for the first fortnight of the new year, things went swimmingly at the imperial theater, and several times the nightly receipts were over three hundred francs. duvernet wrote and produced a new play, in which he took the part of alexander the great; and it was a screaming success. fifi as queen roxana was simply stunning, wearing her alleged diamond brooch in a tiara made by her own hands, of beautiful glass beads. the merry war between julie campionet and herself went on as noisily as ever, but there was more noise than malignity about it. when julie was ill with a cold, fifi went and cooked julie’s dinner for her; and when fifi needed a scepter for her part of queen roxana, julie campionet sent her a very nice parasol handle with a glass knob at the top which made a lovely scepter.
but they did not, for these trifles, deny themselves the pleasure of quarreling, and duvernet was [pg 52]treated about once a week to a threat from each of them that if her rival were not immediately discharged, the complainant would at once resign. duvernet received these threats with secret satisfaction, because, as he explained to cartouche, as long as the war was actively prosecuted, julie campionet did not have time to make a serious demonstration against him.
“but if ever they are reconciled,” he confided gloomily to cartouche, “the campionet woman will marry me in a week.”
as for cartouche, he attended strictly to his business at the theater, but his mind was so much taken up with certain possibilities of the future that he did not keep the faithful watch over duvernet which the manager considered as his safeguard. cartouche was even so inconsiderate as to let julie campionet get into the manager’s private office more than once, and remain there alone with him for at least five minutes, without interrupting the tête-à-tête.
it was the lottery ticket which in some way grievously disturbed cartouche’s mind. suppose fifi should win a prize? and from that supposing, came a kind of superstitious conviction that number[pg 53] 1313 would win a prize. he found himself, without his own volition, figuring upon what should be done with the money, so as to enure to the greatest benefit of fifi.
“if it is a twenty-franc prize she draws, she must have a pair of new shoes, and some good stockings”—he thought, for cartouche knew intimately the condition of fifi’s wardrobe. “if it is as much as fifty francs, the shoes and stockings must wait—it won’t do to fool away such a sum as fifty francs; it must be put aside for a rainy day, for fifi, in the tin box in the cranny of the chimney”—where cartouche was beginning to save up also for a rainy day, for fifi. if it were five hundred francs—or possibly a thousand—cartouche lost his breath in contemplation of the catastrophe. in that case, fifi would have a dot, but whom would she marry? she knew no one but the men about the theater, and cartouche did not consider any of them a match for fifi; but perhaps he was prejudiced. she might, it is true, with five hundred francs to her dowry, marry a tradesman; but how would fifi get on with a tradesman?
altogether, it was the most puzzling proposition cartouche had ever struggled with, and he began [pg 54]to wish the fateful day were over, and that these strange dreams and hopes and fears about fifi and the lottery ticket would vanish like shapes in a mist, and leave him in peace.
then, there was that veiled suggestion from the emperor that he knew something about fifi’s family which might change her whole destiny; and on the whole, cartouche had good reason to go about looking like a sick bull, which was his way of showing a passionate solicitude for the being dearest to him on earth. and meanwhile, julie campionet went hot foot after the manager, and fifi wondered why cartouche was so gentle with her and so indulgent with toto.
the lottery drawing was to be held on the tenth of january, in a large public hall of the arrondissement, the mayor presiding. the drawing was to begin at noon, and last until all the tickets were drawn. as the day drew near, cartouche’s fever of excitement increased, and when the morning of the tenth dawned he was as nervous as a cat. he knocked at fifi’s door early, and told her to be ready to go with him at twelve o’clock to the lottery drawing. fifi responded sleepily, but when the hour came she was ready to accompany him.
[pg 55]
it was a lovely, bright morning, and fifi’s looks were in harmony with the morning. the red cloak was very becoming to her, and the black feathers, for which her first thirty francs had gone, nodded over the most sparkling, piquant face in paris. toto, of course, was along, led by a long blue ribbon in his mistress’ hand; and so they set off.
fifi had not the slightest thought of drawing a prize.
“as if 1313 would draw anything!” she sniffed. “if you had given me that franc, cartouche, which the ticket cost, i could have bought a pair of gloves, or a fan, or a bushel of onions—” fifi went on to enumerate what she could have bought with cartouche’s franc, until its purchasing power grew to be something like her whole weekly salary. but in any event, she liked the expedition she was on and toto liked it; so, on the whole, fifi concluded she could at least get fifty centimes’ worth of pleasure out of the lottery ticket.
she looked so pretty as she tripped along that cartouche mentally resolved, if she drew a five-hundred-franc prize, she might aspire to a notary, such as her father had been; and engrossed with [pg 56]the thought of fifi’s possible rise in the world, he was so grumpy, fifi declared she almost hated him.
they were among the first to arrive, and secured good seats near the tribune. there sat the officers of the lottery, the mayor with his tricolored sash, and several representatives of the government, together with a little fairy of a child, all in white, who was to draw the numbers from the wheel, which was already in place.
the crowd assembled in the hall was an orderly and well-dressed one, but fifi and cartouche, who were used to crowds, felt in a subtile way that it was quite different from the ordinary crowd. most of the people were, like cartouche, in a state of acute tension. they were strangely still and silent, but also, strangely ready to laugh, to cry, to shout—to do anything which would take the edge off the crisis.
when the drawing began, and one or two small prizes of twenty and fifty francs were drawn, the winners were vociferously cheered. there was a feeling that the grand prize of a hundred thousand francs would not be drawn until late in the afternoon,[pg 57] and the people were letting off their excitement over the little prizes, waiting for the thunder-bolt to fall. but scarcely half an hour after the drawing began, there was a sudden, deep pause—time itself seemed to stop for a moment—and then the auctioneer, who was calling out the prizes, roared out:
“number 1313 draws the grand prize of one hundred thousand francs!”
cartouche sat stunned. like persons near drowning, he saw in an instant, by some inward vision, all his past and future with fifi: she was no more for him. a great gulf had opened between them. had it been thundered in his ears for a century, he could not have realized it more than in the first two seconds after the announcement was made. fifi had a hundred thousand francs; then she could be fifi, his little fifi, no more. he saw, in a mental flash, the little store he had saved up in the cranny of the chimney—twenty-two francs. twenty-two francs! what a miserable sum! a blur came before his eyes; he heard a great noise of men shouting and clapping; women were waving their handkerchiefs and laughing and screaming [pg 58]out of sheer inability to keep quiet. as for fifi, she turned two wide, innocent, frightened eyes on cartouche, and stammered:
“dear cartouche—shall we really have a hundred—thousand—francs—of our own?”
“you will have it, fifi,” replied cartouche, and thrusting the ticket in her nerveless hand, he forced her to stand up and show it, which fifi did, then suddenly burst into a torrent of tears and a tempest of sobs.
her youth, her beauty, her tears, her humility touched all hearts; and this time there was a roar of sympathy. fifi’s slight figure swayed and would have fallen but for cartouche holding her up. it was buzzed about on all sides:
“who is that tall, ugly fellow with her?” some said her father, some her brother, but no one said he was her lover.
the formalities were simple and brief; the drawing would still take many hours; and fifi, with her precious memorandum, duly signed and countersigned, to be presented at a certain bank, was once again in the street with cartouche.
it was a bright, soft january day, the sun gilding the blue river, the quays and bridges, and lighting [pg 59]up with a golden glow the great masses of the louvre and the tuileries. fifi walked along, clutching cartouche’s arm tightly. she had forgotten toto trotting soberly at her side, and apparently crushed by the hundred thousand francs, forgotten all but cartouche, who seemed to her the only thing that was not changed in all the wide world. it was cartouche who held toto’s blue ribbon and who straightened fifi’s hat when it fell over her eyes and she was too agitated to know it. cartouche proposed to her to stop and rest in the tuileries gardens—but fifi would have none of it.
“take me home,” she cried. “take me somewhere so i can cry as much as i like!”
this struck cartouche as a perfectly natural way of receiving such stunning news; he himself could have wept with pleasure.
at last they were in fifi’s shabby little room, and fifi was taking off her new cloak and folding it up mechanically.
“no need to do that, fifi,” said cartouche, in a strange voice. “after to-morrow you need not wear thirty-franc cloaks any more.”
“oh, you cruel cartouche!” cried fifi, and burst into the anticipated fit of crying. she insisted on [pg 60]weeping on cartouche’s shoulder, and even kicked toto when that sympathetic dog would have joined his grief to hers, for toto knew well enough that something was to pay, whether it was the devil or not, he could not tell, but rather suspected it was the devil.
cartouche tried to comfort fifi—usually not a difficult problem when one has to be reconciled to a fortune—but there is always something staggering in contemplating another state of existence. neither cartouche nor fifi could at once become calm, and fifi, too, felt in some singular, but acute manner, that the hundred thousand francs stood between her and cartouche.
“now, mind, fifi,” cartouche said, “not a word of this to the people in the theater. wait until the money is actually in your hands.”
“in my hands,” cried fifi, tearfully and indignantly, “in your hands, you mean, you cruel cartouche!”
fifi had called cartouche cruel a dozen times since she had drawn the prize, but cartouche did not mind it. he would have liked to stay with her but there were a dozen things awaiting him at the theater, and cartouche was not the man to neglect [pg 61]his work. he went off, therefore, and had not a minute to himself, until just before it was time to dress for the play. then he went to his room, and taking his tin box from the chink in the chimney, he counted over his twenty-two francs—saved by doing without food and fire.
clothes and shoes he must have to keep his place in the theater. duvernet had been a good friend to him, and he could not go in rags, so that people would say: “there goes one of duvernet’s actors. that man does not pay his people enough to give them decent clothes to their backs.”
but food and fire were a man’s own affairs, and, by keeping on the near side of both, cartouche had been able to save twenty-two francs in three weeks of the coldest weather he had ever felt. and how little it was! how contemptible alongside of a hundred thousand francs! cartouche, sighing, put the box back. it was all in vain: those days when he battled with his hunger, those bitter nights when the snow lay deep on the roofs below his garret, and his old, cracked stove was as cold as the snow. and yet, there had been a tender, piercing sweetness in the very endurance of those privations—it was for fifi. and fifi would never more need his savings, [pg 62]which thought should have made him happy, but did not.
the next day, the whole story was out, the newspapers published the numbers and names of the winners, and it was as if fifi had been transported to another planet.
duvernet came first to congratulate her. she was in a cold spasm of terror for fear he had come to tell her that her services were no longer needed at the theater. it seemed to her as if she were about to be thrown headlong into an unknown abyss, and she thought that if she could but remain at the imperial theater for a short while longer, long enough to get accustomed to that stupendous change which awaited her, it would become a little more tolerable. and duvernet himself was so strange, it frightened fifi. he was so respectful; he did not strut as usual, and he called her mademoiselle chiaramonti, instead of fifi. and toto, who usually barked furiously at the manager, did not bark at all, but sat on his hind legs, his fore legs dropping dejectedly, and looked ruefully in duvernet’s face, as much as to say:
“see, monsieur duvernet; we have got a hundred thousand francs and we don’t know what to [pg 63]do with it, or how to behave ourselves.” toto, in fact, had neither barked nor danced nor jumped since he heard the news, and appeared thoroughly oppressed and abashed by his changed fortunes.
duvernet, it is true, felt some awe of fifi in her new aspect, but the active and enterprising manager was still uppermost with him.
“well, mademoiselle,” he began, trying to assume an airy manner, “i presume we shall have to dispense with your valuable services at the imperial theater; you will probably abandon the stage altogether, and certainly our humble place.”
duvernet, before this, had always spoken as if the imperial theater were the rival of the théâtre française.
fifi burst into tears.
“yes,” she cried, “i shall have to go away—and that odious julie campionet, who can no more act than a gridiron can act, will have all my best parts—o-o-o-o-oo-h!”
then duvernet played his trump card.
“a few farewell performances, mademoiselle, would put julie campionet’s nose severely out of joint.”
“do you think so?” cried fifi, brightening up [pg 64]at the thought of putting julie’s roman nose out of joint; that, at least, seemed natural and normal.
“if cartouche will let me—” for fifi now, instead of opposing cartouche, seemed unable to come to the smallest decision without him.
“i will see to that,” replied the manager eagerly, “and i will also see to it that julie campionet is made to gnaw the file.”
just then cartouche coming in, fifi besought him to let her act for at least two weeks more; and cartouche, feeling himself that vague, but intense strangeness of all things and people since fifi got her hundred thousand francs, consented. when it was decided, toto laid his nose down on his paws and uttered a short whine of relief, which sounded like grace after meat.
so fifi was to play for two weeks more at the imperial theater, the franc seats were to be two francs, and the cheapest seats, fifty centimes. fifi breathed again. it was a respite.
meanwhile fifi had been formally notified that the money was awaiting her at a certain bank, and she was requested to name a day for the payment to her, in the presence of an official of the lottery, a friend of her own, and a representative of the [pg 65]lottery company. fifi, or rather cartouche for her, named a day a whole month from the day of the lottery drawing. they were both frightened at the prospect of fifi’s receiving the money.
she and cartouche resumed their life exactly as it had been before number 1313 was purchased. cartouche, going about attending to his business as usual, thought his head would crack. at the end of the month, what was to be done? he was but little more experienced than fifi when it came to a hundred thousand francs. fifi must find another and a very different home—but where? she must be married—but when and how and to whom? he knew of no one of whom he could ask advice, except one, and he was not easy to reach—the emperor. cartouche was as certain as he was of being alive, that if he could see his emperor, and could tell the whole story, a way out of all his perplexities could be found. he had a shadowy hope that the emperor might have discovered something about fifi, according to that mysterious hint he gave the memorable night when he heard her name, but it did not materialize.
at last cartouche formed the desperate resolve of trying to see the emperor and telling all his [pg 66]trouble about fifi. on certain mornings in the week an inspection of the imperial guard was held in the courtyard of the tuileries; and on one of these mornings—a cold, dull, uncertain morning, matching cartouche’s feelings—he went and stationed himself as close to the iron railings of the courtyard as the police would let him. he thought to himself: “the emperor sees everything and everybody. he will see me, and he will know that i have something on my mind, and then he will send for me, and i will make a clean breast of it; and the emperor will tell me what to do with fifi and her money.”
the guard was drawn up into a hollow square, their splendid uniforms making a splash of color in the dull gray day, their arms shining, their bronzed countenances and steady eyes fit to face the great god mars himself. presently an electric thrill flashed through every soldier and each of the crowd of onlookers, as when a demigod appears among the lesser sons of men—the emperor appeared, stepping quickly across the courtyard.
he was in simple dress uniform, and had with him only two or three anxious-looking officers; for he was then the eagle-eyed general, who knew [pg 67]if a button was missing or a strap awry, and incidentally read the soul of the man before him. at once, he ordered this man and that to open his knapsack; one piercing glance sufficed to see in it and through it. he had a musket examined here and there, and in a flash he knew if everything was as it should be. the inspection was rapid, but nothing escaped the magic eyes of the emperor. all was in order, and in consequence, jove smiled.
cartouche saw that the emperor would pass within a few yards of him, and he stood, erect and rigid, at “attention,” waiting for the lightning glance to find him, and, just as he expected, the emperor’s eye swept over the waiting crowd, rested a moment on him, recognized him instantly, and as cartouche made a slight gesture of entreaty, nodded to him. five minutes after, a smart young aide stepped up, and motioning to cartouche, walked toward the palace; cartouche followed.
he did not know how he got into a small room on the ground floor, which communicated with the emperor’s cabinet. he was hot and cold and red and pale, but said to himself: “never mind, as soon as i see the emperor i shall feel as cool and [pg 68]easy as possible. for when was it that a private soldier was not at his ease with the emperor? it is the bigwigs who think they know something, whom the emperor frightens.”
there was a long wait, but after a while the door opened, and the same young aide ushered him into the emperor’s cabinet; and just as cartouche had known, he felt as easy as ever in his life as soon as he found himself alone with the emperor.
the emperor sat at a table, leaning his elbow upon it. his pale and classic face was luminous with a smile as he saw cartouche; he had no more forgotten the first man across the bridge at lodi than cartouche had forgotten him.
“well, my friend,” he said, smiling. “i was about to send for you, because i have found out some surprising things about your protegée, mademoiselle fifi; and besides, i see by the newspapers that she has drawn a prize of a hundred thousand francs in the lottery.”
“yes, sire,” replied cartouche, “and i want to ask your majesty what i am to do with fifi’s hundred thousand francs.”
“good god!” cried the emperor, getting up and walking about the room with his hands behind his [pg 69]back, “i know no more what to do with a hundred thousand francs than you do; i never had a hundred thousand francs of my own in my life. i have a civil list of forty millions, which i disburse for the benefit of the state, but it is as much as i can do to keep myself and my wife in clothes. women are expensive creatures, cartouche.”
“true, your majesty,” replied cartouche, “and fifi does not know what to do with money when she gets it—” then, in a burst of confidence he told the emperor about the thirty francs fifi had saved up for a cloak and invested in a little black dog instead. the emperor threw back his head and laughed heartily.
“this fifi must be a character. well, i shall ask lebrun, the arch-treasurer, to give us his advice about fifi’s hundred thousand francs. but suppose she will not trust you and me and the arch-treasurer with her money?”
“i don’t know about the arch-treasurer, your majesty, but i am sure fifi will trust you, sire, and me. but what is to be done with fifi herself, is puzzling me.”
“that can be easily settled, i think. you remember i told you, when i found her name was [pg 70]chiaramonti, that i might have some surprising news about her. i was, this very morning, contemplating sending for you. well, this young lady, whom you found crying in the market-place at mantua, i have discovered is the granddaughter of barnabas gregory chiaramonti, who was the first cousin and playmate, in his boyhood, of gregory barnabas chiaramonti, now reigning over the holy see as pius the seventh, and at present, sojourning as my guest at the palace of fontainebleau.”
everything reeled before cartouche, and he had to hold on to the back of a chair to keep from falling.
some minutes passed. the world was changing its aspect so rapidly to cartouche that he hardly recognized it as the same old planet he had known for thirty-five years.
the emperor waited until cartouche had a little recovered himself, although he was still pale and breathed hard. then the emperor said:
“i shall cause the holy father to be informed of fifi’s existence. he is a good old man, although as obstinate as the devil. oh, i am sure we can arrange[pg 71] for fifi; and then, cartouche, how about a husband for her?”
the emperor, as he said this, looked steadily at cartouche; but cartouche, looking back as steadily, replied:
“i should think the holy father would arrange that, your majesty.”
“true,” replied the emperor, “but i wish one of my deserving young officers might suit the holy father as fifi’s husband. i say, cartouche, how hard life is sometimes! now, because fifi is rich through the lottery ticket you bought her, you can never hope to marry her.”
“oh, your majesty, that could not have been in any event,” answered cartouche, a dull red showing through his dark skin. “i am sixteen years older than fifi, and i have a stiff leg, and although i make what is reckoned a good living for a man like me, it is not the sort of living for a notary’s daughter like fifi. no, your majesty; i love fifi, but i never thought to make her my wife. she deserves a better man than i am.”
“another sort of a man, cartouche, but not a better one,” replied the emperor, gently tweaking [pg 72]cartouche’s ear. “i shall arrange for the holy father to be told of fifi’s existence, and we shall see about the hundred thousand francs; and, cartouche, if you are in any trouble or perplexity, come to your emperor.”
and with that, cartouche knew the interview was over, and he went away with a heart both light and heavy. for cartouche was a very human man after all, and the thought of fifi’s having a husband made the whole world black to him.
