The world-famous Battle of Flowers had been fought in brilliant,
cloudless weather along the Promenade des Anglais, and Liane riding
alone in a victoria covered with violets and stocks set off with rose
bows and ribbons, had been awarded a prize-banner, while Zertho, his
coach adorned by Marechal Niel roses and white lilac, entertained a
party, and was a conspicuous figure in the picturesque procession. The
crowd was enormous, the number of decorated carriages greater than ever
before known, and as the contending parties, made up of people in
carriages decorated with flowers and coloured ribbons, passed slowly
along on either side of the broad drive, they kept up a brisk fire of
small bouquets. As they went by, the occupants of the tribunes poured
broadsides into the carriages, and the battle raged everywhere hot and
furious. Liane, sitting alone embowered in violets, flushed with the
excitement of throwing handfuls of flowers at all and sundry, found
herself more than once in the very thick of the fray and was pelted
until her hair escaped from its pins and she felt herself horribly
untidy.
Brooker had excused himself from forming one of Zertho's party and had
gone for a long walk into the country; but that night he reluctantly
accompanied them to the great Veglione at the Opera, where all were in
grotesque costume, both Zertho and himself wearing hideous masks with
enormous red noses, while Liane was attired in the beautiful costume of
an odalisque, which, at Zertho's desire, had been specially made for her
in Paris. Folly reigned supreme in that whirlwind of light and colour,
and although dancing was almost impossible in consequence of the crowded
state of the beautifully decorated theatre, yet the fun was always fast
and furious, and the first saffron streak had already showed over the
grey misty sea before they entered their carriage to drive homeward.
Variety had now become Liane's very life, excitement the source and
sustenance of her existence. Within the few days which had elapsed
since the evening when her father had urged her to marry Zertho a
complete change had come upon her. No longer was she dull, dreamy, and
apathetic, but eager to embrace any opportunity whereby her thoughts
might be turned from the one subject which preyed upon her mind. She
entered thoroughly into the Carnival fun and frolic, and Zertho,
believing that her gaiety arose from contentment, felt flattered,
congratulating himself that after all she was not so averse to his
companionship as he had once believed. Knowing nothing of love or
sentiment he had no suspicion that her bright amused smile masked a
weary bitterness, or that, after dancing half the night radiant and
happy, and charming the hearts of men with her light coquetry, she would
return to the silence of her own room before the wave-beaten shore, and
there lie weeping for hours, murmuring the name of the man she loved.
So skilfully did she conceal the poignant sorrow wearing out her heart
that none but her father detected it, and he, sighing within himself,
made no remark.
Through the warm sunny reign of King Carnival Zertho and his handsome
companion were prominent figures everywhere, although the Captain, who
had grown as dull and dispirited as his daughter had become gay and
reckless, seldom accompanied them. Since that night when beside the sea
Zertho had told her of his love, he had not again mentioned the subject,
although they were often alone together. Sometimes he would accuse her
of furious flirtation, but always with a good-humoured amused air,
without any sign of jealousy in his manner. Truth to tell, he felt
satisfaction that she should be the most universally admired girl in
Nice. He remembered that her success was due to him, for had he not
paid for the costly costumes and milliner's marvels which suited her
beauty so well?
The bright cloudless days passed, full of frivolity. The King of
Folly's reign was short, therefore the excitement while it lasted was
kept up at fever-heat, the grand climax of the many festivities being
reached by the Corso Carnavalesque and Battle of Confetti which took
place on Sunday, ten days after the gigantic effigy of the Monarch of
Mirth had been enthroned on the Place Massena in his Moorish pavilion of
rose and gold.
All the paper confetti conflicts, pretty and vigorous as they had been,
were but preliminary scrimmages to the genuine battle fought with
pellets of grey chalk, veritable bullets. So hard are these that it is
unsafe to venture out without a wire mask, therefore Zertho and Liane,
in assuming their costumes that afternoon, did not neglect the
precaution. Zertho wore the white dress of a pierrot; with large velvet
buttons of pale rose; while Liane, in a domino of pale rose satin
trimmed with red--the colours of that season--wore a clown's hat of
rose. Both carried, strapped across their shoulders, capacious bags
containing confetti, and a small tin scoop with which to throw their
missiles. The mask of fine wire, like those used in fencing schools,
having been assumed, they both entered the victoria and were driven down
to the Jardin Public through which the Carnival procession, headed by
the King himself, pipe in mouth, astride the turkey-cock, was at that
moment wending its way.
The gun from the old Chateau had a few minutes before boomed forth the
signal for the opening of hostilities, and the thousands of revellers on
foot and in carriages, all wearing masks and dominoes, were carrying on
a fierce and relentless combat. Alighting, Liane and her companion
plunged into the rollicking riot, pelting the onlookers who were
unmasked or who wore no dominoes, covering dark coats and dresses with
great white dust-spots, and compelling the unfortunate ones to cry for
quarter. On this, the maddest day of Folly's reign, Nice, from two
o'clock until five, presented the appearance of a town run mad with fun.
Every balcony, decorated with red and rose, was filled with spectators
laughing at the antics of the armoured, quaintly-dressed throng; the
timorous, taking refuge behind closed windows, peered curiously out upon
the wild conflict, while some, more brave than others, ventured out into
the thick of the fray with no further protection than the black velvet
half-mask. Woe betide these, however, when detected. Wire masks were
the only safeguard from the showers of bullets which everywhere were
projected from the small tin scoops.
Joining in the Corso were many carriages decked out to correspond with
their occupants' costumes, many in the carnival colours, one in pure
white, another in a mauve, and a third, belonging presumably to a
political enthusiast, in the Russian colours, orange and black.
Everywhere were scenes of wild and reckless gaiety. In the side
streets, in the open squares, in the cafes, on every side confetti was
thrown. The garcons de cafe, compelled to stand amid the continuous
cross-fire that swept across the streets, had all assumed masks, and the
roads and pavements soon became an inch deep in confetti trodden to
dust.
All along the line of the procession and in the thick of the fight bags
of ammunition were offered by men, women or boys, who stood beside
stalls or, mingling with the crowd, cried "_Bonbon; Bonbon_!" As Zertho
and Liane walked together, pelting vigorously at a carriage containing
three of their friends, an urchin came up to them crying, "_Bonbon_!"
whereupon Liane, with a mischievous laugh, threw a handful of confetti
straight at the crier, much to the urchin's discouragement.
"Come, let us follow the procession," Zertho suggested, and across the
Place Massena they accompanied the corso, and down the gay streets until
they entered the Place de la Prefecture, where the fun was at its
height. The scene here presented was exceedingly picturesque. The
band, which was really a band, and not merely a medley of ear-splitting,
discordant noise which too frequently mars the Carnival, was the centre
of attraction around which the maskers danced with wild abandon, joining
hands and screaming with laughter. Liane, infected by the mad gaiety
and as reckless as the rest, her domino whitened by the showers of
confetti rained every moment upon it, plunged into the crowd of dancers
and, hand-in-hand with Zertho, whirled round, laughing gleefully. The
dancers made a human kaleidoscope of colour, framed by the
amphitheatre-like tribunes, which were likewise filled with maskers, and
made a setting as bright, and but one degree less animated, than the
rollicking, ever-moving foreground.
From minute to minute the animation increased. Every street was aglow
with colour, and the melee was general. Those seated in the tribunes
made furious attacks upon those on foot, the latter retaliating with
shower upon shower of pellets, until the battle became fierce in every
quarter. Four occupants of a victoria, attired alike in pale blue
dominoes, opened a vigorous fire upon Liane and Zertho as they passed,
and received in return many scoopfuls of well-aimed confetti. But the
pair were decidedly getting the worst of it, when suddenly a lithe
little man in clown's dress of cheap lustrine joined Liane in the
defence, and next instant received a handful of confetti full in his
face. For an instant he felt in his pouch, but found his ammunition had
given out. Then espying a stall a few yards away he rushed across with
sudden impulse, flung down a couple of francs, caught up four large
paper bags each containing several pounds of confetti, and flung them
one after another at Liane's assailants. They were aimed with a sure
hand, and as each struck the head or shoulders of one or other of the
unfortunate occupants, the thin paper broke, completely smothering them
with its contents. Yells of uproarious laughter arose at their
discomfiture, and the coachman hastened his horses' speed.
Then turning to Liane, the man, evidently an honest, happy-hearted
Nicois from his Italian accent, bowed gracefully, and with a smile
said,--"Mademoiselle, I believe we have taught them a lesson." Before
she could thank him he was lost in the turbulent, laughing crowd.
And as Zertho passed gaily along at Liane's side, he sang softly to
himself the refrain of "L'Amoureuse,"--the slightly risky parody,
popular at that moment,--
"Voila l'amoureuse,
A la demarch' voluptueuse,
Qui se pavan' soir et matin,
Avec des airs de p'tit trottin;
Voila l'amoureuse,
A la demarch' voluptueuse,
Elle est joli' sacre matin!
Joli' comme un petit trottin!"
Gradually they fought their way back to the Place Massena, and found it
a scene of brilliant colour, but the fight had now become so general
that the very heavens seemed obscured by the confetti, which, on
striking, crumbled into dense clouds of fine, white dust. The fanfares
of the Chasseurs Alpins were sounding, the great effigy of the King was
slowly moving across towards the leafy public garden, and the colossal
figure of an ingenue was sailing along with the crowd with folded arms,
perfectly pleased with herself and the Carnival world in general.
Everyone here wore the wire mask and domino, even the vendors of
confetti being compelled to assume grilles to protect their sun-tanned
faces from their own wares.
The Carnival contagion had now spread to even the puppets and musicians
themselves; for these left their lofty perches on the cars where they
had been observed by all during the processions, and descending to
earth, whirled among that motley crowd of dancers and of forms gigantic,
gay and grotesque.
Although conflict and retaliation were the order of the day, and
disorder the spirit supreme, to the credit of Nice and her crowds be it
said that on such a day, when so many liberties were possible, were so
few taken. The Mayor had caused a precautionary notice to be posted up,
prohibiting any confetti being thrown at the police, gendarmes, or
musicians, but even the gendarmes, usually an awe-inspiring, spick and
span body, when threatened in fun, would reply, "Fire away, your bullets
don't hurt," and laughing defiance, would receive volley upon volley of
the dusty pellets upon their dark uniforms without flinching, and laugh
back defiantly.
Clowns, punchinelli, pierrots, furies, devils and ladies in dominoes
fought with one another till every street in the neighbourhood of the
Avenue de la Gare was swept from end to end by a hail of confetti, and
Zertho and Liane trudged on through the thick dust into which it was
every moment being trodden. Long "serpentines" of coloured paper, flung
now and then, wrapped themselves about the lamp-posts and hung from
windows and from the tall eucalypti, while from some of the houses the
more enterprising showered upon the crowd thousands of small,
advertising hand-bills. Those who, growing weary of the fight as the
sun declined, sought shelter in the cafes, were quickly disillusioned,
for from time to time disconcerting showers of pellets would sweep in at
the open door, often falling into the bocks, mazagrans, and sirops, so
that those who had had previous experience of Carnival ways sat with
their wire vizors still down and their hands carefully covering their
glasses.
On Confetti Day Carnival penetrates everywhere. In the streets, in the
shops, in the churches, in the houses, the small pellets seem to enter
by unknown means. They find their way down one's neck into one's boots,
while ladies get their hats and hair filled with them and drop them
wherever they tread. Confetti Day, apart from its interest and
amusement as a brilliant spectacle, is the more remarkable because so
many hundreds of human beings, prone to "envy, hatred, malice and all
uncharitableness," begin, continue and end the fun, in such glorious
good humour. Everywhere the battle raged fiercely, yet it was all in
boisterous mirth, and laughter loud and sincere rang out alike from
victor and from vanquished. Mirth ran riot, and disorder was
everywhere, but spite was never shown.
Time after time, a storm of confetti swept about Liane and her escort,
as together they passed along the colonnade, pelting and being pelted by
every masker they met, until the dust came into her face through the
grille, and the hood and trimming of her domino was full of grey
pellets.
"You are tired and hot," Zertho exclaimed at last. "This dust makes one
thirsty. Let us try and get to the Cafe de la Victoire."
To accomplish this, they were compelled to cross the broad place through
the very thickest of the fray. Nevertheless, undaunted, with scoops
ever in the sacks slung at their sides, they pressed forward,
half-choked by the cross-fire of confetti through which they were
passing. Liane's conical felt hat was dinted and almost white, and her
domino sadly soiled and tumbled, still with cheeks aglow by the exciting
conflict, she went on, taking her own part valiantly. The wire masks
did not completely disguise their wearers. Numbers of men and women she
met she recognised, and where the recognition was mutual, the battle
raged long and furiously, accompanied by screams of uproarious laughter.
At last they managed to reach the opposite side of the Place. The
tables in the colonnade before the popular cafe were crowded with
maskers who were endeavouring to get rid of the dust from their throats,
notwithstanding the showers of pellets which continually swept upon
them. The sun was sinking in a blaze of gold behind Antibes, the clock
over the Casino marked a quarter to five; in fifteen minutes the cannon
of the chateau would boom forth the signal for hostilities to cease, the
musicians and puppets would mount upon the cars and move away, the
maskers would remove their wire protectors, and order would reign once
more.
Zertho and Liane had secured a table upon the pavement near the door,
the interior of the cafe being suffocatingly crowded, and sipping their
wine, were laughing over the desperate tussle of the afternoon, now and
then retaliating when any passer-by directly assailed them. Suddenly a
woman, looking tall in a domino of dark rose and wearing a half-mask of
black velvet which completely disguised her features, flung, in passing,
a large handful of confetti which struck Liane full upon the mask.
In an instant she raised her scoop, and with a gleeful laugh, sent a
heavy shower into her unknown opponent's face. Like many other women,
her assailant had apparently become separated from her escort in the
fierce fighting, and the fact that she preferred a velvet mask to one of
wire showed her to be not a little courageous. But Liane's
well-directed confetti must have struck her sharply upon the chin, which
remained uncovered, for it caused her to wince.
She halted, and standing in full view of the pair as if surveying them
deliberately, next second directed another scoopful at them. Both
Zertho and Liane, divining her intention, raised their hands to cover
their masks, and as they did so the hail of pellets descended, many of
them falling into their glasses.
"There," cried Liane, laughing gaily. "It's really too bad, she's
spoilt our wine."
In a moment, however, Zertho, who had been preparing for this second
onslaught, flung scoopful after scoopful at the intrepid woman, and
several of those sitting at the tables around at once joined in
repelling the fair masker's attack. Yet, nothing daunted, although
smothered in confetti from a dozen different hands, she continued the
conflict with the pair she had at first attacked, until Liane, in her
eagerness to annihilate this woman who had so suddenly opened such a
persistent and vigorous fire upon them, turned suddenly with her tin
scoop filled to overflowing. With a loud laugh she flung it, but by
accident the scoop itself slipped from her fingers, and struck the
masker sharply upon the shoulder.
In an instant Liane, with a cry of regret, rose from her seat and rushed
out into the roadway to apologise, but the unknown woman with a stiff
bow, her dark eyes flashing angrily through the holes in her mask,
turned away and walked quickly along the Rue Massena. Liane stooped,
snatched up her scoop, and returned to where Zertho sat heartily
laughing, those sitting around joining in a chorus of hilarity at the
incident.
"She got a bigger dose than she bargained for," he exclaimed.
"I am sorry," she said. "It was quite an accident. But did you see her
eyes? She glared as if she could kill me."
"Yes," he replied. "She looked half mad. However, she'll never be able
to recognise you again."
Liane was silent. The light of joy and happiness had suddenly died out
of her fair countenance. She seemed to possess some vague recollection
of a similar pair of dark, flashing eyes. A face--a strange ghost of
the past--came for an instant before her eyes; a thought flashed through
her mind and held her appalled. She shuddered, pale as death behind her
mask of gauze. Next instant, however, she laughed aloud at her fear.
No, she assured herself, it could not be. It was only some faint
resemblance, rendered the more vivid because it had come before her amid
that reckless gaiety.
Then she smiled at Zertho again happily as before, and they ordered
fresh wine, and waited until the cannon thundered from the heights above
and the streets grew orderly, ere they started to walk home along the
Promenade.
They had, however, been too far off the woman to overhear the strange
ominous words she uttered when, with an evil glint in her eyes, she
turned from them abruptly with a fierce imprecation upon her lips, her
cheeks beneath the velvet mask blanched with suppressed anger.
"No, I am not mistaken," she had muttered in French, with a dry laugh
between her set teeth. "When I met you dancing in the Place de la
Prefecture I thought I recognised you, Liane Brooker. I followed, and
threw at you in order to obtain a good view of your pretty face in which
innocence is so well portrayed. Strange that we should meet again
purely by accident; strange, too, that you should cover me with dust and
fling your scoop into my face as though in defiance. Little do you
dream how near I am to you, or of the ghastly nature of the revelation
which I shall ere long disclose. Then the smiles which enchant your
admirers will turn to tears, your merry laughter to blank despair, and
your well-feigned innocence and purity to ignominy and shame."