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diff --git a/old/1403-0.txt b/old/1403-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f7247c6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/1403-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7242 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Start in Life, by Honore de Balzac + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Start in Life + +Author: Honore de Balzac + +Translator: Katharine Prescott Wormeley + +Release Date: July, 1997 [Etext #1403] +Posting Date: February 24, 2010 +Last Updated: November 23, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A START IN LIFE *** + + + + +Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny + + + + + +A START IN LIFE + + +By Honore De Balzac + + + +Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley + + + + + DEDICATION + + To Laure. + + Let the brilliant mind that gave me the subject of this Scene + have the honor of it. + + Her brother, + + De Balzac + + + + + +A START IN LIFE + + + + +CHAPTER I. THAT WHICH WAS LACKING TO PIERROTIN’S HAPPINESS + + +Railroads, in a future not far distant, must force certain industries +to disappear forever, and modify several others, more especially those +relating to the different modes of transportation in use around Paris. +Therefore the persons and things which are the elements of this Scene +will soon give to it the character of an archaeological work. Our +nephews ought to be enchanted to learn the social material of an epoch +which they will call the “olden time.” The picturesque “coucous” + which stood on the Place de la Concorde, encumbering the +Cours-la-Reine,--coucous which had flourished for a century, and were +still numerous in 1830, scarcely exist in 1842, unless on the occasion +of some attractive suburban solemnity, like that of the Grandes Eaux of +Versailles. In 1820, the various celebrated places called the “Environs +of Paris” did not all possess a regular stage-coach service. + +Nevertheless, the Touchards, father and son, had acquired a monopoly of +travel and transportation to all the populous towns within a radius of +forty-five miles; and their enterprise constituted a fine establishment +in the rue du Faubourg-Saint-Denis. In spite of their long-standing +rights, in spite, too, of their efforts, their capital, and all +the advantages of a powerful centralization, the Touchard coaches +(“messageries”) found terrible competition in the coucous for all points +with a circumference of fifteen or twenty miles. The passion of +the Parisian for the country is such that local enterprise could +successfully compete with the Lesser Stage company,--Petites +Messageries, the name given to the Touchard enterprise to distinguish it +from that of the Grandes Messageries of the rue Montmartre. At the time +of which we write, the Touchard success was stimulating speculators. +For every small locality in the neighborhood of Paris there sprang up +schemes of beautiful, rapid, and commodious vehicles, departing and +arriving in Paris at fixed hours, which produced, naturally, a fierce +competition. Beaten on the long distances of twelve to eighteen miles, +the coucou came down to shorter trips, and so lived on for several +years. At last, however, it succumbed to omnibuses, which demonstrated +the possibility of carrying eighteen persons in a vehicle drawn by two +horses. To-day the coucous--if by chance any of those birds of ponderous +flight still linger in the second-hand carriage-shops--might be made, +as to its structure and arrangement, the subject of learned researches +comparable to those of Cuvier on the animals discovered in the chalk +pits of Montmartre. + +These petty enterprises, which had struggled since 1822 against the +Touchards, usually found a strong foothold in the good-will and sympathy +of the inhabitants of the districts which they served. The person +undertaking the business as proprietor and conductor was nearly always +an inn-keeper along the route, to whom the beings, things, and interests +with which he had to do were all familiar. He could execute commissions +intelligently; he never asked as much for his little stages, and +therefore obtained more custom than the Touchard coaches. He managed +to elude the necessity of a custom-house permit. If need were, he was +willing to infringe the law as to the number of passengers he might +carry. In short, he possessed the affection of the masses; and thus it +happened that whenever a rival came upon the same route, if his days for +running were not the same as those of the coucou, travellers would put +off their journey to make it with their long-tried coachman, although +his vehicle and his horses might be in a far from reassuring condition. + +One of the lines which the Touchards, father and son, endeavored to +monopolize, and the one most stoutly disputed (as indeed it still is), +is that of Paris to Beaumont-sur-Oise,--a line extremely profitable, for +three rival enterprises worked it in 1822. In vain the Touchards +lowered their price; in vain they constructed better coaches and started +oftener. Competition still continued, so productive is a line on which +are little towns like Saint-Denis and Saint-Brice, and villages +like Pierrefitte, Groslay, Ecouen, Poncelles, Moisselles, Monsoult, +Maffliers, Franconville, Presles, Nointel, Nerville, etc. The Touchard +coaches finally extended their route to Chambly; but competition +followed. To-day the Toulouse, a rival enterprise, goes as far as +Beauvais. + +Along this route, which is that toward England, there lies a road which +turns off at a place well-named, in view of its topography, The Cave, +and leads through a most delightful valley in the basin of the Oise to +the little town of Isle-Adam, doubly celebrated as the cradle of the +family, now extinct, of Isle-Adam, and also as the former residence +of the Bourbon-Contis. Isle-Adam is a little town flanked by two large +villages, Nogent and Parmain, both remarkable for splendid quarries, +which have furnished material for many of the finest buildings in modern +Paris and in foreign lands,--for the base and capital of the columns +of the Brussels theatre are of Nogent stone. Though remarkable for +its beautiful sites, for the famous chateaux which princes, monks, and +designers have built, such as Cassan, Stors, Le Val, Nointel, Persan, +etc., this region had escaped competition in 1822, and was reached by +two coaches only, working more or less in harmony. + +This exception to the rule of rivalry was founded on reasons that are +easy to understand. From the Cave, the point on the route to England +where a paved road (due to the luxury of the Princes of Conti) turned +off to Isle-Adam, the distance is six miles. No speculating enterprise +would make such a detour, for Isle-Adam was the terminus of the road, +which did not go beyond it. Of late years, another road has been made +between the valley of Montmorency and the valley of the Oise; but in +1822 the only road which led to Isle-Adam was the paved highway of the +Princes of Conti. Pierrotin and his colleague reigned, therefore, from +Paris to Isle-Adam, beloved by every one along the way. Pierrotin’s +vehicle, together with that of his comrade, and Pierrotin himself, were +so well known that even the inhabitants on the main road as far as the +Cave were in the habit of using them; for there was always better chance +of a seat to be had than in the Beaumont coaches, which were almost +always full. Pierrotin and his competitor were on the best of terms. +When the former started from Isle-Adam, the latter was returning from +Paris, and vice versa. + +It is unnecessary to speak of the rival. Pierrotin possessed the +sympathies of his region; besides, he is the only one of the two who +appears in this veracious narrative. Let it suffice you to know that the +two coach proprietors lived under a good understanding, rivalled each +other loyally, and obtained customers by honorable proceedings. In Paris +they used, for economy’s sake, the same yard, hotel, and stable, the +same coach-house, office, and clerk. This detail is alone sufficient to +show that Pierrotin and his competitor were, as the popular saying is, +“good dough.” The hotel at which they put up in Paris, at the corner of +the rue d’Enghien, is still there, and is called the “Lion d’Argent.” + The proprietor of the establishment, which from time immemorial had +lodged coachmen and coaches, drove himself for the great company of +Daumartin, which was so firmly established that its neighbors, the +Touchards, whose place of business was directly opposite, never dreamed +of starting a rival coach on the Daumartin line. + +Though the departures for Isle-Adam professed to take place at a fixed +hour, Pierrotin and his co-rival practised an indulgence in that respect +which won for them the grateful affection of the country-people, and +also violent remonstrances on the part of strangers accustomed to +the regularity of the great lines of public conveyances. But the two +conductors of these vehicles, which were half diligence, half coucou, +were invariably defended by their regular customers. The afternoon +departure at four o’clock usually lagged on till half-past, while that +of the morning, fixed for eight o’clock, was seldom known to take +place before nine. In this respect, however, the system was elastic. +In summer, that golden period for the coaching business, the rule of +departure, rigorous toward strangers, was often relaxed for country +customers. This method not infrequently enabled Pierrotin to pocket +two fares for one place, if a countryman came early and wanted a seat +already booked and paid for by some “bird of passage” who was, unluckily +for himself, a little late. Such elasticity will certainly not commend +itself to purists in morality; but Pierrotin and his colleague justified +it on the varied grounds of “hard times,” of their losses during the +winter months, of the necessity of soon getting better coaches, and of +the duty of keeping exactly to the rules written on the tariff, copies +of which were, however, never shown, unless some chance traveller was +obstinate enough to demand it. + +Pierrotin, a man about forty years of age, was already the father of a +family. Released from the cavalry on the great disbandment of 1815, the +worthy fellow had succeeded his father, who for many years had driven a +coucou of capricious flight between Paris and Isle-Adam. Having married +the daughter of a small inn-keeper, he enlarged his business, made it +a regular service, and became noted for his intelligence and a certain +military precision. Active and decided in his ways, Pierrotin (the name +seems to have been a sobriquet) contrived to give, by the vivacity +of his countenance, an expression of sly shrewdness to his ruddy and +weather-stained visage which suggested wit. He was not without that +facility of speech which is acquired chiefly through “seeing life” + and other countries. His voice, by dint of talking to his horses and +shouting “Gare!” was rough; but he managed to tone it down with the +bourgeois. His clothing, like that of all coachmen of the second class, +consisted of stout boots, heavy with nails, made at Isle-Adam, trousers +of bottle-green velveteen, waistcoat of the same, over which he wore, +while exercising his functions, a blue blouse, ornamented on the collar, +shoulder-straps and cuffs, with many-colored embroidery. A cap with +a visor covered his head. His military career had left in Pierrotin’s +manners and customs a great respect for all social superiority, and a +habit of obedience to persons of the upper classes; and though he never +willingly mingled with the lesser bourgeoisie, he always respected women +in whatever station of life they belonged. Nevertheless, by dint of +“trundling the world,”--one of his own expressions,--he had come to look +upon those he conveyed as so many walking parcels, who required less +care than the inanimate ones,--the essential object of a coaching +business. + +Warned by the general movement which, since the Peace, was +revolutionizing his calling, Pierrotin would not allow himself to be +outdone by the progress of new lights. Since the beginning of the summer +season he had talked much of a certain large coach, ordered from Farry, +Breilmann, and Company, the best makers of diligences,--a purchase +necessitated by an increasing influx of travellers. Pierrotin’s present +establishment consisted of two vehicles. One, which served in winter, +and the only one he reported to the tax-gatherer, was the coucou which +he inherited from his father. The rounded flanks of this vehicle allowed +him to put six travellers on two seats, of metallic hardness in spite of +the yellow Utrecht velvet with which they were covered. These seats were +separated by a wooden bar inserted in the sides of the carriage at the +height of the travellers’ shoulders, which could be placed or removed +at will. This bar, specially covered with velvet (Pierrotin called it +“a back”), was the despair of the passengers, from the great difficulty +they found in placing and removing it. If the “back” was difficult and +even painful to handle, that was nothing to the suffering caused to the +omoplates when the bar was in place. But when it was left to lie loose +across the coach, it made both ingress and egress extremely perilous, +especially to women. + +Though each seat of this vehicle, with rounded sides like those of a +pregnant woman, could rightfully carry only three passengers, it was +not uncommon to see eight persons on the two seats jammed together like +herrings in a barrel. Pierrotin declared that the travellers were far +more comfortable in a solid, immovable mass; whereas when only three +were on a seat they banged each other perpetually, and ran much risk +of injuring their hats against the roof by the violent jolting of the +roads. In front of the vehicle was a wooden bench where Pierrotin +sat, on which three travellers could perch; when there, they went, as +everybody knows, by the name of “rabbits.” On certain trips Pierrotin +placed four rabbits on the bench, and sat himself at the side, on a +sort of box placed below the body of the coach as a foot-rest for the +rabbits, which was always full of straw, or of packages that feared +no damage. The body of this particular coucou was painted yellow, +embellished along the top with a band of barber’s blue, on which could +be read, on the sides, in silvery white letters, “Isle-Adam, Paris,” and +across the back, “Line to Isle-Adam.” + +Our descendants will be mightily mistaken if they fancy that thirteen +persons including Pierrotin were all that this vehicle could carry. On +great occasions it could take three more in a square compartment covered +with an awning, where the trunks, cases, and packages were piled; but +the prudent Pierrotin only allowed his regular customers to sit there, +and even they were not allowed to get in until at some distance beyond +the “barriere.” The occupants of the “hen-roost” (the name given by +conductors to this section of their vehicles) were made to get down +outside of every village or town where there was a post of gendarmerie; +the overloading forbidden by law, “for the safety of passengers,” + being too obvious to allow the gendarme on duty--always a friend to +Pierrotin--to avoid the necessity of reporting this flagrant violation +of the ordinances. Thus on certain Saturday nights and Monday mornings, +Pierrotin’s coucou “trundled” fifteen travellers; but on such occasions, +in order to drag it along, he gave his stout old horse, called Rougeot, +a mate in the person of a little beast no bigger than a pony, about +whose merits he had much to say. This little horse was a mare named +Bichette; she ate little, she was spirited, she was indefatigable, she +was worth her weight in gold. + +“My wife wouldn’t give her for that fat lazybones of a Rougeot!” cried +Pierrotin, when some traveller would joke him about his epitome of a +horse. + +The difference between this vehicle and the other consisted chiefly +in the fact that the other was on four wheels. This coach, of comical +construction, called the “four-wheel-coach,” held seventeen travellers, +though it was bound not to carry more than fourteen. It rumbled so +noisily that the inhabitants of Isle-Adam frequently said, “Here comes +Pierrotin!” when he was scarcely out of the forest which crowns the +slope of the valley. It was divided into two lobes, so to speak: one, +called the “interior,” contained six passengers on two seats; the other, +a sort of cabriolet constructed in front, was called the “coupe.” This +coupe was closed in with very inconvenient and fantastic glass sashes, +a description of which would take too much space to allow of its +being given here. The four-wheeled coach was surmounted by a hooded +“imperial,” into which Pierrotin managed to poke six passengers; this +space was inclosed by leather curtains. Pierrotin himself sat on an +almost invisible seat perched just below the sashes of the coupe. + +The master of the establishment paid the tax which was levied upon all +public conveyances on his coucou only, which was rated to carry six +persons; and he took out a special permit each time that he drove the +four-wheeler. This may seem extraordinary in these days, but when the +tax on vehicles was first imposed, it was done very timidly, and such +deceptions were easily practised by the coach proprietors, always +pleased to “faire la queue” (cheat of their dues) the government +officials, to use the argot of their vocabulary. Gradually the greedy +Treasury became severe; it forced all public conveyances not to roll +unless they carried two certificates,--one showing that they had been +weighed, the other that their taxes were duly paid. All things have +their salad days, even the Treasury; and in 1822 those days still +lasted. Often in summer, the “four-wheel-coach,” and the coucou +journeyed together, carrying between them thirty-two passengers, though +Pierrotin was only paying a tax on six. On these specially lucky days +the convoy started from the faubourg Saint-Denis at half-past four +o’clock in the afternoon, and arrived gallantly at Isle-Adam by ten at +night. Proud of this service, which necessitated the hire of an extra +horse, Pierrotin was wont to say:-- + +“We went at a fine pace!” + +But in order to do the twenty-seven miles in five hours with his +caravan, he was forced to omit certain stoppages along the road,--at +Saint-Brice, Moisselles, and La Cave. + +The hotel du Lion d’Argent occupies a piece of land which is very deep +for its width. Though its frontage has only three or four windows on +the faubourg Saint-Denis, the building extends back through a long +court-yard, at the end of which are the stables, forming a large house +standing close against the division wall of the adjoining property. +The entrance is through a sort of passage-way beneath the floor of the +second story, in which two or three coaches had room to stand. In 1822 +the offices of all the lines of coaches which started from the Lion +d’Argent were kept by the wife of the inn-keeper, who had as many books +as there were lines. She received the fares, booked the passengers, and +stowed away, good-naturedly, in her vast kitchen the various packages +and parcels to be transported. Travellers were satisfied with this +easy-going, patriarchal system. If they arrived too soon, they seated +themselves beneath the hood of the huge kitchen chimney, or stood within +the passage-way, or crossed to the Cafe de l’Echiquier, which forms the +corner of the street so named. + +In the early days of the autumn of 1822, on a Saturday morning, +Pierrotin was standing, with his hands thrust into his pockets through +the apertures of his blouse, beneath the porte-cochere of the Lion +d’Argent, whence he could see, diagonally, the kitchen of the inn, and +through the long court-yard to the stables, which were defined in black +at the end of it. Daumartin’s diligence had just started, plunging +heavily after those of the Touchards. It was past eight o’clock. Under +the enormous porch or passage, above which could be read on a long +sign, “Hotel du Lion d’Argent,” stood the stablemen and porters of the +coaching-lines watching the lively start of the vehicles which deceives +so many travellers, making them believe that the horses will be kept to +that vigorous gait. + +“Shall I harness up, master?” asked Pierrotin’s hostler, when there was +nothing more to be seen along the road. + +“It is a quarter-past eight, and I don’t see any travellers,” replied +Pierrotin. “Where have they poked themselves? Yes, harness up all the +same. And there are no parcels either! Twenty good Gods! a fine day +like this, and I’ve only four booked! A pretty state of things for a +Saturday! It is always the same when you want money! A dog’s life, and a +dog’s business!” + +“If you had more, where would you put them? There’s nothing left but the +cabriolet,” said the hostler, intending to soothe Pierrotin. + +“You forget the new coach!” cried Pierrotin. + +“Have you really got it?” asked the man, laughing, and showing a set of +teeth as white and broad as almonds. + +“You old good-for-nothing! It starts to-morrow, I tell you; and I want +at least eighteen passengers for it.” + +“Ha, ha! a fine affair; it’ll warm up the road,” said the hostler. + +“A coach like that which runs to Beaumont, hey? Flaming! painted red +and gold to make Touchard burst with envy! It takes three horses! I have +bought a mate for Rougeot, and Bichette will go finely in unicorn. +Come, harness up!” added Pierrotin, glancing out towards the street, +and stuffing the tobacco into his clay pipe. “I see a lady and lad +over there with packages under their arms; they are coming to the Lion +d’Argent, for they’ve turned a deaf ear to the coucous. Tiens, tiens! +seems to me I know that lady for an old customer.” + +“You’ve often started empty, and arrived full,” said his porter, still +by way of consolation. + +“But no parcels! Twenty good Gods! What a fate!” + +And Pierrotin sat down on one of the huge stone posts which protected +the walls of the building from the wheels of the coaches; but he did so +with an anxious, reflective air that was not habitual with him. + +This conversation, apparently insignificant, had stirred up cruel +anxieties which were slumbering in his breast. What could there be to +trouble the heart of Pierrotin in a fine new coach? To shine upon +“the road,” to rival the Touchards, to magnify his own line, to carry +passengers who would compliment him on the conveniences due to the +progress of coach-building, instead of having to listen to perpetual +complaints of his “sabots” (tires of enormous width),--such was +Pierrotin’s laudable ambition; but, carried away with the desire to +outstrip his comrade on the line, hoping that the latter might some day +retire and leave to him alone the transportation to Isle-Adam, he had +gone too far. The coach was indeed ordered from Barry, Breilmann, and +Company, coach-builders, who had just substituted square English +springs for those called “swan-necks,” and other old-fashioned French +contrivances. But these hard and distrustful manufacturers would only +deliver over the diligence in return for coin. Not particularly pleased +to build a vehicle which would be difficult to sell if it remained upon +their hands, these long-headed dealers declined to undertake it at all +until Pierrotin had made a preliminary payment of two thousand francs. +To satisfy this precautionary demand, Pierrotin had exhausted all his +resources and all his credit. His wife, his father-in-law, and his +friends had bled. This superb diligence he had been to see the evening +before at the painter’s; all it needed now was to be set a-rolling, but +to make it roll, payment in full must, alas! be made. + +Now, a thousand francs were lacking to Pierrotin, and where to get them +he did not know. He was in debt to the master of the Lion d’Argent; he +was in danger of his losing his two thousand francs already paid to the +coach-builder, not counting five hundred for the mate to Rougeot, and +three hundred for new harnesses, on which he had a three-months’ credit. +Driven by the fury of despair and the madness of vanity, he had just +openly declared that the new coach was to start on the morrow. By +offering fifteen hundred francs, instead of the two thousand five +hundred still due, he was in hopes that the softened carriage-builders +would give him his coach. But after a few moments’ meditation, his +feelings led him to cry out aloud:-- + +“No! they’re dogs! harpies! Suppose I appeal to Monsieur Moreau, the +steward at Presles? he is such a kind man,” thought Pierrotin, struck +with a new idea. “Perhaps he would take my note for six months.” + +At this moment a footman in livery, carrying a leather portmanteau and +coming from the Touchard establishment, where he had gone too late to +secure places as far as Chambly, came up and said:-- + +“Are you Pierrotin?” + +“Say on,” replied Pierrotin. + +“If you would wait a quarter of an hour, you could take my master. +If not, I’ll carry back the portmanteau and try to find some other +conveyance.” + +“I’ll wait two, three quarters, and throw a little in besides, my lad,” + said Pierrotin, eyeing the pretty leather trunk, well buckled, and +bearing a brass plate with a coat of arms. + +“Very good; then take this,” said the valet, ridding his shoulder of the +trunk, which Pierrotin lifted, weighed, and examined. + +“Here,” he said to his porter, “wrap it up carefully in soft hay and put +it in the boot. There’s no name upon it,” he added. + +“Monseigneur’s arms are there,” replied the valet. + +“Monseigneur! Come and take a glass,” said Pierrotin, nodding toward +the Cafe de l’Echiquier, whither he conducted the valet. “Waiter, two +absinthes!” he said, as he entered. “Who is your master? and where is +he going? I have never seen you before,” said Pierrotin to the valet as +they touched glasses. + +“There’s a good reason for that,” said the footman. “My master only +goes into your parts about once a year, and then in his own carriage. He +prefers the valley d’Orge, where he has the most beautiful park in the +neighborhood of Paris, a perfect Versailles, a family estate of which he +bears the name. Don’t you know Monsieur Moreau?” + +“The steward of Presles?” + +“Yes. Monsieur le Comte is going down to spend a couple of days with +him.” + +“Ha! then I’m to carry Monsieur le Comte de Serizy!” cried the +coach-proprietor. + +“Yes, my land, neither more nor less. But listen! here’s a special +order. If you have any of the country neighbors in your coach you are +not to call him Monsieur le comte; he wants to travel ‘en cognito,’ and +told me to be sure to say he would pay a handsome pourboire if he was +not recognized.” + +“So! Has this secret journey anything to do with the affair which Pere +Leger, the farmer at the Moulineaux, came to Paris the other day to +settle?” + +“I don’t know,” replied the valet, “but the fat’s in the fire. Last +night I was sent to the stable to order the Daumont carriage to be ready +to go to Presles at seven this morning. But when seven o’clock came, +Monsieur le comte countermanded it. Augustin, his valet de chambre, +attributes the change to the visit of a lady who called last night, and +again this morning,--he thought she came from the country.” + +“Could she have told him anything against Monsieur Moreau?--the best of +men, the most honest of men, a king of men, hey! He might have made a +deal more than he has out of his position, if he’d chosen; I can tell +you that.” + +“Then he was foolish,” answered the valet, sententiously. + +“Is Monsieur le Serizy going to live at Presles at last?” asked +Pierrotin; “for you know they have just repaired and refurnished the +chateau. Do you think it is true he has already spent two hundred +thousand francs upon it?” + +“If you or I had half what he has spent upon it, you and I would be rich +bourgeois. If Madame la comtesse goes there--ha! I tell you what! no +more ease and comfort for the Moreaus,” said the valet, with an air of +mystery. + +“He’s a worthy man, Monsieur Moreau,” remarked Pierrotin, thinking of +the thousand francs he wanted to get from the steward. “He is a man who +makes others work, but he doesn’t cheapen what they do; and he gets all +he can out of the land--for his master. Honest man! He often comes to +Paris and gives me a good fee: he has lots of errands for me to do in +Paris; sometimes three or four packages a day,--either from monsieur or +madame. My bill for cartage alone comes to fifty francs a month, more or +less. If madame does set up to be somebody, she’s fond of her children; +and it is I who fetch them from school and take them back; and each time +she gives me five francs,--a real great lady couldn’t do better than +that. And every time I have any one in the coach belonging to them or +going to see them, I’m allowed to drive up to the chateau,--that’s all +right, isn’t it?” + +“They say Monsieur Moreau wasn’t worth three thousand francs when +Monsieur le comte made him steward of Presles,” said the valet. + +“Well, since 1806, there’s seventeen years, and the man ought to have +made something at any rate.” + +“True,” said the valet, nodding. “Anyway, masters are very annoying; and +I hope, for Moreau’s sake, that he has made butter for his bread.” + +“I have often been to your house in the rue de la Chaussee d’Antin +to carry baskets of game,” said Pierrotin, “but I’ve never had the +advantage, so far of seeing either monsieur or madame.” + +“Monsieur le comte is a good man,” said the footman, confidentially. +“But if he insists on your helping to keep up his cognito there’s +something in the wind. At any rate, so we think at the house; or else, +why should he countermand the Daumont,--why travel in a coucou? A peer +of France might afford to hire a cabriolet to himself, one would think.” + +“A cabriolet would cost him forty francs to go there and back; for +let me tell you, if you don’t know it, that road was only made for +squirrels,--up-hill and down, down-hill and up!” said Pierrotin. “Peer +of France or bourgeois, they are all looking after the main chance, and +saving their money. If this journey concerns Monsieur Moreau, faith, I’d +be sorry any harm should come to him! Twenty good Gods! hadn’t I better +find some way of warning him?--for he’s a truly good man, a kind man, a +king of men, hey!” + +“Pooh! Monsieur le comte thinks everything of Monsieur Moreau,” replied +the valet. “But let me give you a bit of good advice. Every man for +himself in this world. We have enough to do to take care of ourselves. +Do what Monsieur le comte asks you to do, and all the more because +there’s no trifling with him. Besides, to tell the truth, the count is +generous. If you oblige him so far,” said the valet, pointing half-way +down his little finger, “he’ll send you on as far as that,” stretching +out his arm to its full length. + +This wise reflection, and the action that enforced it, had the effect, +coming from a man who stood as high as second valet to the Comte de +Serizy, of cooling the ardor of Pierrotin for the steward of Presles. + +“Well, adieu, Monsieur Pierrotin,” said the valet. + +A glance rapidly cast on the life of the Comte de Serizy, and on that of +his steward, is here necessary in order to fully understand the little +drama now about to take place in Pierrotin’s vehicle. + + + + +CHAPTER II. THE STEWARD IN DANGER + + +Monsieur Huguet de Serisy descends in a direct line from the famous +president Huguet, ennobled under Francois I. + +This family bears: party per pale or and sable, an orle counterchanged +and two lozenges counterchanged, with: “i, semper melius eris,”--a motto +which, together with the two distaffs taken as supporters, proves the +modesty of the burgher families in the days when the Orders held their +allotted places in the State; and the naivete of our ancient customs by +the pun on “eris,” which word, combined with the “i” at the beginning +and the final “s” in “melius,” forms the name (Serisy) of the estate +from which the family take their title. + +The father of the present count was president of a parliament before +the Revolution. He himself a councillor of State at the Grand Council +of 1787, when he was only twenty-two years of age, was even then +distinguished for his admirable memoranda on delicate diplomatic +matters. He did not emigrate during the Revolution, and spent that +period on his estate of Serizy near Arpajon, where the respect in +which his father was held protected him from all danger. After spending +several years in taking care of the old president, who died in 1794, +he was elected about that time to the Council of the Five Hundred, and +accepted those legislative functions to divert his mind from his grief. +After the 18th Brumaire, Monsieur de Serizy became, like so many other +of the old parliamentary families, an object of the First Consul’s +blandishment. He was appointed to the Council of State, and received one +of the most disorganized departments of the government to reconstruct. +This scion of an old historical family proved to be a very active wheel +in the grand and magnificent organization which we owe to Napoleon. + +The councillor of State was soon called from his particular +administration to a ministry. Created count and senator by the Emperor, +he was made proconsul to two kingdoms in succession. In 1806, when +forty years of age, he married the sister of the ci-devant Marquis +de Ronquerolles, the widow at twenty of Gaubert, one of the most +illustrious of the Republican generals, who left her his whole property. +This marriage, a suitable one in point of rank, doubled the already +considerable fortune of the Comte de Serizy, who became through his wife +the brother-in-law of the ci-devant Marquis de Rouvre, made count and +chamberlain by the Emperor. + +In 1814, weary with constant toil, the Comte de Serizy, whose shattered +health required rest, resigned all his posts, left the department at +the head of which the Emperor had placed him, and came to Paris, where +Napoleon was compelled by the evidence of his eyes to admit that the +count’s illness was a valid excuse, though at first that _unfatiguable_ +master, who gave no heed to the fatigue of others, was disposed to +consider Monsieur de Serizy’s action as a defection. Though the senator +was never in disgrace, he was supposed to have reason to complain of +Napoleon. Consequently, when the Bourbons returned, Louis XVIII., whom +Monsieur de Serizy held to be his legitimate sovereign, treated the +senator, now a peer of France, with the utmost confidence, placed him +in charge of his private affairs, and appointed him one of his cabinet +ministers. On the 20th of March, Monsieur de Serizy did not go to Ghent. +He informed Napoleon that he remained faithful to the house of Bourbon; +would not accept his peerage during the Hundred Days, and passed that +period on his estate at Serizy. + +After the second fall of the Emperor, he became once more a +privy-councillor, was appointed vice-president of the Council of State, +and liquidator, on behalf of France, of claims and indemnities demanded +by foreign powers. Without personal assumption, without ambition even, +he possessed great influence in public affairs. Nothing of importance +was done without consulting him; but he never went to court, and was +seldom seen in his own salons. This noble life, devoting itself from its +very beginning to work, had ended by becoming a life of incessant toil. +The count rose at all seasons by four o’clock in the morning, and +worked till mid-day, attended to his functions as peer of France and +vice-president of the Council of State in the afternoons, and went to +bed at nine o’clock. In recognition of such labor, the King had made +him a knight of his various Orders. Monsieur de Serizy had long worn the +grand cross of the Legion of honor; he also had the orders of the Golden +Fleece, of Saint-Andrew of Russia, that of the Prussian Eagle, and +nearly all the lesser Orders of the courts of Europe. No man was less +obvious, or more useful in the political world than he. It is easy +to understand that the world’s honor, the fuss and feathers of public +favor, the glories of success were indifferent to a man of this stamp; +but no one, unless a priest, ever comes to life of this kind without +some serious underlying reason. His conduct had its cause, and a cruel +one. + +In love with his wife before he married her, this passion had lasted +through all the secret unhappiness of his marriage with a widow,--a +woman mistress of herself before as well as after her second marriage, +and who used her liberty all the more freely because her husband treated +her with the indulgence of a mother for a spoilt child. His constant +toil served him as shield and buckler against pangs of heart which he +silenced with the care that diplomatists give to the keeping of secrets. +He knew, moreover, how ridiculous was jealousy in the eyes of a society +that would never have believed in the conjugal passion of an old +statesman. How happened it that from the earliest days of his marriage +his wife so fascinated him? Why did he suffer without resistance? How +was it that he dared not resist? Why did he let the years go by and +still hope on? By what means did this young and pretty and clever woman +hold him in bondage? + +The answer to all these questions would require a long history, which +would injure our present tale. Let us only remark here that the constant +toil and grief of the count had unfortunately contributed not a little +to deprive him of personal advantages very necessary to a man who +attempts to struggle against dangerous comparisons. In fact, the most +cruel of the count’s secret sorrows was that of causing repugnance to +his wife by a malady of the skin resulting solely from excessive labor. +Kind, and always considerate of the countess, he allowed her to be +mistress of herself and her home. She received all Paris; she went into +the country; she returned from it precisely as though she were still a +widow. He took care of her fortune and supplied her luxury as a steward +might have done. The countess had the utmost respect for her husband. +She even admired his turn of mind; she knew how to make him happy by +approbation; she could do what she pleased with him by simply going to +his study and talking for an hour with him. Like the great seigneurs of +the olden time, the count protected his wife so loyally that a single +word of disrespect said of her would have been to him an unpardonable +injury. The world admired him for this; and Madame de Serizy owed +much to it. Any other woman, even though she came of a family as +distinguished as the Ronquerolles, might have found herself degraded +in public opinion. The countess was ungrateful, but she mingled a charm +with her ingratitude. From time to time she shed a balm upon the wounds +of her husband’s heart. + +Let us now explain the meaning of this sudden journey, and the incognito +maintained by a minister of State. + +A rich farmer of Beaumont-sur-Oise, named Leger, leased and cultivated +a farm, the fields of which projected into and greatly injured the +magnificent estate of the Comte de Serizy, called Presles. This farm +belonged to a burgher of Beaumont-sur-Oise, named Margueron. The lease +made to Leger in 1799, at a time when the great advance of agriculture +was not foreseen, was about to expire, and the owner of the farm refused +all offers from Leger to renew the lease. For some time past, Monsieur +de Serizy, wishing to rid himself of the annoyances and petty disputes +caused by the inclosure of these fields within his land, had desired to +buy the farm, having heard that Monsieur Margueron’s chief ambition was +to have his only son, then a mere tax-gatherer, made special collector +of finances at Beaumont. The farmer, who knew he could sell the fields +piecemeal to the count at a high price, was ready to pay Margueron even +more than he expected from the count. + +Thus matters stood when, two days earlier than that of which we write, +Monsieur de Serizy, anxious to end the matter, sent for his notary, +Alexandre Crottat, and his lawyer, Derville, to examine into all the +circumstances of the affair. Though Derville and Crottat threw some +doubt on the zeal of the count’s steward (a disturbing letter from whom +had led to the consultation), Monsieur de Serizy defended Moreau, who, +he said, had served him faithfully for seventeen years. + +“Very well!” said Derville, “then I advise your Excellency to go to +Presles yourself, and invite this Margueron to dinner. Crottat will send +his head-clerk with a deed of sale drawn up, leaving only the necessary +lines for description of property and titles in blank. Your Excellency +should take with you part of the purchase money in a check on the +Bank of France, not forgetting the appointment of the son to the +collectorship. If you don’t settle the thing at once that farm will slip +through your fingers. You don’t know, Monsieur le comte, the trickery of +these peasants. Peasants against diplomat, and the diplomat succumbs.” + +Crottat agreed in this advice, which the count, if we may judge by the +valet’s statements to Pierrotin, had adopted. The preceding evening +he had sent Moreau a line by the diligence to Beaumont, telling him to +invite Margueron to dinner in order that they might then and there close +the purchase of the farm of Moulineaux. + +Before this matter came up, the count had already ordered the chateau of +Presles to be restored and refurnished, and for the last year, Grindot, +an architect then in fashion, was in the habit of making a weekly visit. +So, while concluding his purchase of the farm, Monsieur de Serizy also +intended to examine the work of restoration and the effect of the new +furniture. He intended all this to be a surprise to his wife when he +brought her to Presles, and with this idea in his mind, he had put some +personal pride and self-love into the work. How came it therefore that +the count, who intended in the evening to drive to Presles openly in +his own carriage, should be starting early the next morning incognito in +Pierrotin’s coucou? + +Here a few words on the life of the steward Moreau become indispensable. + +Moreau, steward of the state of Presles, was the son of a provincial +attorney who became during the Revolution syndic-attorney at Versailles. +In that position, Moreau the father had been the means of almost saving +both the lives and property of the Serizys, father and son. Citizen +Moreau belonged to the Danton party; Robespierre, implacable in his +hatreds, pursued him, discovered him, and finally had him executed at +Versailles. Moreau the son, heir to the doctrines and friendships of +his father, was concerned in one of the conspiracies which assailed +the First Consul on his accession to power. At this crisis, Monsieur +de Serizy, anxious to pay his debt of gratitude, enabled Moreau, lying +under sentence of death, to make his escape; in 1804 he asked for his +pardon, obtained it, offered him first a place in his government office, +and finally took him as private secretary for his own affairs. + +Some time after the marriage of his patron Moreau fell in love with the +countess’s waiting-woman and married her. To avoid the annoyances of the +false position in which this marriage placed him (more than one example +of which could be seen at the imperial court), Moreau asked the count to +give him the management of the Presles estate, where his wife could +play the lady in a country region, and neither of them would be made +to suffer from wounded self-love. The count wanted a trustworthy man +at Presles, for his wife preferred Serizy, an estate only fifteen miles +from Paris. For three or four years Moreau had held the key of the +count’s affairs; he was intelligent, and before the Revolution he had +studied law in his father’s office; so Monsieur de Serizy granted his +request. + +“You can never advance in life,” he said to Moreau, “for you have broken +your neck; but you can be happy, and I will take care that you are so.” + +He gave Moreau a salary of three thousand francs and his residence in a +charming lodge near the chateau, all the wood he needed from the timber +that was cut on the estate, oats, hay, and straw for two horses, and a +right to whatever he wanted of the produce of the gardens. A sub-prefect +is not as well provided for. + +During the first eight years of his stewardship, Moreau managed the +estate conscientiously; he took an interest in it. The count, coming +down now and then to examine the property, pass judgment on what had +been done, and decide on new purchases, was struck with Moreau’s evident +loyalty, and showed his satisfaction by liberal gifts. + +But after the birth of Moreau’s third child, a daughter, he felt himself +so securely settled in all his comforts at Presles that he ceased to +attribute to Monsieur de Serizy those enormous advantages. About the +year 1816, the steward, who until then had only taken what he needed +for his own use from the estate, accepted a sum of twenty-five thousand +francs from a wood-merchant as an inducement to lease to the latter, +for twelve years, the cutting of all the timber. Moreau argued this: he +could have no pension; he was the father of a family; the count really +owed him that sum as a gift after ten years’ management; already the +legitimate possessor of sixty thousand francs in savings, if he added +this sum to that, he could buy a farm worth a hundred and twenty-five +thousand francs in Champagne, a township just above Isle-Adam, on the +right bank of the Oise. Political events prevented both the count and +the neighboring country-people from becoming aware of this investment, +which was made in the name of Madame Moreau, who was understood to have +inherited property from an aunt of her father. + +As soon as the steward had tasted the delightful fruit of the possession +of the property, he began, all the while maintaining toward the world +an appearance of the utmost integrity, to lose no occasion of increasing +his fortune clandestinely; the interests of his three children served as +a poultice to the wounds of his honor. Nevertheless, we ought in justice +to say that while he accepted casks of wine, and took care of himself in +all the purchases that he made for the count, yet according to the terms +of the Code he remained an honest man, and no proof could have +been found to justify an accusation against him. According to the +jurisprudence of the least thieving cook in Paris, he shared with the +count in the profits due to his own capable management. This manner +of swelling his fortune was simply a case of conscience, that was +all. Alert, and thoroughly understanding the count’s interests, Moreau +watched for opportunities to make good purchases all the more eagerly, +because he gained a larger percentage on them. Presles returned +a revenue of seventy thousand francs net. It was a saying of the +country-side for a circuit of thirty miles:-- + +“Monsieur de Serizy has a second self in Moreau.” + +Being a prudent man, Moreau invested yearly, after 1817, both his +profits and his salary on the Grand Livre, piling up his heap with the +utmost secrecy. He often refused proposals on the plea of want of money; +and he played the poor man so successfully with the count that the +latter gave him the means to send both his sons to the school Henri IV. +At the present moment Moreau was worth one hundred and twenty thousand +francs of capital invested in the Consolidated thirds, now paying +five per cent, and quoted at eighty francs. These carefully hidden one +hundred and twenty thousand francs, and his farm at Champagne, enlarged +by subsequent purchases, amounted to a fortune of about two hundred and +eighty thousand francs, giving him an income of some sixteen thousand. + +Such was the position of the steward at the time when the Comte de +Serizy desired to purchase the farm of Moulineaux,--the ownership +of which was indispensable to his comfort. This farm consisted of +ninety-six parcels of land bordering the estate of Presles, and +frequently running into it, producing the most annoying discussions +as to the trimming of hedges and ditches and the cutting of trees. Any +other than a cabinet minister would probably have had scores of lawsuits +on his hands. Pere Leger only wished to buy the property in order +to sell to the count at a handsome advance. In order to secure the +exorbitant sum on which his mind was set, the farmer had long endeavored +to come to an understanding with Moreau. Impelled by circumstances, he +had, only three days before this critical Sunday, had a talk with the +steward in the open field, and proved to him clearly that he (Moreau) +could make the count invest his money at two and a half per cent, and +thus appear to serve his patron’s interests, while he himself pocketed +forty thousand francs which Leger offered him to bring about the +transaction. + +“I tell you what,” said the steward to his wife, as he went to bed +that night, “if I make fifty thousand francs out of the Moulineaux +affair,--and I certainly shall, for the count will give me ten thousand +as a fee,--we’ll retire to Isle-Adam and live in the Pavillon de +Nogent.” + +This “pavillon” was a charming place, originally built by the Prince de +Conti for a mistress, and in it every convenience and luxury had been +placed. + +“That will suit me,” said his wife. “The Dutchman who lives there has +put it in good order, and now that he is obliged to return to India, he +would probably let us have it for thirty thousand francs.” + +“We shall be close to Champagne,” said Moreau. “I am in hopes of buying +the farm and mill of Mours for a hundred thousand francs. That would +give us ten thousand a year in rentals. Nogent is one of the most +delightful residences in the valley; and we should still have an income +of ten thousand from the Grand-Livre.” + +“But why don’t you ask for the post of juge-de-paix at Isle-Adam? That +would give us influence, and fifteen hundred a year salary.” + +“Well, I did think of it.” + +With these plans in mind, Moreau, as soon as he heard from the count +that he was coming to Presles, and wished him to invite Margueron to +dinner on Saturday, sent off an express to the count’s head-valet, +inclosing a letter to his master, which the messenger failed to deliver +before Monsieur de Serizy retired at his usually early hour. Augustin, +however, placed it, according to custom in such cases, on his master’s +desk. In this letter Moreau begged the count not to trouble himself to +come down, but to trust entirely to him. He added that Margueron was no +longer willing to sell the whole in one block, and talked of cutting the +farm up into a number of smaller lots. It was necessary to circumvent +this plan, and perhaps, added Moreau, it might be best to employ a third +party to make the purchase. + +Everybody has enemies in this life. Now the steward and his wife had +wounded the feelings of a retired army officer, Monsieur de Reybert, and +his wife, who were living near Presles. From speeches like pin-pricks, +matters had advanced to dagger-thrusts. Monsieur de Reybert breathed +vengeance. He was determined to make Moreau lose his situation and +gain it himself. The two ideas were twins. Thus the proceedings of the +steward, spied upon for two years, were no secret to Reybert. The same +conveyance that took Moreau’s letter to the count conveyed Madame de +Reybert, whom her husband despatched to Paris. There she asked with such +earnestness to see the count that although she was sent away at nine +o’clock, he having then gone to bed, she was ushered into his study the +next morning at seven. + +“Monsieur,” she said to the cabinet-minister, “we are incapable, my +husband and I, of writing anonymous letters, therefore I have come to +see you in person. I am Madame de Reybert, nee de Corroy. My husband is +a retired officer, with a pension of six hundred francs, and we live at +Presles, where your steward has offered us insult after insult, although +we are persons of good station. Monsieur de Reybert, who is not an +intriguing man, far from it, is a captain of artillery, retired in 1816, +having served twenty years,--always at a distance from the Emperor, +Monsieur le comte. You know of course how difficult it is for soldiers +who are not under the eye of their master to obtain promotion,--not +counting that the integrity and frankness of Monsieur de Reybert were +displeasing to his superiors. My husband has watched your steward for +the last three years, being aware of his dishonesty and intending to +have him lose his place. We are, as you see, quite frank with you. +Moreau has made us his enemies, and we have watched him. I have come to +tell you that you are being tricked in the purchase of the Moulineaux +farm. They mean to get an extra hundred thousand francs out of you, +which are to be divided between the notary, the farmer Leger, and +Moreau. You have written Moreau to invite Margueron, and you are going +to Presles to-day; but Margueron will be ill, and Leger is so certain +of buying the farm that he is now in Paris to draw the money. If we +have enlightened you as to what is going on, and if you want an upright +steward you will take my husband; though noble, he will serve you as he +has served the State. Your steward has made a fortune of two hundred +and fifty thousand francs out of his place; he is not to be pitied +therefore.” + +The count thanked Madame de Reybert coldly, bestowing upon her the +holy-water of courts, for he despised backbiting; but for all that, he +remembered Derville’s doubts, and felt inwardly shaken. Just then he saw +his steward’s letter and read it. In its assurances of devotion and its +respectful reproaches for the distrust implied in wishing to negotiate +the purchase for himself, he read the truth. + +“Corruption has come to him with fortune,--as it always does!” he said +to himself. + +The count then made several inquiries of Madame de Reybert, less to +obtain information than to gain time to observe her; and he wrote a +short note to his notary telling him not to send his head-clerk to +Presles as requested, but to come there himself in time for dinner. + +“Though Monsieur le comte,” said Madame de Reybert in conclusion, “may +have judged me unfavorably for the step I have taken unknown to my +husband, he ought to be convinced that we have obtained this information +about his steward in a natural and honorable manner; the most sensitive +conscience cannot take exception to it.” + +So saying, Madame de Reybert, nee de Corroy, stood erect as a +pike-staff. She presented to the rapid investigation of the count a +face seamed with the small-pox like a colander with holes, a flat, +spare figure, two light and eager eyes, fair hair plastered down upon +an anxious forehead, a small drawn-bonnet of faded green taffetas lined +with pink, a white gown with violet spots, and leather shoes. The +count recognized the wife of some poor, half-pay captain, a puritan, +subscribing no doubt to the “Courrier Francais,” earnest in virtue, but +aware of the comfort of a good situation and eagerly coveting it. + +“You say your husband has a pension of six hundred francs,” he said, +replying to his own thoughts, and not to the remark Madame de Reybert +had just made. + +“Yes, monsieur.” + +“You were born a Corroy?” + +“Yes, monsieur,--a noble family of Metz, where my husband belongs.” + +“In what regiment did Monsieur de Reybert serve?” + +“The 7th artillery.” + +“Good!” said the count, writing down the number. + +He had thought at one time of giving the management of the estate to +some retired army officer, about whom he could obtain exact information +from the minister of war. + +“Madame,” he resumed, ringing for his valet, “return to Presles, this +afternoon with my notary, who is going down there for dinner, and to +whom I have recommended you. Here is his address. I am going myself +secretly to Presles, and will send for Monsieur de Reybert to come and +speak to me.” + +It will thus be seen that Monsieur de Serizy’s journey by a public +conveyance, and the injunction conveyed by the valet to conceal his name +and rank had not unnecessarily alarmed Pierrotin. That worthy had just +forebodings of a danger which was about to swoop down upon one of his +best customers. + + + + +CHAPTER III. THE TRAVELLERS + + +As Pierrotin issued from the Cafe de l’Echiquier, after treating the +valet, he saw in the gate-way of the Lion d’Argent the lady and the +young man in whom his perspicacity at once detected customers, for the +lady with outstretched neck and anxious face was evidently looking for +him. She was dressed in a black-silk gown that was dyed, a brown bonnet, +an old French cashmere shawl, raw-silk stockings, and low shoes; and in +her hand she carried a straw bag and a blue umbrella. This woman, who +had once been beautiful, seemed to be about forty years of age; but her +blue eyes, deprived of the fire which happiness puts there, told plainly +that she had long renounced the world. Her dress, as well as her whole +air and demeanor, indicated a mother wholly devoted to her household +and her son. If the strings of her bonnet were faded, the shape betrayed +that it was several years old. The shawl was fastened by a broken +needle converted into a pin by a bead of sealing-wax. She was waiting +impatiently for Pierrotin, wishing to recommend to his special care her +son, who was doubtless travelling for the first time, and with whom she +had come to the coach-office as much from doubt of his ability as from +maternal affection. + +This mother was in every way completed by the son, so that the son would +not be understood without the mother. If the mother condemned herself to +mended gloves, the son wore an olive-green coat with sleeves too short +for him, proving that he had grown, and might grow still more, like +other adults of eighteen or nineteen years of age. The blue trousers, +mended by his mother, presented to the eye a brighter patch of color +when the coat-tails maliciously parted behind him. + +“Don’t rub your gloves that way, you’ll spoil them,” she was saying as +Pierrotin appeared. “Is this the conductor? Ah! Pierrotin, is it you?” + she exclaimed, leaving her son and taking the coachman apart a few +steps. + +“I hope you’re well, Madame Clapart,” he replied, with an air that +expressed both respect and familiarity. + +“Yes, Pierrotin, very well. Please take good care of my Oscar; he is +travelling alone for the first time.” + +“Oh! so he is going alone to Monsieur Moreau!” cried Pierrotin, for the +purpose of finding out whether he were really going there. + +“Yes,” said the mother. + +“Then Madame Moreau is willing?” returned Pierrotin, with a sly look. + +“Ah!” said the mother, “it will not be all roses for him, poor child! +But his future absolutely requires that I should send him.” + +This answer struck Pierrotin, who hesitated to confide his fears for +the steward to Madame Clapart, while she, on her part, was afraid of +injuring her boy if she asked Pierrotin for a care which might have +transformed him into a mentor. During this short deliberation, which was +ostensibly covered by a few phrases as to the weather, the journey, and +the stopping-places along the road, we will ourselves explain what were +the ties that united Madame Clapart with Pierrotin, and authorized the +two confidential remarks which they have just exchanged. + +Often--that is to say, three or four times a month--Pierrotin, on his +way to Paris, would find the steward on the road near La Cave. As soon +as the vehicle came up, Moreau would sign to a gardener, who, with +Pierrotin’s help, would put upon the coach either one or two baskets +containing the fruits and vegetables of the season, chickens, eggs, +butter, and game. The steward always paid the carriage and Pierrotin’s +fee, adding the money necessary to pay the toll at the barriere, if +the baskets contained anything dutiable. These baskets, hampers, or +packages, were never directed to any one. On the first occasion, which +served for all others, the steward had given Madame Clapart’s address by +word of mouth to the discreet Pierrotin, requesting him never to deliver +to others the precious packages. Pierrotin, impressed with the idea +of an intrigue between the steward and some pretty girl, had gone as +directed to number 7 rue de la Cerisaie, in the Arsenal quarter, and had +there found the Madame Clapart just portrayed, instead of the young and +beautiful creature he expected to find. + +The drivers of public conveyances and carriers are called by their +business to enter many homes, and to be cognizant of many secrets; but +social accident, that sub-providence, having willed that they be without +education and devoid of the talent of observation, it follows that they +are not dangerous. Nevertheless, at the end of a few months, Pierrotin +was puzzled to explain the exact relations of Monsieur Moreau and Madame +Clapart from what he saw of the household in the rue de la Cerisaie. +Though lodgings were not dear at that time in the Arsenal quarter, +Madame Clapart lived on a third floor at the end of a court-yard, in a +house which was formerly that of a great family, in the days when the +higher nobility of the kingdom lived on the ancient site of the Palais +des Tournelles and the hotel Saint-Paul. Toward the end of the sixteenth +century, the great seigneurs divided among themselves these vast spaces, +once occupied by the gardens of the kings of France, as indicated by the +present names of the streets,--Cerisaie, Beautreillis, des Lions, etc. +Madame Clapart’s apartment, which was panelled throughout with ancient +carvings, consisted of three connecting rooms, a dining-room, salon, and +bedroom. Above it was the kitchen, and a bedroom for Oscar. Opposite +to the entrance, on what is called in Paris “le carre,”--that is, the +square landing,--was the door of a back room, opening, on every floor, +into a sort of tower built of rough stone, in which was also the well +for the staircase. This was the room in which Moreau slept whenever he +went to Paris. + +Pierrotin had seen in the first room, where he deposited the hampers, +six wooden chairs with straw seats, a table, and a sideboard; at the +windows, discolored curtains. Later, when he entered the salon, he +noticed some old Empire furniture, now shabby; but only as much as all +proprietors exact to secure their rent. Pierrotin judged of the bedroom +by the salon and dining-room. The wood-work, painted coarsely of a +reddish white, which thickened and blurred the mouldings and figurines, +far from being ornamental, was distressing to the eye. The floors, never +waxed, were of that gray tone we see in boarding-schools. When Pierrotin +came upon Monsieur and Madame Clapart at their meals he saw that their +china, glass, and all other little articles betrayed the utmost poverty; +and yet, though the chipped and mended dishes and tureens were those +of the poorest families and provoked pity, the forks and spoons were of +silver. + +Monsieur Clapart, clothed in a shabby surtout, his feet in broken +slippers, always wore green spectacles, and exhibited, whenever he +removed his shabby cap of a bygone period, a pointed skull, from the top +of which trailed a few dirty filaments which even a poet could scarcely +call hair. This man, of wan complexion, seemed timorous, but withal +tyrannical. + +In this dreary apartment, which faced the north and had no other outlook +than to a vine on the opposite wall and a well in the corner of the +yard, Madame Clapart bore herself with the airs of a queen, and moved +like a woman unaccustomed to go anywhere on foot. Often, while thanking +Pierrotin, she gave him glances which would have touched to pity an +intelligent observer; from time to time she would slip a twelve-sous +piece into his hand, and then her voice was charming. Pierrotin had +never seen Oscar, for the reason that the boy was always in school at +the time his business took him to the house. + +Here is the sad story which Pierrotin could never have discovered, even +by asking for information, as he sometimes did, from the portress of +the house; for that individual knew nothing beyond the fact that the +Claparts paid a rent of two hundred and fifty francs a year, had no +servant but a charwoman who came daily for a few hours in the morning, +that Madame Clapart did some of her smaller washing herself, and paid +the postage on her letters daily, being apparently unable to let the sum +accumulate. + +There does not exist, or rather, there seldom exists, a criminal who is +wholly criminal. Neither do we ever meet with a dishonest nature which +is completely dishonest. It is possible for a man to cheat his master +to his own advantage, or rake in for himself alone all the hay in +the manger, but, even while laying up capital by actions more or +less illicit, there are few men who never do good ones. If only from +self-love, curiosity, or by way of variety, or by chance, every man has +his moment of beneficence; he may call it his error, he may never do it +again, but he sacrifices to Goodness, as the most surly man sacrifices +to the Graces once or twice in his life. If Moreau’s faults can ever +be excused, it might be on the score of his persistent kindness in +succoring a woman of whose favors he had once been proud, and in whose +house he was hidden when in peril of his life. + +This woman, celebrated under the Directory for her liaison with one +of the five kings of that reign, married, through that all-powerful +protection, a purveyor who was making his millions out of the +government, and whom Napoleon ruined in 1802. This man, named Husson, +became insane through his sudden fall from opulence to poverty; he flung +himself into the Seine, leaving the beautiful Madame Husson pregnant. +Moreau, very intimately allied with Madame Husson, was at that time +condemned to death; he was unable therefore to marry the widow, being +forced to leave France. Madame Husson, then twenty-two years old, +married in her deep distress a government clerk named Clapart, aged +twenty-seven, who was said to be a rising man. At that period of our +history, government clerks were apt to become persons of importance; +for Napoleon was ever on the lookout for capacity. But Clapart, though +endowed by nature with a certain coarse beauty, proved to have no +intelligence. Thinking Madame Husson very rich, he feigned a great +passion for her, and was simply saddled with the impossibility of +satisfying either then or in the future the wants she had acquired in a +life of opulence. He filled, very poorly, a place in the Treasury that +gave him a salary of eighteen hundred francs; which was all the +new household had to live on. When Moreau returned to France as the +secretary of the Comte de Serizy he heard of Madame Husson’s pitiable +condition, and he was able, before his own marriage, to get her an +appointment as head-waiting-woman to Madame Mere, the Emperor’s mother. +But in spite of that powerful protection Clapart was never promoted; his +incapacity was too apparent. + +Ruined in 1815 by the fall of the Empire, the brilliant Aspasia of the +Directory had no other resources than Clapart’s salary of twelve hundred +francs from a clerkship obtained for him through the Comte de Serizy. +Moreau, the only protector of a woman whom he had known in possession of +millions, obtained a half-scholarship for her son, Oscar Husson, at +the school of Henri IV.; and he sent her regularly, by Pierrotin, such +supplies from the estate at Presles as he could decently offer to a +household in distress. + +Oscar was the whole life and all the future of his mother. The poor +woman could now be reproached with no other fault than her exaggerated +tenderness for her boy,--the bete-noire of his step-father. Oscar was, +unfortunately, endowed by nature with a foolishness his mother did not +perceive, in spite of the step-father’s sarcasms. This foolishness--or, +to speak more specifically, this overweening conceit--so troubled +Monsieur Moreau that he begged Madame Clapart to send the boy down to +him for a month that he might study his character, and find out what +career he was fit for. Moreau was really thinking of some day proposing +Oscar to the count as his successor. + +But to give to the devil and to God what respectively belongs to them, +perhaps it would be well to show the causes of Oscar Husson’s silly +self-conceit, premising that he was born in the household of Madame +Mere. During his early childhood his eyes were dazzled by imperial +splendors. His pliant imagination retained the impression of those +gorgeous scenes, and nursed the images of a golden time of pleasure +in hopes of recovering them. The natural boastfulness of school-boys +(possessed of a desire to outshine their mates) resting on these +memories of his childhood was developed in him beyond all measure. It +may also have been that his mother at home dwelt too fondly on the days +when she herself was a queen in Directorial Paris. At any rate, Oscar, +who was now leaving school, had been made to bear many humiliations +which the paying pupils put upon those who hold scholarships, unless the +scholars are able to impose respect by superior physical ability. + +This mixture of former splendor now departed, of beauty gone, of blind +maternal love, of sufferings heroically borne, made the mother one of +those pathetic figures which catch the eye of many an observer in Paris. + +Incapable, naturally, of understanding the real attachment of Moreau to +this woman, or that of the woman for the man she had saved in 1797, +now her only friend, Pierrotin did not think it best to communicate +the suspicion that had entered his head as to some danger which was +threatening Moreau. The valet’s speech, “We have enough to do in this +world to look after ourselves,” returned to his mind, and with it came +that sentiment of obedience to what he called the “chefs de file,”--the +front-rank men in war, and men of rank in peace. Besides, just now +Pierrotin’s head was as full of his own stings as there are five-franc +pieces in a thousand francs. So that the “Very good, madame,” + “Certainly, madame,” with which he replied to the poor mother, to whom a +trip of twenty miles appeared a journey, showed plainly that he desired +to get away from her useless and prolix instructions. + +“You will be sure to place the packages so that they cannot get wet if +the weather should happen to change.” + +“I’ve a hood,” replied Pierrotin. “Besides, see, madame, with what care +they are being placed.” + +“Oscar, don’t stay more than two weeks, no matter how much they may ask +you,” continued Madame Clapart, returning to her son. “You can’t please +Madame Moreau, whatever you do; besides, you must be home by the end of +September. We are to go to Belleville, you know, to your uncle Cardot.” + +“Yes, mamma.” + +“Above all,” she said, in a low voice, “be sure never to speak about +servants; keep thinking all the time that Madame Moreau was once a +waiting-maid.” + +“Yes, mamma.” + +Oscar, like all youths whose vanity is excessively ticklish, seemed +annoyed at being lectured on the threshold of the Lion d’Argent. + +“Well, now good-bye, mamma. We shall start soon; there’s the horse all +harnessed.” + +The mother, forgetting that she was in the open street, embraced her +Oscar, and said, smiling, as she took a little roll from her basket:-- + +“Tiens! you were forgetting your roll and the chocolate! My child, once +more, I repeat, don’t take anything at the inns; they’d make you pay for +the slightest thing ten times what it is worth.” + +Oscar would fain have seen his mother farther off as she stuffed the +bread and chocolate into his pocket. The scene had two witnesses,--two +young men a few years older than Oscar, better dressed than he, +without a mother hanging on to them, whose actions, dress, and ways all +betokened that complete independence which is the one desire of a lad +still tied to his mother’s apron-strings. + +“He said _mamma_!” cried one of the new-comers, laughing. + +The words reached Oscar’s ears and drove him to say, “Good-bye, mother!” + in a tone of terrible impatience. + +Let us admit that Madame Clapart spoke too loudly, and seemed to wish to +show to those around them her tenderness for the boy. + +“What is the matter with you, Oscar?” asked the poor hurt woman. “I +don’t know what to make of you,” she added in a severe tone, fancying +herself able to inspire him with respect,--a great mistake made by those +who spoil their children. “Listen, my Oscar,” she said, resuming at once +her tender voice, “you have a propensity to talk, and to tell all you +know, and all that you don’t know; and you do it to show off, with +the foolish vanity of a mere lad. Now, I repeat, endeavor to keep your +tongue in check. You are not sufficiently advanced in life, my treasure, +to be able to judge of the persons with whom you may be thrown; and +there is nothing more dangerous than to talk in public conveyances. +Besides, in a diligence well-bred persons always keep silence.” + +The two young men, who seemed to have walked to the farther end of the +establishment, here returned, making their boot-heels tap upon the paved +passage of the porte-cochere. They might have heard the whole of this +maternal homily. So, in order to rid himself of his mother, Oscar had +recourse to an heroic measure, which proved how vanity stimulates the +intellect. + +“Mamma,” he said, “you are standing in a draught, and you may take cold. +Besides, I am going to get into the coach.” + +The lad must have touched some tender spot, for his mother caught him +to her bosom, kissed him as if he were starting upon a long journey, and +went with him to the vehicle with tears in her eyes. + +“Don’t forget to give five francs to the servants when you come away,” + she said; “write me three times at least during the fifteen days; behave +properly, and remember all that I have told you. You have linen enough; +don’t send any to the wash. And above all, remember Monsieur Moreau’s +kindness; mind him as you would a father, and follow his advice.” + +As he got into the coach, Oscar’s blue woollen stockings became visible, +through the action of his trousers which drew up suddenly, also the +new patch in the said trousers was seen, through the parting of his +coat-tails. The smiles of the two young men, on whom these signs of +an honorable indigence were not lost, were so many fresh wounds to the +lad’s vanity. + +“The first place was engaged for Oscar,” said the mother to Pierrotin. +“Take the back seat,” she said to the boy, looking fondly at him with a +loving smile. + +Oh! how Oscar regretted that trouble and sorrow had destroyed his +mother’s beauty, and that poverty and self-sacrifice prevented her from +being better dressed! One of the young men, the one who wore top-boots +and spurs, nudged the other to make him take notice of Oscar’s mother, +and the other twirled his moustache with a gesture which signified,-- + +“Rather pretty figure!” + +“How shall I ever get rid of mamma?” thought Oscar. + +“What’s the matter?” asked Madame Clapart. + +Oscar pretended not to hear, the monster! Perhaps Madame Clapart was +lacking in tact under the circumstances; but all absorbing sentiments +have so much egotism! + +“Georges, do you like children when travelling?” asked one young man of +the other. + +“Yes, my good Amaury, if they are weaned, and are named Oscar, and have +chocolate.” + +These speeches were uttered in half-tones to allow Oscar to hear them or +not hear them as he chose; his countenance was to be the weather-gauge +by which the other young traveller could judge how much fun he might be +able to get out of the lad during the journey. Oscar chose not to hear. +He looked to see if his mother, who weighed upon him like a nightmare, +was still there, for he felt that she loved him too well to leave him +so quickly. Not only did he involuntarily compare the dress of his +travelling companion with his own, but he felt that his mother’s toilet +counted for much in the smiles of the two young men. + +“If they would only take themselves off!” he said to himself. + +Instead of that, Amaury remarked to Georges, giving a tap with his cane +to the heavy wheel of the coucou: + +“And so, my friend, you are really going to trust your future to this +fragile bark?” + +“I must,” replied Georges, in a tone of fatalism. + +Oscar gave a sigh as he remarked the jaunty manner in which his +companion’s hat was stuck on one ear for the purpose of showing a +magnificent head of blond hair beautifully brushed and curled; while he, +by order of his step-father, had his black hair cut like a clothes-brush +across the forehead, and clipped, like a soldier’s, close to the head. +The face of the vain lad was round and chubby and bright with the hues +of health, while that of his fellow-traveller was long, and delicate, +and pale. The forehead of the latter was broad, and his chest filled +out a waistcoat of cashmere pattern. As Oscar admired the tight-fitting +iron-gray trousers and the overcoat with its frogs and olives clasping +the waist, it seemed to him that this romantic-looking stranger, gifted +with such advantages, insulted him by his superiority, just as an ugly +woman feels injured by the mere sight of a pretty one. The click of the +stranger’s boot-heels offended his taste and echoed in his heart. He +felt as hampered by his own clothes (made no doubt at home out of those +of his step-father) as that envied young man seemed at ease in his. + +“That fellow must have heaps of francs in his trousers pocket,” thought +Oscar. + +The young man turned round. What were Oscar’s feelings on beholding +a gold chain round his neck, at the end of which no doubt was a gold +watch! From that moment the young man assumed, in Oscar’s eyes, the +proportions of a personage. + +Living in the rue de la Cerisaie since 1815, taken to and from school +by his step-father, Oscar had no other points of comparison since his +adolescence than the poverty-stricken household of his mother. Brought +up strictly, by Moreau’s advice, he seldom went to the theatre, and +then to nothing better than the Ambigu-Comique, where his eyes could see +little elegance, if indeed the eyes of a child riveted on a melodrama +were likely to examine the audience. His step-father still wore, after +the fashion of the Empire, his watch in the fob of his trousers, from +which there depended over his abdomen a heavy gold chain, ending in a +bunch of heterogeneous ornaments, seals, and a watch-key with a round +top and flat sides, on which was a landscape in mosaic. Oscar, +who considered that old-fashioned finery as the “ne plus ultra” of +adornment, was bewildered by the present revelation of superior and +negligent elegance. The young man exhibited, offensively, a pair of +spotless gloves, and seemed to wish to dazzle Oscar by twirling with +much grace a gold-headed switch cane. + +Oscar had reached that last quarter of adolescence when little things +cause immense joys and immense miseries,--a period when youth prefers +misfortune to a ridiculous suit of clothes, and caring nothing for +the real interests of life, torments itself about frivolities, about +neckcloths, and the passionate desire to appear a man. Then the young +fellow swells himself out; his swagger is all the more portentous +because it is exercised on nothings. Yet if he envies a fool who is +elegantly dressed, he is also capable of enthusiasm over talent, and of +genuine admiration for genius. Such defects as these, when they have no +root in the heart, prove only the exuberance of sap,--the richness of +the youthful imagination. That a lad of nineteen, an only child, kept +severely at home by poverty, adored by a mother who put upon herself +all privations for his sake, should be moved to envy by a young man of +twenty-two in a frogged surtout-coat silk-lined, a waist-coat of fancy +cashmere, and a cravat slipped through a ring of the worse taste, is +nothing more than a peccadillo committed in all ranks of social life by +inferiors who envy those that seem beyond them. Men of genius themselves +succumb to this primitive passion. Did not Rousseau admire Ventura and +Bacle? + +But Oscar passed from peccadillo to evil feelings. He felt humiliated; +he was angry with the youth he envied, and there rose in his heart a +secret desire to show openly that he himself was as good as the object +of his envy. + +The two young fellows continued to walk up and own from the gate to the +stables, and from the stables to the gate. Each time they turned they +looked at Oscar curled up in his corner of the coucou. Oscar, persuaded +that their jokes and laughter concerned himself, affected the utmost +indifference. He began to hum the chorus of a song lately brought into +vogue by the liberals, which ended with the words, “‘Tis Voltaire’s +fault, ‘tis Rousseau’s fault.” + +“Tiens! perhaps he is one of the chorus at the Opera,” said Amaury. + +This exasperated Oscar, who bounded up, pulled out the wooden “back,” + and called to Pierrotin:-- + +“When do we start?” + +“Presently,” said that functionary, who was standing, whip in hand, and +gazing toward the rue d’Enghien. + +At this moment the scene was enlivened by the arrival of a young man +accompanied by a true “gamin,” who was followed by a porter dragging +a hand-cart. The young man came up to Pierrotin and spoke to him +confidentially, on which the latter nodded his head, and called to his +own porter. The man ran out and helped to unload the little hand-cart, +which contained, besides two trunks, buckets, brushes, boxes of singular +shape, and an infinity of packages and utensils which the youngest of +the new-comers, who had climbed into the imperial, stowed away with +such celerity that Oscar, who happened to be smiling at his mother, now +standing on the other side of the street, saw none of the paraphernalia +which might have revealed to him the profession of his new travelling +companion. + +The gamin, who must have been sixteen years of age, wore a gray blouse +buckled round his waist by a polished leather belt. His cap, jauntily +perched on the side of his head, seemed the sign of a merry nature, and +so did the picturesque disorder of the curly brown hair which fell upon +his shoulders. A black-silk cravat drew a line round his very white +neck, and added to the vivacity of his bright gray eyes. The animation +of his brown and rosy face, the moulding of his rather large lips, the +ears detached from his head, his slightly turned-up nose,--in fact, all +the details of his face proclaimed the lively spirit of a Figaro, and +the careless gayety of youth, while the vivacity of his gesture and his +mocking eye revealed an intellect already developed by the practice of a +profession adopted very early in life. As he had already some claims +to personal value, this child, made man by Art or by vocation, seemed +indifferent to the question of costume; for he looked at his boots, +which had not been polished, with a quizzical air, and searched for +the spots on his brown Holland trousers less to remove them than to see +their effect. + +“I’m in style,” he said, giving himself a shake and addressing his +companion. + +The glance of the latter, showed authority over his adept, in whom +a practised eye would at once have recognized the joyous pupil of a +painter, called in the argot of the studios a “rapin.” + +“Behave yourself, Mistigris,” said his master, giving him the nickname +which the studio had no doubt bestowed upon him. + +The master was a slight and pale young man, with extremely thick black +hair, worn in a disorder that was actually fantastic. But this abundant +mass of hair seemed necessary to an enormous head, whose vast forehead +proclaimed a precocious intellect. A strained and harassed face, too +original to be ugly, was hollowed as if this noticeable young man +suffered from some chronic malady, or from privations caused by poverty +(the most terrible of all chronic maladies), or from griefs too recent +to be forgotten. His clothing, analogous, with due allowance, to that of +Mistigris, consisted of a shabby surtout coat, American-green in color, +much worn, but clean and well-brushed; a black waistcoat buttoned to the +throat, which almost concealed a scarlet neckerchief; and trousers, +also black and even more worn than the coat, flapping his thin legs. In +addition, a pair of very muddy boots indicated that he had come on +foot and from some distance to the coach office. With a rapid look this +artist seized the whole scene of the Lion d’Argent, the stables, the +courtyard, the various lights and shades, and the details; then he +looked at Mistigris, whose satirical glance had followed his own. + +“Charming!” said Mistigris. + +“Yes, very,” replied the other. + +“We seem to have got here too early,” pursued Mistigris. “Couldn’t we +get a mouthful somewhere? My stomach, like Nature, abhors a vacuum.” + +“Have we time to get a cup of coffee?” said the artist, in a gentle +voice, to Pierrotin. + +“Yes, but don’t be long,” answered the latter. + +“Good; that means we have a quarter of an hour,” remarked Mistigris, +with the innate genius for observation of the Paris rapin. + +The pair disappeared. Nine o’clock was striking in the hotel kitchen. +Georges thought it just and reasonable to remonstrate with Pierrotin. + +“Hey! my friend; when a man is blessed with such wheels as these +(striking the clumsy tires with his cane) he ought at least to have the +merit of punctuality. The deuce! one doesn’t get into that thing for +pleasure; I have business that is devilishly pressing or I wouldn’t +trust my bones to it. And that horse, which you call Rougeot, he doesn’t +look likely to make up for lost time.” + +“We are going to harness Bichette while those gentlemen take their +coffee,” replied Pierrotin. “Go and ask, you,” he said to his porter, +“if Pere Leger is coming with us--” + +“Where is your Pere Leger?” asked Georges. + +“Over the way, at number 50. He couldn’t get a place in the Beaumont +diligence,” said Pierrotin, still speaking to his porter and apparently +making no answer to his customer; then he disappeared himself in search +of Bichette. + +Georges, after shaking hands with his friend, got into the coach, +handling with an air of great importance a portfolio which he placed +beneath the cushion of the seat. He took the opposite corner to that of +Oscar, on the same seat. + +“This Pere Leger troubles me,” he said. + +“They can’t take away our places,” replied Oscar. “I have number one.” + +“And I number two,” said Georges. + +Just as Pierrotin reappeared, having harnessed Bichette, the porter +returned with a stout man in tow, whose weight could not have been less +than two hundred and fifty pounds at the very least. Pere Leger belonged +to the species of farmer which has a square back, a protuberant stomach, +a powdered pigtail, and wears a little coat of blue linen. His white +gaiters, coming above the knee, were fastened round the ends of his +velveteen breeches and secured by silver buckles. His hob-nailed shoes +weighed two pounds each. In his hand, he held a small reddish stick, +much polished, with a large knob, which was fastened round his wrist by +a thong of leather. + +“And you are called Pere Leger?” asked Georges, very seriously, as the +farmer attempted to put a foot on the step. + +“At your service,” replied the farmer, looking in and showing a face +like that of Louis XVIII., with fat, rubicund cheeks, from between which +issued a nose that in any other face would have seemed enormous. His +smiling eyes were sunken in rolls of fat. “Come, a helping hand, my +lad!” he said to Pierrotin. + +The farmer was hoisted in by the united efforts of Pierrotin and the +porter, to cries of “Houp la! hi! ha! hoist!” uttered by Georges. + +“Oh! I’m not going far; only to La Cave,” said the farmer, +good-humoredly. + +In France everybody takes a joke. + +“Take the back seat,” said Pierrotin, “there’ll be six of you.” + +“Where’s your other horse?” demanded Georges. “Is it as mythical as the +third post-horse.” + +“There she is,” said Pierrotin, pointing to the little mare, who was +coming along alone. + +“He calls that insect a horse!” exclaimed Georges. + +“Oh! she’s good, that little mare,” said the farmer, who by this time +was seated. “Your servant, gentlemen. Well, Pierrotin, how soon do you +start?” + +“I have two travellers in there after a cup of coffee,” replied +Pierrotin. + +The hollow-cheeked young man and his page reappeared. + +“Come, let’s start!” was the general cry. + +“We are going to start,” replied Pierrotin. “Now, then, make ready,” he +said to the porter, who began thereupon to take away the stones which +stopped the wheels. + +Pierrotin took Rougeot by the bridle and gave that guttural cry, “Ket, +ket!” to tell the two animals to collect their energy; on which, though +evidently stiff, they pulled the coach to the door of the Lion d’Argent. +After which manoeuvre, which was purely preparatory, Pierrotin gazed up +the rue d’Enghien and then disappeared, leaving the coach in charge of +the porter. + +“Ah ca! is he subject to such attacks,--that master of yours?” said +Mistigris, addressing the porter. + +“He has gone to fetch his feed from the stable,” replied the porter, +well versed in all the usual tricks to keep passengers quiet. + +“Well, after all,” said Mistigris, “‘art is long, but life is short’--to +Bichette.” + +At this particular epoch, a fancy for mutilating or transposing proverbs +reigned in the studios. It was thought a triumph to find changes of +letters, and sometimes of words, which still kept the semblance of the +proverb while giving it a fantastic or ridiculous meaning.[*] + + [*] It is plainly impossible to translate many of these proverbs + and put any fun or meaning into them.--Tr. + +“Patience, Mistigris!” said his master; “‘come wheel, come whoa.’” + +Pierrotin here returned, bringing with him the Comte de Serizy, who had +come through the rue de l’Echiquier, and with whom he had doubtless had +a short conversation. + +“Pere Leger,” said Pierrotin, looking into the coach, “will you give +your place to Monsieur le comte? That will balance the carriage better.” + +“We sha’n’t be off for an hour if you go on this way,” cried Georges. +“We shall have to take down this infernal bar, which cost such trouble +to put up. Why should everybody be made to move for the man who comes +last? We all have a right to the places we took. What place has monsieur +engaged? Come, find that out! Haven’t you a way-book, a register, or +something? What place has Monsieur Lecomte engaged?--count of what, I’d +like to know.” + +“Monsieur le comte,” said Pierrotin, visibly troubled, “I am afraid you +will be uncomfortable.” + +“Why didn’t you keep better count of us?” said Mistigris. “‘Short counts +make good ends.’” + +“Mistigris, behave yourself,” said his master. + +Monsieur de Serizy was evidently taken by all the persons in the coach +for a bourgeois of the name of Lecomte. + +“Don’t disturb any one,” he said to Pierrotin. “I will sit with you in +front.” + +“Come, Mistigris,” said the master to his rapin, “remember the respect +you owe to age; you don’t know how shockingly old you may be yourself +some day. ‘Travel deforms youth.’ Give your place to monsieur.” + +Mistigris opened the leathern curtain and jumped out with the agility of +a frog leaping into the water. + +“You mustn’t be a rabbit, august old man,” he said to the count. + +“Mistigris, ‘ars est celare bonum,’” said his master. + +“I thank you very much, monsieur,” said the count to Mistigris’s master, +next to whom he now sat. + +The minister of State cast a sagacious glance round the interior of the +coach, which greatly affronted both Oscar and Georges. + +“When persons want to be master of a coach, they should engage all the +places,” remarked Georges. + +Certain now of his incognito, the Comte de Serizy made no reply to this +observation, but assumed the air of a good-natured bourgeois. + +“Suppose you were late, wouldn’t you be glad that the coach waited for +you?” said the farmer to the two young men. + +Pierrotin still looked up and down the street, whip in hand, apparently +reluctant to mount to the hard seat where Mistigris was fidgeting. + +“If you expect some one else, I am not the last,” said the count. + +“I agree to that reasoning,” said Mistigris. + +Georges and Oscar began to laugh impertinently. + +“The old fellow doesn’t know much,” whispered Georges to Oscar, who was +delighted at this apparent union between himself and the object of his +envy. + +“Parbleu!” cried Pierrotin, “I shouldn’t be sorry for two more +passengers.” + +“I haven’t paid; I’ll get out,” said Georges, alarmed. + +“What are you waiting for, Pierrotin?” asked Pere Leger. + +Whereupon Pierrotin shouted a certain “Hi!” in which Bichette and +Rougeot recognized a definitive resolution, and they both sprang toward +the rise of the faubourg at a pace which was soon to slacken. + +The count had a red face, of a burning red all over, on which were +certain inflamed portions which his snow-white hair brought out into +full relief. To any but heedless youths, this complexion would have +revealed a constant inflammation of the blood, produced by incessant +labor. These blotches and pimples so injured the naturally noble air of +the count that careful examination was needed to find in his green-gray +eyes the shrewdness of the magistrate, the wisdom of a statesman, and +the knowledge of a legislator. His face was flat, and the nose seemed +to have been depressed into it. The hat hid the grace and beauty of his +forehead. In short, there was enough to amuse those thoughtless youths +in the odd contrasts of the silvery hair, the burning face, and the +thick, tufted eye-brows which were still jet-black. + +The count wore a long blue overcoat, buttoned in military fashion to the +throat, a white cravat around his neck, cotton wool in his ears, and a +shirt-collar high enough to make a large square patch of white on each +cheek. His black trousers covered his boots, the toes of which were +barely seen. He wore no decoration in his button-hole, and doeskin +gloves concealed his hands. Nothing about him betrayed to the eyes of +youth a peer of France, and one of the most useful statesmen in the +kingdom. + +Pere Leger had never seen the count, who, on his side, knew the former +only by name. When the count, as he got into the carriage, cast the +glance about him which affronted Georges and Oscar, he was, in reality, +looking for the head-clerk of his notary (in case he had been forced, +like himself, to take Pierrotin’s vehicle), intending to caution +him instantly about his own incognito. But feeling reassured by the +appearance of Oscar, and that of Pere Leger, and, above all, by the +quasi-military air, the waxed moustaches, and the general look of an +adventurer that distinguished Georges, he concluded that his note had +reached his notary, Alexandre Crottat, in time to prevent the departure +of the clerk. + +“Pere Leger,” said Pierrotin, when they reached the steep hill of the +faubourg Saint-Denis by the rue de la Fidelite, “suppose we get out, +hey?” + +“I’ll get out, too,” said the count, hearing Leger’s name. + +“Goodness! if this is how we are going, we shall do fourteen miles in +fifteen days!” cried Georges. + +“It isn’t my fault,” said Pierrotin, “if a passenger wishes to get out.” + +“Ten louis for you if you keep the secret of my being here as I told you +before,” said the count in a low voice, taking Pierrotin by the arm. + +“Oh, my thousand francs!” thought Pierrotin as he winked an eye at +Monsieur de Serizy, which meant, “Rely on me.” + +Oscar and Georges stayed in the coach. + +“Look here, Pierrotin, since Pierrotin you are,” cried Georges, when the +passengers were once more stowed away in the vehicle, “if you don’t mean +to go faster than this, say so! I’ll pay my fare and take a post-horse +at Saint-Denis, for I have important business on hand which can’t be +delayed.” + +“Oh! he’ll go well enough,” said Pere Leger. “Besides, the distance +isn’t great.” + +“I am never more than half an hour late,” asserted Pierrotin. + +“Well, you are not wheeling the Pope in this old barrow of yours,” said +Georges, “so, get on.” + +“Perhaps he’s afraid of shaking monsieur,” said Mistigris looking round +at the count. “But you shouldn’t have preferences, Pierrotin, it isn’t +right.” + +“Coucous and the Charter make all Frenchmen equals,” said Georges. + +“Oh! be easy,” said Pere Leger; “we are sure to get to La Chapelle by +mid-day,”--La Chapelle being the village next beyond the Barriere of +Saint-Denis. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. THE GRANDSON OF THE FAMOUS CZERNI-GEORGES + + +Those who travel in public conveyances know that the persons thus united +by chance do not immediately have anything to say to one another; unless +under special circumstances, conversation rarely begins until they have +gone some distance. This period of silence is employed as much in mutual +examination as in settling into their places. Minds need to get their +equilibrium as much as bodies. When each person thinks he has discovered +the age, profession, and character of his companions, the most talkative +member of the company begins, and the conversation gets under way with +all the more vivacity because those present feel a need of enlivening +the journey and forgetting its tedium. + +That is how things happen in French stage-coaches. In other countries +customs are very different. Englishmen pique themselves on never opening +their lips; Germans are melancholy in a vehicle; Italians too wary to +talk; Spaniards have no public conveyances; and Russians no roads. +There is no amusement except in the lumbering diligences of France, that +gabbling and indiscreet country, where every one is in a hurry to laugh +and show his wit, and where jest and epigram enliven all things, even +the poverty of the lower classes and the weightier cares of the +solid bourgeois. In a coach there is no police to check tongues, and +legislative assemblies have set the fashion of public discussion. When +a young man of twenty-two, like the one named Georges, is clever and +lively, he is much tempted, especially under circumstances like the +present, to abuse those qualities. + +In the first place, Georges had soon decided that he was the superior +human being of the party there assembled. He saw in the count a +manufacturer of the second-class, whom he took, for some unknown reason, +to be a chandler; in the shabby young man accompanied by Mistigris, +a fellow of no account; in Oscar a ninny, and in Pere Leger, the fat +farmer, an excellent subject to hoax. Having thus looked over the +ground, he resolved to amuse himself at the expense of such companions. + +“Let me see,” he thought to himself, as the coucou went down the hill +from La Chapelle to the plain of Saint-Denis, “shall I pass myself +off for Etienne or Beranger? No, these idiots don’t know who they are. +Carbonaro? the deuce! I might get myself arrested. Suppose I say I’m the +son of Marshal Ney? Pooh! what could I tell them?--about the execution +of my father? It wouldn’t be funny. Better be a disguised Russian prince +and make them swallow a lot of stuff about the Emperor Alexander. Or I +might be Cousin, and talk philosophy; oh, couldn’t I perplex ‘em! But +no, that shabby fellow with the tousled head looks to me as if he +had jogged his way through the Sorbonne. What a pity! I can mimic +an Englishman so perfectly I might have pretended to be Lord Byron, +travelling incognito. Sapristi! I’ll command the troops of Ali, pacha of +Janina!” + +During this mental monologue, the coucou rolled through clouds of dust +rising on either side of it from that much travelled road. + +“What dust!” cried Mistigris. + +“Henry IV. is dead!” retorted his master. “If you’d say it was scented +with vanilla that would be emitting a new opinion.” + +“You think you’re witty,” replied Mistigris. “Well, it _is_ like vanilla +at times.” + +“In the Levant--” said Georges, with the air of beginning a story. + +“‘Ex Oriente flux,’” remarked Mistigris’s master, interrupting the +speaker. + +“I said in the Levant, from which I have just returned,” continued +Georges, “the dust smells very good; but here it smells of nothing, +except in some old dust-barrel like this.” + +“Has monsieur lately returned from the Levant?” said Mistigris, +maliciously. “He isn’t much tanned by the sun.” + +“Oh! I’ve just left my bed after an illness of three months, from the +germ, so the doctors said, of suppressed plague.” + +“Have you had the plague?” cried the count, with a gesture of alarm. +“Pierrotin, stop!” + +“Go on, Pierrotin,” said Mistigris. “Didn’t you hear him say it was +inward, his plague?” added the rapin, talking back to Monsieur de +Serizy. “It isn’t catching; it only comes out in conversation.” + +“Mistigris! if you interfere again I’ll have you put off into the road,” + said his master. “And so,” he added, turning to Georges, “monsieur has +been to the East?” + +“Yes, monsieur; first to Egypt, then to Greece, where I served under +Ali, pacha of Janina, with whom I had a terrible quarrel. There’s no +enduring those climates long; besides, the emotions of all kinds in +Oriental life have disorganized my liver.” + +“What, have you served as a soldier?” asked the fat farmer. “How old are +you?” + +“Twenty-nine,” replied Georges, whereupon all the passengers looked at +him. “At eighteen I enlisted as a private for the famous campaign of +1813; but I was present at only one battle, that of Hanau, where I was +promoted sergeant-major. In France, at Montereau, I won the rank of +sub-lieutenant, and was decorated by,--there are no informers here, I’m +sure,--by the Emperor.” + +“What! are you decorated?” cried Oscar. “Why don’t you wear your cross?” + +“The cross of ‘ceux-ci’? No, thank you! Besides, what man of any +breeding would wear his decorations in travelling? There’s monsieur,” he +said, motioning to the Comte de Serizy. “I’ll bet whatever you like--” + +“Betting whatever you like means, in France, betting nothing at all,” + said Mistigris’s master. + +“I’ll bet whatever you like,” repeated Georges, incisively, “that +monsieur here is covered with stars.” + +“Well,” said the count, laughing, “I have the grand cross of the Legion +of honor, that of Saint Andrew of Russia, that of the Prussian Eagle, +that of the Annunciation of Sardinia, and the Golden Fleece.” + +“Beg pardon,” said Mistigris, “are they all in the coucou?” + +“Hey! that brick-colored old fellow goes it strong!” whispered Georges +to Oscar. “What was I saying?--oh! I know. I don’t deny that I adore the +Emperor--” + +“I served under him,” said the count. + +“What a man he was, wasn’t he?” cried Georges. + +“A man to whom I owe many obligations,” replied the count, with a silly +expression that was admirably assumed. + +“For all those crosses?” inquired Mistigris. + +“And what quantities of snuff he took!” continued Monsieur de Serizy. + +“He carried it loose in his pockets,” said Georges. + +“So I’ve been told,” remarked Pere Leger with an incredulous look. + +“Worse than that; he chewed and smoked,” continued Georges. “I saw him +smoking, in a queer way, too, at Waterloo, when Marshal Soult took him +round the waist and flung him into his carriage, just as he had seized a +musket and was going to charge the English--” + +“You were at Waterloo!” cried Oscar, his eyes stretching wide open. + +“Yes, young man, I did the campaign of 1815. I was a captain at +Mont-Saint-Jean, and I retired to the Loire, after we were all +disbanded. Faith! I was disgusted with France; I couldn’t stand it. In +fact, I should certainly have got myself arrested; so off I went, with +two or three dashing fellows,--Selves, Besson, and others, who are now +in Egypt,--and we entered the service of pacha Mohammed; a queer sort of +fellow he was, too! Once a tobacco merchant in the bazaars, he is now +on the high-road to be a sovereign prince. You’ve all seen him in +that picture by Horace Vernet,--‘The Massacre of the Mameluks.’ What +a handsome fellow he was! But I wouldn’t give up the religion of my +fathers and embrace Islamism; all the more because the abjuration +required a surgical operation which I hadn’t any fancy for. Besides, +nobody respects a renegade. Now if they had offered me a hundred +thousand francs a year, perhaps--and yet, no! The pacha did give me a +thousand talari as a present.” + +“How much is that?” asked Oscar, who was listening to Georges with all +his ears. + +“Oh! not much. A talaro is, as you might say, a five-franc piece. +But faith! I got no compensation for the vices I contracted in that +God-forsaken country, if country it is. I can’t live now without smoking +a narghile twice a-day, and that’s very costly.” + +“How did you find Egypt?” asked the count. + +“Egypt? Oh! Egypt is all sand,” replied Georges, by no means taken +aback. “There’s nothing green but the valley of the Nile. Draw a +green line down a sheet of yellow paper, and you have Egypt. But those +Egyptians--fellahs they are called--have an immense advantage over us. +There are no gendarmes in that country. You may go from end to end of +Egypt, and you won’t see one.” + +“But I suppose there are a good many Egyptians,” said Mistigris. + +“Not as many as you think for,” replied Georges. “There are many more +Abyssinians, and Giaours, and Vechabites, Bedouins, and Cophs. But all +that kind of animal is very uninteresting, and I was glad enough to +embark on a Genoese polacca which was loading for the Ionian Islands +with gunpowder and munitions for Ali de Tebelen. You know, don’t +you, that the British sell powder and munitions of war to all the +world,--Turks, Greeks, and the devil, too, if the devil has money? From +Zante we were to skirt the coasts of Greece and tack about, on and off. +Now it happens that my name of Georges is famous in that country. I am, +such as you see me, the grandson of the famous Czerni-Georges who made +war upon the Porte, and, instead of crushing it, as he meant to do, got +crushed himself. His son took refuge in the house of the French consul +at Smyrna, and he afterwards died in Paris, leaving my mother pregnant +with me, his seventh child. Our property was all stolen by friends of +my grandfather; in fact, we were ruined. My mother, who lived on her +diamonds, which she sold one by one, married, in 1799, my step-father, +Monsieur Yung, a purveyor. But my mother is dead, and I have quarrelled +with my step-father, who, between ourselves, is a blackguard; he is +still alive, but I never see him. That’s why, in despair, left all to +myself, I went off to the wars as a private in 1813. Well, to go back +to the time I returned to Greece; you wouldn’t believe with what joy old +Ali Tebelen received the grandson of Czerni-Georges. Here, of course, I +call myself simply Georges. The pacha gave me a harem--” + +“You have had a harem?” said Oscar. + +“Were you a pacha with _many_ tails?” asked Mistigris. + +“How is it that you don’t know,” replied Georges, “that only the Sultan +makes pachas, and that my friend Tebelen (for we were as friendly as +Bourbons) was in rebellion against the Padishah! You know, or you don’t +know, that the true title of the Grand Seignior is Padishah, and not +Sultan or Grand Turk. You needn’t think that a harem is much of a thing; +you might as well have a herd of goats. The women are horribly +stupid down there; I much prefer the grisettes of the Chaumieres at +Mont-Parnasse.” + +“They are nearer, at any rate,” said the count. + +“The women of the harem couldn’t speak a word of French, and that +language is indispensable for talking. Ali gave me five legitimate wives +and ten slaves; that’s equivalent to having none at all at Janina. In +the East, you must know, it is thought very bad style to have wives and +women. They have them, just as we have Voltaire and Rousseau; but who +ever opens his Voltaire or his Rousseau? Nobody. But, for all that, the +highest style is to be jealous. They sew a woman up in a sack and fling +her into the water on the slightest suspicion,--that’s according to +their Code.” + +“Did you fling any in?” asked the farmer. + +“I, a Frenchman! for shame! I loved them.” + +Whereupon Georges twirled and twisted his moustache with a dreamy air. + +They were now entering Saint-Denis, and Pierrotin presently drew up +before the door of a tavern where were sold the famous cheese-cakes of +that place. All the travellers got out. Puzzled by the apparent truth +mingled with Georges’ inventions, the count returned to the coucou when +the others had entered the house, and looked beneath the cushion for +the portfolio which Pierrotin told him that enigmatical youth had +placed there. On it he read the words in gilt letters: “Maitre Crottat, +notary.” The count at once opened it, and fearing, with some reason, +that Pere Leger might be seized with the same curiosity, he took out the +deed of sale for the farm at Moulineaux, put it into his coat pocket, +and entered the inn to keep an eye on the travellers. + +“This Georges is neither more nor less than Crottat’s second clerk,” + thought he. “I shall pay my compliments to his master, whose business it +was to send me his head-clerk.” + +From the respectful glances of Pere Leger and Oscar, Georges perceived +that he had made for himself two fervent admirers. Accordingly, he now +posed as a great personage; paid for their cheese-cakes, and ordered +for each a glass of Alicante. He offered the same to Mistigris and his +master, who refused with smiles; but the friend of Ali Tebelen profited +by the occasion to ask the pair their names. + +“Oh! monsieur,” said Mistigris’ master, “I am not blessed, like you, +with an illustrious name; and I have not returned from Asia--” + +At this moment the count, hastening into the huge inn-kitchen lest his +absence should excite inquiry, entered the place in time to hear the +conclusion of the young man’s speech. + +“--I am only a poor painter lately returned from Rome, where I went at +the cost of the government, after winning the ‘grand prix’ five years +ago. My name is Schinner.” + +“Hey! bourgeois, may I offer you a glass of Alicante and some +cheese-cakes?” said Georges to the count. + +“Thank you,” replied the latter. “I never leave home without taking my +cup of coffee and cream.” + +“Don’t you eat anything between meals? How bourgeois, Marais, Place +Royale, that is!” cried Georges. “When he ‘blagued’ just now about his +crosses, I thought there was something in him,” whispered the Eastern +hero to the painter. “However, we’ll set him going on his decorations, +the old tallow-chandler! Come, my lad,” he added, calling to Oscar, +“drink me down the glass poured out for the chandler; that will start +your moustache.” + +Oscar, anxious to play the man, swallowed the second glass of wine, and +ate three more cheese-cakes. + +“Good wine, that!” said Pere Leger, smacking his lips. + +“It is all the better,” said Georges, “because it comes from Bercy. I’ve +been to Alicante myself, and I know that this wine no more resembles +what is made there than my arm is like a windmill. Our made-up wines are +a great deal better than the natural ones in their own country. Come, +Pierrotin, take a glass! It is a great pity your horses can’t take one, +too; we might go faster.” + +“Forward, march!” cried Pierrotin, amid a mighty cracking of whips, +after the travellers were again boxed up. + +It was now eleven o’clock. The weather, which had been cloudy, cleared; +the breeze swept off the mists, and the blue of the sky appeared in +spots; so that when the coucou trundled along the narrow strip of road +from Saint-Denis to Pierrefitte, the sun had fairly drunk up the last +floating vapors of the diaphanous veil which swathed the scenery of that +famous region. + +“Well, now, tell us why you left your friend the pacha,” said Pere +Leger, addressing Georges. + +“He was a very singular scamp,” replied Georges, with an air that hid a +multitude of mysteries. “He put me in command of his cavalry,--so far, +so good--” + +“Ah! that’s why he wears spurs,” thought poor Oscar. + +“At that time Ali Tebelen wanted to rid himself of Chosrew pacha, +another queer chap! You call him, here, Chaureff; but the name is +pronounced, in Turkish, Cosserew. You must have read in the newspapers +how old Ali drubbed Chosrew, and soundly, too, faith! Well, if it +hadn’t been for me, Ali Tebelen himself would have bit the dust two days +earlier. I was at the right wing, and I saw Chosrew, an old sly-boots, +thinking to force our centre,--ranks closed, stiff, swift, fine movement +a la Murat. Good! I take my time; then I charge, double-quick, and cut +his line in two,--you understand? Ha! ha! after the affair was over, Ali +kissed me--” + +“Do they do that in the East?” asked the count, in a joking way. + +“Yes, monsieur,” said the painter, “that’s done all the world over.” + +“After that,” continued Georges, “Ali gave me yataghans, and carbines, +and scimetars, and what-not. But when we got back to his capital he +made me propositions, wanted me to drown a wife, and make a slave of +myself,--Orientals are so queer! But I thought I’d had enough of it; +for, after all, you know, Ali was a rebel against the Porte. So I +concluded I had better get off while I could. But I’ll do Monsieur +Tebelen the justice to say that he loaded me with presents,--diamonds, +ten thousand talari, one thousand gold coins, a beautiful Greek girl for +groom, a little Circassian for a mistress, and an Arab horse! Yes, Ali +Tebelen, pacha of Janina, is too little known; he needs an historian. +It is only in the East one meets with such iron souls, who can nurse a +vengeance twenty years and accomplish it some fine morning. He had +the most magnificent white beard that was ever seen, and a hard, stern +face--” + +“But what did you do with your treasures?” asked farmer Leger. + +“Ha! that’s it! you may well ask that! Those fellows down there haven’t +any Grand Livre nor any Bank of France. So I was forced to carry off my +windfalls in a felucca, which was captured by the Turkish High-Admiral +himself. Such as you see me here to-day, I came very near being impaled +at Smyrna. Indeed, if it hadn’t been for Monsieur de Riviere, our +ambassador, who was there, they’d have taken me for an accomplice of Ali +pacha. I saved my head, but, to tell the honest truth, all the rest, +the ten thousand talari, the thousand gold pieces, and the fine weapons, +were all, yes all, drunk up by the thirsty treasury of the Turkish +admiral. My position was the more perilous because that very admiral +happened to be Chosrew pacha. After I routed him, the fellow had managed +to obtain a position which is equal to that of our Admiral of the +Fleet--” + +“But I thought he was in the cavalry?” said Pere Leger, who had followed +the narrative with the deepest attention. + +“Dear me! how little the East is understood in the French provinces!” + cried Georges. “Monsieur, I’ll explain the Turks to you. You are a +farmer; the Padishah (that’s the Sultan) makes you a marshal; if you +don’t fulfil your functions to his satisfaction, so much the worse +for you, he cuts your head off; that’s his way of dismissing his +functionaries. A gardener is made a prefect; and the prime minister +comes down to be a foot-boy. The Ottomans have no system of promotion +and no hierarchy. From a cavalry officer Chosrew simply became a naval +officer. Sultan Mahmoud ordered him to capture Ali by sea; and he did +get hold of him, assisted by those beggarly English--who put their +paw on most of the treasure. This Chosrew, who had not forgotten the +riding-lesson I gave him, recognized me. You understand, my goose +was cooked, oh, brown! when it suddenly came into my head to claim +protection as a Frenchman and a troubadour from Monsieur de Riviere. The +ambassador, enchanted to find something to show him off, demanded that I +should be set at liberty. The Turks have one good trait in their nature; +they are as willing to let you go as they are to cut your head off; +they are indifferent to everything. The French consul, charming fellow, +friend of Chosrew, made him give back two thousand of the talari, and, +consequently, his name is, as I may say, graven on my heart--” + +“What was his name?” asked Monsieur de Serizy; and a look of some +surprise passed over his face as Georges named, correctly, one of our +most distinguished consul-generals who happened at that time to be +stationed at Smyrna. + +“I assisted,” added Georges, “at the execution of the Governor of +Smyrna, whom the Sultan had ordered Chosrew to put to death. It was one +of the most curious things I ever saw, though I’ve seen many,--I’ll tell +you about it when we stop for breakfast. From Smyrna I crossed to Spain, +hearing there was a revolution there. I went straight to Mina, who +appointed me as his aide-de-camp with the rank of colonel. I fought for +the constitutional cause, which will certainly be defeated when we enter +Spain--as we undoubtedly shall, some of these days--” + +“You, a French soldier!” said the count, sternly. “You show +extraordinary confidence in the discretion of those who are listening to +you.” + +“But there are no spies here,” said Georges. + +“Are you aware, Colonel Georges,” continued the count, “that the Court +of Peers is at this very time inquiring into a conspiracy which has made +the government extremely severe in its treatment of French soldiers +who bear arms against France, and who deal in foreign intrigues for the +purpose of overthrowing our legitimate sovereigns.” + +On hearing this stern admonition the painter turned red to his ears and +looked at Mistigris, who seemed dumfounded. + +“Well,” said Pere Leger, “what next?” + +“If,” continued the count, “I were a magistrate, it would be my duty to +order the gendarmes at Pierrefitte to arrest the aide-de-camp of Mina, +and to summon all present in this vehicle to testify to his words.” + +This speech stopped Georges’ narrative all the more surely, because +at this moment the coucou reached the guard-house of a brigade of +gendarmerie,--the white flag floating, as the orthodox saying is, upon +the breeze. + +“You have too many decorations to do such a dastardly thing,” said +Oscar. + +“Never mind; we’ll catch up with him soon,” whispered Georges in the +lad’s ear. + +“Colonel,” cried Leger, who was a good deal disturbed by the count’s +outburst, and wanted to change the conversation, “in all these countries +where you have been, what sort of farming do they do? How do they vary +the crops?” + +“Well, in the first place, my good fellow, you must understand, they are +too busy cropping off each others’ heads to think much of cropping the +ground.” + +The count couldn’t help smiling; and that smile reassured the narrator. + +“They have a way of cultivating which you will think very queer. They +don’t cultivate at all; that’s their style of farming. The Turks and +the Greeks, they eat onions or rise. They get opium from poppies, and +it gives them a fine revenue. Then they have tobacco, which grows of +itself, famous latakiah! and dates! and all kinds of sweet things that +don’t need cultivation. It is a country full of resources and commerce. +They make fine rugs at Smyrna, and not dear.” + +“But,” persisted Leger, “if the rugs are made of wool they must come +from sheep; and to have sheep you must have fields, farms, culture--” + +“Well, there may be something of that sort,” replied Georges. “But their +chief crop, rice, grows in the water. As for me, I have only been along +the coasts and seen the parts that are devastated by war. Besides, I +have the deepest aversion to statistics.” + +“How about the taxes?” asked the farmer. + +“Oh! the taxes are heavy; they take all a man has, and leave him the +rest. The pacha of Egypt was so struck with the advantages of that +system, that, when I came away he was on the point of organizing his own +administration on that footing--” + +“But,” said Leger, who no longer understood a single word, “how?” + +“How?” said Georges. “Why, agents go round and take all the harvests, +and leave the fellahs just enough to live on. That’s a system that does +away with stamped papers and bureaucracy, the curse of France, hein?” + +“By virtue of what right?” said Leger. + +“Right? why it is a land of despotism. They haven’t any rights. Don’t +you know the fine definition Montesquieu gives of despotism. ‘Like the +savage, it cuts down the tree to gather the fruits.’ They don’t tax, +they take everything.” + +“And that’s what our rulers are trying to bring us to. ‘Tax +vobiscum,’--no, thank you!” said Mistigris. + +“But that is what we _are_ coming to,” said the count. “Therefore, those +who own land will do well to sell it. Monsieur Schinner must have seen +how things are tending in Italy, where the taxes are enormous.” + +“Corpo di Bacco! the Pope is laying it on heavily,” replied Schinner. +“But the people are used to it. Besides, Italians are so good-natured +that if you let ‘em murder a few travellers along the highways they’re +contented.” + +“I see, Monsieur Schinner,” said the count, “that you are not wearing +the decoration you obtained in 1819; it seems the fashion nowadays not +to wear orders.” + +Mistigris and the pretended Schinner blushed to their ears. + +“Well, with me,” said the artist, “the case is different. It isn’t on +account of fashion; but I don’t want to be recognized. Have the goodness +not to betray me, monsieur; I am supposed to be a little painter of +no consequence,--a mere decorator. I’m on may way to a chateau where I +mustn’t rouse the slightest suspicion.” + +“Ah! I see,” said the count, “some intrigue,--a love affair! Youth is +happy!” + +Oscar, who was writhing in his skin at being a nobody and having nothing +to say, gazed at Colonel Czerni-Georges and at the famous painter +Schinner, and wondered how he could transform himself into somebody. But +a youth of nineteen, kept at home all his life, and going for two weeks +only into the country, what could he be, or do, or say? However, the +Alicante had got into his head, and his vanity was boiling in his veins; +so when the famous Schinner allowed a romantic adventure to be guessed +at in which the danger seemed as great as the pleasure, he fastened his +eyes, sparkling with wrath and envy, upon that hero. + +“Yes,” said the count, with a credulous air, “a man must love a woman +well to make such sacrifices.” + +“What sacrifices?” demanded Mistigris. + +“Don’t you know, my little friend, that a ceiling painted by so great a +master as yours is worth its weight in gold?” replied the count. “If the +civil list paid you, as it did, thirty thousand francs for each of +those rooms in the Louvre,” he continued, addressing Schinner, “a +bourgeois,--as you call us in the studios--ought certainly to pay +you twenty thousand. Whereas, if you go to this chateau as a humble +decorator, you will not get two thousand.” + +“The money is not the greatest loss,” said Mistigris. “The work is +sure to be a masterpiece, but he can’t sign it, you know, for fear of +compromising _her_.” + +“Ah! I’d return all my crosses to the sovereigns who gave them to me for +the devotion that youth can win,” said the count. + +“That’s just it!” said Mistigris, “when one’s young, one’s loved; plenty +of love, plenty of women; but they do say: ‘Where there’s wife, there’s +mope.’” + +“What does Madame Schinner say to all this?” pursued the count; “for I +believe you married, out of love, the beautiful Adelaide de Rouville, +the protegee of old Admiral de Kergarouet; who, by the bye, obtained for +you the order for the Louvre ceilings through his nephew, the Comte de +Fontaine.” + +“A great painter is never married when he travels,” said Mistigris. + +“So that’s the morality of studios, is it?” cried the count, with an air +of great simplicity. + +“Is the morality of courts where you got those decorations of yours any +better?” said Schinner, recovering his self-possession, upset for the +moment by finding out how much the count knew of Schinner’s life as an +artist. + +“I never asked for any of my orders,” said the count. “I believe I have +loyally earned them.” + +“‘A fair yield and no flavor,’” said Mistigris. + +The count was resolved not to betray himself; he assumed an air of +good-humored interest in the country, and looked up the valley of +Groslay as the coucou took the road to Saint-Brice, leaving that to +Chantilly on the right. + +“Is Rome as fine as they say it is?” said Georges, addressing the great +painter. + +“Rome is fine only to those who love it; a man must have a passion for +it to enjoy it. As a city, I prefer Venice,--though I just missed being +murdered there.” + +“Faith, yes!” cried Mistigris; “if it hadn’t been for me you’d have been +gobbled up. It was that mischief-making tom-fool, Lord Byron, who +got you into the scrape. Oh! wasn’t he raging, that buffoon of an +Englishman?” + +“Hush!” said Schinner. “I don’t want my affair with Lord Byron talked +about.” + +“But you must own, all the same, that you were glad enough I knew how to +box,” said Mistigris. + +From time to time, Pierrotin exchanged sly glances with the count, +which might have made less inexperienced persons than the five other +travellers uneasy. + +“Lords, pachas, and thirty-thousand-franc ceilings!” he cried. “I seem +to be driving sovereigns. What pourboires I’ll get!” + +“And all the places paid for!” said Mistigris, slyly. + +“It is a lucky day for me,” continued Pierrotin; “for you know, Pere +Leger, about my beautiful new coach on which I have paid an advance of +two thousand francs? Well, those dogs of carriage-builders, to whom I +have to pay two thousand five hundred francs more, won’t take fifteen +hundred down, and my note for a thousand for two months! Those vultures +want it all. Who ever heard of being so stiff with a man in business +these eight years, and the father of a family?--making me run the risk +of losing everything, carriage and money too, if I can’t find before +to-morrow night that miserable last thousand! Hue, Bichette! They won’t +play that trick on the great coach offices, I’ll warrant you.” + +“Yes, that’s it,” said the rapin; “‘your money or your strife.’” + +“Well, you have only eight hundred now to get,” remarked the count, +who considered this moan, addressed to Pere Leger, a sort of letter of +credit drawn upon himself. + +“True,” said Pierrotin. “Xi! xi! Rougeot!” + +“You must have seen many fine ceilings in Venice,” resumed the count, +addressing Schinner. + +“I was too much in love to take any notice of what seemed to me then +mere trifles,” replied Schinner. “But I was soon cured of that folly, +for it was in the Venetian states--in Dalmatia--that I received a cruel +lesson.” + +“Can it be told?” asked Georges. “I know Dalmatia very well.” + +“Well, if you have been there, you know that all the people at that end +of the Adriatic are pirates, rovers, corsairs retired from business, as +they haven’t been hanged--” + +“Uscoques,” said Georges. + +Hearing the right name given, the count, who had been sent by Napoleon +on one occasion to the Illyrian provinces, turned his head and looked at +Georges, so surprised was he. + +“The affair happened in that town where they make maraschino,” continued +Schinner, seeming to search for a name. + +“Zara,” said Georges. “I’ve been there; it is on the coast.” + +“You are right,” said the painter. “I had gone there to look at the +country, for I adore scenery. I’ve longed a score of times to paint +landscape, which no one, as I think, understands but Mistigris, who +will some day reproduce Hobbema, Ruysdael, Claude Lorrain, Poussin, and +others.” + +“But,” exclaimed the count, “if he reproduces one of them won’t that be +enough?” + +“If you persist in interrupting, monsieur,” said Oscar, “we shall never +get on.” + +“And Monsieur Schinner was not addressing himself to you in particular,” + added Georges. + +“‘Tisn’t polite to interrupt,” said Mistigris, sententiously, “but we +all do it, and conversation would lose a great deal if we didn’t scatter +little condiments while exchanging our reflections. Therefore, continue, +agreeable old gentleman, to lecture us, if you like. It is done in the +best society, and you know the proverb: ‘we must ‘owl with the wolves.’” + +“I had heard marvellous things of Dalmatia,” resumed Schinner, “so I +went there, leaving Mistigris in Venice at an inn--” + +“‘Locanda,’” interposed Mistigris; “keep to the local color.” + +“Zara is what is called a country town--” + +“Yes,” said Georges; “but it is fortified.” + +“Parbleu!” said Schinner; “the fortifications count for much in my +adventure. At Zara there are a great many apothecaries. I lodged with +one. In foreign countries everybody makes a principal business of +letting lodgings; all other trades are accessory. In the evening, linen +changed, I sat in my balcony. In the opposite balcony I saw a woman; oh! +such a woman! Greek,--_that tells all_! The most beautiful creature in +the town; almond eyes, lids that dropped like curtains, lashes like a +paint-brush, a face with an oval to drive Raffaelle mad, a skin of the +most delicious coloring, tints well-blended, velvety! and hands, oh!--” + +“They weren’t made of butter like those of the David school,” put in +Mistigris. + +“You are always lugging in your painting,” cried Georges. + +“La, la!” retorted Mistigris; “‘an ounce o’ paint is worth a pound of +swagger.’” + +“And such a costume! pure Greek!” continued Schinner. “Conflagration of +soul! you understand? Well, I questioned my Diafoirus; and he told me +that my neighbor was named Zena. Changed my linen. The husband, an old +villain, in order to marry Zena, paid three hundred thousand francs to +her father and mother, so celebrated was the beauty of that beautiful +creature, who was truly the most beautiful girl in all Dalmatia, +Illyria, Adriatica, and other places. In those parts they buy their +wives without seeing them--” + +“I shall not go _there_,” said Pere Leger. + +“There are nights when my sleep is still illuminated by the eyes of +Zena,” continued Schinner. “The husband was sixty-nine years of age, +and jealous! not as a tiger, for they say of a tiger, ‘jealous as a +Dalmatian’; and my man was worse than A Dalmatian, one Dalmatian,--he +was three and a half Dalmatians at the very least; he was an Uscoque, +tricoque, archicoque in a bicoque of a paltry little place like Zara--” + +“Horrid fellow, and ‘horrider bellow,’” put in Mistigris. + +“Ha! good,” said Georges, laughing. + +“After being a corsair, and probably a pirate, he thought no more +of spitting a Christian on his dagger than I did of spitting on the +ground,” continued Schinner. “So that was how the land lay. The old +wretch had millions, and was hideous with the loss of an ear some pacha +had cut off, and the want of an eye left I don’t know where. ‘Never,’ +said the little Diafoirus, ‘never does he leave his wife, never for +a second.’ ‘Perhaps she’ll want your services, and I could go in your +clothes; that’s a trick that has great success in our theatres,’ I told +him. Well, it would take too long to tell you all the delicious moments +of that lifetime--to wit, three days--which I passed exchanging looks +with Zena, and changing linen every day. It was all the more violently +titillating because the slightest motion was significant and dangerous. +At last it must have dawned upon Zena’s mind that none but a Frenchman +and an artist was daring enough to make eyes at her in the midst of the +perils by which she was surrounded; and as she hated her hideous pirate, +she answered my glances with delightful ogles fit to raise a man to +the summit of Paradise without pulleys. I attained to the height of Don +Quixote; I rose to exaltation! and I cried: ‘The monster may kill me, +but I’ll go, I’ll go!’ I gave up landscape and studied the ignoble +dwelling of the Uscoque. That night, changed linen, and put on the most +perfumed shirt I had; then I crossed the street, and entered--” + +“The house?” cried Oscar. + +“The house?” echoed Georges. + +“The house,” said Schinner. + +“Well, you’re a bold dog,” cried farmer Leger. “I should have kept out +of it myself.” + +“Especially as you could never have got through the doorway,” replied +Schinner. “So in I went,” he resumed, “and I found two hands stretched +out to meet mine. I said nothing, for those hands, soft as the peel of +an onion, enjoined me to silence. A whisper breathed into my ear, ‘He +sleeps!’ Then, as we were sure that nobody would see us, we went to +walk, Zena and I, upon the ramparts, but accompanied, if you please, by +a duenna, as hideous as an old portress, who didn’t leave us any more +than our shadow; and I couldn’t persuade Madame Pirate to send her away. +The next night we did the same thing, and again I wanted to get rid of +the old woman, but Zena resisted. As my sweet love spoke only Greek, and +I Venetian, we couldn’t understand each other, and so we quarrelled. +I said to myself, in changing linen, ‘As sure as fate, the next time +there’ll be no old woman, and we can make it all up with the language of +love.’ Instead of which, fate willed that that old woman should save +my life! You’ll hear how. The weather was fine, and, not to create +suspicion, I took a turn at landscape,--this was after our quarrel was +made up, you understand. After walking along the ramparts for some time, +I was coming tranquilly home with my hands in my pockets, when I saw the +street crowded with people. Such a crowd! like that for an execution. It +fell upon me; I was seized, garroted, gagged, and guarded by the police. +Ah! you don’t know--and I hope you never may know--what it is to be +taken for a murderer by a maddened populace which stones you and howls +after you from end to end of the principal street of a town, shouting +for your death! Ah! those eyes were so many flames, all mouths were +a single curse, while from the volume of that burning hatred rose the +fearful cry: ‘To death! to death! down with the murderer!’” + +“So those Dalmatians spoke our language, did they?” said the count. “I +observe you relate the scene as if it happened yesterday.” + +Schinner was nonplussed. + +“Riot has but one language,” said the astute statesman Mistigris. + +“Well,” continued Schinner, “when I was brought into court in presence +of the magistrates, I learned that the cursed corsair was dead, poisoned +by Zena. I’d liked to have changed linen then. Give you my word, I knew +nothing of _that_ melodrama. It seems the Greek girl put opium (a great +many poppies, as monsieur told us, grow about there) in the pirate’s +grog, just to make him sleep soundly and leave her free for a little +walk with me, and the old duenna, unfortunate creature, made a mistake +and trebled the dose. The immense fortune of that cursed pirate was +really the cause of all my Zena’s troubles. But she explained matters +so ingenuously that I, for one, was released with an injunction from the +mayor and the Austrian commissary of police to go back to Rome. Zena, +who let the heirs of the Uscoque and the judges get most of the old +villain’s wealth, was let off with two years’ seclusion in a convent, +where she still is. I am going back there some day to paint her +portrait; for in a few years, you know, all this will be forgotten. Such +are the follies one commits at eighteen!” + +“And you left me without a sou in the locanda at Venice,” said +Mistigris. “And I had to get from Venice to Rome by painting portraits +for five francs apiece, which they didn’t pay me. However, that was my +halcyon time. I don’t regret it.” + +“You can imagine the reflections that came to me in that Dalmatian +prison, thrown there without protection, having to answer to Austrians +and Dalmatians, and in danger of losing my head because I went twice to +walk with a woman. There’s ill-luck, with a vengeance!” + +“Did all that really happen to you?” said Oscar, naively. + +“Why shouldn’t it happen to him, inasmuch as it had already happened +during the French occupation of Illyria to one of our most gallant +officers of artillery?” said the count, slyly. + +“And you believed that artillery officer?” said Mistigris, as slyly to +the count. + +“Is that all?” asked Oscar. + +“Of course he can’t tell you that they cut his head off,--how could he?” + said Mistigris. “‘Dead schinners tell no tales.’” + +“Monsieur, are there farms in that country?” asked Pere Leger. “What do +they cultivate?” + +“Maraschino,” replied Mistigris,--“a plant that grows to the height of +the lips, and produces a liqueur which goes by that name.” + +“Ah!” said Pere Leger. + +“I only stayed three days in the town and fifteen in prison,” said +Schinner, “so I saw nothing; not even the fields where they grow the +maraschino.” + +“They are fooling you,” said Georges to the farmer. “Maraschino comes in +cases.” + +“‘Romances alter cases,’” remarked Mistigris. + + + + +CHAPTER V. THE DRAMA BEGINS + + +Pierrotin’s vehicle was now going down the steep incline of the valley +of Saint-Brice to the inn which stands in the middle of the large +village of that name, where Pierrotin was in the habit of stopping an +hour to breathe his horses, give them their oats, and water them. It was +now about half-past one o’clock. + +“Ha! here’s Pere Leger,” cried the inn-keeper, when the coach pulled up +before the door. “Do you breakfast?” + +“Always once a day,” said the fat farmer; “and I’ll break a crust here +and now.” + +“Give us a good breakfast,” cried Georges, twirling his cane in a +cavalier manner which excited the admiration of poor Oscar. + +But that admiration was turned to jealousy when he saw the gay +adventurer pull out from a side-pocket a small straw case, from which +he selected a light-colored cigar, which he proceeded to smoke on the +threshold of the inn door while waiting for breakfast. + +“Do you smoke?” he asked of Oscar. + +“Sometimes,” replied the ex-schoolboy, swelling out his little chest and +assuming a jaunty air. + +Georges presented the open case to Oscar and Schinner. + +“Phew!” said the great painter; “ten-sous cigars!” + +“The remains of those I brought back from Spain,” said the adventurer. +“Do you breakfast here?” + +“No,” said the artist. “I am expected at the chateau. Besides, I took +something at the Lion d’Argent just before starting.” + +“And you?” said Georges to Oscar. + +“I have breakfasted,” replied Oscar. + +Oscar would have given ten years of his life for boots and straps to his +trousers. He sneezed, he coughed, he spat, and swallowed the smoke with +ill-disguised grimaces. + +“You don’t know how to smoke,” said Schinner; “look at me!” + +With a motionless face Schinner breathed in the smoke of his cigar +and let it out through his nose without the slightest contraction of +feature. Then he took another whiff, kept the smoke in his throat, +removed the cigar from his lips, and allowed the smoke slowly and +gracefully to escape them. + +“There, young man,” said the great painter. + +“Here, young man, here’s another way; watch this,” said Georges, +imitating Schinner, but swallowing the smoke and exhaling none. + +“And my parents believed they had educated me!” thought Oscar, +endeavoring to smoke with better grace. + +But his nausea was so strong that he was thankful when Mistigris filched +his cigar, remarking, as he smoked it with evident satisfaction, “You +haven’t any contagious diseases, I hope.” + +Oscar in reply would fain have punched his head. + +“How he does spend money!” he said, looking at Colonel Georges. “Eight +francs for Alicante and the cheese-cakes; forty sous for cigars; and his +breakfast will cost him--” + +“Ten francs at least,” replied Mistigris; “but that’s how things are. +‘Sharp stomachs make short purses.’” + +“Come, Pere Leger, let us drink a bottle of Bordeaux together,” said +Georges to the farmer. + +“Twenty francs for his breakfast!” cried Oscar; “in all, more than +thirty-odd francs since we started!” + +Killed by a sense of his inferiority, Oscar sat down on a stone post, +lost in a revery which did not allow him to perceive that his trousers, +drawn up by the effect of his position, showed the point of junction +between the old top of his stocking and the new “footing,”--his mother’s +handiwork. + +“We are brothers in socks,” said Mistigris, pulling up his own trousers +sufficiently to show an effect of the same kind,--“‘By the footing, +Hercules.’” + +The count, who overheard this, laughed as he stood with folded arms +under the porte-cochere, a little behind the other travellers. However +nonsensical these lads might be, the grave statesman envied their very +follies; he liked their bragging and enjoyed the fun of their lively +chatter. + +“Well, are you to have Les Moulineaux? for I know you went to Paris to +get the money for the purchase,” said the inn-keeper to Pere Leger, whom +he had just taken to the stables to see a horse he wanted to sell to +him. “It will be queer if you manage to fleece a peer of France and a +minister of State like the Comte de Serizy.” + +The person thus alluded to showed no sign upon his face as he turned to +look at the farmer. + +“I’ve done for him,” replied Pere Leger, in a low voice. + +“Good! I like to see those nobles fooled. If you should want twenty +thousand francs or so, I’ll lend them to you--But Francois, the +conductor of Touchard’s six o’clock coach, told me that Monsieur +Margueron was invited by the Comte de Serizy to dine with him to-day at +Presles.” + +“That was the plan of his Excellency, but we had our own little ways of +thwarting it,” said the farmer, laughing. + +“The count could appoint Monsieur Margueron’s son, and you haven’t any +place to give,--remember that,” said the inn-keeper. + +“Of course I do; but if the count has the ministry on his side, I have +King Louis XVIII.,” said Pere Leger, in a low voice. “Forty thousand of +his pictures on coin of the realm given to Moreau will enable me to buy +Les Moulineaux for two hundred and sixty thousand, money down, before +Monsieur de Serizy can do so. When he finds the sale is made, he’ll +be glad enough to buy the farm for three hundred and sixty thousand, +instead of letting me cut it up in small lots right in the heart of his +property.” + +“Well done, bourgeois!” cried the inn-keeper. + +“Don’t you think that’s good play?” said Leger. + +“Besides,” said the inn-keeper, “the farm is really worth that to him.” + +“Yes; Les Moulineaux brings in to-day six thousand francs in rental. +I’ll take another lease of it at seven thousand five hundred for +eighteen years. Therefore it is really an investment at more than two +and a half per cent. The count can’t complain of that. In order not to +involve Moreau, he is himself to propose me as tenant and farmer; it +gives him a look of acting for his master’s interests by finding him +nearly three per cent for his money, and a tenant who will pay well.” + +“How much will Moreau make, in all?” + +“Well, if the count gives him ten thousand francs for the transaction +the matter will bring him fifty thousand,--and well-earned, too.” + +“After all, the count, so they tell me, doesn’t like Presles. And +then he is so rich, what does it matter what it costs him?” said the +inn-keeper. “I have never seen him, myself.” + +“Nor I,” said Pere Leger. “But he must be intending to live there, +or why should he spend two hundred thousand francs in restoring the +chateau? It is as fine now as the King’s own palace.” + +“Well, well,” said the inn-keeper, “it was high time for Moreau to +feather his nest.” + +“Yes, for if the masters come there,” replied Leger, “they won’t keep +their eyes in their pockets.” + +The count lost not a word of this conversation, which was held in a low +voice, but not in a whisper. + +“Here I have actually found the proofs I was going down there to seek,” + he thought, looking at the fat farmer as he entered the kitchen. “But +perhaps,” he added, “it is only a scheme; Moreau may not have listened +to it.” + +So unwilling was he to believe that his steward could lend himself to +such a conspiracy. + +Pierrotin here came out to water his horses. The count, thinking that +the driver would probably breakfast with the farmer and the inn-keeper, +feared some thoughtless indiscretion. + +“All these people combine against us,” he thought; “it is allowable to +baffle them--Pierrotin,” he said in a low voice as the man passed him, +“I promised you ten louis to keep my secret; but if you continue to +conceal my name (and remember, I shall know if you pronounce it, or make +the slightest sign that reveals it to any one, no matter who, here or at +Isle-Adam, before to-night), I will give you to-morrow morning, on your +return trip, the thousand francs you need to pay for your new coach. +Therefore, by way of precaution,” added the count, striking Pierrotin, +who was pale with happiness, on the shoulder, “don’t go in there to +breakfast; stay with your horses.” + +“Monsieur le comte, I understand you; don’t be afraid! it relates to +Pere Leger, of course.” + +“It relates to every one,” replied the count. + +“Make yourself easy.--Come, hurry,” said Pierrotin, a few moments later, +putting his head into the kitchen. “We are late. Pere Leger, you know +there’s a hill to climb; I’m not hungry, and I’ll drive on slowly; you +can soon overtake me,--it will do you good to walk a bit.” + +“What a hurry you are in, Pierrotin!” said the inn-keeper. “Can’t you +stay and breakfast? The colonel here pays for the wine at fifty sous, +and has ordered a bottle of champagne.” + +“I can’t. I’ve got a fish I must deliver by three o’clock for a great +dinner at Stors; there’s no fooling with customers, or fishes, either.” + +“Very good,” said Pere Leger to the inn-keeper. “You can harness that +horse you want to sell me into the cabriolet; we’ll breakfast in peace +and overtake Pierrotin, and I can judge of the beast as we go along. We +can go three in your jolter.” + +To the count’s surprise, Pierrotin himself rebridled the horses. +Schinner and Mistigris had walked on. Scarcely had Pierrotin overtaken +the two artists and was mounting the hill from which Ecouen, the steeple +of Mesnil, and the forests that surround that most beautiful region, +came in sight, when the gallop of a horse and the jingling of a vehicle +announced the coming of Pere Leger and the grandson of Czerni-Georges, +who were soon restored to their places in the coucou. + +As Pierrotin drove down the narrow road to Moisselles, Georges, who had +so far not ceased to talk with the farmer of the beauty of the hostess +at Saint-Brice, suddenly exclaimed: “Upon my word, this landscape is not +so bad, great painter, is it?” + +“Pooh! you who have seen the East and Spain can’t really admire it.” + +“I’ve two cigars left! If no one objects, will you help me finish them, +Schinner? the little young man there seems to have found a whiff or two +enough for him.” + +Pere Leger and the count kept silence, which passed for consent. + +Oscar, furious at being called a “little young man,” remarked, as the +other two were lighting their cigars: + +“I am not the aide-de-camp of Mina, monsieur, and I have not yet been to +the East, but I shall probably go there. The career to which my family +destine me will spare me, I trust, the annoyances of travelling in a +coucou before I reach your present age. When I once become a personage I +shall know how to maintain my station.” + +“‘Et caetera punctum!’” crowed Mistigris, imitating the hoarse voice +of a young cock; which made Oscar’s deliverance all the more absurd, +because he had just reached the age when the beard sprouts and the voice +breaks. “‘What a chit for chat!’” added the rapin. + +“Your family, young man, destine you to some career, do they?” said +Georges. “Might I ask what it is?” + +“Diplomacy,” replied Oscar. + +Three bursts of laughter came from Mistigris, the great painter, and the +farmer. The count himself could not help smiling. Georges was perfectly +grave. + +“By Allah!” he exclaimed, “I see nothing to laugh at in that. Though it +seems to me, young man, that your respectable mother is, at the present +moment, not exactly in the social sphere of an ambassadress. She carried +a handbag worthy of the utmost respect, and wore shoe-strings which--” + +“My mother, monsieur!” exclaimed Oscar, in a tone of indignation. “That +was the person in charge of our household.” + +“‘Our household’ is a very aristocratic term,” remarked the count. + +“Kings have households,” replied Oscar, proudly. + +A look from Georges repressed the desire to laugh which took possession +of everybody; he contrived to make Mistigris and the painter understand +that it was necessary to manage Oscar cleverly in order to work this new +mine of amusement. + +“Monsieur is right,” said the great Schinner to the count, motioning +towards Oscar. “Well-bred people always talk of their ‘households’; +it is only common persons like ourselves who say ‘home.’ For a man so +covered with decorations--” + +“‘Nunc my eye, nunc alii,’” whispered Mistigris. + +“--you seem to know little of the language of the courts. I ask your +future protection, Excellency,” added Schinner, turning to Oscar. + +“I congratulate myself on having travelled with three such distinguished +men,” said the count,--“a painter already famous, a future general, and +a young diplomatist who may some day recover Belgium for France.” + +Having committed the odious crime of repudiating his mother, Oscar, +furious from a sense that his companions were laughing at him, now +resolved, at any cost, to make them pay attention to him. + +“‘All is not gold that glitters,’” he began, his eyes flaming. + +“That’s not it,” said Mistigris. “‘All is not old that titters.’ You’ll +never get on in diplomacy if you don’t know your proverbs better than +that.” + +“I may not know proverbs, but I know my way--” + +“It must be far,” said Georges, “for I saw that person in charge of +your household give you provisions enough for an ocean voyage: rolls, +chocolate--” + +“A special kind of bread and chocolate, yes, monsieur,” returned Oscar; +“my stomach is much too delicate to digest the victuals of a tavern.” + +“‘Victuals’ is a word as delicate and refined as your stomach,” said +Georges. + +“Ah! I like that word ‘victuals,’” cried the great painter. + +“The word is all the fashion in the best society,” said Mistigris. “I +use it myself at the cafe of the Black Hen.” + +“Your tutor is, doubtless, some celebrated professor, isn’t +he?--Monsieur Andrieux of the Academie Francaise, or Monsieur +Royer-Collard?” asked Schinner. + +“My tutor is or was the Abbe Loraux, now vicar of Saint-Sulpice,” + replied Oscar, recollecting the name of the confessor at his school. + +“Well, you were right to take a private tutor,” said Mistigris. “‘Tuto, +tutor, celeritus, and jocund.’ Of course, you will reward him well, your +abbe?” + +“Undoubtedly he will be made a bishop some day,” said Oscar. + +“By your family influence?” inquired Georges gravely. + +“We shall probably contribute to his rise, for the Abbe Frayssinous is +constantly at our house.” + +“Ah! you know the Abbe Frayssinous?” asked the count. + +“He is under obligations to my father,” answered Oscar. + +“Are you on your way to your estate?” asked Georges. + +“No, monsieur; but I am able to say where I am going, if others are not. +I am going to the Chateau de Presles, to the Comte de Serizy.” + +“The devil! are you going to Presles?” cried Schinner, turning as red as +a cherry. + +“So you know his Excellency the Comte de Serizy?” said Georges. + +Pere Leger turned round to look at Oscar with a stupefied air. + +“Is Monsieur de Serizy at Presles?” he said. + +“Apparently, as I am going there,” replied Oscar. + +“Do you often see the count,” asked Monsieur de Serizy. + +“Often,” replied Oscar. “I am a comrade of his son, who is about my age, +nineteen; we ride together on horseback nearly every day.” + +“‘Aut Caesar, aut Serizy,’” said Mistigris, sententiously. + +Pierrotin and Pere Leger exchanged winks on hearing this statement. + +“Really,” said the count to Oscar, “I am delighted to meet with a young +man who can tell me about that personage. I want his influence on a +rather serious matter, although it would cost him nothing to oblige me. +It concerns a claim I wish to press on the American government. I should +be glad to obtain information about Monsieur de Serizy.” + +“Oh! if you want to succeed,” replied Oscar, with a knowing look, “don’t +go to him, but go to his wife; he is madly in love with her; no one +knows more than I do about that; but she can’t endure him.” + +“Why not?” said Georges. + +“The count has a skin disease which makes him hideous. Doctor Albert has +tried in vain to cure it. The count would give half his fortune if he +had a chest like mine,” said Oscar, swelling himself out. “He lives +a lonely life in his own house; gets up very early in the morning +and works from three to eight o’clock; after eight he takes his +remedies,--sulphur-baths, steam-baths, and such things. His valet bakes +him in a sort of iron box--for he is always in hopes of getting cured.” + +“If he is such a friend of the King as they say he is, why doesn’t he +get his Majesty to touch him?” asked Georges. + +“The count has lately promised thirty thousand francs to a celebrated +Scotch doctor who is coming over to treat him,” continued Oscar. + +“Then his wife can’t be blamed if she finds better--” said Schinner, but +he did not finish his sentence. + +“I should say so!” resumed Oscar. “The poor man is so shrivelled and old +you would take him for eighty! He’s as dry as parchment, and, unluckily +for him, he feels his position.” + +“Most men would,” said Pere Leger. + +“He adores his wife and dares not find fault with her,” pursued Oscar, +rejoicing to have found a topic to which they listened. “He plays scenes +with her which would make you die of laughing,--exactly like Arnolphe in +Moliere’s comedy.” + +The count, horror-stricken, looked at Pierrotin, who, finding that the +count said nothing, concluded that Madame Clapart’s son was telling +falsehoods. + +“So, monsieur,” continued Oscar, “if you want the count’s influence, I +advise you to apply to the Marquis d’Aiglemont. If you get that former +adorer of Madame de Serizy on your side, you will win husband and wife +at one stroke.” + +“Look here!” said the painter, “you seem to have seen the count without +his clothes; are you his valet?” + +“His valet!” cried Oscar. + +“Hang it! people don’t tell such things about their friends in public +conveyances,” exclaimed Mistigris. “As for me, I’m not listening to you; +I’m deaf: ‘discretion plays the better part of adder.’” + +“‘A poet is nasty and not fit,’ and so is a tale-bearer,” cried +Schinner. + +“Great painter,” said Georges, sententiously, “learn this: you can’t +say harm of people you don’t know. Now the little one here has proved, +indubitably, that he knows his Serizy by heart. If he had told us about +the countess, perhaps--?” + +“Stop! not a word about the Comtesse de Serizy, young men,” cried the +count. “I am a friend of her brother, the Marquis de Ronquerolles, and +whoever attempts to speak disparagingly of the countess must answer to +me.” + +“Monsieur is right,” cried the painter; “no man should blaguer women.” + +“God, Honor, and the Ladies! I believe in that melodrama,” said +Mistigris. + +“I don’t know the guerrilla chieftain, Mina, but I know the Keeper of +the Seals,” continued the count, looking at Georges; “and though I don’t +wear my decorations,” he added, looking at the painter, “I prevent those +who do not deserve them from obtaining any. And finally, let me say that +I know so many persons that I even know Monsieur Grindot, the architect +of Presles. Pierrotin, stop at the next inn; I want to get out a +moment.” + +Pierrotin hurried his horses through the village street of Moisselles, +at the end of which was the inn where all travellers stopped. This short +distance was done in silence. + +“Where is that young fool going?” asked the count, drawing Pierrotin +into the inn-yard. + +“To your steward. He is the son of a poor lady who lives in the rue de +la Cerisaie, to whom I often carry fruit, and game, and poultry from +Presles. She is a Madame Husson.” + +“Who is that man?” inquired Pere Leger of Pierrotin when the count had +left him. + +“Faith, I don’t know,” replied Pierrotin; “this is the first time I +have driven him. I shouldn’t be surprised if he was that prince who owns +Maffliers. He has just told me to leave him on the road near there; he +doesn’t want to go on to Isle-Adam.” + +“Pierrotin thinks he is the master of Maffliers,” said Pere Leger, +addressing Georges when he got back into the coach. + +The three young fellows were now as dull as thieves caught in the act; +they dared not look at each other, and were evidently considering the +consequences of their fibs. + +“This is what is called ‘suffering for license sake,’” said Mistigris. + +“You see I did know the count,” said Oscar. + +“Possibly. But you’ll never be an ambassador,” replied Georges. “When +people want to talk in public conveyances, they ought to be careful, +like me, to talk without saying anything.” + +“That’s what speech is for,” remarked Mistigris, by way of conclusion. + +The count returned to his seat and the coucou rolled on amid the deepest +silence. + +“Well, my friends,” said the count, when they reached the Carreau woods, +“here we all are, as silent as if we were going to the scaffold.” + +“‘Silence gives content,’” muttered Mistigris. + +“The weather is fine,” said Georges. + +“What place is that?” said Oscar, pointing to the chateau de +Franconville, which produces a fine effect at that particular spot, +backed, as it is, by the noble forest of Saint-Martin. + +“How is it,” cried the count, “that you, who say you go so often to +Presles, do not know Franconville?” + +“Monsieur knows men, not castles,” said Mistigris. + +“Budding diplomatists have so much else to take their minds,” remarked +Georges. + +“Be so good as to remember my name,” replied Oscar, furious. “I am Oscar +Husson, and ten years hence I shall be famous.” + +After that speech, uttered with bombastic assumption, Oscar flung +himself back in his corner. + +“Husson of what, of where?” asked Mistigris. + +“It is a great family,” replied the count. “Husson de la Cerisaie; +monsieur was born beneath the steps of the Imperial throne.” + +Oscar colored crimson to the roots of his hair, and was penetrated +through and through with a dreadful foreboding. + +They were now about to descend the steep hill of La Cave, at the foot of +which, in a narrow valley, flanked by the forest of Saint-Martin, stands +the magnificent chateau of Presles. + +“Messieurs,” said the count, “I wish you every good fortune in your +various careers. Monsieur le colonel, make your peace with the King +of France; the Czerni-Georges ought not to snub the Bourbons. I have +nothing to wish for you, my dear Monsieur Schinner; your fame is already +won, and nobly won by splendid work. But you are much to be feared in +domestic life, and I, being a married man, dare not invite you to my +house. As for Monsieur Husson, he needs no protection; he possesses the +secrets of statesmen and can make them tremble. Monsieur Leger is about +to pluck the Comte de Serizy, and I can only exhort him to do it with a +firm hand. Pierrotin, put me out here, and pick me up at the same place +to-morrow,” added the count, who then left the coach and took a path +through the woods, leaving his late companions confused and bewildered. + +“He must be that count who has hired Franconville; that’s the path to +it,” said Leger. + +“If ever again,” said the false Schinner, “I am caught blague-ing in +a public coach, I’ll fight a duel with myself. It was your fault, +Mistigris,” giving his rapin a tap on the head. + +“All I did was to help you out, and follow you to Venice,” said +Mistigris; “but that’s always the way, ‘Fortune belabors the slave.’” + +“Let me tell you,” said Georges to his neighbor Oscar, “that if, by +chance, that was the Comte de Serizy, I wouldn’t be in your skin for a +good deal, healthy as you think it.” + +Oscar, remembering his mother’s injunctions, which these words recalled +to his mind, turned pale and came to his senses. + +“Here you are, messieurs!” cried Pierrotin, pulling up at a fine iron +gate. + +“Here we are--where?” said the painter, and Georges, and Oscar all at +once. + +“Well, well!” exclaimed Pierrotin, “if that doesn’t beat all! Ah ca, +monsieurs, have none of you been here before? Why, this is the chateau +de Presles.” + +“Oh, yes; all right, friend,” said Georges, recovering his audacity. +“But I happen to be going on to Les Moulineaux,” he added, not wishing +his companions to know that he was really going to the chateau. + +“You don’t say so? Then you are coming to me,” said Pere Leger. + +“How so?” + +“Why, I’m the farmer at Moulineaux. Hey, colonel, what brings you +there?” + +“To taste your butter,” said Georges, pulling out his portfolio. + +“Pierrotin,” said Oscar, “leave my things at the steward’s. I am going +straight to the chateau.” + +Whereupon Oscar plunged into a narrow path, not knowing, in the least, +where he was going. + +“Hi! Monsieur l’ambassadeur,” cried Pere Leger, “that’s the way to the +forest; if you really want to get to the chateau, go through the little +gate.” + +Thus compelled to enter, Oscar disappeared into the grand court-yard. +While Pere Leger stood watching Oscar, Georges, utterly confounded +by the discovery that the farmer was the present occupant of Les +Moulineaux, has slipped away so adroitly that when the fat countryman +looked round for his colonel there was no sign of him. + +The iron gates opened at Pierrotin’s demand, and he proudly drove in to +deposit with the concierge the thousand and one utensils belonging to +the great Schinner. Oscar was thunderstruck when he became aware that +Mistigris and his master, the witnesses of his bravado, were to be +installed in the chateau itself. In ten minutes Pierrotin had discharged +the various packages of the painter, the bundles of Oscar Husson, and +the pretty little leather portmanteau, which he took from its nest of +hay and confided mysteriously to the wife of the concierge. Then he +drove out of the courtyard, cracking his whip, and took the road that +led through the forest to Isle-Adam, his face beaming with the sly +expression of a peasant who calculates his profits. Nothing was lacking +now to his happiness; on the morrow he would have his thousand francs, +and, as a consequence, his magnificent new coach. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. THE MOREAU INTERIOR + + +Oscar, somewhat abashed, was skulking behind a clump of trees in the +centre of the court-yard, and watching to see what became of his two +road-companions, when Monsieur Moreau suddenly came out upon the portico +from what was called the guard-room. He was dressed in a long blue +overcoat which came to his heels, breeches of yellowish leather and +top-boots, and in his hand he carried a riding-whip. + +“Ah! my boy, so here you are? How is the dear mamma?” he said, taking +Oscar by the hand. “Good-day, messieurs,” he added to Mistigris and his +master, who then came forward. “You are, no doubt, the two painters whom +Monsieur Grindot, the architect, told me to expect.” + +He whistled twice at the end of his whip; the concierge came. + +“Take these gentlemen to rooms 14 and 15. Madame Moreau will give you +the keys. Go with them to show the way; make fires there, if necessary, +and take up all their things. I have orders from Monsieur le comte,” + he added, addressing the two young men, “to invite you to my table, +messieurs; we dine at five, as in Paris. If you like hunting, you will +find plenty to amuse you; I have a license from the Eaux et Forets; +and we hunt over twelve thousand acres of forest, not counting our own +domain.” + +Oscar, the painter, and Mistigris, all more or less subdued, exchanged +glances, but Mistigris, faithful to himself, remarked in a low tone, +“‘Veni, vidi, cecidi,--I came, I saw, I slaughtered.’” + +Oscar followed the steward, who led him along at a rapid pace through +the park. + +“Jacques,” said Moreau to one of his children whom they met, “run in and +tell your mother that little Husson has come, and say to her that I am +obliged to go to Les Moulineaux for a moment.” + +The steward, then about fifty years old, was a dark man of medium +height, and seemed stern. His bilious complexion, to which country +habits had added a certain violent coloring, conveyed, at first sight, +the impression of a nature which was other than his own. His blue +eyes and a large crow-beaked nose gave him an air that was the more +threatening because his eyes were placed too close together. But his +large lips, the outline of his face, and the easy good-humor of his +manner soon showed that his nature was a kindly one. Abrupt in speech +and decided in tone, he impressed Oscar immensely by the force of his +penetration, inspired, no doubt, by the affection which he felt for the +boy. Trained by his mother to magnify the steward, Oscar had always felt +himself very small in Moreau’s presence; but on reaching Presles a new +sensation came over him, as if he expected some harm from this fatherly +figure, his only protector. + +“Well, my Oscar, you don’t look pleased at getting here,” said the +steward. “And yet you’ll find plenty of amusement; you shall learn to +ride on horseback, and shoot, and hunt.” + +“I don’t know any of those things,” said Oscar, stupidly. + +“But I brought you here to learn them.” + +“Mamma told me only to stay two weeks because of Madame Moreau.” + +“Oh! we’ll see about that,” replied Moreau, rather wounded that his +conjugal authority was doubted. + +Moreau’s youngest son, an active, strapping lad of twelve, here ran up. + +“Come,” said his father, “take Oscar to your mother.” + +He himself went rapidly along the shortest path to the gamekeeper’s +house, which was situated between the park and the forest. + +The pavilion, or lodge, in which the count had established his steward, +was built a few years before the Revolution. It stood in the centre of +a large garden, one wall of which adjoined the court-yard of the stables +and offices of the chateau itself. Formerly its chief entrance was on +the main road to the village. But after the count’s father bought the +building, he closed that entrance and united the place with his own +property. + +The house, built of freestone, in the style of the period of Louis XV. +(it is enough to say that its exterior decoration consisted of a stone +drapery beneath the windows, as in the colonnades of the Place Louis +XV., the flutings of which were stiff and ungainly), had on the +ground-floor a fine salon opening into a bedroom, and a dining-room +connected with a billiard-room. These rooms, lying parallel to one +another, were separated by a staircase, in front of which was a sort of +peristyle which formed an entrance-hall, on which the two suits of rooms +on either side opened. The kitchen was beneath the dining-room, for the +whole building was raised ten steps from the ground level. + +By placing her own bedroom on the first floor above the ground-floor, +Madame Moreau was able to transform the chamber adjoining the salon into +a boudoir. These two rooms were richly furnished with beautiful pieces +culled from the rare old furniture of the chateau. The salon, hung +with blue and white damask, formerly the curtains of the state-bed, was +draped with ample portieres and window curtains lined with white silk. +Pictures, evidently from old panels, plant-stands, various pretty +articles of modern upholstery, handsome lamps, and a rare old cut-glass +chandelier, gave a grandiose appearance to the room. The carpet was a +Persian rug. The boudoir, wholly modern, and furnished entirely after +Madame Moreau’s own taste, was arranged in imitation of a tent, with +ropes of blue silk on a gray background. The classic divan was there, of +course, with its pillows and footstools. The plant-stands, taken care of +by the head-gardener of Presles, rejoiced the eye with their pyramids of +bloom. The dining-room and billiard-room were furnished in mahogany. + +Around the house the steward’s wife had laid out a beautiful garden, +carefully cultivated, which opened into the great park. Groups of choice +parks hid the offices and stables. To improve the entrance by which +visitors came to see her, she had substituted a handsome iron gateway +for the shabby railing, which she discarded. + +The dependence in which the situation of their dwelling placed the +Moreaus, was thus adroitly concealed, and they seemed all the more like +rich and independent persons taking care of the property of a friend, +because neither the count nor the countess ever came to Presles to take +down their pretensions. Moreover, the perquisites granted by Monsieur de +Serizy allowed them to live in the midst of that abundance which is +the luxury of country life. Milk, eggs, poultry, game, fruits, flowers, +forage, vegetables, wood, the steward and his wife used in profusion, +buying absolutely nothing but butcher’s-meat, wines, and the colonial +supplies required by their life of luxury. The poultry-maid baked their +bread; and of late years Moreau had paid his butcher with pigs from the +farm, after reserving those he needed for his own use. + +On one occasion, the countess, always kind and good to her former maid, +gave her, as a souvenir perhaps, a little travelling-carriage, the +fashion of which was out of date. Moreau had it repainted, and now drove +his wife about the country with two good horses which belonged to the +farm. Besides these horses, Moreau had his own saddle-horse. He did +enough farming on the count’s property to keep the horses and maintain +his servants. He stacked three hundred tons of excellent hay, but +accounted for only one hundred, making use of a vague permission once +granted by the count. He kept his poultry-yard, pigeon-cotes, and cattle +at the cost of the estate, but the manure of the stables was used by +the count’s gardeners. All these little stealings had some ostensible +excuse. + +Madame Moreau had taken into her service a daughter of one of the +gardeners, who was first her maid and afterwards her cook. The +poultry-game, also the dairy-maid, assisted in the work of the +household; and the steward had hired a discharged soldier to groom the +horses and do the heavy labor. + +At Nerville, Chaumont, Maffliers, Nointel, and other places of the +neighborhood, the handsome wife of the steward was received by +persons who either did not know, or pretended not to know her previous +condition. Moreau did services to many persons. He induced his master to +agree to certain things which seem trifles in Paris, but are really of +immense importance in the country. After bringing about the appointment +of a certain “juge de paix” at Beaumont and also at Isle-Adam, he had, +in the same year, prevented the dismissal of a keeper-general of the +Forests, and obtained the cross of the Legion of honor for the first +cavalry-sergeant at Beaumont. Consequently, no festivity was ever given +among the bourgeoisie to which Monsieur and Madame Moreau were not +invited. The rector of Presles and the mayor of Presles came every +evening to play cards with them. It is difficult for a man not to be +kind and hospitable after feathering his nest so comfortably. + +A pretty woman, and an affected one, as all retired waiting-maids +of great ladies are, for after they are married they imitate their +mistresses, Madame Moreau imported from Paris all the new fashions. She +wore expensive boots, and never was seen on foot, except, occasionally, +in the finest weather. Though her husband allowed but five hundred +francs a year for her toilet, that sum is immense in the provinces, +especially if well laid out. So that Madame Moreau, fair, rosy, and +fresh, about thirty-six years of age, still slender and delicate in +shape in spite of her three children, played the young girl and gave +herself the airs of a princess. If, when she drove by in her caleche, +some stranger had asked, “Who is she?” Madame Moreau would have been +furious had she heard the reply: “The wife of the steward at Presles.” + She wished to be taken for the mistress of the chateau. In the villages, +she patronized the people in the tone of a great lady. The influence of +her husband over the count, proved in so many years, prevented the small +bourgeoisie from laughing at Madame Moreau, who, in the eyes of the +peasants, was really a personage. + +Estelle (her name was Estelle) took no more part in the affairs of the +stewardship then the wife of a broker does in her husband’s affairs at +the Bourse. She even depended on Moreau for the care of the household +and their own fortune. Confident of his _means_, she was a thousand +leagues from dreaming that this comfortable existence, which had lasted +for seventeen years, could ever be endangered. And yet, when she heard +of the count’s determination to restore the magnificent chateau, she +felt that her enjoyments were threatened, and she urged her husband to +come to the arrangement with Leger about Les Moulineaux, so that they +might retire from Presles and live at Isle-Adam. She had no intention +of returning to a position that was more or less that of a servant in +presence of her former mistress, who, indeed, would have laughed to see +her established in the lodge with all the airs and graces of a woman of +the world. + +The rancorous enmity which existed between the Reyberts and the Moreaus +came from a wound inflicted by Madame de Reybert upon Madame Moreau on +the first occasion when the latter assumed precedence over the former on +her first arrival at Presles, the wife of the steward being determined +not to allow her supremacy to be undermined by a woman nee de Corroy. +Madame de Reybert thereupon reminded, or, perhaps, informed the whole +country-side of Madame Moreau’s former station. The words “waiting-maid” + flew from lip to lip. The envious acquaintances of the Moreaus +throughout the neighborhood from Beaumont to Moisselles, began to carp +and criticize with such eagerness that a few sparks of the conflagration +fell into the Moreau household. For four years the Reyberts, cut dead +by the handsome Estelle, found themselves the objects of so much +animadversion on the part of the adherents of the Moreaus that their +position at Presles would not have been endurable without the thought of +vengeance which had, so far, supported them. + +The Moreaus, who were very friendly with Grindot the architect, had +received notice from him of the early arrival of the two painters sent +down to finish the decorations of the chateau, the principal paintings +for which were just completed by Schinner. The great painter had +recommended for this work the artist who was accompanied by Mistigris. +For two days past Madame Moreau had been on the tiptoe of expectation, +and had put herself under arms to receive him. An artist, who was to be +her guest and companion for weeks, demanded some effort. Schinner and +his wife had their own apartment at the chateau, where, by the count’s +express orders, they were treated with all the consideration due to +himself. Grindot, who stayed at the steward’s house, showed such respect +for the great artist that neither the steward nor his wife had attempted +to put themselves on familiar terms with him. Moreover, the noblest and +richest people in the surrounding country had vied with each other in +paying attention to Schinner and his wife. So, very well pleased +to have, as it were, a little revenge of her own, Madame Moreau was +determined to cry up the artist she was now expecting, and to present +him to her social circle as equal in talent to the great Schinner. + +Though for two days past Moreau’s pretty wife had arrayed herself +coquettishly, the prettiest of her toilets had been reserved for this +very Saturday, when, as she felt no doubt, the artist would arrive for +dinner. A pink gown in very narrow stripes, a pink belt with a richly +chased gold buckle, a velvet ribbon and cross at her throat, and velvet +bracelets on her bare arms (Madame de Serizy had handsome arms and +showed them much), together with bronze kid shoes and thread stockings, +gave Madame Moreau all the appearance of an elegant Parisian. She wore, +also, a superb bonnet of Leghorn straw, trimmed with a bunch of moss +roses from Nattier’s, beneath the spreading sides of which rippled the +curls of her beautiful blond hair. + +After ordering a very choice dinner and reviewing the condition of her +rooms, she walked about the grounds, so as to be seen standing near a +flower-bed in the court-yard of the chateau, like the mistress of the +house, on the arrival of the coach from Paris. She held above her head a +charming rose-colored parasol lined with white silk and fringed. +Seeing that Pierrotin merely left Mistigris’s queer packages with the +concierge, having, apparently, brought no passengers, Estelle retired +disappointed and regretting the trouble of making her useless toilet. +Like many persons who are dressed in their best, she felt incapable of +any other occupation than that of sitting idly in her salon awaiting the +coach from Beaumont, which usually passed about an hour after that +of Pierrotin, though it did not leave Paris till mid-day. She was, +therefore, in her own apartment when the two artists walked up to the +chateau, and were sent by Moreau himself to their rooms where they made +their regulation toilet for dinner. The pair had asked questions of +their guide, the gardener, who told them so much of Moreau’s beauty that +they felt the necessity of “rigging themselves up” (studio slang). They, +therefore, put on their most superlative suits and then walked over to +the steward’s lodge, piloted by Jacques Moreau, the eldest son, a +hardy youth, dressed like an English boy in a handsome jacket with a +turned-over collar, who was spending his vacation like a fish in water +on the estate where his father and mother reigned as aristocrats. + +“Mamma,” he said, “here are the two artists sent down by Monsieur +Schinner.” + +Madame Moreau, agreeably surprised, rose, told her son to place chairs, +and began to display her graces. + +“Mamma, the Husson boy is with papa,” added the lad; “shall I fetch +him?” + +“You need not hurry; go and play with him,” said his mother. + +The remark “you need not hurry” proved to the two artists the +unimportance of their late travelling companion in the eyes of their +hostess; but it also showed, what they did not know, the feeling of a +step-mother against a step-son. Madame Moreau, after seventeen years +of married life, could not be ignorant of the steward’s attachment to +Madame Clapart and the little Husson, and she hated both mother and +child so vehemently that it is not surprising that Moreau had never +before risked bringing Oscar to Presles. + +“We are requested, my husband and myself,” she said to the two artists, +“to do you the honors of the chateau. We both love art, and, above all, +artists,” she added in a mincing tone; “and I beg you to make yourselves +at home here. In the country, you know, every one should be at their +ease; one must feel wholly at liberty, or life is _too_ insipid. We have +already had Monsieur Schinner with us.” + +Mistigris gave a sly glance at his companion. + +“You know him, of course?” continued Estelle, after a slight pause. + +“Who does not know him, madame?” said the painter. + +“Knows him like his double,” remarked Mistigris. + +“Monsieur Grindot told me your name,” said Madame Moreau to the painter. +“But--” + +“Joseph Bridau,” he replied, wondering with what sort of woman he had to +do. + +Mistigris began to rebel internally against the patronizing manner of +the steward’s wife; but he waited, like Bridau, for some word which +might give him his cue; one of those words “de singe a dauphin” which +artists, cruel, born-observers of the ridiculous--the pabulum of their +pencils--seize with such avidity. Meantime Estelle’s clumsy hands and +feet struck their eyes, and presently a word, or phrase or two, betrayed +her past, and quite out of keeping with the elegance of her dress, made +the two young fellows aware of their prey. A single glance at each other +was enough to arrange a scheme that they should take Estelle seriously +on her own ground, and thus find amusement enough during the time of +their stay. + +“You say you love art, madame; perhaps you cultivate it successfully,” + said Joseph Bridau. + +“No. Without being neglected, my education was purely commercial; but +I have so profound and delicate a sense of art that Monsieur Schinner +always asked me, when he had finished a piece of work, to give him my +opinion on it.” + +“Just as Moliere consulted La Foret,” said Mistigris. + +Not knowing that La Foret was Moliere’s servant-woman, Madame Moreau +inclined her head graciously, showing that in her ignorance she accepted +the speech as a compliment. + +“Didn’t he propose to ‘croquer’ you?” asked Bridau. “Painters are eager +enough after handsome women.” + +“What may you mean by such language?” + +“In the studios we say croquer, craunch, nibble, for sketching,” + interposed Mistigris, with an insinuating air, “and we are always +wanting to croquer beautiful heads. That’s the origin of the expression, +‘She is pretty enough to eat.’” + +“I was not aware of the origin of the term,” she replied, with the +sweetest glance at Mistigris. + +“My pupil here,” said Bridau, “Monsieur Leon de Lora, shows a remarkable +talent for portraiture. He would be too happy, I know, to leave you a +souvenir of our stay by painting your charming head, madame.” + +Joseph Bridau made a sign to Mistigris which meant: “Come, sail in, and +push the matter; she is not so bad in looks, this woman.” + +Accepting the glance, Leon de Lora slid down upon the sofa beside +Estelle and took her hand, which she permitted. + +“Oh! madame, if you would like to offer a surprise to your husband, and +will give me a few secret sittings I would endeavor to surpass myself. +You are so beautiful, so fresh, so charming! A man without any talent +might become a genius in painting you. He would draw from your eyes--” + +“We must paint your dear children in the arabesques,” said Bridau, +interrupting Mistigris. + +“I would rather have them in the salon; but perhaps I am indiscreet in +asking it,” she replied, looking at Bridau coquettishly. + +“Beauty, madame, is a sovereign whom all painters worship; it has +unlimited claims upon them.” + +“They are both charming,” thought Madame Moreau. “Do you enjoy driving? +Shall I take you through the woods, after dinner, in my carriage?” + +“Oh! oh! oh!” cried Mistigris, in three ecstatic tones. “Why, Presles +will prove our terrestrial paradise.” + +“With an Eve, a fair, young, fascinating woman,” added Bridau. + +Just as Madame Moreau was bridling, and soaring to the seventh heaven, +she was recalled like a kite by a twitch at its line. + +“Madame!” cried her maid-servant, bursting into the room. + +“Rosalie,” said her mistress, “who allowed you to come here without +being sent for?” + +Rosalie paid no heed to the rebuke, but whispered in her mistress’s +ear:-- + +“The count is at the chateau.” + +“Has he asked for me?” said the steward’s wife. + +“No, madame; but he wants his trunk and the key of his apartment.” + +“Then give them to him,” she replied, making an impatient gesture to +hide her real trouble. + +“Mamma! here’s Oscar Husson,” said her youngest son, bringing in Oscar, +who turned as red as a poppy on seeing the two artists in evening dress. + +“Oh! so you have come, my little Oscar,” said Estelle, stiffly. “I +hope you will now go and dress,” she added, after looking at him +contemptuously from head to foot. “Your mother, I presume, has not +accustomed you to dine in such clothes as those.” + +“Oh!” cried the cruel Mistigris, “a future diplomatist knows the saying +that ‘two coats are better than none.’” + +“How do you mean, a future diplomatist?” exclaimed Madame Moreau. + +Poor Oscar had tears in his eyes as he looked in turn from Joseph to +Leon. + +“Merely a joke made in travelling,” replied Joseph, who wanted to save +Oscar’s feelings out of pity. + +“The boy just wanted to be funny like the rest of us, and he blagued, +that’s all,” said Mistigris. + +“Madame,” said Rosalie, returning to the door of the salon, “his +Excellency has ordered dinner for eight, and wants it served at six +o’clock. What are we to do?” + +During Estelle’s conference with her head-woman the two artists +and Oscar looked at each other in consternation; their glances were +expressive of terrible apprehension. + +“His Excellency! who is he?” said Joseph Bridau. + +“Why, Monsieur le Comte de Serizy, of course,” replied little Moreau. + +“Could it have been the count in the coucou?” said Leon de Lora. + +“Oh!” exclaimed Oscar, “the Comte de Serizy always travels in his own +carriage with four horses.” + +“How did the Comte de Serizy get here?” said the painter to Madame +Moreau, when she returned, much discomfited, to the salon. + +“I am sure I do not know,” she said. “I cannot explain to myself this +sudden arrival; nor do I know what has brought him--And Moreau not +here!” + +“His Excellency wishes Monsieur Schinner to come over to the chateau,” + said the gardener, coming to the door of the salon. “And he begs +Monsieur Schinner to give him the pleasure to dine with him; also +Monsieur Mistigris.” + +“Done for!” cried the rapin, laughing. “He whom we took for a bourgeois +in the coucou was the count. You may well say: ‘Sour are the curses of +perversity.’” + +Oscar was very nearly changed to a pillar of salt; for, at this +revelation, his throat felt saltier than the sea. + +“And you, who talked to him about his wife’s lovers and his skin +diseases!” said Mistigris, turning on Oscar. + +“What does he mean?” exclaimed the steward’s wife, gazing after the two +artists, who went away laughing at the expression of Oscar’s face. + +Oscar remained dumb, confounded, stupefied, hearing nothing, though +Madame Moreau questioned him and shook him violently by his arm, which +she caught and squeezed. She gained nothing, however, and was forced to +leave him in the salon without an answer, for Rosalie appeared again, to +ask for linen and silver, and to beg she would go herself and see that +the multiplied orders of the count were executed. All the household, +together with the gardeners and the concierge and his wife, were going +and coming in a confusion that may readily be imagined. The master had +fallen upon his own house like a bombshell. + +From the top of the hill near La Cave, where he left the coach, the +count had gone, by the path through the woods well-known to him, to +the house of his gamekeeper. The keeper was amazed when he saw his real +master. + +“Is Moreau here?” said the count. “I see his horse.” + +“No, monseigneur; he means to go to Moulineaux before dinner, and he has +left his horse here while he went to the chateau to give a few orders.” + +“If you value your place,” said the count, “you will take that horse and +ride at once to Beaumont, where you will deliver to Monsieur Margueron +the note that I shall now write.” + +So saying the count entered the keeper’s lodge and wrote a line, folding +it in a way impossible to open without detection, and gave it to the man +as soon as he saw him in the saddle. + +“Not a word to any one,” he said, “and as for you, madame,” he added +to the gamekeeper’s wife, “if Moreau comes back for his horse, tell him +merely that I have taken it.” + +The count then crossed the park and entered the court-yard of the +chateau through the iron gates. However worn-out a man may be by the +wear and tear of public life, by his own emotions, by his own mistakes +and disappointments, the soul of any man able to love deeply at the +count’s age is still young and sensitive to treachery. Monsieur de +Serizy had felt such pain at the thought that Moreau had deceived him, +that even after hearing the conversation at Saint-Brice he thought +him less an accomplice of Leger and the notary than their tool. On the +threshold of the inn, and while that conversation was still going on, +he thought of pardoning his steward after giving him a good reproof. +Strange to say, the dishonesty of his confidential agent occupied +his mind as a mere episode from the moment when Oscar revealed his +infirmities. Secrets so carefully guarded could only have been revealed +by Moreau, who had, no doubt, laughed over the hidden troubles of +his benefactor with either Madame de Serizy’s former maid or with the +Aspasia of the Directory. + +As he walked along the wood-path, this peer of France, this statesman, +wept as young men weep; he wept his last tears. All human feelings +were so cruelly hurt by one stroke that the usually calm man staggered +through his park like a wounded deer. + +When Moreau arrived at the gamekeeper’s lodge and asked for his horse, +the keeper’s wife replied:-- + +“Monsieur le comte has just taken it.” + +“Monsieur le comte!” cried Moreau. “Whom do you mean?” + +“Why, the Comte de Serizy, our master,” she replied. “He is probably at +the chateau by this time,” she added, anxious to be rid of the steward, +who, unable to understand the meaning of her words, turned back towards +the chateau. + +But he presently turned again and came back to the lodge, intending to +question the woman more closely; for he began to see something serious +in this secret arrival, and the apparently strange method of his +master’s return. But the wife of the gamekeeper, alarmed to find herself +caught in a vise between the count and his steward, had locked herself +into the house, resolved not to open to any but her husband. Moreau, +more and more uneasy, ran rapidly, in spite of his boots and spurs, to +the chateau, where he was told that the count was dressing. + +“Seven persons invited to dinner!” cried Rosalie as soon as she saw him. + +Moreau then went through the offices to his own house. On his way he met +the poultry-girl, who was having an altercation with a handsome young +man. + +“Monsieur le comte particularly told me a colonel, an aide-de-camp of +Mina,” insisted the girl. + +“I am not a colonel,” replied Georges. + +“But isn’t your name Georges?” + +“What’s all this?” said the steward, intervening. + +“Monsieur, my name is Georges Marest; I am the son of a rich wholesale +ironmonger in the rue Saint-Martin; I come on business to Monsieur le +Comte de Serizy from Maitre Crottat, a notary, whose second clerk I am.” + +“And I,” said the girl, “am telling him that monseigneur said to me: +‘There’ll come a colonel named Czerni-Georges, aide-de-camp to Mina; +he’ll come by Pierrotin’s coach; if he asks for me show him into the +waiting-room.’” + +“Evidently,” said the clerk, “the count is a traveller who came down +with us in Pierrotin’s coucou; if it hadn’t been for the politeness of a +young man he’d have come as a rabbit.” + +“A rabbit! in Pierrotin’s coucou!” exclaimed Moreau and the poultry-girl +together. + +“I am sure of it, from what this girl is now saying,” said Georges. + +“How so?” asked the steward. + +“Ah! that’s the point,” cried the clerk. “To hoax the travellers and +have a bit of fun I told them a lot of stuff about Egypt and Greece and +Spain. As I happened to be wearing spurs I have myself out for a colonel +of cavalry: pure nonsense!” + +“Tell me,” said Moreau, “what did this traveller you take to be Monsieur +le comte look like?” + +“Face like a brick,” said Georges, “hair snow-white, and black +eyebrows.” + +“That is he!” + +“Then I’m lost!” exclaimed Georges. + +“Why?” + +“Oh, I chaffed him about his decorations.” + +“Pooh! he’s a good fellow; you probably amused him. Come at once to the +chateau. I’ll go in and see his Excellency. Where did you say he left +the coach?” + +“At the top of the mountain.” + +“I don’t know what to make of it!” + +“After all,” thought Georges, “though I did blague him, I didn’t say +anything insulting.” + +“Why have you come here?” asked the steward. + +“I have brought the deed of sale for the farm at Moulineaux, all ready +for signature.” + +“Good heavens!” exclaimed the steward, “I don’t understand one word of +all this!” + +Moreau felt his heart beat painfully when, after giving two raps on his +master’s door, he heard the words:-- + +“Is that you, _Monsieur_ Moreau?” + +“Yes, monseigneur.” + +“Come in.” + +The count was now wearing a pair of white trousers and thin boots, a +white waistcoat and a black coat on which shone the grand cross of the +Legion upon the right breast, and fastened to a buttonhole on the left +was the order of the Golden Fleece hanging by a short gold chain. He had +arranged his hair himself, and had, no doubt, put himself in full dress +to do the honors of Presles to Monsieur Margueron; and, possibly, to +impress the good man’s mind with a prestige of grandeur. + +“Well, monsieur,” said the count, who remained seated, leaving Moreau to +stand before him. “We have not concluded that purchase from Margueron.” + +“He asks too much for the farm at the present moment.” + +“But why is he not coming to dinner as I requested?” + +“Monseigneur, he is ill.” + +“Are you sure?” + +“I have just come from there.” + +“Monsieur,” said the count, with a stern air which was really terrible, +“what would you do with a man whom you trusted, if, after seeing you +dress wounds which you desired to keep secret from all the world, +he should reveal your misfortunes and laugh at your malady with a +strumpet?” + +“I would thrash him for it.” + +“And if you discovered that he was also betraying your confidence and +robbing you?” + +“I should endeavor to detect him, and send him to the galleys.” + +“Monsieur Moreau, listen to me. You have undoubtedly spoken of my +infirmities to Madame Clapart; you have laughed at her house, and with +her, over my attachment to the Comtesse de Serizy; for her son, little +Husson, told a number of circumstances relating to my medical treatment, +to travellers by a public conveyance in my presence, and Heaven knows in +what language! He dared to calumniate my wife. Besides this, I learned +from the lips of Pere Leger himself, who was in the coach, of the plan +laid by the notary at Beaumont and by you and by himself in relation to +Les Moulineaux. If you have been, as you say, to Monsieur Margueron, it +was to tell him to feign illness. He is so little ill that he is coming +here to dinner this evening. Now, monsieur, I could pardon you having +made two hundred and fifty thousand francs out of your situation in +seventeen years,--I can understand that. You might each time have asked +me for what you took, and I would have given it to you; but let that +pass. You have been, notwithstanding this disloyalty, better than +others, as I believe. But that you, who knew my toil for our country, +for France, you have seen me giving night after night to the Emperor’s +service, and working eighteen hours of each twenty-four for months +together, you who knew my love for Madame de Serizy,--that you should +have gossiped about me before a boy! holding up my secrets and my +affections to the ridicule of a Madame Husson!--” + +“Monseigneur!” + +“It is unpardonable. To injure a man’s interest, why, that is nothing; +but to stab his heart!--Oh! you do not know what you have done!” + +The count put his head in his hands and was silent for some moments. + +“I leave you what you have gained,” he said after a time, “and I shall +forget you. For my sake, for my dignity, and for your honor, we will +part decently; for I cannot but remember even now what your father did +for mine. You will explain the duties of the stewardship in a proper +manner to Monsieur de Reybert, who succeeds you. Be calm, as I am. +Give no opportunity for fools to talk. Above all, let there be no +recrimination or petty meanness. Though you no longer possess my +confidence, endeavor to behave with the decorum of well-bred persons. As +for that miserable boy who has wounded me to death, I will not have +him sleep at Presles; send him to the inn; I will not answer for my own +temper if I see him.” + +“I do not deserve such gentleness, monseigneur,” said Moreau, with tears +in his eyes. “Yes, you are right; if I had been utterly dishonest I +should now be worth five hundred thousand francs instead of half that +sum. I offer to give you an account of my fortune, with all its details. +But let me tell you, monseigneur, that in talking of you with Madame +Clapart, it was never in derision; but, on the contrary, to deplore your +state, and to ask her for certain remedies, not used by physicians, but +known to the common people. I spoke of your feelings before the boy, who +was in his bed and, as I supposed, asleep (it seems he must have been +awake and listening to us), with the utmost affection and respect. +Alas! fate wills that indiscretions be punished like crimes. But while +accepting the results of your just anger, I wish you to know what +actually took place. It was, indeed, from heart to heart that I spoke +of you to Madame Clapart. As for my wife, I have never said one word of +these things--” + +“Enough,” said the count, whose conviction was now complete; “we are not +children. All is now irrevocable. Put your affairs and mine in order. +You can stay in the pavilion until October. Monsieur and Madame de +Reybert will lodge for the present in the chateau; endeavor to keep on +terms with them, like well-bred persons who hate each other, but still +keep up appearances.” + +The count and Moreau went downstairs; Moreau white as the count’s hair, +the count himself calm and dignified. + +During the time this interview lasted the Beaumont coach, which left +Paris at one o’clock, had stopped before the gates of the chateau, and +deposited Maitre Crottat, the notary, who was shown, according to the +count’s orders, into the salon, where he found his clerk, extremely +subdued in manner, and the two painters, all three of them painfully +self-conscious and embarrassed. Monsieur de Reybert, a man of fifty, +with a crabbed expression of face, was also there, accompanied by old +Margueron and the notary of Beaumont, who held in his hand a bundle of +deeds and other papers. + +When these various personages saw the count in evening dress, and +wearing his orders, Georges Marest had a slight sensation of colic, +Joseph Bridau quivered, but Mistigris, who was conscious of being in his +Sunday clothes, and had, moreover, nothing on his conscience, remarked, +in a sufficiently loud tone:-- + +“Well, he looks a great deal better like that.” + +“Little scamp,” said the count, catching him by the ear, “we are both +in the decoration business. I hope you recognize your own work, my dear +Schinner,” he added, pointing to the ceiling of the salon. + +“Monseigneur,” replied the artist, “I did wrong to take such a +celebrated name out of mere bravado; but this day will oblige me to +do fine things for you, and so bring credit on my own name of Joseph +Bridau.” + +“You took up my defence,” said the count, hastily; “and I hope you will +give me the pleasure of dining with me, as well as my lively friend +Mistigris.” + +“Your Excellency doesn’t know to what you expose yourself,” said the +saucy rapin; “‘facilis descensus victuali,’ as we say at the Black Hen.” + +“Bridau!” exclaimed the minister, struck by a sudden thought. “Are you +any relation to one of the most devoted toilers under the Empire, the +head of a bureau, who fell a victim to his zeal?” + +“His son, monseigneur,” replied Joseph, bowing. + +“Then you are most welcome here,” said the count, taking Bridau’s hand +in both of his. “I knew your father, and you can count on me as on--on +an uncle in America,” added the count, laughing. “But you are too young +to have pupils of your own; to whom does Mistigris really belong?” + +“To my friend Schinner, who lent him to me,” said Joseph. “Mistigris’ +name is Leon de Lora. Monseigneur, if you knew my father, will you deign +to think of his other son, who is now accused of plotting against the +State, and is soon to be tried before the Court of Peers?” + +“Ah! that’s true,” said the count. “Yes, I will think about it, be sure +of that. As for Colonel Czerni-Georges, the friend of Ali Pacha, and +Mina’s aide-de-camp--” he continued, walking up to Georges. + +“He! why that’s my second clerk!” cried Crottat. + +“You are quite mistaken, Maitre Crottat,” said the count, assuming a +stern air. “A clerk who intends to be a notary does not leave important +deeds in a diligence at the mercy of other travellers; neither does he +spend twenty francs between Paris and Moisselles; or expose himself to +be arrested as a deserter--” + +“Monseigneur,” said Georges Marest, “I may have amused myself with the +bourgeois in the diligence, but--” + +“Let his Excellency finish what he was saying,” said the notary, digging +his elbow into his clerk’s ribs. + +“A notary,” continued the count, “ought to practise discretion, +shrewdness, caution from the start; he should be incapable of such a +blunder as taking a peer of France for a tallow-chandler--” + +“I am willing to be blamed for my faults,” said Georges; “but I never +left my deeds at the mercy of--” + +“Now you are committing the fault of contradicting the word of a +minister of State, a gentleman, an old man, and a client,” said the +count. “Give me that deed of sale.” + +Georges turned over and over the papers in his portfolio. + +“That will do; don’t disarrange those papers,” said the count, taking +the deed from his pocket. “Here is what you are looking for.” + +Crottat turned the paper back and forth, so astonished was he at +receiving it from the hands of his client. + +“What does this mean, monsieur?” he said, finally, to Georges. + +“If I had not taken it,” said the count, “Pere Leger,--who is by +no means such a ninny as you thought him from his questions +about agriculture, by which he showed that he attended to his own +business,--Pere Leger might have seized that paper and guessed my +purpose. You must give me the pleasure of dining with me, but one on +condition,--that of describing, as you promised, the execution of the +Muslim of Smyrna, and you must also finish the memoirs of some client +which you have certainly read to be so well informed.” + +“Schlague for blague!” said Leon de Lora, in a whisper, to Joseph +Bridau. + +“Gentlemen,” said the count to the two notaries and Messieurs Margueron +and de Reybert, “let us go into the next room and conclude this business +before dinner, because, as my friend Mistigris would say: ‘Qui esurit +constentit.’” + +“Well, he is very good-natured,” said Leon de Lora to Georges Marest, +when the count had left the room. + +“Yes, HE may be, but my master isn’t,” said Georges, “and he will +request me to go and blaguer somewhere else.” + +“Never mind, you like travel,” said Bridau. + +“What a dressing that boy will get from Monsieur and Madame Moreau!” + cried Mistigris. + +“Little idiot!” said Georges. “If it hadn’t been for him the count would +have been amused. Well, anyhow, the lesson is a good one; and if ever +again I am caught bragging in a public coach--” + +“It is a stupid thing to do,” said Joseph Bridau. + +“And common,” added Mistigris. “‘Vulgarity is the brother of +pretension.’” + +While the matter of the sale was being settled between Monsieur +Margueron and the Comte de Serizy, assisted by their respective notaries +in presence of Monsieur de Reybert, the ex-steward walked with slow +steps to his own house. There he entered the salon and sat down without +noticing anything. Little Husson, who was present, slipped into a +corner, out of sight, so much did the livid face of his mother’s friend +alarm him. + +“Eh! my friend!” said Estelle, coming into the room, somewhat tired with +what she had been doing. “What is the matter?” + +“My dear, we are lost,--lost beyond recovery. I am no longer steward of +Presles, no longer in the count’s confidence.” + +“Why not?” + +“Pere Leger, who was in Pierrotin’s coach, told the count all about the +affair of Les Moulineaux. But that is not the thing that has cost me his +favor.” + +“What then?” + +“Oscar spoke ill of the countess, and he told about the count’s +diseases.” + +“Oscar!” cried Madame Moreau. “Ah! my dear, your sin has found you out. +It was well worth while to warm that young serpent in your bosom. How +often I have told you--” + +“Enough!” said Moreau, in a strained voice. + +At this moment Estelle and her husband discovered Oscar cowering in his +corner. Moreau swooped down on the luckless lad like a hawk on its prey, +took him by the collar of the coat and dragged him to the light of a +window. “Speak! what did you say to monseigneur in that coach? What +demon let loose your tongue, you who keep a doltish silence whenever I +speak to you? What did you do it for?” cried the steward, with frightful +violence. + +Too bewildered to weep, Oscar was dumb and motionless as a statue. + +“Come with me and beg his Excellency’s pardon,” said Moreau. + +“As if his Excellency cares for a little toad like that!” cried the +furious Estelle. + +“Come, I say, to the chateau,” repeated Moreau. + +Oscar dropped like an inert mass to the ground. + +“Come!” cried Moreau, his anger increasing at every instant. + +“No! no! mercy!” cried Oscar, who could not bring himself to submit to a +torture that seemed to him worse than death. + +Moreau then took the lad by his coat, and dragged him, as he might a +dead body, through the yards, which rang with the boy’s outcries and +sobs. He pulled him up the portico, and, with an arm that fury made +powerful, he flung him, bellowing, and rigid as a pole, into the salon, +at the very feet of the count, who, having completed the purchase of Les +Moulineaux, was about to leave the salon for the dining-room with his +guests. + +“On your knees, wretched boy! and ask pardon of him who gave food to +your mind by obtaining your scholarship.” + +Oscar, his face to the ground, was foaming with rage, and did not say a +word. The spectators of the scene were shocked. Moreau seemed no longer +in his senses; his face was crimson with injected blood. + +“This young man is a mere lump of vanity,” said the count, after waiting +a moment for Oscar’s excuses. “A proud man humiliates himself because he +sees there is grandeur in a certain self-abasement. I am afraid that you +will never make much of that lad.” + +So saying, his Excellency passed on. Moreau took Oscar home with him; +and on the way gave orders that the horses should immediately be put to +Madame Moreau’s caleche. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. A MOTHER’S TRIALS + + +While the horses were being harnessed, Moreau wrote the following letter +to Madame Clapart:-- + + My dear,--Oscar has ruined me. During his journey in Pierrotin’s + coach, he spoke of Madame de Serizy’s behavior to his Excellency, + who was travelling incognito, and actually told, to himself, the + secret of his terrible malady. After dismissing me from my + stewardship, the count told me not to let Oscar sleep at Presles, + but to send him away immediately. Therefore, to obey his orders, + the horses are being harnessed at this moment to my wife’s + carriage, and Brochon, my stable-man, will take the miserable + child to you to-night. + + We are, my wife and I, in a distress of mind which you may perhaps + imagine, though I cannot describe it to you. I will see you in a + few days, for I must take another course. I have three children, + and I ought to consider their future. At present I do not know + what to do; but I shall certainly endeavor to make the count aware + of what seventeen years of the life of a man like myself is worth. + Owning at the present moment about two hundred and fifty thousand + francs, I want to raise myself to a fortune which may some day + make me the equal of his Excellency. At this moment I feel within + me the power to move mountains and vanquish insurmountable + difficulties. What a lever is such a scene of bitter humiliation + as I have just passed through! Whose blood has Oscar in his veins? + His conduct has been that of a blockhead; up to this moment when I + write to you, he has not said a word nor answered, even by a sign, + the questions my wife and I have put to him. Will he become an + idiot? or is he one already? Dear friend, why did you not instruct + him as to his behavior before you sent him to me? How many + misfortunes you would have spared me, had you brought him here + yourself as I begged you to do. If Estelle alarmed you, you might + have stayed at Moisselles. However, the thing is done, and there + is no use talking about it. + + Adieu; I shall see you soon. + +Your devoted servant and friend, + +Moreau + + +At eight o’clock that evening, Madame Clapart, just returned from a walk +she had taken with her husband, was knitting winter socks for Oscar, by +the light of a single candle. Monsieur Clapart was expecting a friend +named Poiret, who often came in to play dominoes, for never did he allow +himself to spend an evening at a cafe. In spite of the prudent economy +to which his small means forced him, Clapart would not have answered for +his temperance amid a luxury of food and in presence of the usual guests +of a cafe whose inquisitive observation would have piqued him. + +“I’m afraid Poiret came while we were out,” said Clapart to his wife. + +“Why, no, my friend; the portress would have told us so when we came +in,” replied Madame Clapart. + +“She may have forgotten it.” + +“What makes you think so?” + +“It wouldn’t be the first time she has forgotten things for us,--for God +knows how people without means are treated.” + +“Well,” said the poor woman, to change the conversation and escape +Clapart’s cavilling, “Oscar must be at Presles by this time. How he will +enjoy that fine house and the beautiful park.” + +“Oh! yes,” snarled Clapart, “you expect fine things of him; but, mark my +words, there’ll be squabbles wherever he goes.” + +“Will you never cease to find fault with that poor child?” said the +mother. “What has he done to you? If some day we should live at our +ease, we may owe it all to him; he has such a good heart--” + +“Our bones will be jelly long before that fellow makes his way in the +world,” cried Clapart. “You don’t know your own child; he is conceited, +boastful, deceitful, lazy, incapable of--” + +“Why don’t you go to meet Poiret?” said the poor mother, struck to the +heart by the diatribe she had brought upon herself. + +“A boy who has never won a prize at school!” continued Clapart. + +To bourgeois eyes, the obtaining of school prizes means the certainty of +a fine future for the fortunate child. + +“Did you win any?” asked his wife. “Oscar stood second in philosophy.” + +This remark imposed silence for a moment on Clapart; but presently he +began again. + +“Besides, Madame Moreau hates him like poison, you know why. She’ll try +to set her husband against him. Oscar to step into his shoes as steward +of Presles! Why he’d have to learn agriculture, and know how to survey.” + +“He can learn.” + +“He--that pussy cat! I’ll bet that if he does get a place down there, +it won’t be a week before he does some doltish thing which will make the +count dismiss him.” + +“Good God! how can you be so bitter against a poor child who is full of +good qualities, sweet-tempered as an angel, incapable of doing harm to +any one, no matter who.” + +Just then the cracking of a postilion’s whip and the noise of a carriage +stopping before the house was heard, this arrival having apparently put +the whole street into a commotion. Clapart, who heard the opening of +many windows, looked out himself to see what was happening. + +“They have sent Oscar back to you in a post-chaise,” he cried, in a tone +of satisfaction, though in truth he felt inwardly uneasy. + +“Good heavens! what can have happened to him?” cried the poor mother, +trembling like a leaf shaken by the autumn wind. + +Brochon here came up, followed by Oscar and Poiret. + +“What has happened?” repeated the mother, addressing the stable-man. + +“I don’t know, but Monsieur Moreau is no longer steward of Presles, and +they say your son has caused it. His Excellency ordered that he should +be sent home to you. Here’s a letter from poor Monsieur Moreau, madame, +which will tell you all. You never saw a man so changed in a single +day.” + +“Clapart, two glasses of wine for the postilion and for monsieur!” cried +the mother, flinging herself into a chair that she might read the fatal +letter. “Oscar,” she said, staggering towards her bed, “do you want to +kill your mother? After all the cautions I gave you this morning--” + +She did not end her sentence, for she fainted from distress of mind. +When she came to herself she heard her husband saying to Oscar, as he +shook him by the arm:-- + +“Will you answer me?” + +“Go to bed, monsieur,” she said to her son. “Let him alone, Monsieur +Clapart. Don’t drive him out of his senses; he is frightfully changed.” + +Oscar did not hear his mother’s last words; he had slipped away to bed +the instant that he got the order. + +Those who remember their youth will not be surprised to learn that +after a day so filled with events and emotions, Oscar, in spite of the +enormity of his offences, slept the sleep of the just. The next day he +did not find the world so changed as he thought it; he was surprised +to be very hungry,--he who the night before had regarded himself as +unworthy to live. He had only suffered mentally. At his age mental +impressions succeed each other so rapidly that the last weakens its +predecessor, however deeply the first may have been cut in. For this +reason corporal punishment, though philanthropists are deeply opposed +to it in these days, becomes necessary in certain cases for certain +children. It is, moreover, the most natural form of retribution, for +Nature herself employs it; she uses pain to impress a lasting memory of +her precepts. If to the shame of the preceding evening, unhappily too +transient, the steward had joined some personal chastisement, perhaps +the lesson might have been complete. The discernment with which such +punishment needs to be administered is the greatest argument against it. +Nature is never mistaken; but the teacher is, and frequently. + +Madame Clapart took pains to send her husband out, so that she might be +alone with her son the next morning. She was in a state to excite +pity. Her eyes, worn with tears; her face, weary with the fatigue of +a sleepless night; her feeble voice,--in short, everything about her +proved an excess of suffering she could not have borne a second time, +and appealed to sympathy. + +When Oscar entered the room she signed to him to sit down beside her, +and reminded him in a gentle but grieved voice of the benefits they had +so constantly received from the steward of Presles. She told him that +they had lived, especially for the last six years, on the delicate +charity of Monsieur Moreau; and that Monsieur Clapart’s salary, also +the “demi-bourse,” or scholarship, by which he (Oscar) had obtained an +education, was due to the Comte de Serizy. Most of this would now cease. +Monsieur Clapart, she said, had no claim to a pension,--his period of +service not being long enough to obtain one. On the day when he was no +longer able to keep his place, what would become of them? + +“For myself,” she said, “by nursing the sick, or living as a housekeeper +in some great family, I could support myself and Monsieur Clapart; but +you, Oscar, what could you do? You have no means, and you must earn +some, for you must live. There are but four careers for a young man +like you,--commerce, government employment, the licensed professions, or +military service. All forms of commerce need capital, and we have none +to give you. In place of capital, a young man can only give devotion and +his capacity. But commerce also demands the utmost discretion, and your +conduct yesterday proves that you lack it. To enter a government office, +you must go through a long probation by the help of influence, and you +have just alienated the only protector that we had,--a most powerful +one. Besides, suppose you were to meet with some extraordinary help, by +which a young man makes his way promptly either in business or in +the public employ, where could you find the money to live and clothe +yourself during the time that you are learning your employment?” + +Here the mother wandered, like other women, into wordy lamentation: What +should she do now to feed the family, deprived of the benefits Moreau’s +stewardship had enabled him to send her from Presles? Oscar had +overthrown his benefactor’s prosperity! As commerce and a government +clerkship were now impossible, there remained only the professions of +notary and lawyer, either barristers or solicitors, and sheriffs. But +for those he must study at least three years, and pay considerable sums +for entrance fees, examinations, certificates, and diplomas; and here +again the question of maintenance presented itself. + +“Oscar,” she said, in conclusion, “in you I had put all my pride, all my +life. In accepting for myself an unhappy old age, I fastened my eyes on +you; I saw you with the prospect of a fine career, and I imagined you +succeeding in it. That thought, that hope, gave me courage to face the +privations I have endured for six years in order to carry you through +school, where you have cost me, in spite of the scholarship, between +seven and eight hundred francs a year. Now that my hope is vanishing, +your future terrifies me. I cannot take one penny from Monsieur +Clapart’s salary for my son. What can you do? You are not strong enough +to mathematics to enter any of the technical schools; and, besides, +where could I get the three thousand francs board-money which they +extract? This is life as it is, my child. You are eighteen, you are +strong. Enlist in the army; it is your only means, that I can see, to +earn your bread.” + +Oscar knew as yet nothing whatever of life. Like all children who have +been kept from a knowledge of the trials and poverty of the home, he +was ignorant of the necessity of earning his living. The word “commerce” + presented no idea whatever to his mind; “public employment” said almost +as little, for he saw no results of it. He listened, therefore, with +a submissive air, which he tried to make humble, to his mother’s +exhortations, but they were lost in the void, and did not reach his +mind. Nevertheless, the word “army,” the thought of being a soldier, and +the sight of his mother’s tears did at last make him cry. No sooner +did Madame Clapart see the drops coursing down his cheeks than she felt +herself helpless, and, like most mothers in such cases, she began the +peroration which terminates these scenes,--scenes in which they suffer +their own anguish and that of their children also. + +“Well, Oscar, _promise_ me that you will be more discreet in +future,--that you will not talk heedlessly any more, but will strive to +repress your silly vanity,” et cetera, et cetera. + +Oscar of course promised all his mother asked him to promise, and then, +after gently drawing him to her, Madame Clapart ended by kissing him to +console him for being scolded. + +“In future,” she said, “you will listen to your mother, and will follow +her advice; for a mother can give nothing but good counsel to her child. +We will go and see your uncle Cardot; that is our last hope. Cardot +owed a great deal to your father, who gave him his sister, Mademoiselle +Husson, with an enormous dowry for those days, which enabled him to make +a large fortune in the silk trade. I think he might, perhaps, place +you with Monsieur Camusot, his successor and son-in-law, in the rue des +Bourdonnais. But, you see, your uncle Cardot has four children. He +gave his establishment, the Cocon d’Or, to his eldest daughter, Madame +Camusot; and though Camusot has millions, he has also four children by +two wives; and, besides, he scarcely knows of our existence. Cardot has +married his second daughter, Mariane, to Monsieur Protez, of the firm +of Protez and Chiffreville. The practice of his eldest son, the notary, +cost him four hundred thousand francs; and he has just put his second +son, Joseph, into the drug business of Matifat. So you see, your uncle +Cardot has many reasons not to take an interest in you, whom he sees +only four times a year. He has never come to call upon me here, though +he was ready enough to visit me at Madame Mere’s when he wanted to sell +his silks to the Emperor, the imperial highnesses, and all the great +people at court. But now the Camusots have turned ultras. The eldest son +of Camusot’s first wife married a daughter of one of the king’s ushers. +The world is mighty hump-backed when it stoops! However, it was a clever +thing to do, for the Cocon d’Or has the custom of the present court as +it had that of the Emperor. But to-morrow we will go and see your uncle +Cardot, and I hope that you will endeavor to behave properly; for, as I +said before, and I repeat it, that is our last hope.” + +Monsieur Jean-Jerome-Severin Cardot had been a widower six years. As +head-clerk of the Cocon d’Or, one of the oldest firms in Paris, he had +bought the establishment in 1793, at a time when the heads of the house +were ruined by the maximum; and the money of Mademoiselle Husson’s +dowry had enabled him to do this, and so make a fortune that was almost +colossal in ten years. To establish his children richly during his +lifetime, he had conceived the idea of buying an annuity for himself and +his wife with three hundred thousand francs, which gave him an income +of thirty thousand francs a year. He then divided his capital into three +shares of four hundred thousand francs each, which he gave to three +of his children,--the Cocon d’Or, given to his eldest daughter on her +marriage, being the equivalent of a fourth share. Thus the worthy man, +who was now nearly seventy years old, could spend his thirty thousand a +year as he pleased, without feeling that he injured the prospects of +his children, all finely provided for, whose attentions and proofs of +affection were, moreover, not prompted by self-interest. + +Uncle Cardot lived at Belleville, in one of the first houses above +the Courtille. He there occupied, on the first floor, an apartment +overlooking the valley of the Seine, with a southern exposure, and the +exclusive enjoyment of a large garden, for the sum of a thousand francs +a year. He troubled himself not at all about the three or four other +tenants of the same vast country-house. Certain, through a long lease, +of ending his days there, he lived rather plainly, served by an old cook +and the former maid of the late Madame Cardot,--both of whom expected +to reap an annuity of some six hundred francs apiece on the old man’s +death. These two women took the utmost care of him, and were all the +more interested in doing so because no one was ever less fussy or less +fault-finding than he. The apartment, furnished by the late Madame +Cardot, had remained in the same condition for the last six years,--the +old man being perfectly contented with it. He spent in all not more than +three thousand francs a year there; for he dined in Paris five days +in the week, and returned home at midnight in a hackney-coach, which +belonged to an establishment at Courtille. The cook had only her +master’s breakfast to provide on those days. This was served at eleven +o’clock; after that he dressed and perfumed himself, and departed for +Paris. Usually, a bourgeois gives notice in the household if he dines +out; old Cardot, on the contrary, gave notice when he dined at home. + +This little old man--fat, rosy, squat, and strong--always looked, in +popular speech, as if he had stepped from a bandbox. He appeared in +black silk stockings, breeches of “pou-de-soie” (paduasoy), a white +pique waistcoat, dazzling shirt-front, a blue-bottle coat, violet silk +gloves, gold buckles to his shoes and his breeches, and, lastly, a +touch of powder and a little queue tied with black ribbon. His face +was remarkable for a pair of eyebrows as thick as bushes, beneath which +sparkled his gray eyes; and for a square nose, thick and long, which +gave him somewhat the air of the abbes of former times. His countenance +did not belie him. Pere Cardot belonged to that race of lively Gerontes +which is now disappearing rapidly, though it once served as Turcarets +to the comedies and tales of the eighteenth century. Uncle Cardot always +said “Fair lady,” and he placed in their carriages, and otherwise paid +attention to those women whom he saw without protectors; he “placed +himself at their disposition,” as he said, in his chivalrous way. + +But beneath his calm air and his snowy poll he concealed an old age +almost wholly given up to mere pleasure. Among men he openly professed +epicureanism, and gave himself the license of free talk. He had seen +no harm in the devotion of his son-in-law, Camusot, to Mademoiselle +Coralie, for he himself was secretly the Mecaenas of Mademoiselle +Florentine, the first danseuse at the Gaiete. But this life and these +opinions never appeared in his own home, nor in his external conduct +before the world. Uncle Cardot, grave and polite, was thought to be +somewhat cold, so much did he affect decorum; a “devote” would have +called him a hypocrite. + +The worthy old gentleman hated priests; he belonged to that great +flock of ninnies who subscribed to the “Constitutionnel,” and was much +concerned about “refusals to bury.” He adored Voltaire, though his +preferences were really for Piron, Vade, and Colle. Naturally, he +admired Beranger, whom he wittily called the “grandfather of the +religion of Lisette.” His daughters, Madame Camusot and Madame +Protez, and his two sons would, to use a popular expression, have been +flabbergasted if any one had explained to them what their father meant +by “singing la Mere Godichon.” + +This long-headed parent had never mentioned his income to his children, +who, seeing that he lived in a cheap way, reflected that he had deprived +himself of his property for their sakes, and, therefore, redoubled +their attentions and tenderness. In fact, he would sometimes say to his +sons:-- + +“Don’t lose your property; remember, I have none to leave you.” + +Camusot, in whom he recognized a certain likeness to his own nature, +and whom he liked enough to make a sharer in his secret pleasures, alone +knew of the thirty thousand a year annuity. But Camusot approved of the +old man’s ethics, and thought that, having made the happiness of his +children and nobly fulfilled his duty by them, he now had a right to end +his life jovially. + +“Don’t you see, my friend,” said the former master of the Cocon d’Or, +“I might re-marry. A young woman would give me more children. Well, +Florentine doesn’t cost me what a wife would; neither does she bore me; +and she won’t give me children to lessen your property.” + +Camusot considered that Pere Cardot gave expression to a high sense +of family duty in these words; he regarded him as an admirable +father-in-law. + +“He knows,” thought he, “how to unite the interests of his children +with the pleasures which old age naturally desires after the worries of +business life.” + +Neither the Cardots, nor the Camusots, nor the Protez knew anything +of the ways of life of their aunt Clapart. The family intercourse was +restricted to the sending of notes of “faire part” on the occasion +of deaths and marriages, and cards at the New Year. The proud Madame +Clapart would never have brought herself to seek them were it not for +Oscar’s interests, and because of her friendship for Moreau, the only +person who had been faithful to her in misfortune. She had never annoyed +old Cardot by her visits, or her importunities, but she held to him as +to a hope, and always went to see him once every three months and talked +to him of Oscar, the nephew of the late respectable Madame Cardot; and +she took the boy to call upon him three times during each vacation. At +each of these visits the old gentleman had given Oscar a dinner at the +Cadran-Bleu, taking him, afterwards, to the Gaiete, and returning him +safely to the rue de la Cerisaie. On one occasion, having given the boy +an entirely new suit of clothes, he added the silver cup and fork and +spoon required for his school outfit. + +Oscar’s mother endeavored to impress the old gentleman with the idea +that his nephew cherished him, and she constantly referred to the cup +and the fork and spoon and to the beautiful suit of clothes, though +nothing was then left of the latter but the waistcoat. But such little +arts did Oscar more harm than good when practised on so sly an old fox +as uncle Cardot. The latter had never much liked his departed wife, a +tall, spare, red-haired woman; he was also aware of the circumstances of +the late Husson’s marriage with Oscar’s mother, and without in the least +condemning her, he knew very well that Oscar was a posthumous child. His +nephew, therefore, seemed to him to have no claims on the Cardot family. +But Madame Clapart, like all women who concentrate their whole being +into the sentiment of motherhood, did not put herself in Cardot’s place +and see the matter from his point of view; she thought he must certainly +be interested in so sweet a child, who bore the maiden name of his late +wife. + +“Monsieur,” said old Cardot’s maid-servant, coming out to him as +he walked about the garden while awaiting his breakfast, after his +hairdresser had duly shaved him and powdered his queue, “the mother of +your nephew, Oscar, is here.” + +“Good-day, fair lady,” said the old man, bowing to Madame Clapart, and +wrapping his white pique dressing-gown about him. “Hey, hey! how this +little fellow grows,” he added, taking Oscar by the ear. + +“He has finished school, and he regretted so much that his dear uncle +was not present at the distribution of the Henri IV. prizes, at which +he was named. The name of Husson, which, let us hope, he will bear +worthily, was proclaimed--” + +“The deuce it was!” exclaimed the little old man, stopping short. Madame +Clapart, Oscar, and he were walking along a terrace flanked by oranges, +myrtles, and pomegranates. “And what did he get?” + +“The fourth rank in philosophy,” replied the mother proudly. + +“Oh! oh!” cried uncle Cardot, “the rascal has a good deal to do to make +up for lost time; for the fourth rank in philosophy, well, _it isn’t +Peru_, you know! You will stay and breakfast with me?” he added. + +“We are at your orders,” replied Madame Clapart. “Ah! my dear Monsieur +Cardot, what happiness it is for fathers and mothers when their children +make a good start in life! In this respect--indeed, in all others,” she +added, catching herself up, “you are one of the most fortunate fathers +I have ever known. Under your virtuous son-in-law and your amiable +daughter, the Cocon d’Or continues to be the greatest establishment of +its kind in Paris. And here’s your eldest son, for the last ten years +at the head of a fine practice and married to wealth. And you have such +charming little granddaughters! You are, as it were, the head of four +great families. Leave us, Oscar; go and look at the garden, but don’t +touch the flowers.” + +“Why, he’s eighteen years old!” said uncle Cardot, smiling at this +injunction, which made an infant of Oscar. + +“Alas, yes, he is eighteen, my good Monsieur Cardot; and after bringing +him so far, sound and healthy in mind and body, neither bow-legged nor +crooked, after sacrificing everything to give him an education, it would +be hard if I could not see him on the road to fortune.” + +“That Monsieur Moreau who got him the scholarship will be sure to look +after his career,” said uncle Cardot, concealing his hypocrisy under an +air of friendly good-humor. + +“Monsieur Moreau may die,” she said. “And besides, he has quarrelled +irrevocably with the Comte de Serizy, his patron.” + +“The deuce he has! Listen, madame; I see you are about to--” + +“No, monsieur,” said Oscar’s mother, interrupting the old man, who, +out of courtesy to the “fair lady,” repressed his annoyance at being +interrupted. “Alas, you do not know the miseries of a mother who, for +seven years past, has been forced to take a sum of six hundred francs a +year for her son’s education from the miserable eighteen hundred francs +of her husband’s salary. Yes, monsieur, that is all we have had to live +upon. Therefore, what more can I do for my poor Oscar? Monsieur Clapart +so hates the child that it is impossible for me to keep him in the +house. A poor woman, alone in the world, am I not right to come and +consult the only relation my Oscar has under heaven?” + +“Yes, you are right,” said uncle Cardot. “You never told me of all this +before.” + +“Ah, monsieur!” replied Madame Clapart, proudly, “you were the last +to whom I would have told my wretchedness. It is all my own fault; +I married a man whose incapacity is almost beyond belief. Yes, I am, +indeed, most unhappy.” + +“Listen to me, madame,” said the little old man, “and don’t weep; it is +most painful to me to see a fair lady cry. After all, your son bears the +name of Husson, and if my dear deceased wife were living she would wish +to do something for the name of her father and of her brother--” + +“She loved her brother,” said Oscar’s mother. + +“But all my fortune is given to my children, who expect nothing from +me at my death,” continued the old man. “I have divided among them the +millions that I had, because I wanted to see them happy and enjoying +their wealth during my lifetime. I have nothing now except an annuity; +and at my age one clings to old habits. Do you know the path on which +you ought to start this young fellow?” he went on, after calling to +Oscar and taking him by the arm. “Let him study law; I’ll pay the +costs. Put him in a lawyer’s office and let him learn the business of +pettifogging; if he does well, if he distinguishes himself, if he likes +his profession and I am still alive, each of my children shall, when the +proper time comes, lend him a quarter of the cost of a practice; and I +will be security for him. You will only have to feed and clothe him. Of +course he’ll sow a few wild oats, but he’ll learn life. Look at me: I +left Lyon with two double louis which my grandmother gave me, and walked +to Paris; and what am I now? Fasting is good for the health. Discretion, +honesty, and work, young man, and you’ll succeed. There’s a great deal +of pleasure in earning one’s fortune; and if a man keeps his teeth +he eats what he likes in his old age, and sings, as I do, ‘La Mere +Godichon.’ Remember my words: Honesty, work, discretion.” + +“Do you hear that, Oscar?” said his mother. “Your uncle sums up in three +words all that I have been saying to you. You ought to carve the last +word in letters of fire on your memory.” + +“Oh, I have,” said Oscar. + +“Very good,--then thank your uncle; didn’t you hear him say he would +take charge of your future? You will be a lawyer in Paris.” + +“He doesn’t see the grandeur of his destiny,” said the little old man, +observing Oscar’s apathetic air. “Well, he’s just out of school. Listen, +I’m no talker,” he continued; “but I have this to say: Remember that +at your age honesty and uprightness are maintained only by resisting +temptations; of which, in a great city like Paris, there are many at +every step. Live in your mother’s home, in the garret; go straight to +the law-school; from there to your lawyer’s office; drudge night and +day, and study at home. Become, by the time you are twenty-two, a second +clerk; by the time you are twenty-four, head-clerk; be steady, and you +will win all. If, moreover, you shouldn’t like the profession, you +might enter the office of my son the notary, and eventually succeed +him. Therefore, work, patience, discretion, honesty,--those are your +landmarks.” + +“God grant that you may live thirty years longer to see your fifth child +realizing all we expect from him,” cried Madame Clapart, seizing uncle +Cardot’s hand and pressing it with a gesture that recalled her youth. + +“Now come to breakfast,” replied the kind old man, leading Oscar by the +ear. + +During the meal uncle Cardot observed his nephew without appearing to do +so, and soon saw that the lad knew nothing of life. + +“Send him here to me now and then,” he said to Madame Clapart, as he +bade her good-bye, “and I’ll form him for you.” + +This visit calmed the anxieties of the poor mother, who had not hoped +for such brilliant success. For the next fortnight she took Oscar to +walk daily, and watched him tyrannically. This brought matters to the +end of October. One morning as the poor household was breakfasting on a +salad of herring and lettuce, with milk for a dessert, Oscar beheld with +terror the formidable ex-steward, who entered the room and surprised +this scene of poverty. + +“We are now living in Paris--but not as we lived at Presles,” said +Moreau, wishing to make known to Madame Clapart the change in their +relations caused by Oscar’s folly. “I shall seldom be here myself; for +I have gone into partnership with Pere Leger and Pere Margueron of +Beaumont. We are speculating in land, and we have begun by purchasing +the estate of Persan. I am the head of the concern, which has a capital +of a million; part of which I have borrowed on my own securities. When I +find a good thing, Pere Leger and I examine it; my partners have each a +quarter and I a half in the profits; but I do nearly all the work, and +for that reason I shall be constantly on the road. My wife lives here, +in the faubourg du Roule, very plainly. When we see how the business +turns out, if we risk only the profits, and if Oscar behaves himself, we +may, perhaps, employ him.” + +“Ah! my friend, the catastrophe caused by my poor boy’s heedlessness may +prove to be the cause of your making a brilliant fortune; for, really +and truly, you were burying your energy and your capacity at Presles.” + +Madame Clapart then went on to relate her visit to uncle Cardot, in +order to show Moreau that neither she nor her son need any longer be a +burden on him. + +“He is right, that old fellow,” said the ex-steward. “We must hold Oscar +in that path with an iron hand, and he will end as a barrister or a +notary. But he mustn’t leave the track; he must go straight through with +it. Ha! I know how to help you. The legal business of land-agents is +quite important, and I have heard of a lawyer who has just bought what +is called a “titre nu”; that means a practice without clients. He is a +young man, hard as an iron bar, eager for work, ferociously active. +His name is Desroches. I’ll offer him our business on condition that he +takes Oscar as a pupil; and I’ll ask him to let the boy live with him at +nine hundred francs a year, of which I will pay three, so that your son +will cost you only six hundred francs, without his living, in future. +If the boy ever means to become a man it can only be under a discipline +like that. He’ll come out of that office, notary, solicitor, or +barrister, as he may elect.” + +“Come, Oscar; thank our kind Monsieur Moreau, and don’t stand there like +a stone post. All young men who commit follies have not the good fortune +to meet with friends who still take an interest in their career, even +after they have been injured by them.” + +“The best way to make your peace with me,” said Moreau, pressing Oscar’s +hand, “is to work now with steady application, and to conduct yourself +in future properly.” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. TRICKS AND FARCES OF THE EMBRYO LONG ROBE + + +Ten days later, Oscar was taken by Monsieur Moreau to Maitre Desroches, +solicitor, recently established in the rue de Bethisy, in a vast +apartment at the end of a narrow court-yard, for which he was paying a +relatively low price. + +Desroches, a young man twenty-six years of age, born of poor parents, +and brought up with extreme severity by a stern father, had himself +known the condition in which Oscar now was. Accordingly, he felt an +interest in him, but the sort of interest which alone he could take, +checked by the apparent harshness that characterized him. The aspect +of this gaunt young man, with a muddy skin and hair cropped like a +clothes-brush, who was curt of speech and possessed a piercing eye and a +gloomy vivaciousness, terrified the unhappy Oscar. + +“We work here day and night,” said the lawyer, from the depths of his +armchair, and behind a table on which were papers, piled up like Alps. +“Monsieur Moreau, we won’t kill him; but he’ll have to go at our pace. +Monsieur Godeschal!” he called out. + +Though the day was Sunday, the head-clerk appeared, pen in hand. + +“Monsieur Godeschal, here’s the pupil of whom I spoke to you. Monsieur +Moreau takes the liveliest interest in him. He will dine with us and +sleep in the small attic next to your chamber. You will allot the exact +time it takes to go to the law-school and back, so that he does not lose +five minutes on the way. You will see that he learns the Code and is +proficient in his classes; that is to say, after he has done his work +here, you will give him authors to read. In short, he is to be under +your immediate direction, and I shall keep an eye on it. They want to +make him what you have made yourself, a capable head-clerk, against the +time when he can take such a place himself. Go with Monsieur Godeschal, +my young friend; he’ll show you your lodging, and you can settle down in +it. Did you notice Godeschal?” continued Desroches, speaking to Moreau. +“There’s a fellow who, like me, has nothing. His sister Mariette, the +famous danseuse, is laying up her money to buy him a practice in ten +years. My clerks are young blades who have nothing but their ten fingers +to rely upon. So we all, my five clerks and I, work as hard as a dozen +ordinary fellows. But in ten years I’ll have the finest practice in +Paris. In my office, business and clients are a passion, and that’s +beginning to make itself felt. I took Godeschal from Derville, where he +was only just made second clerk. He gets a thousand francs a year from +me, and food and lodging. But he’s worth it; he is indefatigable. I love +him, that fellow! He has managed to live, as I did when a clerk, on six +hundred francs a year. What I care for above all is honesty, spotless +integrity; and when it is practised in such poverty as that, a man’s a +man. For the slightest fault of that kind a clerk leaves my office.” + +“The lad is in a good school,” thought Moreau. + +For two whole years Oscar lived in the rue de Bethisy, a den of +pettifogging; for if ever that superannuated expression was applicable +to a lawyer’s office, it was so in this case. Under this supervision, +both petty and able, he was kept to his regular hours and to his work +with such rigidity that his life in the midst of Paris was that of a +monk. + +At five in the morning, in all weathers, Godeschal woke up. He went down +with Oscar to the office, where they always found their master up and +working. Oscar then did the errands of the office and prepared his +lessons for the law-school,--and prepared them elaborately; for +Godeschal, and frequently Desroches himself, pointed out to their pupil +authors to be looked through and difficulties to overcome. He was not +allowed to leave a single section of the Code until he had thoroughly +mastered it to the satisfaction of his chief and Godeschal, who put him +through preliminary examinations more searching and longer than those of +the law-school. On his return from his classes, where he was kept but a +short time, he went to his work in the office; occasionally he was sent +to the Palais, but always under the thumb of the rigid Godeschal, till +dinner. The dinner was that of his master,--one dish of meat, one of +vegetables, and a salad. The dessert consisted of a piece of Gruyere +cheese. After dinner, Godeschal and Oscar returned to the office and +worked till night. Once a month Oscar went to breakfast with his uncle +Cardot, and he spent the Sundays with his mother. From time to time +Moreau, when he came to the office about his own affairs, would take +Oscar to dine in the Palais-Royal, and to some theatre in the evening. +Oscar had been so snubbed by Godeschal and by Desroches for his attempts +at elegance that he no longer gave a thought to his clothes. + +“A good clerk,” Godeschal told him, “should have two black coats, one +new, one old, a pair of black trousers, black stockings, and shoes. +Boots cost too much. You can’t have boots till you are called to the +bar. A clerk should never spend more than seven hundred francs a year. +Good stout shirts of strong linen are what you want. Ha! when a man +starts from nothing to reach fortune, he has to keep down to bare +necessities. Look at Monsieur Desroches; he did what we are doing, and +see where he is now.” + +Godeschal preached by example. If he professed the strictest principles +of honor, discretion, and honesty, he practised them without assumption, +as he walked, as he breathed; such action was the natural play of his +soul, as walking and breathing were the natural play of his organs. +Eighteen months after Oscar’s installation into the office, the second +clerk was, for the second time, slightly wrong in his accounts, which +were comparatively unimportant. Godeschal said to him in presence of all +the other clerks: + +“My dear Gaudet, go away from here of your own free will, that it may +not be said that Monsieur Desroches has dismissed you. You have been +careless or absent-minded, and neither of those defects can pass here. +The master shall know nothing about the matter; that is all that I can +do for a comrade.” + +At twenty years of age, Oscar became third clerk in the office. Though +he earned no salary, he was lodged and fed, for he did the work of the +second clerk. Desroches employed two chief clerks, and the work of +the second was unremitting toil. By the end of his second year in the +law-school Oscar knew more than most licensed graduates; he did the +work at the Palais intelligently, and argued some cases in chambers. +Godeschal and Desroches were satisfied with him. And yet, though he now +seemed a sensible man, he showed, from time to time, a hankering after +pleasure and a desire to shine, repressed, though it was, by the stern +discipline and continual toil of his life. + +Moreau, satisfied with Oscar’s progress, relaxed, in some degree, his +watchfulness; and when, in July, 1825, Oscar passed his examinations +with a spotless record, the land-agent gave him the money to dress +himself elegantly. Madame Clapart, proud and happy in her son, prepared +the outfit splendidly for the rising lawyer. + +In the month of November, when the courts reopened, Oscar Husson +occupied the chamber of the second clerk, whose work he now did +wholly. He had a salary of eight hundred francs with board and lodging. +Consequently, uncle Cardot, who went privately to Desroches and made +inquiries about his nephew, promised Madame Clapart to be on the lookout +for a practice for Oscar, if he continued to do as well in the future. + +In spite of these virtuous appearances, Oscar Husson was undergoing a +great strife in his inmost being. At times he thought of quitting a +life so directly against his tastes and his nature. He felt that +galley-slaves were happier than he. Galled by the collar of this iron +system, wild desires seized him to fly when he compared himself in the +street with the well-dressed young men whom he met. Sometimes he was +driven by a sort of madness towards women; then, again, he resigned +himself, but only to fall into a deeper disgust for life. Impelled by +the example of Godeschal, he was forced, rather than led of himself, to +remain in that rugged way. + +Godeschal, who watched and took note of Oscar, made it a matter of +principle not to allow his pupil to be exposed to temptation. Generally +the young clerk was without money, or had so little that he could +not, if he would, give way to excess. During the last year, the worthy +Godeschal had made five or six parties of pleasure with Oscar, defraying +the expenses, for he felt that the rope by which he tethered the young +kid must be slackened. These “pranks,” as he called them, helped Oscar +to endure existence, for there was little amusement in breakfasting with +his uncle Cardot, and still less in going to see his mother, who lived +even more penuriously than Desroches. Moreau could not make himself +familiar with Oscar as Godeschal could; and perhaps that sincere friend +to young Husson was behind Godeschal in these efforts to initiate the +poor youth safely into the mysteries of life. Oscar, grown prudent, had +come, through contact with others, to see the extent and the character +of the fault he had committed on that luckless journey; but the volume +of his repressed fancies and the follies of youth might still get the +better of him. Nevertheless, the more knowledge he could get of the +world and its laws, the better his mind would form itself, and, provided +Godeschal never lost sight of him, Moreau flattered himself that between +them they could bring the son of Madame Clapart through in safety. + +“How is he getting on?” asked the land-agent of Godeschal on his return +from one of his journeys which had kept him some months out of Paris. + +“Always too much vanity,” replied Godeschal. “You give him fine clothes +and fine linen, he wears the shirt-fronts of a stockbroker, and so my +dainty coxcomb spends his Sundays in the Tuileries, looking out for +adventures. What else can you expect? That’s youth. He torments me +to present him to my sister, where he would see a pretty sort of +society!--actresses, ballet-dancers, elegant young fops, spendthrifts +who are wasting their fortunes! His mind, I’m afraid, is not fitted for +law. He can talk well, though; and if we could make him a barrister he +might plead cases that were carefully prepared for him.” + +In the month of November, 1825, soon after Oscar Husson had taken +possession of his new clerkship, and at the moment when he was about to +pass his examination for the licentiate’s degree, a new clerk arrived to +take the place made vacant by Oscar’s promotion. + +This fourth clerk, named Frederic Marest, intended to enter the +magistracy, and was now in his third year at the law school. He was a +fine young man of twenty-three, enriched to the amount of some twelve +thousand francs a year by the death of a bachelor uncle, and the son +of Madame Marest, widow of the wealthy wood-merchant. This future +magistrate, actuated by a laudable desire to understand his vocation +in its smallest details, had put himself in Desroches’ office for the +purpose of studying legal procedure, and of training himself to take a +place as head-clerk in two years. He hoped to do his “stage” (the period +between the admission as licentiate and the call to the bar) in Paris, +in order to be fully prepared for the functions of a post which would +surely not be refused to a rich young man. To see himself, by the time +he was thirty, “procureur du roi” in any court, no matter where, was +his sole ambition. Though Frederic Marest was cousin-german to Georges +Marest, the latter not having told his surname in Pierrotin’s coucou, +Oscar Husson did not connect the present Marest with the grandson of +Czerni-Georges. + +“Messieurs,” said Godeschal at breakfast time, addressing all the +clerks, “I announce to you the arrival of a new jurisconsult; and as +he is rich, rishissime, we will make him, I hope, pay a glorious +entrance-fee.” + +“Forward, the book!” cried Oscar, nodding to the youngest clerk, “and +pray let us be serious.” + +The youngest clerk climbed like a squirrel along the shelves which lined +the room, until he could reach a register placed on the top shelf, where +a thick layer of dust had settled on it. + +“It is getting colored,” said the little clerk, exhibiting the volume. + +We must explain the perennial joke of this book, then much in vogue in +legal offices. In a clerical life where work is the rule, amusement is +all the more treasured because it is rare; but, above all, a hoax or a +practical joke is enjoyed with delight. This fancy or custom does, to +a certain extent, explain Georges Marest’s behavior in the coucou. The +gravest and most gloomy clerk is possessed, at times, with a craving +for fun and quizzing. The instinct with which a set of young clerks will +seize and develop a hoax or a practical joke is really marvellous. +The denizens of a studio and of a lawyer’s office are, in this line, +superior to comedians. + +In buying a practice without clients, Desroches began, as it were, a new +dynasty. This circumstance made a break in the usages relative to the +reception of new-comers. Moreover, Desroches having taken an office +where legal documents had never yet been scribbled, had bought new +tables, and white boxes edged with blue, also new. His staff was made +up of clerks coming from other officers, without mutual ties, and +surprised, as one may say, to find themselves together. Godeschal, who +had served his apprenticeship under Maitre Derville, was not the sort of +clerk to allow the precious tradition of the “welcome” to be lost. +This “welcome” is a breakfast which every neophyte must give to the +“ancients” of the office into which he enters. + +Now, about the time when Oscar came to the office, during the first six +months of Desroches’ installation, on a winter evening when the work had +been got through more quickly than usual, and the clerks were warming +themselves before the fire preparatory to departure, it came +into Godeschal’s head to construct and compose a Register +“architriclino-basochien,” of the utmost antiquity, saved from the +fires of the Revolution, and derived through the procureur of the +Chatelet-Bordin, the immediate predecessor of Sauvaguest, the attorney, +from whom Desroches had bought his practice. The work, which was highly +approved by the other clerks, was begun by a search through all the +dealers in old paper for a register, made of paper with the mark of +the eighteenth century, duly bound in parchment, on which should be the +stamp of an order in council. Having found such a volume it was left +about in the dust, on the stove, on the ground, in the kitchen, and even +in what the clerks called the “chamber of deliberations”; and thus +it obtained a mouldiness to delight an antiquary, cracks of aged +dilapidation, and broken corners that looked as though the rats had +gnawed them; also, the gilt edges were tarnished with surprising +perfection. As soon as the book was duly prepared, the entries were +made. The following extracts will show to the most obtuse mind the +purpose to which the office of Maitre Desroches devoted this register, +the first sixty pages of which were filled with reports of fictitious +cases. On the first page appeared as follows, in the legal spelling of +the eighteenth century:-- + + In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, so be it. This + day, the feast of our lady Saincte-Geneviesve, patron saint of + Paris, under whose protection have existed, since the year 1525 + the clerks of this Practice, we the under-signed, clerks and + sub-clerks of Maistre Jerosme-Sebastien Bordin, successor to the + late Guerbet, in his lifetime procureur at the Chastelet, do hereby + recognize the obligation under which we lie to renew and continue + the register and the archives of installation of the clerks of + this noble Practice, a glorious member of the Kingdom of Basoche, + the which register, being now full in consequence of the many acts + and deeds of our well-beloved predecessors, we have consigned to + the Keeper of the Archives of the Palais for safe-keeping, with + the registers of other ancient Practices; and we have ourselves + gone, each and all, to hear mass at the parish church of + Saint-Severin to solemnize the inauguration of this our new + register. + + In witness whereof we have hereunto signed our names: Malin, + head-clerk; Grevin, second-clerk; Athanase Feret, clerk; Jacques + Heret, clerk; Regnault de Saint-Jean-d’Angely, clerk; Bedeau, + youngest clerk and gutter-jumper. + + In the year of our Lord 1787. + + After the mass aforesaid was heard, we conveyed ourselves to + Courtille, where, at the common charge, we ordered a fine + breakfast; which did not end till seven o’clock the next morning. + +This was marvellously well engrossed. An expert would have said that +it was written in the eighteenth century. Twenty-seven reports of +receptions of neophytes followed, the last in the fatal year of 1792. +Then came a blank of fourteen years; after which the register began +again, in 1806, with the appointment of Bordin as attorney before the +first Court of the Seine. And here follows the deed which proclaimed the +reconstitution of the kingdom of Basoche:-- + + God in his mercy willed that, in spite of the fearful storms which + have cruelly ravaged the land of France, now become a great + Empire, the archives of the very celebrated Practice of Maitre + Bordin should be preserved; and we, the undersigned, clerks of the + very virtuous and very worthy Maitre Bordin, do not hesitate to + attribute this unheard-of preservation, when all titles, + privileges, and charters were lost, to the protection of + Sainte-Genevieve, patron Saint of this office, and also to the + reverence which the last of the procureurs of noble race had for + all that belonged to ancient usages and customs. In the uncertainty + of knowing the exact part of Sainte-Genevieve and Maitre Bordin in + this miracle, we have resolved, each of us, to go to Saint-Etienne + du Mont and there hear mass, which will be said before the altar + of that Holy-Shepherdess who sends us sheep to shear, and also to + offer a breakfast to our master Bordin, hoping that he will pay + the costs. + + Signed: Oignard, first clerk; Poidevin, second clerk; Proust, + clerk; Augustin Coret, sub-clerk. + + At the office. + + November, 1806. + + At three in the afternoon, the above-named clerks hereby return + their grateful thanks to their excellent master, who regaled them + at the establishment of the Sieur Rolland restaurateur, rue du + Hasard, with exquisite wines of three regions, to wit: Bordeaux, + Champagne, and Burgundy, also with dishes most carefully chosen, + between the hours of four in the afternoon to half-past seven in + the evening. Coffee, ices, and liqueurs were in abundance. But + the presence of the master himself forbade the chanting of hymns + of praise in clerical stanzas. No clerk exceeded the bounds of + amiable gayety, for the worthy, respectable, and generous patron + had promised to take his clerks to see Talma in “Brittanicus,” at + the Theatre-Francais. Long life to Maitre Bordin! May God shed + favors on his venerable pow! May he sell dear so glorious a + practice! May the rich clients for whom he prays arrive! May his + bills of costs and charges be paid in a trice! May our masters to + come be like him! May he ever be loved by clerks in other worlds + than this! + +Here followed thirty-three reports of various receptions of new clerks, +distinguished from one another by different writing and different inks, +also by quotations, signatures, and praises of good cheer and wines, +which seemed to show that each report was written and signed on the +spot, “inter pocula.” + +Finally, under date of the month of June, 1822, the period when +Desroches took the oath, appears this constitutional declaration:-- + + I, the undersigned, Francois-Claude-Marie Godeschal, called by + Maitre Desroches to perform the difficult functions of head-clerk + in a Practice where the clients have to be created, having learned + through Maitre Derville, from whose office I come, of the + existence of the famous archives architriclino-basochien, so + celebrated at the Palais, have implored our gracious master to + obtain them from his predecessor; for it has become of the highest + importance to recover a document bearing date of the year 1786, + which is connected with other documents deposited for safe-keeping + at the Palais, the existence of which has been certified to by + Messrs. Terrasse and Duclos, keepers of records, by the help of + which we may go back to the year 1525, and find historical + indications of the utmost value on the manners, customs, and + cookery of the clerical race. + + Having received a favorable answer to this request, the present + office has this day been put in possession of these proofs of the + worship in which our predecessors held the Goddess Bottle and good + living. + + In consequence thereof, for the edification of our successors, and + to renew the chain of years and goblets, I, the said Godeschal, + have invited Messieurs Doublet, second clerk; Vassal, third clerk; + Herisson and Grandemain, clerks; and Dumets, sub-clerk, to + breakfast, Sunday next, at the “Cheval Rouge,” on the Quai + Saint-Bernard, where we will celebrate the victory of obtaining + this volume which contains the Charter of our gullets. + + This day, Sunday, June 27th, were imbibed twelve bottles of twelve + different wines, regarded as exquisite; also were devoured melons, + “pates au jus romanum,” and a fillet of beef with mushroom sauce. + Mademoiselle Mariette, the illustrious sister of our head-clerk + and leading lady of the Royal Academy of music and dancing, having + obligingly put at the disposition of this Practice orchestra seats + for the performance of this evening, it is proper to make this + record of her generosity. Moreover, it is hereby decreed that the + aforesaid clerks shall convey themselves in a body to that noble + demoiselle to thank her in person, and declare to her that on the + occasion of her first lawsuit, if the devil sends her one, she + shall pay the money laid out upon it, and no more. + + And our head-clerk Godeschal has been and is hereby proclaimed a + flower of Basoche, and, more especially, a good fellow. May a man + who treats so well be soon in treaty for a Practice of his own! + +On this record were stains of wine, pates, and candle-grease. To exhibit +the stamp of truth that the writers had managed to put upon these +records, we may here give the report of Oscar’s own pretended +reception:-- + + This day, Monday, November 25th, 1822, after a session held + yesterday at the rue de la Cerisaie, Arsenal quarter, at the house + of Madame Clapart, mother of the candidate-basochien Oscar Husson, + we, the undersigned, declare that the repast of admission + surpassed our expectations. It was composed of radishes, pink and + black, gherkins, anchovies, butter and olives for hors-d’oeuvre; a + succulent soup of rice, bearing testimony to maternal solicitude, + for we recognized therein a delicious taste of poultry; indeed, by + acknowledgment of the new member, we learned that the gibbets of a + fine stew prepared by the hands of Madame Clapart herself had been + judiciously inserted into the family soup-pot with a care that is + never taken except in such households. + + Item: the said gibbets inclosed in a sea of jelly. + + Item: a tongue of beef with tomatoes, which rendered us all + tongue-tied automatoes. + + Item: a compote of pigeons with caused us to think the angels had + had a finger in it. + + Item: a timbale of macaroni surrounded by chocolate custards. + + Item: a dessert composed of eleven delicate dishes, among which we + remarked (in spite of the tipsiness caused by sixteen bottles of + the choicest wines) a compote of peaches of august and mirobolant + delicacy. + + The wines of Roussillon and those of the banks of the Rhone + completely effaced those of Champagne and Burgundy. A bottle of + maraschino and another of kirsch did, in spite of the exquisite + coffee, plunge us into so marked an oenological ecstasy that we + found ourselves at a late hour in the Bois de Boulogne instead of + our domicile, where we thought we were. + + In the statutes of our Order there is one rule which is rigidly + enforced; namely, to allow all candidates for the privilege of + Basoche to limit the magnificence of their feast of welcome to the + length of their purse; for it is publicly notorious that no one + delivers himself up to Themis if he has a fortune, and every clerk + is, alas, sternly curtailed by his parents. Consequently, we + hereby record with the highest praise the liberal conduct of + Madame Clapart, widow, by her first marriage, of Monsieur Husson, + father of the candidate, who is worthy of the hurrahs which we + gave for her at dessert. + + To all of which we hereby set our hands. + + [Signed by all the clerks.] + +Three clerks had already been deceived by the Book, and three real +“receptions of welcome,” were recorded on this imposing register. + +The day after the arrival of each neophyte, the little sub-clerk (the +errand-boy and “gutter-jumper”) laid upon the new-comer’s desk the +“Archives Architriclino-Basochiennes,” and the clerks enjoyed the sight +of his countenance as he studied its facetious pages. Inter pocula +each candidate had learned the secret of the farce, and the revelation +inspired him with the desire to hoax his successor. + +We see now why Oscar, become in his turn participator in the hoax, +called out to the little clerk, “Forward, the book!” + +Ten minutes later a handsome young man, with a fine figure and pleasant +face, presented himself, asked for Monsieur Desroches, and gave his name +without hesitation to Godeschal. + +“I am Frederic Marest,” he said, “and I come to take the place of third +clerk.” + +“Monsieur Husson,” said Godeschal to Oscar, “show monsieur his seat and +tell him about the customs of the office.” + +The next day the new clerk found the register lying on his desk. He took +it up, but after reading a few pages he began to laugh, said nothing to +the assembled clerks, and laid the book down again. + +“Messieurs,” he said, when the hour of departure came at five o’clock, +“I have a cousin who is head clerk of the notary Maitre Leopold +Hannequin; I will ask his advice as to what I ought to do for my +welcome.” + +“That looks ill,” cried Godeschal, when Frederic had gone, “he hasn’t +the cut of a novice, that fellow!” + +“We’ll get some fun out of him yet,” said Oscar. + + + + +CHAPTER IX, LA MARQUISE DE LAS FLORENTINAS Y CABIROLOS + + +The following day, at two o’clock, a young man entered the office, +whom Oscar recognized as Georges Marest, now head-clerk of the notary +Hannequin. + +“Ha! here’s the friend of Ali pacha!” he exclaimed in a flippant way. + +“Hey! you here, Monsieur l’ambassadeur!” returned Georges, recollecting +Oscar. + +“So you know each other?” said Godeschal, addressing Georges. + +“I should think so! We got into a scrape together,” replied Georges, +“about two years ago. Yes, I had to leave Crottat and go to Hannequin in +consequence of that affair.” + +“What was it?” asked Godeschal. + +“Oh, nothing!” replied Georges, at a sign from Oscar. “We tried to hoax +a peer of France, and he bowled us over. Ah ca! so you want to jockey my +cousin, do you?” + +“We jockey no one,” replied Oscar, with dignity; “there’s our charter.” + +And he presented the famous register, pointing to a place where sentence +of banishment was passed on a refractory who was stated to have been +forced, for acts of dishonesty, to leave the office in 1788. + +Georges laughed as he looked through the archives. + +“Well, well,” he said, “my cousin and I are rich, and we’ll give you +a fete such as you never had before,--something to stimulate your +imaginations for that register. To-morrow (Sunday) you are bidden to the +Rocher de Cancale at two o’clock. Afterwards, I’ll take you to spend the +evening with Madame la Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos, where +we shall play cards, and you’ll see the elite of the women of fashion. +Therefore, gentleman of the lower courts,” he added, with notarial +assumption, “you will have to behave yourselves, and carry your wine +like the seigneurs of the Regency.” + +“Hurrah!” cried the office like one man. “Bravo! very well! vivat! Long +live the Marests!” + +“What’s all this about?” asked Desroches, coming out from his private +office. “Ah! is that you, Georges? I know what you are after; you want +to demoralize my clerks.” + +So saying, he withdrew into his own room, calling Oscar after him. + +“Here,” he said, opening his cash-box, “are five hundred francs. Go +to the Palais, and get from the registrar a copy of the decision in +Vandernesse against Vandernesse; it must be served to-night if possible. +I have promised a PROD of twenty francs to Simon. Wait for the copy if +it is not ready. Above all, don’t let yourself be fooled; for Derville +is capable, in the interest of his clients, to stick a spoke in our +wheel. Count Felix de Vandernesse is more powerful than his brother, our +client, the ambassador. Therefore keep your eyes open, and if there’s +the slightest hitch come back to me at once.” + +Oscar departed with the full intention of distinguishing himself in +this little skirmish,--the first affair entrusted to him since his +installation as second clerk. + +After the departure of Georges and Oscar, Godeschal sounded the new +clerk to discover the joke which, as he thought, lay behind this +Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos. But Frederic, with the coolness +and gravity of a king’s attorney, continued his cousin’s hoax, and by +his way of answering, and his manner generally, he succeeded in making +the office believe that the marquise might really be the widow of a +Spanish grandee, to whom his cousin Georges was paying his addresses. +Born in Mexico, and the daughter of Creole parents, this young and +wealthy widow was noted for the easy manners and habits of the women of +those climates. + +“She loves to laugh, she loves to sing, she loves to drink like me!” he +said in a low voice, quoting the well-known song of Beranger. “Georges,” + he added, “is very rich; he has inherited from his father (who was a +widower) eighteen thousand francs a year, and with the twelve thousand +which an uncle has just left to each of us, he has an income of thirty +thousand. So he pays his debts, and gives up the law. He hopes to be +Marquis de las Florentinas, for the young widow is marquise in her own +right, and has the privilege of giving her titles to her husband.” + +Though the clerks were still a good deal undecided in mind as to the +marquise, the double perspective of a breakfast at the Rocher de Cancale +and a fashionable festivity put them into a state of joyous expectation. +They reserved all points as to the Spanish lady, intending to judge her +without appeal after the meeting. + +The Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos was neither more nor less +than Mademoiselle Agathe-Florentine Cabirolle, first danseuse at +the Gaiete, with whom uncle Cardot was in the habit of singing “Mere +Godichon.” A year after the very reparable loss of Madame Cardot, the +successful merchant encountered Florentine as she was leaving Coulon’s +dancing-class. Attracted by the beauty of that choregraphic flower +(Florentine was then about thirteen years of age), he followed her to +the rue Pastourel, where he found that the future star of the ballet was +the daughter of a portress. Two weeks later, the mother and daughter, +established in the rue de Crussol, were enjoying a modest competence. It +was to this protector of the arts--to use the consecrated phrase--that +the theatre owed the brilliant danseuse. The generous Maecenas made two +beings almost beside themselves with joy in the possession of mahogany +furniture, hangings, carpets, and a regular kitchen; he allowed them a +woman-of-all-work, and gave them two hundred and fifty francs a month +for their living. Pere Cardot, with his hair in “pigeon-wings,” seemed +like an angel, and was treated with the attention due to a benefactor. +To him this was the age of gold. + +For three years the warbler of “Mere Godichon” had the wise policy to +keep Mademoiselle Cabirolle and her mother in this little apartment, +which was only ten steps from the theatre; but he gave the girl, out of +love for the choregraphic art, the great Vestris for a master. In 1820 +he had the pleasure of seeing Florentine dance her first “pas” in the +ballet of a melodrama entitled “The Ruins of Babylon.” Florentine was +then about sixteen. Shortly after this debut Pere Cardot became an “old +screw” in the eyes of his protegee; but as he had the sense to see that +a danseuse at the Gaiete had a certain rank to maintain, he raised the +monthly stipend to five hundred francs, for which, although he did not +again become an angel, he was, at least, a “friend for life,” a second +father. This was his silver age. + +From 1820 to 1823, Florentine had the experience of every danseuse +of nineteen to twenty years of age. Her friends were the illustrious +Mariette and Tullia, leading ladies of the Opera, Florine, and also poor +Coralie, torn too early from the arts, and love, and Camusot. As old +Cardot had by this time acquired five additional years, he had fallen +into the indulgence of a semi-paternity, which is the way with old men +towards the young talents they have trained, and which owe their success +to them. Besides, where could he have found another Florentine who knew +all his habits and likings, and with whom he and his friends could sing +“Mere Godichon”? So the little old man remained under a yoke that was +semi-conjugal and also irresistibly strong. This was the brass age for +the old fellow. + +During the five years of silver and gold Pere Cardot had laid by eighty +thousand francs. The old gentleman, wise from experience, foresaw that +by the time he was seventy Florentine would be of age, probably engaged +at the Opera, and, consequently, wanting all the luxury of a theatrical +star. Some days before the party mentioned by Georges, Pere Cardot +had spent the sum of forty-five thousand francs in fitting up for his +Florentine the former apartment of the late Coralie. In Paris there +are suites of rooms as well as houses and streets that have their +predestinations. Enriched with a magnificent service of plate, the +“prima danseuse” of the Gaiete began to give dinners, spent three +hundred francs a month on her dress, never went out except in a hired +carriage, and had a maid for herself, a cook, and a little footman. + +In fact, an engagement at the Opera was already in the wind. The +Cocon d’Or did homage to its first master by sending its most splendid +products for the gratification of Mademoiselle Cabirolle, now called +Florentine. The magnificence which suddenly burst upon her apartment +in the rue de Vendome would have satisfied the most ambitious +supernumerary. After being the master of the ship for seven years, +Cardot now found himself towed along by a force of unlimited caprice. +But the luckless old gentleman was fond of his tyrant. Florentine was +to close his eyes; he meant to leave her a hundred thousand francs. The +iron age had now begun. + +Georges Marest, with thirty thousand francs a year, and a handsome face, +courted Florentine. Every danseuse makes a point of having some young +man who will take her to drive, and arrange the gay excursions into the +country which all such women delight in. However disinterested she may +be, the courtship of such a star is a passion which costs some trifles +to the favored mortal. There are dinners at restaurants, boxes at the +theatres, carriages to go to the environs and return, choice wines +consumed in profusion,--for an opera danseuse eats and drinks like an +athlete. Georges amused himself like other young men who pass at a jump +from paternal discipline to a rich independence, and the death of his +uncle, nearly doubling his means, had still further enlarged his ideas. +As long as he had only his patrimony of eighteen thousand francs a year, +his intention was to become a notary, but (as his cousin remarked to the +clerks of Desroches) a man must be stupid who begins a profession with +the fortune most men hope to acquire in order to leave it. Wiser then +Georges, Frederic persisted in following the career of public office, +and of putting himself, as we have seen, in training for it. + +A young man as handsome and attractive as Georges might very well aspire +to the hand of a rich creole; and the clerks in Desroches’ office, all +of them the sons of poor parents, having never frequented the great +world, or, indeed, known anything about it, put themselves into their +best clothes on the following day, impatient enough to behold, and be +presented to the Mexican Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos. + +“What luck,” said Oscar to Godeschal, as they were getting up in the +morning, “that I had just ordered a new coat and trousers and waistcoat, +and that my dear mother had made me that fine outfit! I have six frilled +shirts of fine linen in the dozen she made for me. We shall make an +appearance! Ha! ha! suppose one of us were to carry off the Creole +marchioness from that Georges Marest!” + +“Fine occupation that, for a clerk in our office!” cried Godeschal. +“Will you never control your vanity, popinjay?” + +“Ah! monsieur,” said Madame Clapart, who entered the room at that +moment to bring her son some cravats, and overhead the last words of the +head-clerk, “would to God that my Oscar might always follow your advice. +It is what I tell him all the time: ‘Imitate Monsieur Godeschal; listen +to what he tells you.’” + +“He’ll go all right, madame,” interposed Godeschal, “but he mustn’t +commit any more blunders like one he was guilty of last night, or he’ll +lose the confidence of the master. Monsieur Desroches won’t stand any +one not succeeding in what he tells them to do. He ordered your son, +for a first employment in his new clerkship, to get a copy of a judgment +which ought to have been served last evening, and Oscar, instead of +doing so, allowed himself to be fooled. The master was furious. It’s a +chance if I have been able to repair the mischief by going this morning, +at six o’clock, to see the head-clerk at the Palais, who has promised me +to have a copy ready by seven o’clock to-morrow morning.” + +“Ah, Godeschal!” cried Oscar, going up to him and pressing his hand. +“You are, indeed, a true friend.” + +“Ah, monsieur!” said Madame Clapart, “a mother is happy, indeed, +in knowing that her son has a friend like you; you may rely upon a +gratitude which can end only with my life. Oscar, one thing I want to +say to you now. Distrust that Georges Marest. I wish you had never met +him again, for he was the cause of your first great misfortune in life.” + +“Was he? How so?” asked Godeschal. + +The too devoted mother explained succinctly the adventure of her poor +Oscar in Pierrotin’s coucou. + +“I am certain,” said Godeschal, “that that blagueur is preparing some +trick against us for this evening. As for me, I can’t go to the Marquise +de las Florentinas’ party, for my sister wants me to draw up the terms +of her new engagement; I shall have to leave after the dessert. But, +Oscar, be on your guard. They will ask you to play, and, of course, the +Desroches office mustn’t draw back; but be careful. You shall play for +both of us; here’s a hundred francs,” said the good fellow, knowing that +Oscar’s purse was dry from the demands of his tailor and bootmaker. “Be +prudent; remember not to play beyond that sum; and don’t let yourself +get tipsy, either with play or libations. Saperlotte! a second clerk is +already a man of weight, and shouldn’t gamble on notes, or go beyond a +certain limit in anything. His business is to get himself admitted +to the bar. Therefore don’t drink too much, don’t play too long, and +maintain a proper dignity,--that’s your rule of conduct. Above all, get +home by midnight; for, remember, you must be at the Palais to-morrow +morning by seven to get that judgment. A man is not forbidden to amuse +himself, but business first, my boy.” + +“Do you hear that, Oscar?” said Madame Clapart. “Monsieur Godeschal is +indulgent; see how well he knows how to combine the pleasures of youth +and the duties of his calling.” + +Madame Clapart, on the arrival of the tailor and the bootmaker with +Oscar’s new clothes, remained alone with Godeschal, in order to return +him the hundred francs he had just given her son. + +“Ah, monsieur!” she said, “the blessings of a mother will follow you +wherever you go, and in all your enterprises.” + +Poor woman! she now had the supreme delight of seeing her son +well-dressed, and she gave him a gold watch, the price of which she had +saved by economy, as the reward of his good conduct. + +“You draw for the conscription next week,” she said, “and to prepare, in +case you get a bad number, I have been to see your uncle Cardot. He is +very much pleased with you; and so delighted to know you are a second +clerk at twenty, and to hear of your successful examination at the +law-school, that he promised me the money for a substitute. Are not you +glad to think that your own good conduct has brought such reward? Though +you have some privations to bear, remember the happiness of being able, +five years from now, to buy a practice. And think, too, my dear little +kitten, how happy you make your mother.” + +Oscar’s face, somewhat thinned by study, had acquired, through habits +of business, a serious expression. He had reached his full growth, his +beard was thriving; adolescence had given place to virility. The mother +could not refrain from admiring her son and kissing him, as she said:-- + +“Amuse yourself, my dear boy, but remember the advice of our good +Monsieur Godeschal. Ah! by the bye, I was nearly forgetting! Here’s a +present our friend Moreau sends you. See! what a pretty pocket-book.” + +“And I want it, too; for the master gave me five hundred francs to get +that cursed judgment of Vandernesse versus Vandernesse, and I don’t want +to leave that sum of money in my room.” + +“But, surely, you are not going to carry it with you!” exclaimed his +mother, in alarm. “Suppose you should lose a sum like that! Hadn’t you +better give it to Monsieur Godeschal for safe keeping?” + +“Godeschal!” cried Oscar, who thought his mother’s suggestion excellent. + +But Godeschal, who, like all clerks, has his time to himself on Sundays, +from ten to two o’clock, had already departed. + +When his mother left him, Oscar went to lounge upon the boulevards until +it was time to go to Georges Marest’s breakfast. Why not display those +beautiful clothes which he wore with a pride and joy which all young +fellows who have been pinched for means in their youth will remember. A +pretty waistcoat with a blue ground and a palm-leaf pattern, a pair of +black cashmere trousers pleated, a black coat very well fitting, and a +cane with a gilt top, the cost of which he had saved himself, caused a +natural joy to the poor lad, who thought of his manner of dress on the +day of that journey to Presles, as the effect that Georges had then +produced upon him came back to his mind. + +Oscar had before him the perspective of a day of happiness; he was +to see the gay world at last! Let us admit that a clerk deprived of +enjoyments, though longing for dissipation, was likely to let his +unchained senses drive the wise counsels of his mother and Godeschal +completely out of his mind. To the shame of youth let it be added that +good advice is never lacking to it. In the matter of Georges, Oscar +himself had a feeling of aversion for him; he felt humiliated before a +witness of that scene in the salon at Presles when Moreau had flung +him at the count’s feet. The moral senses have their laws, which are +implacable, and we are always punished for disregarding them. There is +one in particular, which the animals themselves obey without discussion, +and invariably; it is that which tells us to avoid those who have once +injured us, with or without intention, voluntarily or involuntarily. The +creature from whom we receive either damage or annoyance will always be +displeasing to us. Whatever may be his rank or the degree of affection +in which he stands to us, it is best to break away from him; for our +evil genius has sent him to us. Though the Christian sentiment is +opposed to it, obedience to this terrible law is essentially social and +conservative. The daughter of James II., who seated herself upon +her father’s throne, must have caused him many a wound before that +usurpation. Judas had certainly given some murderous blow to Jesus +before he betrayed him. We have within us an inward power of sight, an +eye of the soul which foresees catastrophes; and the repugnance that +comes over us against the fateful being is the result of that foresight. +Though religion orders us to conquer it, distrust remains, and its voice +is forever heard. Would Oscar, at twenty years of age, have the wisdom +to listen to it? + +Alas! when, at half-past two o’clock, Oscar entered the salon of the +Rocher de Cancale,--where were three invited persons besides the clerks, +to wit: an old captain of dragoons, named Giroudeau; Finot, a journalist +who might procure an engagement for Florentine at the Opera, and du +Bruel, an author, the friend of Tullia, one of Mariette’s rivals,--the +second clerk felt his secret hostility vanish at the first handshaking, +the first dashes of conversation as they sat around a table luxuriously +served. Georges, moreover, made himself charming to Oscar. + +“You’ve taken to private diplomacy,” he said; “for what difference is +there between a lawyer and an ambassador? only that between a nation and +an individual. Ambassadors are the attorneys of Peoples. If I can ever +be useful to you, let me know.” + +“Well,” said Oscar, “I’ll admit to you now that you once did me a very +great harm.” + +“Pooh!” said Georges, after listening to the explanation for which +he asked; “it was Monsieur de Serizy who behaved badly. His wife! +I wouldn’t have her at any price; neither would I like to be in the +count’s red skin, minister of State and peer of France as he is. He has +a small mind, and I don’t care a fig for him now.” + +Oscar listened with true pleasure to these slurs on the count, for they +diminished, in a way, the importance of his fault; and he echoed the +spiteful language of the ex-notary, who amused himself by predicting +the blows to the nobility of which the bourgeoisie were already +dreaming,--blows which were destined to become a reality in 1830. + +At half-past three the solid eating of the feast began; the dessert did +not appear till eight o’clock,--each course having taken two hours to +serve. None but clerks can eat like that! The stomachs of eighteen and +twenty are inexplicable to the medical art. The wines were worthy of +Borrel, who in those days had superseded the illustrious Balaine, the +creator of the first restaurant for delicate and perfectly prepared food +in Paris,--that is to say, the whole world. + +The report of this Belshazzar’s feast for the architriclino-basochien +register was duly drawn up, beginning, “Inter pocula aurea restauranti, +qui vulgo dicitur Rupes Cancali.” Every one can imagine the fine page +now added to the Golden Book of jurisprudential festivals. + +Godeschal disappeared after signing the report, leaving the eleven +guests, stimulated by the old captain of the Imperial Guard, to the +wines, toasts, and liqueurs of a dessert composed of choice and early +fruits, in pyramids that rivalled the obelisk of Thebes. By half-past +ten the little sub-clerk was in such a state that Georges packed him +into a coach, paid his fare, and gave the address of his mother to the +driver. The remaining ten, all as drunk as Pitt and Dundas, talked of +going on foot along the boulevards, considering the fine evening, to +the house of the Marquise de las Florentinas y Cabirolos, where, about +midnight, they might expect to find the most brilliant society of Paris. +They felt the need of breathing the pure air into their lungs; but, +with the exception of Georges, Giroudeau, du Bruel, and Finot, all +four accustomed to Parisian orgies, not one of the party could walk. +Consequently, Georges sent to a livery-stable for three open carriages, +in which he drove his company for an hour round the exterior boulevards +from Monmartre to the Barriere du Trone. They returned by Bercy, the +quays, and the boulevards to the rue de Vendome. + +The clerks were fluttering still in the skies of fancy to which youth +is lifted by intoxication, when their amphitryon introduced them into +Florentine’s salon. There sparkled a bevy of stage princesses, who, +having been informed, no doubt, of Frederic’s joke, were amusing +themselves by imitating the women of good society. They were then +engaged in eating ices. The wax-candles flamed in the candelabra. +Tullia’s footmen and those of Madame du Val-Noble and Florine, all in +full livery, where serving the dainties on silver salvers. The hangings, +a marvel of Lyonnaise workmanship, fastened by gold cords, dazzled +all eyes. The flowers of the carpet were like a garden. The richest +“bibelots” and curiosities danced before the eyes of the new-comers. + +At first, and in the state to which Georges had brought them, the +clerks, and more particularly Oscar, believed in the Marquise de las +Florentinas y Cabirolos. Gold glittered on four card-tables in the +bed-chamber. In the salon, the women were playing at vingt-et-un, kept +by Nathan, the celebrated author. + +After wandering, tipsy and half asleep, through the dark exterior +boulevards, the clerks now felt that they had wakened in the palace +of Armida. Oscar, presented to the marquise by Georges, was quite +stupefied, and did not recognize the danseuse he had seen at the Gaiete, +in this lady, aristocratically decolletee and swathed in laces, till she +looked like the vignette of a keepsake, who received him with manners +and graces the like of which was neither in the memory nor the +imagination of a young clerk rigidly brought up. After admiring the +splendors of the apartment and the beautiful women there displayed, who +had all outdone each other in their dress for this occasion, Oscar was +taken by the hand and led by Florentine to a vingt-et-un table. + +“Let me present you,” she said, “to the beautiful Marquise d’Anglade, +one of my nearest friends.” + +And she took Oscar to the pretty Fanny Beaupre, who had just made +herself a reputation at the Porte-Saint-Martin, in a melodrama entitled +“La Famille d’Anglade.” + +“My dear,” said Florentine, “allow me to present to you a charming +youth, whom you can take as a partner in the game.” + +“Ah! that will be delightful,” replied the actress, smiling, as she +looked at Oscar. “I am losing. Shall we go shares, monsieur?” + +“Madame la marquise, I am at your orders,” said Oscar, sitting down +beside her. + +“Put down the money; I’ll play; you shall being me luck! See, here are +my last hundred francs.” + +And the “marquise” took out from her purse, the rings of which were +adorned with diamonds, five gold pieces. Oscar pulled out his hundred in +silver five-franc pieces, much ashamed at having to mingle such ignoble +coins with gold. In ten throws the actress lost the two hundred francs. + +“Oh! how stupid!” she cried. “I’m banker now. But we’ll play together +still, won’t we?” + +Fanny Beaupre rose to take her place as banker, and Oscar, finding +himself observed by the whole table, dared not retire on the ground that +he had no money. Speech failed him, and his tongue clove to the roof of +his mouth. + +“Lend me five hundred francs,” said the actress to the danseuse. + +Florentine brought the money, which she obtained from Georges, who had +just passed eight times at ecarte. + +“Nathan has won twelve hundred francs,” said the actress to Oscar. +“Bankers always win; we won’t let them fool us, will we?” she whispered +in his ear. + +Persons of nerve, imagination, and dash will understand how it was that +poor Oscar opened his pocket-book and took out the note of five +hundred francs which Desroches had given him. He looked at Nathan, the +distinguished author, who now began, with Florine, to play a heavy game +against the bank. + +“Come, my little man, take ‘em up,” cried Fanny Beaupre, signing to +Oscar to rake in the two hundred francs which Nathan and Florine had +punted. + +The actress did not spare taunts or jests on those who lost. She +enlivened the game with jokes which Oscar thought singular; but +reflection was stifled by joy; for the first two throws produced a +gain of two thousand francs. Oscar then thought of feigning illness and +making his escape, leaving his partner behind him; but “honor” kept him +there. Three more turns and the gains were lost. Oscar felt a cold sweat +running down his back, and he was sobered completely. + +The next two throws carried off the thousand francs of their mutual +stake. Oscar was consumed with thirst, and drank three glasses of iced +punch one after the other. The actress now led him into the bed-chamber, +where the rest of the company were playing, talking frivolities with an +easy air. But by this time the sense of his wrong-doing overcame him; +the figure of Desroches appeared to him like a vision. He turned aside +to a dark corner and sat down, putting his handkerchief to his eyes, and +wept. Florentine noticed the attitude of true grief, which, because it +is sincere, is certain to strike the eye of one who acts. She ran to +him, took the handkerchief from his hand, and saw his tears; then she +led him into a boudoir alone. + +“What is it, my child?” she said. + +At the tone and accent of that voice Oscar recognized a motherly +kindness which is often found in women of her kind, and he answered +openly:-- + +“I have lost five hundred francs which my employer gave me to obtain a +document to-morrow morning; there’s nothing for me but to fling myself +into the river; I am dishonored.” + +“How silly you are!” she said. “Stay where you are; I’ll get you a +thousand francs and you can win back what you’ve lost; but don’t risk +more than five hundred, so that you may be sure of your master’s money. +Georges plays a fine game at ecarte; bet on him.” + +Oscar, frightened by his position, accepted the offer of the mistress of +the house. + +“Ah!” he thought, “it is only women of rank who are capable of such +kindness. Beautiful, noble, rich! how lucky Georges is!” + +He received the thousand francs from Florentine and returned to bet on +his hoaxer. Georges had just passed for the fourth time when Oscar sat +down beside him. The other players saw with satisfaction the arrival of +a new better; for all, with the instinct of gamblers, took the side of +Giroudeau, the old officer of the Empire. + +“Messieurs,” said Georges, “you’ll be punished for deserting me; I feel +in the vein. Come, Oscar, we’ll make an end of them!” + +Georges and his partner lost five games running. After losing the +thousand francs Oscar was seized with the fury of play and insisted on +taking the cards himself. By the result of a chance not at all uncommon +with those who play for the first time, he won. But Georges bewildered +him with advice; told him when to throw the cards, and even snatched +them from his hand; so that this conflict of wills and intuitions +injured his vein. By three o’clock in the morning, after various changes +of fortune, and still drinking punch, Oscar came down to his last +hundred francs. He rose with a heavy head, completely stupefied, took a +few steps forward, and fell upon a sofa in the boudoir, his eyes closing +in a leaden sleep. + +“Mariette,” said Fanny Beaupre to Godeschal’s sister, who had come in +about two o’clock, “do you dine here to-morrow? Camusot and Pere Cardot +are coming, and we’ll have some fun.” + +“What!” cried Florentine, “and my old fellow never told me!” + +“He said he’d tell you to-morrow morning,” remarked Fanny Beaupre. + +“The devil take him and his orgies!” exclaimed Florentine. “He and +Camusot are worse than magistrates or stage-managers. But we have very +good dinners here, Mariette,” she continued. “Cardot always orders them +from Chevet’s; bring your Duc de Maufrigneuse and we’ll make them dance +like Tritons.” + +Hearing the names of Cardot and Camusot, Oscar made an effort to throw +off his sleep; but he could only mutter a few words which were not +understood, and then he fell back upon the silken cushions. + +“You’ll have to keep him here all night,” said Fanny Beaupre, laughing, +to Florentine. + +“Oh! poor boy! he is drunk with punch and despair both. It is the second +clerk in your brother’s office,” she said to Mariette. “He has lost +the money his master gave him for some legal affair. He wanted to drown +himself; so I lent him a thousand francs, but those brigands Finot and +Giroudeau won them from him. Poor innocent!” + +“But we ought to wake him,” said Mariette. “My brother won’t make light +of it, nor his master either.” + +“Oh, wake him if you can, and carry him off with you!” said Florentine, +returning to the salon to receive the adieux of some departing guests. + +Presently those who remained began what was called “character dancing,” + and by the time it was broad daylight, Florentine, tired out, went to +bed, oblivious to Oscar, who was still in the boudoir sound asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER X. ANOTHER CATASTROPHE + + +About eleven the next morning, a terrible sound awoke the unfortunate +clerk. Recognizing the voice of his uncle Cardot, he thought it wise to +feign sleep, and so turned his face into the yellow velvet cushions on +which he had passed the night. + +“Really, my little Florentine,” said the old gentleman, “this is neither +right nor sensible; you danced last evening in ‘Les Ruines,’ and you +have spent the night in an orgy. That’s deliberately going to work to +lose your freshness. Besides which, it was ungrateful to inaugurate this +beautiful apartment without even letting me know. Who knows what has +been going on here?” + +“Old monster!” cried Florentine, “haven’t you a key that lets you in +at all hours? My ball lasted till five in the morning, and you have the +cruelty to come and wake me up at eleven!” + +“Half-past eleven, Titine,” observed Cardot, humbly. “I came out early +to order a dinner fit for an archbishop at Chevet’s. Just see how the +carpets are stained! What sort of people did you have here?” + +“You needn’t complain, for Fanny Beaupre told me you were coming to +dinner with Camusot, and to please you I’ve invited Tullia, du Bruel, +Mariette, the Duc de Maufrigneuse, Florine, and Nathan. So you’ll have +the four loveliest creatures ever seen behind the foot-lights; we’ll +dance you a ‘pas de Zephire.’” + +“It is enough to kill you to lead such a life!” cried old Cardot; “and +look at the broken glasses! What pillage! The antechamber actually makes +me shudder--” + +At this instant the wrathful old gentleman stopped short as if +magnetized, like a bird which a snake is charming. He saw the outline of +a form in a black coat through the door of the boudoir. + +“Ah, Mademoiselle Cabirolle!” he said at last. + +“Well, what?” she asked. + +The eyes of the danseuse followed those of the little old man; and when +she recognized the presence of the clerk she went off into such fits of +laughter that not only was the old gentleman nonplussed, but Oscar was +compelled to appear; for Florentine took him by the arm, still pealing +with laughter at the conscience-stricken faces of the uncle and nephew. + +“You here, nephew?” + +“Nephew! so he’s your nephew?” cried Florentine, with another burst of +laughter. “You never told me about him. Why didn’t Mariette carry you +off?” she said to Oscar, who stood there petrified. “What can he do now, +poor boy?” + +“Whatever he pleases!” said Cardot, sharply, marching to the door as if +to go away. + +“One moment, papa Cardot. You will be so good as to get your nephew out +of a scrape into which I led him; for he played the money of his master +and lost it, and I lend him a thousand francs to win it back, and he +lost that too.” + +“Miserable boy! you lost fifteen hundred francs at play at your age?” + +“Oh, uncle, uncle!” cried poor Oscar, plunged by these words into all +the horrors of his position, and falling on his knees before his uncle, +with clasped hands, “It is twelve o’clock! I am lost, dishonored! +Monsieur Desroches will have no pity! He gave me the money for an +important affair, in which his pride was concerned. I was to get a paper +at the Palais in the case of Vandernesse versus Vandernesse! What will +become of me? Oh, save me for the sake of my father and aunt! Come +with me to Monsieur Desroches, and explain it to him; make some +excuse,--anything!” + +These sentences were jerked out through sobs and tears that might have +moved the sphinx of Luxor. + +“Old skinflint!” said the danseuse, who was crying, “will you let your +own nephew be dishonored,--the son of the man to whom you owe your +fortune?--for his name is Oscar Husson. Save him, or Titine will deny +you forever!” + +“But how did he come here?” asked Cardot. + +“Don’t you see that the reason he forgot to go for those papers was +because he was drunk and overslept himself. Georges and his cousin +Frederic took all the clerks in his office to a feast at the Rocher de +Cancale.” + +Pere Cardot looked at Florentine and hesitated. + +“Come, come,” she said, “you old monkey, shouldn’t I have hid him better +if there had been anything else in it?” + +“There, take your five hundred francs, you scamp!” said Cardot to his +nephew, “and remember, that’s the last penny you’ll ever get from me. +Go and make it up with your master if you can. I’ll return the thousand +francs which you borrowed of mademoiselle; but I’ll never hear another +word about you.” + +Oscar disappeared, not wishing to hear more. Once in the street, +however, he knew not where to go. + +Chance which destroys men and chance which saves them were both making +equal efforts for and against Oscar during that fateful morning. But he +was doomed to fall before a master who forgave no failure in any affair +he had once undertaken. When Mariette reached home that night, she +felt alarmed at what might happen to the youth in whom her brother took +interest and she wrote a hasty note to Godeschal, telling him what had +happened to Oscar and inclosing a bank bill for five hundred francs to +repair his loss. The kind-hearted creature went to sleep after charging +her maid to carry the little note to Desroches’ office before seven +o’clock in the morning. Godeschal, on his side, getting up at six and +finding that Oscar had not returned, guessed what had happened. He took +the five hundred francs from his own little hoard and rushed to the +Palais, where he obtained a copy of the judgment and returned in time to +lay it before Desroches by eight o’clock. + +Meantime Desroches, who always rose at four, was in his office by seven. +Mariette’s maid, not finding the brother of her mistress in his bedroom, +came down to the office and there met Desroches, to whom she very +naturally offered the note. + +“Is it about business?” he said; “I am Monsieur Desroches.” + +“You can see, monsieur,” replied the maid. + +Desroches opened the letter and read it. Finding the five-hundred-franc +note, he went into his private office furiously angry with his second +clerk. About half-past seven he heard Godeschal dictating to the second +head-clerk a copy of the document in question, and a few moments later +the good fellow entered his master’s office with an air of triumph in +his heart. + +“Did Oscar Husson fetch the paper this morning from Simon?” inquired +Desroches. + +“Yes, monsieur.” + +“Who gave him the money?” + +“Why, you did, Saturday,” replied Godeschal. + +“Then it rains five-hundred-franc notes,” cried Desroches. “Look here, +Godeschal, you are a fine fellow, but that little Husson does not +deserve such generosity. I hate idiots, but I hate still more the men +who will go wrong in spite of the fatherly care which watches over +them.” He gave Godeschal Mariette’s letter and the five-hundred-franc +note which she had sent. “You must excuse my having opened it,” he said, +“but your sister’s maid told me it was on business. Dismiss Husson.” + +“Poor unhappy boy! what grief he has caused me!” said Godeschal, “that +tall ne’er-do-well of a Georges Marest is his evil genius; he ought +to flee him like the plague; if not, he’ll bring him to some third +disgrace.” + +“What do you mean by that?” asked Desroches. + +Godeschal then related briefly the affair of the journey to Presles. + +“Ah! yes,” said the lawyer, “I remember Joseph Bridau told me that story +about the time it happened. It is to that meeting that we owe the favor +Monsieur de Serizy has since shown in the matter of Joseph’s brother, +Philippe Bridau.” + +At this moment Moreau, to whom the case of the Vandernesse estate was of +much importance, entered the office. The marquis wished to sell the +land in parcels and the count was opposed to such a sale. The land-agent +received therefore the first fire of Desroches’ wrath against his +ex-second clerk and all the threatening prophecies which he fulminated +against him. The result was that this most sincere friend and protector +of the unhappy youth came to the conclusion that his vanity was +incorrigible. + +“Make him a barrister,” said Desroches. “He has only his last +examination to pass. In that line, his defects might prove virtues, for +self-love and vanity give tongues to half the attorneys.” + +At this time Clapart, who was ill, was being nursed by his wife,--a +painful task, a duty without reward. The sick man tormented the poor +creature, who was now doomed to learn what venomous and spiteful teasing +a half-imbecile man, whom poverty had rendered craftily savage, could +be capable of in the weary tete-a-tete of each endless day. Delighted to +turn a sharpened arrow in the sensitive heart of the mother, he had, in +a measure, studied the fears that Oscar’s behavior and defects inspired +in the poor woman. When a mother receives from her child a shock like +that of the affair at Presles, she continues in a state of constant +fear, and, by the manner in which his wife boasted of Oscar every time +he obtained the slightest success, Clapart knew the extent of her secret +uneasiness, and he took pains to rouse it on every occasion. + +“Well, Madame,” Clapart would say, “Oscar is doing better than I even +hoped. That journey to Presles was only a heedlessness of youth. Where +can you find young lads who do not commit just such faults? Poor child! +he bears his privations heroically! If his father had lived, he would +never have had any. God grant he may know how to control his passions!” + etc., etc. + +While all these catastrophes were happening in the rue de Vendome and +the rue de Bethisy, Clapart, sitting in the chimney corner, wrapped in +an old dressing-gown, watched his wife, who was engaged over the fire +in their bedroom in simultaneously making the family broth, Clapart’s +“tisane,” and her own breakfast. + +“Mon Dieu! I wish I knew how the affair of yesterday ended. Oscar was +to breakfast at the Rocher de Cancale and spend the evening with a +marquise--” + +“Don’t trouble yourself! Sooner or later you’ll find out about your +swan,” said her husband. “Do you really believe in that marquise? Pooh! +A young man who has senses and a taste for extravagance like Oscar can +find such ladies as that on every bush--if he pays for them. Some fine +morning you’ll find yourself with a load of debt on your back.” + +“You are always trying to put me in despair!” cried Madame Clapart. “You +complained that my son lived on your salary, and never has he cost you +a penny. For two years you haven’t had the slightest cause of complaint +against him; here he is second clerk, his uncle and Monsieur Moreau pay +all expenses, and he earns, himself, a salary of eight hundred francs. +If we have bread to eat in our old age we may owe it all to that dear +boy. You are really too unjust--” + +“You call my foresight unjust, do you?” replied the invalid, crossly. + +Just then the bell rang loudly. Madame Clapart ran to open the door, and +remained in the outer room with Moreau, who had come to soften the blow +which Oscar’s new folly would deal to the heart of his poor mother. + +“What! he gambled with the money of the office?” she cried, bursting +into tears. + +“Didn’t I tell you so, hey?” said Clapart, appearing like a spectre at +the door of the salon whither his curiosity had brought him. + +“Oh! what shall we do with him?” said Madame Clapart, whose grief made +her impervious to Clapart’s taunt. + +“If he bore my name,” replied Moreau, “I should wait composedly till he +draws for the conscription, and if he gets a fatal number I should not +provide him with a substitute. This is the second time your son has +committed a folly out of sheer vanity. Well, vanity may inspire fine +deeds in war and may advance him in the career of a soldier. Besides, +six years of military service will put some lead into his head; and +as he has only his last legal examination to pass, it won’t be much +ill-luck for him if he doesn’t become a lawyer till he is twenty-six; +that is, if he wants to continue in the law after paying, as they say, +his tax of blood. By that time, at any rate, he will have been severely +punished, he will have learned experience, and contracted habits of +subordination. Before making his probation at the bar he will have gone +through his probations in life.” + +“If that is your decision for a son,” said Madame Clapart, “I see that +the heart of a father is not like that of a mother. My poor Oscar a +common soldier!--” + +“Would you rather he flung himself headforemost into the Seine after +committing a dishonorable action? He cannot now become a solicitor; do +you think him steady and wise enough to be a barrister? No. While +his reason is maturing, what will he become? A dissipated fellow. The +discipline of the army will, at least, preserve him from that.” + +“Could he not go into some other office? His uncle Cardot has promised +to pay for his substitute; Oscar is to dedicate his graduating thesis to +him.” + +At this moment carriage-wheels were heard, and a hackney-coach +containing Oscar and all his worldly belongings stopped before the door. +The luckless young man came up at once. + +“Ah! here you are, Monsieur Joli-Coeur!” cried Clapart. + +Oscar kissed his mother, and held out to Moreau a hand which the latter +refused to take. To this rebuff Oscar replied by a reproachful look, the +boldness of which he had never shown before. Then he turned on Clapart. + +“Listen to me, monsieur,” said the youth, transformed into a man. “You +worry my poor mother devilishly, and that’s your right, for she is, +unfortunately, your wife. But as for me, it is another thing. I shall be +of age in a few months; and you have no rights over me even as a minor. +I have never asked anything of you. Thanks to Monsieur Moreau, I have +never cost you one penny, and I owe you no gratitude. Therefore, I say, +let me alone!” + +Clapart, hearing this apostrophe, slunk back to his sofa in the chimney +corner. The reasoning and the inward fury of the young man, who had just +received a lecture from his friend Godeschal, silenced the imbecile mind +of the sick man. + +“A momentary temptation, such as you yourself would have yielded to +at my age,” said Oscar to Moreau, “has made me commit a fault which +Desroches thinks serious, though it is only a peccadillo. I am more +provoked with myself for taking Florentine of the Gaiete for a marquise +than I am for losing fifteen hundred francs after a little debauch in +which everybody, even Godeschal, was half-seas over. This time, at any +rate, I’ve hurt no one by myself. I’m cured of such things forever. If +you are willing to help me, Monsieur Moreau, I swear to you that the +six years I must still stay a clerk before I can get a practice shall be +spent without--” + +“Stop there!” said Moreau. “I have three children, and I can make no +promises.” + +“Never mind, never mind,” said Madame Clapart to her son, casting a +reproachful glance at Moreau. “Your uncle Cardot--” + +“I have no longer an uncle Cardot,” replied Oscar, who related the scene +at the rue de Vendome. + +Madame Clapart, feeling her legs give way under the weight of her body, +staggered to a chair in the dining-room, where she fell as if struck by +lightning. + +“All the miseries together!” she said, as she fainted. + +Moreau took the poor mother in his arms, and carried her to the bed in +her chamber. Oscar remained motionless, as if crushed. + +“There is nothing left for you,” said Moreau, coming back to him, “but +to make yourself a soldier. That idiot of a Clapart looks to me as +though he couldn’t live three months, and then your mother will be +without a penny. Ought I not, therefore, to reserve for her the little +money I am able to give? It was impossible to tell you this before her. +As a soldier, you’ll eat plain bread and reflect on life such as it is +to those who are born into it without fortune.” + +“I may get a lucky number,” said Oscar. + +“Suppose you do, what then? Your mother has well fulfilled her duty +towards you. She gave you an education; she placed you on the right +road, and secured you a career. You have left it. Now, what can you do? +Without money, nothing; as you know by this time. You are not a man who +can begin a new career by taking off your coat and going to work in your +shirt-sleeves with the tools of an artisan. Besides, your mother loves +you, and she would die to see you come to that.” + +Oscar sat down and no longer restrained his tears, which flowed +copiously. At last he understood this language, so completely +unintelligible to him ever since his first fault. + +“Men without means ought to be perfect,” added Moreau, not suspecting +the profundity of that cruel sentence. + +“My fate will soon be decided,” said Oscar. “I draw my number the day +after to-morrow. Between now and then I will decide upon my future.” + +Moreau, deeply distressed in spite of his stern bearing, left the +household in the rue de la Cerisaie to its despair. + +Three days later Oscar drew the number twenty-seven. In the interests of +the poor lad the former steward of Presles had the courage to go to the +Comte de Serizy and ask for his influence to get Oscar into the cavalry. +It happened that the count’s son, having left the Ecole Polytechnique +rather low in his class, was appointed, as a favor, sub-lieutenant in +a regiment of cavalry commanded by the Duc de Maufrigneuse. Oscar had, +therefore, in his great misfortune, the small luck of being, at the +Comte de Serizy’s instigation, drafted into that noble regiment, with +the promise of promotion to quartermaster within a year. Chance had thus +placed the ex-clerk under the command of the son of the Comte de Serizy. + +Madame Clapart, after languishing for some days, so keenly was she +affected by these catastrophes, became a victim to the remorse which +seizes upon many a mother whose conduct has been frail in her youth, +and who, in her old age, turns to repentance. She now considered herself +under a curse. She attributed the sorrows of her second marriage and the +misfortunes of her son to a just retribution by which God was compelling +her to expiate the errors and pleasures of her youth. This opinion soon +became a certainty in her mind. The poor woman went, for the first +time in forty years, to confess herself to the Abbe Gaudron, vicar of +Saint-Paul’s, who led her into the practice of devotion. But so ill-used +and loving a soul as that of Madame Clapart’s could never be anything +but simply pious. The Aspasia of the Directory wanted to expiate her +sins in order to draw down the blessing of God on the head of her poor +Oscar, and she henceforth vowed herself to works and deeds of the purest +piety. She believed she had won the attention of heaven when she saved +the life of Monsieur Clapart, who, thanks to her devotion, lived on to +torture her; but she chose to see, in the tyranny of that imbecile mind, +a trial inflicted by the hand of one who loveth while he chasteneth. + +Oscar, meantime, behaved so well that in 1830 he was first sergeant +of the company of the Vicomte de Serizy, which gave him the rank of +sub-lieutenant of the line. Oscar Husson was by that time twenty-five +years old. As the Royal Guard, to which his regiment was attached, was +always in garrison in Paris, or within a circumference of thirty miles +around the capital, he came to see his mother from time to time, and +tell her his griefs; for he had the sense to see that he could never +become an officer as matters then were. At that time the cavalry grades +were all being taken up by the younger sons of noble families, and men +without the article to their names found promotion difficult. Oscar’s +sole ambition was to leave the Guards and be appointed sub-lieutenant in +a regiment of the cavalry of the line. In the month of February, 1830, +Madame Clapart obtained this promotion for her son through the influence +of Madame la Dauphine, granted to the Abbe Gaudron, now rector of +Saint-Pauls. + +Although Oscar outwardly professed to be devoted to the Bourbons, in +the depths of his heart he was a liberal. Therefore, in the struggle of +1830, he went over to the side of the people. This desertion, which +had an importance due to the crisis in which it took place, brought him +before the eyes of the public. During the excitement of triumph in the +month of August he was promoted lieutenant, received the cross of the +Legion of honor, and was attached as aide-de-camp to La Fayette, who +gave him the rank of captain in 1832. When the amateur of the best of +all possible republics was removed from the command of the National +guard, Oscar Husson, whose devotion to the new dynasty amounted to +fanaticism, was appointed major of a regiment sent to Africa at the time +of the first expedition undertaken by the Prince-royal. The Vicomte de +Serizy chanced to be the lieutenant-colonel of this regiment. At the +affair of the Makta, where the field had to be abandoned to the +Arabs, Monsieur de Serizy was left wounded under a dead horse. Oscar, +discovering this, called out to the squadron: + +“Messieurs, it is going to death, but we cannot abandon our colonel.” + +He dashed upon the enemy, and his electrified soldiers followed him. +The Arabs, in their first astonishment at this furious and unlooked-for +return, allowed Oscar to seize the viscount, whom he flung across his +horse, and carried off at full gallop,--receiving, as he did so, two +slashes from yataghans on his left arm. + +Oscar’s conduct on this occasion was rewarded with the officer’s +cross of the Legion of honor, and by his promotion to the rank of +lieutenant-colonel. He took the most affectionate care of the Vicomte de +Serizy, whose mother came to meet him on the arrival of the regiment at +Toulon, where, as we know, the young man died of his wounds. + +The Comtesse de Serizy had not separated her son from the man who had +shown him such devotion. Oscar himself was so seriously wounded that the +surgeons whom the countess had brought with her from Paris thought best +to amputate his left arm. + +Thus the Comte de Serizy was led not only to forgive Oscar for his +painful remarks on the journey to Presles, but to feel himself his +debtor on behalf of his son, now buried in the chapel of the chateau de +Serizy. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. OSCAR’S LAST BLUNDER + + +Some years after the affair at Makta, an old lady, dressed in black, +leaning on the arm of a man about thirty-four years of age, in whom +observers would recognize a retired officer, from the loss of an arm and +the rosette of the Legion of honor in his button-hole, was standing, at +eight o’clock, one morning in the month of May, under the porte-cochere +of the Lion d’Argent, rue de Faubourg Saint-Denis, waiting, apparently, +for the departure of a diligence. Undoubtedly Pierrotin, the master of +the line of coaches running through the valley of the Oise (despatching +one through Saint-Leu-Taverny and Isle-Adam to Beaumont), would scarcely +have recognized in this bronzed and maimed officer the little Oscar +Husson he had formerly taken to Presles. Madame Husson, at last a widow, +was as little recognizable as her son. Clapart, a victim of Fieschi’s +machine, had served his wife better by death than by all his previous +life. The idle lounger was hanging about, as usual, on the boulevard du +Temple, gazing at the show, when the explosion came. The poor widow +was put upon the pension list, made expressly for the families of the +victim, at fifteen hundred francs a year. + +The coach, to which were harnessed four iron-gray horses that would +have done honor to the Messageries-royales, was divided into three +compartments, coupe, interieur, and rotonde, with an imperiale above. It +resembled those diligences called “Gondoles,” which now ply, in rivalry +with the railroad, between Paris and Versailles. Both solid and light, +well-painted and well-kept, lined with fine blue cloth, and furnished +with blinds of a Moorish pattern and cushions of red morocco, the +“Swallow of the Oise” could carry, comfortably, nineteen passengers. +Pierrotin, now about fifty-six years old, was little changed. Still +dressed in a blue blouse, beneath which he wore a black suit, he smoked +his pipe, and superintended the two porters in livery, who were stowing +away the luggage in the great imperiale. + +“Are your places taken?” he said to Madame Clapart and Oscar, eyeing +them like a man who is trying to recall a likeness to his memory. + +“Yes, two places for the interieur in the name of my servant, +Bellejambe,” replied Oscar; “he must have taken them last evening.” + +“Ah! monsieur is the new collector of Beaumont,” said Pierrotin. “You +take the place of Monsieur Margueron’s nephew?” + +“Yes,” replied Oscar, pressing the arm of his mother, who was about to +speak. + +The officer wished to remain unknown for a time. + +Just then Oscar thrilled at hearing the well-remembered voice of Georges +Marest calling out from the street: “Pierrotin, have you one seat left?” + +“It seems to me you could say ‘monsieur’ without cracking your throat,” + replied the master of the line of coaches of the Valley of the Oise, +sharply. + +Unless by the sound of the voice, Oscar could never have recognized the +individual whose jokes had been so fatal to him. Georges, almost bald, +retained only three or four tufts of hair above his ears; but these were +elaborately frizzed out to conceal, as best they could, the nakedness +of the skull. A fleshiness ill-placed, in other words, a pear-shaped +stomach, altered the once elegant proportions of the ex-young man. Now +almost ignoble in appearance and bearing, Georges exhibited the traces +of disasters in love and a life of debauchery in his blotched skin and +bloated, vinous features. The eyes had lost the brilliancy, the vivacity +of youth which chaste or studious habits have the virtue to retain. +Dressed like a man who is careless of his clothes, Georges wore a pair +of shabby trousers, with straps intended for varnished boots; but his +were of leather, thick-soled, ill-blacked, and of many months’ wear. A +faded waistcoat, a cravat, pretentiously tied, although the material was +a worn-out foulard, bespoke the secret distress to which a former dandy +sometimes falls a prey. Moreover, Georges appeared at this hour of the +morning in an evening coat, instead of a surtout; a sure diagnostic of +actual poverty. This coat, which had seen long service at balls, had +now, like its master, passed from the opulent ease of former times to +daily work. The seams of the black cloth showed whitening lines; the +collar was greasy; long usage had frayed the edges of the sleeves into +fringes. + +And yet, Georges ventured to attract attention by yellow kid gloves, +rather dirty, it is true, on the outside of which a signet ring +defined a large dark spot. Round his cravat, which was slipped into a +pretentious gold ring, was a chain of silk, representing hair, which, +no doubt, held a watch. His hat, though worn rather jauntily, revealed, +more than any of the above symptoms, the poverty of a man who was +totally unable to pay sixteen francs to a hat-maker, being forced to +live from hand to mouth. The former admirer of Florentine twirled a cane +with a chased gold knob, which was horribly battered. The blue trousers, +the waistcoat of a material called “Scotch stuff,” a sky-blue cravat and +a pink-striped cotton shirt, expressed, in the midst of all this ruin, +such a latent desire to SHOW-OFF that the contrast was not only a sight +to see, but a lesson to be learned. + +“And that is Georges!” said Oscar, in his own mind,--“a man I left in +possession of thirty thousand francs a year!” + +“Has Monsieur _de_ Pierrotin a place in the coupe?” asked Georges, +ironically replying to Pierrotin’s rebuff. + +“No; my coupe is taken by a peer of France, the son-in-law of Monsieur +Moreau, Monsieur le Baron de Canalis, his wife, and his mother-in-law. I +have nothing left but one place in the interieur.” + +“The devil! so peers of France still travel in your coach, do they?” + said Georges, remembering his adventure with the Comte de Serizy. “Well, +I’ll take that place in the interieur.” + +He cast a glance of examination on Oscar and his mother, but did not +recognize them. + +Oscar’s skin was now bronzed by the sun of Africa; his moustache was +very thick and his whiskers ample; the hollows in his cheeks and his +strongly marked features were in keeping with his military bearing. +The rosette of an officer of the Legion of honor, his missing arm, +the strict propriety of his dress, would all have diverted Georges +recollections of his former victim if he had had any. As for Madame +Clapart, whom Georges had scarcely seen, ten years devoted to the +exercise of the most severe piety had transformed her. No one would ever +have imagined that that gray sister concealed the Aspasia of 1797. + +An enormous old man, very simply dressed, though his clothes were good +and substantial, in whom Oscar recognized Pere Leger, here came slowly +and heavily along. He nodded familiarly to Pierrotin, who appeared by +his manner to pay him the respect due in all lands to millionaires. + +“Ha! ha! why, here’s Pere Leger! more and more preponderant!” cried +Georges. + +“To whom have I the honor of speaking?” asked old Leger, curtly. + +“What! you don’t recognize Colonel Georges, the friend of Ali pacha? +We travelled together once upon a time, in company with the Comte de +Serizy.” + +One of the habitual follies of those who have fallen in the world is to +recognize and desire the recognition of others. + +“You are much changed,” said the ex-farmer, now twice a millionaire. + +“All things change,” said Georges. “Look at the Lion d’Argent and +Pierrotin’s coach; they are not a bit like what they were fourteen years +ago.” + +“Pierrotin now controls the whole service of the Valley of the Oise,” + replied Monsieur Leger, “and sends out five coaches. He is the bourgeois +of Beaumont, where he keeps a hotel, at which all the diligences stop, +and he has a wife and daughter who are not a bad help to him.” + +An old man of seventy here came out of the hotel and joined the group of +travellers who were waiting to get into the coach. + +“Come along, Papa Reybert,” said Leger, “we are only waiting now for +your great man.” + +“Here he comes,” said the steward of Presles, pointing to Joseph Bridau. + +Neither Georges nor Oscar recognized the illustrious artist, for his +face had the worn and haggard lines that were now famous, and his +bearing was that which is given by success. The ribbon of the Legion +of honor adorned his black coat, and the rest of his dress, which was +extremely elegant, seemed to denote an expedition to some rural fete. + +At this moment a clerk, with a paper in his hand, came out of the office +(which was now in the former kitchen of the Lion d’Argent), and stood +before the empty coupe. + +“Monsieur and Madame de Canalis, three places,” he said. Then, moving +to the door of the interieur, he named, consecutively, “Monsieur +Bellejambe, two places; Monsieur de Reybert, three places; +Monsieur--your name, if you please?” he said to Georges. + +“Georges Marest,” said the fallen man, in a low voice. + +The clerk then moved to the rotunde, before which were grouped a number +of nurses, country-people, and petty shopkeepers, who were bidding each +other adieu. Then, after bundling in the six passengers, he called +to four young men who mounted to the imperial; after which he cried: +“Start!” Pierrotin got up beside his driver, a young man in a blouse, +who called out: “Pull!” to his animals, and the vehicle, drawn by four +horses brought at Roye, mounted the rise of the faubourg Saint-Denis at +a slow trot. + +But no sooner had it got above Saint-Laurent than it raced like a +mail-cart to Saint-Denis, which it reached in forty minutes. No stop +was made at the cheese-cake inn, and the coach took the road through the +valley of Montmorency. + +It was at the turn into this road that Georges broke the silence which +the travellers had so far maintained while observing each other. + +“We go a little faster than we did fifteen years ago, hey, Pere Leger?” + he said, pulling out a silver watch. + +“Persons are usually good enough to call me Monsieur Leger,” said the +millionaire. + +“Why, here’s our blagueur of the famous journey to Presles,” cried +Joseph Bridau. “Have you made any new campaigns in Asia, Africa, or +America?” + +“Sacrebleu! I’ve made the revolution of July, and that’s enough for me, +for it ruined me.” + +“Ah! you made the revolution of July!” cried the painter, laughing. +“Well, I always said it never made itself.” + +“How people meet again!” said Monsieur Leger, turning to Monsieur de +Reybert. “This, papa Reybert, is the clerk of the notary to whom you +undoubtedly owe the stewardship of Presles.” + +“We lack Mistigris, now famous under his own name of Leon de Lora,” said +Joseph Bridau, “and the little young man who was stupid enough to talk +to the count about those skin diseases which are now cured, and about +his wife, whom he has recently left that he may die in peace.” + +“And the count himself, you lack him,” said old Reybert. + +“I’m afraid,” said Joseph Bridau, sadly, “that the last journey the +count will ever take will be from Presles to Isle-Adam, to be present at +my marriage.” + +“He still drives about the park,” said Reybert. + +“Does his wife come to see him?” asked Leger. + +“Once a month,” replied Reybert. “She is never happy out of Paris. Last +September she married her niece, Mademoiselle du Rouvre, on whom, since +the death of her son, she spends all her affection, to a very rich young +Pole, the Comte Laginski.” + +“To whom,” asked Madame Clapart, “will Monsieur de Serizy’s property +go?” + +“To his wife, who will bury him,” replied Georges. “The countess is +still fine-looking for a woman of fifty-four years of age. She is very +elegant, and, at a little distance, gives one the illusion--” + +“She will always be an illusion to you,” said Leger, who seemed inclined +to revenge himself on his former hoaxer. + +“I respect her,” said Georges. “But, by the bye, what became of that +steward whom the count turned off?” + +“Moreau?” said Leger; “why, he’s the deputy from the Oise.” + +“Ha! the famous Centre man; Moreau de l’Oise?” cried Georges. + +“Yes,” returned Leger, “Moreau de l’Oise. He did more than you for the +revolution of July, and he has since then bought the beautiful estate of +Pointel, between Presles and Beaumont.” + +“Next to the count’s,” said Georges. “I call that very bad taste.” + +“Don’t speak so loud,” said Monsieur de Reybert, “for Madame Moreau and +her daughter, the Baronne de Canalis, and the Baron himself, the former +minister, are in the coupe.” + +“What ‘dot’ could he have given his daughter to induce our great orator +to marry her?” said Georges. + +“Something like two millions,” replied old Leger. + +“He always had a taste for millions,” remarked Georges. “He began his +pile surreptitiously at Presles--” + +“Say nothing against Monsieur Moreau,” cried Oscar, hastily. “You ought +to have learned before now to hold your tongue in public conveyances.” + +Joseph Bridau looked at the one-armed officer for several seconds; then +he said, smiling:-- + +“Monsieur is not an ambassador, but his rosette tells us he has made his +way nobly; my brother and General Giroudeau have repeatedly named him in +their reports.” + +“Oscar Husson!” cried Georges. “Faith! if it hadn’t been for your voice +I should never have known you.” + +“Ah! it was monsieur who so bravely rescued the Vicomte Jules de Serizy +from the Arabs?” said Reybert, “and for whom the count has obtained the +collectorship of Beaumont while awaiting that of Pontoise?” + +“Yes, monsieur,” said Oscar. + +“I hope you will give me the pleasure, monsieur,” said the great +painter, “of being present at my marriage at Isle-Adam.” + +“Whom do you marry?” asked Oscar, after accepting the invitation. + +“Mademoiselle Leger,” replied Joseph Bridau, “the granddaughter of +Monsieur de Reybert. Monsieur le comte was kind enough to arrange the +marriage for me. As an artist I owe him a great deal, and he wished, +before his death, to secure my future, about which I did not think, +myself.” + +“Whom did Pere Leger marry?” asked Georges. + +“My daughter,” replied Monsieur de Reybert, “and without a ‘dot.’” + +“Ah!” said Georges, assuming a more respectful manner toward Monsieur +Leger, “I am fortunate in having chosen this particular day to do the +valley of the Oise. You can all be useful to me, gentlemen.” + +“How so?” asked Monsieur Leger. + +“In this way,” replied Georges. “I am employed by the ‘Esperance,’ a +company just formed, the statutes of which have been approved by an +ordinance of the King. This institution gives, at the end of ten years, +dowries to young girls, annuities to old men; it pays the education of +children, and takes charge, in short, of the fortunes of everybody.” + +“I can well believe it,” said Pere Leger, smiling. “In a word, you are a +runner for an insurance company.” + +“No, monsieur. I am the inspector-general; charged with the duty of +establishing correspondents and appointing the agents of the company +throughout France. I am only operating until the agents are selected; +for it is a matter as delicate as it is difficult to find honest +agents.” + +“But how did you lose your thirty thousand a year?” asked Oscar. + +“As you lost your arm,” replied the son of Czerni-Georges, curtly. + +“Then you must have shared in some brilliant action,” remarked Oscar, +with a sarcasm not unmixed with bitterness. + +“Parbleu! I’ve too many--shares! that’s just what I wanted to sell.” + +By this time they had arrived at Saint-Leu-Taverny, where all the +passengers got out while the coach changed horses. Oscar admired the +liveliness which Pierrotin displayed in unhooking the traces from the +whiffle-trees, while his driver cleared the reins from the leaders. + +“Poor Pierrotin,” thought he; “he has stuck like me,--not far advanced +in the world. Georges has fallen low. All the others, thanks to +speculation and to talent, have made their fortune. Do we breakfast +here, Pierrotin?” he said, aloud, slapping that worthy on the shoulder. + +“I am not the driver,” said Pierrotin. + +“What are you, then?” asked Colonel Husson. + +“The proprietor,” replied Pierrotin. + +“Come, don’t be vexed with an old acquaintance,” said Oscar, motioning +to his mother, but still retaining his patronizing manner. “Don’t you +recognize Madame Clapart?” + +It was all the nobler of Oscar to present his mother to Pierrotin, +because, at that moment, Madame Moreau de l’Oise, getting out of the +coupe, overheard the name, and stared disdainfully at Oscar and his +mother. + +“My faith! madame,” said Pierrotin, “I should never have known you; nor +you, either, monsieur; the sun burns black in Africa, doesn’t it?” + +The species of pity which Oscar thus felt for Pierrotin was the last +blunder that vanity ever led our hero to commit, and, like his other +faults, it was punished, but very gently, thus:-- + +Two months after his official installation at Beaumont-sur-Oise, Oscar +was paying his addresses to Mademoiselle Georgette Pierrotin, whose +‘dot’ amounted to one hundred and fifty thousand francs, and he married +the pretty daughter of the proprietor of the stage-coaches of the Oise, +toward the close of the winter of 1838. + +The adventure of the journey to Presles was a lesson to Oscar Husson in +discretion; his disaster at Florentine’s card-party strengthened him in +honesty and uprightness; the hardships of his military career taught him +to understand the social hierarchy and to yield obedience to his lot. +Becoming wise and capable, he was happy. The Comte de Serizy, before his +death, obtained for him the collectorship at Pontoise. The influence +of Monsieur Moreau de l’Oise and that of the Comtesse de Serizy and the +Baron de Canalis secured, in after years, a receiver-generalship for +Monsieur Husson, in whom the Camusot family now recognize a relation. + +Oscar is a commonplace man, gentle, without assumption, modest, and +always keeping, like his government, to a middle course. He excites +neither envy nor contempt. In short, he is the modern bourgeois. + + + + +ADDENDUM + +The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. + + Beaupre, Fanny + Modest Mignon + The Muse of the Department + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + + Bridau, Joseph + The Purse + A Bachelor’s Establishment + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Modeste Mignon + Another Study of Woman + Pierre Grassou + Letters of Two Brides + Cousin Betty + The Member for Arcis + + Bruel, Jean Francois du + A Bachelor’s Establishment + The Government Clerks + A Prince of Bohemia + The Middle Classes + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + A Daughter of Eve + + Cabirolle, Madame + A Bachelor’s Establishment + + Cabirolle, Agathe-Florentine + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + A Bachelor’s Establishment + + Canalis, Constant-Cyr-Melchior, Baron de + Letters of Two Brides + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Modeste Mignon + The Magic Skin + Another Study of Woman + Beatrix + The Unconscious Humorists + The Member for Arcis + + Cardot, Jean-Jerome-Severin + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + A Bachelor’s Establishment + At the Sign of the Cat and Racket + Cesar Birotteau + + Coralie, Mademoiselle + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + A Bachelor’s Establishment + + Crottat, Alexandre + Cesar Birotteau + Colonel Chabert + A Woman of Thirty + Cousin Pons + + Derville + Gobseck + The Gondreville Mystery + Father Goriot + Colonel Chabert + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + + Desroches (son) + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Colonel Chabert + A Woman of Thirty + The Commission in Lunacy + The Government Clerks + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + The Firm of Nucingen + A Man of Business + The Middle Classes + + Finot, Andoche + Cesar Birotteau + A Bachelor’s Establishment + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + The Government Clerks + Gaudissart the Great + The Firm of Nucingen + + Gaudron, Abbe + The Government Clerks + Honorine + + Giroudeau + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + A Bachelor’s Establishment + + Godeschal, Francois-Claude-Marie + Colonel Chabert + A Bachelor’s Establishment + The Commission in Lunacy + The Middle Classes + Cousin Pons + + Godeschal, Marie + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Cousin Pons + + Gondreville, Malin, Comte de + The Gondreville Mystery + Domestic Peace + The Member for Arcis + + Grevin + The Gondreville Mystery + The Member for Arcis + + Grindot + Cesar Birotteau + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Beatrix + The Middle Classes + Cousin Betty + + Lora, Leon de + The Unconscious Humorists + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierre Grassou + Honorine + Cousin Betty + Beatrix + + Loraux, Abbe + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Cesar Birotteau + Honorine + + Lupin, Amaury + The Peasantry + + Marest, Frederic + The Seamy Side of History + The Member for Arcis + + Marest, Georges + The Peasantry + + Maufrigneuse, Duc de + The Secrets of a Princess + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + + Poiret, the elder + The Government Clerks + Father Goriot + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + The Middle Classes + + Rouvre, Marquis du + The Imaginary Mistress + Ursule Mirouet + + Schinner, Hippolyte + The Purse + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Pierre Grassou + Albert Savarus + The Government Clerks + Modeste Mignon + The Imaginary Mistress + The Unconscious Humorists + + Serizy, Comte Hugret de + A Bachelor’s Establishment + Honorine + Modeste Mignon + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + + Serizy, Comtesse de + The Thirteen + Ursule Mirouet + A Woman of Thirty + Scenes from a Courtesan’s Life + Another Study of Woman + The Imaginary Mistress + + Serizy, Vicomte de + Modeste Mignon + The Imaginary Mistress + + Vandenesse, Marquis Charles de + A Woman of Thirty + A Daughter of Eve + + Vandenesse, Comte Felix de + The Lily of the Valley + Lost Illusions + A Distinguished Provincial at Paris + Cesar Birotteau + Letters of Two Brides + The Marriage Settlement + The Secrets of a Princess + Another Study of Woman + The Gondreville Mystery + A Daughter of Eve + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Start in Life, by Honore de Balzac + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A START IN LIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 1403-0.txt or 1403-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/0/1403/ + +Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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