CHAPTER III.
FOUR TO FOUR.
It is difficult to form an idea at the present day of what a pleasureparty of students and grisettes was four-and-forty years ago. Parishas no longer the same environs; the face of what may be termedcircum-Parisian life has completely changed during half a century;where there was the old-fashioned coach, there is a railway-carriage;where there was the fly-boat, there is now the steamer; people talk ofF?camp as people did in those days of St. Cloud. Paris of 1862 is acity which has France for its suburbs.
The four couples conscientiously accomplished all the rustic folliespossible at that day. It was a bright warm summer day; they rose atfive o'clock; then they went to St. Cloud in the stage-coach, lookedat the dry cascade, and exclaimed, "That must be grand when there iswater;" breakfasted at the T?te Noire, where Castaing had not yet putup, ran at the ring in the Quincunx of the great basin, ascended intothe Diogenes lantern, gambled for macaroons at the roulette boardby the S?vres bridge, culled posies at Puteaux, bought reed-pipesat Neuilly, ate apple tarts everywhere, and were perfectly happy.The girls prattled and chattered like escaped linnets; they werequite wild, and every now and then gave the young men little taps.Oh, youthful intoxication of life! adorable years! the wing of thedragon-fly rustles. Oh, whoever you may be, do you remember? have youever walked in the woods, removing the branches for the sake of thepretty head that comes behind you? have you laughingly stepped on adamp slope, with a beloved woman who holds your hand, and cries, "Oh,my boots, what a state they are in!" Let us say at once, that the merryannoyance of a shower was spared the happy party, although Favouritehad said on starting, with a magisterial and maternal air, "The slugsare walking about the paths; that is a sign of rain, children."
All four were pretty madcaps. A good old classic poet, then renowned,M. le Chevalier de Labouisse, a worthy man who had an El?anore,wandering that day under the chestnut-trees of St. Cloud, saw them passat about ten in the morning, and exclaimed, "There is one too many,"thinking of the Graces. Favourite, the girl who was three-and-twentyand the old one, ran in front under the large green branches, leapedover ditches, strode madly across bushes, and presided over the gayetywith the spirit of a young fawn. Z?phine and Dahlia, whom accidenthad created as a couple necessary to enhance each other's beauty bycontrast, did not separate, though more through a coquettish instinctthan through friendship, and leaning on one another, assumed Englishattitudes; the first "Keepsakes" had just come out, melancholy wasculminating for women, as Byronism did at a later date for men, and thehair of the tender sex was beginning to become dishevelled. Z?phine andDahlia had their hair in rolls. Listolier and Fameuil, who were engagedin a discussion about their professors, were explaining to Fantinethe difference there was between M. Delvincourt and M. Blondeau.Blachevelle seemed to have been created expressly to carry Favourite'sfaded shabby shawl on Sundays.
Tholomy?s came last; he was very gay, but there was somethingcommanding in his joviality; his principal ornament was nankeentrousers, cut in the shape of elephant's legs, with leathern straps; hehad a mighty rattan worth 200 francs in his hand, and, as he was quitereckless, a strange thing called a cigar in his mouth; nothing beingsacred to him, he smoked. "That Tholomy?s is astounding," the otherswere wont to say with veneration. "What trousers! what energy!"
As for Fantine she was the personification of joy. Her splendid teethhad evidently been made for laughter by nature. She carried in herhand, more willingly than on her head, her little straw bonnet, withits long streamers. Her thick, light hair, inclined to float, and whichhad to be done up continually, seemed made for the flight of Galateaunder the willows. Her rosy lips prattled enchantingly; the cornersof her mouth voluptuously raised, as in the antique masks of Erigone,seemed to encourage boldness; but her long eyelashes, full of shade,were discreetly lowered upon the seductiveness of the lower part ofthe face, as if to command respect. Her whole toilet had something ofsong and sunshine about it; she had on a dress of mauve bar?ge, littlebuskin slippers, whose strings formed an X on her fine, open-workedstockings, and that sort of muslin spencer, a Marseillais invention,whose name of canezou, a corrupted pronunciation of _quinze Ao?t_ atthe Cannebi?re, signifies fine weather and heat. The three others,who were less timid, as we said, bravely wore low-necked dresses,which in summer are very graceful and attractive, under bonnetscovered with flowers; but by the side of this bold dress, Fantine'scanezou, with its transparency, indiscretion, and reticences, at onceconcealing and displaying, seemed a provocative invention of decency;and the famous Court of Love, presided over by the Vicomtesse de Cettewith the sea-green eyes, would have probably bestowed the prize forcoquettishness on this canezou, which competed for that of chastity.The simplest things are frequently the cleverest.
Dazzling from a front view, delicate from a side view, with darkblue eyes, heavy eye-lids, arched and small feet, wrists and anklesadmirably set on, the white skin displaying here and there the azurearborescences of the veins, with a childish fresh cheek, the robustneck of the ?ginetan Juno shoulders, apparently modelled by Couston,and having in their centre a voluptuous dimple, visible through themuslin; a gayety tempered by reverie; a sculptural and exquisitebeing,--such was Fantine; you could trace beneath the ribbons andfinery a statue, and inside the statue a soul. Fantine was beautiful,without being exactly conscious of it. Those rare dreamers, themysterious priests of the beautiful, who silently confront everythingwith perfection, would have seen in this little work-girl the ancientsacred euphony, through the transparency of Parisian grace! This girlhad blood in her, and had those two descriptions of beauty which arethe style and the rhythm. The style is the form of the ideal; therhythm is its movement.
We have said that Fantine was joy itself; she was also modesty.Any one who watched her closely would have seen through all thisintoxication of youth, the season, and love, an invincible expressionof restraint and modesty. She remained slightly astonished, and thischaste astonishment distinguishes Psyche from Venus. Fantine had thelong white delicate fingers of the Vestal, who stirs up the sacred firewith a golden bodkin. Though she had refused nothing, as we shall soonsee, to Tholomy?s, her face, when in repose, was supremely virginal;a species of stern and almost austere dignity suddenly invaded itat certain hours, and nothing was so singular and affecting as tosee gayety so rapidly extinguished on it, and contemplation succeedcheerfulness without any transition. This sudden gravity, which was attimes sternly marked, resembled the disdain of a goddess. Her forehead,nose, and chin offered that equilibrium of outline which is verydistinct from the equilibrium of proportion, and produces the harmonyof the face; in the characteristic space between the base of the noseand the upper lip, she had that imperceptible and charming curve, thatmysterious sign of chastity, which made Barbarossa fall in love witha Diana found in the ruins of Iconium. Love is a fault; be it so; butFantine was innocence floating on the surface of the fault.