Volume 11 — X THE FIREWORKS.—THE FORTUNE TELLER.—THE SILHOUETTE STUDIO

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.