Tancred by Benjamin Disraeli (year 2 reading books .TXT) 📕

his fiddle, for the curtain moved.

'It is a triumph of art,' said Sidonia, as he beheld the immortal group of Rubens reproduced with a precision and an exquisite feeling which no language can sufficiently convey, or too much extol.

The performances were over, the little artists were summoned to the front scene to be applauded, the scanty audience were dispersing: Sidonia lingered.

'You are living in this house, I suppose?' he said to Baroni.

Baroni shook his head. 'I can afford no roof except my own.'

'And where is that?'

'On four wheels, on the green here. We are vagabonds, and, I suppose, must always be so; but, being one family, we can bear it. I wish the children to have a good supper to-night, in honour of your kindness. I have a good deal to do. I must put these things in order,' as he spoke he was working; 'there is the grandmother who lives with us; all this time she is alone, guarded, however, by the dog. I should like them to have meat to-night, if I can get it. Their mother cooks the supper. Then I have got to hear them say their prayers. All this takes time, particularly as we have to rise early, and do many things before we make our first course through the city.'

'I will come and see you to-morrow,' said Sidonia, 'after your first progress.'

'An hour after noon, if you please,' said Baroni. 'It is pleasant for me to become acquainted with a fellow artist, and one so liberal as yourself.'

'Your name is Baroni,' said Sidonia, looking at him earnestly.

'My name is Baroni.'

'An Italian name.'

'Yes, I come from Cento.'

'Well, we shall meet to-morrow. Good night, Baroni. I am going, to send you some wine for your supper, and take care the grandmamma drinks my health.'


II.

It was a sunny morn: upon the green contiguous to the Auberge of St. Nicholas was a house upon wheels, a sort of monster omnibus, its huge shafts idle on the ground, while three fat Flemish horses cropped the surrounding pasture. From the door of the house were some temporary steps, like an accommodation ladder, on which sat Baroni, dressed something like a Neapolitan fisherman, and mending his clarionet; the man in the blouse was eating his dinner, seated between the shafts, to which also was fastened the little dog, often the only garrison, except the grandmother, of this strange establishment.

The little dog began barking vociferously, and Baroni, looking up, instantly bade him be quiet. It was Sidonia whose appearance in the distance had roused the precautionary voice.

'Well,' said Sidonia, 'I heard your trumpets this morning.'

'The grandmother sleeps,' said Baroni, taking off his cap, and slightly rising. 'The rest also are lying down after their dinner. Children will never repose unless there are rules, and this with them is invariable.'

'But your children surely cannot be averse to repose, for they require it.'

'Their blood is young,' continued Baroni, still mending his clarionet; 'they are naturally gay, except my eldest son. He is restless, but he is not gay.'

'He likes his art?'

'Not too much; what he wants is to travel, and, after all, though we are always moving, the circle is limited.'

'Yes; you have many to move. And can this ark contain them all?' said Sidonia, seating himself on some timber that was at hand.

'With convenience even,' replied Baroni; 'but everything can be effected by order and discipline. I rule and regulate my house like a ship. In a vessel, there is not as much accommodation for the size as in a house of this kind; yet nowhere is there more decency and cleanliness than on board ship.'

'You have an obedient crew,' said Sidonia, 'and that is much.'

'Yes; when they wake my children say their prayers, and then they come to embrace me and their mother. This they have never omitted during their lives. I have taught them from their birth to obey God and to honour their parents. These two principles have made them a religious and moral family. They have kept us united, and sustained us under severe trials.'

'Yet such talents as you all possess,' said Sidonia, 'should have exempted you from any very hard struggle, especially when united, as apparently in your case, with well-ordered conduct.'

'It would seem that they should,' said Baroni, 'but less talents than we possess would, probably, obtain as high a reward. The audiences that we address have little feeling for art, and all these performances, which you so much applauded last night, would not, perhaps, secure even the feeble patronage we experience, if they were not preceded by some feats of agility or strength.'

'You have never appealed to a higher class of audience?'

'No; my father was a posture-master, as his father was before him. These arts are traditionary in our family, and I care not to say for what length of time and from what distant countries we believe them to have been received by us. My father died by a fall from a tight rope in the midst of a grand illumination at Florence, and left me a youth. I count now only sixty-and-thirty summers. I married, as soon as I could, a dancer at Milan. We had no capital, but our united talents found success. We loved our children; it was necessary to act with decision, or we should have been separated and trampled into the mud. Then I devised this house and wandering life, and we exist in general as you see us. In the winter, if our funds permit it, we reside in some city, where we educate our children in the arts which they pursue. The mother can still dance, sings prettily, and has some knowledge of music. For myself, I can play in some fashion upon every instrument, and have almost taught them as much; I can paint, too, a scene, compose a group, and with the aid of my portfolio of prints, have picked up more knowledge of the costume, of different centuries than you would imagine. If you see Josephine to-night in the Maid of Orleans you would perhaps be surprised. A great judge, like yourself a real artist, once told me at Bruxelles, that the grand opera could not produce its equal.'

'I can credit it,' said Sidonia, 'for I perceive in Josephine, as well as indeed in all your children, a rare ability!'

'I will be frank,' said Baroni, looking at Sidonia very earnestly, and laying down his clarionet. 'I conclude from what you said last night, and the interest that you take in the children, that you are something in our way, though on a great scale. I apprehend you are looking out for novelties for the next season, and sometimes in the provinces things are to be found. If you will take us to London or Paris, I will consent to receive no remuneration if the venture fail; all I shall then require will be a decent maintenance, which you can calculate beforehand: if the speculation answer, I will not demand more than a third of the profits, leaving it to your own liberality to make me any regalo in addition, that you think proper.'

'A very fair proposal,' said Sidonia.

'Is it a bargain?'

'I must think over it,' said Sidonia.

'Well; God prosper your thoughts, for, from what I see of you, you are a man I should be proud to work with.'

'Well, we may yet be comrades.'

The children appeared at the door of the house, and, not to disturb their father, vaulted down. They saluted Sidonia with much respect, and then withdrew to some distance. The mother appeared at the door, and, leaning down, whispered something to Baroni, who, after a little hesitation, said to Sidonia, 'The grandmother is awake; she has a wish to thank you for your kindness to the children. It will not trouble you; merely a word; but women have their fancies, and we like always to gratify her, because she is much alone and never complains.'

'By all means,' said Sidonia.

Whereupon they ushered forward a venerable woman with a true Italian face; hair white as snow, and eyes still glittering with fire, with features like a Roman bust, and an olive complexion. Sidonia addressed her in Italian, which greatly pleased her. She was profuse, even solemn, in her thanks to him; she added, she was sure, from all that she had heard of him, if he took the children with him, he would be kind to them.

'She has overheard something I said to my wife,' said Baroni, a little embarrassed.

'I am sure I should be kind to them,' said Sidonia, 'for many reasons, and particularly for one;' and he whispered something in Baroni's ear.

Baroni started from his seat with a glowing cheek, but Sidonia, looking at his watch and promising to attend their evening performance, bade them adieu.


III.

The performances were more meagrely attended this evening than even on the preceding one, but had they been conducted in the royal theatre of a capital, they could not have been more elaborate, nor the troupe have exerted themselves with greater order and effect. It mattered not a jot to them whether their benches were thronged or vacant; the only audience for whom the Baroni family cared was the foreign manager, young, generous, and speculative, whom they had evidently without intention already pleased, and whose good opinion they resolved to-night entirely to secure. And in this they perfectly succeeded. Josephine was a tragic muse; all of them, even to little Carlotta, performed as if their destiny depended on the die. Baroni would not permit the children's box to be carried round to-night, as he thought it an unfair tax on the generous stranger, whom he did not the less please by this well-bred abstinence. As for the mediaeval and historic groups, Sidonia could recall nothing equal to them; and what surprised him most was the effect produced by such miserable materials. It seemed that the whole was effected with some stiffened linen and paper; but the divine touch of art turned everything to gold. One statue of Henri IV. with his flowing plume, and his rich romantic dress, was quite striking. It was the very plume that had won at Ivry, and yet was nothing more than a sheet of paper cut and twisted by the plastic finger of little Alfred.

There was to be no performance on the morrow; the niggard patronage of the town had been exhausted. Indeed, had it not been for Sidonia, the little domestic troupe would, ere this, have quitted the sullen town, where they had laboured so finely, and achieved such an ungracious return. On the morrow Baroni was to ride one of the fat horses over to Berg, a neighbouring town of some importance, where there was even a little theatre to be engaged, and if he obtained the permission of the mayor, and could make fair terms, he proposed to give there a series of representations. The mother was to stay at home and take care of the grandmother; but the children, all the children, were to have a holiday, and to dine with Sidonia at his hotel.

It would have been quite impossible for the most respectable burgher, even of the grand place of a Flemish city, to have sent his children on a visit in trim more neat, proper, and decorous, than that in which the Baroni family figured on the morrow, when they went to pay their respects to their patron. The