In the Days of My Youth: A Novel

by Amelia Ann Blanford Edwards

  CHAPTER IX.

  DAMON AND PYTHIAS.

  I left Rouen the day after my great adventure on the river, and CaptainDalrymple went with me to the station.

  "You have my Paris address upon my card," he said, as we walked to andfro upon the platform. "It's just a bachelor's den, you know--and Ishall be there in about a fortnight or three weeks. Come and lookme up."

  To which I replied that I was glad to be allowed to do so, and that Ishould "look him up" as soon as he came home. And so, with words ofcordial good-will and a hearty shake of the hand, we parted.

  Having started late in the evening, I arrived in Paris between four andfive o'clock on a bright midsummer Sunday morning. I was not longdelayed by the customs officers, for I carried but a scant supply ofluggage. Having left this at an hotel, I wandered about till it shouldbe time for breakfast. After breakfast I meant to dress and call uponDr. Cheron.

  The morning air was clear and cool. The sun shone brilliantly, and wasreflected back with dazzling vividness from long vistas of high whitehouses, innumerable windows, and gilded balconies. Theatres, shops,cafes, and hotels not yet opened, lined the great thoroughfares.Triumphal arches, columns, parks, palaces, and churches succeeded oneanother in apparently endless succession. I passed a lofty pillarcrowned with a conqueror's statue--a palace tragic in history--a modernParthenon surrounded by columns, peopled with sculptured friezes, andapproached by a flight of steps extending the whole width of thebuilding. I went in, for the doors had just been opened, and awhite-haired Sacristan was preparing the seats for matin service. Therewere acolytes decorating the altar with fresh flowers, and earlydevotees on their knees before the shrine of the Madonna. The gildedornaments, the tapers winking in the morning light, the statues, thepaintings, the faint clinging odors of incense, the hushed atmosphere,the devotional silence, the marble angels kneeling round the altar, allunited to increase my dream of delight. I gazed and gazed again;wandered round and round; and at last, worn out with excitement andfatigue, sank into a chair in a distant corner of the Church, and fellinto a heavy sleep. How long it lasted I know not; but the voices of thechoristers and the deep tones of the organ mingled with my dreams. WhenI awoke the last worshippers were departing, the music had died intosilence, the wax-lights were being extinguished, and the servicewas ended.

  Again I went out into the streets; but all was changed. Where there hadbeen the silence of early morning there was now the confusion of a greatcity. Where there had been closed shutters and deserted thoroughfares,there was the bustle of life, gayety, business, and pleasure. The shopsblazed with jewels and merchandise; the stonemasons were at work on thenew buildings; the lemonade venders, with their gay reservoirs upontheir backs, were plying a noisy trade; the bill-stickers were paperingboardings and lamp-posts with variegated advertisements; the charlatan,in his gaudy chariot, was selling pencils and penknives to theaccompaniment of a hand-organ; soldiers were marching to the clangor ofmilitary music; the merchant was in his counting-house, the stock-brokerat the Bourse, and the lounger, whose name is Legion, was sitting in theopen air outside his favorite cafe, drinking chocolate, and yawning overthe _Charivari_.

  I thought I must be dreaming. I scarcely believed the evidence of myeyes. Was this Sunday? Was it possible that in our own little church athome--in our own little church, where we could hear the birds twitteringoutside in every interval of the quiet service--the old familiar faces,row beyond row, were even now upturned in reverent attention to thewords of the preacher? Prince Bedreddin, transported in his sleep to thegates of Damascus, could scarcely have opened his eyes upon a foreigncity and a strange people with more incredulous amazement.

  I can now scarcely remember how that day of wonders went by. I only knowthat I rambled about as in a dream, and am vaguely conscious of havingwandered through the gardens of the Tuilleries; of having found theLouvre open, and of losing myself among some of the upper galleries; oflying exhausted upon a bench in the Champs Elysees; of returning byquays lined with palaces and spanned by noble bridges; of pacing roundand round the enchanted arcades of the Palais Royal; of wondering howand where I should find my hotel, and of deciding at last that I couldgo no farther without dining somehow. Wearied and half stupefied, Iventured, at length, into one of the large _restaurants_ upon theBoulevards. Here I found spacious rooms lighted by superb chandelierswhich were again reflected in mirrors that extended from floor toceiling. Rows of small tables ran round the rooms, and a double linedown the centre, each laid with its snowy cloth and glittering silver.

  It was early when I arrived; so I passed up to the top of the room andappropriated a small table commanding a view of the great thoroughfarebelow. The waiters were slow to serve me; the place filled speedily; andby the time I had finished my soup, nearly all the tables were occupied.Here sat a party of officers, bronzed and mustachioed; yonder a group oflaughing girls; a pair of provincials; a family party, children,governess and all; a stout capitalist, solitary and self content; aquatuor of rollicking _commis-voyageurs_; an English couple, perplexedand curious. Amused by the sight of so many faces, listening to the humof voices, and watching the flying waiters bearing all kinds ofmysterious dishes, I loitered over my lonely meal, and wished that thisdelightful whirl of novelty might last for ever. By and by a gentlemanentered, walked up the whole length of the room in search of a seat,found my table occupied by only a single person, bowed politely, anddrew his chair opposite mine.

  He was a portly man of about forty-five or fifty years of age, with abroad, calm brow; curling light hair, somewhat worn upon the temples;and large blue eyes, more keen than tender. His dress was scrupulouslysimple, and his hands were immaculately white. He carried an umbrellalittle thicker than a walking-stick, and wrote out his list of disheswith a massive gold pencil. The waiter bowed down before him as if hewere an habitue of the place.

  It was not long before we fell into conversation. I do not rememberwhich spoke first; but we talked of Paris--or rather, I talked and helistened; for, what with the excitement and fatigue of the day, and whatwith the half bottle of champagne which I had magnificently ordered, Ifound myself gifted with a sudden flood of words, and ran on, I fear,not very discreetly.

  A few civil rejoinders, a smile, a bow, an assent, a question impliedrather than spoken, sufficed to draw from me the particulars of myjourney. I told everything, from my birthplace and education to myfuture plans and prospects; and the stranger, with a frosty humortwinkling about his eyes, listened politely. He was himself particularlysilent; but he had the art of provoking conversation while quietlyenjoying his own dinner. When this was finished, however, he leaned backin his chair, sipped his claret, and talked a little more freely.

  "And so," said he, in very excellent English, "you have come to Paris tofinish your studies. But have you no fear, young gentleman, that theattractions of so gay a city may divert your mind from graver subjects?Do you think that, when every pleasure may be had for the seeking, youwill be content to devote yourself to the dry details of anuninteresting profession?"

  "It is not an uninteresting profession," I replied. "I might perhapshave preferred the church or the law; but having embarked in the studyof medicine, I shall do my best to succeed in it."

  The stranger smiled.

  "I am glad," he said, "to see you so ambitious. I do not doubt that youwill become a shining light in the brotherhood of Esculapius."

  "I hope so," I replied, boldly. "I have studied closer than most men ofmy age, already."

  He smiled again, coughed doubtfully, and insisted on filling my glassfrom his own bottle.

  "I only fear," he said, "that you will be too diffident of your ownmerits. Now, when you call upon this Doctor....what did you say washis name?"

  "Cheron," I replied, huskily.

  "True, Cheron. Well, when you meet him for the first time you will,perhaps, be timid, hesitating, and silent. But, believe me, a young manof your remarkable abilities should be self-possessed. You ought toinspire him from the beginn
ing with a suitable respect foryour talents."

  "That's precisely the line I mean to take," said I, boastfully."I'll--I'll astonish him. I'm afraid of nobody--not I!"

  The stranger filled my glass again. His claret must have been verystrong or my head very weak, for it seemed to me, as he did so, that allthe chandeliers were in motion.

  "Upon my word," observed he, "you are a young man of infinite spirit."

  "And you," I replied, making an effort to bring the glass steadily to mylips, "you are a capital fellow--a clear-sighted, sensible, capitalfellow. We'll be friends."

  He bowed, and said, somewhat coldly,

  "I have no doubt that we shall become better acquainted."

  "Better acquainted, indeed!--we'll be intimate!" I ejaculated,affectionately. "I'll introduce you to Dalrymple--you'll like himexcessively. Just the fellow to delight you."

  "So I should say," observed the stranger, drily.

  "And as for you and myself, we'll--we'll be Damon and ... what's theother one's name?"

  "Pythias," replied my new acquaintance, leaning back in his chair, andsurveying me with a peculiar and very deliberate stare. "Exactlyso--Damon and Pythias! A charming arrangement."

  "Bravo! Famous! And now we'll have another bottle of wine."

  "Not on my account, I beg," said the gentleman firmly. "My head is notso cool as yours."

  Cool, indeed, and the room whirling round and round, like a teetotum!

  "Oh, if you won't, I won't," said I confusedly; "but I--I could--drinkmy share of another bottle, I assure you, and not--feel theslightest...."

  "I have no doubt on that point," said my neighbor, gravely; "but ourFrench wines are deceptive, Mr. Arbuthnot, and you might possibly suffersome inconvenience to-morrow. You, as a medical man, should understandthe evils of dyspepsia."

  "Dy--dy--dyspepsia be hanged," I muttered, dreamily. "Tell me,friend--by the by, I forget your name. Friend what?"

  "Friend Pythias," returned the stranger, drily. "You gave me the nameyourself."

  "Ay, but your real name?"

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  "One name is as good as another," said he, lightly. "Let it be Pythias,for the present. But you were about to ask me some question?"

  "About old Cheron," I said, leaning both elbows on the table, andspeaking very confidentially. "Now tell me, have you--have you anynotion of what he is like? Do you--know--know anything about him?"

  "I have heard of him," he replied, intent for the moment on the patternof his wine-glass.

  "Clever?"

  "That is a point upon which I could not venture an opinion. You mustask some more competent judge."

  "Come, now," said I, shaking my head, and trying to look knowing;"you--you know what I mean, well enough. Is he a grim old fellow?A--a--griffin, you know! Come, is he a gr--r--r--riffin?"

  My words had by this time acquired a distressing, self-propellingtendency, and linked themselves into compounds of twenty and thirtysyllables.

  My _vis-a-vis_ smiled, bit his lip, then laughed a dry, short laugh.

  "Really," he said, "I am not in a position to reply to your question;but upon the whole, I should say that Dr. Cheron was not quite agriffin. The species, you see, is extinct."

  I roared with laughter; vowed I had never heard a better joke in mylife; and repeated his last words over and over, like a degraded idiotas I was. All at once a sense of deadly faintness came upon me. I turnedhot and cold by turns, and lifting my hand to my head, said, or triedto say:--

  "Room's--'bominably--close!"

  "We had better go," he replied promptly. "The air will do you good.Leave me to settle for our dinners, and you shall make it right with meby-and-by."

  He did so, and we left the room. Once out in the open air I found myselfunable to stand. He called a _fiacre_; almost lifted me in; took hisplace beside me, and asked the name of my hotel.

  I had forgotten it; but I knew that it was opposite the railway station,and that was enough. When we arrived, I was on the verge ofinsensibility. I remember that I was led up-stairs by two waiters, andthat the stranger saw me to my room. Then all was darkness and stupor.