THE CHAMPS-ELYSEES
It was about two hours after the interview of Rodin with Mdlle. de
Cardoville. Numerous loungers, attracted to the Champs-Elysees by the
serenity of a fine spring day (it was towards the end of the month of
March) stopped to admire a very handsome equipage. A bright-blue open
carriage, with white-and-blue wheels, drawn by four superb horses, of
cream color, with black manes, and harness glittering with silver
ornaments, mounted by two boy postilions of equal size, with black velvet
caps, light-blue cassimere jackets with white collars, buckskin breeches,
and top-boots; two tall, powdered footmen, also in light-blue livery,
with white collars and facings, being seated in the rumble behind.
No equipage could have been turned out in better style. The horses, full
of blood, spirit, and vigor, were skillfully managed by the postilions,
and stepped with singular regularity, gracefully keeping time in their
movements, champing their bits covered with foam, and ever and anon
shaking their cockades of blue and white silk, with long floating ends,
and a bright rose blooming in the midst.
A man on horseback, dressed with elegant simplicity, keeping at the other
side of the avenue, contemplated with proud satisfaction this equipage
which he had, as it were, created. It was M. de Bonneville--Adrienne's
equerry, as M. de Montbron called him--for the carriage belonged to that
young lady. A change had taken place in the plan for this magic day's
amusement. M. de Montbron had not been able to deliver Mdlle. de
Cardoville's note to Prince Djalma. Faringhea had told him that the
prince had gone that morning into the country with Marshal Simon, and
would not be back before evening. The letter should be given him on his
arrival. Completely satisfied as to Djalma, knowing that he could find
these few lines, which, without informing him of the happiness that
awaited him, would at least give him some idea of it, Adrienne had
followed the advice of M. de Montbron, and gone to the drive in her own
carriage, to show all the world that she had quite made up her mind, in
spite of the perfidious reports circulated by the Princess de Saint
Dizier, to keep to her resolution of living by herself in her own way.
Adrienne wore a small white bonnet, with a fall of blonde, which well
became her rosy face and golden hair; her high dress of garnet-colored
velvet was almost hidden beneath a large green cashmere shawl. The young
Marchioness de Morinval, who was also very pretty and elegant, was seated
at her right. M. de Montbron occupied the front seat of the carriage.
Those who know the Parisian world, or rather, that imperceptible fraction
of the world of Paris which goes every fine, sunny day to the Champs
Elysees, to see and be seen, will understand that the presence of Mdlle.
de Cardoville on that brilliant promenade was an extraordinary and
interesting event.
The world (as it is called) could hardly believe its eyes, on seeing this
lady of eighteen, possessed of princely wealth, and belonging to the
highest nobility, thus prove to every one, by this appearance in public,
that she was living completely free and independent, contrary to all
custom and received notions of propriety. This kind of emancipation
appeared something monstrous, and people were almost astonished that the
graceful and dignified bearing of the young lady should belie so
completely the calumnies circulated by Madame de Saint-Dizier and her
friends, with regard to the pretended madness of her niece. Many beaux,
profiting by their acquaintance with the Marchioness de Morinval or M. de
Montbron, came by turns to pay their respects, and rode for a few minutes
by the side of the carriage, so as to have an opportunity of seeing,
admiring, and perhaps hearing, Mdlle. de Cardoville; she surpassed their
expectations, by talking with her usual grace and spirit. Then surprise
and enthusiasm knew no bounds. What had at first been blamed as an almost
insane caprice, was now voted a charming originality, and it only
depended on Mdlle. de Cardoville herself, to be declared from that day
the queen of elegance and fashion. The young lady understood very well
the impression she had made; she felt proud and happy, for she thought of
Djalma; when she compared him to all these men of fashion, her happiness
was the more increased. And, verily, these young men, most of whom had
never quitted Paris, or had ventured at most as far as Naples or Baden,
looked insignificant enough by the side of Djalma, who, at his age, had
so many times commanded and combated in bloody wars, and whose reputation
far courage and generosity, mentioned by travellers with admiration, had
already reached from India to Paris. And then, how could these charming
exquisites, with their small hats, their scanty frock-coats, and their
huge cravats, compare with the Indian prince, whose graceful and manly
beauty was still heightened by the splendor of a costume, at once so rich
and so picturesque?
On this happy day, all was joy and love for Adrienne. The sun, setting in
a splendidly serene sky, flooded the promenade with its golden light. The
air was warm. Carriages and horsemen passed and repassed in rapid
succession; a light breeze played with the scarfs of the women, and the
plumes in their bonnets; all around was noise, movement, sunshine.
Adrienne, leaning back in her carriage, amused herself with watching this
busy scene, sparkling with Parisian luxury; but, in the vortex of this
brilliant chaos, she saw in thought the mild, melancholy countenance of
Djalma--when suddenly something fell into her lap, and she started. It
was a bunch of half-faded violets. At the same instant she heard a
child's voice following the carriage, and saying: "For the love of
heaven, my good lady, one little sou!" Adrienne turned her head, and saw
a poor little girl, pale and wan, with mild, sorrowful features, scarcely
covered with rags, holding out her hand, and raising her eyes in
supplication. Though the striking contrast of extreme misery, side by
side with extreme luxury, is so common, that it no longer excites
attention, Adrienne was deeply affected by it. She thought of Mother
Bunch, now, perhaps, the victim of frightful destitution.
"Ah! at least," thought the young lady, "let not this day be one of
happiness for me alone!"
She leaned from the carriage-window, and said to the poor child: "Have
you a mother, my dear?"
"No, my lady, I have neither father nor mother."
"Who takes care of you?"
"No one, my lady. They give me nosegays to sell, and I must bring home
money--or they beat me."
"Poor little thing!"
"A sou, my good lady--a sou, for the love of heaven!" said the child,
continuing to follow the carriage, which was then moving slowly.
"My dear count," said Adrienne, smiling, and addressing M. de Montbron,
"you are, unfortunately, no novice at an elopement. Please to stretch
forth your arms, take up that child with both hands, and lift her into
the carriage. We can hide her between Lady de Morinval and myself; and we
can drive away before any one perceives this audacious abduction."
"What!" said the count, in surprise. "You wish--"
"Yes; I beg you to do it."
"What a folly!"
"Yesterday, you might, perhaps, have treated this caprice as a folly; but
to-day," said Adrienne, laying great stress upon the word, and glancing
at M. de Montbron with a significant air, "to-day, you should understand
that it is almost a duty."
"Yes, I understand you, good and noble heart!" said the count, with
emotion; while Lady de Morinval, who knew nothing of Mdlle. de
Cardoville's love for Djalma, looked with as much surprise as curiosity
at the count and the young lady.
M. de Montbron, leaning from the carriage, stretched out his arms towards
the child, and said to her: "Give me your hands, little girl."
Though much astonished, the child obeyed mechanically, and held out both
her little arms; then the count took her by the wrists, and lifted her
lightly from the ground, which he did the more easily, as the carnage was
very low, and its progress by no means rapid. More stupefied than
frightened, the child said not a word. Adrienne and Lady de Morinval made
room for her to crouch down between them, and the little girl was soon
hidden beneath the shawls of the two young women. All this was executed
so quickly, that it was hardly perceived by a few persons passing in the
side-avenues.
"Now, my dear count," said Adrienne, radiant with pleasure, "let us make
off at once with our prey."
M. de Montbron half rose, and called to the postilions. "Home!" and the
four horses started at once into a rapid and regular trot.
"This day of happiness now seems consecrated, and my luxury is excused,"
thought Adrienne; "till I can again meet with that poor Mother Bunch, and
from this day I will make every exertion to find her out, her place will
at least not be quite empty."
There are often strange coincidences in life. At the moment when this
thought of the hunchback crossed the mind of Adrienne, a crowd had
collected in one of the side-avenues, and other persons soon ran to join
the group.
"Look, uncle!" said Lady de Morinval; "how many people are assembled
yonder. What can it be? Shall we stop, and send to inquire?"
"I am sorry, my dear, but your curiosity cannot be satisfied," said the
count, drawing out his watch; "it will soon be six o'clock, and the
exhibition of the wild beasts begin at eight. We shall only just have
time to go home and dine. Is not that your opinion, my dear child?" said
he to Adrienne.
"And yours, Julia?" said Mdlle. de Cardoville to the marchioness.
"Oh, certainly!" answered her friend.
"I am the less inclined to delay," resumed the count, "as when I have
taken you to the Porte-Saint-Martin, I shall be obliged to go for half
an-hour to my club, to ballot for Lord Campbell, whom I propose."
"Then, Adrienne and I will be left alone at the play, uncle?"
"Your husband will go with you, I suppose."
"True, dear uncle; but do not quite leave us, because of that."
"Be sure I shall not: for I am curious as you are to see these terrible
animals, and the famous Morok, the incomparable lion-tamer."
A few minutes after, Mdlle. de Cardoville's carriage had left the Champs
Elysees, carrying with it the little girl, and directing its course
towards the Rue d'Anjou. As the brilliant equipage disappeared from the
scene, the crowd, of which we before have spoken, greatly increased about
one of the large trees in the Champs-Elysees, and expressions of pity
were heard here and there amongst the groups. A lounger approached a
young man on the skirts of the crowd, and said to him: "What is the
matter, sir?"
"I hear it is a poor young girl, a hunchback, that has fallen from
exhaustion."
"A hunchback! is that all? There will always be enough hunchbacks," said
the lounger, brutally, with a coarse laugh.
"Hunchback or not, if she dies of hunger," answered the young man,
scarcely able to restrain his indignation, "it will be no less sad--and
there is really nothing to laugh at, sir."
"Die of hunger! pooh!" said the lounger, shrugging his shoulders. "It is
only lazy scoundrels, that will not work, who die of hunger. And it
serves them right."
"I wager, sir, there is one death you will never die of," cried the young
man, incensed at the cruel insolence of the lounger.
"What do you mean?" answered the other, haughtily.
"I mean, sir, that your heart is not likely to kill you."
"Sir!" cried the lounger in an angry tone.
"Well! what, sir?" replied the young man, looking full in his face.
"Nothing," said the lounger, turning abruptly on his heel, and grumbling
as he sauntered towards an orange-colored cabriolet, on which was
emblazoned an enormous coat-of-arms, surmounted by a baron's crest. A
servant in green livery, ridiculously laced with gold, was standing
beside the horse, and did not perceive his master.
"Are you catching flies, fool?" said the latter, pushing him with his
cane. The servant turned round in confusion. "Sir," said he.
"Will you never learn to call me Monsieur le Baron, rascal?" cried his
master, in a rage--"Open the door directly!"
The lounger was Baron Tripeaud, the manufacturing baron the stock-jobber.
The poor hunchback was Mother Bunch, who had, indeed fallen with hunger
and fatigue, whilst on her way to Mdlle. de Cardoville's. The unfortunate
creature had found courage to brave the shame of the ridicule she so much
feared, by returning to that house from which she was a voluntary exile;
but this time, it was not for herself, but for her sister Cephyse--the
Bacchanal Queen, who had returned to Paris the previous day, and whom
Mother Bunch now sought, through the means of Adrienne, to rescue from a
most dreadful fate.
Two hours after these different scenes, an enormous crowd pressed round
the doors of the Porte-Saint-Martin, to witness the exercises of Morok,
who was about to perform a mock combat with the famous black panther of
Java, named Death. Adrienne, accompanied by Lord and Lady de Morinval,
now stepped from a carriage at the entrance of the theatre. They were to
be joined in the course of the evening by M. de Montbron, whom they had
dropped, in passing, at his club.