Burlesques William Makepeace Thackeray

28
I recollect it was on St. Patrick's Day. My lovely friend had procured, from the gardens of
the Empress Josephine, at Malmaison (whom we loved a thousand times more than her
Austrian successor, a sandy-haired woman, between ourselves, with an odious squint), a
quantity of shamrock wherewith to garnish the hotel, and all the Irish in Paris were invited
to the national festival.
I and Prince Talleyrand danced a double hornpipe with Pauline Bonaparte and Madame de
Stael; Marshal Soult went down a couple of sets with Madame Recamier; and Robespierre's
widow—an excellent, gentle creature, quite unlike her husband—stood up with the
Austrian ambassador. Besides, the famous artists Baron Gros, David and Nicholas Poussin,
and Canova, who was in town making a statue of the Emperor for Leo X., and, in a word,
all the celebrities of Paris—as my gifted countrywoman, the wild Irish girl, calls them—
were assembled in the Marquis's elegant receiving-rooms.
At last a great outcry was raised for La Gigue Irlandaise! La Gigue Irlandaise! a dance
which had made a fureur amongst the Parisians ever since the lovely Blanche Sarsfield had
danced it. She stepped forward and took me for a partner, and amidst the bravoes of the
crowd, in which stood Ney, Murat, Lannes, the Prince of Wagram, and the Austrian
ambassador, we showed to the beau monde of the French capital, I flatter myself, a not
unfavorable specimen of the dance of our country.
As I was cutting the double-shuffle, and toe-and-heeling it in the "rail" style, Blanche
danced up to me, smiling, and said, "Be on your guard; I see Cambaceres talking to Fouche,
the Duke of Otranto, about us; and when Otranto turns his eyes upon a man, they bode him
no good."
"Cambaceres is jealous," said I. "I have it," says she; "I'll make him dance a turn with me."
So, presently, as the music was going like mad all this time, I pretended fatigue from my
late wounds, and sat down. The lovely Blanche went up smiling, and brought out
Cambaceres as a second partner.
The Marshal is a lusty man, who makes desperate efforts to give himself a waist, and the
effect of the exercise upon him was speedily visible. He puffed and snorted like a walrus,
drops trickled down his purple face, while my lovely mischief of a Blanche went on
dancing at treble quick, till she fairly danced him down.
"Who'll take the flure with me?" said the charming girl, animated by the sport.
"Faix, den, 'tis I, Lanty Clancy!" cried my rascal, who had been mad with excitement at the
scene; and, stepping in with a whoop and a hurroo, he began to dance with such rapidity as
made all present stare.