[Illustration: 177]
HERE we have little boys who are conquering heroes and little girls who
are heroines. Here we have shepherdesses in hoops and wreaths of roses
and shepherds in satin coats, who carry crooks tied with knots of
riband. Oh! what white, pretty sheep they must be these shepherds tend!
Here are Alexander the Great and Zaire, and Pyrrhus and Merope, Mahomet,
Harlequin, Pierrot, Scapin, Blaise and Babette. They have come from all
parts, from Greece and Rome and the lands of Faëry, to dance together.
What a fine thing a fancy ball is, and how delicious to be a great
King for an hour or a famous Princess! There is nothing to spoil
the pleasure. No need to act up to your costume, nor even to talk in
character.
It would be poor fun, mind you, to wear heroes’ clothes if you had to
have a hero’s heart as well. Heroes’ hearts are torn with all sorts of
sorrows. They are most of them famous for their calamities. If they had
lived happy, we should never have heard of them. Merope had no wish to
dance. Pyrrhus was cruelly slain by Orestes just when he was going to
wed, and the innocent Zaire perished by the hand of her lover the Turk,
philosophical Turk though he was. As for Blaise and Babette, the song
says they suffer fond regrets that go on forever.
Why speak of Pierrot and Scapin? You know as well as I do they were
scamps, and got their ears pulled more than once. No! glory costs too
dear, even Harlequin’s. On the contrary, it is very agreeable to be
little boys and girls, and have the look of being great personages.
That is why there is no pleasure to compare with a fancy ball, when the
dresses are splendid enough. Only to wear them makes you feel brave.
Then think how proud and pretty all your little friends are with their
feathers and mantles; how gallant and gay and noble they look, and how
like the fine folks of olden times.
In the gallery, where you cannot see them, the musicians, with sad,
gentle faces, are tuning up their fiddles. A stately quadrille lies open
on their stands. They are going to attack the old-fashioned piece. At
the first notes our heroes and masks will lead off the dance.