France -- History -- Louis XIII, 1610-1643 -- Fiction
When Scapin paused, de Sigognac made a sign with his hand that he
wished to speak, and all the company turned respectfully towards him to
listen to what he had to say. A little flush spread itself over his
pale countenance, and it was only after a brief but sharp struggle with
himself that he opened his tightly compressed lips, and addressed his
expectant audience, as follows: “Although I do not possess poor
Matamore’s talent, I can almost rival him in thinness, and _I_ will
take his role, and do the best I can with it. I am your comrade, and I
want to do my part in this strait we find ourselves in. I should be
ashamed to share your prosperity, as I have done, and not aid you, so
far as lies in my power, in your adversity, and this is the only way in
which I can assist you. There is no one in the whole world to care what
may become of the de Sigognacs; my house is crumbling into dust over
the tombs of my ancestors; oblivion covers my once glorious name, and
the arms of my family are almost entirely obliterated above the
deserted entrance to the Château de Sigognac. Perhaps I may yet see the
three golden storks shine out brilliantly upon my shield, and life,
prosperity, and happiness return to the desolate abode where my sad,
hopeless youth was spent. But in the meantime, since to you I owe my
escape from that dreary seclusion, I beg you to accept me freely as
your comrade, and my poor services as such; to you I am no longer de
Sigognac.”
Isabelle had laid her hand on his arm at his first sentence, as soon as
she comprehended what he meant to say, to try to stop him, and here she
made another effort to interrupt; but for once he would not heed her,
and continued, “I renounce my title of baron for the present; I fold it
up and put it away at the bottom of my portmanteau, like a garment that
is laid aside. Do not make use of it again, I pray you; we will see
whether under a new name I may not succeed in escaping from the ill
fortune that has thus far pursued me as the Baron de Sigognac.
Henceforth then I take poor Matamore’s place, and my name is Captain
Fracasse.”
“Bravo! _vive_ Captain Fracasse!” cried they all, with enthusiasm, “may
applause greet and follow him wherever he goes.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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