“I told her my heart’s secret in an impassioned moment, and, with the enthusiasm of true affection, explained my position and my passion.
“‘I am your slave,’ said I, with trembling adoration, – ‘your slave, and the Secretary at Santancantantarabad. You own my heart. I possess nothing but a Government situation and three thousand per annum. I shall never cease to love you, and my widow must have a pension from the Company.’
“She covered her face with her handkerchief as I spoke, and her sobs – they must have been sobs – actually penetrated my bosom.
“‘You must speak of this no more, dear Mr. Yellowley,’ said she, wiping her eyes; ‘you really must not, at least until I arrive at Calcutta.’
“‘So you consent to go that far,’ cried I, in ecstasy.
“She seemed somewhat confused at her own confession, for she blushed and turned away; then said, in a voice of some hesitation, —
“‘Will you compel me to relinquish the charm of your too agreeable society, or will you make me the promise I ask?’
“‘Anything – everything,’ exclaimed I; and from that hour, Mr. Tramp, I only looked my love, at least, save when sighs and interjections contributed their insignificant aid.
I gave no expression to my consuming flame. Not the less progress, perhaps, did I make for that. You can educate a feature, sir, to do the work of four, – I could after a week or ten days look fifty different things, and she knew them, – ay, that she did, as though it were a book open before her.
“I could have strained my eyes to see through the canvas of a tent, Mr. Tramp, if she were inside of it. And she, had you but seen her looks! what archness and what softness, – how piquant, yet how playful, – what witchcraft and what simplicity! I must hasten on. We arrived within a day of our journey’s end. The next morning showed us the tall outline of Fort William against the sky. The hour was approaching in which I might declare my love, and declare it with some hope of a return!”
“Mr. Tramp,” said a waiter, hurriedly, interrupting Mr. Yellowley at this crisis of his tale, “Captain Smithet, of the ‘Hornet,’ says he has the steam up and will start in ten minutes.”
“Bless my heart,” cried I; “this is a hasty summons;” while snatching up my light travelling portmanteau, I threw my cloak over my shoulders at once.
“You ‘ll not go before I conclude my story,” cried Mr. Yellowley, with a voice of indignant displeasure.
“I regret it deeply, sir,” said I, “from my very heart; but I am the bearer of government despatches for Vienna; they are of the greatest consequence, – delay would be a ruinous matter.”
“I ‘ll go down with you to the quay,” cried Yellowley, seizing my arm; and we turned into the street together. It was still blowing a gale of wind, and a heavy sleet was drifting in our faces, so that he was compelled to raise his voice to a shout, to become audible.
“‘We are near Calcutta, dearest Lady Blanche,’ said I; ‘in a moment more we shall be no longer bound by your pledge’ – do you hear me, Mr. Tramp?”
“Perfectly; but let us push along faster.”
“She was in tears, sir, – weeping. She is mine, thought I. What a night, to be sure! We drove into the grand Cassawaddy; and the door of our conveyance was wrenched open by a handsome-looking fellow, all gold and moustaches.
“‘Blanche – my dearest Blanche!’ said he.
“‘My own Charles!’ exclaimed she.”
“Her brother, I suppose, Mr. Yellowley?”
“No, sir,” screamed he, “her husband!!!”
“The artful, deceitful, designing woman had a husband!” screamed Yellowley, above the storm and the hurricane. “They had been married privately, Mr. Tramp, the day he sailed for India, and she only waited for the next ‘overland’ to follow him out; and I, sir, the miserable dupe, stood there, the witness of their joys.
“‘Don’t forget this dear old creature, Charles,’ said she: ‘he was invaluable to me on the journey!’ But I rushed from the spot, anguish-torn and almost desperate.”
“Come quickly, sir; we must catch the ebb-tide,” cried a sailor, pushing me along towards the jetty as he spoke.
“My misfortunes were rife,” screamed Yellowley, in my ear. “The Rajah to whose court I was appointed had offended Lord Ellenborough, and it was only the week before I arrived that his territory bad been added to ‘British India,’ as they call it, and the late ruler accommodated with private apartments in Calcutta, and three hundred a year for life; so that I had nothing to do but come home again. Good-bye, – good-bye, sir.”
“Go on,” cried the captain from the paddle-box; and away we splashed, in a manner far more picturesque to those on land than pleasant to us on board, while high above the howling wind and rattling cordage came Yellowley voice, – “Don’t forget it, Mr. Tramp, don’t forget it! Asleep or awake, never trust them!”
Although the steam-engine itself is more naturalized amongst us than with any other nation of Europe, railroad travelling has unquestionably outraged more of the associations we once cherished and were proud of, than it could possibly effect in countries of less rural and picturesque beauty than England. “La Belle France” is but a great cornfield, – in winter a dreary waste of yellow soil, in autumn a desert of dried stubble; Belgium is only a huge cabbage-garden, – flat and fetid; Prussia, a sandy plain, dotted with sentry-boxes. To traverse these, speed is the grand requisite; there is little to remark, less to admire. The sole object is to push forward; and when one remembers the lumbering diligence and its eight buffaloes, the rail is a glorious alternative.
In England, however, rural scenery is eminently characterized. The cottage of the peasant enshrined in honeysuckle, the green glade, the rich and swelling champaign, the quaint old avenues leading to some ancient hall, the dark glen, the shining river, follow each other in endless succession, suggesting so many memories of our people, and teeming with such information of their habits, tastes, and feelings. There was something distinctive, too, in that well-appointed coach, with its four blood bays, tossing their heads with impatience, as they stood before the village inn, waiting for the passengers to breakfast. I loved every jingle of the brass housings; the flap of the traces, and the bang of the swingle-bar, were music to my ears; and what a character was he who wrapped his great drab coat around his legs, and gathered up the reins with that careless indolence that seemed to say, “The beasts have no need of guidance, – they know what they are about!” The very leer of his merry eye to the buxom figure within the bar was a novel in three volumes; and mark how lazily he takes the whip from the fellow that stands on the wheel, proud of such a service; and hear him, as he cries, “All right, Bill, let ‘em go!” – and then mark the graceful curls of the long lash, as it plays around the leaders’ flanks, and makes the skittish devils bound ere they are touched. And now we go careering along the mountain-side, where the breeze is fresh and the air bracing, with a wide-spread country all beneath us, across which the shadows are moving like waves. Again, we move along some narrow road, overhung with trees, rich in perfumed blossoms, which fall in showers over us as we pass; the wheels are crushing the ripe apples as they lie uncared for; and now we are in a deep glen, dark and shady, where only a straggling sunbeam comes; and see, where the road opens, how the rabbits play, nor are scared at our approach! Ha, merry England! there are sights and sounds about you to warm a man’s heart, and make him think of home.
It was but a few days since I was seated in one of the cheap carriages of a southern line, when this theme was brought forcibly to my mind by overhearing a dialogue between a wagoner and his wife. The man, in all the pride and worldliness of his nature, would see but the advantages of rapid transit, where the poor woman saw many a change for the worse, – all the little incidents and adventures of a pleasant journey being now superseded by the clock-work precision of the rail, the hissing engine, and the lumbering train.
Long after they had left the carriage, I continued to dwell upon the words they had spoken; and as I fell asleep, they fashioned themselves into rude measure, which I remembered on awaking, and have called it —
THE SONG OF THE THIRD-CLASS TRAIN
WAGONER.
Time was when with the dreary load
We slowly journeyed on,
And measured every mile of road
Until the day was gone;
Along the worn and rutted way,
When morn was but a gleam,
And with the last faint glimpse of day
Still went the dreary team.
But no more now to earth we bow!
Our insect life is past;
With furnace gleam, and hissing steam,
Our speed is like the blast
WIFE.
I mind it well, – I loved it too,
Full many a happy hour,
When o’er our heads the blossoms grew
That made the road a bower.
With song of birds, and pleasant sound
Of voices o’er the lea,
And perfume rising from the ground
Fresh turned by labor free.
And when the night, star-lit and bright,
Closed in on all around,
Nestling to rest, upon my breast
My boy was sleeping sonnd.
His mouth was moved, as tho’ it provtd
That even in his dream
He grasped the whip – his tiny lip
Would try to guide the team.
Oh, were not these the days to please!
Were we not happy so?
The woman said. He hung his head,
And still he muttered low:
But no more now to earth we bow,
Our insect life is past;
With furnace gleam, and hissing steam,
Our speed is like the blast.”
“I wish I had a hundred pounds to argue the question on either side,” as Lord Plunkett said of a Chancery case; for if we have lost much of the romance of the road, as it once existed, we have certainly gained something in the strange and curious views of life presented by railroad travelling; and although there was more of poetry in the pastoral, the broad comedy of a journey is always amusing. The caliph who once sat on the bridge of Bagdad, to observe mankind, and choose his dinner-party from the passers-by, would unquestionably have enjoyed a far wider scope for his investigation, had he lived in our day, and taken out a subscription ticket for the Great Western or the Grand Junction. A peep into the several carriages of a train is like obtaining a section of society; for, like the view of a house, when the front wall is removed, we can see the whole economy of the dwelling, from the kitchen to the garret; and while the grand leveller, steam, is tugging all the same road, at the same pace, subjecting the peer to every shock it gives the peasant, individual peculiarities and class observances relieve the uniformity of the scene, and afford ample opportunity for him who would read while he runs. Short of royalty, there is no one nowadays may not be met with “on the rail;” and from the Duke to Daniel O’Connell – a pretty long interval – your vis-à-vis may be any illustrious character in politics, literature, or art. I intend, in some of these tales, to make mention of some of the most interesting characters it has been my fortune to encounter; meanwhile let me make a note of the most singular railroad traveller of whom I have ever heard, and to the knowledge of whom I accidentally came when travelling abroad. The sketch I shall call —
THE EARLY TRAIN TO VERSAILLES
“Droll people one meets travelling, – strange characters!” was the exclamation of my next neighbor in the Versailles train, as an oddly attired figure, with an enormous beard, and a tall Polish cap, got out at Sèvres; and this, of all the railroads in Europe, perhaps, presents the most motley array of travellers. The “militaire,” the shopkeeper, the actor of a minor theatre, the economist Englishman residing at Versailles for cheapness, the “modiste,” the newspaper writer, are all to be met with, hastening to and from this favorite resort of the Parisians; and among a people so communicative, and so well disposed to social intercourse, it is rare that even in this short journey the conversation does not take a character of amusement, if not of actual interest.
“The last time I went down in this train it was in company with M. Thiers; and, I assure you, no one could be more agreeable and affable,” said one.
“Horace Vernet was my companion last week,” remarked another; “indeed I never guessed who it was, until a chance observation of mine about one of his own pictures, when he avowed his name.”
“I had a more singular travelling-companion still,” exclaimed a third; “no less a personage than Aboul Djerick, the Arab chief, whom the Marshal Bugeaud took prisoner.”
“Ma foi! gentlemen,” said a dry old lady from the corner of the carriage, “these were not very remarkable characters, after all. I remember coming down here with – what do you think? – for my fellow-traveller. Only guess. But it is no use; you would never hit upon it, – he was a baboon!”
“A baboon!” exclaimed all the party, in a breath.
“Sacrebleu! Madame, you must be jesting.”
“No, gentlemen, nothing of the kind. He was a tall fellow, as big as M. le Capitaine yonder; and he had a tail —mon Dieu! what a tail! When the conductor showed him into the carriage, it took nearly a minute to adjust that enormous tail.”
A very general roar of laughter met this speech, excited probably more by the serious manner of the old lady as she mentioned this occurrence than by anything even in the event itself, though all were unquestionably astonished to account for the incident.
“Was he quiet, Madame?” said one of the passengers.
“Perfectly so,” replied she, – “bien poli.”
Another little outbreak of laughter at so singular a phrase, with reference to the manners of an ape, disturbed the party.
“He had probably made his escape from the Jardin des Plantes,” cried a thin old gentleman opposite.
“No, Monsieur; he lived in the Rue St. Denis.”
“Diable!” exclaimed a lieutenant; “he was a good citizen of Paris. Was he in the Garde Nationale, Madame?”
“I am not sure,” said the old lady, with a most provoking coolness.
“And where was he going, may I ask?” cried another.
“To Versailles, Monsieur, – poor fellow, he wept very bitterly.”
“Detestable beast!” exclaimed the old gentleman; “they make a horrid mockery of humanity.”
“Ah! very true, Monsieur; there is a strong resemblance between the two species.” There was an unlucky applicability in this speech to the hook-nose, yellow-skinned, wrinkled little fellow it was addressed to, that once more brought a smile upon the party.
“Was there no one with him, then? Who took care of him, Madame?”
“He was alone, Monsieur. The poor fellow was a ‘garçon;’ he told me so himself.”
“Told you so! – the ape told you! – the baboon said that!” exclaimed each in turn of the party, while an outburst of laughter filled the carriage.
“‘T is quite true, – just as I have the honor to tell you,” said the old lady, with the utmost gravity; “and although I was as much surprised as you now are, when he first addressed me, he was so well-mannered, spoke such good French, and had so much agreeability that I forgot my fears, and enjoyed his society very much.”
It was not without a great effort that the party controlled themselves sufficiently to hear the old lady’s explanation. The very truthfulness of her voice and accent added indescribably to the absurdity; for while she designated her singular companion always as M. le Singe, she spoke of him as if he had been a naturalized Frenchman, born to enjoy all the inestimable privileges of “La Belle France.” Her story was this – but it is better, as far as may be, to give it in her own words: —
“My husband, gentlemen, is greffier of the Correctional Court of Paris; and although obliged, during the session, to be every day at the Tribunal, we reside at Versailles, for cheapness, using the railroad to bring us to and from Paris. Now, it chanced that I set out from Paris, where I had spent the night at a friend’s house, by the early train, which, you know, starts at five o’clock. Very few people travel by that train; indeed, I believe the only use of it is to go down to Versailles to bring up people from thence. It was a fine cheery morning – cold, but bright – in the month of March, as I took my place alone in one of the carriages of the train. After the usual delay (they are never prompt with this train), the word ‘En route’ was given, and we started; but before the pace was accelerated to a rapid rate, the door was wrenched open by the ‘conducteur’ – a large full-grown baboon, with his tail over his arm, stepped in – the door closed, and away we went. Ah! gentlemen, I never shall forget that moment. The beast sat opposite me, just like Monsieur there, with his old parchment face, his round brown eyes, and his long-clawed paws, which he clasped exactly like a human being. Mon Dieu! what agony was mine! I had seen these creatures in the Jardin des Plantes, and knew them to be so vicious; but I thought the best thing to do was to cultivate the monster’s good graces, and so I put my hand in my reticule and drew forth a morsel of cake, which I presented to him.
“‘Merci, Madame,’ said he, with a polite bow, ‘I am not hungry.’
“Ah! when I heard him say this, I thought I should have died. The beast spoke it as plain as I am speaking to you; and he bowed his yellow face, and made a gesture of his hand, if I may call it a hand, just this way. Whether he remarked my astonishment, or perceived that I looked ill, I can’t say; but he observed in a very gentle tone, —
“‘Madame is fatigued.’
“‘Ah! Monsieur,’ said I, ‘I never knew that you spoke French.’
“‘Oui, parbleu!’ said he, ‘I was born in the Pyrenees, and am only half a Spaniard.’
“‘Monsieur’s father, then,’ said I, ‘was he a Frenchman?’
“‘Pauvre bête,’ said he; ‘he was from the Basque Provinces. He was a wild fellow.’
“‘I have no doubt of it,’ said I; ‘but it seems they caught him at last.’
“‘You are right, Madame. Strange enough you should have guessed it. He was taken in Estremadura, where he joined a party of brigands. They knew my father by his queue; for, amid all his difficulties, nothing could induce him to cut it off.’
“‘I don’t wonder,’ said I; ‘it would have been very painful.’
“‘It would have made his heart bleed, Madame, to touch a hair of it. He was proud of that old queue; and he might well be, – it was the best-looking tail in the North of Spain.’
“‘Bless my heart,’ thought I, ‘these creatures have their vanities too.’
“‘Ah, Madame, we had more freedom in those days. My father used to tell me of the nights he has passed on the mountains, under the shade, or sometimes in the branches of the cork-trees, with pleasant companions, fellows of his own stamp. We were not hunted down then, as we are now; there was liberty then.’
“‘Well, for my part,’ said I, ‘I should not dislike the Jardin des Plantes, if I was like one of you. It ain’t so bad to have one’s meals at regular times, and a comfortable bed, and a good dry house.’
“‘I don’t know what you mean by the Jardin des Plantes. I live in the Rue St. Denis, and I for one feel the chain about my ankles, under this vile régime we live in at present.’
“He had managed to slip it off this time, anyhow; for I saw the creature’s legs were free.
“‘Ah, Madame,’ exclaimed Le Singe, slapping his forehead with his paw, ‘men are but rogues, cheats, and swindlers.’
“‘Are apes better?’ said I, modestly.
“‘I protest I think they are,’ said he. ‘Except a propensity to petty pilfering, they are honest beasts.’
“‘They are most affectionate,’ said I, wishing to flatter him; but he took no notice of the observation.
“‘Madame,’ exclaimed he, after a pause, and with a voice of unusual energy, ‘I was so near being caught in a trap this very morning.’
“‘Dear me,’ said I, ‘and they laid a trap for you?’
“‘An infernal trap,’ said he. ‘A mistake might have cost me my liberty for life. Do you know M. Laborde, the director of the Gymnase?’
“‘Ihave heard of him, but no more.’
“‘What a “fripon” he is! There is not such a scoundrel living; but I ‘ll have him yet. Let him not think to escape me! Pardon, Madame, does my tail inconvenience you?’
“‘Not at all, sir. Pray don’t stir.’
“I must say that, in his excitement, the beast whisked the appendage to and fro with his paw in a very furious manner.
“‘Only conceive, Madame, I have passed the night in the open air; hunted, chased, pursued, – all on account of the accursed M. Laborde. I that was reared in a warm climate, brought up in every comfort, and habituated to the most tender care, – exposed, during six hours, to the damp dews of a night in the Bois de Boulogne. I know it will fall on my chest, or I shall have an attack of rheumatism. Ah, mon Dieu! if I shouldn’t be able to climb and jump, it would be better for me to be dead.’
“‘No, no,’ said I, trying to soothe him, ‘don’t say that. Here am I, very happy and contented, and could n’t spring over a street gutter if you gave me the Tuileries for doing it.’
“‘"What has that to say to it?’ cried he, fiercely. ‘Our instincts and pursuits are very different.’
“‘Yes, thank God,’ muttered I, below my breath, ‘I trust they are.’
“‘You live at Versailles,’ said he, suddenly. ‘Do you happen to know Antoine Geoffroy, greffier of the Tribunal?’
“‘Yes, parbleu!’ said I; ‘he is my husband.’
“‘Oh, Madame! what good fortune! He is the only man in France can assist me. I want him to catch M. Laborde. When can I see him?’
“‘He will be down in the ten o’clock train,’ said I. ‘You can see him then, Rue du Petit Lait.’
“‘Ah, but where shall I lie concealed till then? If they should overtake me and catch me, – if they found me out, I should be ruined.’
“‘Come with me, then. I ‘ll hide you safe enough.’
“The beast fell on its knees, and kissed my hand like a Christian, and muttered his gratitude till we reached the station.
“Early as it was – only six o’clock – I confess I did not half like the notion of taking the creature’s arm, which he offered me, as we got out; but I was so fearful of provoking him, knowing their vindictive nature, that I assented with as good a grace as I was able; and away we went, he holding his tail festooned over his wrist, and carrying my carpet-bag in the other hand. So full was he of his anger against M. Laborde, and his gratitude to me, that he could talk of nothing else as we went along, nor did he pay the slightest attention to the laughter and jesting our appearance excited from the workmen who passed by.
“‘Madame has good taste in a cavalier,’ cried one.
“‘There ‘ll be a reward for that fellow to-morrow or next day,’ cried another.
“‘Yes, yes, – he is the biggest in the whole Jardin des Plantes,’ said a third.
“Such were the pleasant commentaries that met my ears, even at that quiet hour.
“When we reached the Rue du Petit Lait, however, a very considerable crowd followed us, consisting of laborers and people on their way to work; and I assure you I repented me sorely of the good nature that had exposed me to such consequences; for the mob pressed us closely, many being curious to examine the creature near, and some even going so far as to pat him with their hands, and take up the tip of his tail in their fingers. The beast, however, with admirable tact, never spoke a word, but endured the annoyance without any signs of impatience, – hoping, of course, that the house would soon screen him from their view; but only think of the bad luck. When we arrived at the door, we rung and rung, again and again, but no one came. In fact, the servant, not expecting me home before noon, had spent the night at a friend’s house; and there we were, in the open street, with a crowd increasing every moment around us.
“‘What is to be done?’ said I, in utter despair; but before I had even uttered the words, the beast disengaged himself from me, and, springing to the ‘jalousies,’ scrambled his way up to the top of them. In a moment more he was in the window of the second story, and then, again ascending in the same way, reached the third, the mob hailing him with cries of ‘Bravo, Singe! – well done, ape! – mind your tail, old fellow! – that’s it, monkey!’ – and so on, until with a bound he sprung in through an open window, and then, popping out his head, and with a gesture of little politeness, made by his outstretched fingers on his nose, he cried out, ‘Messieurs, j’ai l’honneur de vous saluer.’
“If every beast in the Jardin des Plantes, from the giraffe down to the chimpanzee, had spoken, the astonishment could not have been more general; at first the mob were struck mute with amazement, but, after a moment, burst forth into a roar of laughter.
“‘Ah! I know that fellow, – I have paid twenty sons to see him before now,’ cried one.
“‘So have I,’ said another; ‘and it’s rare fun to look at him cracking nuts, and swinging himself on the branch of a tree by his tail.’
“At this moment the door opened, and I slipped in without hearing farther of the commentaries of the crowd. In a little time the servant returned, and prepared the breakfast; and although, as you may suppose, I was very ignorant what was exactly the kind of entertainment to set before my guest, I got a great dish of apples and a plate of chestnuts, and down we sat to our meal.
“‘That was a ring at the door, I think,’ said he; and as he spoke, my husband entered the room.
“‘Ah! you here?’ cried he, addressing M. le Singe.
‘Parbleu! there’s a pretty work in Paris about you, – it is all over the city this morning that you are off.’
“‘And the Director?’ said the ape.
“‘The old bear, he is off too.’
“‘So, thought I to myself, – ’ ‘it would appear the other beasts have made their escape too.’
“‘Then, I suppose,’ said the ape, ‘there will be no catching him.’
“‘I fear not,’ said my husband; ‘but if they do succeed in overtaking the old fox, they ‘ll have the skin off him.’
“Cruel enough, thought I to myself, considering it was the creature’s instinct.
“‘These, however, are the orders of the Court; and when you have signed this one, I shall set off in pursuit of him at once.’ So said my husband, as he produced a roll of papers from his pocket, which the ape perused with the greatest avidity.
“‘He’ll be for crossing the water, I warrant.’
“‘No doubt of it,’ said my husband. ‘France will be too hot for him for a while.’
“‘Poor beast,’ said I, ‘he’ll be happier in his native snows.’
“At this they both laughed heartily; and the ape signed his name to the papers, and brushed the sand over them with the tip of his tail.
“‘We must get back to Paris at once,’ said he, ‘and in a coach too, for I cannot have a mob after me again.’
“‘Leave that to me,’ said my husband. ‘I’ll see you safely home. Meanwhile let me lend you a cloak and a hat;’ and, with these words, he dressed up the creature so that when the collar was raised you would not have known him from that gentleman opposite.
“‘Adieu,’ said he, ‘Madame,’ with a wave of his hand, ‘au revoir, I hope, if it would give you any pleasure to witness our little performances – ’
“‘No, no,’ said I, ‘there’s a small creature goes about here, on an organ, in a three-cornered cocked-hat and a red coat, and I can have him for half an hour for two sous.’
“‘Votre serviteur, Madame,’ said he, with an angry whisk of his tail; for although I did not intend it, the beast was annoyed at my remark.
“Away they went, Messieurs, and from that hour to this I never heard more of the creature, nor of his companions; for my husband makes it a rule never to converse on topics relating to his business, – and it seems he was, somehow or other, mixed up in the transaction.”
“But, Madame,” cried one of the passengers, “you don’t mean to palm this fable on us for reality, and make us believe something more absurd than Æsop himself ever invented?”
“If it be only an impertinent allegory,” said the old gentleman opposite, “I must say, it is in the worst possible taste.”
“Or if,” said a little white-faced fat man, with spectacles, – “or if it be a covert attack upon the National Guard of Paris, as the corporal of the 95th legion, of the 37th arrondissement, I repel the insinuation with contempt.”
“Heaven forbid, gentlemen! The facts I have narrated are strictly true; my husband can confirm them in every particular, and I have only to regret that any trait in the ape’s character should suggest uncomfortable recollections to yourselves.”
The train had now reached its destination, and the old lady got out, amid the maledictions of some, and the stifled laughter of others of the passengers, – for only one or two had shrewdness enough to perceive that she was one of those good credulous souls who implicitly believed all she had narrated, and whose judgment having been shaken by the miraculous power of a railroad which converted the journey of a day into the trip of an hour, could really have swallowed any other amount of the apparently impossible it might be her fortune to meet with.
For the benefit of those who may not be as easy of belief as the good Madame Geoffroy, let me add one word as the solution of this mystery. The ape was no other than M. Gouffe, who, being engaged to perform as a monkey in the afterpiece of “La Pérouse,” was actually cracking nuts in a tree, when he learned from a conversation in “the flats,” that the director, M. Laborde, had just made his escape with all the funds of the theatre, and six months of M. Gouffe’s own salary. Several police-officers had already gained access to the back of the stage, and were arresting the actors as they retired. Poor Jocko had nothing for it, then, but to put his agility to the test, and, having climbed to the top of the tree, he scrambled in succession over the heads of several scenes, till he reached the back of the stage, where, watching his opportunity, he descended in safety, rushed down the stairs, and gained the street. By immense exertions he arrived at the Bois de Boulogne, where he lay concealed until the starting of the early train for Versailles. The remainder of his adventure the reader already knows.
Satisfactory as this explanation may be to some, I confess I should be sorry to make it, if I thought it would reach the eyes or ears of poor Madame Geoffroy, and thus disabuse her of a pleasant illusion, and the harmless gratification of recounting her story to others as unsuspecting as herself.