possible, content to follow with his rather dreamy eye the cork
which bobbed on the top of the water, he knew how to wait; and
when, after sitting for six hours, a modest barbel, taking pity
on him, consented at last to be caught, he was happy--but he knew
how to control his emotion.
On this day the two lovers--one might say, the two betrothed--
were seated upon the verdant bank. The limpid Vaar murmured a few
feet below them. Suzel quietly drew her needle across the canvas.
Frantz automatically carried his line from left to right, then
permitted it to descend the current from right to left. The fish
made capricious rings in the water, which crossed each other
around the cork, while the hook hung useless near the bottom.
From time to time Frantz would say, without raising his eyes,--
"I think I have a bite, Suzel."
"Do you think so, Frantz?" replied Suzel, who, abandoning her
work for an instant, followed her lover's line with earnest eye.
"N-no," resumed Frantz; "I thought I felt a little twitch; I was
mistaken."
"You -will- have a bite, Frantz," replied Suzel, in her pure,
soft voice. "But do not forget to strike at the right moment. You
are always a few seconds too late, and the barbel takes advantage
to escape."
"Would you like to take my line, Suzel?"
"Willingly, Frantz."
"Then give me your canvas. We shall see whether I am more adroit
with the needle than with the hook."
And the young girl took the line with trembling hand, while her
swain plied the needle across the stitches of the embroidery. For
hours together they thus exchanged soft words, and their hearts
palpitated when the cork bobbed on the water. Ah, could they ever
forget those charming hours, during which, seated side by side,
they listened to the murmurs of the river?
[Illustration: the young girl took the line]
The sun was fast approaching the western horizon, and despite the
combined skill of Suzel and Frantz, there had not been a bite.
The barbels had not shown themselves complacent, and seemed to
scoff at the two young people, who were too just to bear them
malice.
"We shall be more lucky another time, Frantz," said Suzel, as the
young angler put up his still virgin hook.
"Let us hope so," replied Frantz.
Then walking side by side, they turned their steps towards the
house, without exchanging a word, as mute as their shadows which
stretched out before them. Suzel became very, very tall under the
oblique rays of the setting sun. Frantz appeared very, very thin,
like the long rod which he held in his hand.
They reached the burgomaster's house. Green tufts of grass
bordered the shining pavement, and no one would have thought of
tearing them away, for they deadened the noise made by the
passers-by.
As they were about to open the door, Frantz thought it his duty
to say to Suzel,--
"You know, Suzel, the great day is approaching?"
"It is indeed, Frantz," replied the young girl, with downcast
eyes.
"Yes," said Frantz, "in five or six years--"
"Good-bye, Frantz," said Suzel.
[Illustration: "Good-bye, Frantz," said Suzel.]
"Good-bye, Suzel," replied Frantz.
And, after the door had been closed, the young man resumed the
way to his father's house with a calm and equal pace.
CHAPTER VII.
IN WHICH THE ANDANTES BECOME ALLEGROS, AND THE ALLEGROS VIVACES.
The agitation caused by the Schut and Custos affair had subsided.
The affair led to no serious consequences. It appeared likely
that Quiquendone would return to its habitual apathy, which that
unexpected event had for a moment disturbed.
Meanwhile, the laying of the pipes destined to conduct the
oxyhydric gas into the principal edifices of the town was
proceeding rapidly. The main pipes and branches gradually crept
beneath the pavements. But the burners were still wanting; for,
as it required delicate skill to make them, it was necessary that
they should be fabricated abroad. Doctor Ox was here, there, and
everywhere; neither he nor Ygène, his assistant, lost a moment,
but they urged on the workmen, completed the delicate mechanism
of the gasometer, fed day and night the immense piles which
decomposed the water under the influence of a powerful electric
current. Yes, the doctor was already making his gas, though the
pipe-laying was not yet done; a fact which, between ourselves,
might have seemed a little singular. But before long,--at least
there was reason to hope so,--before long Doctor Ox would
inaugurate the splendours of his invention in the theatre of the
town.
For Quiquendone possessed a theatre--a really fine edifice, in
truth--the interior and exterior arrangement of which combined
every style of architecture. It was at once Byzantine, Roman,
Gothic, Renaissance, with semicircular doors, Pointed windows,
Flamboyant rose-windows, fantastic bell-turrets,--in a word, a
specimen of all sorts, half a Parthenon, half a Parisian Grand
Café. Nor was this surprising, the theatre having been commenced
under the burgomaster Ludwig Van Tricasse, in 1175, and only
finished in 1837, under the burgomaster Natalis Van Tricasse. It
had required seven hundred years to build it, and it had, been
successively adapted to the architectural style in vogue in each
period. But for all that it was an imposing structure; the Roman
pillars and Byzantine arches of which would appear to advantage
lit up by the oxyhydric gas.
Pretty well everything was acted at the theatre of Quiquendone;
but the opera and the opera comique were especially patronized.
It must, however, be added that the composers would never have
recognized their own works, so entirely changed were the
"movements" of the music.
In short, as nothing was done in a hurry at Quiquendone, the
dramatic pieces had to be performed in harmony with the peculiar
temperament of the Quiquendonians. Though the doors of the
theatre were regularly thrown open at four o'clock and closed
again at ten, it had never been known that more than two acts
were played during the six intervening hours. "Robert le Diable,"
"Les Huguenots," or "Guillaume Tell" usually took up three
evenings, so slow was the execution of these masterpieces. The
-vivaces-, at the theatre of Quiquendone, lagged like real
-adagios-. The -allegros- were "long-drawn out" indeed. The
demisemiquavers were scarcely equal to the ordinary semibreves of
other countries. The most rapid runs, performed according to
Quiquendonian taste, had the solemn march of a chant. The gayest
shakes were languishing and measured, that they might not shock
the ears of the -dilettanti-. To give an example, the rapid air
sung by Figaro, on his entrance in the first act of "Le Barbiér
de Séville," lasted fifty-eight minutes--when the actor was
particularly enthusiastic.
Artists from abroad, as might be supposed, were forced to conform
themselves to Quiquendonian fashions; but as they were well paid,
they did not complain, and willingly obeyed the leader's baton,
which never beat more than eight measures to the minute in the
-allegros-.
But what applause greeted these artists, who enchanted without
ever wearying the audiences of Quiquendone! All hands clapped one
after another at tolerably long intervals, which the papers
characterized as "frantic applause;" and sometimes nothing but
the lavish prodigality with which mortar and stone had been used
in the twelfth century saved the roof of the hall from falling
in.
Besides, the theatre had only one performance a week, that these
enthusiastic Flemish folk might not be too much excited; and this
enabled the actors to study their parts more thoroughly, and the
spectators to digest more at leisure the beauties of the
masterpieces brought out.
Such had long been the drama at Quiquendone. Foreign artists were
in the habit of making engagements with the director of the town,
when they wanted to rest after their exertions in other scenes;
and it seemed as if nothing could ever change these inveterate
customs, when, a fortnight after the Schut-Custos affair, an
unlooked-for incident occurred to throw the population into fresh
agitation.
It was on a Saturday, an opera day. It was not yet intended, as
may well be supposed, to inaugurate the new illumination. No; the
pipes had reached the hall, but, for reasons indicated above, the
burners had not yet been placed, and the wax-candles still shed
their soft light upon the numerous spectators who filled the
theatre. The doors had been opened to the public at one o'clock,
and by three the hall was half full. A queue had at one time been
formed, which extended as far as the end of the Place Saint
Ernuph, in front of the shop of Josse Lietrinck the apothecary.
This eagerness was significant of an unusually attractive
performance.
"Are you going to the theatre this evening?" inquired the
counsellor the same morning of the burgomaster.
"I shall not fail to do so," returned Van Tricasse, "and I shall
take Madame Van Tricasse, as well as our daughter Suzel and our
dear Tatanémance, who all dote on good music."
"Mademoiselle Suzel is going then?"
"Certainly, Niklausse."
"Then my son Frantz will be one of the first to arrive," said
Niklausse.
"A spirited boy, Niklausse," replied the burgomaster
sententiously; "but hot-headed! He will require watching!"
"He loves, Van Tricasse,--he loves your charming Suzel."
"Well, Niklausse, he shall marry her. Now that we have agreed on
this marriage, what more can he desire?"
"He desires nothing, Van Tricasse, the dear boy! But, in short--
we'll say no more about it--he will not be the last to get his
ticket at the box-office."
"Ah, vivacious and ardent youth!" replied the burgomaster,
recalling his own past. "We have also been thus, my worthy
counsellor! We have loved--we too! We have danced attendance in
our day! Till to-night, then, till to-night! By-the-bye, do you
know this Fiovaranti is a great artist? And what a welcome he has
received among us! It will be long before he will forget the
applause of Quiquendone!"
The tenor Fiovaranti was, indeed, going to sing; Fiovaranti, who,
by his talents as a virtuoso, his perfect method, his melodious
voice, provoked a real enthusiasm among the lovers of music in
the town.
For three weeks Fiovaranti had been achieving a brilliant success
in "Les Huguenots." The first act, interpreted according to the
taste of the Quiquendonians, had occupied an entire evening of
the first week of the month.--Another evening in the second week,
prolonged by infinite -andantes-, had elicited for the celebrated
singer a real ovation. His success had been still more marked in
the third act of Meyerbeer's masterpiece. But now Fiovaranti was
to appear in the fourth act, which was to be performed on this
evening before an impatient public. Ah, the duet between Raoul
and Valentine, that pathetic love-song for two voices, that
strain so full of -crescendos-, -stringendos-, and -piu
crescendos---all this, sung slowly, compendiously, interminably!
Ah, how delightful!
[Illustration: Fiovaranti had been achieving a brilliant success
in "Les Huguenots."]
At four o'clock the hall was full. The boxes, the orchestra, the
pit, were overflowing. In the front stalls sat the Burgomaster
Van Tricasse, Mademoiselle Van Tricasse, Madame Van Tricasse, and
the amiable Tatanémance in a green bonnet; not far off were the
Counsellor Niklausse and his family, not forgetting the amorous
Frantz. The families of Custos the doctor, of Schut the advocate,
of Honoré Syntax the chief judge, of Norbet Sontman the insurance
director, of the banker Collaert, gone mad on German music, and
himself somewhat of an amateur, and the teacher Rupp, and the
master of the academy, Jerome Resh, and the civil commissary, and
so many other notabilities of the town that they could not be
enumerated here without wearying the reader's patience, were
visible in different parts of the hall.
It was customary for the Quiquendonians, while awaiting the rise
of the curtain, to sit silent, some reading the paper, others
whispering low to each other, some making their way to their
seats slowly and noiselessly, others casting timid looks towards
the bewitching beauties in the galleries.
But on this evening a looker-on might have observed that, even
before the curtain rose, there was unusual animation among the
audience. People were restless who were never known to be
restless before. The ladies' fans fluttered with abnormal
rapidity. All appeared to be inhaling air of exceptional
stimulating power. Every one breathed more freely. The eyes of
some became unwontedly bright, and seemed to give forth a light
equal to that of the candles, which themselves certainly threw a
more brilliant light over the hall. It was evident that people
saw more clearly, though the number of candles had not been
increased. Ah, if Doctor Ox's experiment were being tried! But it
was not being tried, as yet.
The musicians of the orchestra at last took their places. The
first violin had gone to the stand to give a modest la to his
colleagues. The stringed instruments, the wind instruments, the
drums and cymbals, were in accord. The conductor only waited the
sound of the bell to beat the first bar.
The bell sounds. The fourth act begins. The -allegro
appassionato- of the inter-act is played as usual, with a
majestic deliberation which would have made Meyerbeer frantic,
and all the majesty of which was appreciated by the Quiquendonian
-dilettanti-.
But soon the leader perceived that he was no longer master of his
musicians. He found it difficult to restrain them, though usually
so obedient and calm. The wind instruments betrayed a tendency to
hasten the movements, and it was necessary to hold them back with
a firm hand, for they would otherwise outstrip the stringed
instruments; which, from a musical point of view, would have been
disastrous. The bassoon himself, the son of Josse Lietrinck the
apothecary, a well-bred young man, seemed to lose his self-control.
Meanwhile Valentine has begun her recitative, "I am alone," &c.;
but she hurries it.
The leader and all his musicians, perhaps unconsciously, follow
her in her -cantabile-, which should be taken deliberately, like
a 12/8 as it is. When Raoul appears at the door at the bottom of
the stage, between the moment when Valentine goes to him and that
when she conceals herself in the chamber at the side, a quarter
of an hour does not elapse; while formerly, according to the
traditions of the Quiquendone theatre, this recitative of
thirty-seven bars was wont to last just thirty-seven minutes.
Saint Bris, Nevers, Cavannes, and the Catholic nobles have
appeared, somewhat prematurely, perhaps, upon the scene. The
composer has marked -allergo pomposo- on the score. The orchestra
and the lords proceed -allegro- indeed, but not at all -pomposo-,
and at the chorus, in the famous scene of the "benediction of the
poniards," they no longer keep to the enjoined -allegro-. Singers
and musicians broke away impetuously. The leader does not even
attempt to restrain them. Nor do the public protest; on the
contrary, the people find themselves carried away, and see that
they are involved in the movement, and that the movement responds
to the impulses of their souls.
"Will you, with me, deliver the land,
From troubles increasing, an impious band?"
They promise, they swear. Nevers has scarcely time to protest,
and to sing that "among his ancestors were many soldiers, but
never an assassin." He is arrested. The police and the aldermen
rush forward and rapidly swear "to strike all at once." Saint
Bris shouts the recitative which summons the Catholics to
vengeance. The three monks, with white scarfs, hasten in by the
door at the back of Nevers's room, without making any account of
the stage directions, which enjoin on them to advance slowly.
Already all the artists have drawn sword or poniard, which the
three monks bless in a trice. The soprani tenors, bassos, attack
the -allegro furioso- with cries of rage, and of a dramatic 6/8
time they make it 6/8 quadrille time. Then they rush out,
bellowing,--
"At midnight,
Noiselessly,
God wills it,
Yes,
At midnight."
At this moment the audience start to their feet. Everybody is
agitated--in the boxes, the pit, the galleries. It seems as if
the spectators are about to rush upon the stage, the Burgomaster
Van Tricasse at their head, to join with the conspirators and
annihilate the Huguenots, whose religious opinions, however, they
share. They applaud, call before the curtain, make loud
acclamations! Tatanémance grasps her bonnet with feverish hand.
The candles throw out a lurid glow of light.
Raoul, instead of slowly raising the curtain, tears it apart with
a superb gesture and finds himself confronting Valentine.
At last! It is the grand duet, and it starts off -allegro
vivace-. Raoul does not wait for Valentine's pleading, and
Valentine does not wait for Raoul's responses.
The fine passage beginning, "Danger is passing, time is flying,"
becomes one of those rapid airs which have made Offenbach famous,
when he composes a dance for conspirators. The -andante amoroso-,
"Thou hast said it, aye, thou lovest me," becomes a real -vivace
furioso-, and the violoncello ceases to imitate the inflections
of the singer's voice, as indicated in the composer's score. In
vain Raoul cries, "Speak on, and prolong the ineffable slumber of
my soul." Valentine cannot "prolong." It is evident that an
unaccustomed fire devours her. Her -b's- and her -c's- above the
stave were dreadfully shrill. He struggles, he gesticulates, he
is all in a glow.
The alarum is heard; the bell resounds; but what a panting bell!
The bell-ringer has evidently lost his self-control. It is a
frightful tocsin, which violently struggles against the fury of
the orchestra.
Finally the air which ends this magnificent act, beginning, "No
more love, no more intoxication, O the remorse that oppresses
me!" which the composer marks -allegro con moto-, becomes a wild
-prestissimo-. You would say an express-train was whirling by.
The alarum resounds again. Valentine falls fainting. Raoul
precipitates himself from the window.
It was high time. The orchestra, really intoxicated, could not
have gone on. The leader's baton is no longer anything but a
broken stick on the prompter's box. The violin strings are
broken, and their necks twisted. In his fury the drummer has
burst his drum. The counter-bassist has perched on the top of his
musical monster. The first clarionet has swallowed the reed of
his instrument, and the second hautboy is chewing his reed keys.
The groove of the trombone is strained, and finally the unhappy
cornist cannot withdraw his hand from the bell of his horn, into
which he had thrust it too far.
And the audience! The audience, panting, all in a heat,
gesticulates and howls. All the faces are as red as if a fire
were burning within their bodies. They crowd each other, hustle
each other to get out--the men without hats, the women without
mantles! They elbow each other in the corridors, crush between
the doors, quarrel, fight! There are no longer any officials, any
burgomaster. All are equal amid this infernal frenzy!
[Illustration: They hustle each other to get out]
Some moments after, when all have reached the street, each one
resumes his habitual tranquillity, and peaceably enters his
house, with a confused remembrance of what he has just experienced.
The fourth act of the "Huguenots," which formerly lasted six
hours, began, on this evening at half-past four, and ended at
twelve minutes before five.
It had only lasted eighteen minutes!
CHAPTER VIII.
IN WHICH THE ANCIENT AND SOLEMN GERMAN WALTZ BECOMES A WHIRLWIND.
But if the spectators, on leaving the theatre, resumed their
customary calm, if they quietly regained their homes, preserving
only a sort of passing stupefaction, they had none the less
undergone a remarkable exaltation, and overcome and weary as if
they had committed some excess of dissipation, they fell heavily
upon their beds.
The next day each Quiquendonian had a kind of recollection of
what had occurred the evening before. One missed his hat, lost in
the hubbub; another a coat-flap, torn in the brawl; one her
delicately fashioned shoe, another her best mantle. Memory
returned to these worthy people, and with it a certain shame for
their unjustifiable agitation. It seemed to them an orgy in which
they were the unconscious heroes and heroines. They did not speak
of it; they did not wish to think of it. But the most astounded
personage in the town was Van Tricasse the burgomaster.
The next morning, on waking, he could not find his wig. Lotchè
looked everywhere for it, but in vain. The wig had remained on
the field of battle. As for having it publicly claimed by Jean
Mistrol, the town-crier,--no, it would not do. It were better to
lose the wig than to advertise himself thus, as he had the honour
to be the first magistrate of Quiquendone.
The worthy Van Tricasse was reflecting upon this, extended
beneath his sheets, with bruised body, heavy head, furred tongue,
and burning breast. He felt no desire to get up; on the contrary;
and his brain worked more during this morning than it had
probably worked before for forty years. The worthy magistrate
recalled to his mind all the incidents of the incomprehensible
performance. He connected them with the events which had taken
place shortly before at Doctor Ox's reception. He tried to
discover the causes of the singular excitability which, on two
occasions, had betrayed itself in the best citizens of the town.
"What -can- be going on?" he asked himself. "What giddy spirit
has taken possession of my peaceable town of Quiquendone? Are we
about to go mad, and must we make the town one vast asylum? For
yesterday we were all there, notables, counsellors, judges,
advocates, physicians, schoolmasters; and ail, if my memory
serves me,--all of us were assailed by this excess of furious
folly! But what was there in that infernal music? It is
inexplicable! Yet I certainly ate or drank nothing which could
put me into such a state. No; yesterday I had for dinner a slice
of overdone veal, several spoonfuls of spinach with sugar, eggs,
and a little beer and water,--that couldn't get into my head! No!
There is something that I cannot explain, and as, after all, I am
responsible for the conduct of the citizens, I will have an
investigation."
But the investigation, though decided upon by the municipal
council, produced no result. If the facts were clear, the causes
escaped the sagacity of the magistrates. Besides, tranquillity
had been restored in the public mind, and with tranquillity,
forgetfulness of the strange scenes of the theatre. The
newspapers avoided speaking of them, and the account of the
performance which appeared in the "Quiquendone Memorial," made no
allusion to this intoxication of the entire audience.
Meanwhile, though the town resumed its habitual phlegm, and
became apparently Flemish as before, it was observable that, at
bottom, the character and temperament of the people changed
little by little. One might have truly said, with Dominique
Custos, the doctor, that "their nerves were affected."
Let us explain. This undoubted change only took place under
certain conditions. When the Quiquendonians passed through the
streets of the town, walked in the squares or along the Vaar,
they were always the cold and methodical people of former days.
So, too, when they remained at home, some working with their
hands and others with their heads,--these doing nothing, those
thinking nothing,--their private life was silent, inert,
vegetating as before. No quarrels, no household squabbles, no
acceleration in the beating of the heart, no excitement of the
brain. The mean of their pulsations remained as it was of old,
from fifty to fifty-two per minute.
But, strange and inexplicable phenomenon though it was, which
would have defied the sagacity of the most ingenious physiologists
of the day, if the inhabitants of Quiquendone did not change in
their home life, they were visibly changed in their civil life
and in their relations between man and man, to which it leads.
If they met together in some public edifice, it did not "work
well," as Commissary Passauf expressed it. On 'change, at the
town-hall, in the amphitheatre of the academy, at the sessions of
the council, as well as at the reunions of the -savants-, a
strange excitement seized the assembled citizens. Their relations
with each other became embarrassing before they had been together
an hour. In two hours the discussion degenerated into an angry
dispute. Heads became heated, and personalities were used. Even
at church, during the sermon, the faithful could not listen to
Van Stabel, the minister, in patience, and he threw himself about
in the pulpit and lectured his flock with far more than his usual
severity. At last this state of things brought about altercations
more grave, alas! than that between Gustos and Schut, and if they
did not require the interference of the authorities, it was
because the antagonists, after returning home, found there, with
its calm, forgetfulness of the offences offered and received.
This peculiarity could not be observed by these minds, which were
absolutely incapable of recognizing what was passing in them. One
person only in the town, he whose office the council had thought
of suppressing for thirty years, Michael Passauf, had remarked
that this excitement, which was absent from private houses,
quickly revealed itself in public edifices; and he asked himself,
not without a certain anxiety, what would happen if this
infection should ever develop itself in the family mansions, and
if the epidemic--this was the word he used--should extend
through the streets of the town. Then there would be no more
forgetfulness of insults, no more tranquillity, no intermission
in the delirium; but a permanent inflammation, which would
inevitably bring the Quiquendonians into collision with each
other.
"What would happen then?" Commissary Passauf asked himself in
terror. "How could these furious savages be arrested? How check
these goaded temperaments? My office would be no longer a
sinecure, and the council would be obliged to double my salary--
unless it should arrest me myself, for disturbing the public
peace!"
These very reasonable fears began to be realized. The infection
spread from 'change, the theatre, the church, the town-hall, the
academy, the market, into private houses, and that in less than a
fortnight after the terrible performance of the "Huguenots."
Its first symptoms appeared in the house of Collaert, the banker.
That wealthy personage gave a ball, or at least a dancing-party,
to the notabilities of the town. He had issued, some months
before, a loan of thirty thousand francs, three quarters of which
had been subscribed; and to celebrate this financial success, he
had opened his drawing-rooms, and given a party to his fellow-citizens.
Everybody knows that Flemish parties are innocent and tranquil
enough, the principal expense of which is usually in beer and
syrups. Some conversation on the weather, the appearance of the
crops, the fine condition of the gardens, the care of flowers,
and especially of tulips; a slow and measured dance, from time to
time, perhaps a minuet; sometimes a waltz, but one of those
German waltzes which achieve a turn and a half per minute, and
during which the dancers hold each other as far apart as their
arms will permit,--such is the usual fashion of the balls
attended by the aristocratic society of Quiquendone. The polka,
after being altered to four time, had tried to become accustomed
to it; but the dancers always lagged behind the orchestra, no
matter how slow the measure, and it had to be abandoned.
These peaceable reunions, in which the youths and maidens enjoyed
an honest and moderate pleasure, had never been attended by any
outburst of ill-nature. Why, then, on this evening at Collaert
the banker's, did the syrups seem to be transformed into heady
wines, into sparkling champagne, into heating punches? Why,
towards the middle of the evening, did a sort of mysterious
intoxication take possession of the guests? Why did the minuet
become a jig? Why did the orchestra hurry with its harmonies? Why
did the candles, just as at the theatre, burn with unwonted
refulgence? What electric current invaded the banker's drawing-rooms?
How happened it that the couples held each other so closely, and
clasped each other's hands so convulsively, that the "cavaliers seuls"
made themselves conspicuous by certain extraordinary steps in that
figure usually so grave, so solemn, so majestic, so very proper?
Alas! what OEdipus could have answered these unsolvable
questions? Commissary Passauf, who was present at the party, saw
the storm coming distinctly, but he could not control it or fly
from it, and he felt a kind of intoxication entering his own
brain. All his physical and emotional faculties increased in
intensity. He was seen, several times, to throw himself upon the
confectionery and devour the dishes, as if he had just broken a
long fast.
The animation of the ball was increasing all this while. A long
murmur, like a dull buzzing, escaped from all breasts. They
danced--really danced. The feet were agitated by increasing
frenzy. The faces became as purple as those of Silenus. The eyes
shone like carbuncles. The general fermentation rose to the
highest pitch.
And when the orchestra thundered out the waltz in "Der
Freyschütz,"--when this waltz, so German, and with a movement so
slow, was attacked with wild arms by the musicians,--ah! it was
no longer a waltz, but an insensate whirlwind, a giddy rotation,
a gyration worthy of being led by some Mephistopheles, beating
the measure with a firebrand! Then a galop, an infernal galop,
which lasted an hour without any one being able to stop it,
whirled off, in its windings, across the halls, the drawing-rooms,
the antechambers, by the staircases, from the cellar to the garret of
the opulent mansion, the young men and young girls, the fathers and
mothers, people of every age, of every weight, of both sexes;
Collaert, the fat banker, and Madame Collaert, and the counsellors,
and the magistrates, and the chief justice, and Niklausse, and Madame
Van Tricasse, and the Burgomaster Van Tricasse, and the Commissary
Passauf himself, who never could recall afterwards who had been his
partner on that terrible evening.
[Illustration: it was no longer a waltz]
But she did not forget! And ever since that day she has seen in
her dreams the fiery commissary, enfolding her in an impassioned
embrace! And "she"--was the amiable Tatanémance!
CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH DOCTOR OX AND YGÈNE, HIS ASSISTANT, SAY A FEW WORDS.
"Well, Ygène?"
"Well, master, all is ready. The laying of the pipes is
finished."
"At last! Now, then, we are going to operate on a large scale, on
the masses!"
CHAPTER X.
IN WHICH IT WILL BE SEEN THAT THE EPIDEMIC INVADES THE ENTIRE TOWN,
AND WHAT EFFECT IT PRODUCES.
During the following months the evil, in place of subsiding,
became more extended. From private houses the epidemic spread
into the streets. The town of Quiquendone was no longer to be
recognized.
A phenomenon yet stranger than those which had already happened,
now appeared; not only the animal kingdom, but the vegetable
kingdom itself, became subject to the mysterious influence.
According to the ordinary course of things, epidemics are special
in their operation. Those which attack humanity spare the
animals, and those which attack the animals spare the vegetables.
A horse was never inflicted with smallpox, nor a man with the
cattle-plague, nor do sheep suffer from the potato-rot. But here
all the laws of nature seemed to be overturned. Not only were the
character, temperament, and ideas of the townsfolk changed, but
the domestic animals--dogs and cats, horses and cows, asses and
goats--suffered from this epidemic influence, as if their
habitual equilibrium had been changed. The plants themselves were
infected by a similar strange metamorphosis.
In the gardens and vegetable patches and orchards very curious
symptoms manifested themselves. Climbing plants climbed more
audaciously. Tufted plants became more tufted than ever. Shrubs
became trees. Cereals, scarcely sown, showed their little green
heads, and gained, in the same length of time, as much in inches
as formerly, under the most favourable circumstances, they had
gained in fractions. Asparagus attained the height of several
feet; the artichokes swelled to the size of melons, the melons to
the size of pumpkins, the pumpkins to the size of gourds, the
gourds to the size of the belfry bell, which measured, in truth,
nine feet in diameter. The cabbages were bushes, and the
mushrooms umbrellas.
The fruits did not lag behind the vegetables. It required two
persons to eat a strawberry, and four to consume a pear. The
grapes also attained the enormous proportions of those so well
depicted by Poussin in his "Return of the Envoys to the Promised
Land."
[Illustration: It required two persons to eat a strawberry]
It was the same with the flowers: immense violets spread the most
penetrating perfumes through the air; exaggerated roses shone
with the brightest colours; lilies formed, in a few days,
impenetrable copses; geraniums, daisies, camelias, rhododendrons,
invaded the garden walks, and stifled each other. And the
tulips,--those dear liliaceous plants so dear to the Flemish
heart, what emotion they must have caused to their zealous
cultivators! The worthy Van Bistrom nearly fell over backwards,
one day, on seeing in his garden an enormous "Tulipa gesneriana,"
a gigantic monster, whose cup afforded space to a nest for a
whole family of robins!
The entire town flocked to see this floral phenomenon, and
renamed it the "Tulipa quiquendonia".
But alas! if these plants, these fruits, these flowers, grew
visibly to the naked eye, if all the vegetables insisted on
assuming colossal proportions, if the brilliancy of their colours
and perfume intoxicated the smell and the sight, they quickly
withered. The air which they absorbed rapidly exhausted them, and
they soon died, faded, and dried up.
Such was the fate of the famous tulip, which, after several days
of splendour, became emaciated, and fell lifeless.
It was soon the same with the domestic animals, from the house-dog
to the stable pig, from the canary in its cage to the turkey
of the back-court. It must be said that in ordinary times these
animals were not less phlegmatic than their masters. The dogs and
cats vegetated rather than lived. They never betrayed a wag of
pleasure nor a snarl of wrath. Their tails moved no more than if
they had been made of bronze. Such a thing as a bite or scratch
from any of them had not been known from time immemorial. As for
mad dogs, they were looked upon as imaginary beasts, like the
griffins and the rest in the menagerie of the apocalypse.
But what a change had taken place in a few months, the smallest
incidents of which we are trying to reproduce! Dogs and cats
began to show teeth and claws. Several executions had taken place
after reiterated offences. A horse was seen, for the first time,
to take his bit in his teeth and rush through the streets of
Quiquendone; an ox was observed to precipitate itself, with
lowered horns, upon one of his herd; an ass was seen to turn
himself ever, with his legs in the air, in the Place Saint
Ernuph, and bray as ass never brayed before; a sheep, actually a
sheep, defended valiantly the cutlets within him from the
butcher's knife.
Van Tricasse, the burgomaster, was forced to make police
regulations concerning the domestic animals, as, seized with
lunacy, they rendered the streets of Quiquendone unsafe.
But alas! if the animals were mad, the men were scarcely less so.
No age was spared by the scourge. Babies soon became quite
insupportable, though till now so easy to bring up; and for the
first time Honoré Syntax, the judge, was obliged to apply the rod
to his youthful offspring.
There was a kind of insurrection at the high school, and the
dictionaries became formidable missiles in the classes. The
scholars would not submit to be shut in, and, besides, the
infection took the teachers themselves, who overwhelmed the boys
and girls with extravagant tasks and punishments.
Another strange phenomenon occurred. All these Quiquendonians, so
sober before, whose chief food had been whipped creams, committed
wild excesses in their eating and drinking. Their usual regimen
no longer sufficed. Each stomach was transformed into a gulf, and
it became necessary to fill this gulf by the most energetic
means. The consumption of the town was trebled. Instead of two
repasts they had six. Many cases of indigestion were reported.
The Counsellor Niklausse could not satisfy his hunger. Van
Tricasse found it impossible to assuage his thirst, and remained
in a state of rabid semi-intoxication.
In short, the most alarming symptoms manifested themselves and
increased from day to day. Drunken people staggered in the
streets, and these were often citizens of high position.
Dominique Custos, the physician, had plenty to do with the
heartburns, inflammations, and nervous affections, which proved
to what a strange degree the nerves of the people had been
irritated.
There were daily quarrels and altercations in the once deserted
but now crowded streets of Quiquendone; for nobody could any
longer stay at home. It was necessary to establish a new police
force to control the disturbers of the public peace. A prison-cage
was established in the Town Hall, and speedily became full,
night and day, of refractory offenders. Commissary Passauf was in
despair.
A marriage was concluded in less than two months,--such a thing
had never been seen before. Yes, the son of Rupp, the schoolmaster,
wedded the daughter of Augustine de Rovere, and that fifty-seven
days only after he had petitioned for her hand and heart!
Other marriages were decided upon, which, in old times, would
have remained in doubt and discussion for years. The burgomaster
perceived that his own daughter, the charming Suzel, was escaping
from his hands.
As for dear Tatanémance, she had dared to sound Commissary
Passauf on the subject of a union, which seemed to her to combine
every element of happiness, fortune, honour, youth!
At last,--to reach the depths of abomination,--a duel took place!
Yes, a duel with pistols--horse-pistols--at seventy-five paces,
with ball-cartridges. And between whom? Our readers will never
believe!
Between M. Frantz Niklausse, the gentle angler, and young Simon
Collaert, the wealthy banker's son.
And the cause of this duel was the burgomaster's daughter, for
whom Simon discovered himself to be fired with passion, and whom
he refused to yield to the claims of an audacious rival!
CHAPTER XI.
IN WHICH THE QUIQUENDONIANS ADOPT A HEROIC RESOLUTION.
We have seen to what a deplorable condition the people of
Quiquendone were reduced. Their heads were in a ferment. They no
longer knew or recognized themselves. The most peaceable citizens
had become quarrelsome. If you looked at them askance, they would
speedily send you a challenge. Some let their moustaches grow,
and several--the most belligerent--curled them up at the ends.
This being their condition, the administration of the town and
the maintenance of order in the streets became difficult tasks,
for the government had not been organized for such a state of
things. The burgomaster--that worthy Van Tricasse whom we have
seen so placid, so dull, so incapable of coming to any decision--
the burgomaster became intractable. His house resounded with the
sharpness of his voice. He made twenty decisions a day, scolding
his officials, and himself enforcing the regulations of his
administration.
Ah, what a change! The amiable and tranquil mansion of the
burgomaster, that good Flemish home--where was its former calm?
What changes had taken place in your household economy! Madame
Van Tricasse had become acrid, whimsical, harsh. Her husband
sometimes succeeded in drowning her voice by talking louder than
she, but could not silence her. The petulant humour of this
worthy dame was excited by everything. Nothing went right. The
servants offended her every moment. Tatanémance, her sister-in-law,
who was not less irritable, replied sharply to her. M. Van
Tricasse naturally supported Lotchè, his servant, as is the case
in all good households; and this permanently exasperated Madame,
who constantly disputed, discussed, and made scenes with her
husband.
"What on earth is the matter with us?" cried the unhappy
burgomaster. "What is this fire that is devouring us? Are we
possessed with the devil? Ah, Madame Van Tricasse, Madame Van
Tricasse, you will end by making me die before you, and thus
violate all the traditions of the family!"
The reader will not have forgotten the strange custom by which M.
Van Tricasse would become a widower and marry again, so as not to
break the chain of descent.
Meanwhile, this disposition of all minds produced other curious
effects worthy of note. This excitement, the cause of which has
so far escaped us, brought about unexpected physiological
changes. Talents, hitherto unrecognized, betrayed themselves.
Aptitudes were suddenly revealed. Artists, before common-place,
displayed new ability. Politicians and authors arose. Orators
proved themselves equal to the most arduous debates, and on every
question inflamed audiences which were quite ready to be
inflamed. From the sessions of the council, this movement spread
to the public political meetings, and a club was formed at
Quiquendone; whilst twenty newspapers, the "Quiquendone Signal,"
the "Quiquendone Impartial," the "Quiquendone Radical," and so
on, written in an inflammatory style, raised the most important
questions.
But what about? you will ask. Apropos of everything, and of
nothing; apropos of the Oudenarde tower, which was falling, and
which some wished to pull down, and others to prop up; apropos of
the police regulations issued by the council, which some
obstinate citizens threatened to resist; apropos of the sweeping
of the gutters, repairing the sewers, and so on. Nor did the
enraged orators confine themselves to the internal administration
of the town. Carried on by the current they went further, and
essayed to plunge their fellow-citizens into the hazards of war.
Quiquendone had had for eight or nine hundred years a -casus
belli- of the best quality; but she had preciously laid it up
like a relic, and there had seemed some probability that it would
become effete, and no longer serviceable.
This was what had given rise to the -casus belli-.
It is not generally known that Quiquendone, in this cosy corner
of Flanders, lies next to the little town of Virgamen. The
territories of the two communities are contiguous.
Well, in 1185, some time before Count Baldwin's departure to the
Crusades, a Virgamen cow--not a cow belonging to a citizen, but a
cow which was common property, let it be observed--audaciously
ventured to pasture on the territory of Quiquendone. This
unfortunate beast had scarcely eaten three mouthfuls; but the
offence, the abuse, the crime--whatever you will--was committed
and duly indicted, for the magistrates, at that time, had already
begun to know how to write.
"We will take revenge at the proper moment," said simply Natalis
Van Tricasse, the thirty-second predecessor of the burgomaster of
this story, "and the Virgamenians will lose nothing by waiting."
The Virgamenians were forewarned. They waited thinking, without
doubt, that the remembrance of the offence would fade away with
the lapse of time; and really, for several centuries, they lived
on good terms with their neighbours of Quiquendone.
But they counted without their hosts, or rather without this
strange epidemic, which, radically changing the character of the
Quiquendonians, aroused their dormant vengeance.
It was at the club of the Rue Monstrelet that the truculent
orator Schut, abruptly introducing the subject to his hearers,
inflamed them with the expressions and metaphors used on such
occasions. He recalled the offence, the injury which had been
done to Quiquendone, and which a nation "jealous of its rights"
could not admit as a precedent; he showed the insult to be still
existing, the wound still bleeding: he spoke of certain special
head-shakings on the part of the people of Virgamen, which
indicated in what degree of contempt they regarded the people of
Quiquendone; he appealed to his fellow-citizens, who, unconsciously
perhaps, had supported this mortal insult for long centuries; he
adjured the "children of the ancient town" to have no other purpose
than to obtain a substantial reparation. And, lastly, he made an
appeal to "all the living energies of the nation!"
With what enthusiasm these words, so new to Quiquendonian ears,
were greeted, may be surmised, but cannot be told. All the
auditors rose, and with extended arms demanded war with loud
cries. Never had the Advocate Schut achieved such a success, and
it must be avowed that his triumphs were not few.
The burgomaster, the counsellor, all the notabilities present at
this memorable meeting, would have vainly attempted to resist the
popular outburst. Besides, they had no desire to do so, and cried
as loud, if not louder, than the rest,--
"To the frontier! To the frontier!"
As the frontier was but three kilometers from the walls of
Quiquendone, it is certain that the Virgamenians ran a real
danger, for they might easily be invaded without having had time
to look about them.
Meanwhile, Josse Liefrinck, the worthy chemist, who alone had
preserved his senses on this grave occasion, tried to make his
fellow-citizens comprehend that guns, cannon, and generals were
equally wanting to their design.
They replied to him, not without many impatient gestures, that
these generals, cannons, and guns would be improvised; that the
right and love of country sufficed, and rendered a people
irresistible.
Hereupon the burgomaster himself came forward, and in a sublime
harangue made short work of those pusillanimous people who
disguise their fear under a veil of prudence, which veil he tore
off with a patriotic hand.
At this sally it seemed as if the hall would fall in under the
applause.
The vote was eagerly demanded, and was taken amid acclamations.
The cries of "To Virgamen! to Virgamen!" redoubled.
[Illustration: "To Virgamen! to Virgamen!"]
The burgomaster then took it upon himself to put the armies in
motion, and in the name of the town he promised the honours of a
triumph, such as was given in the times of the Romans to that one
of its generals who should return victorious.
Meanwhile, Josse Liefrinck, who was an obstinate fellow, and did
not regard himself as beaten, though he really had been, insisted
on making another observation. He wished to remark that the
triumph was only accorded at Rome to those victorious generals
who had killed five thousand of the enemy.
"Well, well!" cried the meeting deliriously.
"And as the population of the town of Virgamen consists of but
three thousand five hundred and seventy-five inhabitants, it
would be difficult, unless the same person was killed several
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