in her little cell rose early and turned her fichu. "Why do you do
that?" asked the gaoler. "Because I am going to meet my end," Sophie
gently replied. The man staggered dumbly away, fighting down the lump
which would come in his hardened throat.
When the time came Sophie left her cell with a light step. She walked to
Tower Hill amidst a body of Beefeaters. "The way is long," she said
bravely. Every Beefeater bowed his head.
There was a dense crowd round the scaffold. Sophie heeded them not; she
ran girlishly up the steps to where the executioner was leaning on his
axe. "Where do I put my head?" she asked simply. The executioner pointed
to the block. "There!" said he. "Where did you think you put it?" Sophie
reproved him with a look and knelt down. Then she gazed sweetly at the
gaoler, who for a year had stinted her in everything. "The past is
buried," she said sweetly. "To you I bequeath my tatting!" With these
charitable words still hovering on her lips, she laid her head upon the
fatal block; from that trying position she threw the executioner a dumb
look. "Do your duty, my friend," she said, and shut her eyes and her
mouth.
Mastering his emotion with an effort, the headsman raised his axe;
through a mist of tears, it fell.
"LA BIBI"
[Illustration: "LA BIBI"
_From the pastel by Coddle_]
Hortense Poissons--"La Bibi," What memories that name conjures up! The
incomparable--the lightsome--the effervescent--her life a rose-coloured
smear across the history of France--her smile--tier upon tier of
sparkling teeth--her heart, that delicate organ for which kings fought
in the streets like common dukes--but enough; let us trace her to her
obscure parentage. You all know the Place de la Concorde--she was not
born there. You have all visited the Champs Elysees--she was not born
there. And there's probably no one who doesn't know of the Faubourg St.
Honore--but she was not born there. Sufficient to say that she was born.
Her mother, poor, honest, _gauche_, an unpretentious seamstress; she
seamed and seamed until her death in 1682 or 1683: Bibi, at the age of
ten, flung on to the world homeless, motherless, with nothing but her
amazing beauty between her and starvation or worse. Who can blame her
for what she did--who can question or condemn her motives? She was
alone. Then Armand Brochet (who shall be nameless) entered the panorama
of her career. What was she to do--refuse the roof he offered her? This
waif (later on to be the glory of France), this leaf blown hither and
thither by the winds of Destiny--what was she to do? Enough that she
did.
Paris, a city of seething vice and corruption--her home, the place
wherein she danced her first catoucha, that catoucha which was so soon
to be followed by her famous Japanese schottische, and later still by
her celebrated Peruvian minuet. Voltaire wrote a lot, but he didn't
mention her; Jean Jacques Rousseau scribbled hours, but never so much as
referred to her; even Moliere was so reticent on the subject of her
undoubted charms that no single word about her can be found in any of
his works.[29]
Her life with Armand Brochet (who shall still be nameless) three years
before she stepped on to the boards--how well we all know it! Her famous
epigram at the breakfast table: "Armand, my friend, this egg is not only
soft--but damn soft." How that remark convulsed Europe!
Her first appearance on the stage was in Paris, 1690, at the Opera.
Bovine writes of her: "This airy, fairy thing danced into our hearts;
her movements are those of a gossamer gadfly--she is the embodiment of
spring, summer, autumn and winter." By this one can clearly see that in
a trice she had Paris at her feet--and what feet! Pierre Dugaz, the
celebrated chiropodist, describes them for us. "They were ordinary flesh
colour," he tells us, "with blue veins, and toe-nails which, had they
not been cut in time, would have grown several yards long and thus
interfered with her dancing."
What a sidelight on her character!--gay, bohemian, care-free as a child,
not even heeding her feet, her means of livelihood. Oh, Bibi--"Bibi
Coeur d'Or," as she was called so frequently by her multitudinous
adorers--would that in these mundane days you could revisit us with your
girlish laugh and supple dancing form! Look at the portrait of her,
painted by Coddle at the height of her amazing beauty: note the
sensitive nostrils, the delicate little mouth, and those eyes--the
gayest, merriest eyes that ever charmed a king's heart; and her
hair--that "mass of waving corn," as Bloodworthy describes it in his
celebrated book of "International Beauties." But we must follow her
through her wonderful life--destined, if not to alter the whole history
of France, why not?
After her appearance in Paris she journeyed to Vienna, where she met
Herman Veigel: you all know the story of that meeting, so I will not
enlarge upon it--enough that they met. It was, of course, before he
wrote his "Ode to an Unknown Flower" and "My Gretchen has Large Flat
Ears," poems which were destined to live almost forever. Bibi left
Vienna and journeyed to London--London, so cold and grim after Paris
the Gay and Vienna the Wicked. In her letter to Madame Perrier she says,
"My dear--London's awful"; and "Ludgate Circus--I ask you!" But still,
despite her dislike of the city itself, she stayed for eight years, her
whole being warmed by the love and adulation of the populace. She
appeared in the ballet after the opera. "Her dancing," writes Follygob,
"is unbelievable, incredible; she takes one completely by surprise--her
butterfly dance was a revelation." This from Follygob. Then Henry Pidd
wrote of her, "She is a woman." This from H. Pidd!
Then back to Paris--home, the place of her birth. Fresh conquests. In
November, 1701, she introduced her world-famed Bavarian fandango, which
literally took Paris by storm--it was in her dressing-room afterward
that she made her celebrated remark to Maria Pippello (her only rival).
Maria came ostensibly to congratulate her on her success, but in reality
to insult her. "_Ma petite_," she said, sneering, "_l'hibou est-il sur
le haie?_" Quick as thought Bibi turned round and replied with a gay
toss of her curls, "_Non, mais j'ai la plume de ma tante!_" Oh, witty,
sharp-tongued Bibi! A word must be said of the glorious ballets she
originated which charmed France for nearly thirty years. There were
"Life of a Rain Drop," "Hope Triumphant," and "Angels Visiting Ruined
Monastery at Night." This last was an amazing creation for one so
uneducated and uncultured as La Jolie Bibi; people flocked to the Opera
again and again in order to see it and applaud the ravishing originator.
Then came her meeting with the King in his private box. We are told she
curtsied low, and, glancing up at him coyly from between her bent knees,
gave forth her world-renowned epigram, "_Comment va, Papa?_" Louis was
charmed by this exquisite exhibition of drollery and _diablerie_, and
three weeks later she was brought to dance at Versailles. This was a
triumph indeed--La Belle Bibi was certainly not one to miss
opportunities. A month later she found herself installed at Court--the
King's Right Hand. Then began that amazing reign of hers--short lived,
but oh, how triumphant, dukes, duchesses, countesses, even princes,
paying homage at the feet of La Bibi the dancer, now Hortense, Duchesse
de Mal-Moulle! Did she abuse her power? Some say she did, some say she
didn't; some say she might have, some say she might not have; but there
is no denying that her beauty and gaiety won every heart that was
brought into contact with her. Every afternoon regularly Louis was wont
to visit her by the private staircase to her apartments; together they
would pore over the maps and campaigns of war drawn up and submitted by
the various generals. Then when Louis was weary Bibi would put the maps
in the drawer, draw his head onto her breast, and sing to him songs of
her youth, in the attractive cracked voice that was the bequest of her
mother who used to sing daily whilst she seamed and seamed. Meanwhile,
intrigue was placing its evil fingers upon the strings of her fate.
Lampoons were launched against her, pasquinades were written of her;
when she went out driving, fruit and vegetables were often hurled at
her. Thus were the fickle hearts of the people she loved turned against
their Bibi by the poisonous tongues of those jealous courtiers who so
ardently sought her downfall.
You all know the pitiful story of her fall from favour--how the King,
enraged by the stories he had heard of her, came to her room just as she
was going to bed.
"You've got to go," he said.
"Why?" she answered.
History writes that this ingenuous remark so unmanned him that his eyes
filled with tears, and he dashed from the room, closing the door after
him in order that her appealing eyes might not cause him to deflect from
his purpose.
Poor Bibi--your rose path has come to an end, your day is nearly done.
Back to Paris, back to the squalor and dirt of your early life. Bibi,
now in her forty-seventh year, with the memories of her recent
splendours still in her heart, decided to return to the stage, to the
public who had loved and feted her. Alas! she had returned too late.
Something was missing--the audience laughed every time she came on, and
applauded her only when she went off. Oh, Bibi, Bibi Coeur d'Or, even
now in this cold age our hearts ache for you. Volauvent writes in the
_Journal_ of the period: "Bibi can dance no longer." Veaux caps it by
saying "She never could," while S. Kayrille, well known for his wit and
kindly humour, reviewed her in the Berlin _Gazette_ of the period by
remarking, in his customarily brilliant manner, "She is very plain and
no longer in her first youth." This subtle criticism of her dancing,
though convulsing the Teutonic capital, was in reality the cause of her
leaving the stage and retiring with her one maid to a small house in
Montmartre, where history has it she petered out the last years of her
eventful career.
Absinthe was her one consolation, together with a miniature of Louis in
full regalia. Who is this haggard wretch with still the vestiges of her
wondrous beauty discernible in her perfectly moulded features?--not La
Belle Bibi! Oh, Fate--Destiny--how cruel are you who guided her straying
feet through the mazes of life! Why could she not have died at her
zenith--when her portrait was painted?
But still her gay humour was with her to the end. As she lay on her
crazy bed, surrounded by priests, she made the supreme and crowning _bon
mot_ of her brilliant life. Stretching out her wasted arm to the nearly
empty absinthe bottle by her bed, she made a slightly resentful _moue_
and murmured "_Encore une!_"
Oh, brave, witty Bibi!
AH! AH! QUEEN OF THE RUDE ISLANDS
[Illustration: AH! AH! QUEEN OF THE RUDE ISLANDS]
The "Rude" Islands! what a thrill that name awakes in the heart of every
wanderer--lying as they do in the very heart of the rolling Pacific. Was
it two or three hundred years ago that brave Joshua Mortlake discovered
and christened them? History has it that he was standing on the poop
deck of his schooner the "Whoops-a-Daisy" when he first beheld those
pocket Paradises of the Pacific. He shaded his eyes with his hand and
turned to his bosom friend--Eagle Trott:
"What exactly do those islands remind you of?" he asked.
Eagle looked down bashfully. "I'd rather not say," he replied.
At this Joshua slapped him heartily on the back.
"Stap me," he cried, using a colloquialism of the period, "if I do not
name them the Rude Islands." And from that moment they have been known
as nothing else.
To attempt to describe the wild untameable beauty of the coast scenery
would be almost as absurd as to endeavour to portray the seductive
sensuality and exotic perfection of the interior landscapes--but a brief
catalogue of some of the outstanding horticultural marvels will do no
harm to anyone and perhaps convey to the lay mind a slight conception of
the atmosphere in which Ah! Ah! was born and bred. For instance, the
flowering kaia-ooh! with its exquisite perfume (suggestive of the
Californian Poppy), the veemuawees (a small hard fruit suggestive of the
oak apple), and the perennial "Pooh!" (merely suggestive) all combined
to enwrap the infant Ah! Ah! in a somnolent cocoon of sensual
languidness, from which in after life she was hard put to it to escape.
To say that her dazzling beauty completely hypnotised any native for
miles round into instant submission--would perhaps be exaggerating; but
if one is to judge from the accounts of contemporary chroniclers she was
undoubtedly attractive.
For those interested in queer native traditions and legends, the origin
of her name must indeed prove an instructive object
lesson--intermingling as it does the austerity and reproach of the North
with the quaint domestic charm of the further South. The story runs
thus:
When quite a child this lithe supple young thing was as full of mischief
and engaging roguery as any tortoiseshell kitten--with elfin glee her
favourite sport was to fill her grandmother's bed with "ouliaries" (Good
God! berries, so called because on sudden contact with bare flesh they
burst with a loud explosion causing the victim to shout "Good God!" from
sheer surprise). For three months this winsome game went undetected
until one day her mother--Kia-oopoo--discovered her creeping in at her
grandmother's door with a basket full of "ouliaries." Catching her
daughter by the scruff of the neck she proceeded to administer several
sharp slaps with great precision--the while murmuring "Ah! Ah!" in tones
of rebuke. And thus, we are informed, was originated a name that was
destined to be handed down to every reigning queen of the Rude Islands
until the devastating tidal wave of 1889.
Ah! Ah!'s childhood was spent running completely wild with her three
sisters "Beaoui" (meaning "Heavens Above"), "Sua-sua" (meaning "Shut
your Face") and young "Goop" (meaning in American "Park your Fanny" and
in English, "Sit Down").
Through the long languid sunny hours they would romp in the "lovieeah"
(long grass), or play "uou" (toss the cocoa-nut) in the "haeeiuol"
(short grass). On moonlight nights when the tide was high they would
fish from the reef--catching generally either "youis" (the Pacific
haddock) or merely the common "choop" (or dab). Life was one long round
of sport and play--until one day--to quote Hans Burdle in his
world-famed book of Travel, "Set Sail ahoy" "the radiant Ah! Ah! awoke
and found herself to be a woman--with a woman's joys, a woman's sorrows
and withal the touch of a woman's hand."
From that moment life in the Rude Islands became a different matter. No
more was she to paddle in the "ku-ku" (small stream or rivulet) or chase
the playful "erieuah" (or hooped snake, which when pursued by its
enemies executes the most peculiar antics eventually disappearing amid a
cloud of smoke). The responsibilities of a greater existence were
suddenly thrust upon her--she was crowned queen.
The story of the unexpected arrival of a Presbyterian missionery in the
midst of her coronation feast is too well known to repeat--and the tale
of the landing of eight Bhuddist monks during the christening of her
first child is now so hackneyed as to be irritating; therefore we will
skip the minor incidents of the early part of her reign and mention a
few of the progressive improvements on existing conditions which found
their source in her tireless and fertile brain.
To begin with she abolished the "plozza" (or notched club), substituting
in its place the "sneep" (a subtle instrument of torture which by means
of the sudden expenditure of the breath would cover one's enemies with
"noonies") (or red ants).
Then, though flying in the face of time-honoured tradition, the
courageous woman completely forbade cannibalism among blood relations;
condemning this practice under the heading of "gavonah" (or incestuous
conduct) and thereby putting an end to many rowdy Sunday evenings.
Not content with these vast changes in the fundamental Island habits she
concentrated her unfailing energies on the reformation of the marriage
laws, which at that time were in a deplorably decadent condition, and
encouraged with all her might the trade of "fuahs" and "aeious" (nose
rings and hair tidies) with the "Bauoacha" Islands a few miles off.
Until the ripe age of eighty-seven she ruled her subjects trustingly and
lovingly--yet withal firmly--earning for herself from all the British
traders the nickname of "Queen Bess of the Pacific."
After her death her eldest illegitimate son, Boo-ah (Goodness Gracious)
ascended the throne, and--if we are to believe Professor Furch's "With
Dusky Friends"--went far towards undoing the unbelievable good worked by
his unflinching mother.
* * *
I have included Ah! Ah! in these memoirs--in the face of almost
overwhelming opposition (mainly on account of race prejudice) in the
first place because she was as beautiful and authoritative as any of the
European queens--and secondly because Ah! Ah! for me stands for
something ineffably noble, inspiring--not perhaps for what she has
done--maybe more for the things she left undone.
GLOSSARY
BALOONA, ENRIQUE. Artist and _dilettante_, famous for his "Portrait of
Isabella Angelica," "Spanish Peaks," and "Half-Caste Child with Orange."
BEN-HEPPLE, NICHOLAS. Eighteenth century historian. Author of "Julie de
Poopinac" (17 vols.).
BLOODWORTHY, STEPHEN. Author of "International Beauties," "Then and
Now," and "Now and Then."
BOGTOE, DOUGLAS. Company promoter and basket-work expert.
BONK, DOROTHY. First cousin to Rupert Plinge--incidentally the first New
England girl to say "Gosh!"
BOO, A. RANVILLE. Celebrated XIXth century sanitary inspector.
BOTTIBURGEN, HANS VON. Science master, Munich College. Author of "Our
Women," "Do Actresses Mind Much?" and "Life of Fritz Schnotter" (3
vols.).
BOTTLE, ELIZABETH. Adapter and translator of several works of the
period.
BOVINE, GUSTAVE. Author of "French without Tears" and "Vive les
Vacances," etc.
BOWLES, EARL. "Intellects of the Hour," "Cheese Cookery in All Its
Branches."
BRAMP, B. F. "America in Sunshine and Shadow," "Pinafore Days."
BRAMP, NORMAN. Author of "Up and Away," "Reynard, the Story of a Fox,"
"Tantivoy," and "Female Influence and Why?" (5 vols.).
BRAMPENRICH, FRITZ. German historian.
BRATTLEVITCH, BORIS. Russian author. Books: "War and Why," "Women of
Russia." Several good cooking recipes.
BUG, REGINALD. Actor--occasional property man. Parts he played: "Romeo,"
"Bottom," "Third Guest" in "The Berlin Girl," "Norman" in "Oh,
Charles--a Satire on the Massacre of Saint Bartholomew," and others.
Hobbies: Cup-and-ball, tilting, and fretwork.
BURDLE, HANS. Bulgarian author; Works: "Set Sail Ahoy," "Abaft,"
"Belay," etc.
CABALLERO, BASTA. Actor and founder of Shakespearean Theatre in
Barcelona.
CAMPANELE, VITTORIO. Florentine engraver, "Early Portrait of Bianca di
Pianno-Forti," "Raised Pansies on China Plaque," etc.
CAMPBELL, OLAF. Keen angler and piscatorial expert.
CARLINI, ANGELO. Italian actor--formerly plumber during the Renaissance.
CHADDLE, ESME. Daughter of Avery Chaddle, and subsequently Mrs. J. D.
Spout.
CHAFFINCH, ALEXANDER. Second cousin to Rupert Plinge; second man to say
"Gee!" in Virginia.
CHUGGSKI, DIMITRI. Russian actor.
CODDLE, HUMPHREY. Artist, well known for his "Cows Grazing outside
Dover," "Playmates," and "Daddy's Darling."
CRONK, OSWALD, BART. Painter of "Madcap Moll, Eighth Duchess of
Wapping," "Pine Trees near Ascot," and "Esther Lollop as 'Cymbeline.'"
DENTIFRICE, PIERRE. Actor--French (early).
DUGAZ, PIERRE. Court chiropodist, seventeenth century. Author of "Feet
and Fashion," "The Valley of Waving Corns," etc.
EARWHACKER, CAESAR. Owner of Old World Bicycle Shed.
FIBINIO, PIETRO. Italian--author of "Bianca," "God Bless the Pope," etc.
FLOOP, RICHARD. "Spout, the Man" (3 vols.); "The Girls of Marley Manor"
and "Janet's Prank."
FOLLYGOB, ALAN. English Dramatic Critic. Clubs: "The Union Jack" and
"The What-Ho" in Jermyn Street.
FORTESCUE, EX-SENATOR. Celebrated for eloping with Rupert Plinge's
Auntie Gracie.
FRAPPLE, ERNEST. "Amy Snurge, A Grand Woman" (2 vols.) and a political
satire, "Don't Vote Till Tuesday!"
FURCH, PROFESSOR, "With Dusky Friends" and "Where Palm Trees Sway."
GERPHIPPS, RONALD. Very old Scotch painter--famous for "Portrait of
Maggie McWhistle," "Evening on Loch Lomond," and "Glasgow, my Glasgow!"
GOETHE. Obscure German author. Suspected of having written "Faust."
GOODGE, ALBERT. Friend of Nicholas Kewee.
GROBMEYER, CARL. Early German etcher.
GRUNDELHEIM, PAUL. German author and historian. Principal works:
"Toilers who have Toiled," "Women of Wurtemburg," and "Byways of the
Black Forest."
HOOTER, FREDDIE. Renowned for physical appearance but flat feet.
HOSPER, SHOLTO Z. "Jake the Climber" (7 vols.) and "Diet or Die."
KAYRILLE, SIEGFRIED. Born in Berlin, 1670. Disappointed playwright, and
subsequent art critic.
KEWEE, NICHOLAS. Friend of Albert Goodge.
KLICK, NICHOLAS. Russian--author of "Life of Anna Podd" (6 vols.), and
"Was Ivan Terrible?"
KUMP, H. MACKENZIE. Keen philanthropist and insatiable globe-trotter.
LINCOLN, ABRAHAM. President and man.
MACTWEED, SANDY. Scotch actor of some note.
MARY, BLOODY. Queen of England.
METTLETHORP, RUPERT. Compiler of "Asiatic Soldiery" (23 vols.).
MILLS-TWEEPER, SENATOR. Famed for hideousness, but kind-hearted and a
great insect lover.
MORTLAKE, JOSHUA. Explorer and discoverer of the Rude Islands.
PIDD, HENRY. Severe dramatic critic--English.
PIPPER, HERMAN. "Poor Puffwater,--A Brown Study."
PLIGGER, STEVE MONTESPAN. "The Fall of a Bloated Aristocrat," "Crab
Apples," "Deadly Nightshade," "Don't Tell Aunt Hester," "Under the Moon,
or Revels by a Dutch Canal," "America From Behind"; Books of Verse:
"Adown the Ganges," "The First Primrose," "Pussy, Pussy, Lap Your Milk"
and "Raspberry Time."
PLINGE, BOBBIE. Killed during Red Indian foray by Great Brown Spratt.
PLINGE, MILES. Unitarian minister in Red Lamp District, Honolulu.
PLUGG, HENRY. One time candidate for the Presidency, subsequently
successful bee-farmer.
POLATA, JOSE. Professor--Spanish. Author of "From Girl to Woman,"
"Spanish Olives, and How," etc., etc.
POLIOLIOLI, GIUSEPPE. Author of "Women of Italy" and "Nelly of Naples,"
a musical comedy of the period.
PRICKLEBOTT, HARVEY. Editor of "Art in the Home" and "Mother Week by
Week."
PROON, BERNARD. Well-known speaker, intimate friend of Roosevelt's
brother-in-law.
PUNTER, AUGUSTUS. Seventeenth century painter, famous for "Sarah, Lady
Tunnell-Penge, with Dog," "Gravesend by Night," and various crayon
portraits, notably "A Merry Girl" and "The Drowsy Sentry."
ROOSEVELT, THEODORE. Man and President.
ROTEPILLAR, PETER. Friend of Henry Plugg and author and compiler of
"Algebra with Many a Laugh!"
ROUSSEAU, JEAN JACQUES. French writer of some note. See Carlyle's
"French Revolution."
SCHNOTTER, FRITZ. German actor, sixteenth century.
SHEEPMEADOW, EDGAR. English writer--author of "Beds and their Inmates"
(18 vols.), "The Corn Chandler," "Women Large and Women Small" (10
vols.).
SODDLE, O'CALLAGHAN. Gentleman architect of the XIXth century.
SPRATT, GREAT BROWN. Indian of the period.
STOWE, HARRIET BEECHER. Author of "Uncle Tom's Cabin."
SUMPLETHOCK, EX-PRESIDENT. Spaniel trainer and "raconteur."
TADSKI, SERGE. Early, fairly. Russian. Author and compiler of the
following: "Russian Realism," "Natural Mammals of the Steppes," "Flora
and Fauna of Siberia," etc., and light verse.
THROTCH, ESTHER. Well-known XXth century "literateur."
TOSSELE, YVONNE, MME. First female mezzotinter of the Revolutionary Era.
TROTT, EAGLE. Mate and pal of Joshua Mortlake.
TURPIN, DICK. Highwayman--English. Inventor of straw sun hats for hot
horses.
UDEY, GENERAL. Congenital idiot of the XIXth century (and very mean).