The evening has passed like a moment.  The old woman told me the history of her life, sometimes smiling, sometimes drying her eyes.  Perrine sang an old ballad with her fresh young voice.  Henry told us what he knows of the great writers of the day, to whom he has to carry their proofs.  At last we were obliged to separate, not without fresh thanks on the part of the happy family.

I have come home slowly, ruminating with a full heart, and pure enjoyment, on the simple events of my evening.  It has given me much comfort and much instruction.  Now, no New-Year’s Day will come amiss to me; I know that no one is so unhappy as to have nothing to give and nothing to receive.

As I came in, I met my rich neighbor’s new equipage.  She, too, had just returned from her evening’s party; and, as she sprang from the carriage-step with feverish impatience, I heard her murmur “At last!”

I, when I left Paulette’s family, said “So soon!”

CHAPTER II

THE CARNIVAL

February 20th

What a noise out of doors!  What is the meaning of these shouts and cries?  Ah!  I recollect:  this is the last day of the Carnival, and the maskers are passing.

Christianity has not been able to abolish the noisy bacchanalian festivals of the pagan times, but it has changed the names.  That which it has given to these “days of liberty” announces the ending of the feasts, and the month of fasting which should follow; carn-ival means, literally, “farewell to flesh!” It is a forty days’ farewell to the “blessed pullets and fat hams,” so celebrated by Pantagruel’s minstrel.  Man prepares for privation by satiety, and finishes his sin thoroughly before he begins to repent.

Why, in all ages and among every people, do we meet with some one of these mad festivals?  Must we believe that it requires such an effort for men to be reasonable, that the weaker ones have need of rest at intervals?  The monks of La Trappe, who are condemned to silence by their rule, are allowed to speak once in a month, and on this day they all talk at once from the rising to the setting of the sun.

Perhaps it is the same in the world.  As we are obliged all the year to be decent, orderly, and reasonable, we make up for such a long restraint during the Carnival.  It is a door opened to the incongruous fancies and wishes that have hitherto been crowded back into a corner of our brain.  For a moment the slaves become the masters, as in the days of the Saturnalia, and all is given up to the “fools of the family.”

The shouts in the square redouble; the troops of masks increase—­on foot, in carriages, and on horseback.  It is now who can attract the most attention by making a figure for a few hours, or by exciting curiosity or envy; to-morrow they will all return, dull and exhausted, to the employments and troubles of yesterday.