 | Poems |  |
IN PARIS.
'Tis a neat little garret au sixième; cares
Don't trouble themselves to mount so many stairs.
Don't trouble themselves to mount so many stairs.
So it's said by Béranger and others in song;
Well, sometimes they're right perhaps, but sometimes they're wrong.
Well, sometimes they're right perhaps, but sometimes they're wrong.
120
O quite of the people are sorrow and sin;
As soon as to palaces, here they'll come in.
As soon as to palaces, here they'll come in.
St. Antoine's as dear to them—ay, just as dear
As the gilded saloons of the Tuileries near.
As the gilded saloons of the Tuileries near.
In fact, though they home with the Emperor I grant,
They just as soon hobnob with misery and want.
They just as soon hobnob with misery and want.
Here now, perhaps, to this still little home,
With its bed in the corner, they've recently come.
With its bed in the corner, they've recently come.
Though you'd doubt it, to look at the two figures there,
Who motionless sit with a strange vacant air.
Who motionless sit with a strange vacant air.
Hand in hand, two quaint maskers, a girl and boy, young,
Too tired to undress, there themselves they have flung.
Too tired to undress, there themselves they have flung.
As they danced from to-night's ball, and yelled through the street,
Quainter masks in our Paris you'd not often meet.
Quainter masks in our Paris you'd not often meet.
He, a skeleton—she—here all whims are allowed—
The semblance of death, in her straight-flowing shroud.
The semblance of death, in her straight-flowing shroud.
How still there and ghastly they sit, and how deep
And terrible, one scarce knows why, is their sleep!
And terrible, one scarce knows why, is their sleep!
There they sit gay and blank-eyed, and never they move;
Ah! if not mere slumber, but death it should prove!
Ah! if not mere slumber, but death it should prove!
How merrily through the mad dances they'd flown,
As if they but lived for wild frolic alone!
As if they but lived for wild frolic alone!
But as they out-did even the wildest, they knew
'Twas the last masked ball that their eyes would view.
'Twas the last masked ball that their eyes would view.
He was a student—a milliner she;
Three years or so since they met in a spree.
Three years or so since they met in a spree.
You know well our Paris—our quartier well;
A student yourself once, its ways need I tell?
A student yourself once, its ways need I tell?
They struck up a friendship forthwith—Celestine
And Auguste—and at night never separate were seen.
And Auguste—and at night never separate were seen.
121
When his lectures were finished—her day's work was done,
Their day then began, with the moon for their sun.
Their day then began, with the moon for their sun.
Then for living,—they didn't hold living the rest;
Then only they lived when together and blessed.
Then only they lived when together and blessed.
And a student and grisette, you know, knowing such,
To make them supremely blest never need much.
To make them supremely blest never need much.
A few francs for a dinner and vin ordinaire,
Then for pleasure and mad frolic just anywhere.
Then for pleasure and mad frolic just anywhere.
A roam round the Boulevards, quays, or lit streets,
Where surely the eye something wonderful meets.
Where surely the eye something wonderful meets.
As a conjuror's marvels with cup and brass ball,
Or five piled-up tumblers—a child high on all.
Or five piled-up tumblers—a child high on all.
Even the streets are amusing—the crowds and the fops,
The faces—the dresses—the cafés—the shops.
The faces—the dresses—the cafés—the shops.
Or, if on the quays, you stay, once and again,
To see the moon silver Notre Dame and the Seine.
To see the moon silver Notre Dame and the Seine.
Then the Champs Elysées are Elysian with lights,
And buzzing with chatter and heavenly with sights.
And buzzing with chatter and heavenly with sights.
And the Cafés Chantant with light jest and laugh ring,
Except when the talkers are hushed while they sing.
Except when the talkers are hushed while they sing.
Then the play—the Porte Martin—the Opera Comique,
These, when francs can be found for them, often they seek.
These, when francs can be found for them, often they seek.
But the dances—the balls at the Château Mabille!
Always there—there the full rush of young life they feel.
Always there—there the full rush of young life they feel.
Never dull there or weary—at care there they scoff;
If they know him elsewhere, here he's waltz'd or polk'd off.
If they know him elsewhere, here he's waltz'd or polk'd off.
But the Carnival—heaven of all heavens! we ask
Why joy should be trebly joy under a mask?
Why joy should be trebly joy under a mask?
And can't tell; but that 'tis so no one can deny,
If seeming saints do so—we know that they lie.
If seeming saints do so—we know that they lie.
122
Auguste loved it dearly—so did Celestine—
They loved it—the holiday crowds—the whole scene.
They loved it—the holiday crowds—the whole scene.
The time seemed to banish all sadness from earth,
For then all was madness—one wild whirl of mirth.
For then all was madness—one wild whirl of mirth.
Day and night, while it lasted, forgotten was all
But masking and spending—the street and the ball.
But masking and spending—the street and the ball.
So three summers have flitted—three winters have flown,
And at last they must part if she's not all his own.
And at last they must part if she's not all his own.
Yes—yes—the time's come when from Paris and life,
He must part for Bordeaux and a practice and wife.
He must part for Bordeaux and a practice and wife.
So his parents have written; their letter the two
Have read—soaked with tears—read again through and through.
Have read—soaked with tears—read again through and through.
No—nothing shall part them; they swear it; they part!
What were life if they couldn't live still heart to heart?
What were life if they couldn't live still heart to heart?
Here—here in the height of the Carnival too!
O how dear that she is, that his parents but knew!
O how dear that she is, that his parents but knew!
But they've laughed off his love when he's written of her;
To his prayers—his beseechings, all heartless they were.
To his prayers—his beseechings, all heartless they were.
On Wednesday—next Wednesday, his father will come;
On Thursday—next Thursday, he goes to his home.
On Thursday—next Thursday, he goes to his home.
Tuesday night is the grand Opera ball; come what will,
That last night they'll have of old pleasure their fill.
That last night they'll have of old pleasure their fill.
Then, after? why after be troubled with breath?
If they'll part them in life, they can't part them in death.
If they'll part them in life, they can't part them in death.
So the charcoal in plenty is bought; in the room
Every crevice is stopped, and they dress in their tomb.
Every crevice is stopped, and they dress in their tomb.
For the Ball—for the Ball; let their masking be drear,
Wild and strange as the future, so dark and so near.
Wild and strange as the future, so dark and so near.
As they waltz through the streets—as they whirl through the crush,
Let the passers breathe death—let the awed dancers hush.
Let the passers breathe death—let the awed dancers hush.
123
Let the flower-beds of masks in the ball-room's whirl feel,
As the doomed meet their eyes, a strange thrill through them steal.
As the doomed meet their eyes, a strange thrill through them steal.
An air of chill grave-yards—of dim coffined rooms,
That the rainbowed scene darkens and dulls in its glooms.
That the rainbowed scene darkens and dulls in its glooms.
So, wild drunken thought in each half-frenzied head,
They whirl through the living, dread shapes of the dead!
They whirl through the living, dread shapes of the dead!
'Twas the sight of the ball-room—the talk of the night,
Their ghastly array and their frenzied delight.
Their ghastly array and their frenzied delight.
With strange joy they seemed mad—with some devil's drink drunk;
From their yells—from their laughs, dreader still, the worst shrunk.
From their yells—from their laughs, dreader still, the worst shrunk.
Night brightened to morning; mask after mask past
From the frolic, but there were those two till the last.
From the frolic, but there were those two till the last.
Then they left; sought their garret; the charcoal was lit;
Hand in hand they grew hushed soon, and there, see! they sit.
Hand in hand they grew hushed soon, and there, see! they sit.
When his father to-morrow (he has their address)
Comes here, what his first thought will be, can you guess?
Comes here, what his first thought will be, can you guess?
Perhaps that still girl for a wife would have done!
Perhaps she had better have gladdened that son!
Perhaps she had better have gladdened that son!
It's too late now to alter it—but, perhaps, it seems
Those two silent masks will be ugly dread dreams:
Those two silent masks will be ugly dread dreams:
That those ghastly gay ones it won't do to think of—
That his cup will be one that he'd rather not drink of.
That his cup will be one that he'd rather not drink of.
But the past is the past; he must manage as well
As he can with such sights, though they seem sent from hell.
As he can with such sights, though they seem sent from hell.
And some fathers I know would perhaps lose their wits,
To see a son sitting as that son now sits.
To see a son sitting as that son now sits.
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