CHAPTER 4;
WHICH PATH TO TAKE.

Shortly before noon,
Saturday; July, 07, 1832;
Cafe du Bonne Camaraderie,
Rue des Ecole, Paris.

"Hey! What are you doing there sitting alone by yourself, scribbling away on some sheets of paper? What are you scribbling? Some gibberish I imagine!" George-Richard jestingly called out,
startling his fellow alumnus and friend, Charles-Philippe who had been deeply engrossed in working on some sketches, notes and calculations that he had busied himself with on top of an outdoor cafe tabletop.
Charles snapped out of a state of virtual obliviousness to his surroundings, so involved was he in his activities, thrusting
himself sideways on his chair to face his
arriving acquaintance. He immediately noted the attractive young female that his friend
had arrived with. Charles perked up and politely rose to greet the two.
"Greetings my good friend, George."
he uttered amiably before planting kisses on his cheeks, and then turned and took hold of the young lady's offered hand and gave it a kiss as well, hastily sliding out a chair from the table, "I'm glad to make your acquaintance - Welcome! - May I offer you a chair, here? mada? - - - made?..."
"...Mademoiselle! - - - Mademoiselle
Charlotte-Louise Dupuis." she explained, adding, "And yes, I will take a seat. Visiting the popular sites in Paris is very draining.
Merci Beaucoup. And you are! - - - Monsieur Charles-Philippe Valcour from Bayeux! George over here told me a great deal about you on the coach to Paris."
Charles snickered softly, "I hope he told you only good things. Your accent! It doesn't sound like you're from Chartres
where I understand George went to visit his family these past few weeks. And, George, this beautiful woman is distracting me - - - I'm sorry! I meant to ask you how your trip went?"
His friend having helped himself to a spare chair beside the table seated himself and gently rocked his head side to side in silent response, not looking particularly impressed, replying, "It went well. But it's great to be back in Paris..."
"Waiter!? Waiter!"
The young woman temporarily ignoring Charles' comment drew the attention of one of the young servers wandering about with a tray containing glasses and cups filled with different beverages.
"Yes, Madame." he nodded in anticipation, having hastened to the table.
She politely smiled at his error,
"Mademoiselle! It's Mademoiselle Dupuis. And I would like a small glass of sherry if you please." she explained, almost patronizingly. A faint look of
irritation flashed across the server's face, perceiving the young woman to be slightly impudent.
Sighing barely audibly, he responded, "Yes,
Mademoiselle."
Charles and George looked at each other in
mild astonishment. They found it remarkable that a young French woman lacked such deference towards men.
"Monsieur Valcour? Regardless of my - accent, I am originally from Chartres. Like your friend George here I also spent much of the
month of June and part of July visiting family and relatives. My father is a banker
there."
Charles was attempting to interject when she preempted him, "As for my accent? That is probably due to the fact that I spent almost a third of my still youthful life living and studying in England. I attended a school, if you wish to call it that, called the Newington Academy for Girls, founded by a very progressive-minded couple, whose names are Monsieur William Allen and his wife, Madame Grizell Hoare; both of whom are Quakers and abolitionists.
That - academy, which was established only
eight years ago, offers comprehensive and advanced education to girls and to young women like myself."
Looking astonished, Charles slowly gesticulated, "And this school or academy - - - is it in London? How long did you attend? And what did you learn there?" he asked, clearly interested in finding out.
"It's located in a town called Stoke-Newington, a little more than eight kilometers north of London." she enthusiastically replied,
"I attended the academy for seven years,
finishing my intended courses this spring.
And the subjects taught there are diverse..." she gushed,"...ranging from the arts, languages and theology to the sciences. And I studied and read up on the works of Shakespeare, Bunyan and Milton. I studied mathematics; including algebra, trigonometry and calculus. I studied the works of Newton
and that of other natural philosophers. Oh!
And I now feel quite comfortable conversing in, and reading and writing Anglais."
Charles' jaw nearly dropped; he glanced over at George, looking for confirmation from his friend.
The young man from Chartres
kept mum; silently indicating his disapproval, wary not to say anything that would incite the young woman to respond reproachfully.
He had already experienced her sharp verbal jabs to his regret.
"I can teach you Anglais, if you wish, Monsieur Valcour."
she offered him, confidence in her voice.
Charles no longer looked surprised; he showed a look that went beyond mere admiration. His heart was beginning to rule his emotions.
"I would gladly take you up on your offer,
assuming you plan to stay in this city. - - - You are planning to stay?" he asked, earnestly
anticipating a favorable response.
She nodded, sipping her strong drink before
explaining,
"I came to Paris to offer my services to those who want their children taught to play violin.
I was taught to play the instrument and to read music before I went to England.
The music of Handel and Mozart are my preference. And I will also work as a seamstress in this city to earn additional income."
George-Richard paid no attention to the two at that moment, distracted by the waiter
who came over to offer him a beverage.
He asked for a "Schweppes" mineral water. Meanwhile, Charles had virtually ignored his own bubbling drink, showing more interest in the female visitor than in his own imported carbonated beverage.
"Oooh! My manners!" she exclaimed,
"I meant to offer you my congratulations, Monsieur Valcour on your graduation and attainment of a Master's Degree in the Sciences from the Polytechnique. I'm also delighted to learn from your friend here that you have turned aside all offers to take up a military commission that you are apparently entitled to receive upon your graduation there. Welcome back to civilian life."
Not waiting for his reply, she immediately glanced over to the sheets of paper that Charles had been working on; intensely curious as to what they contained.
"Merci." he softly intoned;
having taken his time responding to her compliment, "But, please, call me Charles."
He at once noted her interest in his papers.
"Do you want to take a look at what I have - scribbled down on the sheets, Mademoiselle Dupuis?"
She silently nodded; a soft inviting smile rolled across her face. Her heart was beginning to rule her emotions too.
"Yes - please. And do call me Charlotte."
she cheerfully requested.
He obligingly pushed the papers in her direction at once. She studied the technical-looking drawings and the accompanying notes
and calculations with a great deal of interest, and at times puzzlement. At last she looked up, asking,
"A helicoptere? Is that what you plan to call this - - - device that will rise to great heights in the air, Charles?" she asked, musing aloud.
It was his turn to nod.
"Yes! I derived the name from the amalgamation of the Greek words for spiral or curved, which is helix; and for wing, which is pteron. Just look at the winged seeds that fall off the maple trees, They call them Samara..." he breathlessly emoted, having an index finger twirling
to accentuate his explanation, "...and when they drop, the spinning motion of those winged seeds slows them down like a parachute. However - in theory - if they should spin faster they will either hover in equilibrium with the pull of gravity in the elastic fluid, or they will rise against it if they spin sufficiently fast."
She spread apart her hands, a look of generous approval on her face.
"That is quite a reasonable explanation and conjecture, Charles. I gather that you do not
plan to have a steam engine as the prime mover for this planned device. Is it because of the weight of the boilers and the fireboxes?"
He casually nodded, answering,
"That's quite correct."
"And why then this proposed use of - an pressurized acid-gas powered piston and cylinder engine to rapidly spin the - rotating wings? Why not use compressed-air stored in metal cylinders? Or strong clockwork springs...?
George jumped into the conversation, giving Charles a sharp, mockingly scolding look,
"...Aha! So that's why you asked our former chemistry lecturer, Professeur Gay-Lussac a question about the - possibility of developing an engine powered by fixed air liberated from chalk by muriatic acid! You scoundrel you." he laughed.
Flustered, Charles didn't know whom he should respond to first. Regaining his composure he politely waved off George's ribbing, then started to correct the young lady, "Proper scientists nowadays do not use the words compressed-air if referring to the
common atmospheric mixture. We prefer to describe it as compressed elastic fluid.
As for why I wouldn't use compressed elastic fluid to provide the power needed for this proposed machine? I have carried out calculations that show that compressed elastic fluid, even at stored pressures of - say - ten or twenty atmospheres, would only generate sufficient force to keep the engine for this helicoptere functioning effectually - enough to produce lift - for a few seconds of time at most. Ten perhaps,
or a little more. Not satisfactory at all.
A clockwork spring-driven device would be inferior still. It would either fail to generate
a suitable force to propel a passenger-carrying winged craft upwards, or it would only generate the necessary force for lift for maybe a second - optimistically. So you do see the disadvantages of using those two inferior power sources for such a machine, do you not?"
"I do." she acknowledged, "But would an hypothetical acid-gas engine powered helicoptere have any advantages over - say - an hydrogen-filled
balloon?"
Charles paused cautiously and thoughtfully,
"Ahhhhh - - - While a hydrogen balloon can stay aloft for hours, and reach altitudes that
couldn't possibly be attained by my designed helicoptere, since the planned
acid-gas engine required would use up the liberated fixed-air in less than..."
"...one, maybe two minutes!" George abruptly interjected, declaring, "I haven't forgotten the details of the explanations that Professeur Gay-Lussac gave you, my friend."
Charles snickered somewhat, briefly distracted, before collecting his thoughts once more. Charlotte showed great interest
in what he had to say.
"Go on!" She urged him, "You were saying?"
"Yes!" he went on, "George is quite correct.
The acid-gas engine required for this winged
machine would use up its supply of fixed-air in one or two minutes according to my calculations, even if I were to provision it with over a hundred kilograms of chalk with the additional and corresponding quantity of muriatic acid. But if that means only one minute or so aloft? that would be sufficient since this machine would be intended for use as a military observation platform. And unlike a hydrogen-filled balloon,
which at times takes hours to inflate, and often requires expensive and hazardous chemicals as well, but in much larger quantities, to produce the necessary but perilously combustible gas, this helicoptere would have obvious advantages over it
in that it can be transported partially disassembled to where it is needed by means of a special wagon. And upon arriving at its destination it can be speedily deployed, reassembled and sent aloft with an observer in a matter of minutes."
"I see." she subtly scowled, sounding disappointed, "Yet another device or machine
invented by men for the expressed purpose
of fighting a war to kill more men - - - Haven't you read the book of that ancient Jewish prophet, Micah?" she mildly entreated.
Uneasiness and guilt washed over Charles.
He thoughtfully, silently fingered his paperwork after she wearily slid them them back to him.
"Of course. The Old Testament. Micah - - - chapter - four - verse - three? They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks! Of course, the prophet Isaiah also repeated that statement, more or less in chapter two of his book." he replied, revealing some uncertainty.
She responded with a brief playful flurry of rapid hand claps.
"Tres Bien! Bravo! Bravo! Well done! It's clear that you not only read it, but it's also evident that you possess a copy of the Holy Book. Astonishing! - - -
You being a baptized Catholic - a layperson at that - it amazes me that you have a copy of the Holy Scriptures considering the edict that came out of the Council of Trent," she commented, expressing genuine astonishment,
"What were they afraid of that they went to all the trouble of trying to keep the Holy Bible out of their laity's hands?" she mused in passing.
Charles squirmed a little, showing some irritation as well, "Amazing or not, I do have a copy. As for me being a lay Catholic?
I was sprinkled by a priest when I was too young to make the decision for or against.
And since I believe the Creator has given all
adults a freewill to choose whether we want to be religious or not, I chose not to be."
He added, "And you, Charlotte? Your - aversion to things military clearly shows the influence of the Quakers on you. Was your father one?"
Frowning, she moaned in protest, "No, and where is this conversation wandering off to? I believe it wondered off when you quoted Micah. All I wanted was for you to consider the possibilities of turning potential instruments of war into profitable peacetime utility."
Chastened somewhat, Charles exhaled contritely, "I see." he breathed out, "Yes, you have expressed a commendable goal to pursue. - - - Perhaps this planned helicoptere of mine may hoist up an land surveyor in peacetime to reconnoitre a landscape for purposes of road building, canal excavation, or locating ideal settings for new towns or cities."
She immediately thrust a finger affirmatively in his direction as she abruptly arose from her chair.
"Now that is what I want to hear from you!" she firmly extolled, shooting an anxious glance towards a nearby door. "I need to find a water-closet to relieve myself. I hate these common public latrines, like the one down the street; I avoid them if possible. Do these premises contain an accessible water-closet, gentlemen?"
"Yes," Charles nodded, pointing to that same doorway, "ask the proprietor. He will escort you to it."
"Merci."
And she was off in a hurry.
As they waited, giving one another a look of
anxious expectancy, it was George who finally spoke first.
"What do you think of her, my friend?" he almost whispered, "I myself think that she's rather too outspoken; even socially uninhibited, I might add. - It's a shame - What do you think, Charles?"
He allowed his eyes to wander from place to place, reluctant to reveal his true feelings for her to his friend.
"She's interesting." he finally remarked rather coyly.
"By the way!" George announced, "She has purchased a ticket in advance to go see that pantomime performer and actor, Monsieur Jean-Gaspard Deburau, tonight at the theatre-du-Funambules.
I also bought a ticket to the eight 'o'clock
show. Do you want to join us?"
Charles dreamily nodded. At last he blurted out, "I think I'm in love with her."

Late Afternoon...

He was subject to some occasional and gentle ribbing from his friend over the remainder of the day when Charlotte was out of earshot. Charles graciously brushed off
his friend's wisecracks, pretending not to hear them. Charles was romantically distracted,
hardly taking his eyes off of the young woman from Chartres.
She did wander about that afternoon, not venturing too far from her male companions, either viewing something of interest or asking questions of strangers.
That evening the three climbed into a hackney carriage and instructed the driver
to take them to the theater located on the
Boulevard du Temple.
Charles had little interest in theatrical
entertainment or drama then, preferring his books, but his heart overruled his mind that evening.
Seeing the three-story building housing the theatre-du-Funambules for the first time, Charles wasn't too impressed with its drab masonry exterior and its plain
marquee displaying the title of the production
that was being staged that summer night. However those thoughts vanished when he saw a somewhat paunchy man with outrageous chalky white makeup and wearing a baggy white outfit take the stage that was remarkably well-illuminated by gas lamps and perform a dramatic play in astonishing silence.
Forgetting his two companions seated next to him, Charles was mesmerized. Having just sufficient light where he sat to see and pull out a blank sheet of paper and his pencil he began to discreetly sketch the performer in four different poses that stood out for him. He didn't realize at that time that those four drawings were to serve as an embryo for a new form of entertainment and image recording.

Close to Midnight...

His two companions dropped him off a short walking distance from his residence.
It was ill-advised. Charles was slightly disoriented and illumination was poor. He took a wrong turn and ended up on an unfamiliar street. There was a lot on his mind that night as well...

Having graduated from the Polytechnique with honors that spring, and with two notable references obtained from Professor's Gay-Lussac and Ampere, he was able to secure employment of sorts for the time being as an humble laboratory assistant to a somewhat controversial physics professor named Jean-Baptiste Biot who taught and carried out scientific research at the College de France, earning Charles only twenty-five francs a day; a barely adequate sum, with food and rent taking the bulk of it.
He wondered if he would have to look elsewhere soon for more prestigious work with better pay.
And his thoughts kept returning to Charlotte.
Finally, looking up at the stars, locating the Big Dipper, he use its position to try and reorient himself. He wandered over to a street intersection and looked at the nearby, poorly-illuminated street signs fastened to the corners of a building there.
Moaning softly, he asked himself, "Which way? Which path to take? Which direction?"
It was not just street directions he was referring to; he was also thinking of his future.

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