During this time, the farewell ceremony was taking place. I have

already said that this magnificent function was being given on the

occasion of the retirement of M. Debienne and M. Poligny, who had

determined to "die game," as we say nowadays. They had been assisted

in the realization of their ideal, though melancholy, program by all

that counted in the social and artistic world of Paris. All these

people met, after the performance, in the foyer of the ballet, where

Sorelli waited for the arrival of the retiring managers with a glass of

champagne in her hand and a little prepared speech at the tip of her

tongue. Behind her, the members of the Corps de Ballet, young and old,

discussed the events of the day in whispers or exchanged discreet

signals with their friends, a noisy crowd of whom surrounded the

supper-tables arranged along the slanting floor.

A few of the dancers had already changed into ordinary dress; but most

of them wore their skirts of gossamer gauze; and all had thought it the

right thing to put on a special face for the occasion: all, that is,

except little Jammes, whose fifteen summers--happy age!--seemed already

to have forgotten the ghost and the death of Joseph Buquet. She never

ceased to laugh and chatter, to hop about and play practical jokes,

until Mm. Debienne and Poligny appeared on the steps of the foyer, when

she was severely called to order by the impatient Sorelli.

Everybody remarked that the retiring managers looked cheerful, as is

the Paris way. None will ever be a true Parisian who has not learned

to wear a mask of gaiety over his sorrows and one of sadness, boredom

or indifference over his inward joy. You know that one of your friends

is in trouble; do not try to console him: he will tell you that he is

already comforted; but, should he have met with good fortune, be

careful how you congratulate him: he thinks it so natural that he is

surprised that you should speak of it. In Paris, our lives are one

masked ball; and the foyer of the ballet is the last place in which two

men so "knowing" as M. Debienne and M. Poligny would have made the

mistake of betraying their grief, however genuine it might be. And

they were already smiling rather too broadly upon Sorelli, who had

begun to recite her speech, when an exclamation from that little madcap

of a Jammes broke the smile of the managers so brutally that the

expression of distress and dismay that lay beneath it became apparent

to all eyes: "The Opera ghost!"

Jammes yelled these words in a tone of unspeakable terror; and her

finger pointed, among the crowd of dandies, to a face so pallid, so

lugubrious and so ugly, with two such deep black cavities under the

straddling eyebrows, that the death's head in question immediately

scored a huge success.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024