“What have you done with it?” demanded Mme. Supia. “I gave it to Hardigras.”
“Hardigras dressed her to the best of his power,” added Titin, showing himself. “His wardrobe is not a very extensive one, you know.”
“As peasant or princess she is equally beautiful,” cried Hippothadee, feasting his eyes on her.
“Come in,” said Supia drawing her into the office.
“May I come in, also?” asked Titin. “I have a word to say to you from Hardigras.”
Now that Antoinette was home again M. Supia no longer had the same feeling of forbearance and conciliation that possessed him in the Commissary’s office. In fact, he greatly regretted his avowal. He forgot that Titin, of his own accord, had surrendered his hostage. He remembered only the dastardly abduction which had almost reduced to naught his most cherished schemes.
“Monsieur Titin,” he returned in his harshest voice and most disagreeable air, “you will understand that after what has happened we will not detain you. In fact it is rather strange that you should dare to inflict your presence on us.”
“You are quite out of place,” Hippothadee thought it well to add.
“My dear Hippothadee, leave it to me to tell him what he ought to know since he has had the courage to come here.... If M. Titin you had any friendship for my ward, and were in any sense an honest man, you would never have thought of embarking on such a disgraceful proceeding. You have made amends as far as you can by restoring Mlle. Agagnosc to us, but it is none the less a fact that you have prejudiced her future and but for Prince Hippothadee’s magnanimity she might look a long time for a husband.”
“Don’t you worry godfather. I don’t want to be married,” broke in Antoinette.
The Prince made a gesture of surprise which was almost despair, while M. Supia turned to her angrily:
“Hold jour tongue you little wretch. You are crazy and deserve what has happened to you.”
“Very likely, but I don’t want to be married,” returned Antoinette calmly.
“And I tell you that you will be married,” burst out M. Supia. “I have had enough of your fancies. I won’t incur the responsibility of keeping you home any longer.”
“You should have left me where I was.”
“She no longer loves me!” groaned Hippothadee, placing his hand upon his heart.
“Well, I never,” she said laughing. “Anyone would think it was a sin to hurt his feelings. What do you say, Titin?”
Amid the excitement Titin maintained complete composure.
“For my part,” he said seating himself upon the side of an armchair, without being invited, “I see no reason to fire up, and it’s for Hardigras to look after himself. I should never have come here to listen to such absurd arguments had I not agreed to deliver a little message to M. Supia from the said Hardigras.”
Supia shot a terrible glance at him. Unable to restrain himself he pointed to the door:
“Clear out Bastardon. As to Hardigras, I don’t want to know what his message is. But you can tell him this from me if ever you come across him: I shall show him no mercy, and I’ll have him before a jury who will know how to put an end, once for all, to his abominable tricks. Do you hear, Titin?”
“I’m not deaf,” returned Titin, rising and striding quietly to the door. “I won’t forget to tell him what you say. We shall meet again, M. Supia. Heaven bless you!”
“Titin, kiss me before you go,” called Antoinette, “and give my kind regards to Hardigras.”
Supia made a threatening gesture as though he would like to strangle him. Just then Titin turned round:
“I really don’t know what you have up against me,” he said, twisting his hat between his fingers. “You wanted your niece back and I have brought her back, and now you act like a madman. Hardigras will be amazed when I tell him. As for myself I shall not interfere again. Hardigras must do his own work. He will write to you — that’s all. That will suit me all the better as the message I had for you was no joke.”
“This affair concerns me as much as M. Supia,” interposed Hippothadee, who was seething at the tone of contempt underlying Titin’s apparent meekness, “and I shall be obliged if you will tell us now what sort of message your so-called Hardigras entrusted you with.”
“It has to do with Mlle. Agagnosc, and I don’t know if I ought to....”
“You must. Though M. Supia is Mlle. Agagnosc’s guardian, I am her fiancé.”
“Well, here you are: he asked me to tell M. Supia to be very good to Mlle. Agagnosc, so that her stay with the family may be, if not agreeable, at least endurable. He says she must not be thwarted in anything and above all must not be driven by despair into marrying Prince Hippothadee. Should this marriage take place, he says, and I am quoting his exact words, he will hold M. Supia and his family responsible. A crime of this sort will not fail to recoil on him and the whole of his family.”
“Well, and what about me?” asked the worthy Hippothadee.
“As far as you are concerned he said nothing. It seems that you do not count.... Good-bye everybody.”
Titin strode slowly from the room without troubling about the storm that broke out behind him.
CHAPTER XIV
IN WHICH TITIN RECEIVES SOME UNEXPECTED NEWS
LIFE GREW LIVELY once more at La Fourca and the country round. Titin was ready always to contribute to the general happiness. Nathalie herself was treated kindly. But, she had no illusions. She knew now how matters stood. She said to herself: “Since he is easy in his mind about Toinetta and convinced that she won’t marry Hippothadee, he has recovered his spirits again and enjoys life. It is because of his love for Toinetta that he allows us to flatter him. That’s Titin all over — now like a lion and now like a lamb. He already fancies himself married to her.”
“Oh, he won’t have the patience to wait three years for her,” said another admirer.
One thing that set Nathalie beside herself was the foolish persistence with which Giaousé rallied her for her fondness for Titin. Had he wished to throw her at Titin’s head he could not have adopted better means.
Titin’s confidence in himself now seemed to know no bounds. In the last resort he pronounced judgment in the quarrels arising between his friends. Nor would he allow any discussion to take place on his verdicts, dictated by his natural sense of justice. As a result, the sharpest disputes were amicably settled, and the settlement celebrated over a flask of wine.
Titin was in the state of mind when the most extraordinary tasks seem child’s play. Hitherto he had merely painted sign-boards and landscapes, of an ingenuously cubist character, upon the walls of Mme. Bibi’s shop.
But now he set about a huge work which was already the admiration of his subjects; for, in truth, no other word can convey an approximate idea of the ties which bound the neighborhood, in thrall, of its own free will, to his every fancy. He undertook to paint in fresco the marriage room in La Fourca Town Hall. The subject was a huge fête. In a beflowered setting young men and maidens danced with triumphant grace, not without reserve, in its artistic simplicity. On the wall facing the visitor was depicted a feast presided over by the peasant mayor of La Fourca whom Titin had portrayed with bold strokes, not devoid of cruel satire.
On a shield behind the desk where the register was placed during the ceremony, the words “Bastardon’s wedding” could be read in curious capital letters adorned with flourishes. And on a large square was the dimly recognizable figure of Titin. On another outline was a sketch of the bride clad in her long white veil, though as yet no face could be distinguished. But they knew what was meant and gave expression to their opinions.
“I can see her from here,” said Pistafun, “with her golden hair, her eyes like sea pinks, her rosy cheeks and little tip-tilted nose as she smiles ‘good morning.’ Is that not so, Titin I am not so very far out.”
“Why yes, that’s pretty well as I see her, too. But to make certain, I won’t finish the bride until she comes h
erself and poses in her white dress.”
“She will come right enough. You must have patience. Meanwhile finish the background. You’ve plenty of work to do. The picture is not finished.”
“But what if she doesn’t come?” said Nathalie. “It will never be finished.”
“Yes it will,” returned Titin as he began to mark out other figures in chalk.
“How he loves her!” said Nathalie.
Giaousé remained silent. But he laughed harshly when he looked at his wife.
The painting was an event in the district, and no progress could be made without the good cheer and diversion with which Titin contrived to reward his models. He asked them to attire themselves in the old costumes of La Fourca, which their grand parents had preserved in their wardrobes. The men came clad in short jackets and breeches in homespun with blue stripes. The youths wore linen shirts and shoes with leather straps. The women wore a swelling bodice to which a pad nearly six inches long was sewed and to which the petticoat was fastened. A gold cross held by a ribbon of black velvet was worn round the neck. The hair was gathered in fringes or fillets whose lower part, raised on the head and fixed with hairpins, ended in little tassels hanging down behind. Over the coif — in old people black, but in the more youthful red or yellow — was a little white wrap trimmed with an insertion of lace, the long ends of which were passed under the chin and tied over the head.
But so that this picture of an attractive and delightful past should possess some actuality, Titin would not allow them to pose in the traditional groups taught in schools, but made them amuse themselves in earnest in dancing and feasting. He engaged musicians and had the tables loaded with good things so as to gladden the eye as well as the taste; in short, to rejoice mind and body alike.
But these things cost money and the day soon came when Gamba Secca told him that the resources of “Bastardon’s Kiosks” were exhausted. Then Titin grew depressed again and disbanded his models. It was while somewhat dejectedly painting the blue sea on the sky-line that he heard a musical voice of an unfamiliar tone asking if the artist at work was not the great and famous Titin le Bastardon.
Titin turned round and beheld a man very smartly dressed who bowed almost to the ground and drew himself up only to assure him of his unbounded devotion, his tried fidelity, his immense admiration.
“But you are making a mistake,” said Titin frowning. He was in no humor to allow a stranger to laugh at him.
“No, no, I am not making any mistake. By the Blessed Virgin and all the saints and by all I hold most dear, I am the humblest of your servants, M. Titin. It was you, was it not, who wrote that letter to Prince Marie Hippothadee of Transylvania?”
“Yes. What about it?” said Titin on his guard. “What about it! His Highness was greatly affected by your letter. I read it. It was grand.”
“No, it was neither grand for him nor for me.”
“It was full of the finest sentiments.... It was easy to see the sort of man you are — a great and noble soul. There’s no mistake, M. Titin.”
“Well, get on with it. What are you driving at?”
“His Highness wrote to his Consul at Nice to obtain a few particulars, you understand.”
“Why, of course.”
“They were wonderful — those particulars. The Consul told the Prince the story of Hardigras with which the town is ringing.”
“Hardigras! I don’t know him,” rapped out Titin, more than ever suspicious; and he said to himself: “You, my friend, have been sent here by Souques and Ordinal—”
“You don’t know Hardigras!” cried the stranger and he burst out laughing.
“I think this joke has been carried far enough,” said Titin.
“But there’s no joke. Don’t let’s talk about Hardigras if it annoys you. Let’s talk about yourself. I am sent to you by one of the greatest Princes in the world — Prince Marie Hippothadee, shortly to be crowned King of Transylvania, whose throne you may inherit one day, for the Prince, your father, to whom you wrote and who wishes you well, ordered me, his most unworthy servant, to tell you that he will not have a moment’s happiness until he has recognized you, my lord, as the heir to his name and possessions — which are immense.”
Titin let him talk, not a little astonished and not knowing what to think. Was it true that this astonishing stranger was an envoy from the Prince, his father, whose intervention in Antoinette’s marriage, on the off chance, he had sought to obtain? After all it was quite possible. No matter. He hardly expected it. He had forgotten all about his letter to the Prince until suddenly this man came and declared the Prince’s intention to interest himself in him of whose existence a few weeks before he was ignorant.
The stranger gave his name as Odon Odonovitch, Comte Valdar, Lord of Metzoras Trikala, and other places, and handed him a letter sealed with the arms of Transylvania. It was addressed:
To Monsieur Titin le Bastardon,
La Fourca Nova,
Alpes Maritimes,
France.
He opened it and read:
“My dear son, I learn of your existence with a joy which I scarcely expected from Providence. I was in despair lest the family without a male heir should become extinct. It is my will that the real line of the proud Hippothadees should be restored in you. My intention is to recognize you as my legitimate heir, that is to say when the political crisis, through which we are passing, is settled, and when I have become complete master of this realm — a result which cannot be long delayed.
In the meantime I am sending you my faithful servant, Comte Valdar. He will give you this letter as well as a sum of money enabling you to maintain from this day forward the rank in society which is yours by right. He will supply also all your needs and establish you as befits a Prince destined to succeed me; moreover he will keep me informed of your wishes. Command him as I should command him myself, for he will refuse you nothing; he owes his life to me.
As to your marriage, since you love this young girl it behooves you to marry her. But you must allow me first to confer upon her the titles essential to the rank that she will assume at Court. All this shall be done in due course. My wretched brother, the disgrace of our house, will have but to stand aside and, if need be, to disappear. I will see to that. Have patience for a few months, my dear son, and your happiness will be equal to my own.
MARIE HIPPOTIIADEE.”
When Titin finished reading the letter which completed his amazement, he raised his eyes to Comte Valdar. The Comte smiled broadly and gave him a wallet.
“This is but a small part of the amount that I am to present to you, my lord; the rest has been expended in preparing an establishment for you. But you may spend as much as you like. I have written to His Highness that the expenses have exceeded my calculations, and I expect to receive a much larger remittance at the beginning of next month.”
Titin, who in spite of his extravagant appearance, was a matter of fact man, opened the wallet and, without further ado, counted the bank notes. It contained twenty-five thousand francs. The matter was assuming a different aspect.
He asked the Comte to take a chair which the Comte did, declaring that it was a great honor to be allowed to sit for the first time in the presence of his king’s son.
“I am overjoyed, as you may see, at the turn of events,” said Titin. “I have always had a longing for wealth so as to be able to share it with persons very near to me, and if I ever dreamed of being a king’s son, it was in the hope of enjoying life with my friends, telling them not to worry but to rely on me in their difficulties; therefore to-day is a red-letter day since it enables me to fulfill a wish that I have regarded as impossible. We will celebrate it here and now.”
“You were born to be a king,” cried Odon.
“Meantime, until I become one, do me the favor, monsieur, of calling me, like everybody else, Titin le Bastardon. From what you tell me and I have read, I wish to remember only this remarkable and obvious fact: I am still Titin le Bastard
on, and thanks to you, have at my disposal a very decent sum of money that we will at once proceed to spend. Afterwards, time will show.”
“Oh, M. Titin, if His Highness could only hear you he would say: ‘He is his father’s own son.’ He too, the dear Prince, spends everything that comes into his possession.”
“How is it that he has anything left?” asked Titin.
“But he never has anything left. Fortunately he is practically master of the realm which means that he receives a great deal.... That is one of the signs by which we recognize a true prince. You are a true prince, M. Titin.”
“No, monsieur le Comte.”
“Oh, M. Titin, call me Odon Odonovitch, I beg of you.”
“My subjects won’t ruin themselves for me. It’s I who will be ruined by them.”
“Hardigras will never allow you to want for anything,” said Odon Odonovitch, with a satirical grin.
Titin frowned.
“Oh, don’t be upset, M. Titin. Anything I say about him is meant in jest. But I know all about your lovely story, believe me.”
“I notice that you, too, made inquiries before coming to see me.”
“I had to, M. Titin. It was His Highness’s express wish.”
“Have you been in this country long?”
“I arrived in Nice a fortnight ago, and everything I have learnt, everything I have written to His Highness, has filled me with unspeakable pleasure. You are the chief subject of conversation round here. Everyone admires and fears you — which is the highest achievement in real politics. You are a great politician and a great artist. People have said to me: ‘Go and see his paintings on the Town Hall walls. No one has ever done anything finer since the ancients!”
“And now you have seen my work what do you think of it, Odon Odonovitch?”
“It’s splendid.”
Having said this the Comte rose and lifted his arms before Titin’s paintings as though speechless with admiration. Titin with a curt gesture caught hold of his arms.
“Comte, I ask you seriously as a friend, do you like all this?”
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 419