"Oh!" cried Celeste, "but what will Tonton say when she sees you?"
"Do not let her know a thing about it, girls," said Madame du Clozel, "or,
rather than yield the scepter of beauty and elegance for but one evening,
she will stay in the white chapel. What! at sixteen you don't know what
the white chapel is? It is our bed."
Before the ball, came Sunday. Madame du Clozel had told us that the
population of the little city--all Catholics--was very pious, that the
little church could hardly contain the crowd of worshipers; and Celeste
had said that there was a grand display of dress there. We thought of
having new dresses made, but the dressmaker declared it impossible; and so
we were obliged to wear our camayeus a second time, adding only a lace
scarf and a hat. A hat! But how could one get in that little town in the
wilderness, amid a maze of lakes and bayous, hundreds of miles from New
Orleans, so rare and novel a thing as a hat? Ah, they call necessity the
mother of invention, but I declare, from experience, that vanity has
performed more miracles of invention, and made greater discoveries than
Galileo or Columbus.
The women of St. Martinville, Tonton at their head, had revolted against
fate and declared they would have hats if they had to get them at the
moon. Behold, now, by what a simple accident the hat was discovered.
Tonton de Blanc had one of the prettiest complexions in the world, all
lily and rose, and what care she took of it! She never went into the yard
or the garden without a sunbonnet and a thick veil. Yet for all that her
jealous critics said she was good and sensible, and would forget
everything, even her toilet, to succor any one in trouble. One day Tonton
heard a great noise in the street before her door. She was told that a
child had just been crushed by a vehicle. Without stopping to ask whether
the child was white or black or if it still lived, Tonton glanced around
for her sun-bonnet, but, not finding it at hand, darted bareheaded into
the street. At the door she met her young brother, and, as the sun was
hot, she took his hat and put it on her own head. The Rubicon was
crossed--Tonton had discovered the hat!
All she had heard was a false alarm. The crushed child was at play again
before its mother's door. It had been startled by a galoping team, had
screamed, and instantly there had been a great hubbub and crowd. But ten
minutes later the little widow, the hat in her hand, entered the domicile
of its maker and astonished the woman by ordering a hat for her own use,
promising five dollars if the work was done to her satisfaction. The
palmetto was to be split into the finest possible strips and platted into
the form furnished by Madame Tonton. It was done; and on Sunday the hat,
trimmed with roses and ribbons, made its appearance in the church of St.
Martin, on the prettiest head in the world. The next Sunday you could see
as many hats as the hatmaker had had time to make, and before the end of
the month all the women in St. Martinville were wearing palmetto hats.
To-day the modistes were furnishing them at the fabulous price of
twenty-five dollars,--trimmed, you understand,--and palmetto hats were
really getting to be a branch of the commerce of the little city; but
ours, thanks to Alix's flowers and ribbons, cost but ten dollars.
The church was crowded. The service, performed by an old priest nearly a
hundred years of age, was listened to with interest; but what astonished
me was to see the crowd stop at the church door, the women kissing; to
hear laughter, chat, and criticism at the door of this sacred place as if
it were the public square. I understood the discontent that knit my
father's brows and the alacrity with which he descended the church steps.
Tonton saw and came to us--so fresh, so young, she was indeed the queen of
beauty and fashion. Out of nothing Tonton could work wonders. Her dress
to-day was of camayeu the pattern of which was bunches of
strawberries--the very same stuff as our dresses; but how had she made it
to look so different? And her hat! It was a new marvel of her invention.
She had taken a man's felt hat and entirely covered it with the feathers
of the cardinal bird, without other ornament than a bunch of white ribbon
on the front and two long cords of white silk falling clear to the waist.
That was the first hat of the kind I ever saw, but it was not the last.
With one turn of her little hand she could make the whole female
population of St. Martinville go as she pleased. Before we left St.
Martinville we had the chance to admire more than fifty hats covered with
the feathers of peacocks, geese, and even guinea-fowl, and--must we
confess it?--when we got home we enlisted all our hunter friends to bring
us numerous innocent cardinals, and tried to make us hats; but they did
not look the least like the pretty widow's.
Sunday was also the day given to visiting. Being already dressed, it was
so easy to go see one's friends.... Among the new visitors was Saint Marc
d'Arby--engaged to little Constance de Blanc, aged thirteen. He came to
invite us to a picnic on the coming Wednesday.
"Ah," I cried, with regret, "the very day papa has chosen for us to leave
for the town of Opelousas!" ...
Since arriving in St. Martinville we had hardly seen papa. He left early
each morning and returned late in the evening, telling of lands he had
bought during the day. His wish was to go to Opelousas to register
them.... To-day the whole town of Opelousas belongs to his heirs; but
those heirs, with Creole heedlessness and afraid to spend a dollar, let
strangers enjoy the possession of the beautiful lands acquired by their
ancestor for so different an end. Shame on all of them!
It was decided for papa to leave us with the baroness during his visit to
Opelousas.
"And be ready to depart homeward," said he, "on the following Monday."