Volume I Part 1 (1/2)
Paul and His Dog.
VOL.1.
by Charles Paul de k.o.c.k.
I
A MASQUERADE AT THE OPeRA
What a crowd! how eager all these people are to make their way into the ball-room! they begin to push and elbow one another even in the street, in front of the entrance to the theatre; the carriages move too slowly to suit the persons inside or the police officers whose duty it is to keep all vehicles in motion.
See those maskers; those dominos have hardly time to alight from their coupe, for the coachman must move on instantly to make room for the confrere behind him; many persons even alight before they are in front of the theatre, hoping to reach their destination more quickly.
It is evident therefore that they must be afraid of not finding room, of not being able to crowd their way into that sanctuary of pleasure, of folly, rather; and yet one can always get in, at any hour. Though the hall be overflowing with people, though the foyer be full to suffocation, though it be impossible to move in the corridor,--it makes no difference: one can always find a way to slip into the vast throng.
People push you, b.u.mp against you, tread on your feet, force you to go to the right when you want to go to the left. You do not find the person you are seeking, you are separated from your companion; if you have arranged yourself with great care and elegance, in a few minutes your clothes are rumpled, torn, stained.--But what does it matter! you are at the Opera masquerade.
You are speedily bewildered by the noise made by the mult.i.tude that surrounds you; the heat becomes stifling; add to this the odor of the bouquets and of the perfumery used by the ladies, and lastly the strains of the enormous orchestra playing galops, waltzes, polkas, mazurkas, with a swing, a precision, a vigor which makes your legs twitch; and do not be surprised if you begin to feel like a different man, if your brain whirls, if your heart beats more rapidly, if you suddenly become inclined to play pranks, to enjoy yourself--no matter how.
But you do not intend to have come to the Opera ball for nothing. You aspire to an intrigue, a conquest, an unexpected meeting. You seek pleasure, no matter under what form it presents itself, and you often pa.s.s several hours in the quest, or rather, in quest of the unknown.
Ah! it is so provoking when a domino with a graceful figure, a tiny hand and a well-arched foot takes your arm, saying:
”I know you!”
_I know you!_ those three words, uttered by an unfamiliar voice, but by a woman who takes your arm, clings to it familiarly, leans toward you and looks into your eyes in a very alluring way--those three words disturb you, excite you, toss you at once into the field of conjecture.
No matter how many times you may hear them during the night, they always produce their effect, and especially, as I said just now, if the masker who says them to you has a pretty figure, a pretty hand, pretty eyes--all of which make one desire or hope for a charming face.
First of all, you try to identify the person who speaks to you; you examine her eyes, the lower part of her chin, which the mask imperfectly conceals; you pa.s.s in review the feet, the arms, the figure, the hair.
You listen attentively to the tone of the voice, which is never perfectly disguised to a very sharp ear.
But when all these have failed to give you any information; when you abandon the idea of recognizing your companion, then you proceed to imagine a woman to match your ideal. Behind the mask that covers her face, you place lovely, intellectual features of the sort that you most affect; your imagination takes fire--you have met the woman of your dreams, you are beginning to fall in love; a few seconds more, and you will have a full-fledged pa.s.sion on your hands. But no; it will not go so far as that. You will restrain yourself, for there is always a reverse side to the medallion; and that reverse side the sirens themselves are blundering enough to show to you. You have not had your lady on your arm ten minutes, when she says to you:
”Aren't you going to ask me to take something?”
Ah! what a tumble your imagination takes at that! how suddenly your dreams of a woman of fas.h.i.+on, distinguished, mysterious, pa.s.sionate, are transformed into humble flower-makers, corset-makers, waistcoat-makers, and sometimes something even humbler!
”Aren't you going to ask me to take something?”--can it be that a woman of breeding, a woman of the _beau_ _monde_, or even of the _beau demi-monde_, would ask that question?
No, that has the savor of a grisette, or a _fillette_, a league away! I am aware that Carnival has its license, and that, with the face masked, one may venture to say things that one would not say with the face exposed. But it is none the less certain that that unlucky phrase is almost equivalent to the unmasking of your conquest, and brings you down at once from the fertile land of illusions to the much more arid regions of reality. And then, as if they instantly divined the wishes of your fair companion, the dealers in bonbons and oranges always arrive at the moment the question is asked. You are too gallant to refuse, moreover, you probably know that, if you should refuse, your conquest would at once drop your arm, saying:
”Bah! what a skinflint! Thanks! I've had enough of your acquaintance; it ain't worth the cost of a stick of sugar candy!”
Plume yourself then, if you can, upon having been that damsel's escort, upon having felt her arm lean upon yours and her hand respond to the pressure of your hand; alas! there is no excuse for pride.
But, you will tell me, there are exceptions; ladies of the best society, pretty bourgeoises, even women of honorable name, indulge in the pleasure of the masquerade; there is no danger of their unmasking, you may be sure! on the contrary, they disguise themselves with the greatest care, in such wise as to turn aside all suspicions and to deceive everybody who knows them. But those things which they never succeed in concealing are their elegant manners, their distinguished bearing, their refined language.
Yes, there are, doubtless, some of those ladies at the Opera; they have longed to satisfy their curiosity by a glimpse of one of these orgies.
Sometimes a more powerful motive leads them thither; they desire to surprise a disloyal lover, to confound him, to unmask his treachery; or,--and this is much more agreeable--they have consented to come secretly into this crowd, because they know that they will meet here someone whom it is impossible for them to see elsewhere; and perhaps, under cover of the mask, they will consent to let fall from their lips a sweet confession which you would never have obtained otherwise.