“I am not at all anxious to stand beside him!” muttered Miaulard, walking away.
“Everybody’s ready,” said little Astianax, muffled up in a cuirass and buckler and helmet, and brandishing a lance which was twice as long as himself. “Where is my sister, where is Cunégonde?”
“Here I am!” cried Mademoiselle Eolinde, dressed as a Malabar widow. “I have my p—p—part at the end of my f—f—fingers.”
“Let us begin then.”
“One moment!” said Monsieur Glumeau; “before we begin, I want to drink a glass of anise water; someone has gone to fetch it for me.”
“What is going to happen, great heavens? what is going to happen?” exclaimed Miaulard, walking still farther away from Monsieur Glumeau.
At last, in place of anise water, they brought Monsieur Glumeau some anisette; he drank two small glasses of it and consented that the play should begin. The signal was given. The amateur musicians executed a polka which would pass very well for the overture to a melodrama. The curtain rose, and applause burst forth on all sides; the audience was delighted with the scenery; no curtain had been hung at the rear, and the veritable forest, lighted here and there, produced a magical effect. And then the odd costumes of the actors heightened the enthusiasm of the audience. The hermit’s cotton beard, the chevalier’s helmet, the vizor of which persisted in falling over young Astianax’s nose, the wooden swords and daggers, everything, even to the dragging gait and foolish expression of the tyrant, combined to enchant the spectators; but when the young druggist appeared as Détroussandos, when he strode across the stage with his tights surmounted by drawers, bursts of laughter arose in every direction, and the little lady who was seated on the branch of a tree was seized with such a paroxysm of hilarity that several times, as she squirmed about, she almost fell; luckily Chambourdin was still in his place, ready to restore equilibrium over his head.
The play proceeded amid general applause and hilarity, until the scene between the child and the robbers who proposed to kill Roderic. The gardener was said to be at his post; and in fact Master Pichet had not forgotten that he was to take his son’s place; but instead of remaining sober as he had been urged to do, the gardener had considered, on the other hand, that in order to act with spirit, and to avoid any feeling of timidity before the audience, it would not be a bad idea to get a little tipsy; and what the peasant called getting a little tipsy, was drinking so much that he could hardly stand on his legs. In that condition Monsieur Pichet had gone upon the stage, and had hidden himself behind the trees from which he was supposed to keep an eye upon the robbers.
“Don’t forget your lines,” said Eolinde: “‘Oh! for heaven’s sake, messieurs, don’t hurt papa!’”
“Oh! I know the lines! Don’t you be afraid, mamzelle, I don’t know anything else!”