CHAPTER XXXVIII. CLOUD.

on,Icanheartheprisonersmoan.ThissolemnpeaceisnotwhatIseek,itisnotwhatIcanbear:tomethefaceofthatskybearstheaspectofaworld’sdeath.Theparkalsowillbecalm—Iknow,amortalserenityprevailseverywhere—yetletmeseekthepark. Itookaroutewellknown,andwentuptowardsthepalatialandroyalHaute-VillethencethemusicIhadheardcertainlyfloateditwashushednow,butitmightre-waken.Iwenton:neitherbandnorbellmusiccametomeetmeanothersoundreplacedit,asoundlikeastrongtide,agreatflow,deepeningasIproceeded.Lightbroke,movementgathered,chimespealed—towhatwasIcoming?EnteringonthelevelofaGrandePlace,Ifoundmyself,withthesuddennessofmagic,plungedamidstagay,living,joyouscrowd. Villetteisoneblaze,onebroadilluminationthewholeworldseemsabroadmoonlightandheavenarebanished:thetown,byherownflambeaux,beholdsherownsplendour—gaydresses,grandequipages,finehorsesandgallantridersthrongthebrightstreets.Iseeevenscoresofmasks.Itisastrangescene,strangerthandreams.Butwhereisthepark?—Ioughttobenearit.Inthemidstofthisglaretheparkmustbeshadowyandcalm—there,atleast,areneithertorches,lamps,norcrowd? Iwasaskingthisquestionwhenanopencarriagepassedmefilledwithknownfaces.Throughthedeepthrongitcouldpassbutslowlythespiritedhorsesfrettedintheircurbedardour.Isawtheoccupantsofthatcarriagewell:metheycouldnotsee,or,atleast,notknow,foldedcloseinmylargeshawl,screenedwithmystrawhat(inthatmotleycrowdnodresswasnoticeablystrange).IsawtheCountdeBassompierreIsawmygodmother,handsomelyapparelled,comelyandcheerfulIsaw,too,PaulinaMary,compassedwiththetriplehaloofherbeauty,heryouth,andherhappiness.Inlookingonhercountenanceofjoy,andeyesoffestallight,onescarcerememberedtonotethegalaeleganceofwhatsheworeIknowonlythatthedraperyfloatingaboutherwasallwhiteandlightandbridalseatedoppositetoherIsawGrahamBrettonitwasinlookingupathimheraspecthadcaughtitslustre—thelightrepeatedinhereyesbeamedfirstoutofhis. Itgavemestrangepleasuretofollowthesefriendsviewlessly,andIdidfollowthem,asIthought,tothepark.Iwatchedthemalight(carriageswereinadmissible)amidstnewandunanticipatedsplendours.Lo!theirongateway,betweenthestonecolumns,wasspannedbyaflamingarchbuiltofmassedstarsand,followingthemcautiouslybeneaththatarch,wherewerethey,andwherewasI? Inalandofenchantment,agardenmostgorgeous,aplainsprinkledwithcolouredmeteors,aforestwithsparksofpurpleandrubyandgoldenfiregemmingthefoliagearegion,notoftreesandshadow,butofstrangestarchitecturalwealth—ofaltarandoftemple,ofpyramid,obelisk,andsphinx:incredibletosay,thewondersandthesymbolsofEgyptteemedthroughouttheparkofVillette. Nomatterthatinfiveminutesthesecretwasmine—thekeyofthemysterypickedup,anditsillusionunveiled—nomatterthatIquicklyrecognisedthematerialofthesesolemnfragments—thetimber,thepaint,andthepasteboard—theseinevitablediscoveriesfailedtoquitedestroythecharm,orunderminethemarvelofthatnight.NomatterthatInowseizedtheexplanationofthewholegreatfête—afêteofwhichtheconventualRueFossettehadnottasted,thoughithadopenedatdawnthatmorning,andwasstillinfullvigournearmidnight. Inpastdaystherehadbeen,saidhistory,anawfulcrisisinthefateofLabassecour,involvingIknownotwhatperiltotherightsandlibertiesofhergallantcitizens.Rumoursofwarstherehadbeen,ifnotwarsthemselvesakindofstrugglinginthestreets—abustle—arunningtoandfro,somerearingofbarricades,someburgher-rioting,somecallingoutoftroops,muchinterchangeofbrickbats,andevenalittleofshot.Traditionheldthatpatriotshadfallen:intheoldBasse-Villewasshownanenclosure,solemnlybuiltinandsetapart,holding,itwassaid,thesacredbonesofmartyrs.Bethisasitmay,acertaindayintheyearwasstillkeptasafestivalinhonourofthesaidpatriotsandmartyrsofsomewhatapocryphalmemory—themorningbeinggiventoasolemnTeDeuminSt.JeanBaptiste,theeveningdevotedtospectacles,decorations,andilluminations,suchastheseInowsaw. Whilelookingupattheimageofawhiteibis,fixedonacolumn—whilefathomingthedeep,torch-litperspectiveofanavenue,atthecloseofwhichwascouchedasphinx—Ilostsightofthepartywhich,fromthemiddleofthegreatsquare,Ihadfollowed—or,rather,theyvanishedlikeagroupofapparitions.Onthiswholescenewasimpressedadream-likecharacter:everyshapewaswavering,everymovementfloating,everyvoiceecho-like—half-mocking,half-uncertain.Paulinaandherfriendsbeinggone,IscarcecouldavouchthatIhadreallyseenthemnordidImissthemasguidesthroughthechaos,farlessregretthemasprotectorsamidstthenight. Thatfestalnightwouldhavebeensafeforaverychild.HalfthepeasantryhadcomeinfromtheoutlyingenvironsofVillette,andthedecentburgherswereallabroadandaround,dressedintheirbest.Mystraw-hatpassedamidstcapandjacket,shortpetticoat,andlongcalicomantle,without,perhaps,attractingaglanceIonlytooktheprecautiontobinddownthebroadleafgipsy-wise,withasupplementaryribbon—andthenIfeltsafeasifmasked. SafeIpasseddowntheavenues—safeImixedwiththecrowdwhereitwasdeepest.Tobestillwasnotinmypower,norquietlytoobserve.ItookarevelofthesceneIdranktheelasticnight-air—theswellofsound,thedubiouslight,nowflashing,nowfading.AstoHappinessorHope,theyandIhadshakenhands,butjustnow—IscornedDespair. Myvagueaim,asIwent,wastofindthestone-basin,withitscleardepthandgreenlining:ofthatcoolnessandverdureIthought,withthepassionatethirstofunconsciousfever.Amidsttheglare,andhurry,andthrong,andnoise,Istillsecretlyandchieflylongedtocomeonthatcircularmirrorofcrystal,andsurprisethemoonglassingthereinherpearlyfront. Iknewmyroute,yetitseemedasifIwashinderedfrompursuingitdirect:nowasight,andnowasound,calledmeaside,luringmedownthisalleyanddownthat.AlreadyIsawthethick-plantedtreeswhichframedthistremulousandrippledglass,when,choiringoutofagladetotheright,brokesuchasoundasIthoughtmightbeheardifHeavenweretoopen—suchasound,perhaps,aswasheardabovetheplainofBethlehem,onthenightofgladtidings. Thesong,thesweetmusic,roseafar,butrushingswiftlyonfast-strengtheningpinions—theresweptthroughtheseshadessofullastormofharmoniesthat,hadnotreebeennearagainstwhichtolean,IthinkImusthavedropped.Voiceswerethere,itseemedtome,unnumberedinstrumentsvariedandcountless—bugle,horn,andtrumpetIknew.Theeffectwasasaseabreakingintosongwithallitswaves. Theswayingtidesweptthisway,andthenitfellback,andIfolloweditsretreat.ItledmetowardsaByzantinebuilding—asortofkiosknearthepark’scentre.Roundaboutstoodcrowdedthousands,gatheredtoagrandconcertintheopenair.WhatIhadheardwas,Ithink,awildJ?gerchorusthenight,thespace,thescene,andmyownmood,hadbutenhancedthesoundsandtheirimpression. Herewereassembledladies,lookingbythislightmostbeautiful:someoftheirdressesweregauzy,andsomehadthesheenofsatin,theflowersandtheblondtrembled,andtheveilswavedabouttheirdecoratedbonnets,asthathost-likechorus,withitsgreatly-gatheringsound,sunderedtheairabovethem.Mostoftheseladiesoccupiedthelittlelightpark-chairs,andbehindandbesidethemstoodguardiangentlemen.Theouterranksofthecrowdweremadeupofcitizens,plebeiansandpolice. InthisouterrankItookmyplace.Iratherlikedtofindmyselfthesilent,unknown,consequentlyunaccostedneighbouroftheshortpetticoatandthesabotandonlythedistantgazeratthesilkrobe,thevelvetmantle,andtheplumedchapeau.Amidstsomuchlifeandjoy,too,itsuitedmetobealone—quitealone.Havingneitherwishnorpowertoforcemywaythroughamasssoclose-packed,mystationwasonthefarthestconfines,where,indeed,Imighthear,butcouldseelittle. “Mademoiselleisnotwellplaced,”saidavoiceatmyelbow.Whodaredaccostme,abeinginamoodsolittlesocial?Iturned,rathertorepelthantoreply.Isawaman—aburgher—anentirestranger,asIdeemedhimforonemoment,butthenext,recognisedinhimacertaintradesman—abookseller,whoseshopfurnishedtheRueFossettewithitsbooksandstationeryamannotoriousinourpensionnatfortheexcessivebrittlenessofhistemper,andfrequentsnappishnessofhismanner,eventous,hisprincipalcustomers:butwhom,formysolitaryself,Ihadeverbeendisposedtolike,andhadalwaysfoundcivil,sometimeskindonce,inaidingmeaboutsometroublesomelittleexchangeofforeignmoney,hehaddonemeaservice.Hewasanintelligentmanunderhisasperity,hewasagood-heartedmanthethoughthadsometimescrossedme,thatapartofhisnatureboreaffinitytoapartofM.Emanuel’s(whomheknewwell,andwhomIhadoftenseensittingonMiret’scounter,turningoverthecurrentmonth’spublications)anditwasinthisaffinityIreadtheexplanationofthatconciliatoryfeelingwithwhichIinstinctivelyregardedhim. Strangetosay,thismanknewmeundermystraw-hatandclosely-foldedshawland,thoughIdeprecatedtheeffort,heinsistedonmakingawayformethroughthecrowd,andfindingmeabettersituation.Hecarriedhisdisinterestedcivilityfurtherand,fromsomequarter,procuredmeachair.Onceandagain,Ihavefoundthatthemostcross-grainedarebynomeanstheworstofmankindnorthehumblestinstation,theleastpolishedinfeeling.Thisman,inhiscourtesy,seemedtofindnothingstrangeinmybeingherealoneonlyareasonforextendingtome,asfarashecould,aretiring,yetefficientattention.Havingsecuredmeaplaceandaseat,hewithdrewwithoutaskingaquestion,withoutobtrudingaremark,withoutaddingasuperfluousword.NowonderthatProfessorEmanuellikedtotakehiscigarandhislounge,andtoreadhisfeuilletoninM.Miret’sshop—thetwomusthavesuited. Ihadnotbeenseatedfiveminutes,ereIbecameawarethatchanceandmyworthyburgherfriendh