CONTENTS
[I, ] [II, ] [III, ] [IV, ] [V, ] [VI, ] [VII, ] [VIII, ] [IX, ] [X, ] [XI, ] [XII, ] [XIII, ] [XIV, ] [XV, ] [XVI, ] [XVII, ] [XVIII, ] [XIX, ] [XX, ] [XXI, ] [XXII, ] [XXIII, ] [XXIV, ] [XXV, ] [XXVI, ] [XXVII, ] [XXVIII, ] [XXIX, ] [XXX, ] [XXXI, ] [XXXII, ] [XXXIII, ] [XXXIV, ] [XXXV, ] [XXXVI, ] [XXXVII, ] [XXXVIII]
I
A WEDDING PARTY AT THE CADRAN-BLEU.—THE MURVILLE FAMILY
It is midnight; whence come these joyful shouts, these bursts of laughter, these outcries, this music, this singing, this uproar? Pause a moment on the boulevard, in front of the Cadran-Bleu; follow the example of those folk who look on at all the wedding parties, all the banquets, which take place at the restaurants on Boulevard du Temple, by walking in front of the windows, or in the roadway, and who enjoy comfortably the spectacle of a ladies’ chain, a waltz, or a chocolate cream,—at the risk, however, of being jostled by passers-by, splashed by carriages and insulted by drivers. But at midnight the idlers, the loiterers, or the loungers—whichever you may choose to call them—have returned home; nothing remains in front of the door of the Cadran-Bleu except cabs or private carriages, according as the guests choose to assume an air of greater or less importance; but that is the hour at which the tableau becomes more interesting, more varied, more animated; for not until then do the guests begin to become really acquainted.
But, you will ask me, what is the occasion of this assemblage at the Cadran-Bleu? Is it a birthday party, an anniversary, or a banquet of some society? Better than any of these; it is a wedding party.
A wedding party! What a world of reflections those words arouse! To how many thoughts, hopes, and memories they give rise! How fast they make the young girl’s heart beat, who sighs for the moment to come when she will be the heroine of that great day, when she will carry that pretty white bouquet, that wreath of orange blossoms, the symbols of modesty and of maidenhood, which have unhappily lied to more than one husband who has never boasted about it, and for a good reason! But how the thought of that ceremony saddens the young wife, but a few years married, who already has ceased to know happiness except in her memory! She trembles for the lot of the poor child who is pledging herself! She remembers the day of her own wedding, the ardor and zealous attentions of her husband; she compares that day with those that have followed, and realizes how much confidence can be placed in the vows of man.
But let us leave such reflections. Let us enter the Cadran-Bleu, and make the acquaintance of the principal persons at this function, whom, probably, we shall have occasion to see more than once in the course of this narrative, unless it happens that this chapter has no connection with the plot, which is quite possible; we read many chapters of that sort.
Edouard Murville was twenty-five years of age; he was of medium stature but well-proportioned; his face was attractive, his voice soft, his manners distinguished. He had all the social talents, played moderately well on the violin, sang with expression, and danced gracefully; his language was well-chosen, he was accustomed to society, and he knew how to enter and leave a salon, which, be it said in passing, is not so easy as one might think. What! I hear my readers say, does this fellow suppose that we do not know how to walk, to enter a room, and to bow gracefully? God forbid that I should express such a judgment upon the nation which dances best! But there are degrees in everything, and it is upon those degrees that I base my judgment. A very clever, but slightly sarcastic woman, beside whom I was sitting not long ago, in the salon of a banker, favored me with some of her observations, which in general are very just.