The company excelled itself. The audience followed with relish5 the sly intriguings of Scaramouche, delighted in the beauty and freshness of Climene, was moved almost to tears by the hard fate which through four long acts kept her from the hungering arms of the so beautiful Leandre, howled its delight over the ignominy of Pantaloon, the buffooneries of his sprightly6 lackey7 Harlequin, and the thrasonical strut8 and bellowing9 fierceness of the cowardly Rhodomont.
The success of the Binet troupe11 in Guichen was assured. That night the company drank Burgundy at M. Binet’s expense. The takings reached the sum of eight louis, which was as good business as M. Binet had ever done in all his career. He was very pleased. Gratification rose like steam from his fat body. He even condescended12 so far as to attribute a share of the credit for the success to M. Parvissimus.
“His suggestion,” he was careful to say, by way of properly delimiting that share, “was most valuable, as I perceived at the time.”
“And his cutting of quills,” growled14 Polichinelle. “Don’t forget that. It is most important to have by you a man who understands how to cut a quill13, as I shall remember when I turn author.”
But not even that gibe15 could stir M. Binet out of his lethargy of content.
On Tuesday the success was repeated artistically16 and augmented17 financially. Ten louis and seven livres was the enormous sum that Andre–Louis, the doorkeeper, counted over to M. Binet after the performance. Never yet had M. Binet made so much money in one evening — and a miserable18 little village like Guichen was certainly the last place in which he would have expected this windfall.
“Ah, but Guichen in time of fair,” Andre–Louis reminded him. “There are people here from as far as Nantes and Rennes to buy and sell. To-morrow, being the last day of the fair, the crowds will be greater than ever. We should better this evening’s receipts.”
“Better them? I shall be quite satisfied if we do as well, my friend.”
“You can depend upon that,” Andre–Louis assured him. “Are we to have Burgundy?”
And then the tragedy occurred. It announced itself in a succession of bumps and thuds, culminating in a crash outside the door that brought them all to their feet in alarm.
Pierrot sprang to open, and beheld19 the tumbled body of a man lying at the foot of the stairs. It emitted groans20, therefore it was alive. Pierrot went forward to turn it over, and disclosed the fact that the body wore the wizened21 face of Scaramouche, a grimacing22, groaning23, twitching24 Scaramouche.
The whole company, pressing after Pierrot, abandoned itself to laughter.
“I always said you should change parts with me,” cried Harlequin. “You’re such an excellent tumbler. Have you been practising?”
“Fool!” Scaramouche snapped. “Must you be laughing when I’ve all but broken my neck?”
“You are right. We ought to be weeping because you didn’t break it. Come, man, get up,” and he held out a hand to the prostrate25 rogue26.
Scaramouche took the hand, clutched it, heaved himself from the ground, then with a scream dropped back again.
“My foot!” he complained.
Binet rolled through the group of players, scattering27 them to right and left. Apprehension28 had been quick to seize him. Fate had played him such tricks before.
“What ails29 your foot?” quoth he, sourly.
“It’s broken, I think,” Scaramouche complained.
“Broken? Bah! Get up, man.” He caught him under the armpits and hauled him up.
Scaramouche came howling to one foot; the other doubled under him when he attempted to set it down, and he must have collapsed30 again but that Binet supported him. He filled the place with his plaint, whilst Binet swore amazingly and variedly31.
“Must you bellow10 like a calf32, you fool? Be quiet. A chair here, some one.”
A chair was thrust forward. He crushed Scaramouche down into it.
“Let us look at this foot of yours.”
Heedless of Scaramouche’s howls of pain, he swept away shoe and stocking.
“What ails it?” he asked, staring. “Nothing that I can see.” He seized it, heel in one hand, instep in the other, and gyrated it. Scaramouche screamed in agony, until Climene caught Binet’s arm and made him stop.
“My God, have you no feelings?” she reproved her father. “The lad has hurt his foot. Must you torture him? Will that cure it?”
“Hurt his foot!” said Binet. “I can see nothing the matter with his foot — nothing to justify33 all this uproar34. He has bruised35 it, maybe . . . ”
“A man with a bruised foot doesn’t scream like that,” said Madame over Climene’s shoulder. “Perhaps he has dislocated it.”
“That is what I fear,” whimpered Scaramouche.
Binet heaved himself up in disgust.
“Take him to bed,” he bade them, “and fetch a doctor to see him.”
It was done, and the doctor came. Having seen the patient, he reported that nothing very serious had happened, but that in falling he had evidently sprained36 his foot a little. A few days’ rest and all would be well.
“A few days!” cried Binet. “God of God! Do you mean that he can’t walk?”
“It would be unwise, indeed impossible for more than a few steps.”
M. Binet paid the doctor’s fee, and sat down to think. He filled himself a glass of Burgundy, tossed it off without a word, and sat thereafter staring into the empty glass.
“It is of course the sort of thing that must always be happening to me,” he grumbled37 to no one in particular. The members of the company were all standing38 in silence before him, sharing his dismay. “I might have known that this — or something like it — would occur to spoil the first vein39 of luck that I have found in years. Ah, well, it is finished. To-morrow we pack and depart. The best day of the fair, on the crest40 of the wave of our success — a good fifteen louis to be taken, and this happens! God of God!”
“Do you mean to abandon to-morrow’s performance?”
All turned to stare with Binet at Andre–Louis.
“Are we to play ‘Figaro–Scaramouche’ without Scaramouche?” asked Binet, sneering41.
“Of course not.” Andre–Louis came forward. “But surely some rearrangement of the parts is possible. For instance, there is a fine actor in Polichinelle.”
Polichinelle swept him a bow. “Overwhelmed,” said he, ever sardonic42.
“But he has a part of his own,” objected Binet.
“A small part, which Pasquariel could play.”
“And who will play Pasquariel?”
“Nobody. We delete it. The play need not suffer.”
“He thinks of everything,” sneered43 Polichinelle. “What a man!”
But Binet was far from agreement. “Are you suggesting that Polichinelle should play Scaramouche?” he asked, incredulously.
“Why not? He is able enough!”
“Overwhelmed again,” interjected Polichinelle.
“Play Scaramouche with that figure?” Binet heaved himself up to point a denunciatory finger at Polichinelle’s sturdy, thick-set shortness.
“For lack of a better,” said Andre–Louis.
“Overwhelmed more than ever.” Polichinelle’s bow was superb this time. “Faith, I think I’ll take the air to cool me after so much blushing.”
“Go to the devil,” Binet flung at him.
“Better and better.” Polichinelle made for the door. On the threshold he halted and struck an attitude. “Understand me, Binet. I do not now play Scaramouche in any circumstances whatever.” And he went out. On the whole, it was a very dignified44 exit.
Andre–Louis shrugged45, threw out his arms, and let them fall to his sides again. “You have ruined everything,” he told M. Binet. “The matter could easily have been arranged. Well, well, it is you are master here; and since you want us to pack and be off, that is what we will do, I suppose.”
He went out, too. M. Binet stood in thought a moment, then followed him, his little eyes very cunning. He caught him up in the doorway46. “Let us take a walk together, M. Parvissimus,” said he, very affably.
He thrust his arm through Andre–Louis’, and led him out into the street, where there was still considerable movement. Past the booths that ranged about the market they went, and down the hill towards the bridge. “I don’t think we shall pack to-morrow,” said M. Binet, presently. “In fact, we shall play to-morrow night.”
“Not if I know Polichinelle. You have . . . ”
“I am not thinking of Polichinelle.”
“Of whom, then?”
“Of yourself.”
“I am flattered, sir. And in what capacity are you thinking of me?” There was something too sleek47 and oily in Binet’s voice for Andre–Louis’ taste.
“I am thinking of you in the part of Scaramouche.”
“Day-dreams,” said Andre–Louis. “You are amusing yourself, of course.”
“Not in the least. I am quite serious.”
“But I am not an actor.”
“You told me that you could be.”
“Oh, upon occasion . . . a small part, perhaps . . . ”
“Well, here is a big part — the chance to arrive at a single stride. How many men have had such a chance?”
“It is a chance I do not covet48, M. Binet. Shall we change the subject?” He was very frosty, as much perhaps because he scented49 in M. Binet’s manner something that was vaguely50 menacing as for any other reason.
“We’ll change the subject when I please,” said M. Binet, allowing a glimpse of steel to glimmer51 through the silk of him. “To-morrow night you play Scaramouche. You are ready enough in your wits, your figure is ideal, and you have just the kind of mordant52 humour for the part. You should be a great success.”
“It is much more likely that I should be an egregious53 failure.”
“That won’t matter,” said Binet, cynically54, and explained himself. “The failure will be personal to yourself. The receipts will be safe by then.”
“Much obliged,” said Andre–Louis.
“We should take fifteen louis to-morrow night.”
“It is unfortunate that you are without a Scaramouche,” said Andre–Louis.
“It is fortunate that I have one, M. Parvissimus.”
Andre–Louis disengaged his arm. “I begin to find you tiresome55,” said he. “I think I will return.”
“A moment, M. Parvissimus. If I am to lose that fifteen louis . . . you’ll not take it amiss that I compensate56 myself in other ways?”
“That is your own concern, M. Binet.”
“Pardon, M. Parvissimus. It may possibly be also yours.” Binet took his arm again. “Do me the kindness to step across the street with me. Just as far as the post-office there. I have something to show you.”
Andre–Louis went. Before they reached that sheet of paper nailed upon the door, he knew exactly what it would say. And in effect it was, as he had supposed, that twenty louis would be paid for information leading to the apprehension of one Andre–Louis Moreau, lawyer of Gavrillac, who was wanted by the King’s Lieutenant57 in Rennes upon a charge of sedition58.
M. Binet watched him whilst he read. Their arms were linked, and Binet’s grip was firm and powerful.
“Now, my friend,” said he, “will you be M. Parvissimus and play Scaramouche to-morrow, or will you be Andre–Louis Moreau of Gavrillac and go to Rennes to satisfy the King’s Lieutenant?”
“And if it should happen that you are mistaken?” quoth Andre–Louis, his face a mask.
“I’ll take the risk of that,” leered M. Binet. “You mentioned, I think, that you were a lawyer. An indiscretion, my dear. It is unlikely that two lawyers will be in hiding at the same time in the same district. You see it is not really clever of me. Well, M. Andre–Louis Moreau, lawyer of Gavrillac, what is it to be?”
“We will talk it over as we walk back,” said Andre–Louis.
“What is there to talk over?”
“One or two things, I think. I must know where I stand. Come, sir, if you please.”
“Very well,” said M. Binet, and they turned up the street again, but M. Binet maintained a firm hold of his young friend’s arm, and kept himself on the alert for any tricks that the young gentleman might be disposed to play. It was an unnecessary precaution. Andre–Louis was not the man to waste his energy futilely59. He knew that in bodily strength he was no match at all for the heavy and powerful Pantaloon.
“If I yield to your most eloquent60 and seductive persuasions61, M. Binet,” said he, sweetly, “what guarantee do you give me that you will not sell me for twenty louis after I shall have served your turn?”
“You have my word of honour for that.” M. Binet was emphatic62.
Andre–Louis laughed. “Oh, we are to talk of honour, are we? Really, M. Binet? It is clear you think me a fool.”
In the dark he did not see the flush that leapt to M. Binet’s round face. It was some moments before he replied.
“Perhaps you are right,” he growled. “What guarantee do you want?”
“I do not know what guarantee you can possibly give.”
“I have said that I will keep faith with you.”
“Until you find it more profitable to sell me.”
“You have it in your power to make it more profitable always for me to keep faith with you. It is due to you that we have done so well in Guichen. Oh, I admit it frankly63.”
“In private,” said Andre–Louis.
M. Binet left the sarcasm64 unheeded.
“What you have done for us here with ‘Figaro–Scaramouche,’ you can do elsewhere with other things. Naturally, I shall not want to lose you. That is your guarantee.”
“Yet to-night you would sell me for twenty louis.”
“Because — name of God! — you enrage65 me by refusing me a service well within your powers. Don’t you think, had I been entirely the rogue you think me, I could have sold you on Saturday last? I want you to understand me, my dear Parvissimus.”
“I beg that you’ll not apologize. You would be more tiresome than ever.”
“Of course you will be gibing66. You never miss a chance to gibe. It’ll bring you trouble before you’re done with life. Come; here we are back at the inn, and you have not yet given me your decision.”
Andre–Louis looked at him. “I must yield, of course. I can’t help myself.”
M. Binet released his arm at last, and slapped him heartily67 upon the back. “Well declared, my lad. You’ll never regret it. If I know anything of the theatre, I know that you have made the great decision of your life. To-morrow night you’ll thank me.”
Andre–Louis shrugged, and stepped out ahead towards the inn. But M. Binet called him back.
“M. Parvissimus!”
He turned. There stood the man’s great bulk, the moonlight beating down upon that round fat face of his, and he was holding out his hand.
“M. Parvissimus, no rancour. It is a thing I do not admit into my life. You will shake hands with me, and we will forget all this.”
Andre–Louis considered him a moment with disgust. He was growing angry. Then, realizing this, he conceived himself ridiculous, almost as ridiculous as that sly, scoundrelly Pantaloon. He laughed and took the outstretched hand. “No rancour?” M. Binet insisted.
“Oh, no rancour,” said Andre–Louis.
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收听单词发音
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1
influx
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| n.流入，注入 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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lackey
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| n.侍从；跟班 | |
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strut
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| v.肿胀，鼓起；大摇大摆地走；炫耀；支撑；撑开；n.高视阔步；支柱，撑杆 | |
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bellowing
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| v.发出吼叫声，咆哮（尤指因痛苦）( bellow的现在分词 )；（愤怒地）说出（某事），大叫 | |
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bellow
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| v.吼叫，怒吼；大声发出，大声喝道 | |
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troupe
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| n.剧团，戏班；杂技团；马戏团 | |
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condescended
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的过去式和过去分词 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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quill
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| n.羽毛管；v.给（织物或衣服）作皱褶 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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gibe
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| n.讥笑；嘲弄 | |
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artistically
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| adv.艺术性地 | |
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Augmented
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| adj.增音的 动词augment的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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wizened
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| adj.凋谢的；枯槁的 | |
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grimacing
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| v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的现在分词 ) | |
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groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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twitching
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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rogue
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| n.流氓；v.游手好闲 | |
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scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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ails
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| v.生病( ail的第三人称单数 )；感到不舒服；处境困难；境况不佳 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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variedly
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| 各种各样地，改变地 | |
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calf
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| n.小牛，犊，幼仔，小牛皮 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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sprained
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| v.&n. 扭伤 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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sardonic
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| adj.嘲笑的，冷笑的，讥讽的 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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45
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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sleek
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| adj.光滑的，井然有序的；v.使光滑，梳拢 | |
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covet
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| vt.垂涎；贪图(尤指属于他人的东西) | |
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49
scented
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| adj.有香味的；洒香水的；有气味的v.嗅到(scent的过去分词) | |
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50
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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51
glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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52
mordant
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| adj.讽刺的；尖酸的 | |
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53
egregious
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| adj.非常的，过分的 | |
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cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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55
tiresome
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| adj.令人疲劳的，令人厌倦的 | |
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56
compensate
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| vt.补偿，赔偿；酬报 vi.弥补；补偿；抵消 | |
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57
lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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58
sedition
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| n.煽动叛乱 | |
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futilely
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| futile（无用的）的变形； 干 | |
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eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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61
persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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62
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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63
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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64
sarcasm
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| n.讥讽，讽刺，嘲弄，反话 （adj.sarcastic） | |
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65
enrage
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| v.触怒，激怒 | |
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66
gibing
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| adj.讥刺的，嘲弄的v.嘲笑，嘲弄( gibe的现在分词 ) | |
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67
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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