SEVENTH.
There was a grand ball yesterday. Paul presented there a young creole from Venezuela in America; the young man has as yet seen nothing; he has just left ship at Bordeaux, whence he comes here; a very fine fellow, however, of a fine, olive complexion; great hunter, and better fitted for frequenting mountains than drawing-rooms. He comes to France to form himself, as they say; Paul pretends that it is to be deformed.
We have taken our place in a corner; and the young man has asked Paul to define to him a ball.
“A great funereal and penitential ceremony.”
“Pshaw!”
“No doubt of it, and the custom goes back a long way.”
“Indeed?”
“Back to Henry III. who instituted assemblies of flagellants. The men of the court bared their backs, and met together to lash one another over the shoulders. Nowadays there is no longer any whipping, but the sadness is the same. All the men who are here come to expiate great sins or have just lost their relations.” "That is the reason why they are dressed in black.”
“Precisely.”
“But the ladies are in magnificent dresses.”
“They mortify themselves only the better for that. Each one has hung around the loins a sort of haircloth, that horrible load of petticoats which hurts them and finally makes them ill. This is after the example of the saints, the better to work out salvation.”
“But all the men are smiling.”
“That is the finest thing about it; cramped as they are, shut up in their winding-sheet of black cloth. They impose restraint on themselves, and give proof of virtue. Go forward six steps, you will see.”
The young man advanced; not yet used to the movements of a drawing-room, he stepped on the feet of a dancer and smashed the hat of a melancholy gentleman. He returned, covered with confusion, to hide himself beside us.
“What did your two poor devils say to you?”
“I don’t at all understand. The first, after an involuntary wry face, looked at me amiably. The other put his hat under his other arm and bowed.”
“Humility, resignation, a wish to suffer in order to enhance their merits. Under Henry III. they thanked him who had strapped them the best. I will make a musician talk; listen. Monsieur Steuben, what quadrille are you playing there?”
“L’Enfer, a fantastic quadrille. It is the legend of a young girl carried off alive in the clutches of the devil.”
“It is, indeed?”
“Very expressive. The finale expresses her cries of grief and the howling of the demons. The young girl makes the air, the demons the bass.
“And you play after that?”
“Some contra-dances on di tanti palpiti.”
“Won’t you please give me the idea of that air.”
“It is at the return of Tancred. The point is to paint the most touching sadness.”
“Excellent choice. And no mazurkas, no waltzes?”
“Presently; here is a great book of Chopin, he is our favorite. What a master! What fever! what cries, sorrowful, uncertain, broken! All these mazurkas make one want to weep.
“That is why they are danced; you see, my dear child, only afflicted people could select such music. By the way, how do they dance in your country?”
“With us? we jump and stir about, we laugh out, shout, perhaps.”
“What comical folks! and why?”
“Because they are happy and want to stir their limbs."
“Here, four steps forward, as many back, a turn cramped by the conflict of neighboring dresses, two or three geometric inclinations. The cotton-spinners in the prison at Poissy make precisely the same motions.”
“But these people talk.”
“Go forward and listen; there is nothing inconsiderate about it, I assure you.”
He returns after a minute.
“What did the man say?”
“The gentleman came up briskly, smiled delicately, and, with a gesture as of a happy discoverer, he remarked that it was warm.”
“And the lady?”
“The lady’s eyes flashed. With an enchanting smile of approval, she answered that it was indeed.”
“Judge what constraint they must have imposed on themselves. The gentleman is thirty years old; for twelve years he has known his phrase; the lady is twenty-two, she has known hers for seven years. Each has made and heard the question and answer three or four thousand times, and yet they appear to be interested, surprised. What empire over self! What force of nature! You see clearly that these French who are called light are stoics on occasion.”
“My eyes smart, my feet are swollen, I have been swallowing dust; it is one o’clock in the morning, the air smells bad, I should like to go. Will they remain much longer?”
“Until five o’clock in the morning.”