Lippincotts Magazine, January 1875 | Page 8

Many a smoking-match had they had in my garden at Marly.
But Hohenfels this morning was in robes of state, with shoes that shone
even beside old Father Joliet's, and as a concession to elegance he had
abandoned his cavernous pipes in favor of cigarettes. A scroll of this
description, flavored with his Cologne pastille and very badly rolled,
was trying to exhale itself between his lips.
"What a genius for conversation you have to-day, my Flemming! This
hour I have rocked back and forth in bed, trying to understand your
observations or to cover my ears and go to rest. Your tongue has been
like the tongue of a monastery-bell summoning all hands to penance."
But I had hardly spoken ten consecutive words. The ears of the baron
were this morning quite muffled, I think, with the abundance of his hair,
which he had evidently been dressing with an avalanche of soap and
water, for the topknot was as harsh and tight as a felt. He had
lemon-blossoms on his lappel and lemon kids on his fists.
It was then I remembered that my bags were all in the steamer, where I
had left them when surprised by Charles's indisposition. My tin box

would possibly yield me a button-nosegay, but otherwise I might beat
my breast, like the wedding-guest in the _Ancient Mariner_, for I heard
the summons and was unable to attend in right attire. "We two must
take you out in the street and dress you," said Hohenfels.
Although I had never been dressed in the street, I yielded. It was a
grand public holiday, and the sounds of festivity, which had floated
into my chamber with the entrance of Hohenfels, were in full cadence
outside. Everybody was pouring out to the city-gate, or returning from
thence, where, in honor of some visit from the king of the Belgians and
count and countess of Flanders, a festival was going on in imitation or
rehearsal of the grand annual kermesse. These festivals, retained in
Belgium with a delightful fidelity to the customs of antique Brabant,
would fit the brush of Teniers better than the pen of a mere bewildered
tourist. Still, I will try, copying principally from the reports of Charles
(who contrives to peep at everything, with an interest whose amount is
in ratio with the square of his distance from his master), to give a few
features of the scene, which he spread in detail before the attentive
Josephine during many an evening after.
[Illustration: COALS vs. COATS]
The principal fair-ground--though the occasion crammed the whole city
with revelers--was just outside the gate. It was a veritable town in
miniature, with a pattern of checker-board streets--Columbine street,
Polichinelle street, Avenue des Parades, Place des Parades, Street of the
Chanson, and the like. There were more than five hundred booths, all
numbered--shops and restaurants. There were the Salon Curtius, the
Ménagerie Bidel, the Bal Mabille, the Café Bataclan, the American
Tavern. From one of the little costumers' shops, Charles--with a higher
evincement of antiquarian taste than I should have expected--managed
to bear away a pattern of wall-paper, which I afterward conferred on
Mary Ashburleigh with great applause: it was Parisian of 1824, the
epoch of Charles Dix, and was entirely covered with giraffes in honor
of that puissant and elegant monarch. The above establishments were
near the entrance, to the right.
At the left were more attractions: another menagerie, a heap of
ostensible gold representing the five milliards paid by France, a gallery
of astonished wax soldiers representing the Franco-Prussian war, a
cook-shop with "mythologic" confectionery. Farther on, in the Théâtre

Casti, was exposed the "renowned buffoon Peppino," breveted by His
Majesty the "king of Egypt;" then came the Chiarini Theatre; then the
Théâtre Adrien Delille, an enchantingly pretty structure, where
receptions were given by a little creature who should have sat under a
microscope: she was "the Princess Felicia, aged thirteen, born at Clotat,
near Marseilles, weighing three kilogrammes and measuring forty-six
centimètres--a ravishing figure, admirably proportioned in her littleness
and _tout à fait sympathique!"_
The announcements were heard, it was thought by Charles, to the very
centre of the city. A low-browed animal with rasped hair was shouting,
"Messieurs and ladies, come and see--come and see the theatre of the
galleys! The only one in the world! This is the place to view the real
instruments of torture used on the prisoners---chains four yards long
and balls of thirty-five pounds. All authentic, gentlemen and ladies.
You will see the poisoners of Marseilles, Grosjon who killed his father,
Madame Cottin who ate her baby. Come in, come in, gentlemen and
ladies! Fifteen centimes! 'Tis given away! You enter and go out when
you like. Come in! It is educational: you see vice and crime depicted on
the faces