Captain Fracasse | Page 7

from his place
beside Pierre and trotted off towards the door with great alacrity. In an
instant the latch was lifted, and the old servant rose, taking off his
woollen cap respectfully, as his master came into the kitchen. He was
preceded by the poor old dog, trying to jump up on him, but falling
back every time without being able to reach his face, and Beelzebub
seemed to welcome them both--showing no evidence of the antipathy
usually existing between the feline and canine races; on the contrary,
receiving Miraut with marks of affection which were fully reciprocated.
The Baron de Sigognac, for it was indeed the lord of the manor who
now entered, was a young man of five or six and twenty; though at first
sight he seemed much older, because of the deep gravity, even sadness,
of his demeanour; the feeling of utter powerlessness which poverty
brings having effectually chased away all the natural piety and
light-heartedness of youth. Dark circles surrounded his sunken eyes, his
cheeks were hollow, his mustache drooped in a sorrowful curve over

his sad mouth. His long black hair was negligently pushed back from
his pale face, and showed a want of care remarkable in a young man
who was strikingly handsome, despite his doleful desponding
expression. The constant pressure of a crushing grief had drawn
sorrowful lines in a countenance that a little animation would have
rendered charming. All the elasticity and hopefulness natural to his age
seemed to have been lost in his useless struggles against an unhappy
fate. Though his frame was lithe, vigorous, and admirably proportioned,
all his movements were slow and apathetic, like those of an old man.
His gestures were entirely devoid of animation, his whole expression
inert, and it was evidently a matter of perfect indifference to him where
he might chance to find himself at home, in his dismal chateau, or
abroad in the desolate Landes.
He had on an old gray felt hat, much too large for him, with a dingy,
shabby feather, that drooped as if it felt heartily ashamed of itself, and
the miserable condition to which it was reduced. A broad collar of
guipure lace, ragged in many places, was turned down over a
just-au-corps, which had been cut for a taller and much stouter man
than the slender, young baron. The sleeves of his doublet were so long
that they fell over his hands, which were small and shapely, and there
were large iron spurs on the clumsy, old-fashioned riding-boots he
wore. These shabby, antiquated clothes had belonged to his father; they
were made according to the fashion that prevailed during the preceding
reign; and the poor young nobleman, whose appearance in them was
both ridiculous and touching, might have been taken for one of his own
ancestors. Although he tenderly cherished his father's memory, and
tears often came into his eyes as he put on these garments that had
seemed actually a part of him, yet it was not from choice that young de
Sigognac availed himself of the paternal wardrobe. Unfortunately he
had no other clothes, save those of his boyhood, long ago outgrown,
and so he was thankful to have these, distasteful as they could not fail
to be to him. The peasants, who had been accustomed to hold them in
respect when worn by their old seignior, did not think it strange or
absurd to see them on his youthful successor; just as they did not seem
to notice or be aware of the half-ruined condition of the chateau. It had
come so gradually that they were thoroughly used to it, and took it as a

matter of course. The Baron de Sigognac, though poverty-stricken and
forlorn, was still in their eyes the noble lord of the manor; the
decadence of the family did not strike them at all as it would a stranger;
and yet it was a grotesquely melancholy sight to see the poor young
nobleman pass by, in his shabby old clothes, on his miserable old pony,
and followed by his forlorn old dog.
The baron sat down in silence at the table prepared for him, having
recognised Pierre's respectful salute by a kindly gesture. The old
servant immediately busied himself in serving his master's frugal
supper; first pouring the hot soup--which was of that kind, popular
among the poor peasantry of Gascony, called "garbure"--upon some
bread cut into small pieces in an earthen basin, which he set before the
baron; then, fetching from the cupboard a dish of bacon, cold, and
cooked in Gascon fashion, he placed that also upon the table, and had
nothing else to add to this meagre repast. The baron ate it slowly, with
an absent air, while Miraut and Beelzebub, one on each side of him,
received their