The Eternal Adam and other stories (28 page)

Scarcely had I set foot on the pavement than I was assailed by a crowd
of urchins who shouted,

‘Competition programme! Fifteen centimes!
Who wants a programme?’

‘Me,‘ I replied, without overmuch
reflection that this expense had been rather thoughtless. On the previous
evening I had indeed paid into the bank all my loose cash, and the price might
risk ruining me.

‘Well,’ I asked one of the urchins. ‘What’s
it all about?’

‘The regional competition, my prince!’ came
the reply. ‘It ends today.‘ Whereupon they all scampered off.

But what was this competition? If my memory
didn’t betray me, it had been over two months ago! The urchin must have been
playing me a trick.

All the same, I took things
philosophically, and went on my way.

At the corner of the Rue Mercier, what was
my surprise when I saw it stretching on out of sight! I could see a long line
of houses, of which the furthest vanished over a rise in the ground. Could I be
at Rome? Had a new suburb grown up, like a mushroom, with its mansions and
churches, and that in the space of a single night?

It must be so, for I saw a bus, yes a bus!
– line F, to
Notre Dame aux Reservoirs,
going up the streets loaded with
travellers!

I went on towards the bridge. A train
passed me, going quite slowly. The driver rent the air with his whistle, and
blew off steam with a deafening roar.

Did my eyes deceive me. but I fancied the
carriages were of American type, with gangways to allow the travellers to go
from one end of the train to the other! I tried to read the company’s initials
painted on the carriages, but instead of the ‘N’ of the Nord line, I saw the
‘P’ and the ‘F’ of Picardy and Flanders. What did this mean? Had the little
company absorbed the big one, by any chance? Were we now going to have the
carriages heated, even when it was cold in October, against all the company’s
rules? Were we going to have the compartments properly dusted? Were we going to
be able to get return tickets, in fine weather, between Amiens and Paris?

Such were the first advantages I could
imagine of the absorption of the Nord line by the P and F. But I could not
think out anything so wildly improbable! I hurried on to the end of the bridge.

Here there had always been a beggar with a
white beard who used to take off his hat fifty times a minute. But he wasn’t
there!

I could have imagined anything but that,
ladies and gentlemen, for he’d always seemed part of the bridge. Oh, why wasn’t
he there now, in his usual place? Two stone stairways had replaced the
goat-paths which yesterday had led down to the gardens, and with the crowds who
were going up and down, he’d have reaped a harvest!

The coin I’d meant to give him fell out of
my hand. As it touched the ground it jingled, as if it had hit something hard
and not the soft earth of the boulevard.

I looked down. A pavement, lined with slabs
of porphyry, ran right along it.

What a change! So this corner of Amiens no
longer deserved its reputation as the ‘little Lutece’?
^[i]

 What! you could now walk, even in the
rain, without slipping in up to the ankles? You didn’t have to paddle in that
clayey mud which the natives so much detested?

Yes! It was with delight that I trod on
that municipal pavement, wondering, ladies and gentlemen, if, thanks to some
new revolution, the town mayors were nominated, since yesterday, by the
Minister of Public Works.

And that was not all! That day the
boulevards had been watered at a well-chosen hour – not too early, not too late
– which didn’t allow the dust to fly or the water to spread, just as the crowds
were thickening! And these pathways, tarred like those of the Champs Elysées in
Paris, were pleasant to walk upon! And there were double seats, with backs,
between all the trees! And these seats were not dirtied by the thoughtlessness
of the children and the carelessness of their nurses. And at every ten paces,
bronze candelabras bore their elegant lanterns even among the leaves of the
limes and the chestnut trees.

‘Lord!’ I exclaimed. ‘If these lovely walks
are as well lighted as they’re kept up, if stars of the first magnitude are now
shining in place of those yellowish glimmers of gas we used to have, then all
is for the best in the best of possible towns!’

There was an enormous crowd on the
boulevards. Splendid coaches rolled along the highway. I could scarcely get by.
But – and this was strange, I could recognise among these magistrates, these
merchants, these lawyers, these wealthy people, nobody whom I had had the
pleasure of meeting at the music festivals; nobody among these officers, who
were no longer of the 72nd regiment but of the 324th, wearing a new pattern of
shako; nobody among these lovely ladies seated, so completely carefree, on
armchairs with elastic seats.

And now who were these marvellous creatures
who were showing off upon the footpaths, exhibiting, by the varieties of their
toilette,
the latest modes I’d seen in Paris? What bunches of artificial
flowers, resembling real ones, and placed, maybe a little low, at the waist!
What long trains, mounted on tiny metal wheels which murmured so pleasantly
over the sand! What hats, with tangled lianas, arborescent plants, tropical
birds, snakes and jaguars in miniature, of which even a Brazilian jungle would
hardly give an idea! What hair-dos, so embarrassingly large and so heavy that
they had to be supported on a little wicker cage decorated, however, in
irreproachable taste! What hats, with such combinations of folds, ribbons and
lace, that they’d be harder to put together than Poland herself!
^[ii]

I stood there, unable to move! They passed
in front of me like something out of Fairyland. I could see that there were no
young men over eighteen years old, nor girls over sixteen. Nothing but married
couples, affectionately linking their arms together, and a swarm of children
such as had never been seen since the population began to multiply at the
command of the Most High!

‘Lord,’ I exclaimed again. ‘If children can
console one for anything then Amiens must be the city of consolations!’

Suddenly strange sounds were heard.
Trumpets sounded. I went to the worm-eaten platform which from time immemorial
has trembled beneath the feet of the masters of music.

In its place there now rose an elegant
pavilion, crowned with a light verandah, all very charming. At its foot spread
broad terraces, leading down to the boulevard and to the gardens in the rear.
The basement was occupied by a splendid café of ultramodern luxury. I rubbed my
eyes, wondering if, during the short space of a night, it had risen at the wave
of a magic wand.

But I could no longer seek an explanation
of inexplicable facts, which seemed to belong to the world of fantasy. The band
of the 324th was playing a piece which did not seem human – or, for that
matter, celestial either! Here everything had changed, too! Nothing musical in
these phrases. No melody, no time, no harmony! The quintessence of Wagner? The
algebra of sound? The triumph of discord! An effort like that of instruments
being tuned in an orchestra, before the curtain rises!

Around me, the strollers, now grouped
together, were applauding in a style which I’d seen only at gymnastic displays.

‘But it’s the music of the future?’ I
exclaimed in spite of myself. ‘Have I left my own time?’

Certainly this seemed likely, for on approaching
the notice which gave the names of the pieces, I read this bewildering title:

‘No. 1: Reverie in a minor key on the
Square on the hypotenuse!’

I began to get seriously uneasy. Had I gone
mad? If I hadn’t, wasn’t I going to? I hastened away, my ears ringing. I needed
air, space, the desert and its absolute silence! Longueville Place wasn’t far
away. I hurried off to this miniature Sahara! I ran...

It was an oasis. Great trees cast a
refreshing shade. A carpet of grass extended beneath the clumps of flowers. The
air was fragrant. A pretty little stream murmured through the greenery. The
thirsty naiad of old now flowed with clear water. Without its overflows
carefully controlled, its basin would certainly have flooded the town. It was
neither fairy water, spun glass nor painted gauze. No! It was indeed the
compound of hydrogen and oxygen, fresh drinkable water, and in it swarmed
multitudes of tiny fish, which, only yesterday, would not have been able to
live in it for an hour! I moistened my lips with this water, which hitherto had
defied all analysis. If it had been sweetened, ladies and gentlemen, in my
state of excitement I should have found this quite natural!

I threw a last glance at this clear naiad,
as one might look at something phenomenal, and set off towards the Rue des
Rabuissons, wondering if it were still in existence.

And there, on the left, rose a great
building of hexagonal form with a fine entrance. It was at once a circus and a
concert-hall, large enough to enable a dozen orchestras – including the
Municipal Band of the Volunteer Firemen – to play together.

In that room a vast crowd were applauding
enough to make it collapse. And outside was a long queue, down which spread
waves of enthusiasm from within. At the door appeared gigantic notices, bearing
this name in colossal letters:

PIANOWSKI

 
Pianist to the Emperor of the Sandwich Islands

I know neither of that emperor nor of his
virtuoso in ordinary.

‘And when did Pianowski come?’ I asked a
dilettante, recognisable by the extraordinary development of his ears.

‘He didn’t come.’ The native looked at me
rather surprised.

‘Then when will he come?’

‘He isn’t coming,’ the dilettante replied.
And this time he had an air of saying, ‘But you, where did you come from?’

‘But if he isn’t coming, when will he give
this concert?’

‘He’s giving it now. ‘

‘Here?’

‘Yes, here, in Amiens, and at the same time
in London, Vienna, Rome, St Petersburg, and Pekin!’

Well,’ I thought, ‘all these people are mad! Have they, by any chance,
let loose the inmates of the Clermont Mental home?’

‘Sir,’ I continued.

‘But, sir,’ the dilettante replied – shrugging his shoulders. ‘Just
read the notice! You’ll see that this is an electrical concert!’

I read the notice, and indeed at that very
moment the famous ivory-pounder was playing in Paris; but by means of electric
wires his instrument was linked up with the pianos of London, Vienna, Rome, St
Petersburg, and Pekin. So, whenever he struck a note, the identical note
resounded on the strings of these distant pianos, the keys being
instantaneously depressed by the electric current!

I wanted to go into the hall. It was
impossible! Well, I don’t know if the concert was electric, but I could
certainly take my oath that the spectators were electrified.

No, no, I could not be in Amiens! It was
not in this wise matter-of-fact city that such things happened! I wanted to be
clear about this, so I hurried along down what must be the Rue des Rabuissons.

Was the Library still there? Yes, and in
the middle of the courtyard the marble statue threatening all the passers-by
who didn’t know their grammar!

And the Mus
é
e? It was there! With its crowned ‘N’ which
still obstinately appeared beneath the municipal attempts to scrape it off.

And the abode of the General Council? Yes,
with its monumental door through which my colleagues and I were accustomed to
pass on the second and fourth Fridays of every month.

And that of the Prefecture? Yes, with its
tricolour flag gnawed by the winds of the Somme Valley as if it had been to the
front with the gallant 324th!

I could recognise them! But how they’d
altered! The street had a spacious air of being a second Boulevard Haussmann! I
was uncertain, I did not know what to believe... But at the Place Périgord
doubt was no longer possible.

A sort of flood seemed to have invaded it.
Water was spurting from the paving stones as though some artesian well had
instantaneously opened beneath it.

‘The town mains!’ I exclaimed. ‘The town
mains which burst here every year with mathematical regularity! Yes, I must be
in Amiens, at the very heart of the old Samarobrive!’

But then what had happened since yesterday?
Whom could I ask? I didn’t know anyone! I was like a stranger. But it was
impossible that here, in the Rue Trois Cailloux I shouldn’t find someone to
talk to!

I went up the Rue Trois Cailloux towards
the station. But —

What was this I saw?

On the left a magnificent theatre, set
apart from the adjoining houses, with a broad façade of that polychromatic
architecture now so unfortunately come into fashion. A peristyle, comfortably
arranged, giving access to stairs which led up to the hall. No more of those
inconvenient barriers, of those narrow labyrinthine corridors which last night
had been only big enough to hold a public, alas too few! As for the old room,
it had vanished, and its debris had no doubt been sold on the secondhand market
like relics of the stone age!