two weeks after the visit to fontainebleau came the crisis—for fifi was as surely tending toward a crisis as water flows downward and sparks fly upward. madame bourcet, armed with the holy father’s approval, represented to fifi the necessity for her marrying louis bourcet. fifi listened silently. then, madame bourcet, eagerly taking silence for consent, said that louis would that very evening accept formally of fifi’s hand. to this also fifi made no reply, and madame bourcet left the room fully persuaded that fifi was reveling in rapture at the thought of acquiring an epitome of all the virtues in louis bourcet.
it was during the morning, and in the snuff-colored drawing-room, that the communication was made. fifi felt a great wave of doubt and anxiety swelling up in her heart. for the first time she was brought face to face with the marriage problem, and it frightened her by its immensity. [pg 114]if only cartouche were there—some one to whom she could pour out her trembling, agitated heart! but cartouche was not there, nor would he come. and suddenly, for the first time, something of the fierceness of maidenhood overwhelmed fifi—a feeling that cartouche should, after all, seek her—that, if he loved her, as she knew he did above everything on earth, he should speak and not shame her by his silence.
then, the conviction that cartouche preferred her good to his, that he thought she would be happier married to another and a different man, and held himself honestly unworthy to marry her, brought a flood of tenderness to her heart. she had seen cartouche turn red and pale when she kissed him, and avoid her innocent familiarities, and she knew well enough what it meant. but if he would not come, nor speak, nor write,—and everybody, even the holy father, was urging her to marry louis bourcet; and a great, strong chain of circumstances was dragging her toward the same end—oh, what a day of emotions it was to fifi!
she knew not how it passed, nor what she said or did, nor what she ate and drank; she only [pg 115]waited, as if for the footfall of fate, for the hour when louis bourcet would arrive. he came at eight, punctual to the minute. punctuality, like every other virtue, was his. madame bourcet whispered something to him, and louis, for the first time, touched fifi’s hand and brushed it with his lips, fifi standing like a statue. the crisis was rapidly becoming acute.
at nine o’clock, the cribbage board was brought out; madame bourcet dutifully fell asleep, and louis, with the air of doing the most important thing in the world, took from his pocket a small picture of himself, which he presented to fifi with a formal speech, of which she afterward could not recall one word. nor could she remember what he talked about during the succeeding half-hour before madame bourcet waked up. then louis rose to go, and something was said about happiness and economy in the management of affairs; and louis announced that owing to the necessity of procuring certain papers from strasburg, where his little property lay, the marriage contract could not be signed for a month yet, and inquired if fifi would be ready to marry him at the end of the month. fifi instantly replied yes, and then the [pg 116]crisis was over. from that moment nothing on earth would have induced fifi to marry louis bourcet.
she did not, of course, put this in words, but sent poor louis off with her promise to marry him in a month. nevertheless, by one of those processes of logic which fifi could not formulate to save her life, but which she could act up to in the teeth of fire and sword, the promise to marry louis bourcet settled for all time that she would not marry him.
up to that moment all had been vague, agitating, mysterious and compelling. she felt herself driven, if not to marry louis bourcet, to act as if she meant to marry him. but once she had promised, once she had something tangible to go upon, her spirit burst its chains, and she was once more free. she had no more notion of marrying louis bourcet then than she had of trying to walk on her head. and she felt such a wild, tempestuous joy—the first flush of happiness she had known since the wretched lottery ticket had drawn the prize. she was so happy that she was glad to escape to her own room. she carried in her hand the picture of louis bourcet, and did not [pg 117]know she held it until she put it down on her mantelpiece and saw in the mirror above it her own smiling, glowing face.
“no, louis,” she said to the picture, shaking her head solemnly, “it is not to be. i have been a fool heretofore in not saying outright that i wouldn’t marry you to save your life. but now my mind is made up. nobody can make me marry you, and i would not do it if cartouche, the holy father and the emperor all commanded me to marry you!”
then an impish thought came into fifi’s head, for fifi was in some respects a cruel young person. she would make louis himself refuse to marry her and contrive so that all the blame would be visited upon the innocent louis, while she, the wicked fifi, would go free. in a flash it was revealed to her; it was to get rid of her hundred thousand francs. then louis would not marry her—and oh, rapture! cartouche would.
“he can’t refuse,” thought fifi in an ecstasy. “when i have been jilted and cruelly used, and have no money, then i can go back to the stage, and everybody will know me as mademoiselle chiaramonti, granddaughter of the pope’s cousin, who won the great prize in the lottery; everybody [pg 118]will flock to see me, as they did the last two weeks i played; and i shall have forty francs the week, and cartouche, and love and work and peace and toto, and no louis bourcet! and how angry julie campionet will be!”
it was so deliciously easy to get at her money—a rip and a stitch afterward—ten thousand francs squandered before louis bourcet’s eyes. fifi thought the loss of the first ten thousand would rid her of her fiancé, but she knew she could never get cartouche as long as she had even ten thousand francs left, and she realized fully that it was cartouche that she wanted most of anything in the world. the holy father would probably scold her a little, but fifi felt sure, if she could only tell the holy father just how she felt and how good cartouche was, and also how odiously good louis bourcet was, he would forgive her.
the more fifi thought of this scheme of getting rid of louis bourcet and entrapping cartouche the more rapturous she grew. she had two ways of expressing joy and thankfulness—praying and dancing. she plumped down on her knees, and for about twenty seconds thanked god earnestly for having shown her the way to get rid of louis [pg 119]bourcet—for fifi’s prayers, like herself, were very primitive and childlike. then, jumping up, she danced for twenty minutes, kicking as high as she could, until she finally kicked the picture of louis bourcet off the mantelpiece to the floor, on which it fell with a sharp crash.
madame bourcet, in the next room, stirred at once. fifi again plumped down on her knees, and when madame bourcet opened the door fifi was deeply engaged in saying her prayers. madame bourcet shut the door softly—the noise could not have been in fifi’s room.
as soon as madame bourcet was again snoozing, fifi, moving softly about, lighted her candle and wrote a letter to cartouche.
“cartouche, my mind is made up. this evening i promised louis bourcet, in madame bourcet’s presence, to marry him. when i had done it i felt as if a load were lifted off my mind, for as soon as the words were out of my mouth i determined that nothing on earth should induce me to keep my promise. i feel that i am right, cartouche, and i have not felt so pious for a long time. i don’t know how it will be managed. i [pg 120]am only certain of one thing, and that is that louis bourcet will never become monsieur fifi chiaramonti—for that is just what it would amount to, he is so good and so colorless. i am not in the least sorry for louis. i am only sorry for myself that i have been bothered with him so long, and besides, i wish to marry some one else. fifi.”
fifi crept into bed after writing this letter. for the first time she found the hard lump in the middle of her mattress uncomfortable.
“never mind,” thought fifi to herself, “i shall soon be rid of it, and sleep in peace, as i haven’t done since i had it.”
fifi’s dreams were happy that night, and when she waked in the morning she felt a kind of dewy freshness in her heart, like the awakening of spring. it was springtime already, and as fifi lay cosily in her little white bed she contrived joyous schemes for her own benefit, which some people might have called plotting mischief. she reasoned with herself thus:
“fifi, you have been miserable ever since you got the odious, hateful hundred thousand francs, and it was nasty of cartouche to give you the lottery [pg 121]ticket. fifi, you are not very old, but you are of the sort which does not change, and you will be fifi as long as you live. you can not be happy away from cartouche and the theater and toto—unfeeling wretch that you are, to let toto be torn from you! so the only thing to do is to return to love and work. if you spend all your money louis bourcet would not marry you to save your life, and then you can go back to the theater and make cartouche marry you. oh, how simple it is! stupid, stupid fifi, that you did not think of this before!” and, throbbing with happiness at the emancipation before her, fifi rose and dressed herself. she was distracted by the riotous singing of the robins in the one solitary tree in the courtyard. heretofore the little birds had been mute and half frozen, but this morning, in the warm spring sun, they sang in ecstasy.
fifi not only felt different, but she actually looked so; and the blitheness which shone in her eyes when she went to ask madame bourcet if she might have angéline, the sour maid-of-all-work, to go with her to the shops that morning might have awakened suspicion in most minds. but not in madame bourcet’s. fifi slyly let drop something[pg 122] about her trousseau, and madame bourcet hastened to say that she might take angéline.
in a little while the two were ready to start. in her hand fifi carried a little purse, containing twenty-one francs, and in her reticule she carried her handkerchief, her smelling-salts and ten crisp thousand-franc notes.
“how shall i ever spend it all!” she thought, with a little dismay; and then, having some curious odds and ends of sense in her pretty head, she concluded: “oh, it is easy enough. i have often heard cartouche say that nobody ever yet tried to squander money who did not find a dozen helpers on every hand.”
paris is beautiful on a spring morning, with the sun shining on the splashing fountains and the steel blue river, and the streets full of cheerful-looking people. it was the first, mild, soft day of march, and everybody was trying to make believe it was may. the restaurants had placed their chairs and tables out of doors, and made a brave showing of greenery with watercress and a few little radishes. itinerant musicians were grinding away industriously, and some humorous cab-drivers had paid five centimes for a sprig of green to stick behind [pg 123]the ears of their patient horses. all paris was out of doors, helping the birds and leaves to make the spring.
fifi strolled along and found the streets almost as pleasant as the street of the black cat, except that she knew everybody in the street of the black cat and knew no one at all of all this merry throng. her first incursion was into a chocolate shop, where she treated both herself and angéline in a princely manner, as became a lady who had ten notes of a thousand francs to dispose of in a morning’s shopping.
while they were sipping their chocolate fifi was wondering how she could manage to leave angéline in the lurch and slip off by herself—for angéline might possibly make trouble for her when she came to dispensing her wealth as she privately planned. but in this, as in all things else that day, fortune favored fifi. afar off was heard the rataplan of a marching regiment, with the merry laughter and shuffle of feet of an accompanying crowd.
“what so easy as to get carried along with that crowd?” thought fifi, as she ran to the door, where the proprietor and all the clerks as well as the customers[pg 124] were flying. it was the day of a grand review at longchamps, and the sight of the marching regiment, with the band ringing out in rhythmic beauty, seemed the finest thing in the world.
fifi found herself, with very little effort on her part, pushed out on the sidewalk, and the next thing she was being swept along with the eager crowd following the soldiers. at the corner of a large street the regiment turned off toward the champs elysées, the crowd parted, and fifi saw her way back clear to the chocolate shop. but staring her in the face was a magnificent furniture and bric-à-brac shop, while next it was a superb magasin des modes with a great window full of gowns, wraps and hats.
here was the place for fifi to get rid of her ten thousand francs. it seemed to fifi as if a benignant providence had rewarded her virtuous design by placing her just where she was; so she walked boldly into the magasin des modes.
the manager of the place, a handsome, showily-dressed and bejeweled woman, looked suspiciously at a young and pretty girl, arriving without maid or companion of any sort—but fifi, bringing into play some of the arts she had learned at the imperial[pg 125] theater, sank, apparently breathless, into a seat; told of her being swept away from her companion, and offered to pay for a messenger to hunt up angéline. meanwhile she artlessly let out that she was mademoiselle chiaramonti, in search of articles for her trousseau.
her story was well known; everybody in paris had heard of mademoiselle chiaramonti, of the imperial theater, who had drawn the first prize in the lottery, and instantly all was curiosity to see her and alertness to attend her—except as to sending for angéline. there was an unaccountable slowness about that, except on the theory that it would be well to show fifi some of the creations of the establishment before the arrival of the elder person, who might throw cold water on the prospective purchases. and then began the comedy, so often enacted in the world, of the cunning hypocrite being unconsciously the dupe of the supposed victim.
fifi was careful to hint that her marriage was being arranged; and if anything could have added to fifi’s joy and satisfaction it was the determination on the part of the shop people to embody in her trousseau all the outlandish things they possessed.[pg 126] this suited fifi exactly. louis bourcet was as finically particular about colors as he was about behavior, and both he and madame bourcet were privately determined that fifi should go through life in brown gowns with dark green spots, like the one which had so excited her disgust in the first instance. knowing this, fifi concluded to administer a series of shocks in every one of her purchases, and went about to do this with a vim and thoroughness characteristic of her.
the first gown they showed her nearly made her scream with delight. it was almost enough to make louis bourcet break their engagement at sight. it was a costume of a staring yellow brocade, with large purple flowers on it, and was obviously intended for a woman nine feet high and three feet broad—and fifi was but a slender twig of a girl. one huge flower covered her back, and another her chest, while three or four went around the vast skirt which trailed a yard behind. the manager put it on fifi, while her assistants and fellow conspirators joined with her in declaring that the gown was ravishing on fifi, which it was in a way.
fifi paraded solemnly up and down before the [pg 127]large swinging mirror, surveying herself. she was a quaint object in the great yellow and purple gown, and she knew it. her face broke into a shower of smiles and dimples.
“it will answer my purpose exactly,” she cried. this was true, as it was calculated to give madame bourcet, and especially louis bourcet, nervous convulsions.
“show me a hat to go with it—the largest hat you have.”
the hat was produced—a nightmare, equal to the yellow and purple brocade. flowers, beads, ribbons and feathers weighed it down, but fifi demanded more of everything to be put on it, particularly feathers. when she put the hat on, with the gown, one of the young women in the establishment gave a half shriek of something between a laugh and a scream. a look from the manager sent the culprit like a shot into the back part of the shop.
fifi, gravely examining herself in the glass, declared she was charmed with her costume and would wear it on the day of her civil marriage. then she demanded a cloak.
“one that would look well on a dowager empress,”[pg 128] she said with a grand air, knowing she had ten thousand francs in her pocket.
one was produced which might have looked well on the dowager empress of china, but scarcely on an occidental. it was a stupendous stripe of red and green satin, which might have served for the gridiron on which saint lawrence was broiled alive. it had large sleeves, which fifi insisted must be trimmed with heavy lace and deep fur. in a twinkling this was fastened on, and fifi approved.
“and now a fan,” she said.
dozens of fans were produced, but none of them preposterous enough to suit fifi’s purpose and her costume. at last she compromised on a large pink one with a couple of birds of paradise on it.
oh, what a picture was fifi, parading up and down before the mirror, and saying to herself:
“i think this will finish him.”
the amount, for the costume, cloak, hat and fan was nearly two thousand francs. fifi regretted it was not more.
“and now,” she said, “some negligées, with rich effects; you understand.”
fifi’s taste being pretty well understood in the establishment by this time, some negligées were [pg 129]produced, in which fifi arrayed herself and looked like a parroquet. then came evening gowns. there was one in particular which fifi thought might be the death of the bourcets. it was a short, scant, diaphanous greek costume, which was so very greek that it could only have been worn with propriety in the days of the nymphs, the fauns and the dryads.
“this, without a petticoat, i am sure, will rid me of louis bourcet,” thought fifi, “but i must never let cartouche see it, or he will kill me.”
fifi, being fatigued with her exertions—for her purchases were calculated to fatigue the eye as well as the mind, ordered the articles selected to be sent that day to madame bourcet’s.
“and the bill, mademoiselle?” asked the manager in a dulcet voice.
“make it out,” replied fifi debonairly, “and i will pay it now.”
there was a pause for the manager and the clerks to recover their breath, while fifi sat quite serene. it did not take a minute for the bill to be made out, however,—four thousand, nine hundred and forty-four francs, twenty-five centimes. fifi was cruelly disappointed; she had reckoned on getting[pg 130] rid of more of her money. but still this was a beginning, so she handed over five notes of a thousand francs each, and gravely counted her change: fifty-five francs, seventy-five centimes.
then, and then only, was a message sent after angéline to the chocolate shop.
but angéline could not be found. she had seen fifi swept away, as she thought, by the crowd, and had rushed out to join her; but fifi had no mind to be caught, and angéline found herself flopping about wildly, shrieking at the passers-by, without any stops whatever between her words:
“have you seen mademoiselle fifi mademoiselle chiaramonti i lost her in the chocolate shop oh what will madame bourcet say good people i am sure she is lost for good and a hundred thousand francs in bank and what is to be become of monsieur louis where can mademoiselle fifi be?” and much more of the same sort.
fifi, however, was half a mile away, and having exhausted the resources of the shop for gowns, tripped gaily into the furniture shop next door.
here, thought fifi cheerfully, she would be able to make substantial progress toward getting rid of louis bourcet and marrying cartouche. she [pg 131]saw many splendid gilt tables, chairs, divans, cabinets and the like, which she, with her limited experience in furniture buying in the street of the black cat, thought must be very dear: some of the most splendid pieces must cost as much as four hundred francs, thought innocent fifi.
but it was not enough for a thing to be expensive; it must be outrageous in taste and design to be available for her purpose, and with this in view she roved around the establishment, attended by a clerk of lofty manners and a patronizing air. at last, however, she pounced upon an object worthy to be classed with the yellow and purple brocade. this was a huge, blue satin bed, with elaborate gilt posts, and cornice, vast curtains of lace as well as satin, cords, tassels, and every other species of ornament which could be fastened to a bed.
fifi, who had never seen anything like it before, gasped in her amazement and delight, the clerk meanwhile surveying her with an air of condescending amusement.
here was the thing to drive louis bourcet to madness, thought fifi, surveying the bed rapturously. if she could once get it into the house, it would be difficult to get it out, it was so large [pg 132]and so complex, and so very formidable. fifi’s resolution was taken in an instant. she meant to have it if it cost a thousand francs. she rather resented the air of patronage with which the clerk explained the beauties of the bed to her. he seemed to be saying all the time:
“this is but time wasted. you can never afford anything so expensive as this.”
fifi, calling up her talents as an actress, which were not inconsiderable, accentuated her innocent and open-mouthed wonder at the size and splendor of the bed. then, intending to make a grand stroke which would paralyze the clerk, she said coolly:
“i will give you fifteen hundred francs for this bed.”
the clerk’s nose went into the air.
“i have the honor to inform mademoiselle that this bed was made with a view to purchase by the empress, but the cost was so great that the emperor objected and would not allow the empress to buy it. the price is five thousand francs; no more and no less.”
fifi was secretly staggered by this, but she now regarded the clerk as an enemy to be vanquished[pg 133] at any price—and vengeance seemed to her cheap at five thousand francs. fifi had a revengeful nature, which did not stop at trifles. so, after a moment’s pause to recover herself, she said, still coolly:
“well, then, the price is exorbitant, but i will take the bed.”
the clerk, instead of succumbing to this, retained his composure in the most exasperating manner. he only asked, with a shade of incredulity in his voice:
“if mademoiselle will kindly give us the money in gold or notes it can be arranged at once.”
fifi, in the most debonair manner in the world, opened her reticule and produced five notes for a thousand francs each.
the clerk, unlike fifi, knew nothing of the art of acting, and looked, as he was, perfectly astounded. his limp hand fell to his side, his jaw dropped open and he backed away from fifi as if he thought she might explode. fifi, as calm as a may zephyr, continued:
“i desire that this bed be sent between ten and two to-morrow to the address i shall give. i shall only take it on that condition.”
[pg 134]
there was method in this. fifi had suddenly remembered that the next morning was thursday. on that day, every week, madame bourcet indulged in the wild orgy of attending a lecture on mathematics delivered by her brother, the professor of mathematics, before a lyceum frequented by several elderly and mathematical ladies, like madame bourcet. when she was out of the house was clearly the time to get the preposterous bed in; and fifi made her arrangements accordingly.
nothing could have been more impressive than fifi’s studied calmness and coolness while giving directions about the bed. the clerk went after the proprietor, who could not conceal his surprise at a young lady like fifi going about unattended, and with five thousand francs in her pocket. fifi finally condescended to explain that she was mademoiselle chiaramonti. that cleared up everything. the proprietor, of course, had heard her story, and rashly and mistakenly assumed that fifi was a little fool, but at all events, he had made a good bargain with her, and he bowed her out of the establishment as if she had been a princess as well as a fool.
once outside in the clear sunshine, fifi was triumphant.[pg 135] she felt that a long step had been taken toward getting rid of louis bourcet. and, after all, it was just as easy to spend five thousand francs as five, if one has the money. she had spent infinitely more time and trouble over her thirty-franc cloak than over all her extraordinary purchases of the last hour.
“the gowns are frightful enough, as well as the bills,” she thought to herself, walking away from the shop, “and the bed is really a crushing revelation—but it is not enough—it is not enough.”
then an inspiration came to her which brought her to a standstill.
“i must go to a monkey shop and buy a monkey—but—but i am afraid of monkeys. however—”—here fifi felt an expansion of the soul—“when one loves, as i love cartouche, one must be prepared for sacrifices. so i shall sacrifice myself. i shall buy a monkey.”
but it is easier to say one will buy a monkey than to buy one. fifi walked on, pondering how to make this sublime sacrifice to her affections.
the sense of freedom, the exhilaration of the spring day, made themselves felt in her blood. and then, for the first time, she also felt the berserker [pg 136]madness for shopping which is latent in the feminine nature. the fact that reason and common sense were to be outraged as far as possible rather added zest to the enjoyment.
“this is the real way to go shopping,” thought fifi, with delight. “spending for the pleasure of spending—buying monkeys and everything else one fancies. it can only be done once in a blue moon; even the empress can not do it whenever she likes.”
she walked on, drinking in with delight the life and sunshine around her. the more she reflected upon the monkey idea the finer it appeared to her. true, she was mortally afraid of a monkey, but then she was convinced that louis bourcet was more afraid of monkeys than she was.
“and it is for my cartouche—and would cartouche hesitate at making such a sacrifice for me? no! a thousand times no! and i can not do less than all for cartouche, whom i love. it is my duty to use every means, even a monkey, to get rid of louis bourcet.”
but where should she find a place to buy a monkey? that she could not think of, but her [pg 137]fertile mind suggested an expedient even better than the mere purchase of a single monkey. she stopped at one of those movable booths, wherein sat a man who did writing for those unable to write as well as they wished, or unable to write at all. the booth was plastered over with advertisements of articles for sale, but naturally no monkeys were offered.
the man in the booth, a bright-eyed cripple, looked up when fifi tapped on the glass of the little open window.
“monsieur,” said fifi, sweetly, “if you please, i am very anxious for a monkey—a dear little monkey, for a pet; but i do not know where to find one, and my family will not assist me in finding one. if i should pay you, say five francs, would you write an advertisement for a monkey, and let it be pasted with the other advertisements on your booth?”
“ten francs,” responded the man.
fifi laid the ten francs down.
“now, write in very large letters: ‘wanted—a monkey, for a lady’s pet; must be well trained, and not malicious. apply at no. 14 rue de [pg 138]l’echelle. any person bringing a monkey will receive a franc for his trouble, if the monkey is not purchased.’”
“do you wish any snakes or parrots, mademoiselle?” asked the man, pocketing his ten francs.
“no, thank you; the monkey, i think, will answer all my purposes,” responded fifi with dignity.
it was then past noon, and fifi, having spent a most enjoyable morning, called a fiacre and directed the cabman to take her home.
just as she turned into the rue de l’echelle she heard some one calling after her:
“mademoiselle! mademoiselle fifi!”
it was angéline, very red in the face, and running after the fiacre. fifi had it stopped and angéline clambered in. before she had a chance to begin the fault-finding which is the privilege of an old servant fifi cut the ground from under her feet.
“why did you desert me as you did, angéline?” cried fifi indignantly. “you saw me swept off my feet, and carried along with the crowd, and instead of following me—”
“i did not see you, mademoiselle—it was you—”
[pg 139]
“you left me to my fate! what might not have happened to me alone in the streets of paris!”
“mademoiselle has perhaps been alone in the streets of paris before—”
“silence, angéline! how dare you say that i have been alone in the streets of paris before! your language, as well as your conduct, is intolerable!”
“i beg mademoiselle to remember—”
“i remember nothing but that, being sent out in your charge, you basely deserted me, and you shall answer for it; i beg of you to remember that.”
angéline was reduced by this tirade to surly silence, and, not bearing in mind that fifi was really a very clever little actress, actually thought she was in a boiling rage. fifi was meanwhile laughing in her sleeve.
