A CITIZEN OF THE RUE DU TEMPS PERDU.
During this time D'Harmental was seated before the spinet, playing his
best. The shopkeeper had had a sort of conscience, and had sent him an
instrument nearly in tune, so that the chevalier began to perceive that
he was doing wonders, and almost believed he was born with a genius for
music, which had only required such a circumstance to develop itself.
Doubtless there was some truth in this, for in the middle of a brilliant
shake he saw, from the other side of the street, five little fingers
delicately raising the curtain to see from whence this unaccustomed
harmony proceeded. Unfortunately, at the sight of these fingers the
chevalier forgot his music, and turned round quickly on the stool, in
hopes of seeing a face behind the hand.
This ill-judged maneuver ruined him. The mistress of the little room,
surprised in the act of curiosity, let the curtain fall. D'Harmental,
wounded by this prudery, closed his window. The evening passed in
reading, drawing, and playing. The chevalier could not have believed
that there were so many minutes in an hour, or so many hours in a day.
At ten o'clock in the evening he rang for the porter, to give orders for
the next day; but no one answered; he had been in bed a long time, and
D'Harmental learned that there were people who went to bed about the
time he ordered his carriage to pay visits.
[Illustration: D'HARMENTAL--Page 247.]
This set him thinking of the strange manners of that unfortunate class
of society who do not know the opera, who do not go to supper-parties,
and who sleep all night and are awake all day. He thought you must come
to the Rue du Temps Perdu to see such things, and promised himself to
amuse his friends with an account of this singularity. He was glad to
see also that his neighbor watched like himself. This showed in her a
mind superior to that of the vulgar inhabitants of the Rue du Temps
Perdu. D'Harmental believed that people only watched because they did
not wish to sleep, or because they wanted to be amused. He forgot all
those who do so because they are obliged. At midnight the light in the
opposite windows was extinguished; D'Harmental also went to his bed. The
next day the Abbe Brigaud appeared at eight o'clock. He brought
D'Harmental the second report of secret police. It was in these terms:
"Three o'clock, A.M.
"In consequence of the regular life which he led
yesterday, the regent has given orders to be called at
nine.
"He will receive some appointed persons at that time.
"From ten to twelve there will be a public audience.
"From twelve till one the regent will be engaged with
La Vrilliere and Leblanc.
"From one to two he will open letters with Torcy.
"At half-past two there will be a council, and he will
pay the king a visit.
"At three o'clock he will go to the tennis court in the
Rue du Seine, to sustain, with Brancas and Canillac, a
challenge against the Duc de Richelieu, the Marquis de
Broglie, and the Comte de Gace.
"At six he will go to supper at the Luxembourg with the
Duchesse de Berry, and will pass the evening there.
"From there he will come back, without guards, to the
Palais Royal, unless the Duchesse de Berry gives him an
escort from hers."
"Without guards, my dear abbe! what do you think of that?" said
D'Harmental, beginning to dress; "does it not make your mouth water?"
"Without guards, yes," replied the abbe; "but with footmen, outriders, a
coachman--all people who do not fight much, it is true, but who cry very
loud. Oh! patience, patience, my young friend. You are in a great hurry
to be a grandee of Spain."
"No, my dear abbe, but I am in a hurry to give up living in an attic
where I lack everything, and where I am obliged to dress myself alone,
as you see. Do you think it is nothing to go to bed at ten o'clock, and
dress in the morning without a valet?"
"Yes, but you have music," replied the abbe.
"Ah! indeed!" replied D'Harmental. "Abbe, open my window, I beg, that
they may see I receive good company. That will do me honor with my
neighbors."
"Ho! ho!" said the abbe, doing what D'Harmental asked; "that is not bad
at all."
"How, not bad?" replied D'Harmental; "it is very good, on the contrary.
It is from Armida: the devil take me if I expected to find that in the
fourth story of a house in the Rue du Temps Perdu."
"Chevalier, I predict," said the abbe, "that if the singer be young and
pretty, in a week there will be as much trouble to get you away as there
is now to keep you here."
"My dear abbe," said D'Harmental, "if your police were as good as those
of the Prince de Cellamare, you would know that I am cured of love for a
long time, and here is the proof. Do not think I pass my days in
sighing. I beg when you go down you will send me something like a pate,
and a dozen bottles of good wine. I trust to you. I know you are a
connoisseur; besides, sent by you, it will seem like a guardian's
attention. Bought by me, it would seem like a pupil's debauch; and I
have my provincial reputation to keep up with Madame Denis."
"That is true. I do not ask you what it is for, but I will send it to
you."
"And you are right, my dear abbe. It is all for the good of the cause."
"In an hour the pate and the wine will be here."
"When shall I see you again?"
"To-morrow, probably."
"Adieu, then, till to-morrow."
"You send me away."
"I am expecting somebody."
"All for the good of the cause?"
"I answer you, go, and may God preserve you."
"Stay, and may the devil not get hold of you. Remember that it was a
woman who got us turned out of our terrestrial paradise. Defy women."
"Amen," said the chevalier, making a parting sign with his hand to the
Abbe Brigaud.
Indeed, as the abbe had observed, D'Harmental was in a hurry to see him
go. The great love for music, which the chevalier had discovered only
the day before, had progressed so rapidly that he did not wish his
attention called away from what he had just heard. The little which that
horrible window allowed him to hear, and which was more of the
instrument than of the voice, showed that his neighbor was an excellent
musician. The playing was skillful, the voice sweet and sustained, and
had, in its high notes and deep vibrations, something which awoke an
answer in the heart of the listener. At last, after a very difficult and
perfectly executed passage, D'Harmental could not help clapping his
hands and crying bravo! As bad luck would have it, this triumph, to
which she had not been accustomed, instead of encouraging the musician,
frightened her so much, that voice and harpsichord stopped at the same
instant, and silence immediately succeeded to the melody for which the
chevalier had so imprudently manifested his enthusiasm.
In exchange, he saw the door of the room above (which we have said led
on to the terrace) open, and a hand was stretched out, evidently to
ascertain what kind of weather it was. The answer of the weather seemed
reassuring, for the hand was almost directly followed by a head covered
by a little chintz cap, tied on the forehead by a violet ribbon; and the
head was only a few instants in advance of a neck and shoulders clothed
in a kind of dressing-gown of the same stuff as the cap. This was not
quite enough to enable the chevalier to decide to which sex the
individual, who seemed so cautious about exposing himself to the morning
air, belonged. At last, a sort of sunbeam having slipped out between two
clouds, the timid inhabitant of the terrace appeared to be encouraged to
come out altogether. D'Harmental then saw, by his black velvet
knee-breeches, and by his silk stockings, that the personage who had
just entered on the scene was of the masculine gender.
It was the gardener of whom we spoke. The bad weather of the preceding
days had, without doubt, deprived him of his morning walk, and had
prevented him from giving his garden his ordinary attention, for he
began to walk round it with a visible fear of finding some accident
produced by the wind or rain; but, after a careful inspection of the
fountain, the grotto, and the arbor, which were its three principal
ornaments, the excellent face of the gardener was lighted by a ray of
joy, as the weather was by the ray of sun. He perceived, not only that
everything was in its place, but that the reservoir was full to
overflowing. He thought he might indulge in playing his fountain, a
treat which, ordinarily, following the example of Louis XIV., he only
allowed himself on Sundays. He turned the cock, and the jet raised
itself majestically to the height of four or five feet. The good man was
so delighted that he began to sing the burden of an old pastoral song
which D'Harmental had heard when he was a baby, and, while repeating--
"Let me go
And let me play
Beneath the hazel-tree,"
he ran to the window, and called aloud, "Bathilde! Bathilde!"
The chevalier understood that there was a communication between the
rooms on the third and fourth stories, and some relation between the
gardener and the musician, and thought that perhaps if he remained at
the window she would not come on to the terrace; therefore he closed his
window with a careless air, taking care to keep a little opening behind
the curtain, through which he could see without being seen. What he had
foreseen happened. Very soon the head of a charming young girl appeared
on the terrace; but as, without doubt, the ground, on which he had
ventured with so much courage, was too damp, she would not go any
further. The little dog, not less timid than its mistress, remained near
her, resting its white paws on the window, and shaking its head in
silent denial to every invitation. A dialogue was established between
the good man and the young girl, while D'Harmental had leisure to
examine her at ease.
She appeared to have arrived at that delicious time of life when woman,
passing from childhood to youth, is in the full bloom of sentiment,
grace, and beauty. He saw that she was not less than sixteen nor more
than eighteen years of age, and that there existed in her a singular
mixture of two races. She had the fair hair, thick complexion, and
graceful neck of an English woman, with the black eyes, coral lips, and
pearly teeth of a Spaniard.
As she did not use either rouge or white, and as that time powder was
scarcely in fashion, and was reserved for aristocratic heads, her
complexion remained in its natural freshness, and nothing altered the
color of her hair.
The chevalier remained as in an ecstasy--indeed, he had never seen but
two classes of women. The fat and coarse peasants of the Nivernais, with
their great feet and hands, their short petticoats, and their
hunting-horn shaped hats; and the women of the Parisian aristocracy,
beautiful without doubt, but of that beauty fagged by watching and
pleasure, and by that reversing of life which makes them what flowers
would be if they only saw the sun on some rare occasions, and the
vivifying air of the morning and the evening only reached them through
the windows of a hot-house. He did not know this intermediate type, if
one may call it so, between high society and the country people, which
had all the elegance of the one, and all the fresh health of the other.
Thus, as we have said, he remained fixed in his place, and long after
the young girl had re-entered, he kept his eyes fixed on the window
where this delicious vision had appeared.
The sound of his door opening called him out of his ecstasy: it was the
pate and the wine from Abbe Brigaud making their solemn entry into the
chevalier's garret. The sight of these provisions recalled to his mind
that he had now something better to do than to abandon himself to
contemplation, and that he had given Captain Roquefinette a rendezvous
on the most important business. Consequently he looked at his watch, and
saw that it was ten o'clock. This was, as the reader will remember, the
appointed hour. He sent away the man who had brought the provisions, and
said he would lay the cloth himself; then, opening his window once more,
he sat down to watch for the appearance of Captain Roquefinette.
He was hardly at his observatory before he perceived the worthy captain
coming round the corner from the Rue Gros-Chenet, his head in the air,
his hand on his hip, and with the martial and decided air of a man who,
like the Greek philosopher, carries everything with him. His hat, that
thermometer by which his friends could tell the secret state of its
master's finances, and which, on his fortunate days was placed as
straight on his head as a pyramid on its base, had recovered that
miraculous inclination which had so struck the Baron de Valef, and
thanks to which, one of the points almost touched his right shoulder,
while the parallel one might forty years later had given Franklin, if
Franklin had known the captain, the first idea of his electric kite.
Having come about a third down the street, he raised his head as had
been arranged, and saw the chevalier just above him. He who waited, and
he who was waited for, exchanged nods, and the captain having calculated
the distance at a glance, and recognized the door which ought to belong
to the window above, jumped over the threshold of Madame Denis's poor
little house with as much familiarity as if it had been a tavern. The
chevalier shut the window, and drew the curtains with the greatest
care--either in order that his pretty neighbor might not see him with
the captain, or that the captain might not see her.
An instant afterward D'Harmental heard the sound of his steps, and the
beating of his sword against the banisters. Having arrived at the third
story, as the light which came from below was not aided by any light
from above, he found himself in a difficulty, not knowing whether to
stop where he was, or mount higher. Then, after coughing in the most
significant manner, and finding that this call remained unnoticed--
"Morbleu!" said he. "Chevalier, as you did not probably bring me here to
break my neck, open your door or call out, so that I may be guided
either by the light of heaven, or by the sound of your voice; otherwise
I shall be lost, neither more nor less than Theseus in the labyrinth."
And the captain began to sing in a loud voice--
"Fair Ariadne, I beg of you,
Help me, by lending me your clew.
Toutou, toutou, toutaine, toutou!"
The chevalier ran to his door and opened it.
"My friend," said the captain, "the ladder up to your pigeon-house is
infernally dark; still here I am, faithful to the agreement, exact to
the time. Ten o'clock was striking as I came over the Pont-Neuf."