had done; he always had the beginning of his couplets, but he could not succeed in completing one; and he transferred that task to me, begging me to make use of him whenever I wished to celebrate anyone’s birthday. After breakfast he hurried to the theatre, turned everything topsy-turvy, examined the scenery, and regretted that he had not the necessary time to arrange some new mechanism, because he would have liked to put a transformation scene in his little contribution; but, in default of demons—for Madame de Marsan would not hear of them, for fear of fire—and of nymphs,—an article not to be found in the neighborhood,—Raymond confined his efforts to having a wreath descend upon Fanchon’s head; and he urged the gardener, who had charge of the machinery, to be sure to make a superb one, and to suspend it by a cord from one of the roof timbers on the day of the performance. Then my neighbor proposed to introduce two little Cupids, who, instead of appearing from a cloud, were to come up from the prompter’s box—which was likely to produce more effect—and to present bouquets to all the actors and actresses on the stage.
The great day drew near; the rehearsals proceeded with great zeal and activity; everyone considered that his honor was at stake, and determined to outdo the others. How much occupation an amateur theatrical performance affords! what anxiety and toil! what a world of details! how much trouble people take! But, on the other hand, what joy to win applause! and one is certain of that in advance, even though one acts wretchedly. We all knew our parts, except Raymond, who stumbled through Bartholo’s lines and could not remember a single one of Lattaignant’s. The ladies scolded him, but his reply was always the same:
“With the prompter’s help, you’ll see how glibly I’ll rattle it off.”
On the night before the performance we were to have a dress rehearsal on the stage, with all the lights. Raymond had not been seen since morning; at six o’clock, the hour appointed for the rehearsal, he had not come. We waited in vain; they searched the whole house, the garden, the wood; everybody was engaged in the search; the servants were sent around the neighborhood, with orders to bring Monsieur Raymond back, dead or alive. We could not begin without him; we were in despair, at our wits’ end; for there was no one to take his place. How could anyone learn two long parts between night and morning? The ladies were on the point of weeping with indignation, when, about eight o’clock, Raymond at last appeared, drenched with perspiration, covered with dust, and leading by the hand two chubby, rosy-cheeked little boys, five or six years old, smeared with dirt and dressed in dirty, mud-stained blouses.
“Where have you been?” was the general cry; the ladies were for beginning operations by beating him.
“That’s right!” said Raymond; “scold me savagely, when I have nearly killed myself finding two Cupids for you! I have been scouring the neighborhood ever since morning; I am sure that I have travelled a good ten leagues! But nothing but sulky faces, squint eyes, flat noses everywhere! At last I found what I wanted at Saint-Denis; but see how fresh and plump they are! they’ll make two first-class Cupids.”
The aspect of the two little fellows, for whom Raymond had bought candy to bribe them, and who were smeared with it to the ears, soon allayed the wrath of the company.
“What about their mother?” asked Madame de Marsan.
“She’s a dairywoman at Saint-Denis. She’s overjoyed to have her children play two little Cupids, and she’s coming to see them to-morrow; I promised her a place behind the rear curtain. Now, just have these little rascals cleaned up a bit, and you’ll see how pretty they are!”