The bags were hung up more or less everywhere from the Place Massena, the heart of the town, to the most distant suburbs. This was the work of Le Budeu, the staff controller, who soon added to his first office that of auditor. He was Gamba Secca’s brother-in-law. Le Budeu was seen sometimes; but his staff never.
And even to-day it is a surprise to some people to observe, in the early morning hours, bags filled with newspapers, still redolent of the printing press, hanging to a nail in the wall, or to shutters still closed, or to the bars of shop awnings not yet down — bags which no one seemed to guard as they were emptied of their newspapers by passers-by who dropped their coppers into them....
A bag of coppers was a temptation. And also we are no longer in the days of Rollon! Was Titin then guilty of imprudence? That would be to show little knowledge of him. His staff was not to be seen, but it was in existence. And it was numerous for it was made up of men employed by the electric tramways — as many of them as he needed — without expense to himself.
The kiosks were planted along the lines, at turnings, stopping places and so forth. While engaged in their own work, drivers and conductors and others kept an eye on the bags and the customers. They would have done anything for Titin, who in return entertained them to a great banquet every year in May.
The banquet cost him nothing — too great cost, too little pleasure. For, he made some important person, eager for popularity, pay regally for the feast, promising him, when the next election came, the “votes” of his entire staff. Here, moreover, was the beginning of Titin’s influence in the election of deputies and senators....
Thus was demonstrated once for all Titin’s genius. A new idea enabled him to fill his own pockets by getting others to work for him, and to uplift the world in the doing of it.
The world of politics, of course.
CHAPTER X
THE COMING OF CARNIVAL
IT IS NOT surprising that MM. Souques and Ordinal left the Passage Negrin before Titin, Giaousé, Gamba Secca, and Le Budeu.
The accounts were made up. All was in order. After dealing with serious business Titin and his friends could well afford a little diversion. Never had he been in such a lively mood — at least so merry in a fashion unlike himself. He laughed without reason and without offering any explanation of his sudden outbursts of gayety. Giaousé, who knew him well, cast a surprised look at him now and then.
“Titin, you are hiding something from us,” he said.
“Yes,” returned Titin.
“You seem different somehow.”
And he began to sing an old song:
We are Moors,
We know it.
We look like Africans,
And if we wash Perhaps you’ll like us more!
The three others joined in the song which never failed to awaken the good citizens of Nice at the hour when revelers return with their lady friends from the May fêtes or other celebrations of which there is no lack at any season.
“That’s not all, we’ve rather cut into returns,” he said. “We shall want some money for Carnival.”
They left the bodega after unloading their money into Fred’s drawer. Fred walked with Titin almost to the doorstep, thus showing his respect for a reputable tradesman whose custom is an honor to his establishment.
Titin le Bastardon was not to be seen again before the coming of Carnival to his beautiful town of Nice — a memorable coming which saw Carnival, Titin and, finally, Hardigras himself.
* * * *
On that day unwonted excitement reigns on the streets, crowded as if by magic, multitudes flocking in from the outlying districts, all prepared to make merry. At fabulous cost foreign visitors snatch up positions still vacant in windows, in balconies, in stands. Here and there a few solitary masks dance in the streets — masks too impatient to wait for the start of the procession, aspiring only to gain the vote of the jury whose work it is to present the awards.
From midday onward the aspect of the streets and squares through which the procession is to pass entirely changes. Each person takes up his position in the battle and prepares his munitions — confetti, flowers, serpentines. Over a distance of nearly two miles, thousands of banners and flags of all nations flutter in the breeze above a double row of engarlanded masts. Shops transformed into stands, their windows richly bedecked with flags, swarm with spectators.
The battle begins. Confetti is thrown in handfuls; entire bags are emptied over heads; multicolored serpentines fly in spirals through the air; the throng on the pavements with hands uplifted, charged with missiles, are ready for the fray. Hawkers of ammunition stand at intervals but have no need to look for customers. Their wares are quickly seized. Here and there a few strangers watch, with bewildered air, a spectacle so novel to them.
In the middle of the road all join in. It is a unique throng knowing how to be merry without annoyance, how to make good cheer without sinking into drunkenness. Thus the carnival amazes the visitor. No guys! Behold the children of the sun intoxicated with the glory of the day!
And now comes the march past.
We will not describe the effigy, nor the form in which His Majesty, King Carnival, appears to his faithful subjects. Nor will we dwell on the swaggering originality displayed in the construction of the local cars. It is not the first part of the procession but the last in which we are interested. For even though King Carnival is received with the accustomed enthusiasm, a tremendous tumult greets the last car — a car which is not included in the program and springs from no one knows where. Let us follow the crowd as it marches up the Avenue de la Victoire, the better to understand the incident which unloosed so great a tempest of gayety.
The actors in the procession turn round, the “big wigs” come to a stop in spite of their personal success, and every group pauses in its riotous dancing.... And suddenly, little by little, a shout makes it way: Hardigras! It is Hardigras who brings up the rear!
And then another name arises in every throat: Titin! Titin le Bastardon!... And nothing can be heard but the two names: Titin! Hardigras!... At last the rumor spreads: Titin has arrested Hardigras! He is bringing him bound hand and foot to the police!
As the rear of the procession draws near, the delight of the crowd knows no bounds. A thousand shouts greet the coming of Titin, who helped by Pistafun, Bouta, Aiguardente, and Tantifla, pulls along the car on which a pasteboard Hardigras lays stretched, bound down with fetters on a wooden framework.
The giant effigy shows its distress by its wide open mouth whence a scarlet pennant hangs like a tongue, bearing the words: “To prison with Hardigras!” Ahead of the triumphant Titin two masked figures made up to resemble MM. Souques and Ordinal, walk backwards waving a huge pair of handcuffs that jingle like the sound of bells. Now and again the detectives bow in token of their admiration and gratitude to Bastardon. When the procession stops they shake hands with him, while Hardigras gives forth a tremendous bellow, manifesting his sorrow and shame.
“Poor Hardigras! Good old Titin!”
At the Place Massena, opposite the grandstand, Titin’s triumph is complete. Young girls greet him with an ovation, throw their bouquets at him, empty their bags of confetti over him, kiss their hands to him.... Suddenly a great shout goes up from the crowd: “To Bella Nissa! To Bella Nissa!”
The car is now dragged towards the Place du Palais. The crowd rushes after it. From the balcony of the fifth floor Prince Hippothadee and the Supias look down upon the people who accompany the sacrifice of the wretched Hardigras with song and dance.
Toinetta is the first to grasp the meaning of it.
“I say, godfather,” she cried, clapping her hands, “it’s Titin bringing you Hardigras.”
The “tyrant” turned pale. The joke struck home. Below him a thousand voices shouted his name: “Supia! Supia! ‘Tyrant’! Titin is making you a present of Hardigras!”
Such seemed to have been his intention, for after making a tour of the square, the car drew up outside Bella
Nissa. But it was not to Supia that Titin was making the offering of Hardigras — it was to Toinetta herself. Raising his carnival hat he laid his prisoner at her feet with the grace of a toreador dedicating the bull to the queen of the fête, who is so often the queen of his heart. The gesture was so splendid, so happily inspired that a shout went up: “For Toinetta! For Toinetta!”
Antoinette bowed and gracefully waved her handkerchief in acknowledgment. And then, as if by inadvertence, let the precious piece of cambric fall. It fluttered at first like a bird on the wing and then, swept by a favorable wind, floated towards Titin who, leaping forward, caught it before it touched ground.
The incident had not escaped the notice of the crowd.... They all knew of the friendship that existed between the two youngsters.... Alas! our greatest triumphs often prove to be the most fleeting. At the moment when Titin saluted Toinetta and in his turn waved his trophy, the cheering gave way to an outburst of laughter — some unforeseen incident had occurred behind him.
He looked round and saw a spectacle that might well have made him shudder or it might have overwhelmed him with shame. But a Titin, on a Carnival day, laughs at everything, and he began to laugh louder than the others as he threw his arms up in the air with a gesture that bore witness if not to his concern at least to his amazement. The huge skull of the pasteboard Hardigras was lifted, and a Hardigras in flesh and blood sprang out waving the banner that not long before had adorned Bella Nissa and now bore the words: “Hardigras is not dead!” Just then a voice came from the fifth floor: “My banner!” It was M. Hyacinthe Supia in a state of feverish excitement pointing to his property and the man who had secured it.
“Seize him! Seize him! That’s Hardigras!”
He seemed indeed to be the man as he appeared to M. Hippolyte Morelli on the memorable night which had reduced him to so grievous a condition.... A long red gown hung from his shoulders like the toga of a grand justiciar, and the perforated mask concealing his face bore the expression, at once smiling and good humored, that persons of good cheer and good health wear when they pretend to fly into a passion. A gilt pasteboard crown covered his abundant hair, and he held in his hand a banner — a banner which in itself was sufficient evidence. For, it was M. Supia’s banner!
“Come on, lads. Let’s get him!” cried Titin as he shot forward.
His friends started after him — the sham Souques and Ordinal as well as the real detectives. Disguised in carnival dress they had followed the car from the moment of its appearance, ready at the right moment to intervene. When the man with the banner appeared they elbowed their way through the crowd. They would have to arrest him. He had the banner. It would be for him to explain how it came into his possession.
Titin in a few bounds reached the giant effigy, climbed to its mouth and clung there; and then by a final effort pulled himself up to the huge skull serving as a platform for Hardigras who, heedless of the general uproar around him, continued to wave his banner. Titin at once caught hold of his feet. But, just then the skull opened and Hardigras slipped into it with the same agility with which he had emerged from it.
“I’ll follow you to hell,” shouted Titin. And before the skull was reclosed he, too, vanished from sight.
Inspired by such a splendid example, his men also plunged into the cavity. At last Souques and Ordinal in their turn found themselves on the brink of the abyss still open and seemingly waiting for them. They exchanged glances, understood each other, and remained standing on the giant’s nose in a somewhat grotesque attitude. The skull seemed to wait for a few minutes, and then slowly closed.
Now the confetti fell upon the two detectives, with a hundred disagreeable allusions to their prudence, pardonable after all in men who had already experienced Hardigras’s methods in their Naples adventure.
They were so nonplussed and dissatisfied with themselves that at first they paid no attention to the movement which set going the mechanism on which they were standing. When they realized that the car was starting, they discovered that Pistafun and his three companions had harnessed themselves to the ropes; and the whole equipage seemed to be guided by Hardigras, who emerging from the lower part, took up his place on the shafts, still holding his banner.
The car went on its way again. The crowd followed. But Hardigras seemed to be made of India-rubber, he bounded so lightly between one and the other, returning to his place on the head of the giant while his adversaries could do no more than shake their fists at him.
It is easy to imagine the glee of the crowd as they followed the successive phases of the chase, uttering quizzical encouragement to one and the other, while their cheers were reserved for Hardigras. At one time it seemed as if MM. Souques and Ordinal had got him. But, at the crucial moment the head of the giant effigy was on a level with a window on the first floor of Bella Nissa looking directly into the deserted offices. Hardigras slipped through this window and vanished. MM. Souques and Ordinal did not hesitate to follow him this time.
The car pulled up and a silence succeeded the tumult of a moment before. Every eye was fixed on Bella Nissa. On the balcony from which the Supias watched the scene there was a great stir and confusion to which Toinetta alone remained indifferent.
Hardigras appeared again on the roof, towering above the whole town, seeming to bless it with his banner outstretched to the four cardinal points in turn. There was so much dignity, so much audacity, so much amusing mockery in his bearing that the cries of “Bravo Hardigras!” that went up were a flattering tribute from the mob. They seemed to see in him the magic being in whom the very spirit of Carnival was personified.
But he had no time to rest on his laurels. The roofs were being rushed. From every side came firemen, led by MM. Souques and Ordinal, showing on this occasion a courage all the more uncommon as they were almost entirely ignorant of the manner in which firemen and slaters scrambled over roofs.
M. Supia once more began his frantic gesticulation, revealing Hardigras’s many ruses to escape his pursuers by shouting out: “There, behind the chimney! Look out! The skylight! The dormer! The rain-pipe! This way! Have you got him?”
For a moment Hardigras vanished from view, and suddenly Supia uttered a terrible cry. Hardigras had alighted upon his shoulders! Prince Hippothadee, who was not lacking in courage, made a movement to dart forward. But Hardigras delivered a well-aimed blow from the handle of his banner, which kept him at a distance, and, giving another leap, he disappeared through the upper part of the window and closed it behind him.
The crowd gave way to shouts of delight.
The “tyrant,” whom his wife and daughter vainly strove to hold back, followed Hippothadee, who had smashed in the French window. He reached the door between the private apartments and the store rooms, and here he met Souques and Ordinal with the entire body of firemen engaged in the pursuit. But, Hardigras had climbed down the iron pillars supporting the main building, and he had succeeded in reaching the basements.... The basements were searched from end to end without result.... Not the least trace.... Nothing!
It was Titin, appearing near his car from no one knows where, who conveyed the news to the crowd, and they loudly cheered him as he set himself once more to pull along the car containing the effigy. They almost wept with joy.
That evening in Caramagna’s restaurant, the customers round Titin continued to laugh over the events of the day. But he said nothing. Gamba Secca and Le Budeu had as much as they could do to settle the score for their diversion. For it made a considerable hole in the cash resources of Bastardon’s Kiosks.
CHAPTER XI
TITIN LE BASTARDON IN SEARCH OF HIS THREE FATHERS
FROM THAT DAY onward many people were convinced that Titin le Bastardon and Hardigras were one and the same person. But it still remained to be proved. As to Titin, himself, when any person rashly allowed himself to express such an opinion, he treated it with contempt, declaring flatly that he would have been the veriest of fools to waste his time in hanging the “tyrant” in
effigy as suggested by M. Hippolyte Morelli. He would have hanged him in good earnest, and have been recognized as a public benefactor!
“I believe you,” said the excitable Nathalie with a laugh, “for there are certain things that cannot be forgiven and should be punished with hanging.”
“What are they?” asked Titin.
“Marrying Toinetta to Prince Hippothadee for instance.”
He angrily left her standing there and went back to paint Mme. Bibi’s shop, which displayed his talent as a fresco painter. For, Titin carried on that business besides the others — he was an “artist”. He had acquired the taste from his friend Giaousé, who was not unskillful with the brush, and he covered the walls and ceilings of La Fourca Nova with paintings of birds, flowers, fruit. Titin found the time, no longer graced with Toinetta’s presence, hang heavily on him, and he started to daub Mme. Bibi’s modest shop in La Fourca.
The counter itself was decorated. And, even the drawers were an agreeable sight with their designs of flowers, fruit, greenery. The composition of the whole was so violent and primitive in its brightness that persons holiday-making in the place were amused, thinking that one must needs be mad like Titin to dispense so much color over a poor little shop where it would have been better to sell the paint.
There was, in particular, on the wall at the back, a painting of a village rising like a pyramid whose confused and ill-balanced mass was treated with a vividness of light and shade which would have made the Spanish school of painting blush — and it claimed to be a picture of old Fourca.
A member of the “Artist’s Club” in Nice, who was passing through, wished to see this particular “Picture Gallery” where art rubbed shoulders with groceries and sweets. Afterwards, he surprised everybody by declaring that Titin was a born artist.
In truth only Mme. Bibi — whose opinion was of no great weight in view of her worship of the artist — and the ordinary people of La Fourca went into ecstasy over this luminous riot of color with the childish candor of persons knowing nothing of nature but that which nature has taught them. They appreciated, best of all, Titin’s signboards. These shone from afar like stars. And, too, he always managed to suggest the business for which they were intended, by little designs which made people choke with laughter, and by nice big capital letters with twists and flourishes like vermicelli — called in the district “angels’ wings.”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 413