Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  “Perfectly,” sneered the mayor.

  “And,” I continued, “if the governor of Lorient sends gendarmes to conduct us to the steamship in Lorient harbor, they’ll take with them somebody besides the circus folk.”

  “You mean me?” he inquired.

  “I do.”

  “What do I care?” he bawled in a fury. “You had better go to Lorient, I tell you. What do you know about the commune? What do you know about universal brotherhood? Everybody’s everybody’s brother, whether you like it or not! I’m your brother, and if it doesn’t suit you you may go to the devil!”

  Watching the infuriated magistrate, I said in English to Speed: “This is interesting. Buckhurst has learned we are here, and has paid this fellow heavily to have us expelled. What sense do you make of all this? — for I can make none.”

  “Nor can I,” muttered Speed; “there’s a link gone; we’ll find it soon, I fancy. Without that link there’s no logic in this matter.”

  “Look here,” I said, sharply, to the mayor, who had waddled toward the door, which was guarded by Kelly Eyre.

  “Well, I’m looking,” he snarled.

  Then I patiently pointed out to him his folly, and he listened with ill-grace, obstinate, mute, dull cunning gleaming from his half-closed eyes.

  Then I asked him what he would do if the cruiser began dropping shells into Paradise; he deliberately winked at me and thrust his tongue into his cheek.

  “So you know that the cruiser has gone?” I asked.

  He grinned. 291

  “Do you suppose Buckhurst’s men hold the semaphore? If they do, they sent that cruiser on a fool’s errand,” whispered Speed.

  Here was a nice plot! I stepped to the window. Outside in the square Buckhurst was still speaking to a spellbound, gaping throng. A few men cheered him. They were strangers in Paradise.

  “What’s he doing it for?” I asked, utterly at a loss to account for proceedings which seemed to me the acme of folly. “He must know that the commune cannot be started here in Brittany! Speed, what is that man up to?”

  Behind us the mayor was angrily demanding that we leave his house; and after a while we did so, skirting the crowd once more to where, in a cleared space near the fountain, Buckhurst stood, red flag in hand, ranging a dozen peasants in line. The peasants were not Paradise men; they wore the costumes of the interior, and somebody had already armed them with scythes, rusty boarding-pikes, stable-forks, and one or two flintlock muskets. An evil-looking crew, if ever I saw one; wild-eyed, long-haired, bare of knee and ankle, loutish faces turned toward the slim, gray, pale-faced orator who confronted them, flag in hand. They were the scum of Morbihan.

  He told them that they were his guard of honor, the glory of their race — a sacred battalion whose names should shine high on the imperishable battlements of freedom.

  Around them the calm-eyed peasants stared at them stupidly; women gazed fascinated when Buckhurst, raising his flag, pointed in silence to the mayor’s house, where that official stood in his doorway, observing the scene:

  “Forward!” said Buckhurst, and the grotesque escort started with a clatter of heavy sabots and a rattle of scythes. The crowd fell back to give them way, then closed in behind like a herd of sheep, following to the mayor’s house, where Buckhurst set his sentinels and then entered, closing the door behind him.

  “Well!” muttered Speed, in amazement.

  After a long silence, Kelly Eyre looked at his watch. “It’s time we were in the tent,” he observed, dryly; and we turned away without a word. At the bridge we stopped and looked back. The red flag was flying from the mayor’s house.

  “Speed,” I said, “there’s one thing certain: Byram can’t stay if there’s going to be fighting here. I heard guns at sea this morning; I don’t know what that may indicate. And here’s this idiotic revolution started in Paradise! That means the troops from Lorient, and a wretched lot of bushwhacking and guerrilla work. Those Faöuet Bretons that Buckhurst has recruited are a bad lot; there is going to be trouble, I tell you.”

  Eyre suggested that we arm our circus people, and Speed promised to attend to it and to post them at the tent doors, ready to resist any interference with the performance on the part of Buckhurst’s recruits.

  It was already nearly one o’clock as we threaded our way through the crowds at the entrance, where our band was playing gayly and thousands of white head-dresses fluttered in the sparkling sunshine that poured intermittently from a sky where great white clouds were sailing seaward.

  “Walk right up, messoors! Entry done, mesdames, see voo play!” shouted Byram, waving a handful of red and blue tickets. “Animals all on view before the performance begins! Walk right into the corridor of livin’ marvels and defunct curiosities! Bring the little ones to see the elephant an’ the camuel — the fleet ship of the Sairy! Don’t miss nothing! Don’t fail to contemplate le ploo magnifique spectacle in all Europe! Don’t let nobody say you died an’ never saw the only Flyin’ Mermaid! An’ don’t forget the prize — ten thousand francs to the man, woman, or che-ild who can prove that this here Flyin’ Mermaid ain’t a fictious bein’ straight from Paradise!”

  Speed and I made our way slowly through the crush to the stables, then around to the dressing-rooms, where little Grigg, in his spotted clown’s costume, was putting the last touches of vermilion to his white cheeks, and Horan, draped in a mangy leopard-skin to imitate Hercules, sat on his two-thousand-pound dumbbell, curling his shiny black mustache with Mrs. Grigg’s iron.

  “Jacqueline’s dressed,” cried Miss Crystal, parting the curtain of her dressing-room, just enough to show her pretty, excited eyes and nose.

  “All right; I won’t be long,” replied Speed, who was to act as ring-master. And he turned and looked at me as I raised the canvas flap which screened my dressing-room.

  “I think,” I said, “that we had better ride over to Trécourt after the show — not that there’s any immediate danger—”

  “There is no immediate danger,” said Speed, “because she is here.”

  My face began to burn; I looked at him miserably. “How do you know?”

  “She is there in the tent. I saw her.”

  He came up and held his hand on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I told you,” he said.

  “Why?” I asked. “She knows what I am. Is there any reason why she should not be amused? I promise you she shall be!”

  “Then why do you speak so bitterly? Don’t misconstrue her presence. Don’t be a contemptible fool. If I have read her face — and I have never spoken to her, as you know — I tell you, Scarlett, that young girl is going through an ordeal! Do women of that kind come to shows like this to be amused?”

  “What do you mean?” I said, angrily.

  “I mean that she could not keep away! And I tell you to be careful with your lions, to spare her any recklessness on your part, to finish as soon as you can, and get out of that cursed cage. If you don’t you’re a coward, and a selfish one at that!”

  His words were like a blow in the face; I stared at him, too confused even for anger.

  “Oh, you fool, you fool!” he said, in a low voice. “She cares for you; can’t you understand?”

  And he turned on his heel, leaving me speechless.

  I do not remember dressing. When I came out into the passageway Byram beckoned me, and pointed at a crack in the canvas through which one could see the interior of the amphitheatre. A mellow light flooded the great tent; spots of sunshine fell on the fresh tan-bark, where long, luminous, dusty beams slanted from the ridge-pole athwart the golden gloom.

  Tier on tier the wooden benches rose, packed with women in brilliant holiday dress, with men gorgeous in silver and velvet, with children decked in lace and gilt chains. The air was filled with the starched rustle of white coiffes and stiff collarettes; a low, incessant clatter of sabots sounded from gallery to arena; gusts of breathless whispering passed like capricious breezes blowing, then died out in the hush which fell as ou
r band-master, McCadger, raised his wand and the band burst into “Dixie.”

  At that the great canvas flaps over the stable entrance slowly parted and the scarlet-draped head of Djebe, the elephant, appeared. On he came, amid a rising roar of approval, Speed in gorgeous robes perched on high, ankus raised. After him came the camel, all over tassels and gold net, bestridden by Kelly Eyre, wearing a costume seldom seen anywhere, and never in the Sahara. White horses, piebald horses, and cream-colored horses pranced in the camel’s wake, dragging assorted chariots tenanted by gentlemen in togas; pretty little Mrs. Grigg, in habit and scarlet jacket, followed on Briza, the white mare; Horan came next, driving more horses; the dens of ferocious beasts creaked after, guarded by a phalanx of stalwart stablemen in plumes and armor; then Miss Crystal, driving zebras to a gilt chariot; then more men in togas, leading monkeys mounted on ponies; and finally Mrs. Horan seated on a huge egg drawn by ostriches.

  Once only they circled the sawdust ring; then the band stopped, the last of the procession disappeared, the clown came shrieking and tumbling out into the arena with his “Here we are again!”

  And the show was on.

  I stood in the shadow of the stable-tent, dressed in my frock-coat, white stock, white cords, and hunting-boots, sullen, imbittered, red with a false shame that better men than I have weakened under, almost desperate in my humiliation, almost ready to end it all there among those tawny, restless brutes pacing behind the bars at my elbow, watching me stealthily with luminous eyes.

  She knew what I was — but that she could come to see with her own eyes I could not understand, I could not forgive. Speed’s senseless words rang in my ears— “She cares for you!” But I knew they were meaningless, I knew she could not care for me. What fools’ paradise would he have me enter? What did he know of this woman whom I knew and understood — whom I honored for her tenderness and pity to all who suffered — who I knew counted me as one among a multitude of unhappy failures whom her kindness and sympathy might aid.

  Because she had, in her gracious ignorance, given me a young girl’s impulsive friendship, was I to mistake her? What could Speed know of her — of her creed, her ideals, her calm, passionless desire to help where help was needed — anywhere — in the palace, in the faubourgs, in the wretched chaumières, in the slums? It was all one to her — to this young girl whose tender heart, bruised by her own sad life, opened to all on whom the evil days had dawned.

  And yet she had come here — and that was cruel; and she was not cruel. Could she know that I had a shred of pride left — one little, ragged thread of pride left in me — that she should come to see me do my mountebank tricks to the applause of a greasy throng?

  No, she had not thought of that, else she would have stayed away; for she was kind, above all else — generous and kind.

  Speed passed me in ring-master’s dress; there came the hollow thud of hoofs as Mrs. Grigg galloped into the ring on her white mare, gauze skirts fluttering, whip raised; and, “Hoop-la!” squealed the clown as his pretty little wife went careering around and around the tan-bark, leaping through paper-hoops, over hurdles, while the band played frantically and the Bretons shouted in an ecstasy of excitement.

  Then Grigg mounted his little trick donkey; roars of laughter greeted his discomfiture when Tim, the donkey, pitched him headlong and cantered off with a hee-haw of triumph.

  Miss Delany tripped past me in her sky-blue tights to hold the audience spellbound with her jugglery, and spin plates and throw glittering knives until the satiated people turned to welcome Horan and his “cogged” dumbbells and clubs. 297

  “Have you seen her?” whispered Speed, coming up to me, long whip trailing.

  I shook my head.

  He looked at me in disgust. “Here’s something for you,” he said, shortly, and thrust an envelope into my hand.

  In the envelope was a little card on which was written: “I ask you to be careful, for a friend’s sake.” On the other side of the card was engraved her name.

  I raised my head and looked at Speed, who began to laugh nervously. “That’s better,” he said; “you don’t look like a surly brute any more.”

  “Where is she?” I said, steadying my voice, which my leaping heart almost stifled.

  He drew me by the elbow and looked toward the right of the amphitheatre. Following the direction of his eyes, I saw her leaning forward, pale-faced, grave, small, gloved hands interlocked. Beside her sat Sylvia Elven, apparently amused at the antics of the clown.

  Shame filled me. Not the false shame I had felt — that vanished — but shame that I could have misunderstood the presence of this brave friend of mine, this brave, generous, tender-hearted girl, who had given me her friendship, who was true enough to care what might happen to me — and brave enough to say so.

  “I will be careful,” I said to Speed, in a low voice. “If it were not for Byram I would not go on to-day — but that is a matter of honor. Oh, Speed,” I broke out, “is she not worth dying for?”

  “Why not live for her?” he observed, dryly.

  “I will — don’t misunderstand me — I know she could never even think of me — as I do — of her — yes, as I dare to, Speed. I dare to love her with all this wretched heart and soul of mine! It’s all right — I think I am crazy to talk like this — but you are kind, Speed — you will forget what I said — you have forgotten it already — bless your heart—”

  “No, I haven’t,” he retorted, obstinately. “You must win her — you must! Shame on you for a coward if you do not speak that word which means life to you both!”

  “Speed!” I began, angrily.

  “Oh, go to the devil!” he snapped, and walked off to where Jacqueline stood glittering, her slim limbs striking fire from every silver scale.

  “All ready, little sweetheart!” he cried, reassuringly, as she raised her blue eyes to his and shook her elf-locks around her flushed face. “It’s our turn now; they’re uncovering the tank, and Miss Crystal is on her trapeze. Are you nervous?”

  “Not when you are by me,” said Jacqueline.

  “I’ll be there,” he said, smiling. “You will see me when you are ready. Look! There’s the governor! It’s your call! Quick, my child!”

  “Good-bye,” said Jacqueline, catching his hand in both of hers, and she was off and in the middle of the ring before I could get to a place of vantage to watch.

  Up into the rigging she swung, higher, higher, hanging like a brilliant fly in all that net-work of wire and rope, turning, twisting, climbing, dropping to her knees, until the people’s cheers rose to a sustained shriek.

  “Ready!” quavered Miss Crystal, hanging from her own trapeze across the gulf.

  It was the first signal. Jacqueline set her trapeze swinging and hung by her knees, face downward.

  “Ready!” called Miss Crystal again, as Jacqueline’s trapeze swung higher and higher.

  “Ready!” said Jacqueline, calmly.

  “Go!”

  “I WAS ON MY KNEES”

  Like a meteor the child flashed across the space between the two trapezes; Miss Crystal caught her by her ankles.

  “Ready?” called Speed, from the ground below. He had turned quite pale. I saw Jacqueline, hanging head down, smile at him from her dizzy height.

  “Ready,” she said, calmly.

  “Go!”

  Down, down, like a falling star, flashed Jacqueline into the shallow pool, then shot to the surface, shimmering like a leaping mullet, where she played and dived and darted, while the people screamed themselves hoarse, and Speed came out, ghastly and trembling, colliding with me like a blind man.

  “I wish I had never let her do it; I wish I had never brought her here — never seen her,” he stammered. “She’ll miss it some day — like Miss Claridge — and it will be murder — and I’ll have done it! Anybody but that child, Scarlett, anybody else — but I can’t bear to have her die that way — the pretty little thing!”

  He let go of my arm and stood back as
my lion-cages came rolling out, drawn by four horses.

  “It’s your turn,” he said, in a dazed way. “Look out for that lioness.”

  As I walked out into the arena I saw only one face. She tried to smile, and so did I; but a terrible, helpless sensation was already creeping over me — the knowledge that I was causing her distress — the knowledge that I was no longer sure of myself — that, with my love for her, my authority over these caged things had gone, never to return. I knew it, I recognized it, and admitted it now. Speed’s words rang true — horribly true.

  I entered the cage, afraid.

  Almost instantly I was the centre of a snarling mass of lions; I saw nothing; my whip rose and fell mechanically. I stood like one stunned, while the tawny forms leaped right and left.

  Suddenly I heard a keeper say, “Look out for Empress Khatoun, sir!” And a moment later a cry, “Look out, sir!”

  Something went wrong with another lion, too, for the people were standing up and shouting, and the sleeve of my coat hung from the elbow, showing my bare shoulder. I staggered up against the bars of the sliding door as a lioness struck me heavily and I returned the blow. I remember saying, aloud: “I must keep my feet; I must not fall!” Then daylight grew red, and I was on my knees, with the foul breath of a lion in my face. A hot iron bar shot across the cage. The roaring of beasts and people died out in my ears; then, with a shock, my soul seemed to be dashed out of me into a terrific darkness.

  PART THIRD

  XVIII

  A GUEST-CHAMBER

  A light was shining in my eyes and I was talking excitedly; that and the odor of brandy I remember — and something else, a steady roaring in my ears; then darkness, out of which came a voice, empty, meaningless, finally soundless.

  After a while I realized that I was in pain; that, at intervals, somebody forced morsels of ice between my lips; that the darkness around me had turned grayer.

  Time played tricks on me; centuries passed steadily, year following year — long years they were, too, with endless spring-tides, summers, autumns, winters, each with full complement of months, and every month crowded with days. Space, illimitable space, surrounded me — skyless, starless space. And through its terrific silence I heard a clock ticking seconds of time.