Aunt Jo's Scrap Bag. Louisa May Alcott

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СКАЧАТЬ waiting for the grand event, the girls amused themselves with Gaston, the brother of the bride-elect. He was a languid, good-looking youth of three-and-twenty, who assumed blasé airs and attitudinized for their benefit. Sometimes he was lost in fits of Byronic gloom, when he frowned over his coffee, sighed gustily, and clutched his brow, regardless of the curls, usually in ambrosial order. The damsels, instead of being impressed by this display of inward agony, only laughed at him, and soon rallied him out of his heroics. Then he would try another plan, and become all devotion, presenting green tulips, ancient coins, early fruit, or sketches of his own, so very small that the design was quite obscure. If these delicate attentions failed to touch the stony hearts of the blonde Americans, he would air his entire wardrobe, appearing before them one day in full Breton costume of white cloth, embroidered in gay silks, buckled shoes, and hat adorned with streaming ribbons and flowers. Quite Arcadian was Gaston in this attire; and very effective on the croquet ground, where sundry English families disported themselves on certain afternoons. Another time he would get himself up like a Parisian dandy bound for a ride in the Bois de Boulogne; and, mounting with much difficulty a rampant horse, he would caracole about the Place St. Louis, to the great delight of the natives.

      But this proved a failure; for one of the fair but cruel strangers donned hat and habit, and entirely eclipsed his glories by galloping about the country like an Amazon. The only time Gaston played escort she was nearly the death of him, for he seldom did more than amble a mile or two, and a hard trot of some six or eight miles reduced our Adonis to such a state of exhaustion that he fell into his mother's arms on dismounting, and was borne away to bed with much lamentation.

      After that he contented himself with coming to show himself in full dress whenever he went to a party; and, as that was nearly every other evening, they soon got accustomed to hearing a tap at their door, and beholding the comely youth in all the bravery of glossy broadcloth, a lavish shirt-bosom, miraculous tie, primrose gloves, varnished shoes, and curls and moustache anointed and perfumed in the most exquisite style. He would bow and say 'Bon soir,' then stand to be admired, with the artless satisfaction of a child; after which he would smile complacently, wave his crush hat, and depart with a flourish.

      Dear, dandified, vain Gaston! His great desire was to go to Paris, and when the war came he had his wish; but found sterner work to do than to dress and dance and languish at the feet of ladies. I hope it made a man of him, and fancy it did; for the French fight well and suffer bravely for the country they love in their melodramatic fashion.

      As the day approached for the advent of the bridegroom, great excitement prevailed in the quiet household. Madame C. and her handmaid, dear old Marie, cackled and bustled like a pair of important hens. Madame F., the widow, lived at the milliner's, so to speak, and had several dress rehearsals for her own satisfaction. Gaston mounted guard over his sister, lest some enamoured man should rend her from them ere her Jules could secure the prize. And Pelagie placidly ate and slept, kept her hair in crimping-pins from morning till night, wore out her old clothes, and whiled away the time munching bonbons and displaying her shawl.

      'Mercy on us! I should feel like a lamb being fattened for the sacrifice if I were in her place,' cried one of the freeborn American citizenesses, with an air of unmitigated scorn for French ways of conducting this interesting ceremony.

      'I should feel like a galley-slave,' said the other. 'For she can't go anywhere without Gaston or Mamma at her elbow. Only yesterday she went into a shop alone, while Gaston waited at the door. And when she told it at home as a great exploit all the ladies shrieked with horror at the idea, and Mamma said, wringing her hands: "Mon Dieu! but they will think thou art a married woman, for it is inconceivable that any girl should do so bold a thing." And Pelagie wept, and implored them not to tell Jules, lest he should discard her.'

      Here the Americans all groaned over the pathetic absurdity of the whole affair, and wondered with unrighteous glee what the decorous ladies below would say to some of their pranks at home. But, fearing that M. le Président might feel it his duty to eject them from the town as dangerous persons, they shrouded their past sins in the most discreet silence, and assumed their primmest demeanour in public.

      'He has come! Look quick, girls!' cried Lavinia, as a carriage stopped at the door, and a rushing sound, as of many agitated skirts, was heard in the hall. Three heads peeped from the window of the blue parlour, and three pairs of curious eyes were rewarded by a sight of the bridegroom, as he alighted.

      Such a little man! Such a fierce moustache! Such a dignified strut! And such an imposing uniform as he wore! For Jules Gustave Adolphe Marie Clomadoc was a colonel in some regiment stationed at Boulogne. Out he skipped; in he marched; and, peeping over the banisters, they saw him salute Madame F. with a stately kiss on the hand, then escort her up to her salon, bowing loftily, and twisting his tawny moustache with an air that gave him the effect of being six feet in height, and broad in proportion.

      How he greeted his fiancée they knew not, but the murmur of voices came from the room in steady flow for hours, and Gaston flew in and out with an air of immense importance.

      At dinner the strangers were proudly presented to M. le Colonel, and received affable bows from the little man, who flattered himself that he could talk English, and insisted on speaking an unknown tongue, evidently wondering at their stupidity in not understanding their own language.

      He escorted Madame down, sat between her and Pelagie, but talked only to her; while the girl sat silent and ate her dinner with an appetite which no emotion could diminish. It was very funny to see the small warrior do his wooing of the daughter through the mother; and the buxom widow played her part so well that an unenlightened observer would have said she was the bride-elect. She smiled, she sighed, she discoursed, she coquetted, and now and then plucked out her handkerchief and wept at the thought of losing the angel, who was placidly gnawing bones and wiping up the gravy on her plate with bits of bread.

      Jules responded with spirit, talked, jested, quoted poetry, paid compliments right and left, and now and then passed the salt, filled a glass, or offered a napkin to his fiancée with a French shrug and a tender glance.

      After dinner Madame F. begged him to recite one of his poems; for it appeared this all-accomplished man was beloved of the muse, and twanged the lyre as well as wielded the sword. With much persuasion and many modest apologies, Jules at length consented, took his place upon the rug, thrust one hand into his bosom, turned up his eyes, and, in a tremendous voice, declaimed a pensive poem of some twenty stanzas, called 'Adieu to my past.'

      The poet's friends listened with rapt countenances and frequent bursts of emotion or applause; but the Americans suffered agonies, for the whole thing was so absurdly melodramatic that it was with great difficulty they kept themselves from explosions of laughter. When the little man dropped his voice to a hoarse whisper, in bidding adieu to the lost loves of his youth, tender-hearted old C. sobbed in her napkin; while Livy only saved herself from hysterics by drinking a glass of water, and Pelagie ate sugar, with her round eyes fixed on her lover's face, without the slightest expression whatever.

      When the poet mourned his blighted hopes, and asked wildly of all the elements if he should live or die, Gaston cast reproachful glances at the alien charmer who had nipped his passion in the bud; and when Jules gave a sudden start, slapped his brow, and declared that he would live for his country, old Marie choked in her coffee, while Madame F. clapped her fat hands, and cried: 'It is sublime!'

      The poem closed there, and the providential appearance of their donkeys gave the ladies an excuse for retiring to their room, where they laughed till they could laugh no more.

      Each meal was as good as a play, and every glimpse they had of the little pair gave fresh food for mirth. Everything was so formal and polite, so utterly unlike the free-and-easy customs of their native СКАЧАТЬ