the dryad-第4章
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according to the nature of the house or the place whose light happened
to shine upon her。
She reached the Boulevards。 Here a sea of light streamed forth
from the gas…flames of the lamps； the shops and the cafes。 Here
stood in a row young and slender trees； each of which concealed its
Dryad； and gave shade from the artificial sunlight。 The whole vast
pavement was one great festive hall； where covered tables stood
laden with refreshments of all kinds； from champagne and Chartreuse
down to coffee and beer。 Here was an exhibition of flowers； statues；
books； and colored stuffs。
From the crowd close by the lofty houses she looked forth over the
terrific stream beyond the rows of trees。 Yonder heaved a stream of
rolling carriages； cabriolets； coaches； omnibuses； cabs； and among
them riding gentlemen and marching troops。 To cross to the opposite
shore was an undertaking fraught with danger to life and limb。 Now
lanterns shed their radiance abroad； now the gas had the upper hand；
suddenly a rocket rises！ Whence？ Whither？
Here are sounds of soft Italian melodies； yonder； Spanish songs
are sung； accompanied by the rattle of the castanets； but strongest of
all； and predominating over the rest； the street…organ tunes of the
moment； the exciting 〃Can…Can〃 music； which Orpheus never knew； and
which was never heard by the 〃Belle Helene。〃 Even the barrow was
tempted to hop upon one of its wheels。
The Dryad danced； floated； flew； changing her color every
moment； like a humming…bird in the sunshine； each house； with the
world belonging to it； gave her its own reflections。
As the glowing lotus…flower； torn from its stem； is carried away
by the stream； so the Dryad drifted along。 Whenever she paused； she
was another being； so that none was able to follow her； to recognize
her； or to look more closely at her。
Like cloud…pictures； all things flew by her。 She looked into a
thousand faces； but not one was familiar to her； she saw not a
single form from home。 Two bright eyes had remained in her memory。 She
thought of Mary； poor Mary； the ragged merry child； who wore the red
flowers in her black hair。 Mary was now here； in the world…city；
rich and magnificent as in that day when she drove past the house of
the old clergyman； and past the tree of the Dryad； the old oak。
Here she was certainly living； in the deafening tumult。 Perhaps
she had just stepped out of one of the gorgeous carriages in
waiting。 Handsome equipages； with coachmen in gold braid and footmen
in silken hose； drove up。 The people who alighted from them were all
richly…dressed ladies。 They went through the opened gate； and ascended
the broad staircase that led to a building resting on marble
pillars。 Was this building； perhaps； the wonder of the world？ There
Mary would certainly be found。
〃Sancta Maria！〃 resounded from the interior。 Incense floated
through the lofty painted and gilded aisles； where a solemn twilight
reigned。
It was the Church of the Madeleine。
Clad in black garments of the most costly stuffs； fashioned
according to the latest mode； the rich feminine world of Paris
glided across the shining pavement。 The crests of the proprietors were
engraved on silver shields on the velvet…bound prayer…books； and
embroidered in the corners of perfumed handkerchiefs bordered with
Brussels lace。 A few of the ladies were kneeling in silent prayer
before the altars； others resorted to the confessionals。
Anxiety and fear took possession of the Dryad； she felt as if
she had entered a place where she had no right to be。 Here was the
abode of silence； the hall of secrets。 Everything was said in
whispers； every word was a mystery。
The Dryad saw herself enveloped in lace and silk； like the women
of wealth and of high birth around her。 Had； perhaps； every one of
them a longing in her breast； like the Dryad？
A deep； painful sigh was heard。 Did it escape from some
confessional in a distant corner； or from the bosom of the Dryad？
She drew the veil closer around her； she breathed incense； and not the
fresh air。 Here was not the abiding…place of her longing。
Away！ away… a hastening without rest。 The ephemeral fly knows
not repose； for her existence is flight。
She was out again among the gas candelabra； by a magnificent
fountain。
〃All its streaming waters are not able to wash out the innocent
blood that was spilt here。〃
Such were the words spoken。 Strangers stood around； carrying on
a lively conversation； such as no one would have dared to carry on
in the gorgeous hall of secrets whence the Dryad came。
A heavy stone slab was turned and then lifted。 She did not
understand why。 She saw an opening that led into the depths below。 The
strangers stepped down； leaving the starlit air and the cheerful
life of the upper world behind them。
〃I am afraid；〃 said one of the women who stood around； to her
husband； 〃I cannot venture to go down； nor do I care for the wonders
down yonder。 You had better stay here with me。〃
〃Indeed； and travel home；〃 said the man； 〃and quit Paris without
having seen the most wonderful thing of all… the real wonder of the
present period； created by the power and resolution of one man！〃
〃I will not go down for all that；〃 was the reply。
〃The wonder of the present time；〃 it had been called。 The Dryad
had heard and had understood it。 The goal of her ardent longing had
thus been reached； and here was the entrance to it。 Down into the
depths below Paris？ She had not thought of such a thing； but now she
heard it said； and saw the strangers descending； and went after them。
The staircase was of cast iron； spiral； broad and easy。 Below
there burned a lamp； and farther down； another。 They stood in a
labyrinth of endless halls and arched passages； all communicating with
each other。 All the streets and lanes of Paris were to be seen here
again； as in a dim reflection。 The names were painted up； and every；
house above had its number down here also； and struck its roots
under the macadamized quays of a broad canal； in which the muddy water
flowed onward。 Over it the fresh streaming water was carried on
arches； and quite at the top hung the tangled net of gas…pipes and
telegraph…wires。
In the distance lamps gleamed； like a reflection from the
world…city above。 Every now and then a dull rumbling was heard。 This
came from the heavy wagons rolling over the entrance bridges。
Whither had the Dryad come？
You have； no doubt； heard of the CATACOMBS？ Now they are vanishing
points in that new underground world… that wonder of the present
day… the sewers of Paris。 The Dryad was there； and not in the
world's Exhibition in the Champ de Mars。
She heard exclamations of wonder and admiration。
〃From here go forth health and life for thousands upon thousands
up yonder！ Our time is the time of progress； with its manifold
blessings。〃
Such was the opinion and the speech of men； but not of those
creatures who had been born here； and who built and dwelt here… of the
rats； namely； who were squeaking to one another in the clefts of a
crumbling wall； quite plainly； and in a way the Dryad understood well。
A big old Father…Rat； with his tail bitten off； was relieving
his feelings in loud squeaks； and his family gave their tribute of
concurrence to every word he said：
〃I am disgusted with this man…mewing；〃 he cried… 〃with these
outbursts of ignorance。 A fine magnificence； truly！ all made up of gas
and petroleum！ I can't eat such stuff as that。 Everything here is so
fine and bright now； that one's ashamed of one's self； without exactly
knowing why。 Ah； if we only lived in the days of tallow candles！ and
it does not lie so very far behind us。 That was a romantic time； as
one may say。〃
〃What are you talking of there？〃 asked the Dryad。 〃I have never
seen you before。 What is it you are talking about？〃
〃Of the glorious days that are gone；〃 said the Rat… 〃of the
happy time of our great…grandfathers and great…grandmothers。 Then it
was a great thing to get down h
