CHAPTER V
BY THE SINGING FOUNTAINS
Paris rises very late indeed on New Year's Day. The night before isgiven up to family reunions, supper parties and every kind ofjollification. So the year begins with a much needed rest. The glitterand racket of the streets gives place to a death-like stillness. Shopsare shut and the cafes are empty. Paris sleeps. There is an exception tothis rule: Certain unfortunate individuals are obliged to rise atday-break, don their best clothes, their uniforms and make their way tothe four corners of the town to pay ceremonial calls.
These are the Government officials representing the army, themagistracy, the parliament, the municipality--all must pay theirrespects to their chiefs. For this hardship they receive littlesympathy, as it is generally understood that while they have to workhard on New Year's Day, they do nothing for the rest of the year.
The somnolence of Paris, however, only extends until noon. At that hourlife begins again. It is luncheon time.
This New Year's Day differed in no wise from others, and during theafternoon the streets were thronged with people.
A pale sun showed in the gray winter sky and the crowd seemed to beconverging toward the Place de la Concorde. Suddenly the blare of abrass band on the Rue Royale brought curious heads to the windows.
A procession headed by a vari-colored banner was marching toward thebanks of the Seine. The participants wore a mauve uniform with goldtrimmings and upon the banner was inscribed in huge letters:
LA CAPITALE
THE GREAT EVENING PAPER
With some difficulty the musicians reached the Obelisk and at the footof the monument they formed a circle, while at a distance the crowdawaited developments.
In the front rank two young women were standing.
One of them seemed to be greatly amused at the gratuitous entertainment,the other appeared preoccupied and depressed.
"Come, Marie Pascal, don't be so absent-minded. You look as if you wereat a funeral."
The other, a workgirl, tried to smile and gave a deep sigh.
"I'm sorry, Mademoiselle Rose, to be out of sorts, but I feel veryupset."
Two police officers tried to force their way to the musicians and aftersome difficulty they succeeded in arresting the flute and the tromboneplayers.
This act of brutality occasioned some commotion and the crowd began tomurmur.
The employes of _La Capitale_ now brought up several handcarts andimprovised a sort of platform. Gentlemen in frock coats then appeared onthe scene and gathered round it. One or two were recognized and pointedout by the crowd.
"There's M. Dupont, the deputy and director of _La Capitale_."
A red-faced young man with turned up moustaches was pronounced to be M.de Panteloup, the general manager of the paper.
As a matter of fact, those who read _La Capitale_ had been advisedthrough its columns that an attempt would be made to solve the mysteryof the Singing Fountains, which had intrigued Paris for so many weeks. Asmall army of newsboys offered the paper for sale during the ceremony.Marie Pascal bought a copy and read it eagerly.
"They haven't a word about the affair yet," she cried.
At that moment the powerful voice of M. de Panteloup was heard:
"You are now going to hear an interesting speech by the celebratedarchivist and paleographer, M. Anastasius Baringouin, who, better thananyone else, can explain to you the strange enigma of the SingingFountains."
An immense shout of laughter greeted the orator as he mounted the stepsto the stage. He was an old man, very wrinkled and shaky, wearing a highhat much too large for his head. He was vainly trying to settle hisglasses upon a very red nose. In a thin, sharp voice, he began:
"The phenomenon of the Singing Fountains is not, as might be supposed,wholly unexpected. Similar occurrences have already been noted and dateback to remote antiquity. Formerly a stone statue was erected in theoutskirts of the town of Thebes to the memory of Memnon. When the beamsof the rising sun struck it, harmonious sounds were heard to issue fromit. At first this peculiarity was attributed to some form of trickery, asecret spring or a hidden keyboard. But upon further research, it wasdemonstrated that the sounds arose from purely physical and naturalcauses."
The crowd which hitherto had listened in silence to the orator now beganto show signs of impatience.
"What the dickens is he gassing about?" shouted some one in the street.
As the savant paid no attention to these signs the band struck up amilitary march. Finally when order was re-established M. Pantelouphimself mounted the platform.
"This fountain, ladies and gentlemen," he began in a powerful voice,"was built in 1836 at a cost of a million and a half francs. In thetwenty-four hours its output is 6,716 cubic yards of water. It iscomposed, as you can see, of a basin of polished stone, decorated by sixtritons and nereids, each holding a fish in its mouth from which thewater flows out. Thus far there is nothing unusual and it is thereforewith justifiable surprise that we discover the fact that at certainmoments these fountains actually sing. Are we in the presence of aphenomenon similar to that recalled just now by M. AnastasiusBaringouin? Are we, at the beginning of the twentieth century--thecentury of Science and Precision--victims of hallucination or sorcery?This, ladies and gentlemen, is what we are about to investigate, and wewill begin by consulting the celebrated clairvoyant, Madame Gabrielle deSmyrne."
A murmur of approbation greeted the pretty prophetess as she appeared,but at the same moment a police officer followed by fifteen men pushedhis way to the foot of the platform and ordered M. Panteloup to ceaseattracting a crowd. The latter, however, was equal to the occasion.After lifting his hand for silence he shouted the famous cry:
"We are here by the will of the people, we shall not go away except byforce."
The crowd cheered, and with the voices mingled the barking of dogs.
"Ladies and gentlemen," continued M. Panteloup, "you hear the wonderfulpolice dogs of Neuilly, Turk and Bellone. They are coming to help us toscent out the mystery."
This was to be the termination of the ceremony, but an unlooked foraddition to the program appeared in the person of one of those Parisian"Natural Men" or "Primitive Men."
He was a very old, long-bearded man and wore a white robe. He went bythe name of Ouaouaoua, and his portrait had been published in all citypapers. A hush came over the crowd and then in the silence a vaguemetallic murmur was heard above the splash of the water.
This time there was no mistake. The Fountains were singing.
Thousands of witnesses were present and could testify to that fact.
The crowd at once associated the arrival of Ouaouaoua with the musicfrom the Fountains, and he was acclaimed the hero of the occasion.
M. de Panteloup, seized with a happy inspiration, shook hands withOuaouaoua and pinned on his white robe the gold medal of _La Capitale_.
Proceedings were, however, summarily brought to a stop at this point.The prefect of the police drove up and his men scattered the crowd inall directions.
Ten minutes after the Place de la Concorde had assumed its usual aspectand the tritons and nereids continued to pour out their 6,716 cubicyards of water every twenty-four hours.