Chapter XVII: The Fire of Saint-Jean

Long before the reign of King Louis XIII, the sheriffs of Paris were wont, on Saint-Jean's Eve, to cause huge piles of sticks of all dimensions, with thorn bushes and small twigs quick to ignite, to be constructed on Place de Grève, whither the king would come, in solemn state, to set fire to that enormous mass with his own hand.

In 1471, Louis XI followed the example of his predecessors and presided at that ceremony, which eventually came to be attended with fêtes and entertainments to which the good people of Paris always looked forward with impatience.

The Fire of Saint-Jean in 1573 was a magnificent ceremony, so it is said. A mast about sixty feet in height had been erected on Place de Grève, with many wooden crossbars, to which an enormous quantity of fagots and bundles of brushwood was attached. A number of loads of wood and countless bundles of straw were heaped about the base of this structure. The whole was decorated, or rather disguised, by wreaths and garlands. Bouquets were distributed to the king and his suite, to the notables of the city, and to the magistrates. Fireworks also were placed under the fagots. A hundred and twenty archers from the city, a hundred bowmen, and a hundred arquebusiers kept order. Lastly, they hung on the mast a large basket containing two dozen cats and a fox. This last then was, no doubt, the _ne plus ultra_ of the fête. Poor cats! poor foxes! We leave you in peace now when we have public rejoicings; and to say the truth, I am persuaded that they are none the less attractive for that reason.

Under Cardinal de Richelieu, the ceremony of the Fire of Saint-Jean had lost much of its brilliancy; cats were no longer burned, as it was natural that they should not be, the first minister having a deep affection for those animals, by which he loved to be surrounded.

However, the ceremony continued to take place, and still attracted a goodly number of sightseers, idlers, students, young girls, and even young gentlemen, who came thither in search of adventures, or to play tricks on rustics.

A few weeks after the events we have narrated, the Place de Grève was adorned by a pile of combustibles, which, while it could not be compared with those which we have described, was very presentable none the less.

When the night began to fall, there was a large number of people assembled on the square; but that was a mere nothing, for every moment thereafter the quays or the narrow streets leading into the square poured forth a constant stream of bourgeois parties, bands of young clerks of the Basoche, young men arm in arm, people of the lower classes, esquires, pages, and elegant young gentlemen carefully enveloped in their cloaks, beneath which they tried to conceal the richness of their costumes, but always betrayed it by the too gorgeous plumes that adorned their hats or the magnificence of the spurs attached to their boots.

By the time that it was quite dark, the square was crowded, and one could not move without difficulty, especially in the direction of the pile. But what life! what animation! what a fusillade of voices! what a din of remarks and questions bandied about in all directions! It was an incessant humming sound.

Many people reflected aloud, in order to be overheard by everybody within earshot; for at all times there have been plenty of those fine talkers, those pretentious personages who deem themselves called upon to declaim, to put themselves forward, and who often put forward nothing but their folly or their conceit!

"This way, father; let us go this way; I promise you that we shall have a much better place to see the fire!" said a tall, fine-looking girl, in whom we meet once more a pleasant acquaintance from Rue Saint-Jacques.

It was Ambroisine, whose right arm was passed through the arm of a girl even prettier than herself, but with a shy, timid air, who was evidently surprised beyond measure to find herself in the midst of that tumult. That girl was Bathilde, the daughter of Landry the bath keeper of Rue Dauphine.

How did it happen that she was so far from home, and without her mother, in the midst of that bold and curious crowd, where beauty and youth were the objective point of the glances of most of the sightseers? How did it happen that she was arm in arm with Ambroisine, upon whom Dame Ragonde had looked coldly for so long a time, and with whom she seemed afraid to allow her daughter to talk?

The reason was that Bathilde's mother had an old kinswoman in Normandie, who had always manifested much affection for her, and had refrained from marrying, with the intention of leaving all her property to Ragonde some day. That property consisted of a few acres of land and a wretched house--the whole being worth, perhaps, fifteen hundred livres; but we must remember that in those days fifteen hundred livres was equal to six thousand to-day; that Landry had no other property than his business; and lastly, that in Ragonde's eyes that fifteen hundred livres would be a sufficient dowry to obtain for Bathilde the hand of some respectable Parisian tradesman.

It happened that one fine day a message arrived from Caudebec, the old kinswoman's residence. A neighbor of hers wrote to Dame Landry, to inform her that her cousin was very ill, and was most anxious to have her by her side, to close her eyes. He added that haste was important, because the old maid seemed to have only a short time to live.

On receipt of this message, Dame Ragonde instantly made preparations for her journey; the famous inheritance being at stake, she felt that she must not hesitate! But as she was about to start, she thought of Bathilde, whom in her absorption she had forgotten. Should she take her or leave her with her father? To trust the old trooper of Henri IV to watch over a young girl was imprudent, perhaps. But, on the other hand, to take on a journey the child whom she had guarded so carefully up to that time was to expose her to the risk of listening to the chatter of every comer; of being the object of gallant attentions, perhaps even of bold enterprises, on the part of their fellow travellers. For Dame Ragonde had not the means to travel in a litter; and in those days travel was so slow, the means of transport so difficult, that one was obliged to pass a long time in a coach or other vehicle, even when one had not a long distance to travel. And then there was the matter of expense, which was of great importance to the bath keeper's wife. It cost a great deal to travel; and the expense would be doubled if she should take her daughter.

The result of her reflections was that Dame Ragonde set out alone, but not without saying to her husband many times:

"Keep a sharp eye on your daughter! Don't let her leave the house or receive any visits; make no change in the order which I have established in our household, so that no one may notice that I am absent! And always tell everyone that I am coming back in the course of the day."

If the person who goes away knew how soon her injunctions are forgotten, she would not take the trouble to repeat them so many times. It is not always disinclination to comply with them on the part of those whom you leave in your place; but when you give your instructions, you cannot at the same time impart your habits, your intelligence, your rigidity, your searching glance, your observant mind--in a word, your nature; and everyone acts according to his nature.

Landry, despite his moustaches and his surly manner, had a softer heart than his wife; and then, too, this persistent watching, this making one's self a spy upon one's daughter, is much more consonant with a woman's habit than with a man's. Moreover, as the old soldier had not the slightest doubt of his child's virtue, he did not understand why he must be incessantly on his guard, as with a prisoner who is always trying to escape.

The first days that followed Dame Ragonde's departure brought about no change in Bathilde's usual mode of life, for it did not occur to her to ask leave to go out, and no one came to divert her.

But one morning Ambroisine came to Landry's establishment, and was much surprised to be able to reach Bathilde's room without meeting her mother's sour face and hearing her say:

"My daughter is busy; don't stay long, for it disturbs her."

When she learned that her friend's mother was away from Paris, Ambroisine uttered a cry of joy, and said to Bathilde:

"What! you have been free for several days, and you haven't sent me word or come to see me?"

"You know very well that I never go out."

"Because your mother is not willing; but when she is away----"

"Oh! father wouldn't let me go out, either; mother is sure to have told him not to!"

"Well, I will bet that he would; I will bet that your father will not be so strict, that he will understand that you have no pleasure, no distraction at all, and that it is not fair that a poor girl should pass her best days shut up in her room. Look you, I have a godmother, a nice old woman, a farmer's wife, who lives in the village of Vincennes. I never have time to go there, nor does my father; and yet Mère Moulineau--that is my godmother--often sends us little cheeses and cream, and begs us to come to see her. The poor woman is old and infirm and can't come to Paris. Every day, I say to father: 'To-morrow I will go to see my godmother Moulineau;' and he says: 'Go, my child.'--Well, Bathilde, if you like, I will take you with me, and we will sleep at godmother's. Ah! she will give us a warm welcome; she will be so glad to see me!"

"Oh! father wouldn't allow me to sleep away from our house."

"After all, perhaps you would find it tiresome at my godmother's.--By the way, it just occurs to me--the day after to-morrow is the day for the Fire of Saint-Jean on Place de Grève. Father has promised to take me there; I have never seen it, and they say it's beautiful; will you come with us?"

"Will I! Why, you know very well that I should be overjoyed--I who know nothing and have never seen anything. But I shall never dare to ask father to let me go; he would refuse."

"Perhaps so, if you asked him; but if my father, his friend, his comrade, should undertake the mission----"

"Your father! do you think that he would be willing to ask him that?"

"Why not? Father is kind-hearted, he loves me dearly, he sees no harm in his daughter having a little enjoyment sometimes. When it is a respectable kind of pleasure, where is the harm? Because one enjoys one's self a little, does that prevent one from behaving decently. Never fear--I will send him here, to your father, to-morrow, and the day after to-morrow you will come with us."

"Oh! if it might be true!"

"I have made up my mind, and it shall be. I have a will of my own, you see!"

And in fact, on the day following this interview, Master Hugonnet, to gratify his daughter's wish, betook himself to his confrère Landry's shop, and, while emptying a jug of wine with him, said:

"I have a request to make of you, comrade."

"Speak; you know that if I can be of service to you in any way, I am at your disposal--I and my old blade, which is still serviceable at need!"

"Oh! I know the worth of your blade and the strength of your arm, but there is no question of them in what I have to ask.--You know that my girl is a friend of yours, that it is her greatest joy to be with her--for they have known each other a number of years; they were children when their acquaintance began; but now they are big girls, and their friendship has grown like their bodies!"

While Master Hugonnet was speaking, Landry played with his moustache, but did not frown.

"I know all that," he said at last, when his friend paused to take a drink. "Well! what then?"

"Well! I myself seize every opportunity that presents itself to provide my daughter with a little pleasure; for Ambroisine deserves it! The wench keeps my house in fine shape! she has brains and activity and character! She's a good girl, I tell you, and doesn't let the coxcombs and gallants, no, nor the grands seigneurs themselves,--and many of them come to my shop, God knows!--talk nonsense to her. When they try to be too free in their manners with Ambroisine--jernidié! she has a tongue and nails, and a stout fist. You should see how she makes them dance!"

"She does well. But what then?"

"Why, to-morrow is the ceremony of the Fire of Saint-Jean on Place de Grève; Ambroisine has never seen it, so she asked me to take her there, and I promised; but she told me, too, that she would be much happier if her young friend Bathilde could come with us, because she knew it would be a great pleasure for your daughter, who--who--who has none too many! You see, comrade, it isn't right to work all the time and never have any amusement; on the contrary, when one is young is when one should enjoy one's self. We old fellows still make merry once in a way, when we have an opportunity; and then, after all, where's the harm in a young girl having a little amusement, when it's with the knowledge of her parents and under their eyes? To cut it short, comrade, the purpose of all this is to ask you to confide your daughter Bathilde to me to-morrow, in the latter part of the afternoon, so that I may take her with Ambroisine to see the Fire of Saint-Jean; unless you will come with us, which would be much better."

As he listened to this request from his old friend, the ex-trooper's brow became clouded, and he caressed his gray moustache for a long while before replying:

"But, you see, I promised Ragonde not to let Bathilde go out."

"Alone! I understand that; but won't she be as safe with me and my daughter as with you? Come, come! jernidié! let us not be so strict with our children; if our parents had always been so with us, it wouldn't have tended to make us worship them."

"Well!" Landry said at last, after a moment's hesitation; "come to-morrow and fetch Bathilde; I will try to join you later."

You know now by what concatenation of circumstances Bathilde found herself on Ambroisine's arm on the square where the Fire of Saint-Jean was to be celebrated.