Parigot's Journey

Dominion, Volume 5, Issue 1366, 17 February 1912, Page 16

Parigot's Journey

A Story. ! f ® ■ ©|

It was seven o'clock, and tho sun was slowly sotting abovo tho roofs of tho Latin Quarter, hanging golden and purple curtains over all the windows of tho garrets. Bell after bell, far and near, rang seven o'clock.

Just, at that moment M. Antoino Parigot opened his window, and, with his water-ing-pot in hand, began to water his geraniums. To this poetic work ho brought a scrupulous care, a conscientiousness, a serious attention, worthy of the gravest responsibilities. Ever since he was eighteen years old—and he was now forty— ho had been the book-keeper of H. Martin, the druggist of I'uo do FEeole-de-Medccine; and tho painstaking devotion with which he added up the columns in his employers' books extended to the simplest acts of his private life. "Good evening, if. Antome!" said a voice. . At a neighbouring window a young girl was also watering her geraniums. M. Parigot, very bashful in spite of his age, murmured: "Good evening, Mile. Jeanne! We have had very fine weather to-day." "It is going to last. My barometer says so!" "So much the better!" "It must bo very pleasant for yon, now that you arc not obliged to go to your desk any more!" "Still. I went thers to-day, Mile. Jeanne." "Is it possiblo?" It was necessary, in order to wind np tho month. But I shall not go bact there to-morrow. That is all over now." "You have had great luck!" Oh, yes, it. Parigot hail indeed had great luck! He had just become the heir of an uncle whom he had never known, and lie had como into possession of a magnificent fortune. Alone and an orphan, he had become very rich. Rich and free! The drops of water as they relied upon 'tho geraniums reminded him of pieces of silver. Yes indeed, ho was in great luck. M. Parigot said good night to his pretty neighbour, turned back into his room, and sat down in front of his table to think matters over.

How did lie.mean to live? What was he going to do with all this money? It was not enough to have given JI. Martin his resignation as book-keeper. Now that ho was independent henceforth, he must find pleasant ways of spending his time; ho must realiso somo of his many dreams. Tied to his desk, he had daily gone back and forth between his homo and his office. With figures still dancing in his hoad_ he watered' his geraniums . every evoning, went to dinner, came back to sleep. And that was his wholo life. But now this, placid, monotonous existence, useful and austere, was suddenly turned upside down by the death of a man quite indifferent to him. M. Parigot was no longer a book-koeper. Ho could do just as he pleased and forgot M. Martin's debits and credits.

Y'et, in spito of himself, M. Parigot's thoughts returned to his glass cage, his, big _ books, _ his lustrine cuffs. He saw again the jars of leeches near his penrack and the phials,.retorts, boxes of confectionery, and all tho other trumpery which he hail been accustomed to arrange every morning. And all at once, as lie thought of the sulphur which came from Italy, the rhubarb from Turkey, and the many other things which are sent to us from abroad) he was seized bv a strong desire to travel in foreign lands. To travel! To get freo from all the old habits! To see new streets, to ride cn now cars, to pass through unknown places, to look at strange tacos! Abovo all, to spend money! This would be charming for an old book-keeper, and all the more delightful because M. Parigot had never quitted ilis own quarter, and because, like many another good Parisian, ho only knew his Paris by hearsay. Ho now recalled that once upon a timo he had crossed the bridges, reached tho right bank of the Seine, and gone on as far as tho Place de l'Etoile. But it was on a cold, sullen, rainy Sunday in autumn. When he reached home again he found that he had taken cold, and, in consequence, he was confincd to his room for two days. From that eiporienco he had cherished a certain vaguo dislike of all foreign places. Now, however, all this was changed. . Still, 31. Parigot, in his usual way, put on his old hat and went out to the restaurant where he was wont to eat a frugal dinner. Some of his tablo companions who wero already at the restaurant were much surprised that ho was late. As soon as they learned tho state of the caso they exclaimed: "And so you have the luck to be able to travel I"

"Yes: bnt whero do yon advise mo to go first?" asked the former bookkeeper, with somo hesitation.

"Greece!" said one. "Antiquity, marble goddesses, bandits!" "America!" said another. "Chicago! Pi"s! Niagara!" Japan!" cried a third. "Mousmes! Bnddhas! Fans!"

Greece, Japan, America! Yes, he certainly meant to see all these famous lands, and many others besides. But where was he to begin? That was the perplexing question. Then M. Parigot had an inspiration and cried: "First of all I will visit Paris!"

"Good morning, M. Antoine!" eaid Mile. Jeanno the next day. "I eeo that you have not watered your geraniums." "I have not time, Mile. Jeanne. I am just starting upon a lon£ journey." "Oh, what aTe von telling me!" "It is just, as I tell you—a long journey! Good by, Mile. Jeanno!" And tho young girl, seeing that he iras quite in earnest, replied: "A happy voyage to you then, M. Antoine I" All unconsciotw of hw pretty neighbour's smile, oblivious of tho poor geraniums which soomed to stretch their crimson bloesoms toward tho water-ing-pot, unheeding all those remembrances of his past life which cried to him to stay, M. Parigot, cana in hand, went lightly dovrn tho five flights of stairs,humming a song, and started out to discover Paris. Ho reached tlie Boulevard Saint Germain and followed it to the PalaisBourbon. On his way the cars, the carriages, the motor-cars, all frightened him. Ho shunned them aa if they were terrible monsters. At last the Place do la Concorde opened yawningly in front of him and impressed him as a boundless desert. He trembled.

"Without advice or guide, -without help, and all alone," he said to himself, I shall never succeed as a traveller! Paris is far too vast and dangerous, too mysterious! What will bccorae of me?"

Luckily ho remembered _ that he had somewhere heard of agencies for foreign travel which undertook to pilot tourists through the shoals and reefs of the capital. "Why should I not apply to one of them ?" he thought. And ho at cnce set himself to find the manager of the famous house Cocorico and Co.

"Sir," he said, "I want to -visit Paris, which I 'do not know. Can yon include me in one of these groups which your guides conduct through the museums and other places of interest?" ."Y r ou livo here in Paris, sir?"

"Cis tainty, gince my infancy." "Ah! Then the thing is impracticable. We conduct in this way only perßons coming from England upon boats and trains specially organised Dy our agency." "liiat i 9 very discouraging to mo!" "The matter might be arranged if you aro so bent upon visiting Taris under our care."

"IfoTr, sir, if you please?" 'The only way for you to do would be tn go to Lcndon, and there enter youreelf for one nf our excursions, and. then travel with tho tonrreta coming to France from that city." M. Parigot, having fully eot his mind upon a long journey, did not offer any objection. Must he not learn to conrent to nil kinds of taerificos in order to satisfy bio cariosity ? Ho accepted tho proposition. He did not lose a moment bnt hastened to tho railway station to learn when ho could statf.. Ho found that there was a train for Calais a few hours Inter. All was going well! But when ono travels in thi.'i way it will never do to look like an ordinary Parisian: and so M. Parigot bfitook himself Jo an English shop, where ho bought a suit of striped clothes, a tap with long ear-laps, tnn-coloured shoos and woollen stocking*. Th« result was rtwl enough.; hut ho TraAbed to imyioTa it

still further; and so, to completo his outfit, ho bought a pipe, a pair of gold spectacles, a camera, and a Baedeker guide-book. He was determined that there should bo no mistake about tho affair! At last, having procured an enormous trunk, which ho kept empty, aa ho had nothing to put into it, ho haileu a cab and went to the railway station, whero he learned that he had still an hour to wait before tho train started. Ho quickly mado up his mind what to do. Ho went to a bar-foom, where a white-waistcoated bar-tender mixed him a cocktail potent enough to overcome ten port pi's.

After each of these startling climaxes, M. I'avigot felt that be was becoming more and more British. For a trilling consideration lie would havo spoken English—though ho had never learned it. Finally, with a heavy head, confused, tired, flurried, he hurriedly bought a ticket, registered his luggage, and sunk down in a compartment, where he fell sound asleep as soon as the train started. The hours passed oil, and at last tho guard called: "Calais!" and was forced to shake M. Parigot quito roughly in order to wako him. More and more flurried and bewildered, he hurried to the boat. It was night and nothing could bo seen. Tho water "was very rough, and the unhappy M. Parigot, during the whole passage, buffeted about the boat by the rolling of the ship, looked like an old bundle of soiled clothes fit only to be kicked out pf the way. M. Parigot, more sick than it is possible to imagine, really thought that ho was going to die. Oh, travelling is a delightful thing! Ho no longer took noto of anything. He was almost unconscious, and when anybody questioned him ho invariably replied: "I want to go back to Paris!"

J3ut as his ticket was for London, tho onicials insisted upon sending him on to the English capital. Ho gave himself up to bis sod fate, and as soon as ho set his foot upon the wharf in London ho hastened to tho oflico of tho agency. "Sir," ho exclaimed, "I want to go back to Paris!"

"That is easily done, sir. Thcro is a train tor Dover in half an hour, and you have only to get on board of it." The return trip was even more distressing. He saw nothing, heard nothing, understood nothing. Between two heavy sighs he murmured :"Oh, when shall I see once more my dear Rue Monsieur-lo-Prince!"

That was his only aim, his one idea. He had now given up all desire for a roving life. To go home to bis old street, to see again his room, his little window and his geraniums—these were the only things which seemed of the least importance to his simple, homesick mind. Ah, what a wretched mistake he had made in wanting to travel! Fortune is a very fine thing, but it cannot give one sea-legs and a tasto for adventure! .Why had that unknown uncle of his mado him his heir? He had never done that uncle on ill turn. Jokes of this kind ought not to be permitted!

But, after all, tho worst things sometimes turn out to bo the best. It. Antoine Parigot saw again his beloved Rue Monsieur-le-Prineo. Again he heard tho steps of the old staircase creaking under his returning foot. With a trombling hand ho put his key into the lock. His room seemed to be waiting, calling for him. He went in and ran to tho window. There woto his geraniums, fainting from thiTst, sadly hanging down their heads. Then, without waiting to change his striped clothes or even to lay down his Boedekor and his camera, he watered the thirsty flowers. "Oh, you there, M. Antoine?" exclaimed his pretty neighbour, who was leaning out of her window, watching him. "Js your long journey over?" "Heaven be praised, yes. I will never again try to visit Paris! It is too hard and perilous." "But, then, what aro yon going; to do with your fortune?"

"I mean to share it with some woman who may not think mo too disagreeable."

And as .Mile. Jeanno blushed, M. Parigot, having at least come back from bis wanderings a bolder man, concluded, smilingly: "Come over hero and help mo to water my geraniums!"