The contradance came to an end, and the men escorted their partners to
their seats. I followed my little flowermaker with my eyes, and saw her
take her seat beside a plainly dressed old woman, evidently her aunt.
Her partner remained by her side; he was the Jules of the preceding
evening. In due time, another girl came up with her partner and sat
beside Caroline; this completed the party, which, as I remembered, was
to consist of four persons.
I walked back and forth in the neighborhood of Mademoiselle Caroline and
her friends for a long while; I passed before the group and stared at
the pretty creature; but she paid no attention to me. I saw that I must
make up my mind to invite her to dance, but I had difficulty in doing
it; for I felt that I should look like a petty shop-clerk who was in the
habit of going to Tivoli to dance on Sundays. While I was making these
reflections, the orchestra played the prelude; that decided me, and I
walked toward the young women. But just as I was on the point of
delivering my invitation, the pretty flowermaker rose and gave her hand
to a young man, who had got the start of me, and who led her out to
dance. I had arrived too late; so much for listening to my absurd
self-esteem! However, I swore that I would not be behindhand for the
next contradance; and for fear of being defrauded again, I hastened to
the quadrille in which Mademoiselle Caroline was performing, and then
and there engaged her for the next one. She accepted, and I was
overjoyed; I stood near her, mingling my words of praise with those of
several other young men; and while her partner was executing the _avant
deux_, I complimented her on her bunch of roses and apologized for my
awkwardness of the previous evening. At that, she looked up at me and
smiled, and took more notice of me; I had reason to believe that her
scrutiny did not result to my disadvantage. From time to time, I
ventured a word or two to the effect that I had come to Tivoli solely in
the hope of meeting her; she did not reply, but I saw that she listened;
if she were ever so little of a coquette, I felt sure of making my way!
And she was, she must be; for all women are. The dance at an end, I
impatiently awaited the following one, when I should be able to talk
with Caroline, and it would be easy for me to find out how far I might
hope. In the briefest interview I can generally tell what manner of
person I have to do with, and I rarely make a mistake; not that I
believe all that they say to me, but I divine how much hope they are
willing to give me. Women, being more expansive than men, have a certain
_laisser aller_ which says a great deal to one who is accustomed to deal
with them. When they have wit, a mere hint discloses it; when they have
nothing but jargon, they murder you with it; when they have nothing to
say, there is no possibility of mistake. Montaigne said: "Style makes
the man;" I think that he might well have said also: "Conversation makes
the woman;" but I beg his pardon for presuming to express my opinion in
conjunction with his.
Mademoiselle Caroline was escorted to her seat. While waiting for the
next contradance, which would furnish me with the means of judging her
more accurately, I strolled through the thickets that surrounded the
dancing enclosure. I preferred not to remain like a noodle beside the
little flowermaker, nor to parade up and down in front of her. But the
moment drew near when I might hope to squeeze her tiny fingers and press
her hand tenderly in mine. Give me the dance for lovers! you can boldly
reveal your secret sentiments, you can declare them without speaking a
word. I am inclined to think that that is why the young women have so
great a fondness for that exercise and enjoy themselves so heartily at
balls. How many avowals have been made and reciprocated while forming a
ladies' chain or a trenise! and despite their active surveillance, their
mammas are powerless to prevent that.
But the time passed; I strolled back toward my partner. Mon Dieu! what a
noise! what an uproar! what confusion in the garden! The first bomb had
just been fired, and everybody was running toward the great central
square, dragging their chairs, or carrying them in their arms.
"The fireworks! the fireworks!" people shouted on all sides.
What a rush! In heaven's name, had they never seen fireworks before in
their lives? How they pushed and jostled and fought, to pass one
another! What a hurly-burly! But what had become of Caroline? I hurried
to the dancing enclosure--it was deserted; everybody had abandoned it
for the fireworks. Where my pretty grisette had been sitting, I saw two
men fighting for a chair, pulling it in opposite directions; each of
them finally carried away half, which must have been exceedingly
useful. I was not in luck with Mademoiselle Caroline; she disappeared at
the moment that I was going to join her. However, I did not lose all
hope; I assumed that she had gone to see the fireworks, and I determined
to try to find her there.
I walked in the direction that the crowd had taken; but at the sight of
that moving mass, one half of which concealed the other,--for some had
climbed upon the chairs, while others clung to the frames,--I felt that
it would be absurd to look for anyone there. So I resigned myself to
wait until the display was over; perhaps the dancing would be renewed
then, and I should see her again. Meanwhile, I walked around the
outskirts of the crowd, and saw almost as much of the fireworks as those
who stood on their chairs. I also observed several couples, who, instead
of joining the crowd, went in the opposite direction and concealed
themselves in the obscure shrubbery; they evidently had not come to
Tivoli for the fireworks; but I am convinced, none the less, that they
had been waiting impatiently for them to begin, and that the display
would afford them as much pleasure as those who waited for it with their
noses in the air.
There was a set piece representing Ixion crushed by the thunderbolts of
Jupiter; and I heard a gentleman explaining it to his family, while he
supported his wife and held up his little girl, who shrieked at every
explosion.
"Who's that tall man in a red cloak riding horseback on a bird?"
inquired the child.
"That's Jupiter, my dear, on a bird-of-paradise."
"And what's that stick he's shaking in his hand?"
"That's his thunderbolt to whip men who aren't good."
"Oh! yes; like my school teacher's switch."
"Who was this Ixion, my dear?" queried his better half.
"A Roman, I believe. Wait and let me think. Oh, yes! he's the one that
wanted to drive Jupiter's chariot. He'll be struck by lightning, as
you'll see."
"What does that mean, my dear?"
"That means that he'll be thrown into that big hole, which is hell, and
once there----"
"Oh, yes! I understand; then he'll be struck by lightning; quite right,
too."
"Oh! oh! oh! I'm afraid!" cried a little boy, who had hidden under the
chairs.
"Hush, Octave! if you squirm so, you'll make us fall. I won't bring you
to Tivoli again; you're too big a coward. For shame! a big boy, nine
years old, who plays with my national guardsman's cap all day long, and
don't dare to look at a rocket!"
At that moment a mortar burst with a great noise, and Octave gave a leap
which overturned his mother's chair; she fell, dragging with her her
husband and daughter, the latter of whom tried to save herself by
clinging to a gentleman's coat; which coat, being decidedly old, could
not stand the strain; the skirt remained in the child's hand, and the
owner began to shout _thief_! thinking that somebody had stolen his
handkerchief, and unable to find even his pocket. At the same instant
there was a more deafening and more prolonged report; innumerable bursts
of flame darted in all directions, twisting and writhing like serpents,
dazzling the eye and filling the garden momentarily with a magical,
supernatural brilliancy, as if the whole expanse were on fire; but the
noise, the glare, and the false daylight lasted but a moment; a few
rocket sticks, cartridges, and the débris of bombs fell in the garden,
and in many instances upon the sightseers, spreading terror and
confusion among them. I saw one lady whose hat was burned, another whose
shawl was riddled with little holes made by the sparks from a rocket;
and it seemed to me that that was paying rather dear for the pleasure of
witnessing a display of fireworks. I turned away, well pleased not to
have received a splash from the pyrotechnic drama, but greatly surprised
that I had not seen my neighbor Raymond in some transparency; for,
having lost sight of him among the preparations for the display, I
expected to see him appear during the final discharge.
I returned to the dancing enclosure. My invited partner was not there; I
was compelled, therefore, to abandon all hope of finding Caroline. I
watched the throng of honest bourgeois, who, as soon as the last of the
fireworks was discharged, set off for their firesides, content with
their evening's enjoyment, which was to last them throughout the week. I
strolled at random along the avenues, where the colored lanterns were
beginning to flicker and grow dim. Suddenly I heard a little bell, and,
although the hearty laughter of some young people near by, the
whispering of the ladies, and the distant sound of the dance dispelled
all possible illusion touching the reality of the hermitage, I went up
none the less to the abode of the so-called sorcerer, who, with the
assistance of a long beard, a wand, a pointed hat, a gray frock, and a
horn three feet long, undertook to tell fortunes at a very moderate
price.
Young girls have always had a great fondness for having their fortunes
told. Those who are inexperienced are consumed with the longing to know
whether a handsome dark young man or a pretty blond will come soon to
tell them something; those who are not novices are anxious to be
informed as to the fidelity of their lovers, and at the same time to
know whether other men are in love with them; the pretty ones know that
they will make conquests, the ill-favored delude themselves concerning
their charms; desire arouses hope in all, and all are content. I was
agreeably surprised to see my young flowermaker awaiting her turn to
have her fortune told. I walked toward her; she saw me and blushed; that
was a good sign. But her aunt and Monsieur Jules were close by; I could
not speak to her. An idea came into my mind while the soothsayer was
finishing his séance with the young woman who was with Caroline. I took
out my tablets,--a forehanded man always carries them,--withdrew to a
lamp post, and with a lead pencil scrawled a most passionate and
appealing declaration, which was utterly devoid of sense, but would
flatter the girl, I felt sure.
Then I rejoined the curious onlookers, taking care to get close to the
soothsayer. Caroline had taken her friend's place, and the magic horn
was already applied to her ear, when I pulled the sorcerer's frock; I
pointed to my note, on which I had laid a five-franc piece. He put out
his hand and grasped it; those fellows readily understand one's meaning.
All this was done without attracting the attention of the bystanders.
Mademoiselle Caroline was told a thousand pleasant things, no doubt, for
she laughed like a madwoman; at times she seemed perturbed and
surprised, and glanced furtively at me. I was sure that the soothsayer
was talking about me; that knave knew his business; I heartily commend
him to the sex. At last he took the girl's hand and handed her her
horoscope, slipping my note into her hand at the same time, and bidding
her to postpone reading it until she went to bed. It seemed to me that
Mademoiselle Caroline understood, for she thrust the paper into her
bosom before joining her aunt.
At last she went away with her whole party, and I did not follow her. I
had an idea that my hermit could tell me all that I wanted to know; for
he had spoken to her in an undertone, and she had replied many times by
the medium of the horn.
My man came to me and led me into his hermitage, where he dashed into
the subject at once, without waiting for me to question him.
"Her name's Caroline."
"I know it."
"She makes flowers."
"I know that too."
"She's eighteen years old."
"So I should think."
"She hasn't any lover."
"So I hoped."
"She means to remain virtuous."
"I doubt it."
"She has noticed you."
"I think it likely."
"She is attracted to you."
"I am glad to hear it."
"She works on Rue Sainte-Apolline, from eight in the morning till eight
in the evening."
"That is all I want to know."
I rewarded the invaluable soothsayer and returned to the garden, which
was beginning to be deserted. I walked in the direction of the exit,
enchanted to know at last where I could find Mademoiselle Caroline.
As I passed before a silhouette booth, I imagined that I heard a voice
which was not unfamiliar to me. I stopped. People were disputing in the
small oiled-paper studio, and I recognized my neighbor Raymond's voice.
What in the devil was he doing there? I listened; the maker of
silhouettes said:
"It's half-past eleven, monsieur; everybody's gone, and I must shut up
shop, too."
"One more silhouette, my friend, and I'll go."
"You've been here in my studio more than two hours, monsieur; I have cut
you out seventeen times already."
"Well, this will make eighteen. Oh! I can't have too many portraits; I
shall find places enough for them! everybody's asking me for one."
"I tell you that I must close my shop, monsieur."
"Close it, if you choose; I'll stay inside; I don't propose to go yet."
"You will go, monsieur."
"One more silhouette!"
"No, monsieur, you can't have it."
I could not restrain a roar of laughter, aroused by the desperate
decision of Raymond, who, in his fear of being arrested for all the
stupid things he had done during the evening, had sought shelter in the
silhouette booth, which he was absolutely determined not to abandon. But
my laughter caused great perturbation in my neighbor's soul.
"Hark!" he said to the painter with scissors; "didn't you hear? There's
somebody close by. You told me the garden was empty."
"Pay me, monsieur, and be off; or I'll go and fetch the guard to put you
out."
The threat of the guard made Raymond shudder; he realized that he must
leave the friendly shelter of the booth; but before venturing into the
garden, he thrust his head out of the door, to see if anyone was on the
watch for him. The first person he saw was your humble servant, whose
inclination to laugh was vastly increased at sight of the pale and
discomposed features of his neighbor. Raymond was uncertain whether he
had better hide again or not, when he saw me; but he made the best of
the meeting, and, being certain that I would not impose upon his
unfortunate plight, he clung to me as to the anchor of salvation.
"My dear Monsieur Dorsan, how delighted I am to meet you! If you knew
all that has happened to me to-night in this infernal garden!"
"Oh! I know! it's made noise enough."
"Mon Dieu! do they mean to arrest me?"
"Why, it's very possible. The man that you hurt is in a very bad way;
the young men whose coats you ruined are collected at the gate; the
damage you did in the garden amounts to considerable, and----"
"Oh! what an unlucky devil!"--And Raymond rushed back into the
silhouette booth, despite the remonstrances of the proprietor, who
seized him by the coat and tried to put him out.
"Save me, neighbor, I have no hope except in you!"
"Very well, I'll do it; although you played me a most contemptible trick
last night."
"Oh! I promise you--I swear--it was mere chance. I will contradict all
that I said, if that will gratify you; I will say that the girl slept
with me."
"No, no; if you please, Monsieur Raymond, you will be careful never to
mention her.--But let us begin by leaving this silhouette emporium.
Follow me."
"I am with you, my dear neighbor.--Give me my portraits; how much are
they?"
"Seventeen, at forty sous, makes just thirty-four francs, monsieur."
"The devil! that's rather dear!"
"It's the regular price."
"Come, come," I said to Raymond, whose lugubrious face was not worth
thirty-four francs at that moment; "you can make a lot of your friends
happy with them; that's some little compensation."
Raymond paid, with a sigh, and seized my arm, imploring me to protect
him.
"I ask nothing better," said I; "but you must appreciate the fact that I
can't stand my ground alone against half a hundred young men who are
waiting for you at the gate, and are to all appearance determined to
make it bad for you."
"Yes, yes, I can see that; but I can't pass the night here; I have no
hat, and I should certainly take cold; and to-morrow night I am to sing
the aria from _Joconde_ at a musical party."
"This is very embarrassing. Do you want to risk going out at the gate?"
"No, indeed! These young men, when they get excited, are very brutal."
"I see but one way, then, and that is to climb over the wall."
"But suppose I am taken for a thief?"
"Never fear; I have a scheme in my head. Come!"
We took the darkest paths. Raymond followed me in fear and trembling. I
led him to the wall on Rue de Clichy, and bade him sit on the ground
behind a clump of trees.
"Stay here; I'll go out of the gate and come around to the opposite side
of the wall on Rue de Clichy. When there seems to be an opportune
moment for you to climb over without risk, I will give the signal."
"What signal?"
"I will clap my hands twice."
"Agreed. The wall's rather high; but still, rather than be beaten to a
jelly--I can't hesitate."
"Adieu! patience; don't make a noise, don't stir, but wait for the
signal."
"Oh! I won't fail. You couldn't lend me your hat, could you?"
"Impossible; I have to sing in a duet to-morrow."
"Then I'll put my handkerchief over my head."
"That will be very wise."
"By the way, if they question you at the gate, you must say that I've
gone."
"That goes without saying."
"Don't leave me too long."
"Of course, I shan't suggest your showing yourself while I see anybody
prowling about."
"Dear Dorsan! I am tremendously obliged to you."
"Adieu! I go to keep watch for you."
I took my leave of Raymond, laughing inwardly at his plight and his
poltroonery. At last I left the garden; it was high time, for they were
just going to close the gates. As I passed, I glanced down Rue de
Clichy, where my neighbor supposed that I was doing sentry duty in his
behalf; and I strolled leisurely homeward, leaving dear Raymond to wait
for my signal. His conduct of the preceding evening merited that little
retaliation; moreover, the most speedy revenge is always the best.