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CHAPTER IV—THOLOMYES IS SO MERRY THAT HE SINGS A SPANISH DITTY
That day was composed of dawn, from one end to the other. All nature
seemed to be having a holiday, and to be laughing. The flower-beds of
Saint-Cloud perfumed the air; the breath of the Seine rustled the leaves
vaguely; the branches gesticulated in the wind, bees pillaged the
jasmines; a whole bohemia of butterflies swooped down upon the yarrow, the
clover, and the sterile oats; in the august park of the King of France
there was a pack of vagabonds, the birds.
The four merry couples, mingled with the sun, the fields, the flowers, the
trees, were resplendent.
And in this community of Paradise, talking, singing, running, dancing,
chasing butterflies, plucking convolvulus, wetting their pink, open-work
stockings in the tall grass, fresh, wild, without malice, all received, to
some extent, the kisses of all, with the exception of Fantine, who was
hedged about with that vague resistance of hers composed of dreaminess and
wildness, and who was in love. "You always have a queer look about you,"
said Favourite to her.
Such things are joys. These passages of happy couples are a profound
appeal to life and nature, and make a caress and light spring forth from
everything. There was once a fairy who created the fields and forests
expressly for those in love,—in that eternal hedge-school of lovers,
which is forever beginning anew, and which will last as long as there are
hedges and scholars. Hence the popularity of spring among thinkers. The
patrician and the knife-grinder, the duke and the peer, the limb of the
law, the courtiers and townspeople, as they used to say in olden times,
all are subjects of this fairy. They laugh and hunt, and there is in the
air the brilliance of an apotheosis—what a transfiguration effected
by love! Notaries' clerks are gods. And the little cries, the pursuits
through the grass, the waists embraced on the fly, those jargons which are
melodies, those adorations which burst forth in the manner of pronouncing
a syllable, those cherries torn from one mouth by another,—all this
blazes forth and takes its place among the celestial glories. Beautiful
women waste themselves sweetly. They think that this will never come to an
end. Philosophers, poets, painters, observe these ecstasies and know not
what to make of it, so greatly are they dazzled by it. The departure for
Cythera! exclaims Watteau; Lancret, the painter of plebeians, contemplates
his bourgeois, who have flitted away into the azure sky; Diderot stretches
out his arms to all these love idyls, and d'Urfe mingles druids with them.
After breakfast the four couples went to what was then called the King's
Square to see a newly arrived plant from India, whose name escapes our
memory at this moment, and which, at that epoch, was attracting all Paris
to Saint-Cloud. It was an odd and charming shrub with a long stem, whose
numerous branches, bristling and leafless and as fine as threads, were
covered with a million tiny white rosettes; this gave the shrub the air of
a head of hair studded with flowers. There was always an admiring crowd
After viewing the shrub, Tholomyes exclaimed, "I offer you asses!" and
having agreed upon a price with the owner of the asses, they returned by
way of Vanvres and Issy. At Issy an incident occurred. The truly national
park, at that time owned by Bourguin the contractor, happened to be wide
open. They passed the gates, visited the manikin anchorite in his grotto,
tried the mysterious little effects of the famous cabinet of mirrors, the
wanton trap worthy of a satyr become a millionaire or of Turcaret
metamorphosed into a Priapus. They had stoutly shaken the swing attached
to the two chestnut-trees celebrated by the Abb� de Bernis. As he swung
these beauties, one after the other, producing folds in the fluttering
skirts which Greuze would have found to his taste, amid peals of laughter,
the Toulousan Tholomyes, who was somewhat of a Spaniard, Toulouse being
the cousin of Tolosa, sang, to a melancholy chant, the old ballad gallega,
probably inspired by some lovely maid dashing in full flight upon a rope
between two trees:—
"Soy de Badajoz, "Badajoz is my home,
Amor me llama, And Love is my name;
Toda mi alma, To my eyes in flame,
Es en mi ojos, All my soul doth come;
Porque ensenas, For instruction meet
A tuas piernas. I receive at thy feet"
Fantine alone refused to swing.
"I don't like to have people put on airs like that," muttered Favourite,
with a good deal of acrimony.
After leaving the asses there was a fresh delight; they crossed the Seine
in a boat, and proceeding from Passy on foot they reached the barrier of
l'Etoile. They had been up since five o'clock that morning, as the reader
will remember; but bah! there is no such thing as fatigue on Sunday, said
Favourite; on Sunday fatigue does not work.
About three o'clock the four couples, frightened at their happiness, were
sliding down the Russian mountains, a singular edifice which then occupied
the heights of Beaujon, and whose undulating line was visible above the
trees of the Champs Elysees.
From time to time Favourite exclaimed:—
"And the surprise? I claim the surprise."
"Patience," replied Tholomyes.