This,
however, merely gave me time to philosophize. So it was not true that
to forget was universal. For here was a man who, to commemorate Talma,
had bestowed on his establishment the name of the revered saint. True,
I might have preferred to have seen a monument erected in a village.
But, after all, what was I to expect? Far better to have his name,
twenty-five years after his death, inscribed on the facade of an hotel
rather than not to have his name revered at all.
You
are aware, my good friend, how at Westminster the statue of Garrick
faces that of King George the Fourth. There is a certain amount of
justice in this, for one was as much king as the other. I decided to
put up for the night at Hotel Talma. At first no one answered, so I
knocked a second time at the door. A small shutter suddenly flew open,
an arm appeared, and a head emerged. This proved to be the head of a
man, a head badly tousled, and obviously in an ill-humor; the head of
an insolent coachman, or such a head as would disgrace the conductor of
an omnibus. In a word, an insolent head!
"What," at length asked the head, "do you want?"
"I want a room, bed, and supper."
"The hotel is full," replied the head.
The
head then disappeared, the arm pulled in the shutter which was noisily
closed, and from behind it the head continued to growl,
"Eleven-thirty—a fine hour to ask for a room and supper!"
"Half
past eleven," I repeated, "this seems to me a proper time for supper
and bed. But if Hotel Talma is full perhaps I can find something else."
I
now sallied forth resolutely in quest of supper, a room, and a bed.
Before me from an immense building streamed brilliant light and the
sound of music. Upon approaching, I read in gilt lettering, Hotel des
Quatre-Pavillons. Well, I said to myself, it will be most unfortunate
if, under these four flags, there is no room for me. I entered. The
ground-floor was brilliantly illuminated; the balance was totally dark.
I searched in vain for someone to approach, but here the situation was
even worse than in the palace of Beauty in the Woods, where all the
world slept. At the Hotel des Quatre-Pavillons, no one, either asleep
or awake, could be found. There were only the guests who were dancing,
and the musicians who supplied the music. Finally I ventured down the
corridor leading to the dancing-salon, where I met someone who
appeared to be a servant.
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