Odalie

by Alice Dunbar-Nelson

　　

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Now and then Carnival time comes at the time of the good SaintValentine, and then sometimes it comes as late as the warm daysin March, when spring is indeed upon us, and the greenness of thegrass outvies the green in the royal standards.Days and days before the Carnival proper, New Orleans begins totake on a festive appearance. Here and there the royal flagswith their glowing greens and violets and yellows appear, andthen, as if by magic, the streets and buildings flame and burstlike poppies out of bud, into a glorious refulgence of colourthat steeps the senses into a languorous acceptance of warmth andbeauty.On Mardi Gras day, as you know, it is a town gone mad with folly.A huge masked ball emptied into the streets at daylight; ameeting of all nations on common ground, a pot-pourri of everyconceivable human ingredient, but faintly describes it all.There are music and flowers, cries and laughter and song andjoyousness, and never an aching heart to show its sorrow or dimthe happiness of the streets. A wondrous thing, this Carnival!But the old cronies down in Frenchtown, who know everything, andcan recite you many a story, tell of one sad heart on Mardi Grasyears ago. It was a woman's, of course; for "Il est toujours lesfemmes qui sont malheureuses," says an old proverb, and perhapsit is right. This woman--a child, she would be called elsewhere,save in this land of tropical growth and precocity--lost herheart to one who never knew, a very common story, by the way, butone which would have been quite distasteful to the haughty judge,her father, had he known.Odalie was beautiful. Odalie was haughty too, but graciousenough to those who pleased her dainty fancy. In the old Frenchhouse on Royal Street, with its quaint windows and Spanishcourtyard green and cool, and made musical by the plashing of thefountain and the trill of caged birds, lived Odalie inconvent-like seclusion. Monsieur le Juge was determined no hawkshould break through the cage and steal his dove; and so, thoughthere was no mother, a stern duenna aunt kept faithful watch.Alas for the precautions of la Tante! Bright eyes that search forother bright eyes in which lurks the spirit of youth and mischiefare ever on the look-out, even in church. Dutifully was Odaliemarched to the Cathedral every Sunday to mass, and Tante Louise,nodding devoutly over her beads, could not see the blushes andglances full of meaning, a whole code of signals as it were, thatpassed between Odalie and Pierre, the impecunious young clerk inthe courtroom.Odalie loved, perhaps, because there was not much else to do.When one is shut up in a great French house with a grim sleepytante and no companions of one's own age, life becomes a dullthing, and one is ready for any new sensation, particularly if inthe veins there bounds the tempestuous Spanish-French blood thatMonsieur le Juge boasted of. So Odalie hugged the image of herPierre during the week days, and played tremulous littlelove-songs to it in the twilight when la Tante dozed over herdevotion book, and on Sundays at mass there were glances andblushes, and mayhap, at some especially remembered time, thetouch of finger-tips at the holy-water font, while la Tantedropped her last genuflexion.Then came the Carnival time, and one little heart beat faster, asthe gray house on Royal Street hung out its many-hued flags, anddraped its grim front with glowing colours. It was to be a timeof joy and relaxation, when every one could go abroad, and in thecrowds one could speak to whom one chose. Unconscious plansformulated, and the petite Odalie was quite happy as the timedrew near."Only think, Tante Louise," she would cry, "what a happy time itis to be!"But Tante Louise only grumbled, as was her wont.It was Mardi Gras day at last, and early through her windowOdalie could hear the jingle of folly bells on the maskers'costumes, the tinkle of music, and the echoing strains of songs.Up to her ears there floated the laughter of the older maskers,and the screams of the little children frightened at their ownimages under the mask and domino. What a hurry to be out and inthe motley merry throng, to be pacing Royal Street to CanalStreet, where was life and the world!They were tired eyes with which Odalie looked at the gay pageantat last, tired with watching throng after throng of maskers, ofthe unmasked, of peering into the cartsful of singing minstrels,into carriages of revellers, hoping for a glimpse of Pierre thedevout. The allegorical carts rumbling by with their importantred-clothed horses were beginning to lose charm, the disguisesshowed tawdry, even the gay-hued flags fluttered sadly to Odalie.Mardi Gras was a tiresome day, after all, she sighed, and TanteLouise agreed with her for once.Six o'clock had come, the hour when all masks must be removed.The long red rays of the setting sun glinted athwart themany-hued costumes of the revellers trooping unmasked homeward torest for the night's last mad frolic.Down Toulouse Street there came the merriest throng of all.Young men and women in dainty, fairy-like garb, dancers, anddresses of the picturesque Empire, a butterfly or two and a damehere and there with powdered hair and graces of olden time.Singing with unmasked faces, they danced toward Tante Louise andOdalie. She stood with eyes lustrous and tear-heavy, for therein the front was Pierre, Pierre the faithless, his arms about theslender waist of a butterfly, whose tinselled powdered hairfloated across the lace ruffles of his Empire coat."Pierre!" cried Odalie, softly. No one heard, for it was a merefaint breath and fell unheeded. Instead the laughing throngpelted her with flowers and candy and went their way, and evenPierre did not see.You see, when one is shut up in the grim walls of a Royal Streethouse, with no one but a Tante Louise and a grim judge, how isone to learn that in this world there are faithless ones who mayglance tenderly into one's eyes at mass and pass the holy wateron caressing fingers without being madly in love? There was noone to tell Odalie, so she sat at home in the dull first days ofLent, and nursed her dear dead love, and mourned as women havedone from time immemorial over the faithlessness of man. Andwhen one day she asked that she might go back to the Ursulines'convent where her childish days were spent, only to go this timeas a nun, Monsieur le Juge and Tante Louise thought it quite theproper and convenient thing to do; for how were they to know thesecret of that Mardi Gras day?

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