Part 49 (1/2)
And they've been to the Varietes and seen Madame Chaumont, and to the Francais and seen Sarah Bernhardt and Coquelin and Delaunay, and to the Opera and heard Monsieur La.s.salle.
And to-day being their last day, they are going to laze and flane about the boulevards, and buy things, and lunch anywhere, ”sur le pouce,” and do the Bois once more and see tout Paris, and dine early at Durand's, or Bignon's (or else the Cafe des Amba.s.sadeurs), and finish up the well-spent day at the ”Mouches d'Espagne”--the new theatre in the Boulevard Poissonniere--to see Madame Cantharidi in ”Pet.i.ts Bonheurs de Contrebande,” which they are told is immensely droll and quite proper--funny without being vulgar! Dodor was their informant--he had taken Madame Dodor to see it three or four times.
Madame Cantharidi, as everybody knows, is a very clever but extremely plain old woman with a cracked voice--of spotless reputation, and the irreproachable mother of a grown-up family whom she has brought up in perfection. They have never been allowed to see their mother (and grandmother) act--not even the sons. Their excellent father (who adores both them and her) has drawn the line at that!
In private life she is ”quite the lady,” but on the stage--well, go and see her, and you will understand how she comes to be the idol of the Parisian public. For she is the true and liberal dispenser to them of that modern ”esprit gaulois” which would make the good Rabelais turn uneasily in his grave and blush there like a Benedictine Sister.
And truly she deserves the reverential love and grat.i.tude of her chers Parisiens! She amused them all through the Empire; during the _annee terrible_ she was their only stay and comfort, and has been their chief delight ever since, and is now.
When they come back from _La Revanche_, may Madame Cantharidi be still at her post, ”Les mouches d'Espagne,” to welcome the returning heroes, and exult and crow with them in her funny cracked old voice; or, haply, even console them once more, as the case may be.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”PEt.i.tS BONHEURS DE CONTREBANDE”]
”Victors or vanquished, they will laugh the same!”
Mrs. Taffy is a poor French scholar. One must know French very well indeed (and many other things besides) to seize the subtle points of Madame Cantharidi's play (and by-play)!
But Madame Cantharidi has so droll a face and voice, and such very droll, odd movements that Mrs. Taffy goes into fits of laughter as soon as the quaint little old lady comes on the stage. So heartily does she laugh that a good Parisian bourgeois turns round and remarks to his wife: ”V'la une jolie p't.i.te Anglaise qui n'est pas begueule, an moins!
Et l' gros buf avec les yeux bleus en boules de loto--c'est son mari, sans doute! il n'a pas l'air trop content par exemple, celui-la!”
The fact is that the good Taffy (who knows French very well indeed) is quite scandalized, and very angry with Dodor for sending them there; and as soon as the first act is finished he means, without any fuss, to take his wife away.
As he sits patiently, too indignant to laugh at what is really funny in the piece (much of it is vulgar _without_ being funny), he finds himself watching a little white-haired man in the orchestra, a fiddler, the shape of whose back seems somehow familiar, as he plays an _obbligato_ accompaniment to a very broadly comic song of Madame Cantharidi's. He plays beautifully--like a master--and the loud applause is as much for him as for the vocalist.
Presently this fiddler turns his head so that his profile can be seen, and Taffy recognizes him.
After five minutes' thought, Taffy takes a leaf out of his pocket-book and writes (in perfectly grammatical French):
”DEAR GECKO,--You have not forgotten Taffy Wynne, I hope; and Litrebili, and Litrebili's sister, who is now Mrs. Taffy Wynne. We leave Paris to-morrow, and would like very much to see you once more. Will you, after the play, come and sup with us at the Cafe Anglais? If so, look up and make 'yes' with the head, and enchant
”Your well-devoted TAFFY WYNNE.”
He gives this, folded, to an attendant--for ”le premier violon--celui qui a des cheveux blancs.”
Presently he sees Gecko receive the note and read it and ponder for a while.
Then Gecko looks round the theatre, and Taffy waves his handkerchief and catches the eye of the premier violon, who ”makes 'yes' with the head.”
And then, the first act over, Mr. and Mrs. Wynne leave the theatre; Mr.
explaining why, and Mrs. very ready to go, as she was beginning to feel strangely uncomfortable without quite realizing as yet what was amiss with the lively Madame Cantharidi.
They went to the Cafe Anglais and bespoke a nice little room on the entresol overlooking the boulevard, and ordered a nice little supper; salmi of something very good, mayonnaise of lobster, and one or two other dishes better still--and chambertin of the best. Taffy was particular about these things on a holiday, and regardless of expense.
Porthos was very hospitable, and liked good food and plenty of it; and Athos dearly loved good wine!
And then they went and sat at a little round table outside the Cafe de la Paix on the boulevard, near the Grand Opera, where it is always very gay, and studied Paris life, and nursed their appet.i.tes till supper-time.
At half-past eleven Gecko made his appearance--very meek and humble. He looked old--ten years older than he really was--much bowed down, and as if he had roughed it all his life, and had found living a desperate long, hard grind.
He kissed Mrs. Taffy's hand, and seemed half inclined to kiss Taffy's too, and was almost tearful in his pleasure at meeting them again, and his grat.i.tude at being asked to sup with them. He had soft, clinging, caressing manners, like a nice dog's, that made you his friend at once.