Volume 11 — VIII THE MAGIC LANTERN

I had been sitting against the tree for some time; the darkness had dispersed some of the saunterers; and those who remained plunged deeper into the cross paths, seeking, as it seemed, by preference the darkest and least-frequented spots. Doubtless they had their reasons for that. I do not know precisely what I was thinking about, when I heard heavy steps approach and stop behind me. I turned and saw a man carrying what we call a magic lantern. He set his apparatus down against the tree; he had not seen me, or did not notice me. He lighted his lantern to exhibit his pictures, whereupon I at once thought of Florian’s monkey; the reminiscence made me laugh, and I prepared to listen to the owner of the lantern, although I feared that the comparison would be unfavorable to him.

I heard him mutter between his teeth as he arranged his lights:

“Ah! the hussy! the rascal! where has she been these three hours, since she left me on the pretext of going to feed the brat? She’s playing some game on me. If it wasn’t a show day, how quickly I’d drop the whole business!—Never mind, Madame Trousquin, I’ll find a way to solve my doubts; and if I see anything crooked, there’ll be a sharp and effective reckoning!”

The poor man was evidently jealous; he swore and stamped and glared from side to side, but Madame Trousquin did not appear. By way of compensation, the gleam of the magic lantern attracted a girl and a young soldier, the latter of whom took his seat close beside the former, bidding the showman to close the curtain around them. He enveloped them in an old blue or gray sheet,—it was impossible to distinguish the color,—and I could not help thinking that a magic lantern may be at times a very great convenience.

Père Trousquin began his performance, interrupting himself frequently to swear at his wife, who did not return; and I listened attentively, although I could see nothing, not being under the curtain; but I had an idea that the spectators for whom the pictures were being explained were not looking at them.

“First of all, messieurs and mesdames, you see the sun, the moon, the stars, and the little fishes. Farther on, the products of the soil, such as trees, vegetables, animals, caves, waterfalls, rattlesnakes. Pray examine Monsieur Sun, whom you can’t look at because he’s so bright; and Madame Moon, who is full because she’s in her first quarter. See those stars, how fast they travel, as if the devil was carrying ’em off!—Three hours to put Fifi to bed! Ah! the slut! how I’ll make her dance to-night!—See Venus, glistening like a pinchbeck pin! See the shepherd’s star! The shepherd Tircis, I suppose, seeing what his reputation is. And there’s the Three Kings, who are always together. And the Chariot, that travels like those you see in the mountains of Russia. And Mercury and Jupiter. And the Virgin and the Twins. And the Bull and the Goat. Anybody can understand about them. Do you see the Scales? Do you see the Scorpion?—a wicked beast he is! All these, messieurs and mesdames, are planets that determine the nervous infections of the people born under their affluence. The planet Venus is for wanton women, the Shepherd for good-looking youths, the Three Kings for heroes, the Chariot for coachmen, Jupiter for roistering blades, Mercury for apothecaries, the Virgin for little girls, and the Goat for many worthy gentlemen whom you know. Observe, messieurs and mesdames, in the middle of that great black cloud, full of stars, between the Bear and the Ram, you’ll see a big, hairy comet, with a tail longer than a fox’s. That brilliant meteor has in all ages announced the end of the world; with its tail or its head it is capable of overturning our globe, which is held in place only by a thread, and broiling us all like chestnuts.”

At this point, a movement under the curtain led me to surmise that the comet had aroused great curiosity.

“One moment, messieurs and mesdames, and you’ll see what you will see.”

Père Trousquin pulled a cord to change the picture, and, after several very emphatic oaths, resumed his explanation, not changing his voice a quarter of a tone.

“This, messieurs and mesdames, shows you the interior of the palace of the great Kin-Kin-Li-King, Emperor of China and King of all the Pekins. You perceive him seated in his beautiful gilt armchair of state, in full ceremonial costume, surrounded by learned mandarins and national guardsmen. He is giving a public audience and receiving petitions from all the Chinese of the suburbs. Observe, in a corner, that father leaning on his daughter and a bamboo stick; he has come to demand justice upon a seducer who has made that poor innocent creature the mother of five little children, and who feeds them on blows alone. See, messieurs, how the ill-fated father’s features gleam with wrath and indignation; read the sorrow, pain, and repentance in the girl’s eyes. That man just to the left, wrapped in a brown cloak, with only his nose visible, is the seducer, awaiting his condemnation. See how pale and cadaverous his face is, how hollow his eyes, and how tremulous his gait; well he knows that he will not be let off cheap. Farther on, in the background——”

A stout female appeared at this juncture, panting for breath, and interrupted the explanation of the picture. I presumed that it was Madame Trousquin, and the dialogue that ensued between her and the owner of the lantern proved to me that my conjecture was well founded.

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

Ah! here you are at last, you cursed street walker!—Farther away, in the background—(To his wife.) You’ll pay me for this, that’s all I’ve got to say to you!—Farther away, in the background, that wretched creature whom the guards are taking away, and who is struggling and writhing as if he had the colic, is a deserter, who has just deserted and was going to the enemy’s camp on treason bent; his business will soon be settled; he’ll be shot and then hung.

MADAME TROUSQUIN. (during her husband’s explanation).

Hoity-toity! what are you making so much noise about? Didn’t I have to put Fifi to bed and make the soup? And I’d like to know if it ain’t a good, long walk from the Champs-Élysées to Rue Jean-Pain-Mollet!

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

You lie, I tell you; you went off at five o’clock, and here it is nine. Where in the devil have you been? Pull the cord.

Madame Trousquin placed on a stool a bowl which she had under her apron, then assumed her post on that side of the lantern from which the change of pictures was operated.

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

This, messieurs and mesdames, represents a view of Athens, in Greece.—(To his wife.) Put my soup on the charcoal and tell me where you’ve been.

MADAME TROUSQUIN.

Why, I’ve been at home, I tell you, you jealous fool! I met Angélique and talked with her a minute. Have you much of an audience?

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

Observe the beauty of the sky and water. Observe the palaces, the columns and temples, built by the Romans; note those magnificent statues, of which but few fragments remain. See that circus, in which they used to hold bull fights, to train the young men to be strong.—(To his wife.) I’m satisfied that you’ve been gallivanting with Grugeon.—See, in the distance, the famous Partiates fighting with their fists like Englishmen, and playing the game of Siam with a large roulette table.—(To his wife.) He asked you to take a glass of beer in a private room.—That handsome young man you see at the right is Alcibiades, with Socrates, his teacher, who is teaching him things he don’t know.

While I listened I saw the curtain move more violently, and I heard the girl say in an undertone:

“Oh! how stupid! Ah! how stupid! I tell you I won’t!”

Père Trousquin motioned to his wife to pull the cord, and resumed his harangue.

“This, messieurs and mesdames, is taken from mythology; it is the magnificent Judgment of Solomon, called the Wise, who is preparing to carve a little child, exactly as if it was a pie. Observe the consternation of the little one as he awaits his fate, with his legs in the air; observe the fiendish glee of that shrewish stepmother, who looks on, dry-eyed, as if someone was going to give her a slice of rabbit; but observe the grief of the real mother, who seeks to turn aside the cleaver which already threatens the innocent child’s navel.”

THE YOUNG WOMAN (under the curtain).

Ah! the villain! ah! the villain! he keeps right on. What a stupid!

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

Don’t be alarmed, there won’t be any cutting done; nature is about to speak.—(To his wife.) Give me my soup; I’m hungry.—The mighty Solomon, looking at the two mothers with Argus eyes, says to himself—(To his wife.) In God’s name, why don’t you get through with the onions?—“This child cannot have two mothers; if it was two fathers, that might be, such things have been seen.”—(To his wife.) You know something about that.—“Now, there’s a snake in the grass here; the real mother’s affection manifests itself by a deluge of tears; but this other vixen of a mother, who’s as placid as Baptiste,”—(To his wife.) It smells as if it was burned.—“has no maternal entrails; so the case is decided!”—Pull the cord.—“This, messieurs and mesdames, represents King David doing battle with the giant Goliath, the terror of the Philistines.”—(To his wife.) Why don’t you look and see if it’s right?—See with what force David hurls the stone that lays the giant in the dust.

MADAME TROUSQUIN. (looking over the lantern).

This ain’t the one; you’re showing ’em the Battle of Marengo now.

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

As I was saying, messieurs and mesdames, you see the famous Battle of Marengo, won by the French troops.—(To his wife.) You always put in too many carrots.

MADAME TROUSQUIN.

You don’t say! you want to choose your vegetables, do you? You’re getting to be very particular. How much have you made to-day?

MONSIEUR TROUSQUIN.

Eighteen sous.—Note the gunners and the cuirassiers; see how the sabres play, while the cannonballs meet in mid air and the shells spread fire and blood on all sides; see the hussars, the dragoons, the trumpets, and the drums! hear the shrieks of the dead and dying, the moans of the wounded and vanquished. See that young soldier on the right, defending his flag with his teeth, because both his arms have been cut off; and at the left, that officer who has three dead horses upon him, and who forgets that he is suffocating while he takes aim at the enemy’s general. See the dust, the flame, the smoke, the carnage, and the corpses that embellish the picture. The action is superb, you see; the battle waxes hotter and more furious——

At this point, the explanation was interrupted by an unforeseen catastrophe: the young woman and the soldier, who were evidently taking the liveliest interest in the battle,—for I kept hearing exclamations from the damsel and energetic monosyllables from her companion,—not content with moving the curtain, threw themselves violently against the magic lantern, at the most critical point of the Battle of Marengo. The shock was so violent that the ambulatory theatre could not sustain it; it fell backward, and the spectators fell upon it, while the manager of the establishment was thrown to the ground with his bowl of soup, and Madame Trousquin was entangled by the cords that she held in each hand.

I was left standing alone in the midst of the devastation, for my great tree preserved me from all peril. What a grotesque picture was presented to my eyes! Solomon and the great Kin-Kin-Li-King were lying in a heap with the gardens of the Luxembourg and of Athens; the sun no longer shone, the moon was covered with oil, the comet shorn of its tail. Père Trousquin was struggling under his broken lantern, still holding in his hand the handle of his bowl; and the young woman had fallen in a posture that disclosed beauty which would have put to shame the most perfect moon that ever graced a magic lantern. The young soldier’s head was in Père Trousquin’s bowl; his face was covered by carrots and onions; he seemed to be caught in such a way that he could not extricate himself from the trap. As for Mère Trousquin, she had fallen gracefully; her cords had held her up, and the curtain of the lantern concealed what might have caused her modesty to blush. However, as those who are least hurt always make the most noise, Madame Trousquin’s shrieks were simply deafening; her husband uttered the most frightful oaths, and the young woman groaned plaintively. The soldier alone made no outcry; I believe that he found the soup and vegetables to his liking. All the idlers in the neighborhood were attracted to the broken lantern by the uproar, the shrieks and oaths; and I was surrounded in an instant by a crowd of people who came from I don’t know where; for a moment before I could not see a soul on the Champs-Élysées. My retreat was cut off; I could not make my way out of the crowd; but I was not sorry to see how it would end. After shouting and swearing to their heart’s content, the unfortunates tried to extricate themselves from the tangle they were in: the soldier succeeded in uncovering his face, the girl rose and arranged her skirts. Mère Trousquin disentangled herself from her cords, the magic lantern was lifted from the ground, and Père Trousquin struggled to his feet. The soldier tried to slink away with his companion; but he could not elude the owner of the lantern, who insisted that he should pay for the damages.

“My glasses are smashed,” said Père Trousquin; “you’ve spoiled my sun and moon, you’ve broken my Judgment of Solomon and my Chinese palace, and ruined my views of Greece; you’ve got to pay me for all that.”

“Go to the devil!” said the soldier, repairing the disorder of his costume as best he could. “I won’t pay you for anything at all. What do I care for your Chinese and your Solomon! your sun and moon look just like the night lights you buy for a sou; and as for your fat, just put it in your lamps.”

“You broke my lantern, and you’ve got to pay me for it.”

“You’re an old drunkard; if your lantern wasn’t firm on its legs, it’s no fault of mine.”

“You tumbled against it during the Battle of Marengo.”

“You threw it over, yourself, trying to imitate cannon.”

“You made me break my bowl.”

“You’re responsible for my tearing my breeches.”

“Besides, my lantern is a moral and respectable show, and I don’t propose to have it used for——”

“I say! stop that, or I’ll cut out your tongue!”

The soldier put his hand to his sword; the crowd instantly made a backward movement, the girl clung to her friend’s arm, and Mère Trousquin pulled her husband out of range, taking the stool for a buckler. The two adversaries measured each other with their eyes for several minutes, without moving. The soldier gave no sign of paying, and Père Trousquin did not seem to be in a mood to let him go away until he had remunerated him for his losses. Thereupon I concluded that there was but one way to adjust the affair without bloodshed. The magic lantern episode had amused me, and had entirely dispelled my ill humor; it was no more than fair that I should act as mediator in the dispute. I alone had remained near the combatants; for the bystanders held themselves respectfully aloof from the sword and the stool. I felt in my pocket and took out two five-franc pieces, which I tossed upon the damaged lantern.

“There,” said I to the proprietor, “is the means to restore your palaces and your planets; but take my advice, and another time don’t fasten your curtain so closely round your audience. Children’s theatres are frequented now by people of all ages; if you don’t believe me, ask Séraphin, who receives petite-maîtresses at his show, because of the darkness in the hall during his arabesque fires.”

Père Trousquin stared with all his eyes; his wife pounced on the two coins, and the soldier was allowed to go his way with his companion; which he did not do without bowing to me most respectfully.

I too walked away, and turned into Rue de Rivoli. I looked at my watch; it was only nine o’clock, and I have never been fond of going to bed early, especially when I am in the mood for amusing myself. As the scene of the magic lantern had put me in that mood, I determined to encourage such a desirable disposition.

How was I to amuse myself? There are thousands of ways in Paris, you will say; but, in the matter of pleasure, you must never promise yourself too much, if you wish to have a little. In a large assembly, for six agreeable people you will find twenty bores; in a small party, your friends may have business affairs that annoy them; the ladies, sick headaches or the vapors; and you often pass a very dull hour where you looked forward to much entertainment. The wisest plan, therefore, is not to count upon anything. But I remembered that there was a grand fête at Tivoli. It was nine o’clock; if I took a cab, I should arrive just at the height of the evening.