A QUARREL BEHIND THE SCENES

The numerous disturbances and troubles of these last days prevented us from noticing that March had come and that the wind had softened. But one morning, three days after our adventure, as I went down into the playground, I suddenly realised that it was spring. A breeze, delicious as cool water, blew over the wall; the silent rain of the night had moistened the leaves of the peonies; a rich pervasive smell rose from the freshly turned soil in the garden, and in the tree close to the window, I heard a bird which was trying to learn music....

Meaulnes, during the first recreation, spoke of attempting to find at once the way which the bohemian boy had outlined. With difficulty I persuaded him to wait until we had, once more, seen our friend, until the weather was really fine ... and the plum trees in bloom at Sainte-Agathe. We talked leaning against the low wall of the narrow lane, hands in pockets, bareheaded, while the wind sometimes made us shiver with cold, and at other times, with warm puffs, awoke some deep urge within us. Ah! friend, brother, fellow-traveller, how convinced we both were that happiness was close, and that we had only to set out to reach it!...

At half-past twelve, during dinner, we heard the rolling of a drum at the Cross-Roads. In the twinkling of an eye, we were all at the small gate, napkins in hand.... It was Booby announcing for that evening at eight o’clock, ‘in view of the fine weather,’ a great performance on the church square. At all events, ‘to run no risks in case of rain,’ a tent would be erected. Then followed a long programme of attractions which the wind prevented us from catching except such words as ‘dumb show ... songs ... riding displays ...’ the whole thing punctuated by renewed rolling of the drum.

During the evening meal the big drum announced the show and thundered under our windows, making the panes rattle. Soon after people of the village passed by, with a buzz of talk, going in small groups towards the church. And there we were both of us, forced to remain at the table, though burning with impatience!

At last, about nine, we heard a scraping of shoes and stifled laughter at the small gate: the women teachers had come to fetch us. In the pitch darkness, our little party made its way towards the show. We could see from afar, the church wall brightly lit up, as if by a big fire. Two naphtha flares swung in the wind at the door of the tent....

Inside, benches were arranged in tiers as at a circus. M. Seurel, the women teachers, Meaulnes and myself took our places on the lowest of these. I recall the place, which must have been rather small, as a real circus, with its wide dark stretches of rising seats, where could be seen Madame Pignot, the baker-woman; Fernande, from the grocer shop; the girls from the village; the apprentices from the forges; ladies, urchins, country folks, and every sort of people.

The show was more than half through. In the arena, a small goat was performing, standing obediently on four glasses, then on two, then on one alone. Booby was gently directing her with little taps from a switch, but all the while looking at us in a worried way, his mouth gaping, his eyes dead.

Seated on a stool, near two other flares, and at the place where the arena was connected with the caravan, was a fellow with bandaged head, wearing elegant black tights, whom we recognised as the leading man and our friend.

Scarcely were we seated than a pony, fully harnessed, pranced onto the track. He was several times led around the arena by the wounded comedian, and invariably stopped in front of one of us when asked to find the most charming person or the bravest in the audience, but always pointed to Madame Pignot when he had to spot who told the greatest lies, or was the most avaricious or ‘the most in love’.... And all round the lady, there were shrieks of laughter, screams and cackling, as when a flock of geese is chased by a spaniel!...

At the interval, the leading man came to have a chat with M. Seurel, who could not have felt more proud had a Talma or a Léotard spoken to him; as for us, we listened with eager interest to what the comedian was saying: first about his wound--now closed up; then regarding this show--rehearsed during the long days of winter; then concerning their departure--which was not to be before the end of the month, for they meant to give other variety shows up to then.

The performance was to finish up with an elaborate dumb show.

Towards the end of the interval, our friend left us, and to reach the caravan’s steps was obliged to go through a group of people who had invaded the arena, and in the midst of which we suddenly noticed Jasmin Delouche. The women and the girls got out of the way. The black costume, the strange but gallant figure of the wounded man, had won their hearts. As for Jasmin, who appeared to be coming back from a long journey and was talking in a low but animated voice to Madame Pignot, he would evidently have found the local costume with the low collar, the bow of silken cord, and the elephant-like trousers, more to his taste.... Both thumbs raised to the lapel of his jacket, he stood in a very affected and uneasy attitude. Out of spite, as the bohemian went by, he said aloud to Madame Pignot a few words I did not catch, but which were certainly an offensive remark, an insult meant for our friend. It must have been a serious and unexpected threat, for the young fellow could not help turning round and looking at the other, who, to carry it through, grinned and poked his neighbours in the ribs as if to bring them onto his side.... All this happened in a few seconds. I was perhaps the only one on our bench to notice it.

The leading man joined his companion behind the curtain which hid the door of the caravan. All went back to their seats, thinking that the second part of the show would soon begin, and great silence ensued. Then, from behind the curtain, while the last whispered conversations were fading away, rose the noise of a quarrel. We could not hear what was being said, but we recognised the two voices as those of the tall man and the young fellow--the first explaining and justifying; the other scolding with both indignation and sadness.

‘But you wretch!’ the latter was saying; ‘why didn’t you tell me?...’

And we heard nothing further, though every one was listening. Then, suddenly, all was quiet. The dispute went on in whispers; and urchins at the top rows began to call out: ‘Curtain! Curtain!’ and stamped their feet.