Captain Fracasse | Page 9

gambling, some in the army,
some by undue prodigality in living--in order that they might shine at
court--so that each generation had left the estate more and more
diminished. The fiefs, the farms, the land surrounding the chateau itself,
all had been sold, one after the other, and the last baron, after desperate
efforts to retrieve the fallen fortunes of the family--efforts which came
too late, for it is useless to try to stop the leaks after the vessel has gone
down--had left his son nothing but this half-ruined chateau and the few
acres of barren land immediately around it. The unfortunate child had
been born and brought up in poverty. His mother had died young,
broken-hearted at the wretched prospects of her only son; so that he
could not even remember her sweet caresses and tender, loving care.
His father had been very stern with him; punishing him severely for the
most trivial offences; yet he would have been glad now even of his
sharp rebukes, so terribly lonely had he been for the last four years;
ever since his father was laid in the family vault. His youthful pride
would not allow him to associate with the noblesse of the province
without the accessories suitable to his rank, though he would have been
received with open arms by them, so his solitude was never invaded.
Those who knew his circumstances respected as well as pitied the poor,
proud young baron, while many of the former friends of the family
believed that it was extinct; which indeed it inevitably would be, with
this its only remaining scion, if things went on much longer as they had
been going for many years past.

The baron had not yet removed a single garment when his attention was
attracted by the strange uneasiness of Beelzebub, who finally jumped
down from his arm-chair, went straight to one of the windows, and
raising himself on his hind legs put his fore-paws on the casing and
stared out into the thick darkness, where it was impossible to
distinguish anything but the driving rain. A loud howl from Miraut at
the same moment proclaimed that he too was aroused, and that
something very unusual must be going on in the vicinity of the chateau,
ordinarily as quiet as the grave. Miraut kept up persistently a furious
barking, and the baron gave up all idea of going to bed. He hastily
readjusted his dress, so that he might be in readiness for whatever
should happen, and feeling a little excited at this novel commotion.
"What can be the matter with poor old Miraut? He usually sleeps from
sunset to sunrise without making a sound, save his snores. Can it be
that a wolf is prowling about the place?" said the young man to himself,
as he buckled the belt of his sword round his slender waist. A
formidable weapon it was, that sword, with long blade, and heavy iron
scabbard.
At that moment three loud knocks upon the great outer door resounded
through the house. Who could possibly have strayed here at this hour,
so far from the travelled roads, and in this tempest that was making
night horrible without? No such thing had occurred within the baron's
recollection. What could it portend?
CHAPTER II.
THE CHARIOT OF THESPIS
The Baron de Sigognac went down the broad staircase without a
moment's delay to answer this mysterious summons, protecting with his
hand the feeble flame of the small lamp he carried from the many
draughts that threatened to blow it out. The light, shining through his
slender fingers, gave them a rosy tinge, so that he merited the epithet
applied by Homer, the immortal bard, to the laughing, beautiful Aurora,
even though he advanced through the thick darkness with his usual

melancholy mien, and followed by a black cat, instead of preceding the
glorious god of day.
Setting down his lamp in a sheltered corner, he proceeded to take down
the massive bar that secured the door, cautiously opened the practicable
leaf, and found himself face to face with a man, upon whom the light of
the lamp shone sufficiently to show rather a grotesque figure, standing
uncovered in the pelting rain. His head was bald and shining, with a
few locks of gray hair clustering about the temples. A jolly red nose,
bulbous in form, a small pair of twinkling, roguish eyes, looking out
from under bushy, jet-black eyebrows, flabby cheeks, over which was
spread a network of purplish fibres, full, sensual lips, and a scanty,
straggling beard, that scarcely covered the short, round chin, made up a
physiognomy worthy to serve as the model for a Silenus; for it was
plainly that of a wine-bibber and bon vivant. Yet a certain expression of
good humour and kindness, almost