But the thoroughly good liver goes to none of these. He knows the places, there in the Palais-Royal, where cooking has been reduced to a science; where the finest cooks in Paris bend their best energies to the concoction of dishes that Epicurus himself would have delighted in; where fine pictures and elegant surroundings appeal to the sense of sight, while the sense of taste is being catered to. He hies himself there and revels in the delights of a perfect dinner.
As the Parisian, man, woman, or child, will never sit indoors when the open air is possible, the Palais is always full. As a park it is delightful; the shops are just as attractive to the citizen as to the stranger, for the windows change contents every day, and the variety is such that something new and attractive can be seen at any time. It is a small world by itself, and it is no wonder that every American finds him or herself within it every day.
It is always a good thing to get hold of a good modern legend, a story that, while it may not be as gray-headed as those of the time of the gods and goddesses the ancients wrote of, has still attained a respectable age—a middle-aged legend, as it were. Such an one I have unearthed, and write it down for the benefit of coming generations.
It was during the terrible days of the Commune, Mademoiselle Therese, a beauty of the Faubourg St. Antoine, was loved by a Monsieur Adolph, the son of a rich baker in that quarter. That is to say, the baker was rich—but I am anticipating. Mademoiselle was a dressmaker of ravishing beauty. She could have married far above her condition on account of this ravishing beauty, but she was as wise as she was beautiful. She said to herself, “I could marry, by virtue of my face and figure, a grand gentleman, but—what then? I am not accomplished. I could learn to be a fine lady, it is true; but when Monsieur should tire of me, as he inevitably would, I should lead a very uncomfortable life. I am a daughter of France—I do not wish to lead an uncomfortable life. Adolph is not handsome; he is only five feet four; he has bandy legs; his hair is bad, and his nose is a pug; but his papa has much ducats, and he is so much in love with me that he will take me without a dot, and on his papa’s money we shall do business. I shall manage the business, we will make much more money, and found a family of our own, of which I shall be the head! Who knows? My sons will be gentlemen, and my daughters shall marry into the best families. Clearly, I shall marry Adolph.”
She had one other suitor whom she favored somewhat, because he was a handsome fellow of some aristocratic connections, but he lacked the money of Adolph’s father, being the heir of an impoverished house that had barely enough to live on in a sort of scrimped gentility. He was the son of a widow whose husband died with nothing, leaving her with just what she inherited from her own family, which was little enough, the Lord knows.
In some speculations at this time, Adolph’s father, to use the language of the ancients, went up the spout. He lost every sou he had and in his chagrin laid down and died, which precluded the possibility of his acquiring another fortune.
Mademoiselle Therese found herself in this predicament:—
She was solemnly engaged to Adolph.
Adolph was bandy-legged, five feet four inches in height, with a pug nose and sandy hair.
Adolph possessed the additional drawback of not having a sou to bless himself or herself with.